Sea-gift

“I say, Mis’er Mar’c’um,” I said, leaning much more heavily on his shoulder than I intended, “you did’n think I loved Lill’yun the most, did y’r? Ellert’n was only jok’n. B’cause I got’s much’s she did in that game. Umph? Don’t you think so. Umph? Say, don’t you think so? Umph?”

“Who the devil is Lillian?” he said, turning a red face and bloodshot eyes upon me. “Hold up. Trickley is going to sing.”

“All right,” I said, pushing myself up from him; “just’s you say; I’ll tell you ‘bout it again.”

I saw Trickley indistinctly on the other side of the table and heard him sing something about and closing my eyes to relieve them of the misty light I dozed in a half sleep with my head upon my breast till I was awakened by the applause at the conclusion of Trickley’s song.

“The world is all an ocean and the people are the fish,The devil is the fisherman and baits us as we wish;When he wants to catch a boy he baits with sugar plums,When he wants to catch a man he baits with golden sums,”

“H’rah!” I shouted, a little louder than any one else, smashing my glass as I brought it down upon the table.

“Com mere, Jim,” I said, beckoning to the waiter who stood near me, “brush off these glass, and hold me up and sweep under me. D’you hear?”

Negro-like he was full of laughter at my condition, and snickered outright as he swept off the fragments of glass.

“Who’re you laughing at, you scoundrel? Umph?” I said, boiling over with rage, and seizing a goblet which Markham barely caught in time to save.

“I declare, sir, I wasn’t laughing at all, sir,” said Jim, frightened at my anger.

“You’re a lie, aint you? I say, aint you a lie? Markham, lend me your pist’l.”

Markham was just drunk enough to do it, and handed a Sharpe’s four-shooter, but the negro had fled from the room, while Frank and Ellerton took the pistol away from me. Seeing how much intoxicated I was, they told me the poor negro had no idea of laughing at me, and that I had hurt his feelings very much, and ought to beg his pardon.

“Bring him in and I’ll do it;” as I spoke he came in again with some cigars, and I called him to me. He had not lost all of his recent fright, however, and hesitated about coming any nearer.

“Why don’t you com mere, Jim. I’ll throw a chair at you ‘f you don’t come,” I said, making an effort to rise. At length he drew near enough for me to touch him, when I threw one arm around his neck and said, with half sobs:

“I beg your pard’n, Jim; I won’t hurt you. Are you ‘fraid of me? Umph? I love you, Jim, b’cause you’re all right, aint you?”

The others pulled me from him, and told him to get on the other side of the table.

“No; I want Jim to com mere. I know what I want; you all don’t know what I want.”

“No, no, Smith, let Jim alone. Here, take a cigar,” said one or two, offering a case.

“No; I want Jim. Jim’s all right,” I said, looking sleepily defiant.

“Wait till after supper,” said Ellerton, “then you can see him. It’s your time to give us a song now.”

“Th – hat’s all right, Ellerton; you’ll help me sing, won’t you? Now, I’m going to sing:

“Then fill up your glasses – and your tumbler ‘sand your goblets,And drink to the health of it – all up and ask – for more” —

“Oh, we’ve had enough of that, Smith. Sing us something, or we will have to try Peepsy, here,” said Trickley, who had been trying to make Peepsy say something all the evening.

“Vive la! vive la compagnic!” I sang, winding up with a hiccup.

“Smith, that’s stale, and boring as the devil,” said Ellerton; “hush! and let us hear the Fresh sing.”

I was too stupid to make any reply, but made out to hear poor little Peepsy protest that he knew but one song in the world, and that was a hymn. But they would all take no refusal, and swore that unless he sang it they would tie him and leave him in the street all night, a threat he implicitly believed. I was almost in a second doze when I heard his little, quivering voice, as he sang:

“I love to steal a while away,” etc.

A song learned at his mother’s knee rendered in a drunken carousal! Poor little fellow, he was not in fault!

Ellerton now proposed that we light our cigars and go up to the campus to have some fun.

The Seniors said it was too undignified for them, and took their leave, and little Peepsy begged so hard we let him off.

