CHAPTER XVIII
Our second day was spent in the ordeal of examination, in the selection and arrangement of our room, and engaging board at the most eligible place. Our room, at the suggestion of Mr. Carrover, was chosen in the South Building, and after innumerable expenditures, and Ned’s taste for arrangement, it really looked comfortable and home like. We passed the different departments of study without any serious difficulty, and the bell for evening prayers found us ready for the session’s work.
We took a little stroll after tea, and were fortunate in meeting no one. Returning to our room and lighting up, we got our books and commenced to prepare, with all the interest of novelty, our lessons for the morrow. We had not been thus engaged more than half an hour when there arose in a distant part of the campus the most diabolical din conceivable: a fiendish combination of all the disagreeable noises produceable. Tin horns, tin pan drums, bells, whistles, paper trumpets, and the vox humana in its loudest, harshest notes, all roared forth their terrible discord on the still night air.
We leaned out of our window and listened to this caravan of horrid sounds approaching, till it entered the South Building. Even then we did not suspect its destination, and not till we heard the procession tramping noisily up the stairs leading to our room did the truth flash upon us that we were the intended victims. It was too late to fasten the door. In a moment the room was full of our tormentors, each one trying to drown the other’s clamor by extra exertion on his own part. They formed a circle around us and beat, and blew, and shouted till we were deafened and stupefied with the noise.
Suddenly it ceased – everything was ominously still, and with sober face every one commenced active preparation for the more serious business of the evening. The door was closed and locked, the bed was stripped and the sheets hung up at the windows, with their edges stuffed in the cracks. Each then drew forth from his pocket an enormous pipe, and putting tobacco in it, began to smoke. Not the ordinary puffs of a pleasure whiff, but lighting about half a pipe full they would put more tobacco in on the fire, and instead of drawing, blow with all their might, ejecting from the bowl of the pipe a stream as large, and almost as solid as a man’s wrist. As soon as I divined their object I got up and lay down across the bed, taking the pillow in my hand, that I might lay my face in it if it became very bad.
The great volumes of smoke, rolling up to the ceiling, now began to spread into a thickening vapor that filled the room, growing denser and denser every second, and I found myself constantly coughing. Another minute and the moving forms of the smokers could scarcely be seen, while the lamp standing on the mantel was only a dim halo in the white fog. The smokers now had to relieve each other, placing a guard at the door to prevent our exit. Thicker and thicker grew the cloud, till the lungs, wearied with incessant coughing, almost refused to inhale the bitter, sickening air. My eyes streaming with water closed themselves in spite of me, and my eyeballs were crossed with the nausea. I pressed my face down into the pillow for relief, but even that seemed a bag of tobacco, that was driving its dust into my throat. Every particle of air had its concomitant particle of smoke, and with every wretched gasp I gulped down a wad of poison.
A ton of weight seemed pressing on my chest, and my eyeballs almost started from my head in my intense efforts to feed my famished lungs, and to prevent the suffocation I was enduring. A few more gasps and a death-like sickness seized me; the smoke closed around my head like the band of the Inquisition, and pressed all consciousness and sensation out. With a blinding rush of darkness over my brain I fainted.
The first thing I knew as a fact of consciousness was a vague perception of the odor of camphor and brandy; then I knew that my hands were being violently chafed, and that something cold and wet lay on my forehead. My temples ached with a dull, unrelievable pain, and a deadly nausea seemed to pervade the very atmosphere. I opened my eyes and found that I was in a strange room, on a strange bed, around which were grouped half a dozen forms with anxious, fear-whitened faces. Some were holding bottles, some basins of water, and all intently watching my face for signs of returning consciousness. I swallowed a little of the brandy they held to my lips, and as it burnt its way through my system I found strength to speak. Sitting upon the side of the bed, with the support of two of those attending, I asked, in an idiotic way:
“What – are – you all doing here? Where – am – I?”
Their courage and effrontery revived as I revived, and their propensity for devilling returned as I returned to consciousness. There was a pause after I had spoken, and then a deep voice answered, in solemn tones:
“You are in hell! As soon as you can walk we will go down to the sulphur lake. Pyrophylax, see that the chains are candescent and send in a bowl of melted lead; he looks thirsty.”
