



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Gentleman Cadet
His Career and Adventures at the Royal Military Academy
Woolwich By Lt. Col. A.W. Drayson
Illustrations by C.J. Staniland
Published by Griffith and Farran, London.

The Gentleman Cadet, by Lt. Col. A.W. Drayson.

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THE GENTLEMAN CADET, BY LT. COL. A.W. DRAYSON.

PREFACE.

The following pages contain a history of the life of a Woolwich Cadet as
it was about thirty years ago.  The hero of the tale is taken through
the then usual routine of a cram-school at Woolwich, and from thence
passed into the Royal Military Academy.  The reformation that has taken
place--both in the preparatory schools and also at the Academy--may be
judged of by those who read this book and are acquainted with existing
conditions.  The habits and life of a Cadet of the present day are well
known, but the singular laws and regulations--written and unwritten--in
former times may not be so generally understood; and, as memory of the
past fades away, the following pages have been penned, to give a history
of the singular life and manners of the old Cadet.  The work has no
other pretensions than to give this history, and to afford amusement to
the young aspirant for military glory.

_Southsea, September_, 1874.

CHAPTER ONE.

MY HOME LIFE.

On the borders of the New Forest, in Hampshire, stands an old-fashioned
thatch-roofed family-house, surrounded by cedars and firs, with a
clean-shaved, prim-looking lawn opposite the drawing-room windows, from
which a magnificent view was visible of the forest itself and the
Southampton waters beyond.  In that house I was born; and there I passed
the first fourteen years of my existence in a manner that must be
briefly recorded, in order to make the reader acquainted with my state
of education previous to a somewhat eventful career in a more busy
scene.

My father had been intended for the Church, but having at Cambridge
taken a dislike to holy orders, and finding himself left, by the death
of my grandfather, sole possessor of a sum of about thirty thousand
pounds invested in Consols, he decided to live an easy life, and enjoy
himself, instead of taking up any profession--an error that caused him
to be what may be called "a mistake" all his life, and which was the
cause of much suffering to me.

Having devoted some eight or ten years to travelling and seeing the
world, my father married, and selected for his wife the youngest of
seven daughters of a very worthy but very poor clergyman in Wiltshire,
who bore him two daughters and myself; after which she sickened and died
at the early age of twenty-six.

In order to have some one to whom he could entrust the care of his three
children, my father took into his house his eldest sister, who was some
fifteen years his senior, and to whom was given the sole charge of
myself and my two sisters.  Aunt Emma, as we used to term her, was my
abhorrence; she had a singular facility of making herself disagreeable,
especially with us young people.  That she used to teach us our letters
and our reading and writing was certainly kind on her part--at least, so
she assured me--but she had a way of teaching that was not one at all
suitable to gaining the esteem or affection of a child.  Her principal
object in teaching seemed to be to impress on us children that we were
the most stupid, dull, and lazy children in the world, whom it was
little short of martyrdom to try to teach; whilst we were informed that
she, as a child and as a schoolgirl, had always been famous for
quickness in learning, attention to her studies, and love to her
schoolmistress.

We were also being daily impressed with the idea that we were awfully
wicked and selfish, and quite unworthy of any kindness from her or our
father, whilst we were also accused of having a bad motive for
everything we did.

Aunt Emma was a great expert in slapping.  Often have I lain in bed and
cried for hours at the remembrance of the unmerited and severe slaps
that my poor little delicate sister had received during the day from
Aunt Emma.  There was, I feel glad to say, no real anger in those
feelings, but a sense of utter misery and regret that Aunt Emma should
feel so little for the unhappiness she caused, and for the injustice of
which she was guilty.  I was a child then, and I had yet to learn that
there are people in the world who take a delight in making others
unhappy, who attribute to all, except themselves, bad, selfish, or
spiteful motives for every word and act, and to whom the world is an
enemy on which they are justified in renting their spleen.

It may seem to the reader out of place to speak thus of Aunt Emma, but
as she had much to do with my early life, and as her specialities must
then be brought forward, there is really no object in concealing either
her weaknesses or defects.

At the date to which I am referring, some forty years ago, there was a
great taste in many private families for immoderate physicking.  Aunt
Emma possessed this taste in no small degree; that she believed in its
efficacy there can be no doubt, because she used to physic herself with
the same generous freedom that she bestowed on us children.  Each spring
we regularly, for some five weeks, were put through a course of
brimstone and treacle; each morning we were given a spoonful of treacle
in which the gritty brimstone had been stirred with a free hand.  If we
looked pale or tired, or were more than ordinarily stupid at our
lessons, Aunt Emma decided that a three-grain blue pill at night,
followed by a cup of senna tea in the morning, was urgently needed.
These doses came with dangerous frequency, and I can conscientiously
say, not once for a fortnight, from the time I was five years old till
nearly eleven, was I free of physic.

