FATHER awoke us by coming into our room with the lamp and telling us
that Horace was waiting with the carriage. We were up and dressed by
the time William had carried down our trunks. We went down to the
dining room, where the gas was burning with the sleepy glare it always
has in the morning, as if it had just waked from a sound nap. I felt no
appetite, but gulped down an egg, a bit of steak and some coffee, as if
it were medicine. Horace sent in word that we had best hurry, as he had
heard the engine blow for backing down some time ago. I slipped on my
linen duster, pulled on one glove, told the servants good-bye with half
a dollar each, pressed father’s hand, received mother’s fond embrace
and fervent “God bless you, my child,” and touched Carlotta’s lips
with a thrill the hurry could not damp, and Ned and I were rattling
over the pavement to the depot. As soon as my eyes recovered from the
glare of the gaslight I found that day had dawned and objects were
plainly visible. The dwelling houses were all closed, except where an
extra smart housemaid here and there had opened the shutters, and was
sweeping off the steps. Nobody was astir in the streets yet except one
or two butchers’ carts, rattling on to the market house with their
loads of beef. We rolled on down through the business part of the city,
where sleepy porters, in their shirt sleeves, were taking down shutters
and sprinkling and sweeping out the stores; on past the newspaper
offices, where they were still working by gaslight, and where little
newsboys were coming out with bundles of damp papers; on down Market
street, past drowsy drays, with lazy negro drivers slapping the fat,
sluggish horses with the ends of the reins; on, till we whirled round
the corner at the river, where the chilly morning breeze was rippling
the water and clicking the wavelets against the sides of the vessels
and rafts that lay on the gray river, without other signs of life than
a sailor leaning over the railing, dipping up water with his bucket and
rope, or a negro cooking his breakfast at the door of his raft’s cabin.
The rigging, wet with mist, stretched like immense spider webs from
yard to yard, and the jack, left out all night, drooped straight down
the mast. How familiar is every log and piece of timber in the wharf!
Every barrel and hogs head is an acquaintance, and every spot we pass
the scene of some boyish frolic. Everybody that sees us bows and says
good-bye, and we almost feel sure that the town will pass resolutions
of regret at our departure.
We reach the train just in time, and find Frank already on board, with
seats reserved for us. He is pleasant towards me, and seems to bear
no ill feeling for my rudeness. Being a good talker, he enlivened
the tedium of travel with accounts of college life, and gave us many
valuable points in regard to our demeanor, instructing us how to
“dodge devilling,” and offering his assistance with as much conceit as
kindness.
When we reached Raleigh, there was a delay of some minutes, and the
train was soon crowded in the aisles with those getting out and those
coming in. As we sat watching them Frank suddenly exclaimed, “Yonder’s
Carrover and Brazon, as I am a sinner!” and I saw two young men
lounging up the aisle from the rear door. One of them filled my idea
of what a senior ought to be. His beaver was tipped just a little on
one side of a head covered with a profusion of rich brown curls, his
face handsome, though pale, and ornamented with a dainty moustache and
goatee; his form tall and graceful, and his dress very elegant but not
foppish. He also carried a gold headed cane, larger and heavier than
Frank’s. His companion impressed me very disagreeably. He was short
and thick of stature, with a bold, red face, staring pale blue eyes
and a carrotty frizz of hair. He was dressed in very flashy style, and
his linen was frowzy and rumpled. He greeted Frank with boisterous
cordiality, and took the seat immediately behind us. The tall and
elegant young man, I thought, greeted Frank very coolly, as if there
was not much intimacy between them. He took a seat some distance off,
and taking the _British Quarterly Review_ from his travelling bag, was
soon buried in its pages.
Brazon, as soon as there was a pause in Frank’s conversation, leaned
over and asked us politely how far up the road we were going.
“Only to Durham’s station,” I replied, feeling complimented by his
notice.
“Then you are going to Chapel Hill?”
“Yes,” I said, turning in my seat, so as to look at him; “you have been
at college there, have you not?”
“Oh, yes,” he replied, his pale eyes twinkling maliciously. “May I ask
what class you intend to join?”
“The Fresh, I suppose, unless the professors——” but before I could
finish the sentence he shouted in a loud tone: “Hello! Frank! here
are a couple of Fresh, regular green ones, too. That’s right,” he
said, addressing us, and patting me on the shoulder, “sit together on
the same bench, like good little boys. Did mamma and papa tie you
together, for fear you’d get lost? That’s clever, my children, do as
your pairients tell you and the devil will give you candy some day.”