When I rose from my chair the floor seemed to rise in waves before me, and, attempting to collect my senses and steady my feet, I fell, and, striking my head against the table leaf, lay unconscious till they carried me out. The fresh air revived me somewhat, and we staggered on with a noise and tumult that called several others from their beds to join our plans, which were to bar the doors, tar the benches and put a cow in the belfry, if possible.

Drunk as I was, I recognized in the accessions to our crowd the lowest men in college – fellows that I never spoke to, and who were evidently surprised at my plight. But it was no time for proud reserve, and so I led the way, shouting every few steps:

“Come on, boys; we’re all right, ain’t we?”

We procured some tar and smeared on all the benches in the accessible rooms, barred the doors and then went up to the belfry, which we burst in to get to the bell. While a part staid to ring it others went down to look for a cow to bring up. I sank down on the steps in a stupid sleep, with the thought piercing my drunken brain like a sword, “I am disgraced for ever. My parents will be mortified and my friends desert me.”

I was awakened by a terrific noise near me, and some one’s stumbling over me. ‘Twas some time before I could see what was the matter, but at length, by a dingy lantern, I saw students above me with ropes in their hands. The ropes were tied to the horns of a cow that was standing with glaring eyes and frightful bellowing a few steps below me. I was too much frightened to move, and with great relief heard Frank reply to some one who suggested to run over the fool:

“No, no; that’s Smith. He’s all right. Help him up, Donnery.”

The person addressed caught me by the arm and gave me a rough jerk that landed me on the top step, from which I managed to crawl off to one side out of the way.

“Now for it I” exclaimed several voices below; “pull, Donnery, you and Haggam pull.”

They seemed to strain and tug at something without effect, and Haggam said, with a long breath:

“What makes her so devilish hard to move? She came up the lower flights very well.”

“She got scared of that drunken fool on the steps,” I heard the coarse voice of Donnery reply, and, intoxicated as I was, I breathed a solemn vow to Heaven that I would never merit that term again.

Drawing the ropes tight again, Donnery shouted to Frank:

“Twist her tail, Paning, – her! that will move her.”

“I have,” said Frank, “and she won’t budge.”

“Let me get hold,” said a great rough fellow standing by him, and, taking the vaccine caudal in his two hands, he gave it such a wrench that, with a horrid roar, the poor creature clattered up the steps, her hoofs sounding on the wood as if the building were falling. Once on the floor, they drove her on to a lecture room, and nailing up the door, left her there. Having finished this job they dispersed, Frank calling out good night! to me as he passed. I heard some one tell him he had better see to me, and heard him reply carelessly:

“Never mind, he rooms on this floor, Cheyleigh’ll find him,” and my vow gained all the more strength from his neglect.

I had just sense enough left to try to find my room, and was trying to totter to my feet, when some one took hold of my arm and said:

“Mr. Smith, let me help you. Are you hurt much?”

It was little Peepsy, who roomed on the same floor, and whom I had laughed at so, at Frank’s supper. He kindly endeavored to assist me to walk, but I was too drunk to make any progress, even with his assistance, so I sat down on the floor while he went to call Ned. A dizzy sickness came over me, and I essayed to lean on one arm to steady myself, but my elbow doubled under me and I fell over heavily on one side, bruising my forehead against the hard plank. The only consciousness left was a sense of shame, and I murmured, “What would father and mother say if they could see me now.”

A light appeared at the farther end of the corridor, and I saw Ned approaching. A last tinge of pride made me desirous to seem less intoxicated to him, and, as he came up, I called out, trying to raise my head:

“Hel-lo-old fellor, I’m all right; I want t’go t’me room, Ned. Where’s se key?”

Ned did not make any reply, but with Peepsy’s aid got me to our room and assisted me to bed.

I had scarcely tumbled lifelessly upon it before I was asleep.

When I awoke all was still in the room, the sun was shining very brightly out doors, and looking at the clock on the mantel, I saw that it was nearly twelve. Oh! the torture of that awakening!

My whole body seemed to be scorching in horrid flames, and my tongue and throat cracked with the heat, while a raging thirst consumed me. Yet I was so weak and feeble that had water been near me I could not have stretched forth my hand to touch it.