The utter confusion of ideas consequent upon my loss of consciousness, and the miserable feelings I was enduring, rendered this assertion not at all improbable to me, and I would not have been very much surprised to have seen the brazen gate flung open, and the aimless chasers of the giddy flag the great Guelph saw in his Inferno, racing around the arid sand. At this point, however, some one said that I had had enough for one time, and offered to show me the way back to my room. Supported by his arm I staggered along the hall to my own room, which had been deserted and opened, to allow the smoke to clear out. The door was open, the windows raised, and the breeze, like a kind housewife, had swept the smoke away, but its disgusting smell still clung to the curtains and the walls.
Poor Ned was lying on the bed in a profound sleep. His corpse-like paleness, however, showed how much he had suffered, and the bucket near the bed side bore testimony to his sickness. It would have been cruel to have aroused him, so I lay gently down beside him and slept till morning.
A sick headache next day, and an intense smell of tobacco clinging to everything tangible, alone told us of the night’s scene, and it slipped back, with the ever passing pains and pleasures of life, into memory’s great reservoir.
CHAPTER XIX
At last we were fairly inducted into college life, and commenced a regular routine of daily duties. Our room was pleasantly situated, and all our neighbors agreeable. As new victims continued to arrive we were forsaken by the Sophs, much to our delight, and were permitted to enjoy a good meal at the table unmolested.
Ned and I had formed as yet no circle of acquaintance. We were together nearly all the time, and having made up our minds, according to the invariable rule, to study harder than anybody ever did, we did not care much for the society of others. We both studied hard, and our progress in the various branches of instruction was, we thought, satisfactory. There was this difference between us, however – Ned studied uniformly, while I studied by impulse. The result was that while many of my daily lessons exceeded Ned’s in preparation and recitation, yet his average was far greater than mine. Ned studied to learn all his lesson – to know every part of it; while I often picked over those points on which I thought I should most likely be examined. He studied to master the subject – to become acquainted with a language or to understand a problem; I studied to make a good recitation. He stored up for the future; I looked no farther ahead than the next morning’s lecture.
I remember well, when we got to reading Homer, Ned would worry a whole morning over an idiom; and passages that I found no difficulty at all in rendering would afford him an hour’s work with lexicon and grammar. I had a shorter way of doing things. I would take my Anthon’s Edition – great friend of the student! – and, with the aid of its voluminous references, and the notes in Kühner, I would easily cram all that it was probable the professor would touch upon. Simple, easy parts, that I was sure he would not notice, had to take care of themselves. When we went in to recite, all the portions I had prepared so carefully were given to others to render or construe, while I would be taken up on some part I had thought too simple for my attention, and would be found woefully ignorant. So, about twice a month I would make a brilliant recitation, the balance of the time failures.
I suffered, too, from that great cheat of life, the self-promise to “turn over a new leaf.” Regularly every Monday morning, in accordance with the previous week’s resolve, I would start afresh, and, after tremendous application and intense mental effort, would go to the section room and pass the hour without being noticed. Leaving it without having had an opportunity to manifest my diligence, I would feel a little less careful about Tuesday’s preparation. After another day of silence I would merely glance at Wednesday’s lessons; and Thursday, with just a peep between the pages, I would be called to recite, and fail signally. The mortification would then evoke the firm resolve to “turn over a new leaf,” but, inasmuch as the next day was Friday, I would conclude to wait till Monday. So Friday would go without study, and the next week would come and join the retreating line of its predecessors, and nothing would be accomplished but a slowly increasing indifference to failure, and a growing inability to reform. And in all my life since then there has still predominated that fault, turning over new leaves, and letting the very first breeze of difficulty flutter them lightly back again!
Is there anybody like me, or do my readers all paste their leaves down as they turn them over? If you do not you will never get farther in the book of reform than the preface!
But, whether we worked or idled, the days ever passed on Ned and I were taking our stroll one evening in the early part of the fall. We had just turned our faces back towards the college when a gentleman and lady on horseback approached. Before I could withdraw my eyes from an impolite stare, they had passed and were sweeping on far ahead.
From that moment study was at an end for me. Soul and body was wrapped in admiration of this beautiful vision, that had flitted by like a dream. Yet I had not seen her face; only the glorious wealth of golden hair, mingling and tossing with the long blue plume in her cap; only the superb form, gracefully swaying to the motion of her prancing steed; only the flutter of a rich white skirt beneath the blue velvet robe, and my heart was gone.
