Pale but unmoved, Owen got away, and walked straight to Dr. Rowlands’s door. The thing was unheard of, and the boys were amazed at his temerity, for the Doctor was to all their imaginations a regular Deus ex machina. That afternoon, again, Barker was publicly caned, with the threat that the next offence would be followed by instant and public expulsion. This punishment he particularly dreaded, because he was intended for the army, and he well knew that it might ruin his prospects. The consequence was, that Owen never suffered from him again, although he daily received a shower of oaths and curses, which he passed over with silent contempt.
Now, I do not recommend any boy to imitate Owen in this matter. It is a far better and braver thing to bear bullying with such a mixture of spirit and good-humour, as in time to disarm it. But Owen was a peculiar boy, and remember he had no redress. He bore for a time, until he felt that he must have the justice and defence, without which it would have been impossible for him to continue at Roslyn School.
But why, you ask, didn’t he tell the monitors? Unfortunately at Roslyn the monitorial system was not established. Although it was a school of 250 boys, the sixth-form, with all their privileges, had no prerogative of authority. They hadn’t the least right to interfere, because no such power had been delegated to them, and therefore they felt themselves merely on a par with the rest, except for such eminence as their intellectual superiority gave them. The consequence was, that any interference from them would have been of a simply individual nature, and was exerted very rarely. It would have done Owen no more good to tell a sixth-form boy than to tell any other boy; and as he was not a favourite, he was not likely to find any champion to fight his battles or maintain his just rights.
All this had happened before Eric’s time, and he heard it from his best friend Russell. His heart clave to that boy. They became friends at once by a kind of electric sympathy; the first glance of each at the other’s face prepared the friendship, and every day of acquaintance more firmly cemented it. Eric could not have had a better friend; not so clever as himself not so diligent as Owen, not so athletic as Duncan, or so fascinating as Montagu, Russell combined the best qualities of them all. And, above all, he acted invariably from the highest principle; he presented that noblest of all noble spectacles—one so rare that many think it impossible—the spectacle of an honourable, pure-hearted, happy boy, who, as his early years speed by, is ever growing in wisdom and stature, and favour with God and man.
“Did that brute Barker ever bully you as he bullies me?” said Eric one day, as he walked on the sea-shore with his friend.
“Yes,” said Russell. “I slept in his dormitory when I first came, and he has often made me so wretched that I have flung myself on my knees at night in pretence of prayer, but really to get a little quiet time to cry like a child.”
“And when was it he left off at last?”
“Why, you know, Upton in the fifth is my cousin, and very fond of me; he heard of it, though I didn’t say anything about it, and told Barker that if ever he caught him at it, he would thrash him within an inch of his life; and that frightened him for one thing. Besides, Duncan, Montagu, and other friends of mine, began to cut him in consequence, so he thought it best to leave off.”
“How is it, Russell, that fellows stand by and let him do it?”
“You see,” said Russell, “Barker is an enormously strong fellow, and that makes the younger chaps, whom he fags, look up to him as a great hero. And there isn’t one in our part of the school who can thrash him. Besides, people never do interfere, you know—at least not often. I remember once seeing a street-row in London, at which twenty people stood by, and let a drunken beast of a husband strike his wife without ever stirring to defend her.”
“Well,” sighed Eric, “I hope my day of deliverance will come soon, for I can’t stand it much longer, and ‘tell’ I won’t, whatever Owen may do.”
Eric’s deliverance came very soon. It was afternoon; the boys were playing at different games in the green playground, and he was waiting for his turn at rounders. At this moment Barker lounged up, and calmly snatching off Eric’s cap, shied it over Dr. Rowlands’s garden-wall. “There, go and fetch that.”
“You blackguard,” said Eric, standing irresolutely for a few minutes; and then with tears in his eyes began to climb the wall. It was not very high, but boys were peremptorily forbidden to get over it under any circumstances, and Eric broke the rule not without trepidation. However, he dropped down on one of Mrs. Rowlands’s flower-beds, got his cap in a hurry, and clambered back undiscovered.
He thought this would have satisfied his tormentor for one day; but Barker was in a mischievous mood, so he again came up to Eric, and calling out, “Who’ll have a game at football?” again snatched the cap, and gave it a kick; Eric tried to recover it, but every time he came up Barker gave it a fresh kick, and finally kicked it into a puddle.
Eric stood still, trembling with rage, while his eyes lightened scorn and indignation. “You hulking, stupid, cowardly bully,”—here Barker seized him, and every word brought a tremendous blow on the head; but blind with passion Eric went on—“you despicable bully, I won’t touch that cap again; you shall pick it up yourself. Duncan, Russell, here! do help me against this intolerable brute.”
Several boys ran up, but they were all weaker than Barker, who besides was now in a towering fury, and kicked Eric unmercifully.
“Leave him alone,” shouted Duncan, seizing Barker’s arm; “what a confounded bully you are—always plaguing some one.”
“I shall do as I like; mind your own business,” growled Barker, roughly shaking himself free from Duncan’s hand.
“Barker, I’ll never speak to you again from this day,” said Montagu, turning on his heel, with a look of withering contempt.
“What do I care? puppy, you want taking down too,” was the reply, and some more kicks at Eric followed.
“Barker, I won’t stand this any longer,” said Russell, “so look out,” and grasping Barker by the collar, he dealt him a swinging blow on the face.
The bully stood in amazement, and dropped Eric, who fell on the turf nearly fainting, and bleeding at the nose. But now Russell’s turn came, and in a moment Barker, who was twice his weight, had tripped him up—when he found himself collared in an iron grasp.
There had been an unobserved spectator of the whole scene, in the person of Mr. Williams himself, and it was his strong hand that now gripped Barker’s shoulder. He was greatly respected by the boys, who all knew his tall handsome figure by sight, and he frequently stood a quiet and pleased observer of their games. The boys in the playground came crowding round, and Barker in vain struggled to escape. Mr. Williams held him firmly, and said in a calm voice, “I have just seen you treat one of your school-fellows with the grossest violence. It makes me blush for you, Roslyn boys,” he continued, turning to the group that surrounded him, “that you can even for a moment stand by unmoved, and see such things done. You know that you despise any one who tells a master, yet you allow this bullying to go on, and that, too, without any provocation. Now, mark; it makes no difference that the boy who has been hurt is my own son; I would have punished this scoundrel whoever it had been, and I shall punish him now.” With these words, he lifted the riding-whip which he happened to be carrying, and gave Barker by far the severest castigation he had ever undergone; the boys declared that Mr. Rowlands’s “swishings” were nothing to it.