I was so taken by surprise at the sudden change in his tone from
the polite to the jeering, that I sat with a burning face under his
ridicule, while the car was shaking with the laughter of the passengers
at our discomfiture, and never thought of resenting it. Frank,
however, who had gone to the other end of the car to get some water,
returned and saw the position of affairs. He caught Brazon by the arm,
exclaiming:
“What the devil are you doing, Brazon? These gentlemen are particular
friends of mine. You must have forgotten yourself.”
“No I didn’t, either. How could I know they were your friends when you
said nothing about them? But since they are, I beg pardon. Introduce me
and we will shake hands round and be friends.”
It was with some hesitation I took his proffered hand; but I felt that
it were best to make no enemies on my first entrance into college.
We all talked pleasantly together during the few minutes it took the
train to reach Durham’s, and, getting off there, found a number of
hacks waiting to convey us to the Hill. There were many others going
there, so we hastened to secure the best hack, and were soon jogging
over that worst of roads. Carrover secured a seat in another vehicle,
but gave it up to a lady and child, and took a place with us.
We stopped only once to cool out the horses, under some large trees
by a well, when Carrover opened his travelling case, and taking out a
silver flask offered it first to Ned and myself. We both declined, but
I found that, in this my first temptation, it was difficult to refuse,
so afraid was I of seeming boyish. The other three all complimented
its contents by a plentiful inhibition, as the driver checked up his
horses’ heads and we resumed our journey.
When we reined up at the hotel we found the steps thronged with the
Sophs, waiting for the hacks to bring in their victims. As soon as we
got out we were surrounded by a score of them, all leering in our faces
and yelling “Fresh! Fresh!” as if they had the article to sell.
With most impudent effrontery they gathered around us, each vieing with
the others in casting ridicule upon us; nor were witty sallies alone
the extent of their teasing; many of the coarsest personalities were
indulged in. No one seemed to enjoy it much, and only an absurd sense
of what was due a foolish college custom urged them on.
“Look what a big trunk,” said one, striking my solitary piece of
baggage with his cane hard enough to nearly blister the leather; “I’ll
bet he has homespun cake in there. Fresh, let me sleep with you,” he
continued, taking my arm, with every appearance of friendship, “but no,
you are too dirty,” releasing me with a gesture of disgust.
“Hoopee! what a foot!” said another, stooping down to take an
exaggerated measurement of my foot. “Fresh, how do you get your boots
on without a crane to lift your feet?”
“Well, Fresh,” said a pert little fellow to Ned, “what is the price of
tallow where you live? It ought to be very cheap if that is a sample
in your face.” As Ned was really very sallow this remark called forth
a general laugh, during which we walked up the steps into the office,
the crowd opening before and closing behind us in a continuous yell of
ridicule and shame, heaped on us in every conceivable way.
Frank’s friends all seemed glad to see him, but, even amid the storm
of persecution that surrounded us, I could not help noticing that they
all wore flash clothes, and had inflamed eyes and a profane swagger.
Frank told us that it was out of his power to shield us from devilment
in such a crowd, but that he would get us rooms for the night and
we would be safe in them. He went in to see the proprietor and we
were left standing in the midst of a deriding throng. 1 never felt
so much like a culprit in my life. Nowhere could I look and find a
single glance of sympathy. On every side were hoots, hisses and vulgar
witticisms; and the attempt to utter a word was only the signal for
such a roar as would drown every syllable. While standing thus, a
tall, languid youth, with drooping side whiskers and a pair of gold
eye-glasses, pushed his way through the crowd and asked, “What Fresh
are these you have here? Introduce me.” Some one shouted: “That is Mr.
Danvers, Fresh; speak to him.”
“How do you do, gentlemen? I am most happy to see you with us,” said
Danvers, offering his hand in the most cordial manner. Eager to touch
somebody’s hand that would sympathize, I extended mine gladly, but ere
I touched his he drew it back with the sneer, “Oh, no, Fresh, you must
wash yours first; you’ve been travelling, you know.”
“Shame! shame! Danvers. A Junior devilling Fresh!” exclaimed several
voices.
“I confess,” said Danvers, turning off, laughing; “but it was such a
good thing. They are greener than verdure itself, and will swallow
anything you offer!”
Frank now came to us and said he had secured rooms, and that we could
go up now if we wished. Of course we wished to do so, and once in, and
the door locked, we gave vent to our feelings in no measured terms,
both feeling assured that neither Huguenots nor Waldenses ever felt the
bitterness of persecution as we did, and both wishing at heart that we
were again at home.