“Great Heavens!” I exclaimed, grasping Ned’s arm, “what a beauty! Who is she, Ned?”
“How should I know?” he replied, coolly. “I suppose it is DeVare’s sweetheart, as this is the second time I have seen him out riding with her.”
“DeVare! then I may yet know her and be happy. Won’t it be glorious, old fellow?” and I slapped Ned’s shoulder exultingly.
“Just half crazy, that’s all you are as yet, John.”
“But see, Ned, they are returning. My throbbing heart, be still, that I may gaze!”
As she again flashed by the wondrous beauty of her face and form made my jesting extravagance to Ned seem almost reasonable. I could think or talk of nothing else till we reached our room, and as soon as the lamps were lit, and I thought DeVare was in his room, I went to it. I found only Carrover there, but he said DeVare would be in presently, and told me to wait.
Carrover and DeVare roomed together, and, as their rooms were on the same floor, and very near ours, we had become very intimate with them. Our intimacy was strengthened and made more pleasant by Ned and me becoming members of their club, so that they became our fastest friends, and we had even reached the point of calling them Charlie and Ramie. While I liked them both, yet Raymond DeVare was my favorite. Carrover was courteous and kind, but there was always a slight touch of frigidity about him – a formality I could never quite penetrate – and as constantly as I was thrown in his company I could never feel at perfect ease; I always felt younger, more unsophisticated and more capable of making blunders when he was looking at me than at any other time. He was so quiet and possessed in his air of savoir faire that I always feared he was thinking that all I did was out of time or place, and was pitying my ignorance. This feeling was not strong enough to constrain me in his presence, or suppress my flow of spirits, but when with him I was always conscious of a slight hesitation in word and action. With DeVare it was different. He was even more refined and gentle than Carrover, but he thought too much of others to think he knew more, and while he was the most brilliant man in his class, yet his nature’s vocabulary had no such word as conceit in it. He always made me feel that I knew as much as he did, and, whenever we conversed, afforded me the pleasure of believing that I was very entertaining. He never ridiculed anybody, and I felt that I could eat peas with my knife, under his eye, and he never would remind me that it was customary to use a fork. He had that instinctive and yet cultivated delicacy that cared for another’s feelings as if they were his own. Yet, when anything was wrong, he always condemned it with firmness, yet without bitterness. His moral character was spotless.
But I am digressing again. I was waiting, then, for him to come to his room. I lolled down on the bed while Carrover continued to study.
In a few moments we heard DeVare’s step, and he came into the room.
“Well,” I said, rising up on one elbow, “I have been waiting for you a long time. Now, tell who was that superb woman you were riding with this afternoon, and where does she live? My heart is hers eternally. I’ll vow, Ramie, I never saw as much beauty done up in one bundle before.”
DeVare frowned his brows at me and motioned his head towards Carrover, but as I thought he meant I would disturb him, I lowered my voice and went on:
“Please tell me about her, Ramie. I know you love her. You couldn’t be with her and not love her. Promise me you’ll take me to see her and I’ll hush, and let Charlie get his lesson.”
I looked at Charlie as I spoke and found him still intent on his page, but smiling peculiarly, as if there was something ridiculous in Blackstone.
“By the way, Charlie,” said DeVare, as if my question was forgotten, “what do you think of the case for the Moot Court to-morrow evening?”
“I had not given it much thought,” said Carrover, going to the bookcase for a volume; “what was the statement of facts?”
“Oh, bother the Moot Court,” I said, getting off the bed, I’m on another kind of court now. Tell me about the girl, DeVare, and I’ll leave you and Carrover to your old, dry discussions.”
“Jack, you are persistent,” said DeVare, with a laugh in the corner of each eye, as if he foresaw my confusion, “the lady I was riding with this afternoon was Miss Lillian Carrover, Charlie’s sister.”
I felt a hot tingle run up my cheeks, then run down again, and I glanced hurriedly at Carrover. He was still standing at the bookcase with his back toward me, and seemed as if he had not heard our conversation. I first thought of asking his pardon, but on second thought I changed the subject, and, after making one or two common-place remarks, left the room, resolving in the future not to be so free with my tongue.
