Gerald and his friend the Doctor. A record of the experiences of certain young men ... With an introductory notice by Lord Lyttelton

Front matter

GERALD AND HIS FRIEND THE DOCTOR; A $wmfo of \\z €*prkntcs of Certain goring Ifeit. BY The Rev. HENRY SOLLY, Author of " Gonzaga : a Dramatic Tale of. Florence;" " The Development of Religious Life in the Modern Christian Church," "Working Men's Clubs and Institutes," &c. WITH AN INTRODUCTORY NOTICE BY LORD LYTTELTON. $tt ®fa0 HolttttUS. VOL. I. LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 1874. PRINTED BY WJTHERBY AND CO., newman's court, cornhilLi, and middle row place, holborn. Jtx the Wzmtxvy us FREDERICK DENISON MAURICE FROM WHOSE MEMORABLE WORDS AND DEEDS, ABOVE ALL FROM WHOSE CHRIST-LIKE SPIRIT AND LIFE, MEN — WHILE LEARNING THEIR NEED OF DELIVERANCE (-from S*kifisbiuss an!) gijitsitalitg, from Jbolatrg ana Jfear, Jfrora Isolation: anb |)rib.e — HAVE LEARNED ALSO TO FIND AND TO LOVE THEIR DELIVERER, "THESE EXPERIENCES" OF TEMPTED, STRIVING, SINNING, SUFFERING, BUT IMMORTAL SOULS, §tr* Instribto, WITH HONOUR, AND LOVE, AND HOPE, BY THE AUTHOR.

TO THE RIGHT HON. LORD LYTTELTON, D.C.L., K.CM.G. Dear Lord Lyttelton, None know better than yourself that the present is an age in which many struggles are going on for moral and social reforms. The humble part I have endeavoured to take in some of these has brought me the privilege of your friendship, and the very valuable aid of your personal and social influence during many past years. But among all the efforts being made to promote such reforms I doubt if there are any of greater importance than those which aim at purifying and elevating the sacred relationships that exist between the two sexes, and thereby striking at the root of those great social evils and terrible problems which, after eighteen centuries of professing Christianity, still so grievously afflict and pollute society. For nearly forty years I have had it on my conscience to do something, however imperfectly, towards this object ; and the following "Record" is the contribution, prepared amid the intervals of a busy life, which I have at last to offer. 1 am well aware of its defects, but as we journey on we learn that it is no use waiting till we can accomplish our appointed work perfectly, but that we must just do our best, leaving other people and a good Providence to make the most of our contribution which its merits or demerits permit.

Having regard, however, to the delicate and difficult nature of some of the subjects that had to be dealt with, it was natural that I should seek your lordship's countenance and support in this, as in sundry other attempts to be of use, believing that your opinion would be valued, and your name and character would be serviceable in recommending the book and its main objects to the world. Of VI course some people would prefer that social and many other evils were left to flourish without those protests which call attention to their existence. But I have long felt, deeply and painfully, that such avoidance and false refinement largely foster these iniquities ; and that true delicacy, as well as moral faithfulness, demand an outspoken denunciation or exposure of those works of darkness which shrink before the light.

Chapter I

" 0 what a jolly row 1 " exclaimed a fat little urchin, who was tumbling along in a race with the rest of Mr. Botherum's pupils, as they rushed out of the school-room immediately after dinner. " What's it all about, Tommy Diddler ? " asked one of the rush. " Oh, there's going to be a fight." "Hush, you young beggar," growled an older boy, "or I'll knock your head off — don't you see old Priggins there ? " "Between Gerry Arlington," continued the fat little boy to his companion, in a lower key, "and the new fellow, Willy Grantham. I am so glad ; Willy, you'll see, will thrash Gerry all to shivers." "But I like Gerry," objected the lad addressed. " Oh, he's very good for games and stories, and that sort of thing, but you see he fancies he is so precious grand because he lives in a fine house and his father keeps dogs and gardeners.

