Bert Lloyd's Boyhood: A Story from Nova Scotia

by Madeline Leslie

  CHAPTER XVII.

  THE HOISTING.

  Mrs. Lloyd gave Bert a more than usually affectionate kiss as he startedoff for school next morning, and his father called after him:

  "Remember, Bert, quit you like a man."

  Yet who could blame the little fellow if his heart throbbed withunwonted vigour all that morning, and that he watched the clock's handsanxiously as they crept slowly, but steadily, round the dial, yellowwith age and service.

  Frank had adopted an unconcerned, if not defiant air, which told plainlyenough that he had no idea of submitting quietly to the inevitableordeal. He was a born fighter. Strength, endurance, courage wereexpressed in every line of his body. Indeed, as was seen in the matterof the rows between the Garrison and the National boys, he thought agood lively tussle to be fine fun, and never missed a chance of havingone.

  The two boys were carefully examined by both Dr. Johnston and Mr.Snelling as to the extent of their learning in the course of themorning, and assigned to classes accordingly. They were given the samework: English grammar and history, arithmetic, geography, Latin grammar,&c., and a list given them of the books they would need to procure. Theywere glad to find themselves in the same classes with Ernest Linton, whohad been only half-a-year at the school before them, for he seemed sucha kind, willing, obliging little chap that they both became fond of himat once.

  When recess came he slipped up to Bert and whispered in his ear:

  "Stay in school, and then they can't get at you. Mr. Snelling alwaysstays, and they daren't come in for you."

  "Not a bit of it," said Bert, emphatically. "The sooner it's over thebetter. Come along, Shorty." And they marched bravely out, with Ernestfollowing closely behind.

  As they stepped into the street, they found fifty or more of the boysgathered about the door, evidently awaiting them. Instantly the cry wasraised, "The new boys--hoist them! hoist them!" And half-a-dozen handswere laid upon Bert, who led the van, while others seized Frank toprevent his running away. Bert made no resistance. Neither did Frank,when he saw that his time had not yet come, as they were going to hoistBert first. Clinching his fists, and hunching his shoulders in readinessfor a struggle, he stood in silence watching Bert's fate.

  What that would be was not long a matter of uncertainty. In the midst ofa noisy rabble of boys, many of whom were larger, and all older thanhimself, he was borne along to the foot of the high fence that shut inthe yard which, as already described, was at the back of the schoolbuilding. Perched on top of this fence, and leaning down withoutstretched arms, were four of the largest lads, shouting at the top oftheir voices, "Bring him along; hoist him up, hoist him!" Theunresisting Bert was brought underneath this quartette, and then hishands were lifted up until they could grasp them in their own. So soonas this was done, a pull all together on their part hoisted him up fromthe ground, three feet at least, and then his legs were seized, lest heshould be tempted to kick. The next moment, as perfectly helpless, andlooking not unlike a hawk nailed to a barn-door by way of warning tokindred robbers, Bert hung there, doing his best to keep a smile on hisface, but in reality half frightened to death. The whole crowd thenprecipitated themselves upon him, and with tight-shut fists proceeded topummel any part of his body they could reach. Their blows were dealt ingood earnest, and not merely for fun, and they hurt just as much as onemight expect. Poor Bert winced, and quivered, and squirmed, but not acry escaped from his close-set lips. The one thought in his mind was,"Quit you like men," and so buoyed up by it was he, that had the blowsbeen as hard again as they were, it is doubtful if his resolution tobear them in silence would have faltered.

  He did not know how long he hung there. It seemed to him like hours. Itprobably was not longer than a minute. But, oh! the glad relief withwhich he heard one of the leaders call out:

  "That's enough, fellows; let him down. He stood it like a brick."

  The blows ceased at once; those holding his hands swung him a couple oftimes along the fence after the manner of a pendulum, and then droppedhim to the ground, where he was surrounded by his late persecutors, whonow, looking pleasant enough, proceeded to clap him on the back, andtell him very emphatically that he was "a plucky little chap"; "one ofthe right sort"; "true grit," and so forth.

