"Oh--of course--certainly," I replied. He had arisen from the armchair
in which evidently he had been listening to the singing. Then the wick
caught, and by the increased light I saw that the man before me looked
older than he had in the morning. His hair was almost white, and his
face about the eyes finely wrinkled, but its expression was full of
kindly humor, and I felt somehow that this stranger quite belonged
there, and that it was I who was the intruder.
"You see," he continued with a smile, "I feel that I have a certain
right to be here. This used to be my room. Let me introduce myself.
Curtis is my name--Curtis, '64."
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Curtis," said I. "I'm Jarvis, 190--. Was this
really your room? That seems an awfully long time ago."
He smiled again.
"I'm afraid it seems longer ago to you than to me. Would you mind if I
should smoke a cigar with you? I'd like to ask you some things about the
old building."
"Please do," said I. "And let me introduce my roommate, Ralph Hughes."
Ralph shook hands with Mr. Curtis, and we all sat down around the
fireplace. It seemed rather inhospitable not to be able to offer him any
refreshments, but there was only one bottle of beer in the
_papier-maché_ fire pail in my bedroom, and it was warm at that. Hence
we accepted our guest's cigars with some diffidence and awaited his
first interrogation. I could see that Ralph was brimming over with
eagerness to ask about "Uncle Ned" and a hundred other things which that
romantic ostrich of a boy had invented during the afternoon, and I felt
quite sure that before Mr. Curtis got away he would be obliged to pay
heavily for the temerity of his visit by being offered up upon the altar
as a sacrifice to Ralph's bump of acquisitiveness.
"Yes," said Mr. Curtis, "this was my room for four years. If you look
over on the windowpane I think you'll find my name scratched on the
glass in the lower left-hand corner. I wonder if that old picture of the
Belvoir Fox Hunt, that I left, is still here?"
"Oh, was that yours?" exclaimed Ralph. He darted into the bedroom and
unhooked a framed lithograph which had been the joy and pride of the
occupants of the room for the past four decades. Mr. Curtis turned it
round and pointed to his name in faded ink upon the back at the head of
a long line of indorsements, each of which represented a temporary
possessor.
"The old room seems about the same. The wall-paper has been changed, but
that big crack over by the bedroom I remember well. And there ought to
be a bullet hole in the frame of the door."
"A bullet hole!" exclaimed Ralph and I in unison.
"Yes," said Mr. Curtis quietly, "a bullet hole--a thirty-two caliber, I
should judge."
Ralph seized the lamp and, holding it high above his head, carefully
scrutinized the woodwork of the door.
"There it is!" he cried eagerly. "Right in the middle; and, by George,
there's the bullet, too! There's a story about that, I bet--isn't there?
Who fired it? How did it get there?"
He replaced the lamp, quivering with interest.
"A story if you like," responded Mr. Curtis, looking curiously out of
his laughing brown eyes at my impetuous roommate. "Yes, quite a little
story. I could hardly tell you about it unless I told you also something
of the man who fired the shot. Did you ever hear of Randolph? Randolph,
'64?"
The blank look which came into our faces rendered answer unnecessary.
"Never heard of Randolph, '64! _Sic fama est!_ I suppose some Jones or
Smith or Robinson now holds his place. Outside of Prex himself, there
wasn't a better-known figure in my time. Why, he occupied this very
room. He was my roommate."
"Did he, though!" ejaculated Ralph. "How did he come to be firing a
pistol around? Didn't he fall foul of the Yard policeman?"
"There were no Yard policemen in those days," said Mr. Curtis.
"What luck!" ejaculated Ralph. "Do tell us about Randolph!" he pleaded
in the same breath.
"Certainly. If you really wish it. I trust you fellows haven't any
examinations to-morrow."
"Examinations be hanged!" exclaimed Ralph.
"Well," began Mr. Curtis meditatively, "I remember as if it were only
yesterday being awakened one bright September morning in '60 by the
sound of a rich negro voice singing in time to the scuff-scuff of the
blacking of a pair of shoes. The sound entered the open window through
which the autumn sun was already pouring, and penetrated the stillness
of my bedroom, over there. I sprang out of bed and, thrusting my head
out of the window, beheld, seated comfortably upon the topmost step, a
comically visaged darky, clad in a pair of brown overalls and battered
felt hat, busily engaged in putting the finishing touches to a highly
polished pair of russet riding boots. Piled indiscriminately upon the
sidewalk, in front of the windows of the room opposite, lay several huge
trunks, while at the foot of the steps reposed a long wicker basket,
before which were ranged in order of height an astonishing collection of
riding boots and shoes of all varieties, upon which the disturber of my
dreams had evidently been hard at work, since they shone with a luster
glorious to behold. The negro, having critically examined the boot upon
his arm, and evidently satisfied with its condition, arose to place it
by the side of its mate, and in so doing caught sight of me. Instantly
he had doffed his old gray hat and was making a grave salutation.