The next day Ramie assured me that Carrover had not thought anything of it, and told me that if I still desired her acquaintance he would take much pleasure in introducing me. I informed him that no other thought or hope had been entertained by me since I had seen her, and besought him to make his convenience as early as possible.
We fixed on the morrow’s night as the time of our visit, and the pages of my books were all blank to my prëoccupied thoughts for the next twenty-four hours.
Virgil wrote about Lillian instead of Amaryllis, and stolid Socrates seemed to advise the cultivation of love for an angel in blue velvet. An equation of the fourth degree on the blackboard resolved itself into a horse, with a leg for each degree; and the only thing in the Algebra of any interest to me was the concrete example about the saddle and bridle being changed by mountings of different value. I was constantly with DeVare when not in lecture, and gathered from him, in reference to my sudden flame, that she was Carrover’s only sister; that she was a North Carolinian by birth, but had been adopted by a rich uncle in New York; that she had been a Fifth Avenue belle since her fifteenth year; that she had returned in the last spring from an extended European tour; that she had made a conquest of all the hearts from Saratoga to the White Sulphur during the past summer; and, while staying at the last named springs, had met with Miss Minnie, our Professor’s daughter, an old playmate and friend. Reviving the old intimacy, she had agreed to come to North Carolina with her, and spend part of the winter at the University.
On the morrow’s afternoon DeVare showed me a delicately perfumed billet-doux, in most exquisite chirography, stating that Miss Carrover would be most happy to see Mr. DeVare and his friend from half past nine to ten and half. As the parlors of the favorite young ladies at the University were crowded every night, the plan had been adopted of engaging the hours, so that a young lady could specify the hour at which she would receive a visit from a gentleman, and he was not at liberty to stay longer unless he was specially invited, and no others had come in. Where there were so many students to so few ladies this served to avoid confusion, and gave the many who wished to call something like a chance to be heard, each for himself.
That evening, immediately after tea, I commenced getting ready, and after completely exhausting my wardrobe and patience, felt but poorly prepared to be introduced to a young lady who had actually been to Europe, and reigned as one of the queens of our metropolitan society.
As we neared the door I wondered that DeVare could be so cool and composed, while my heart was fluttering so that my limbs caught the tremor, and, in spite of the warm, pleasant night, persisted in having the ague. I saw that the curtain was down as we knocked at the door, but there was the reflection of light within, and the murmur of several voices. I had been thinking all the time of what to say first. I felt that I could get on very well after the conversation started, but how to fill up with appropriate remarks that dismal silence just after the introduction, was more than my inexperience could compass. I had made up some absurd compliment about the beautiful northern flower blooming still sweetly in southern soil, but the rat-tat of the knocker dissipated every collected thought, and left my mind blanker than before.
A servant answered our knock; we hung our hats on the stand. I arranged my cravat and smoothed on my glove for the thirty-seventh time, and the next thing I knew I was in a throng of faces, from which rose up one with a wavy mass of tawny hair, drooping sleepy eyes, and red lips, that parted over smooth white teeth. I thought I heard DeVare’s voice, as in a dream: “Miss Carrover, allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Smith,” and I bowed till the part in my hair alone was visible.
There was another lady in the room, Miss Minnie, the daughter of the Professor, and I took the only seat in sight, which was near her. Notwithstanding our engagement, the parlor was full of gentlemen, and, to my horror, many of them were Sophs. There was quite a crowd of these around Miss Minnie, who was a vivacious little personage, full of mischief and wit, and dispensing her smiles and bon mots around with generous impartiality. As the conversation had begun before I entered I could not very well join in, and as no one addressed any remark to me, I sat bolt upright in my chair, with one arm thrown, with an attempt at ease, over the back, while the other fumbled at my watch chain.
DeVare had found a seat near Miss Carrover, and was soon absorbed in conversation with her – supposing, of course, that after an introduction I would have nothing to do but proceed to enjoyment. A procedure not always of consummate ease!
As I was sitting very near the circle around Miss Minnie, I soon found that I was not only the object of their mischievous glances but also of their wit. Their tones were just loud enough for me to hear, and after each sally all would join in a laugh, which Miss Minnie often led. From this they began to address themselves to me, calling me Fresh, asking what I had come for, and if I was not ashamed to use the parlor mirror to dress by. (I had been unconsciously adjusting my cravat in the mirror over the mantel.)