But physical suffering was nothing to my mental torture. My instability of character, my broken resolves, my ridiculous and disgraceful conduct, my wreck of all pretensions to moral character, the surprise and pain of my friends, the sneers of my enemies, and my own consciousness of degradation, all crowded upon me till I felt that my disgrace was irretrievable.

With a sigh of relief I heard the bell ring, and put a stop to the train of my remorseful reflections.

Ned came in, with a kind smile on his face, and, at my whispered request, gave me a goblet of cool, fresh water. How intensely delicious it was! Better far than the amber Chian or red Falernian, mellowed by years in the vaults of Mecænas, the pure, harmless beverage God hath brewed for His creatures!

CHAPTER XXIX.

Apologizing for the prolixity of my last chapter on drunkenness only by the hope that a recital of my own ridiculous behavior may induce some slave of Bacchus, who may recognize any part of the account as familiar, to renounce his allegiance and be free, I invite my readers to take another skip with me.

A year has passed and it is Commencement week. I am a Junior, while Frank is to graduate.

Since his defeat, last year, for Marshal, he has gone rapidly down, till he has lost all moral and social position in college. He is drunk nearly all the time, and has gathered around himself a crowd of low associates, that place him almost beyond the pale of recognition. We have had very little intercourse since his defeat, though I have recently desired to notice him more out of pity than anything else, because so many others cut him. His brilliant mind, in spite of his dissipation, still achieves something in his studies, and it is thought he will get one of the honors in his class.

The Saturday before Commencement he surprised me very much by coming to our room with an open letter in his hand, and saying:

“John, I have just received a letter from Lulie. She and one or two of the Wilmington girls are coming up to our Commencement, and, as I will be busy in speech making and graduating, I must beg you to help me out in attending to them.”

“It will give me great pleasure to do so,” I replied. “What day will they get here?”

“On Monday,” he said, looking at the letter. “I believe you have not been to Wilmington since your father left, but you used to know all these ladies. You must introduce some fellows to them, so they will have a pleasant time.”

“Of course I will; but take a seat, Frank, you have not been in my room before in a long time.”

“No, thank you, I have an engagement at twelve.”

He left the room, and I sat for some time in unpleasant reflection. If Lulie came to Chapel Hill, and received attention from Frank and his set, she would be put down as second class, and my circle of friends would hardly wait on her, even at my request. Knowing her high social position at home, I knew that Dr. Mayland, as well as herself, would be deeply mortified when they knew the character of her associates, if she visited Chapel Hill under Frank’s auspices; on the other hand, if I went to her and warned her when she came she would regard my information as a fiction of my prejudice against Frank, and despise me for it. Yet I felt sure he did not love and respect her, for only a day or two before he had said, when I asked if he were going to be married after Commencement, that he was going to see something of life first, that Lulie would keep for a year or two yet without spoiling, and that, even if she did prove false and love another, he had about tired of her.

After thinking over the matter I determined to wait and see whom Frank introduced to her, as his own pride might induce him to select companions suitable to her refinement and culture.

Going to the post-office that afternoon I received a letter from father, dated at London, saying that they would start the next day but one for the United States. They would land at Halifax, and come through Canada to Niagara, where they would wait for me to join them as soon as my college exercises were over. He spoke of the wondrous beauty of Carlotta, now that she was a woman, and said that fortunes and honors in profusion had been laid at her feet, but that she had refused all, and he did not think her heart had yet been touched. Her cousin, Herrara Lola, a young Cuban of rank and fortune, had joined them at Madrid, and had been travelling with them ever since. He was coming South with them to spend the summer and autumn, returning to Havana in the winter.

“And your mother and I fear,” continued he, “that when he leaves he will take away with him our beautiful Carlotta.”

I closed the letter with a great aching restlessness in my heart. Lose Carlotta! I had feared it ever since I had told her farewell, but my heart had not dared to acknowledge even to itself the possibility of such a loss. As I had received letter after letter telling of her ever increasing charms of person and character, I had longed with a great desire to see her once again and tell her how I loved her far more than any other dared to love, a desire made all the stronger by its utter hopelessness. And I had taken out my little ringlet each day, and, kissing it tenderly, wondered if she kept her pledge and ever thought of me. As I had learned the past winter of her successful debut in society, and her numberless triumphs, I felt that my hopes were forever fallen. She would return now puffed up with pride and conscious of superiority, while I would only appear to her as a rustic younger brother, whom she would be ashamed to exhibit to the arrogant Herrara.

