The Adventures of Harry Richmond. Complete

‘Hit away, sir,’ he said, during the storm of blows, and I, through my tears, imagined him (or I do now) a young eagle forced to bear the thunder, but with his face to it. Then we saw Boddy lay hands on him, and in a twinkling down pitched the usher, and the boys cheered—chirped, I should say, they exulted so, and merely sang out like birds, without any wilfulness of delight or defiance. After the fall of Boddy we had no sense of our hero suffering shame. Temple and I clutched fingers tight as long as the blows went on. We hoped for Boddy to make another attempt to touch Heriot; he held near the master, looking ready to spring, like a sallow panther; we kept hoping he would, in our horror of the murderous slashes of the cane; and not a syllable did Heriot utter. Temple and I started up, unaware of what we were going to do, or of anything until we had got a blow a-piece, and were in the thick of it, and Boddy had us both by the collars, and was knocking our heads together, as he dragged us back to our seats. But the boys told us we stopped the execution. Mr. Rippenger addressed us before he left the school-room. Saddlebank, Salter, and a good many others, plugged their ears with their fists. That night Boddy and Catman paced in the bedchambers, to prevent plotting and conspiracy, they said. I longed to get my arms about Heriot, and thought of him, and dreamed of blood, and woke in the morning wondering what made me cry, and my arms and back very stiff. Heriot was gay as ever, but had fits of reserve; the word passed round that we were not to talk of yesterday evening. We feared he would refuse to play in the match.

‘Why not?’ said he, staring at us angrily. ‘Has Saddlebank broken his arm, and can’t bowl?’

No, Saddlebank was in excellent trim, though shamefaced, as was Salter, and most of the big boys were. They begged Heriot to let them shake his hand.

‘Wait till we win our match,’ said Heriot.

Julia did not appear at morning prayers.

‘Ah,’ said Temple, ‘it’d make her sick to hear old Massacre praying.’ It had nearly made him sick, he added, and I immediately felt that it had nearly made me sick.

We supposed we should not see Julia at the match. She came, however, and talked to everybody. I could not contain myself, I wanted so to tell her what had befallen Heriot overnight, while he was batting, and the whole ground cheering his hits. I on one side of her whispered:

‘I say, Julia, my dear, I say, do you know…’

And Temple on the other: ‘Miss Julia, I wish you’d let me tell you—’

We longed to arouse her pity for Heriot at the moment she was admiring him, but she checked us, and as she was surrounded by ladies and gentlemen of the town, and particular friends of hers, we could not speak out. Heriot brought his bat to the booth for eighty-nine runs. His sleeve happened to be unbuttoned, and there, on his arm, was a mark of the cane.

‘Look!’ I said to Julia. But she looked at me.

‘Richie, are you ill?’

She assured me I was very pale, and I felt her trembling excessively, and her parasol was covering us.

‘Here, Roy, Temple,’ we heard Heriot call; ‘here, come here and bowl to me.’

I went and bowled till I thought my head was flying after the ball and getting knocks, it swam and throbbed so horribly.

Temple related that I fell, and was carried all the way from the cricket-field home by Heriot, who would not give me up to the usher. I was in Julia’s charge three days. Every time I spoke of her father and Heriot, she cried, ‘Oh, hush!’ and had tears on her eyelids. When I was quite strong again, I made her hear me out. She held me and rocked over me like a green tree in the wind and rain.

‘Was any name mentioned?’ she asked, with her mouth working, and to my ‘No,’ said ‘No, she knew there was none,’ and seemed to drink and choke, and was one minute calm, all but a trembling hanging underlip, next smiling on me, and next having her face carved in grimaces by the jerking little tugs of her mouth, which I disliked to see, for she would say nothing of what she thought of Heriot, and I thought to myself, though I forbore to speak unkindly, ‘It’s no use your making yourself look ugly, Julia.’ If she had talked of Heriot, I should have thought that crying persons’ kisses were agreeable.