"'Good mornin', suh.'
"For a moment this vision of darky courtesy deprived me of my ordinary
self-possession. Then his grin became contagious.
"'I heard you singing and thought I'd look out to see who it was. Do you
know who those trunks belong to?'
"'Dose? Why, dose is Marse Dick's. Oh, p'r'aps you ain't met Marse
Dick--Marse Dick Randolph, ob Randolph Hall, Virginny, suh.' He drew
himself up with conscious pride. 'We-uns jes' come las' night. Marse
Dick's rooms is in dar'--nodding toward the window--'en I wuz jes'
a-lookin' ober some ob his traps. Anyt'ing I kin do fo' you, suh? Glad
to be of any service, suh. I'se Marse Dick's boy--Moses--Moses March,
suh.'
"'Well, Moses,' I answered, 'I'm glad to make your acquaintance. You can
tell Mr. Randolph that if he is going to be a neighbor of mine I shall
call upon him at the earliest opportunity.'
"'Yah, suh. T'ank you, suh,' responded Moses.
"Just then the old bell on Harvard Hall began to clamor for the morning
chapel service, and realizing that the master of my new acquaintance
might be unfamiliar with college regulations, I called out:
"'You'd better wake Mr. Randolph or he'll be late for chapel.'
"'Call Marse Dick!' exclaimed the darky in apparent horror. 'Golly, I
darsn't call Marse Dick 'fo' ten o'clock. Why, he'd skin me alive.
'Sides, he tole me to bring roun' Azam 'bout ten o'clock.'
"'Azam?' I queried.
"'Yah, suh; Azam's Marse Dick's hunter. Bes' Kentucky blood, suh. Sired
by ole Marse's stallion Satan, out o' White Clover. Dar's a hunter fo'
you, suh. You jes' ought ter see Marse Dick a-follerin' de hounds.
'Scuse me, suh, fo' keepin' you a-waitin'. No, suh, t'ank you, suh; I
won't forgit de card, suh.'
"Hastily retiring to my bedroom I threw on my clothes and then hurried
off to chapel. The shades of Number 9, the room across the hall, were
still tightly drawn."
Mr. Curtis stopped and relit his cigar. The yellow sash curtains on
their sagging wires softly bellied in the night breeze, and through the
open windows came the distant chanting of the Institute march and the
tinkle of the pump.
"This very room!" repeated the old gentleman half to himself. "And this
very window!" His voice sank dreamily and he seemed for the moment to
have forgotten our presence. "Those were happy times. As I look back
over the forty years, the time I spent here seems one long vista of
glorious autumn days. The same old red-brick buildings; the same green
velvet sward; that old tolling bell; the gravel walks; the pump--I
remember there always used to be a damp place about ten feet square
about the pump; the old creaking stairs outside this very door; the
quiet evenings on the steps where those jolly chaps were singing; the
long talks before this very fireplace under the lamplight with Dick; and
then that fatal rupture with the South! How little it means to you! Why,
it is isn't even a dream. It's just tradition. I suppose you feel
it--you can't help feeling it. But if you had sat here, as I did, with
the fellows going away, and the company drilling on the Delta over
there--what do you call it now: the Delta?--and had shared the feverish
enthusiasm which we all felt, tempered by the sorrow of losing our
comrades; the little scenes when they went off one by one, and we gave
each fellow a sword or some knickknack to carry with him; and the long,
sad, anxious days when you waited breathless for news--and then, when it
came, often as not, had felt a pang at your heartstrings because some
fellow that you loved had got it at Bull Run, or Antietam, or Cold
Harbor! No, you can never know what that meant, and thank God you can't.
The rest is about the same. I see you have squirrels in the Yard now. We
never had any squirrels. I suppose you sit in these windows and watch
'em by the hour. Busier than you, I guess.
"But apart from the squirrels and the new buildings, the old place is
about the same--bigger, more imposing, of course, with its modern
equipment of museums and laboratories and all that, and best of all that
splendid monument with its transept full of memories. But it's not the
same to me. It's only when I turn toward the corner by Hollis and
Stoughton, as I did this afternoon, with Holden Chapel just peeping in
between, and the big elms swinging overhead, and, shutting my ears to
the rattle of the electric cars, listen to the sound of the same old
clanging bell, with the sun gilding the tree trunks and slanting along
the gravel pathways, that I can call back those dear old days. Then, it
seems as if I were back in '61."
In the pause which followed Ralph volunteered that we all did feel
somewhat of the same thing, only in a minor degree. He had often
imagined the fellows going off to the war and had wondered if it was
anything like what he supposed. He pattered on in his own peculiar way
trying to put our guest at ease and, as he expressed it later, to cheer
him up. It would never have done, he averred later in his own defense,
to let "Old Marse" get groggy over the "sunlit elms." However, Mr.