He's always giving himself airs, and cocking it over all the little chaps that he thinks he can thrash — and Willy's bigger than he, though he's in a lower form, don't ye see — and he won't stand Gerry's cockiness^-so the big fellows said they should fight it out, and there's to be a ring behind the gardens : oh ! here it is, and there they are ! my eyes, what jolly fun ! " " I say," said one of the older boys, nudging his companion, " isn't Gerry Arlington in a funk, that's all ! " "All the more game of him," replied his friend, "to come up so smart to the scratch. It'll be a stunner this time, oh golly! " Stripped to the shirt sleeves, there the combatants certainly stood, very unequally matched to look at. Willy Grantham was half a head taller than his antagonist, who, however, looked as lithe and active as a young tiger.

But a deadly paleness over spread the smaller boy's delicately-cut features. It was evidently no satisfaction to him to be set up there to pommell and be pom melled by his red-faced, sturdy, honest-looking foe. Had the truth been told, Master Gerry probably was wishing he had been more considerate and forbearing towards the new-comer, and not claimed rights of dominion over him, which he could not sustain without a battle. However, there was no help for it now ; any amount of torture could be welcomed rather than disgrace. But the worst of Gerry's sufferings, if he was suffering, were over when the signal was given, and the blows began to fall fast and furious on either side. Gerry was too proud and sensitive, as well as ambitious, to be generally popular, but those of the boys with whom he was on familiar terms, and the little ones whom he patronized and protected, loved him greatly ; some believed him to be a genius, a poet, a small hero of some sort, and worshipped him accordingly.

No doubt he could be very fascinating, but he certainly did give himself airs. So opinions were divided in the "ring." The majority longed to see him have a good " setting down," " to take the conceit out of him ; " many of his equals longed to see a stop put to his impudent assumptions of authority over the lower forms. But the little hearts of many of the smaller boys ached to see their favourite so unequally matched, and after the fight had fairly begun, nearly all, even Willy's own backers and Gerry's strongest opponents, admired the desperate pluck with which the smaller boy took his thrashing, and the daring activity with which, regardless of punishment, he flung himself at his antagonist's face and leaped within the massive guard of Willy's long, stout arms. That doughty young champion fought well and kept himself cool.

There was nothing fierce or vindictive in his heart, but he knocked his antagonist about somewhat as the windmill did the knight of La Mancha. " Give in, Gerry, give in ! " at length shouted several voices, as the blood came streaming from his face, and he was being gradually forced further and further back. But Gerry had no idea of " giving in ; " he had never been beaten yet, and yield now he wouldn't, in spite of the mauling he was getting. So at last some of the elder boys admiring the little one's "game," and satisfied that he would not again attempt unlawful usurpation over boys bigger than him self, rather apprehensive also that the master might find them out and make a row, in which case they would all be punished together, interfered at length, and separated the panting pugilists.

It was not too soon. Gerry was getting faint. Soon he was conscious of being treated with unwonted kindness by some of the upper form, and being tenderly washed at the pump. Next, he found himself carried off to bed, while the doctor was sent for, as one of the servants got alarmed on seeing the condition of her favourite, and straightway "peached." However, no serious consequences ensued to him beyond two black eyes, and an ugly gash over one of them. The following day Gerry appeared in the playground with said blackeyes, shook hands with Willy, who was far from wishing to insist on any claim to victory, but with generous and awkward good humour accepted his late foe as on equal terms. So as the masters in their hearts agreed with the upper form in believing that the fight had been a needful check to young Arlington's conceit and schemes of usurpation, and not having extricated themselves from the barbarous notions of the necessity for occasional pugilistic encounters (theoretically forbidden at Beachum) the upper form escaped with a well-feigned severe reprimand and things resumed their wonted course.

Gerry, to his great satisfaction, found himself however considerably less snubbed thenceforth by the elder boys and more popular generally. To show one's self thoroughly plucky was the certain road to favour in the Beachum academy. In the meantime Gerry had learnt a useful lesson, and had just enough common sense to act upon it. But from that day he never trembled at the thought of fighting. He had gone through the worst of it, had come out of it much happier than he went in, and, as far as that bugbear was concerned, found peace. Probably, also, this fight took a deal of conceit out of him, and helped to turn his love of dominion into a healthier channel. It was a few days after the battle just recorded that, as two of the elder boys were lolling together over the palings in the course of a half-holiday, one of them nodded to an athletic youth who was leading a pony along the road that ran near the playground.