On my return into the school, I found it in a convulsion of excitement, owing to Heriot’s sending Boddy a challenge to fight a duel with pistols. Mr. Rippenger preached a sermon to the boys concerning the unChristian spirit and hideous moral perversity of one who would even consent to fight a duel. How much more reprehensible, then, was one that could bring himself to defy a fellow-creature to mortal combat! We were not of his opinion; and as these questions are carried by majorities, we decided that Boddy was a coward, and approved the idea that Heriot would have to shoot or scourge him when the holidays came. Mr. Rippenger concluded his observations by remarking that the sharpest punishment he could inflict upon Heriot was to leave him to his own conscience; which he did for three days, and then asked him if he was in a fit state of mind to beg Mr. Boddy’s pardon publicly.

‘I’m quite prepared to tell him what I think of him publicly, sir,’ said Heriot.

A murmur of exultation passed through the school. Mr. Rippenger seized little Temple, and flogged him. Far from dreading the rod, now that Heriot and Temple had tasted it, I thought of punishment as a mad pleasure, not a bit more awful than the burning furze-bush plunged into by our fellows in a follow-my-leader scamper on the common; so I caught Temple’s hand as he went by me, and said, eagerly, ‘Shall I sing out hurrah?’

‘Bother it!’ was Temple’s answer, for he had taken a stinging dozen, and had a tender skin.

Mr. Rippenger called me up to him, to inform me, that whoever I was, and whatever I was, and I might be a little impostor foisted on his benevolence, yet he would bring me to a knowledge of myself: he gave me warning of it; and if my father objected to his method, my father must write word to that effect, and attend punctually to business duties, for Surrey House was not an almshouse, either for the sons of gentlemen of high connection, or for the sons of vagabonds. Mr. Rippenger added a spurning shove on my shoulder to his recommendation to me to resume my seat. I did not understand him at all. I was, in fact, indebted to a boy named Drew, a known sneak, for the explanation, in itself difficult to comprehend. It was, that Mr. Rippenger was losing patience because he had received no money on account of my boarding and schooling. The intelligence filled my head like the buzz of a fly, occupying my meditations without leading them anywhere. I spoke on the subject to Heriot.

‘Oh, the sordid old brute!’ said he of Mr. Rippenger. ‘How can he know the habits and feelings of gentlemen? Your father’s travelling, and can’t write, of course. My father’s in India, and I get a letter from him about once a year. We know one another, and I know he’s one of the best officers in the British army. It’s just the way with schoolmasters and tradesmen: they don’t care whether a man is doing his duty to his country; he must attend to them, settle accounts with them—hang them! I’ll send you money, dear little lad, after I’ve left.’

He dispersed my brooding fit. I was sure my father was a fountain of gold, and only happened to be travelling. Besides, Heriot’s love for Julia, whom none of us saw now, was an incessant distraction. She did not appear at prayers. She sat up in the gallery at church, hardly to be spied. A letter that Heriot flung over the gardenwall for her was returned to him, open, enclosed by post.

‘A letter for Walter Heriot,’ exclaimed Mr. Boddy, lifting it high for Heriot to walk and fetch it; and his small eyes blinked when Heriot said aloud on his way, cheerfully,

‘A letter from the colonel in India!’

Boddy waited a minute, and then said, ‘Is your father in good health?’

Heriot’s face was scarlet. At first he stuttered, ‘My father!—I hope so! What have you in common with him, sir?’

‘You stated that the letter was from your father,’ said Boddy.

‘What if it is, sir?’

‘Oh, in that case, nothing whatever to me.’

They talked on, and the youngest of us could perceive Boddy was bursting with devilish glee. Heriot got a letter posted to Julia. It was laid on his desk, with her name scratched completely out, and his put in its place. He grew pale and sad, but did his work, playing his games, and only letting his friends speak to him of lessons and play. His counsel to me was, that in spite of everything, I was always to stick to my tasks and my cricket. His sadness he could not conceal. He looked like an old lamp with a poor light in it. Not a boy in the school missed seeing how Boddy’s flat head perpetually had a side-eye on him.