We had scarcely bathed and gotten rid of the dust of travel when the
gong sounded for supper. We went down and found the tables occupied
entirely by the students, as there was little or no travel to such
a retired village, from the outside world. A bevy of Sophomores rose
on our appearance and escorted us to the table, and, drawing back our
chairs, held them for us. Bewildered by their strange attentions, we
attempted to seat ourselves, but, of course, found the chairs _non
sub nobis_. I recovered myself, but Ned plumped heavily down upon the
floor, to the boisterous merriment of the whole room.
At last seated, and served by the regular attendants, we attempted
to eat, but every mouthful was declared enormous by those watching
us, every action said to be ill mannered, and our whole demeanor so
criticised that our appetites departed and we felt no desire for
food. If we had, there would have been little opportunity for its
gratification. If I chanced to turn my head, a teaspoonful of salt
went into my tea. If I asked the waiter for a biscuit, my tormentor
across the table would pour a dozen into my plate. Silver forks and
napkin rings were dropped into my pockets, and the proprietor called to
identify his property. When we rose we were escorted from the room by
the same guard of honor, even to the door of our room, where they left
us for the night.
Ned and I sat down on the side of our beds and looked out of the
windows at the red evening sky, fast paling into twilight, and we felt
dreary and lonely indeed. Frank was off with some of his friends, and
we were afraid to venture out lest a renewal of purgatorial tortures
should assail us. After awhile we could hear the noisy throng down
stairs going away in twos and threes for their evening stroll, and,
discovering from the window that they had all departed, I proposed to
Ned that, as it was fast growing dark, we slip down stairs and take a
stroll, as it was too sultry to remain in our room. As we came out into
the hotel porch a lazy Senior, who was sitting with his feet on the
railing, quietly smoking, with the enviable tranquillity of might, said
to us—
“Ah, Fresh,” as we went down the steps, “don’t let the Sophs find
you before you get back. Whenever you see a party of more than two
approaching, cross over, for only the Sophs go in numbers.”
We thanked him, and walked up the street to the very road by which we
had come in. We turned into this, and walked on till we came to a small
eminence overlooking a little landscape, and on this knoll we sat down
to gaze on the scene and to condole with each other in our troubles.
The woods and plains below were bathed in the glorious light of the
full orbed moon, which had risen, like a goddess of serenity, from the
horizon. White night clouds floated lightly across her face, shaking
off flakes of fleece into the blue sea around them.
“Ned,” I said at length, “I look on the moon now as an old friend. It
is the only familiar thing I can see, and I feel a positive affection
for it.”
“So do I,” he replied, “and it seems doubly dear when I remember that,
while it is beaming so placidly on us, it is also looking down upon the
dear ones at home, and that, while we are so far apart, yet we can both
gaze up at the same object, and imagine it a great mirror, in which
each of us can see the others.”
“Ah! ‘home, sweet home!’ I never knew the depth of meaning in the words
before. I wonder what they all are doing there now. Would you not give
a great deal just to drop in among them for a minute or two?”
“I would, indeed; but yonder come some of our tormentors. I think we
had better turn back and meet them.”
A half dozen or more students were approaching, laughing and talking
loudly; and, judging from their tones and appearance that they were
Sophs, we thought the best we could do would be to pass them, if
possible, on the shaded side of the road, and, by an unconcerned air,
to go by unnoticed. We had not got opposite before they detected
us, and, with a shout of “Fresh! Fresh!” surrounded us. Every form
of insult capable of conveyance by language was heaped upon us, yet
so rapid and constant the stream that no one in particular could be
selected on whom to resent it.
They turned back with us and impeded our progress by every conceivable
means, thrusting their faces in front of ours, so that to advance would
be to touch theirs; standing in front of us, so that we were compelled
to go around them, and yelling with all their vociferous might into
our ears the traditional Fresh song or chant, whose diabolical burden
is the harsh and brutish bellowing (with a leader and a chorus)
of these syllables: “Toot, toot, toot-tat-toot. Ba-a-a-h!” We had
returned nearly to the hotel in this undignified manner, the throng of
persecutors gathering strength as we entered the streets, till we were
completely surrounded—those in front walking backwards, and stopping
every now and then suddenly, that we might be jostled against by those
who were thronging behind, all bellowing the pandemoniacal chorus,
without words and still less tune. Sedate professors looked gravely at
the noisy procession, as it successively passed their gates, and made a
pretence of trying to recognize the offenders in the moonlight; young
ladies came to their doors and laughed, as we marched by like culprits;
and even negroes stopped in the streets to gaze and snicker at our
predicament. I was choking with rage and indignation, but did not well
know how to help myself. Ned, usually so quiet, was, I could see,
terribly roused, and his prudence was fast yielding to his wrath. As we
approached the hotel he could contain himself no longer, but, stopping
short and taking advantage of the momentary lull, said:
“A foolish custom gives you the right to tease and worry me inside of
college bounds, and I am willing to bear my part there, but I deny that
right in the public streets, and shall treat all further molestation
as an insult. Let me pass, sir!”