On the pony sat a young lady. The youth wielded a thick stick in a martial style, had a Robin Hood's feather in a very jaunty cap on his head, and swaggered along the road, "as if he were saying to every one he met," observed a Beachum usher, " who the devil's afraid of you ? " " Pray, who's your swashbuckler friend ? " asked the boy (fresh from the perusal of " Peveril of the Peak ") who didn't nod to this youth, of the one that did. -* Oh, don't you know him ?" was the reply. " He's the parson's son— Harry Fortescue— lives up at the Rectory over the hill there, and that's his half-sister— a regular charmer, she. The jolliest, pluckiest young rascal, is the male animal, / ever met with. I never saw such a young beggar for a row. He did something the other night, Stephen " (the boot and shoe cleaner to the establish ment) "was telling me, which I confess I should have shirked myself, and you don't give me credit, Jack, for funking much, do you ?

" Jack having expressed a satisfactory opinion on that point, and inquired further particulars, the first speaker continued thus : — " Why, you know there was a lot of gipsies came into the town the other night, and squatted among the low Irish in that beastly hole all down by Providence Row, and Meg Cribb's yard." " I know," nodded Jack, complacently. " Well, the first night they were there they let their donkeys into several gentlemen's paddocks, and among others, into the lawn of the Rectory. Young Fortescue, coming down betimes in the morning, before the gipsies were awake, found Balaam among the flower-beds, soon heard where he came from, and, by George ! he marches my long-eared gentleman off to the pound, right through the very thick of the gipsies and Providence Row ! There they stood, boys and men, showing their teeth at him, and grasp ing their cudgels, but the devil-a-bit did he care.

And he went. right through them all, got the donkey safe in the pound, and marched back again, as coolly as if he had been in his dad's garden." " Were the scamps cowed, do you think ? " " Partly that, and partly that sort of animal has a great respect for pluck. But with a curious kind of chivalry, while they wouldn't set on him in a mob, they determined to punish him a bit in fair play. So they made a ring as he came back, set one of their biggest lads before him, and invited him to strip." " He thanked them, and whistled for the police, like a gentle man ?" " Not he ! The chance was delicious to his soul. He cheerfully handed his hat and coat to a girl in the crowd— no doubt a gipsy belle— and, Stephen says, went into the gipsy champion like 'two-and-a-stunner.' Stephen says it was smashing work for ten minutes, and then they dragged their man away, patted Fortescue on the back, and swore he was the pluckiest young bloke they had clapped eyes on for a moon's dance, asked him to let them drink his health, and cheered till the street rang again, when he forked out half-a-crown and wished them good morning.

Wasn't it a rum go ? " "What a lark!" rejoined Jack, thoughtfully. "Why, it must have been almost better fun than our mill here the other day!" "Aye! I was rather sorry to see poor little Gerry knocked about so. But it'll do him good, Jack— it will. Yet he is a wonderful young chap, and I love him— I can't tell you how I love that young quiz. He's game to the back-bone, and tells such first-rate stories at night. But Fortescue's the fellow to back, you know, if you come to that." Here the talk was interrupted by an appeal to help make up sides for cricket, and nothing more appears to be known of any of the parties except two, who, however, turn up again four years later— at which period the following chapter commences, during the pleasant summer-time osthe year of grace 1831.

Chapter II

" Well, you be'ant a-going to 'ave the 'osses no how, and that's all about it, I never seed either on you afore" — and so saying the exas perated ostler suddenly wrenched the key of the stable door from the grasp of a muscular young gentleman in a green riding-coat, who instantly prepared to punish that faithful functionary's imper tinence by tucking up his coat sleeves, and letting drive a formid able fist at the object of his wrath. But the Fates were merciful, interposing in the shape of the young pugilist's companion, a remarkably handsome, bright-eyed youth, with delicate but classical features and wavy chestnut locks, broad shoulders and active limbs, singularly graceful of figure, but not nearly so tall as his companion. This individual caught his friend's arm, exclaiming, " Nonsense, Harry, don't make a fool of yourself — the fellow " " Deserves a deuced good thrashing," roared the indignant Rugbeian, fresh from the well-fought campaigns, which, as was remarked in the last chapter, were the frequent exercises of all our public schools thirty years ago.