“I won’t go to Niagara,” I said, savagely, crumpling the letter in my hand; “they will all look down on me now, and even father and mother will think I lack polish, after their European tour, for travel invariably breeds conceit.”

I took up my Herald to divert my thoughts, and running my eyes over its columns, saw the following among the marriage announcements:

“Marshman – Carrover. At the residence of the bride’s uncle, Mr. Isaac T. Carrover, No. – Fifth Avenue, by the Rev. Dr. Deeler, assisted by the Rev. Mr. Prynn, Hon. Palmer Marshman, M. C. for the – th Congressional District, to Miss Lillian Carrover. No cards.”

Poor Marshman, thought I, the rose leaves are plucked, only thorns for thee!

CHAPTER XXX.

When Frank and I entered the parlor of the hotel, after sending up our cards to Lulie and the other ladies from Wilmington, we found the room full of company. Strange faces among the ladies, and familiar faces among the students, were grouped on every side. All were bowing, smiling and talking in the most eager and interested manner, as they filled their dancing cards with engagements for the ball, or brought forward friends to be introduced. We had only to wait a few moments, when we heard light footfalls and the rustle of dresses on the stairway, and the next instant Lulie and her two friends came into the room and greeted us cordially.

What a fairy vision of loveliness was Lulie! Her exquisite figure, as petite as Titania’s, perfect in the bloom of womanhood, a vine-work of brown ringlets clustering around her shoulders, a sparkle in her bright eyes, and a roseate hue on her dimpled cheeks! The same beautiful being I had once adored, though more perfect now in her bewitching loveliness; the same cherry lips I had kissed before the nursery fire; the same roguish glance that had so often brought my heart into my mouth, as our eyes met across Miss Hester’s school room, and the same silvery laugh that I had thought was the sweetest music in the world. A tinge of sadness came over me as I bowed over her hand and thought of what might have been.

We passed a half hour very pleasantly, talking about old times and scenes, and making engagements for the festive occasions before us; but oh! what a yearning desire I felt to shield her from all possible harm, as I marked her fond looks turned, so often and trustfully, towards Frank’s bloated though still handsome features.

I was to escort her that night to the “Fresh” Declamation, and when we walked up the brilliantly lighted aisle of the chapel, which was thronged with the beauty of the State, I saw many a look of intense admiration directed towards the little fairy on my arm. Next morning a score of my friends came to ask the favor of an introduction, so that Lulie held quite a levee down at her hotel, though each one who called asked me in some surprise afterwards, how she came to be so intimate with “that fellow, Paning.”

Frank carried her that night to the “Soph.” speaking, and I could not but feel ashamed for her, as I marked the looks of surprise and coldness on the faces of my acquaintances, who, I felt sure, to a certain extent, classed her by her escort. After the speaking we had a little hop in the ball room, and I noticed she remained in the room only a short time, dancing one or two sets with Frank’s friends, men whom Dr. Mayland would have ordered from his parlor. I felt it was my imperative duty to advise her of it all, but I was so sure that she would attribute all my counsel to prejudice against Frank, and despise me for it, that I hesitated and delayed.

Next morning, while I was lying across my bed, enjoying the perfumed breeze that floated up from the flowery campus, Harrow, a friend and classmate, came in and sat down by me.

“Say, Smith!” he said, shading a match with his hands to keep it from being blown out, and speaking on each side of his cigar, “is that little beauty who was with Paning last night a friend of yours?”

“Yes,” I yawned; “why do you ask?”

“Because if she was anything to me I would either whip Paning or carry her away from here.”

“Why? What do you mean?” I asked, rising up on one elbow.

“Well, well,” he said, tossing the match out of the window, “it’s none of my business, perhaps; so let it be.”

“No, but you must tell me, Harrow; what have you seen or heard? The young lady and I at one time were great friends, and I still esteem her very highly, though she has not liked me much since that scoundrel Paning has taken possession of her heart. But I will do everything I can to serve her now. What do you know about them?” I rose up and sat by him on the edge of the bed.