Curtis changed the tone himself.
"And now to come to that first time that I ever saw Randolph. I had just
come from tea and was sauntering along the Yard in front of Stoughton
when I became conscious that my customary place upon the steps, out
there, had been usurped. The trunks and paraphernalia of the morning had
disappeared, and although Moses was absent, I knew somehow that this
could be no other than 'Marse Dick.' He was tall, with muscular back and
shoulders, and his clothes of dark-blue serge hung on him as if they had
grown there. His feet were encased in long-toed vermilion morocco
slippers, and the other elements of his costume which caught my eye were
a yellow corduroy waistcoat, very faddish for those days, and a flowing
red cravat. A broad-brimmed black slouch hat was well pulled down over
his eyes, while from beneath protruded a long brierwood pipe from which
voluminous clouds of smoke rolled forth upon the evening air without
causing any annoyance, so it seemed, to an enormous mastiff, who sat
contentedly between his master's knees, blinking his eyes and thumping
his tail in response to the caresses of the hand upon his head. As I
drew near the dog stalked over to meet me, sniffing good-naturedly, and
the stranger stepped down, removed his hat, and held out his hand with a
smile of greeting.
"'Mr. Curtis, I believe, suh?' he said in a low but agreeable drawl. 'My
boy Moses gave me the card you were kind enough to send by him this
morning. We are neighbors, are we not?'
"I had rather expected to see the face of a dandy, but instead a pair of
black eyes under almost beetling black brows burned steadily into mine.
He looked nearer thirty than twenty, and this appearance of maturity was
heightened by a tiny goatee. His smile was straightforward and honest,
the forehead, under the curly black locks, low and broad, the nose
aquiline and the skin dark and ruddy. Yes, he was a very pretty figure
of a man--as handsome a lad as one would care to meet on a summer's
day--part pirate, part Spanish grandee, part student, and every inch a
gentleman. Later there were plenty of fellows who said that no man could
dress like that (we were all soberly arrayed in those days) and be a
gentleman; or that no one could come flaunting his horses and dogs and
niggers into Cambridge, as Randolph undoubtedly did, and be one; or
could parade around the Yard smoking real cigars and keep dueling
pistols on his mantel and rum under the bed, as Dick did, and be one.
But he was, boys, he was!
"Perhaps he did talk too much about his niggers and his acres; too much
about his old mansion and its flower gardens, about stables, fox-hunting
and fiddlers--what of it? The point was that we were a lot of
soul-starved, psalm-singing Yankees, talking through our noses and
counting our pennies; while Randolph was a warm-hearted, hot-headed,
fire-eating, cursing Virginian.
"We shook hands and I joined him on the steps. It was just such a night
as this--calm and sweet, the stars peeping through the boughs, and the
windows shining. And that's how I like to think of him.
"He'd never been away from home before except to go to Paris. He talked
like a feudal baron, seeming to think that life was just one long
holiday; that no one had to earn a living; that things in general were
constructed by an amiable Deity solely for our delectation; and there
was in his attitude a recklessness and disregard for established usages
that left me totally at a loss. Imagine a fellow like myself taught to
regard card playing, the theater, and dancing as mortal sins, with a
father who believed in infant damnation and predestination; a fellow
brought up to gaze in silent admiration at Charles Sumner; and who was
allowed a silver half-dollar a week pocket money--imagine me, I say,
sitting out there with this free-thinking, free-hating, free-handed
slave owner! Why, I loved him with my whole heart inside of five
minutes. God bless my soul, how my father used to frown when they told
him about my new friend's latest escapade! But with all his freedom of
ideas he was as simple as a child. I don't believe the fellow ever had a
mean or an impure thought. I believe that as I believe in God.
"Well, I told him about my life--what there was to tell--and he told me
about his; how his father had died three years before, leaving him the
owner of very large estates and a great many hundred slaves--I forget
how many. His mother was still living down on the plantation. They were
Roman Catholics--'Papists,' my father called them. The doctrines of the
Church, however, didn't seem to bother him at all, that I could see. His
father had evidently been the big man of the county, and had shared all
his sports and studies, cramming him with the most extraordinary amount
of miscellaneous reading and curious Chesterfieldian ideas of honor and
manners.
"I can remember, now, just how he described the old place to me, sitting
out there on the steps. He thought it the finest home in all the land.
Perhaps it was. I never had the heart to go there afterwards. One thing
I remember was a grand old garden laid out in terraces, the walks
bordered by box two hundred years old and as high as your head, where
little red and green snakes curled up and sunned themselves--a garden
full of old-fashioned flowers and fountains and sundials, and a water
garden, too, with lilies of every sort; and there was a family graveyard
right on the place where they had all been buried--where his father had
been--with a ghost--a female ghost--named Shirley, I recall that, who
flitted among the trees on misty mornings. Oh, it was a great picture!