"Didn't his master promise us the prads — isn't it our last chance ? — confound the beggar ! Isn't he diddling us now because those dirty young Eton prigs have tipped him five shillings to keep the door locked and swear the brutes are out, that they may have 'em fresh for a lark to Greenwich ?" " I tell you they be'ant there— don't I ?" snarled the ostler. " Confound you ! then what is there ? " "Why, you see there be a brood mare as must be kept quiet." " A likely joke, you lying dog — give up his two best loose boxes to an old mare ! " " Ah, but her foal's with her, may be." (Green-coat in a towering rage) — "May be! you're accursed . Never mind, Neddy," he concluded, with a sudden change of manner, as the guilty horse-keeper edged away with hanging down head and arm ready to act on the defensive, ludicrously uncertain whether to show fight or ask pardon, "you see I know all about it, you dummy, and you'd go down at the third round, but I won't cost you your place ; so there's a tizzy to drink our healths for all the names I've called you, you lying old villain, and don't expect to see us any more.

Good-night, my hearty ! " So saying, he flipped a sixpence good-humouredly into the man's hat, and taking his friend's arm walked leisurely out osthe livery stables yard, not without looking regretfully over his shoulder and muttering, " I should have liked to knock a little honesty into him, though, my Gerry." "You are just as bad as ever, Harry. What is the good of getting into rows with all these blackguards ?" Harry faced round, planted himself firmly before his friend, and exclaimed in an injured-innocence tone — " Gerald, when shall I have convinced you that man is bom to fight ? Don't you see the great work— — ." "I see the great crowd we shall soon have round us, if we don't walk on. I do believe the ragamuffins, disappointed in your knocking under to the ostler, are expecting the gratification of a set-to between us."

Which comical idea sent Master Harry off into such a hearty roar of laughter, that the grim lookers-on, just turned out at the end of their day's work from a neighbouring foundry, hopeless now of hostilities, wheeled round disgusted, and agreed among themselves that " them ere dandy nobs were but white-livered monkies arter all." "Well, my boy, what shall it be ?" said Harry, as they dawdled away. " It's our last night together," he added, looking wistfully at his companion, " for many a day, so as we can't have our beloved steeds, shall we try some other stables ? or (looking at his watch1) it's just six, suppose we get on the Woodford Coach, and have a ramble through Epping Forest, or rush to Searles, and pull up to Hammersmith, if the tide serves ? " "That's the ticket, Harry! Nothing like the river!"

(For thirty years ago, Father Thames was sweet above Westminster Bridge, and not swarming with steamers.) So the two friends walked briskly along from the neighbourhood of Finsbury Square to Cheapside, when behold ! they espied a queer-looking, cumbrous vehicle like a corpulent gig that had thrown out a wen on its right side — advantage of which deformity being taken by a fast hackney-coachman, who was perched thereon, and now lifted his arm to our^admiring youths. " Cab, sir — cab ? New cabriolet, sir ?" " What on earth is that ?" quoth Gerry. " Why, one of the new cabriolets, and precious convenient they are, Gerry — spin away twice as fast as the old jarvies. Come along. It would take us three-quarters of an hour, at least, to walk to Searles', and an hour in a jarvey." So in they jumped, and scrambled along at a wonderful pace up Cheapside, and over Blackfriars Bridge, to the no small edification of His Majesty's liege subjects, who had not yet become sufficiently accustomed to these new and rapid whirligigs to let them pass without sarcastic observations.