Whether it was from this or from any other cause, I cannot say for
certain, but up to twelve years of age I was a pale, weak, sickly boy,
given to sick headaches, sleepless nights, vomitings, and general
debility, with a strong tendency to get alone somewhere, and either
dream away the hours, or read and re-read any book that I was fortunate
enough to procure.

Up to the age of twelve my life was a kind of tideless sea; time passed,
but there were no events to mark it.  Companions I had none, except my
two sisters, and sometimes a forest lad, the son of a gamekeeper, who
used to take me out squirrel-hunting or birds'-nesting.  These
expeditions, however, were all but forbidden by my aunt, who visited
with her severe displeasure either absence from a meal or a late arrival
for one.

Having given priority in description to my aunt, I must now endeavour to
describe my father.  If I were to write pages I could not more fully
delineate my father's character better than to state that he had but one
fault, viz, he was too kind.  This kindness actually degenerated into
weakness, or, as some people might term it, feebleness or indifference.
This peculiar attribute manifested itself in a neglect of my early
education, and of that of my sisters.  If it were suggested to him that
I was old enough to go to a school, he invariably found some excuse,
such as that I was just then too much out of health, or he could not
spare me, or I was doing very well at home, or he could not select a
school where he could be sure I should receive proper attention.  The
true reason for these excuses was, I believe, that he could not make up
his mind to part with me.  I was almost his only companion, for our
nearest neighbour was three miles off, and he was a man devoted to
hunting only, and had none of those refined tastes or love for
literature and art that my father was famous for.  The result of these
conditions was that at the age of thirteen I was very old in manner and
thought; I was prematurely old before I was young; but I lacked the
knowledge, education, and experience which usually come with age, and I
was, as regards other boys, the most veritable ignoramus as to the
world--knowing nothing of boys, or of the great school-world, a complete
dunce as regards those points of education on which all other lads of my
own age were well-informed--having a somewhat exaggerated idea of my own
talents, genius, and acquirements, and disposed to look down on those
boys, sons of the neighbouring gentry, who about twice a year came to
our house to partake of our hospitality, and enjoy a picnic in the
forest.

My father was a perfect gentleman, in the full meaning of the word.  He
was most sensitive himself, and, believing all those with whom he
associated to be equally gifted, he was most careful and considerate in
all he said or did.  With him it was little short of a crime to say or
do anything that could by any chance hurt the feelings of even an
acquaintance.  I remember once hearing an anecdote related about my
father, which may show how great was the belief at least of his
sympathies with others.  A guest at his dinner-table, on one occasion,
upset by accident a glass of sherry on the table-cloth.  The visitor
apologised for his awkwardness, in most humble terms, blushed deeply,
and again commenced a second apology.  My father tried to place the
guest at his ease, but, noticing how uncomfortable he appeared, my
father (it was said, purposely) upset his own glass of wine, at which he
laughed immoderately, and was joined by all at table, the result being
that no further apologies were offered or awkwardness exhibited by the
clumsy guest.

My father's pet hobby was Natural History.  He had a splendid collection
of all the moths and butterflies to be found in England.  It was a great
treat for me to walk with him under the wide-spreading arms of the giant
beech-trees or grand old oaks that grew around us, and watch him select
the grub or cocoon of some insect that would have escaped the attention
of common eyes, and hear him describe the changes through which this
creature passed in its material career.

Many are the happy hours that I have passed with him watching the
gambols of the squirrel, or, with a pair of powerful opera glasses,
scrutinising the detail labours of various birds as they built their
nests.  The peculiar habits of various birds and insects were well known
to me long before some of them were made known to the reading world by
those gentlemen whose books on natural history were written from their
experience gained in the library of the British Museum.

Long before naturalists had begun to speculate on the cause of that
peculiar drumming noise made by the snipe when on the wing, my father
and I had convinced ourselves that it was due to the bird spreading open
the pinion feathers as it stooped in its flight.  The New Forest was
especially suited for the residence of a naturalist, as in it were many
rare birds and insects, and the opportunities for watching the habits of
these were frequent.

