The Story of Baden-Powell / 'The Wolf That Never Sleeps'

This butler has a very vivid recollection of Baden-Powell. He remembers him as a boy "up to mischief," but too much of a gentleman ever to go beyond proper bounds. His mischief was of the harmless nature, and he was never "shown up" for a row of any description. Many a time did the observant butler come upon Baden-Powell in the House Music Room practising his tunes; but not by any means in a dull and unoriginal fashion. It was the boy's habit to take off his boots and stockings, set a chair on a table, climb up to his perch, and from thence draw forth melody of sorts with his ten toes. After this it is surely a wonder that Baden-Powell in joining the army did not insist upon doing Manual Exercise with his extremities.

There is a story about Master Ste which clearly shows, I think, the estimation in which he was held by the other boys. Who but a general favourite could have played the following part? On Shrove Tuesday at Charterhouse there was of old time a custom called the Lemon Peel Fight. With every pancake the boys were given a lemon, or half a lemon, and these were never eaten, being jealously reserved for the great fight on the green outside after the pancakes had unmysteriously disappeared. On one occasion, when the sides were drawn up in grim battle array, facing each other lemon in hand, every boy as dauntless as Horatius, Herminius, and Spurius Lartius, and just when the signal for the conflict was to be given,—suddenly upon the scene appeared Baden-Powell, swathed from head to foot in tremendous padding, with nothing to be seen of his little brown face save the bright, mischievous eyes peeping out of two slits. Rushing between the two lines with a fearsome war-whoop, this alarming apparition squatted suddenly upon the grass, and looking first on one army and then on the other, said in the most nonchalant tone of voice: "Let the battle commence!"

From the battle-field one goes naturally to the butts. In some of the newspaper articles concerning Baden-Powell it has been said that he had nothing to do with the Rifle Corps. This is quite wrong. There was nothing going on at Charterhouse into which Baden-Powell did not fling himself with infinite zest, and shooting, of course, had special attractions for a boy bred in the country and deep-learned in the mysteries of field and covert. Not only did he take part in the shooting, but he was an active member of the Shooting Committee. His last score, shooting as a member of the School VIII. versus the 6th Regiment at Aldershot on 6th March 1876, was as follows:—

200 yards 500 yards Total 22 14 36

The school was beaten, and Sergeant B.-P. came out of the contest as third best shot for Charterhouse. The day, says the historian, was bitterly cold, and a violent and gusty wind blew across the range. Seven shots were fired at each distance, class targets being used.

If there is interest in Baden-Powell's score as a schoolboy-marksman, how much greater interest should there be in Baden-Powell's hit as orator? It is not always the ready actor who makes the best polemical speech, but Baden-Powell had a reputation at Charterhouse as a debater as well as fame as a mimic. That the boy was more than ordinarily intelligent may even be seen in the abbreviated report of one of his speeches preserved in the school magazine. The subject of debate was that "Marshal Bazaine was a traitor to his country," and Baden-Powell spoke against the motion. The report says that he "appeared to be firmly convinced that the French plan of the war was to get the Prussians between Sedan and Metz, and play a kind of game of ball with them. By surrendering, Bazaine saved lives which would be of use against the Communists. As there was only a government de facto in Paris he was compelled to act for himself." But even eloquence of this order was not sufficient to persuade Charterhouse that Bazaine deserved no censure. The motion was carried by a majority of 1.

In those days, too, Baden-Powell was famous as an artist, and his sketches, with the left hand, were admired and commented upon by masters as well as boys. One can fancy with what great reverence B.-P. the caricaturist must have looked upon Thackeray's pencil in the Charterhouse Library—the pencil of the great man whose shilling he was then hoarding with the jealousy of a miser.