"I learned the knack at a private tutor's long ago," answered Reginald.

"I thought it a bore at first, but he showed us how to do it properly, and I very soon found the advantage of what he insisted on."

Power supported Reginald in this and many other respects, when he held out boldly against what his straightforward, honest mind at once saw to be bad practices. He made enemies by so doing, but he also made friends; the enemies he made were the least worthy, and the friends the most worthy of his school-fellows--many of them becoming and continuing firm and fast ones.

Reginald very soon made acquaintance with old Harry Cannon, the waterman at Cuckoo Weir. Fully thirty fellows were either standing on Lower Steps or in punts, without a rag on them, ready to plunge into the clear stream; or were swimming about by themselves, spluttering and coughing; or were being dangled at the end of old Harry's blue pole. Reginald had thought that it was necessary to go, at all events, in the first place, to old Harry. Many of the fellows, not knowing that he could swim, tried to frighten him; but, without much ceremony, he doffed his clothes, and in he went with a "rat's header" at once, and swam boldly up the stream, stemming it l.u.s.tily; then he turned a sommersault, trod water, and went through a variety of manoeuvres to which the youngsters present were but little accustomed.

"You'll do, sir; you'll do," shouted old Harry, quite delighted with the spirited way in which he took to the water; "a Newfoundland dog couldn't have done it better."

Of course, on the first "pa.s.sing day," Reginald--who was to be met by Power, Anson, and some others of his new friends, in a boat--started off for Middle Steps.

The masters stood ready. Reginald jumped into the punt, and, with several others, was carried out into mid-stream. Several were ordered to plunge overboard before him. Most of them went in with "footers,"

and now two or three were ordered to come out and take further lessons from old Harry. Reginald waited patiently till his turn came, and then overboard he went with a fine "rat's header," and downwards he dived.

He did not come up. The masters were alarmed, and shouted to old Harry to look for him.

"What can have become of the boy?" exclaimed one of them, in real alarm.

Suddenly, not far off, up came Reginald, with a big stone in his hand.

"All right!" he exclaimed. "I wanted to bring a trophy from the bottom;" and, depositing it on Middle Steps, away he swam in good style to Lower Steps. Just touching them, away he went--now swimming with one arm, now with the other, now with both hands like a dog, now turning on his back and striking out with his feet.

"You'll do, and do famously!" exclaimed the master, who was not famed for bestowing unnecessary compliments on any one.

Reginald came out with no little feeling of allowable pride, and, dressing quickly, stepped on board the boat, when, taking the yoke-lines in a knowing manner, he steered away for Bargemen's Bridge, where the stream once more joins the river.

Reginald at once threw himself into boating most zealously. He was always on the water, practising away, and soon became as proficient with oars as with sculls--his great ambition being to belong to an eight-oar.

He and Power took a lock-up between them, for which they paid five pounds; and though they liked it very much, they agreed that it was not half so much fun as their boating in old days at Osberton, with Toby Tubb as c.o.xswain. Reginald did not neglect cricket, however; but as he was still numbered among the Lower boys he could only belong to the Sixpenny Club.

The playing-fields at Eton are divided between different clubs. The boys subscribe to one or the other according to their position in the school. Above the Sixpenny, to which the entrance is only one shilling, is the Lower Club, to which those in the Fifth Form belong who are considered not to play well enough to belong to the Upper Club. To the Upper Club the clever and all the first-rate players alone belong. The grand cricketing time is "after six," when, in the playing-fields, the b.a.l.l.s are flying about as thickly as in a general action, or, at all events, as at "Lord's" on practising days; while, especially at the great matches in the Upper Club, the non-players lie on the turf, indulging largely in Bigaroon cherries and other fruits in season, and making their remarks on the game.

Such is the every-day Eton life in which Reginald found himself placed.

There was abundance of occupation to pa.s.s the time, and yet no very salient events worthy of description. After he had been there about a fortnight, he found himself apportioned, by the captain of his house, to a master who had already another f.a.g. That f.a.g, Cross, had been all his school-life at Eton, and was well accustomed to the work, so thought nothing of it; but when Reginald first found himself ordered to perform some menial office, he could not help his spirit rising in rebellion; but he soon conquered the feeling, the absurdity of which he acknowledged to himself, and he at once set about his task with a cheerful countenance and willing hands. The out-of-door f.a.gging went more against the grain, as he did not like to be sent here or there by any stranger about some trifle, when he wanted to be doing something else; but he soon got reconciled to that also, with the reflection that all Eton fellows had to go through it.

Cross and he got on very well together. They were not great friends, but they never quarrelled. Their master, Coventry, was good-natured, though strict in having the duties they owed him performed, and his orders obeyed.

Reginald was talking over Coventry's character with Power, and observed--"I would fifty times rather serve a strict master like him than one of your easy-going, idle fellows, who all of a sudden takes it into his head that he will have everything in apple-pie order, and thrashes you because you do not know what he wants."

"Certainly," answered Power. "When I first came I had a master who never by any chance was in the same mind two days together. He would have different things for breakfast and tea, and everything in his room arranged differently. He kept my mind on a continual stretch to guess what he would want, till he made me very nearly as mad as himself. At last I informed him that I would do anything that he told me, but that I could not undertake to guess his wishes. He could not see the reasonableness of my arguments, and so I at length gave up any attempt to please him--he of course never being satisfied; and thus we went on till the end of the half."