“Paning does not respect her much, does he?” he asked, blowing smoke rings in the sunlight.

“No, that’s just it. She believes him to be the purest and best under Heaven, and trusts him blindly, while he, a villain, is trifling with her, and keeps her love only because he is proud of it. If he respected her he would not obtrude his polluted presence on her. But tell me, Harrow, what you know about her,” I continued; “if you wish, I will keep secret all you confide.”

“The deuce, no,” he said quickly; “I do not care for Paning. I would tell him about it myself, only I have no right to interfere.”

“Speak on, Harrow; what is it?”

“Well, for one thing, the very fact that she receives attention from such fellows as Paning and Donnery has lowered her in the estimation of your acquaintances; and then, even during the short time she has been here, those low fellows have originated enough scandal about her to damn a dozen women at the social bar.”

“No! Harrow, you cannot mean that; I have not heard one word against her.”

“Of course not,” he said, smoking vigorously; “nobody speaks of it before you.”

“She’s as pure as an angel,” I said, indignantly.

“I believe she is,” he replied, lolling back on the pillow; “but if she allows Paning to carry her into the company he does, she will not be thought so by others. Last night I had no lady with me, and, getting tired of dancing, I went up into the library, which you know was lit up for promenading couples. When it was pretty late, and everybody had gone down, I took down a book, and, reclining on a sofa in one of the alcoves, began to read. I had not read far before Donnery and another low fellow came into the library, each with a lady, or I had better say woman on his arm. They made some show of looking at the books and paintings, and while thus engaged Paning and Miss Mayland came in. She was leaning on his arm with an air of devotion and confidence I have never seen equalled, and they were speaking in soft, loving tones. Donnery met them, and, in his coarse way, introduced his companions. After some noisy conversation, full of slang and rude jest, they agreed that the hop was a bore, and Donnery said he would go down to Muggs’ and get some wine if they would wait and drink it in the library. They all assented except Miss Mayland, and I distinctly heard her ask Paning to see her home; but he vowed she must not leave yet, and she remained, though I knew from her silence that she felt out of place and ill at ease. When Donnery returned they took the librarian’s table and made a gay party around it. Though I could not see them, I knew that Miss Mayland was blushing at the songs and toasts that passed around; and I inferred, by Paning’s calling out in a loud tone, ‘No, not yet, Lulie,’ that she was again begging him to leave.”

“Harrow, did all this really occur as you have described it?” I asked, in indignant astonishment.

“It did, upon my honor,” he replied. “Several ladies and gentlemen, on coming to the library door and seeing who were in there, turned back down stairs, and soon after I left myself.”

“I’ll tell her of it to-day,” I said, throwing off my slippers and drawing on my boots. “Paning must be the veriest villain alive to take the woman he loves, or pretends to love, into such company.”

“He certainly did so,” said Harrow; “and, as I said before, I heard much comment this morning from those who saw Miss Mayland with such a set.”

When he rose to go I thanked him for coming to me with the information, and begged that he would explain and apologize for her presence in the library with Donnery and company to those whose opinion I valued, and whom he might hear allude to it.

During the day I was engaged so that I could not procure an interview with Lulie, and, much to my regret and annoyance, I saw her walk in the Chapel in the afternoon on Donnery’s arm, while his coarse face was lit up with an expression of triumph as he took his seat “among the high up ones,” as he said in a loud whisper to one of his friends leaning in the window.

That night the ball was to come off; and, as I buttoned my kids, and gave the last adjusting pull to the waist of my “spike,” I resolved that, as soon as I had paid the required courtesies to the lady I was going with, I would seek Lulie, and, whether it offended her or not, give her my last warning against Frank.

It was with difficulty I found her amid the throng that swayed and surged through the ball room. She was in rather a retired corner, receiving very little attention from any one. She had few engagements or none for the dance, and her usually bright face wore an expression of weariness and mental pain as I approached. She welcomed me gladly, and accepted my proposal to stroll in the campus with eagerness. The avenues were lit up, as there was no moon, and strolling down one of these, we turned aside to a rustic seat beneath a large oak. It was a quiet and secluded place; even the music in the ball room sounded soft and indistinct across the maze of shrubbery.