This last remark was addressed to a coarse, burly fellow, who was
standing immediately in front of Ned, with his eyes open very wide,
as if in wonder. As Ned ceased speaking he thrust his great red face
right into Ned’s with a derisive laugh. The next instant the blood was
gushing from his nose, as Ned struck him with all his might in the
face. This was the signal for a general _melee_. I had hardly time to
spring forward and ward off a blow from Ned’s head when a cane fell
heavily on my own, making the whole place dance around with me, and
increasing my sphere of stellar observation wonderfully. I made out to
grapple with the nearest adversary, while Ned went down under twice
his weight. The fencing saved me from a similar fate, and I had almost
succeeded in turning my antagonist under, when the cry of “Faculty!
Faculty!” was raised, and, as if by magic, every student fled, leaving
Ned and me to claim the honors of the field, if the couple of tall
gentlemen in dark clothes that were now seen approaching were disposed
to accord us any.
“Ned, are you hurt much?” I inquired anxiously, assisting him to rise.
“No; are you?” he replied.
“No, only a little thump on the head; but yonder are some of the
Faculty coming, and, if we do not wish to be involved in a long trial,
we’d better run.”
“I am surprised at you, John. Run! what for? I should act precisely the
same way under the same circumstances again.”
The two figures we had seen had come up to us by this time, and proved
to be only a couple of students, members of the Senior class, and one
of whom I recognized as Mr. Carrover, my travelling acquaintance.
“What’s the row?” he said, looking at us inquiringly, as we were
brushing the dust from our clothes. “Oh, I see, Sophs devilling you and
you resisted; right, too. They have no privileges beyond the campus.
Come, go back with us, we will see that you are not molested further
to-night.”
We were about to proceed to the hotel, when Carrover’s companion spoke,
for the first time, with a soft, rich voice:
“Charlie, you forget me. I shall have to introduce myself. DeVare is my
name——”
“DeVare, I beg your pardon,” said Carrover, hastily, “let me introduce
you to Mr. Cheyleigh, of Wilmington, and Mr. Smith, of the same place.”
“I am very happy to know you both,” he said pleasantly, offering his
hand, “any assistance Charlie or myself can give you in dodging the
Sophs will be cheerfully rendered.”
We thanked him, and brushing the dust of conflict from our clothes with
our handkerchiefs, walked back with them to the hotel. The porch steps
were thronged with students talking about our difficulty.
“The scamps showed fight, did they,” said one, as we approached;
“that’s too high for Fresh—they must be taken down.”
“Yes,” echoed another, “a good smoke will bring ’em ’round .”
“How came they to fight? Was anybody hurt?” asked another.
“Why, we were just devilling them a little,” said the first speaker,
when one of ’em asked Burly to let him pass, as if he were the Sultan,
and, because Burly didn’t make his obeisance, put a smasher on his
nose. Ellerton tapped one a little with his cane, and I was choking the
one that hit Burly, but the mutton-headed Faculty broke us up.
We had reached the steps by this time, and passed through the crowd
without molestation. Carrover turned when he got in the porch and said,
addressing the students:
“It was mean enough to devil Fresh in the streets, without a dozen
of you trying to beat two. If anything further is attempted to-night
DeVare and myself will remain with them and help them to defend
themselves.”
“Whoo-ee,” shouted a half dozen voices, “that won’t do, Carrover; too
plain a bid. Drum for your club more secretly.”
We only noticed that this sally rather confused Carrover, when,
thinking it prudent to withdraw, we slipped off to our room unnoticed,
and locked and bolted the door. We lit our lamps and examined the
results of our struggle. A little knot on my head, and a torn collar
on Ned’s part, completed our list of casualties. Summing up the events
of the day, we came to the conclusion that college life was not such
a very fine thing after all, and that John Howard Payne was extremely
sensible when he wrote
“There’s no place like home.”