" Halt ! " — and the cab stumbled up to the famous boatyard, where enterprising metropolitan youth once were wont to betake themselves (perhaps still are) in large numbers at various hours, according to the tide. " Under three miles— two shillings the fare ; but drove well. Give him half-a-crown, Gerry," quoth Harry, as he sprung forwards to secure his favourite boat. But Jehu hadn't driven hackney carriages for ten years without learning what England expects of every hackney-coachman and cabman— viz., not a habit of systematic contentment. " Hi ! stop, you sir ! This won't do — my fare's three shillings." " Oh, indeed — very well !" cried Harry, returning, " Give me back the half-crown, then," and he took out his purse. The cab man, rejoicing in his easy and victorious swindle, returned the half-crown, extending his hand for the three shillings.

Harry placed two shillings there instead, saying, with a quiet smile of contempt — " that's your fare. We gave you sixpence extra for driving well. Gerry, take his number. I'm going to summon you, fellow, for overcharging." The man looked as if he could have roasted the young Englander alive, but, measuring his proportions first, got safely on to his seat, then cursed him by all his gods, and lashing his poor brute, shuffled away in a shambling canter, fighting very shy of young gentlemen in green riding-coats for a week afterwards. The river presented an animated scene. Nearly a score of boats had pushed off within the last ten minutes, with every variety of crew, from the simple sculler, and the awkward shop-keeper's apprentice, up to the gallant " eight-oar " of the crack club. The tide was excellent — would be running up for at least two hours longer.

The magnificent towers of Westminster Abbey stood out in grand relief against the western sky, while the declining August sun still shone brilliantly over the majestic stream, as the two rowers, tranquil in all the pride of youth, strength, and happiness, with vigorous strokes glided calmly and swiftly up the stream. " Well, you did him there, my doctor, fairly enough," presently observed Gerry, with a customary reference to his friend's strong propension towards medical researches; "but you are too com bative. I should be miserable if I were always on the edge of a row, as you are." " And yet you took to your fighting kindly enough at old Botherum's, didn't you ?" " No. It knocked a deal of conceit and effeminacy, as well as perhaps some of my cowardice, out of me, but it was always utterly hateful to me."

" You don't say so !" exclaimed Harry, as he turned round on his seat to gaze on his friend with wonder and admiration. " Well, then, I must say I behold you with sentiments akin to respect. To fight as you did, and yet hate it— that's grand. / always liked it." " Ah, but it's not grand to funk it as I did. It wasn't love of peace made me hate it, but sheer cowardice." "Don't believe it; you haven't a shred of the coward in you, Gerry. Now, I'll declare I'll tell you what some of the Beachum fellows said to me that day when you left for good, as the coach went off, and I was almost blubbering— 'There goes the pluckiest fellow for a row with the snobs, or a smasher at foot-balling, we ever did know at Beachum ! ' Don't blush, Gerry, if you tell lies about yourself, I'll convict you. It's your artistic, amiable, quasi angel sort of inner man, that makes you dislike rows."

" Oh, gammon ! You know little about me, Harry, after all " said Gerald rather seriously. "Why, I'd give all the amiable fiddlesticks you ever discerned in me, for one slice of your dare-devil backbone, my doctor. But, hilloa! pull, man, pull, or we shall be under that barge. Ship your oar ! All right, but, it was a near touch," and he wiped the perspiration from his forehead, for it was no joke pulling bow to Harry Fortescue's stroke. " That comes of chattering instead of minding one's business." " We'll pull more gently, for we may as well talk, Gerry. We can't do it this time to-morrow. I want to ask you if you don't thfnk that God meant men to fight — intended it, not as a mere exercise of animal passion, such as impels savage beasts, but as a great means of making a fellow noble — and all that sort of thing ?

Look at the manly virtues called forth by war in all ages — the heroism, courage, fortitude, patience, self-sacrifice ! Why, the noblest qualities of our nature, Gerald, would never have been exhibited without Thermopylæ and Marathon." " Tell it to the Greeks, Harry, on the Stock Exchange ! " "You dare! — You, the Byron -worshipper ! " cried Harry, turning round indignantly. " Spare me, my fighting Bob ! It's the depth of my feelings makes me sardonic, don't you see ? But as to Thermopylæ — cum omnibus aliis — well, those were wars of a defensive, patriotic description. Grand, I grant — " (pause) "but pray, how many Marathons in history compared with barbarous invaders' vic tories ? " " Aye ; but remember, most wars of oppression, my boy, involved wars of resistance too. Besides, it is not merely the having a good cause to fight for, nor getting the victory, I fancy, that does the good ; though, of course, I know a brave soldier is a better man for fighting in a good cause.