  Feeling sore and strained, from his neck to his heels, Bert would havebeen glad to slip away into some corner and have a good cry, just torelieve his suppressed emotions; but as he tried to separate himselffrom the throng about him, he heard the shout of "Hoist him! Hoist him!"again raised, and saw the leaders in this strange sport bear down uponFrank Bowser, who, still in the hands of his first captors had looked onat Bert's ordeal with rapidly rising anger.

  The instant Frank heard the shout, he broke loose from those who heldhim, and springing up a flight of steps near by, stood facing hispursuers with an expression upon his countenance that looked ill for thefirst that should attempt to touch him. A little daunted by hisunexpected action, the boys paused for a moment, and then swarmed aboutthe steps. One of the largest rushed forward to seize Frank, but with aquick movement the latter dodged him, and then by a sudden charge senthim tumbling down the steps into the arms of the others. But theadvantage was only momentary. In another minute he was surrounded andborne down the steps despite his resistance.

  The struggle that ensued was really heroic--on Frank's part, at allevents. Although so absurdly outnumbered, he fought desperately, notwith blows, but with sheer strength of arm and leg, straining to theutmost every muscle in his sturdy frame. Indeed, so tremendous were hisefforts, that for a time it seemed as if they would succeed in freeinghim. But the might of numbers prevailed at length, and, after someminutes' further struggling, he was hoisted in due form, and poundeduntil the boys were fairly weary.

  When they let him go, Frank adjusted his clothes, which had been muchdisordered in the conflict, took his cap from the hands of a littlechap, by whom it had thoughtfully been picked up for him, and withfurious flaming face went over to Bert, who had been a spectator of hisfriend's gallant struggle with mingled feelings of admiration for hiscourage and regret at his obstinacy.

  "They beat me, but I made them sweat for it," said he. "I wasn't goingto let them have their own way with me, even if you did."

  "You might just as well have given in first as last," replied Bert.

  "But I didn't give in," asserted Frank. "That's just the point. Theywere too many for me, of course, and I couldn't help myself at last, butI held out as long as I could."

  "Anyway, it's over now," said Bert, "and it won't bother us any more.But there's one thing I've made up my mind to: I'm not going to haveanything to do with hoisting other new boys. I don't like it, and Iwon't do it."

  "No more will I, Bert," said Frank. "It's a mean business; a whole crowdof fellows turning on one and beating him like that."

  Just then the bell rang, and all the boys poured back into theschoolroom for the afternoon session.

  Each in his own way, Bert and Frank had made a decidedly favourableimpression upon their schoolmates. No one mistook Bert's passiveendurance for cowardice. His bearing had been too brave and bright forthat. Neither did Frank's vigorous resistance arouse any ill-feelingagainst him. Boys are odd creatures. They heartily admire and applaudthe fiery, reckless fellow, who takes no thought for the consequences,and yet they thoroughly appreciate the quiet, cool self-command of theone who does not move until he knows just what he is going to do. And sothey were well pleased with both the friends, and quite ready to admitthem into the full fellowship of the school.

  The Lloyds were greatly interested by Bert's account of the hoisting.They praised him for his self-control, and Frank for his plucky fightagainst such odds, and they fully agreed with Bert that hoisting was apoor business at best, and that he would be doing right to have nothingto do with it.

  "Perhaps some day or other you'll be able to have it put a stop to,Bert," said his mother, patting his head fondly. "It would make me veryproud if my boy were to become a reformer before
he leaves school."

  "I'm afraid there's not much chance of that, mother," answered Bert."The boys have been hoisting the new chaps for ever so many years, andDr. Johnston has never stopped them."

  That was true. Although he feigned to know nothing about it, the doctorwas well aware of the existence of this practice peculiar to his school,but he never thought of interfering with the boys. It was a cardinalprinciple with him that the boys should be left pretty much tothemselves at recess. So long as they did their duty during the schoolhours, they could do as they pleased during the play hour. Moreover, hewas a great admirer of manliness in his boys. He would have been glad tofind in everyone of them the stoical indifference to pain of thetraditional Indian. Consequently, fair stand-up fights were winked at,and anything like tattling or tale-bearing sternly discouraged. He hadan original method of expressing his disapprobation of the latter, whichwill be illustrated further on. Holding those views, therefore, he wasnot likely to put his veto upon "hoisting."