All this came to an end. John Salter’s father lived on the other side of the downs, and invited three of us to spend a day at his house. The selection included Heriot, Saddlebank, and me. Mr. Rippenger, not liking to refuse Mr. Salter, consented to our going, but pretended that I was too young. Salter said his mother and sisters very much wished to make my acquaintance. We went in his father’s carriage. A jolly wind blew clouds and dust and leaves: I could have fancied I was going to my own father. The sensation of freedom had a magical effect on me, so that I was the wildest talker of them all. Even in the middle of the family I led the conversation; and I did not leave Salter’s house without receiving an assurance from his elder sisters that they were in love with me. We drove home—back to prison, we called it—full of good things, talking of Salter’s father’s cellar of wine and of my majority Burgundy, which I said, believing it was true, amounted to twelve hundred dozen; and an appointment was made for us to meet at Dipwell Farm, to assist in consuming it, in my honour and my father’s. That matter settled, I felt myself rolling over and over at a great rate, and clasping a juniper tree. The horses had trenched from the chalk road on to the downs. I had been shot out. Heriot and Salter had jumped out—Heriot to look after me; but Saddlebank and the coachman were driving at a great rate over the dark slope. Salter felt some anxiety concerning his father’s horses, so we left him to pursue them, and walked on laughing, Heriot praising me for my pluck.

‘I say good-bye to you to-night, Richie,’ said he. ‘We’re certain to meet again. I shall go to a military school. Mind you enter a cavalry regiment when you’re man enough. Look in the Army List, you’ll find me there. My aunt shall make a journey and call on you while you’re at Rippenger’s, so you shan’t be quite lonely.’

To my grief, I discovered that Heriot had resolved he would not return to school.

‘You’ll get thrashed,’ he said; ‘I can’t help it: I hope you’ve grown tough by this time. I can’t stay here. I feel more like a dog than a man in that house now. I’ll see you back safe. No crying, young cornet!’

We had lost the sound of the carriage. Heriot fell to musing. He remarked that the accident took away from Mr. Salter the responsibility of delivering him at Surrey House, but that he, Heriot, was bound, for Mr. Salter’s sake, to conduct me to the doors; an unintelligible refinement of reasoning, to my wits. We reached our town between two and three in the morning. There was a ladder leaning against one of the houses in repair near the school. ‘You are here, are you!’ said Heriot, speaking to the ladder: ‘you ‘ll do me a service—the last I shall want in the neighbourhood.’ He managed to poise the ladder on his shoulder, and moved forward.

‘Are we going in through the window?’ I asked, seeing him fix the ladder against the school-house wall.

He said, ‘Hush; keep a look-out.’

I saw him mount high. When he tapped at the window I remembered it was Julia’s; I heard her cry out inside. The window rose slowly. Heriot spoke:

‘I have come to say good-bye to you, Julia, dear girl: don’t be afraid of me.’ She answered inaudibly to my ears. He begged her to come to him at once, only once, and hear him and take his hand. She was timid; he had her fingers first, then her whole arm, and she leaned over him. ‘Julia, my sweet, dear girl,’ he said; and she:

‘Heriot, Walter, don’t go—don’t go; you do not care for me if you go. Oh, don’t go.’

‘We’ve come to it,’ said Heriot.

She asked why he was not in bed, and moaned on:

‘Don’t go.’ I was speechless with wonder at the night and the scene. They whispered; I saw their faces close together, and Heriot’s arms round her neck. ‘Oh, Heriot, my darling, my Walter,’ she said, crying, I knew by the sound of her voice.

‘Tell me you love me,’ said Heriot.

‘I do, I do, only don’t go,’ she answered.

‘Will you love me faithfully?’

‘I will; I do.’

‘Say, “I love you, Walter.”’