As I was not certain whether the Sophs’ prerogative extended to a private parlor or not, I was afraid to say anything, but sat still, while my embarrassment drove the blood almost through my cheeks, and beaded my forehead with great drops of perspiration.
Miss Minnie then inquired if I would sit still or take a seat nearer the fire – the point of her remark lying in fact that it was quite a warm night, and there was not a spark in the fireplace.
I tried to say “No, thank you,” but not recognizing my own voice, cut it off with “No – ,” which itself was so meekly stammered it had no decided negative character; but it had the effect of raising all the voices of the Sophs, who cried out:
“Oh, how impolite, Fresh, to say no to a lady! Where did you learn your manners? How extremely vulgar!”
I was just on the point of rushing from the room when DeVare’s attention was attracted at this outcry, and he took in the position of affairs at a glance. His face was aglow with scorn and indignation as he rose from Miss Carrover’s side and strode to our part of the room.
“Gentlemen,” he said – looking with withering contempt on the circle around Miss Minnie, “though the term is a misnomer – I have introduced Mr. Smith here: an insult to him is an insult to me. The presence of ladies is no place for a quarrel, but I characterize your conduct as ungentlemanly, and will be ready to hear from any of you at any time. You know my name and the number of my room. Miss Minnie, pardon me, but I am surprised that you should have allowed or encouraged such conduct in your house.”
“Really, Mr. DeVare, you are not in earnest?” said Miss Minnie, with imperturbable good humor. “Why, I thought even the ladies had a right to tease the Fresh.”
“That is just as you please to think, Miss Minnie,” he replied, with one of his bows; “the gentlemen have heard my opinion of their conduct.”
“Lil, you and I will leave the parlor if the gentlemen wish to fight,” said Miss Minnie, making a pretence of rising to leave the room.
Miss Carrover looked at her with a shake of her head, and with her soft rich voice said: “Minnie!” Then, turning to DeVare —
“Come here, Mr. DeVare, Minnie is only jesting. Mr. Smith,” addressing me, “have you seen these stereoscopic views of the University? My brother had them taken last spring. Take a seat here on the sofa and look them over with me, and see if you can recognize them all.”
Her manner was so composed and gracious that we were all reseated and everything quiet before we knew it. I had felt so miserably wretched while DeVare and Miss Minnie were speaking that I felt eternally grateful to Miss Carrover for relieving me, even though she treated me as if I were very young, in doing it.
In a moment or two all save DeVare and myself rose to leave – Brazon, who was the ringleader in Miss Minnie’s persecuting circle, scowling malignantly at DeVare as he bowed himself out.
As soon as they had gone Miss Minnie came to where I was sitting, and, with winning frankness, offered her hand, saying:
“It was very naughty in me, Mr. Smith, to tease you. I beg pardon, and promise not to do so any more.”
I caught her hand convulsively, and assured her of my entire forgiveness, and implored her not to give herself any trouble on my account, and much more to the same incoherent effect.
She drew her hand gently from mine, and calling DeVare, said —
“Mr. DeVare, let’s take those seats by the window; I have a fuss to make up with you, too.”
DeVare, of course, complied, and I was left alone on the sofa with Miss Carrover. We still had the box of pictures in our hands, but as soon as DeVare left she closed the box and said:
“Let’s put these tiresome old pictures up, and talk some. Tell me all about the way the Sophs treated you when you first came.”
To be near such superb beauty was almost too much for my poor sentimental heart; and then to have her wish to hear me talk, and even prescribe the subject, as if my words would be full of so much interest! I was stupid for awhile with surprise, and sat for nearly half a minute gazing abstractedly and impolitely in her face. Indeed, ‘twas well worth gazing on.
Her hair was not done up regularly, but caught in great loose folds around her head, so as to best set off her face, and was rolled back from her clear white forehead in a great golden wave – yet its color was not altogether golden; it had a tinge of red that made it glow with a tawny light. Her skin was perfectly smooth and clear, and of wax-like whiteness, tinged with a bright peach pink on her cheeks. But her chief charms were her eyes and mouth. Her eyes were hazel or dark gray, I could never tell which, shaded with very long lashes and deep upper lids, that gave them a dreamy, languid expression, that always impresses us as most beautiful, we know not why. Her mouth was small, and very much arched at the corners; her lips bright red, and her teeth perfectly white; the upper lip protruded slightly, as if she was ever a little surprised, and this, combined with a constant slight arch of the eyebrows, imparted an air of interest in all you said, notwithstanding the languor of her general expression. Her beauty was Dudu’s, and Byron well knew its fascinating power.