  As the days went by, Bert rapidly mastered the ways of the school, andmade many friends among his schoolmates. He found the lessons a gooddeal harder than they had been at Mr. Garrison's. And not only so, butthe method of hearing them was so thorough that it was next toimpossible for a boy who had come ill-prepared to escape detection. Dr.Johnston did not simply hear the lesson; he examined his scholars uponit, and nothing short of full acquaintance with it would content him. Hehad an original system of keeping the school record, which puzzled Bertvery much, and took him a good while to understand.

  On the doctor's desk lay a large book, something like a business ledger.One page was devoted to each day. At the left side of the page was thecolumn containing the boys' names, arranged in order of seniority, theboy who had been longest in the school being at the head, and the lastnew boy at the foot. Each boy had a line to himself, running out to theend of the page, and these parallel lines were crossed by vertical ones,ruled from the top to the bottom of the page, and having at the top thenames of all the different classes; so that the page when ready for itsentries resembled very much a checker board, only that the squares werevery small, and exceedingly numerous. Just how these squares, thusstanding opposite each name, should be filled, depended upon thebehaviour of the owner of that name, and his knowledge of his lessons.

  If Bert, for instance, recited his grammar lesson without a slip, theletter B--standing for _bene_, well--was put in the grammar column. Ifhe made one mistake, the entry was V B, _vix bene_--scarcely well; iftwo mistakes, Med, _mediocriter_--middling; and if three, M,_male_--badly, equivalent to not knowing it at all. The same systemprevailed for all the lessons, and in a modified form for the behaviouror deportment also. As regards behaviour, the arrangement was one badmark for each offence, the first constituting a V B, the second a Med,the third an M, and the fourth a P, the most ominous letter of all,standing, as it did, for _pessime_--as bad as possible--and one mightalso say for punishment also; as whoever got a P thereby earned awhipping with that long strap, concerning which Bert had heard suchalarming stories.

  It will be seen that, by following out the line upon which each boy'sname stood, his complete record as a scholar could be seen, and uponthis record the doctor based the award of prizes at the close of theterm. For he was a firm believer in the benefits of prize-giving, andevery half-year, on the day before the holidays, a bookcase full of finebooks, each duly inscribed, was distributed among those who had come outat the head in the different classes, or distinguished themselves byconstant good behaviour.

  Once that Bert fully understood the purpose of this daily record, andthe principle upon which the prize-giving was based, he determined to beamong the prize winners at the end of the term. His ambition was firedby what the older boys told him of the beautiful books awarded, and thehonour it was to get one of them. He knew that he could not please hisfather or mother better than by being on the prize list, and so heapplied himself to his lessons with a vigour and fidelity that soonbrought him to the notice of the observant doctor.

  "I am glad to see you taking so much interest in your work," said he onemorning, pausing, in his round of inspection, to lay his hand kindlyupon Bert's shoulder as the latter bent over his slate, working out aproblem in proportion. "A good beginning is a very important thing."

  Bert blushed to the roots of his hair at this unexpected and, indeed,unusual compliment from the grim master, who, before the boy couldframe any reply, passed out of hearing.

  "We'll do our best, won't we, Shorty?" said Bert, turning to his friendbeside him.

  "I suppose so," answered Frank, in rather a doubtful tone. "But yourbest will be a good deal better than mine. The lessons are just awfulhard; it's no use talking."

  "They are hard, Shorty, and no mistake. But you'll get used to them allright," rejoined Bert, cheerfully.

  "I guess I'll get used to being kept in and getting whipped, first,"grumbled Frank.

  "Not a bit of it," Bert insisted. "You just stick at them and you'llcome out all right."

  The fact of the matter was, that poor Frank did find the lessons alittle more than he could manage, and there were a good many more "VB's" and "Med's" opposite his name than "B's." He was a restless sort ofa chap, moreover, and noisy in his movements, thus often causing Mr.Snelling to look at him, and call out sharply:

  "Bowser, what are you doing there?" And Frank would instantly reply, ina tone of indignant innocence:

  "Nothing, sir."

  Whereupon Mr. Snelling would turn to Dr. Johnston, with the request:

  "Will you please put a mark to Bowser for doing nothing, sir?" And downwould go the black mark against poor Bowser, who, often as thishappened, seemed unable ever to learn to avoid that fatal reply:"Nothing, sir."