CHAPTER I
DEAL SCHOOL
If one chanced to examine the catalogues of Kingsbridge College for thepast hundred years it would be found that in most of them is recordedthe name of some dead and gone Deering—a name famous in the annals ofthe South—who came up from Louisiana, “marched through the four longhappy years of college,” as the old song has it, with an arts degreeto his credit; or, perchance, marched out at the end of one or two ofthem with nothing to his credit at all. Kingsbridge was a tradition inthe Deering family, southern though it was—a tradition that was hardlybroken, even when in 1861 Victor Deering and a hundred other chivalrousyouths threw their text-books out of the windows and enlisted in thearmies of the Confederacy. Victor’s father, Basil, too, was in the war,and laid down his arms at Appomattox as a brigadier-general—brevettedfor gallantry on the field of action. For a while it seemed thatno Deerings would go to Kingsbridge, but time at length healed theold antagonisms, and when it became a question where young Anthony,Victor’s boy, should go to college, there was no longer any questionthat Kingsbridge should be the place.
Preparing for Kingsbridge, before the war, had meant going first forthree or four years to Deal School, another Cæsarean seat of learning,almost as well known as the college itself. The warm-hearted oldgeneral had as fond memories of the school-topped, wind-swept hillabove the rocks of Deal, as he had of the meadows and hills aboutKingsbridge. There were a great many family counsels held in the oldhouse on the bayou; some prejudices pocketed; some feminine qualmsappeased and tears dried; and a great deal of correspondence wasexchanged between the Head Master of Deal and the old General, whoruled his family to the third and fourth generation.
And so at length on a bright crisp September morning, when he was aboutfifteen years old, Anthony Deering found himself getting out of thelittle way-train that runs from Coventry to Monday Port across theCæsarean flats, and enquiring diligently for a hack to drive him out toDeal School. He had made the journey up from New Orleans alone, withouta quaver until he came to his journey’s end. He was a day late forthe opening of school, so that he was the only passenger to alight atMonday Port.
A vociferous cabman offered him the services of a dilapidated fly anda bony horse. He looked about for better, but not finding them, hepulled his belt a trifle tighter, swallowed the lump in his throat, andquieted the man by thrusting his bag into his hand. Then he jumped intothe crazy vehicle, and shouted in a high voice, “Deal School!”
Tony had never been to Monday Port before, but he had heard a greatdeal of it from his mother, who had spent gay summers there inher girlhood, before the war. It had once been a favorite resortfor Southerners, but after their exodus, was taken up by Northernpeople, and for a decade or so was one of the most popular Cæsareanwatering-places. The town occupied a long stretch of level countrybetween the sea and a range of low-lying sandhills. Its streets werepretty and clean, shaded for the most part by maple trees, with modestcottages on either side, and here and there more pretentious modern“villas,” representing almost every conceivable style of architecture.Tony was not much interested in Monday Port, however, and he eyed thesepleasant homes with a rueful glance, which gave an odd expression tohis attractive young face; for despite the shadows in his gray-blueeyes and the frown on his dark brows, it was evident that he wasanything but a surly or fretful lad. There was a sparkle in the depthsof the shadow; lines of cheerfulness behind the frown; the glow ofhealth in his cheeks.
At last the old horse dragged the fly listlessly out of the shadystreet and they came into an open space, which fronted on a broad sheetof water flowing down with a fine sweep to the sea. A long bridge ledacross Deal Water to a straight white road which cleft a clean paththrough the rising meadowland. Eastward the wide expanse of greenwas edged by a line of tawny sands, where the turf swept down to thebluffs. Beyond lay the sea, sparkling like a great splendid jewel. Tonyloved the sea, and a thrill went through him as he saw it again nowafter a long time. A load seemed lifted from his heart, though therewas still some wistfulness for the sleepy bayou and the old plantationand the dear familiar faces. He remembered how so many Deerings beforehim had crossed that great still pond on their way to school, and hadknown that restless sea during happy boyhood.
“Is that the school?” he cried to the driver, springing up as he caughtsight of a pile of buildings which crowned a hill-top at the end ofthe long white road ahead of them. There seemed to be a great many ofthese buildings, standing shoulder to shoulder, long and low for themost part, but one higher than the rest, marked by a tapering spire.The rays of the morning sun glinted on the windows so that they seemedablaze with light. A fresh breeze was blowing off the ocean. There wasthe smell of seaweed in the air and of herby autumnal flowers. Here andthere a field was stained literally purple with Michaelmas daisies,—avivid contrast to the deep green of the meadows.
Tony could scarcely contain himself as the fly crawled up the steeproad. Then, just as they reached the summit, a few paces beforethey turned into the school drive, another splendid view opened tothem unexpectedly. On the other side of the school grounds the hilldescended much more precipitously toward a point of rocky land whichjutted into the sea; to the east the land bent with an enormous curve,embracing a wide beach about a mile in length; then, turning sharplyagain, rose into hilly land, thickly wooded, rocky-shored, whichcrowded about the great inlet, somewhat misnamed the Strathsey River.Across the morning haze gleamed the shores of a broad peninsula knownas Strathsey Neck. In the midst of the river,—or bay, for it wasreally that,—a pile of rocks jutted from the waters, on which wassituate a lighthouse, marked in the charts as Deigr Light.
Tony was a little bewildered by the unexpected impelling beauty of thesituation. The cab turned into the school driveway then, and at the endof a graveled elm-shaded avenue, he saw a low long building of graystone—of Tudor architecture, he learned afterwards—approached by abroad flight of stone steps.