It is the having to resist what comes against us to do us mischief — the habit and the power, you see, of overcoming what would otherwise overcome and crush us. Oh, my Gerry ! to be able to give a blow and bear one, that's something worth living for ! Ha, — ha, — yep, — ho ! " and with a laugh and a cheer, he gave two or three vigorous strokes that made the buoyant wherry shoot like a swallow after a fly out of her previous course, and menace another frail skiff in which five young men were labouring untidily along. " Easy ! easy ! " sang out the shrill voice of the small figure who officiated as coxswain, while he started up in alarm. "Sit down, will you !" growled one of their crew, in a surly tone. " Do you want to send us all to the devil at once?" And he put out his hand to give the offending wherry's nose a vicious shove.

"Beg your pardon," cried Fortescue, gaily. "Awkward rowing, now, without a coxswain," quoth the surly young man. "Not a bit of it," rejoined Harry: "our bow oar's a wonderful chap — been coached by the Lord Mayor — got eyes in the back of his head : don't you see ? Pull away, Gerry." The other man answered with a grunt ; the rest looked too fagged and serious to comment either on the joke or the transaction. Gerald now recognised one of the party as a fellow student at the London University, with whom he had become slightly acquainted, and nods were exchanged. "A pleasant night for a row" — "I believe you" — and so they parted. " Did you ever see such a contrast as that bilious chap who spoke to us, and the young fellow with the curly hair, behind him ? " quoth Fortescue, as they pulled off.

" I don't know the two behind," answered Gerald, " but the curly-pate is named Featherstone — comes to our classes." " I like his looks. Is he the right stuff?" " Seems idle, and too fond of larking. I think I've seen the others too, among the college medicals, perhaps. But what an intensely comical little animal was he of the tiller ! Should you call them gentlemen ? " " Yes, of a sort ; but if you are not bored, let me finish what I was saying." " Provided you pull steady " "Aye; aye, sir'. What I mean is this " But just at this moment, strains of music came floating up the breeze. " Listen !" exclaimed Gerald : " how beautiful ! " and he seemed lost in the delicious enjoyment. No chance for reflections on war then. Presently an eight-oared cutter came sweeping round the point of Chelsea Reach.

Gay ribbands floated from the fair occupants of cushioned benches, The stalwart young rowers looked over grim mustachios, alternately at the bonnets and at their work. The music in the stern sheets came soft and clear across the sparking waters. " So will we sweep up the stream of life, Harry, to Fame, and Love, and Victory," whispered Gerald, as the gallant craft rushed on its way, and was lost in the distance. But Harry answered not and once again they bent to their oars. " Who do you think they were ? " said Gerald. " Guardsmen, going up to the Star and Garter, to supper." " But the ladies ? " " Ladies ! Ugh ! " Gerald turned up his nose, disgusted, but Harry was now at work in a way that required all his companion's attention, so they pulled on silently for about half-an-hour, each absorbed in his own reflections."

" Your childhood must have been a very jolly one, Gerry," at length observed Fortescue, with unwonted deliberation. " What with those grounds, and the dogs, and the pony, &c." "You may say that, Harry! and then the pond, and the boa-t, the dogs and pony, and the carpenter's shop ! oh, Jupiter ! they were blessed days. I could wander about the grounds and fields at dear old Hartland all day long, like a regular young nincompoop — acting the stories I read, or building arbours on the ground, and castles in the air." " But didn't you want companions ?" " Not a bit. I had lots of them when I went to school — rather too many sometimes. But I had brother Richard, you know?" " True ; 1 forgot him." "And cousins often used to come and stay at Hartland House. And then we acted plays ! Oh, didn't we do it in style ! ' Bombastes Furioso ' was nothing to us !