About my future course in life my father never spoke; he seemed disposed
to let matters drift on; and I believe his wish was that I never should
leave home for the purpose of taking up a profession, but that at his
death I should still continue the quiet, peaceful life that we had
hitherto led in the forest.

It is possible that I might have continued contented as a mere forest
boy with country tastes, somewhat feeble powers, and what may be termed
a wasted life, had I not by chance met an individual who in one short
day turned the whole current of my thoughts into a new channel, and
raised in my mind longings and wishes to which I had hitherto been a
stranger.  As my whole future life turned at this point I must devote a
new chapter to a description of my meeting with this person.

CHAPTER TWO.

MY FIRST ADVENTURE.

I was in the habit of taking long walks, accompanied by my dog, through
the forest and over those wastes of moorland which are to be found in
various parts of Hampshire.  Whilst thus wandering one day, I saw on a
prominent knoll, from which an extensive view could be obtained of the
surrounding country, two men, one of whom had on a red uniform.  My life
had been passed so entirely in the wilds of the forest that I had never
before seen a soldier, and my curiosity was at once excited by this
red-coat, and I consequently made my way towards him, intending to
examine him as I would a new specimen of natural history.

On coming near the two persons I saw at once that the one in civilian
dress was a gentleman.  To me he looked old, but I afterwards found out
he was only twenty-four; but a man of twenty-four is old to a boy of
fourteen.  This gentleman was busily occupied with a strange-looking
instrument, which seemed made partly of brass and partly of wood.  It
stood on three legs, which were separated so as to form a pyramid, and
on the apex of this was the brass apparatus referred to.  I had
approached to within about twenty yards of this instrument when the
gentleman ceased looking at it, and, turning towards me, said, "Now,
young fellow, mind you don't get shot."

"I beg pardon," I said, "I didn't know you were going to fire."  And as
I said so I saw that what appeared rather like a tube was pointing
towards me.

"If you get shot it will be your own fault," said the gentleman; "so
don't expect me to be responsible.  Don't you see the muzzle is pointing
at you?"

I slipped round very quickly, so as to place myself, as I supposed,
behind the gun, but, in a moment, round went the instrument with a touch
of the gentleman's finger, and again the tube pointed at me.

"There you are again, right in the way," said the stranger.  "If you are
not shot it's a marvel to me."

Seeing a smile on the face of the soldier, I began to suspect that I was
being made fun of, so I said, "I don't believe that is a gun."

"Not a gun?  Why, what a disbelieving young Jew you are?"

"I'm not a Jew," I replied indignantly.  "I'm a gentleman."

"That's good," exclaimed the stranger, with a laugh.  "Then you mean to
assert that a Jew can't be a gentleman?  You'd better mind what you're
saying, sir, for I'm a Jew."

I looked at him with surprise, for I had my own idea of what a Jew was
on account of a Jew pedlar coming to our lodge twice a year with a pack
of all sorts of odds and ends to sell; and certainly, as I looked at the
tall, handsome-looking stranger, I saw no similarity between him and the
pedlar.  I had lived hitherto in a most matter-of-fact world, where such
a thing as a joke was rare, and what is termed "chaff" was unknown, so I
did not understand the meaning of these remarks, and certainly felt no
inclination to smile.

"Do you live in these parts?" asked the stranger.

"Yes," I replied.  "Do you know the forest well?"

"Every part of it."

"Now come here," said the stranger.  "Do you see those tall pines--those
on that hill?"

"Yes."

"Well, what is the name of that place?"

"That's Castle Malwood."

"Castle Malwood; and it's well known about here by that name?"

"Yes, of course it is."

"If I were to ask one of these chawbacon foresters to show me where
Castle Malwood was, he would point out that place, eh?"

"Yes; every forester knows that."

"How about the name of that house down there with the yew-trees round
it?"

"That's Blackthorn Lodge, where I live."

"Oh, that's your house, is it?  And what's your governor?"

"A gentleman."

"I suppose you are home for the midsummer holidays?"

"No; I don't go to school."

"Tutor at home, I suppose?"

"No."

"Who teaches you, then?"

"Aunt did, and now my father does."

"And what are you going to be?"

"I don't know."

"You ought to be a cadet, and join the Engineers."

I made no reply to this; for I had never thought of any career in the
future, and had never had any ideas beyond our quiet forest home, so I
was not prepared with any remark.

"How do you amuse yourself here?" said the stranger.  "Rather a dull
place, I fancy."

"I watch the birds and insects, and study natural history," I replied.

"You are fond of that