A maid-servant met him at the door, surmised that he was the new boy,and said, “I will show you at once to the Doctor’s study.” They passedthrough a large hall, which Tony just could see was attractive, withits black oak paneling and the great open fireplace at the farther end,and then he was ushered into a cheerful pleasant-looking room, his handwas heartily clasped, and a gruff kindly voice bade him welcome.
Tony looked up, and saw a pair of sharp blue eyes, set deep undershaggy gray brows in a firm strongly-lined face, under a mass of thickgray hair, looking enquiringly into his. It was a kindly, inquisitiveglance, as though their owner were wondering what manner of boy thiswas. Doctor Forester was growing old now, but he was still in the primeof his activity as a vigorous and effective head master. He lookeddown upon the fair copper-colored head of the boy, and into his frankgray-blue eyes, which looked back fearlessly.
“Ah, Deering, I am glad to see you. I am sorry you are late, however,for it is not the best way to begin,” he said, speaking with asharp accent, and in quick phrases, which Tony was to learn werecharacteristic.
“I know, sir, but my grandfather—”
“Your grandfather, my boy, used to get caned once a week by oldDoctor Harvey for the same incorrigible offense. But I understand thesituation. You are not to blame. You are to have a room in StanderlandHall and sit at Mr. Morris’s table in the dining-room. Stop here amoment, while I send for a boy to show you about. Then you can get yourbooks, and go into class the last morning period. We are going to tryyou in the Third. The master-in-charge will assign you a seat in theschoolroom.” The doctor touched a bell on his desk. “Send Lawrence tome, please,” he said to the servant who answered it; and then turningto Deering again, “Well, my boy, how is your grandfather? Has he toldyou that we were at Kingsbridge together? He was a senior when I was afreshman. He rescued me one night at a hazing-bee. Those were good olddays—never the like of _them_ again! I am glad they are sending younorth to school and college. Ah, Lawrence! come in, come in. Lawrence,this is Anthony Deering. He is to be in yo
ur form and hall. Take himabout a bit—that’s a good fellow—introduce him to the masters—andreport to Mr. Morris before the last period. Good-bye now. Come to theRectory to tea this afternoon, Deering, and we can have some talkabout the General.”
The Doctor said all this very rapidly, and almost before Deering andLawrence had finished their embarrassed greeting, he had turned to hisdesks and was busy with his papers.
James Lawrence—or Jimmie, as he was always called—was a slender,dark-haired handsome youth. He had a frank countenance, an engagingsmile, black hair, and beautiful dark eyes. He recovered hisself-possession in a moment and looked Tony over critically, as hewaited for the Doctor to finish speaking. “Very good, sir,” he said, atlength. “Come along, Deering, and I’ll show you where you are to room.”
“You may think the old gentleman is in the clouds,” he said, as theyturned into a long corridor leading from the Doctor’s study, “but wehave to wake up early in the morning to fool him—not that we don’t,you know!—but he is keen enough to make it mighty interesting. Why Ihave got twenty-five distinct directions about you already. You areto sit next me at table, for instance, and poor old Teddy Lansing istransferred to Mr. Williams.”
“Will he mind?” asked Tony, a trifle anxiously.
“Well, you’ll find out if he does mind. Teddy’s a noisy brute. There!that’s the way into the schoolroom,” he interrupted himself to say,“you’ll wish you could forget it in a week or so. Take a tip, watchKit Wilson and me; we’ll show you a trick or two. But you are sobeastly new.... See that animated broomstick toddling along? That’s oldRoylston, the Latin master; you’ll meet him too soon for your comfort;we won’t stop now, despite the Doctor’s instructions. Give him a wideberth, and don’t bluff him.”
By this time they had got outside the Old School on the terrace, withthe wonderful outlook over bay and sea. Tony began to make some remarkabout the view.
“Oh, the view!” exclaimed Lawrence, “You’ll get used to that too.That’s Lovel’s Woods over yonder,” he said, pointing to a stretch ofthickly-wooded hilly land by the Strathsey shore, “rather useful in thewinter term. You’re in Standerland, eh? That’s that long crazy graystone building over the quad. Lucky dog to get a room, say I. BillMorris is the master—a decent sort; an old boy, strong therefore withthe doctor. Thank heaven and the Head that you’re going to be underBill. No, we aren’t going over there now. You’ll have to scamper overthere to wash up before dinner. I’ve got a page of Cæsar to do beforelast period, so let’s toddle to the schoolroom. Bill’s in charge, andhe’ll smooth things over. Wait for me after school and I’ll pilot youin to grub.”
They had brought up now at the entrance to the Schoolhouse, whichwas connected with the Old School by a cloister and formed the northside of a great quadrangle. To the west lay Standerland House and theChapel, a pure Gothic structure with a beautiful tower and spire,and the Rectory, the Head Master’s residence, between. Eastward laythe Gymnasium and the Refectory or dining-hall, the latter on a linewith the Old School. North of the Schoolhouse was another quadrangle,flanked by Standerland and the Gymnasium, with Montrose and HowardHouses on its northern side. Beyond that still lay the playing-fields.All this Jimmie barely had time to indicate, as the two boys ran upa wide flight of steps, traversed a broad corridor, and entered theschoolroom, where he introduced Tony to the master-in-charge.
Tony could never remember what was said by either of them; he feltas if the gaze of the hundred pair of eyes, belonging to the hundredboys bent over their desks, was burning into his back. There was avague sort of comfort in the pleasant tones of Mr. Morris’s voice, andsomehow he came back to consciousness a little later, and found himselfseated at a desk, with a brand new copy of the _Gallic Wars_ openbefore him, and his lips pronouncing over and over in a meaninglesssort of way—“_Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres_....”
Thus Deering’s school days at Deal began.
Deering of Deal; Or, The Spirit of the School Page 4