As soon as I recovered from my brief contemplation of her face I made an attempt to give her my experience as a Fresh, and what with the pleasure of talking at all to her, and her interest in my subject, and continued ejaculations of pity, I began to wish the fellows had done me much worse than they had, it was so delightful to have her listen to the recital of my woes. When I told her of my fainting under the smoking, she smiled such a lazy little smile, and said, “I did not know gentlemen indulged in such feminine weaknesses.”
“But the air was so noxious, Miss Carrover, no one could have borne it. You would have been compelled to faint.”
“Oh, I faint quite easily,” she said, arching one eyebrow instead of two, “I came near falling from my horse as I went to mount last evening, and became unconscious for a little while.”
“And was no one there to catch you?” I asked, with earnest heroism in my tone.
“Oh, of course, I took care to be provided with that safeguard. Do you think you could catch me if we were riding and I should fall?”
“I would catch you if you fell from the skies,” I replied, warmly, involuntarily feeling my arm, as if it belonged to Hercules, and looking at her just in time to catch a glance of significance passing between herself and DeVare. Feeling that perhaps I was just a little ridiculous, I endeavored to leave the subject gradually by asking if she was fond of riding horseback, and begging the honor of an engagement for the next evening. She thanked me, and said that as she had introduced the subject I might have construed it into a hint, and she must therefore decline the offer. As I seemed so cut down, however, she agreed to make an indefinite engagement, the time to be fixed any time after that evening.
She then drew me out about our halls and libraries, till I had told of every alcove, and how well they were arranged for courting, and that all the students carried their sweethearts there, and ended by asking her to go with me there some evening after lecture. Another lazy smile, and she softly reminded me that she had introduced that topic also, and must therefore decline again, “at least,” she said, looking at me sideways under her long lashes, “till you claim me as your sweetheart, as you state that it is the resort of lovers only.”
I flushed and hushed for a moment, when DeVare rose from his seat with Miss Minnie, and said it was time for us to go.
Miss Carrover gave me her hand at parting, and insisted on my calling again with so much sweet earnestness that I made myself ridiculous again in my promise to do so.
We had scarcely passed outside the gate when I commenced:
“DeVare, is she not perfectly splendid! I’ll vow I’m crazy about her.”
“That was shameful conduct in those scoundrels to-night,” DeVare said, without noticing my remark, “and had it not been for Miss Minnie and Lillian I would have punished them on the spot.”
“Do you call her Lillian, Ramie?” I asked with surprise.
“If any of them want satisfaction for anything I said to-night,” he continued, without heeding me, “I will have to request you, Jack, to act as my friend.”
“You may depend on me, Ramie; but if there is to be any difficulty, I must be the principal, as it was all begun on my account.”
“Oh, nonsense,” he said. “I gave the insult to them, and of course I only can satisfy them. I do not expect anything, however, from that crowd, as they are too cowardly to resent an insult.”
We parted at his room, and when I reached mine I made Ned put up his books for the night, and listen to my account of Miss Carrover.
When I had at last wearied him out, and we went to bed, I could not go to sleep for the dancing train of fancies that were rushing through my mind. I lay there till far in the night, recalling every incident of my visit, trying to make its memory as vivid as possible, thinking of every word she had said, and regretting the many foolish things I had said, which might lessen me in her estimation – (but oh! I hoped not!) – wondering how she who had seen so much of society, who had seen everything worth seeing in Europe and America, and knew almost everybody worth knowing, could be so interested in my talk – a youth just approaching manhood, unused to the ways of the world and unskilled in the use of the tongue. Then I would, by an ingenious process, known only to those who are vain, endeavor to convince myself that she did like me, and would eventually love me. I would imagine her telling Miss Minnie that I was a handsome fellow, and so entertaining; then wishing for me to call again, then giving me a preference in attention when I did call, then writing sweet notes of thanks for the many love tokens and gifts I would send her, then a moonlight stroll, a courtship, a kiss, and eternal happiness!