What with observation, conversation, and his own personal experience, Reginald daily gained a larger amount of knowledge of the world in which he was destined to move--not of the bad which was taking place, but of the way to conduct himself in it.

STORY FOUR, CHAPTER ONE.

STORY FOUR--THE CREW OF THE ROSE.

A crew of Johnians were rowing down the Cam on a fine summer day, in their own boat Two of them were freshmen--sixth form boys in manners and pursuits; the c.o.xswain had entered on his third year, and was reading for honours. These were English youths. The fourth--Morgan ap Tydvill--was from Wales, a pleasant, companionable fellow, proud of his country, proud of his own family in particular, and proud of the boat, of which he was part owner; generous and friendly, but very choleric, though easily calmed down. The fifth was Gerald O'Mackerry, of Irish genealogy, as his name intimates, and his patronymic was a subject of much harmless pride with him. These two latter personages were in their second year.

For some time the four rowers bent earnestly to their oars, the c.o.xswain doing the princ.i.p.al part of the talking work; but as the stream carried the boat along, and there was no necessity for constant pulling, they at times restrained their arms to let their tongues run free. The chatting commenced thus:--

"We haven't given a name to the boat yet."

"Well, I vote for the `Hose.'"

"I think the `shamrock' sounds well," said O'Mackerry.

"The Leek," was Ap Tydvill's suggestion.

"`_Leek_!'--an unlucky name!" observed Green, the c.o.xswain, who, though a gentlemen and a scholar, was sadly addicted to punning; but they were all of Saint John's College, and therefore punsters by prescription.

This bad pun let out a good deal of punning; when it ceased to flow, the original subject was renewed.

"Will the Trinity boat beat us next month? They have a choice crew, all in capital condition, and heavy men. O'Mack is the only twelve stone man here," (all gownsmen, you know, are _men_, however boyish in years and appearance), "and Tyd is such a little fellow!"

"I'm five feet seven," replied he, rather snappishly; "and I can tell you that the mean height of a man's stature is but five feet four.

(Murmurs of dissent.) O'Mack is about ten inches above the standard; but I'll back a man of my own height (drawing himself up majestically) against him for walking, jumping, running, fighting, wrestling, swimming, throwing a bar, or rowing a long distance--if he have my breadth of chest and shoulders, and such an arm as this," displaying a limb as hard and muscular as that of a blacksmith. By his own estimate he was of the perfect size and form.

"In wrestling nimble, and in running swift; Well made to strike, to leap, to throw, to lift."

His vanity, however, though quizzed unmercifully, was not humiliated by any detected failure in his bodily proportions, which he submitted to measurement. The circ.u.mference of his arm and wrist was considerable-- the whole limb and his chest brawny, hirsute, and muscular.

"I'm not afraid of Trinity," shouted he loudly, if not musically.

"_Sumamus longum haustum et fortem haustum, et haustum Omne simul_, as Lord Dufferin said at the Norwegian Symposium, and we shall b.u.mp them."

At the spirited Latin watchword, our Cantabs commenced a chorus, "_Omne simul, omne simul_," etc, etc, which Tyd himself had set to an old Welsh tune of the Bardic days. The effect was thrilling--the c.o.xswain, both sonorously and with a correct ear, singing, "_Omne simul, omne simul_,"

and beating time with his feet against the stretcher, while the rowers, arms and lungs and all, pulled and chorused sympathetically.

This sport lasted about half an hour, and then the question was again mooted, "What name shall we give to the boat?"

Green, the steersman, put the question: "Those who vote for the Rose will say ay--three ays; those who vote for the Shamrock--one; those who vote for the Leek--one."

"The ays have it."

Three triumphant cheers for the majority.

The freshman, quite c.o.c.kahoop at the victory gained over Ap Tydvill and O'Mackerry, ventured to ask the Welshman "how it happened that a leek became the national emblem of Wales?" He readily answered, "When my country was able to lick (query: leek) your country,--I don't include yours, O'Mackerry,--one of our jolly old princes having gained a great victory over one of your Saxon leaders and his army, took up a _chive_, which he found growing somewhere near the Wye, and said, `We'll wear this henceforward as a memorial of this victory.'"

"Pooh, pooh," said the c.o.xswain; "the true version is this. Once upon a time, Wales was so infested with monkeys that the natives were obliged to ask the English to lend them a hand in destroying them. The English generously came to their a.s.sistance; but not perceiving any distinction between the Welsh and the monkeys, they killed a great number of the former, by mistake of course; so, in order to distinguish them, clearly, they requested that the Welshmen would stick a leek in their bonnets."

A running fire (though on water) commenced against poor Monsieur Du Leek--as the bantering youngsters, with profound bows and affected gravity, chose to name Ap Tydvill--of pedigree immeasurable.

However, he recovered his serenity, after an explosion of wrath somewhat dangerous for a moment; and, on the free trade principle, began to quiz some one else.

"Mack," said he, "do you remember the ducking you got _there_, among the _arundines Cami_?" pointing to a deep sedgy part of the river.

"I do; and I had, indeed, a narrow escape from drowning, or rather from being suffocated in the deep sludgy mud."

"How was it?" one of the others asked.

"I was poling a punt along the bank, looking for waterfowl to have a shot, you know, and I pulled myself into the river!"

"You mean, Paddy," said Mr Tydvill, "that you pulled yourself out of the river."