University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

My father was a north-country surgeon. He had
retired, a widower, from her Majesty's navy many
years before, and had a small practice in his native
village. When I was seven years old he employed
me to carry medicines to his patients. Being of a
lively disposition, I sometimes amused myself, during
my daily rounds, by mixing the contents of the different
phials. Although I had no reason to doubt
that the general result of this practice was beneficial,
yet, as the death of a consumptive curate followed the
addition of a strong mercurial lotion to his expectorant,
my father concluded to withdraw me from the
profession and send me to school.

Grubbins, the schoolmaster, was a tyrant, and it
was not long before my impetuous and self-willed nature
rebelled against his authority. I soon began to

form plans of revenge. In this I was assisted by
Tom Snaffle—a schoolfellow. One day Tom suggested:

“Suppose we blow him up. I've got two pounds
of powder!”

“No, that's too noisy,” I replied.

Tom was silent for a minute, and again spoke:

“You remember how you flattened out the curate,
Pills! Couldn't you give Grubbins something—something
to make him leathery sick—eh?”

A flash of inspiration crossed my mind. I went
to the shop of the village apothecary. He knew me;
I had often purchased vitriol, which I poured into
Grubbins's inkstand to corrode his pens and burn up
his coat-tail, on which he was in the habit of wiping
them. I boldly asked for an ounce of chloroform.
The young apothecary winked and handed me the
bottle.

It was Grubbins's custom to throw his handkerchief
over his head, recline in his chair and take a
short nap during recess. Watching my opportunity,
as he dozed, I managed to slip his handkerchief from
his face and substitute my own, moistened with chloroform.
In a few minutes he was insensible. Tom
and I then quickly shaved his head, beard and eyebrows,
blackened his face with a mixture of vitriol
and burnt cork, and fled. There was a row and
scandal the next day. My father always excused
me by asserting that Grubbins had got drunk—but
somehow found it convenient to procure me an appointment
in Her Majesty's navy at an early day.