I'll never see that old place. Perhaps it's just as well. It couldn't
have been as beautiful as he painted it. You see I'd been born in a
twenty-one-foot red-brick house on Beacon Hill.
"Then as we were sitting there on the steps, I broad awake but in
fairyland, out from under the trees shuffled Moses's quaint, crooked
figure. Wanted to know if eb'ryt'ing was all right with young Marse.
Azam and Bhurtpore was fixed first-class, suh. An' he'd done got a
little cubby-hole down in the stable to sleep in. Wuz dere any orders
to-night, suh? An' what time should he bring Azam roun' in de mornin'?
"'Go 'long with Moses, Jim,' said Randolph. The dog obediently arose,
stretched himself, and descended the steps.
"'Good night, Marse Dick,' said Moses.
"'Good night, Moses,' replied Dick. And the two, the darky and the dog,
disappeared under the shadow of the elms."
Mr. Curtis knocked the ash from his extinct cigar and relit it at the
top of the lamp chimney.
"I should just like to have seen him," remarked Ralph enthusiastically.
"And to think that he really lived in this room. How did that happen?
And which bedroom did he have?"
"The one on the left, nearest the door," replied Mr. Curtis.
Over in Stoughton some fool was strumming a banjo, singing "I'm a
soldier now, Lizette"--rottenly. And some one else, of the same mind as
myself apparently, leaned out of the window in the room above us and
holloed:
"Oh, quit that! Try being a freshman a while! Lizette won't care."
Evidently the singer decided to follow the advice thus gratuitously
given, for the banjo ceased. Then came one of those long silences when
you felt instinctively that in a moment something might happen to spoil
the excellent opportunity of it, throw us off the key as it were, or
break its placid surface like an inconsequent pebble. But Ralph, in a
singularly moderate tone, as if leading the theme gently that it might
not become startled and break away, continued:
"You said something about dueling pistols, you know."
Mr. Curtis looked at him with that same quizzical smile which my
roommate had called forth before.
"That's it. All you want is gunpowder, treason, and plot. My feeble
attempt at character sketching has been a failure. Well, now to your
dessert."
"You are entirely wrong," said Ralph, rather mortified. "Randolph must
have been a perfect corker. I wish we had some chaps like that in 19--.
But the Southerners nowadays all seem to go to Chapel Hill, or William
and Mary, or Tulane, or some of those God-forsaken places where I don't
believe they even have a ball nine. Only, naturally, I wanted to make
sure of the bullet hole. You see," he added cunningly, "that bullet hole
is the thing that links us together. That's how we'll know when you've
gone that it wasn't all a dream."
Mr. Curtis laughed outright.
"You're a funny boy," said he. "Well, two or three days later I asked
Randolph to room with me. The matter was easily adjusted, and Moses
spent nearly a week in fixing up this den here with what he called
'Marse Dick's contraptions.' Save the old picture there, there's not a
thing in the place that suggests the room as it looked then. From
extreme meagerness, if not poverty, of furniture it sprang into
opulence--almost ornately magnificent it seemed to me with my
conservative New England tastes and still more conservative New England
pocketbook. I remember a silver-mounted revolver was always lying on one
end of the mantelpiece, while in the center was a rosewood case of
pistols, curious affairs, with long octagonal barrels, and stocks
inlaid with mother-of-pearl and silver.
"Randolph soon became a celebrity. He could no more avoid being the most
conspicuous figure in Cambridge than he could help addressing his
acquaintances as 'suh.' And in spite of his natural reserve, a quality
which was curiously combined with entire ease in conversation, he soon
acquired a large acquaintance and rather a following.
"Needless to say, I became his almost inseparable companion. Dick's
second hunter, Bhurtpore, had been placed entirely at my service, and
scarce a day passed that autumn without our scouring the country roads
for miles around, followed by three or four of the hounds. Jim, the
mastiff, while we were absent on these excursions, spent his time lying
beneath the ebony table in 10 Holworthy awaiting our return.
"Randolph tried unsuccessfully to organize a hunt. It soon appeared that
Azam and Bhurtpore were the only hunters in Cambridge, and polo had not
yet been introduced into this country. Frequently we would take a circle
of twenty miles in the course of an afternoon, galloping up quiet old
Brattle Street, out around Fresh Pond, until we struck the Concord
turnpike, which we followed over Belmont Hill, down past an old yellow
farmhouse with blue blinds, at the juncture of the highway to Lexington
and what we called the 'Willow Road,' and then under the overarching
boughs, through soggy fields full of bright clumps of alders, until the
fading light of the afternoon warned us that it was time to turn our
horses' heads in the direction of Cambridge."
"We have a Polo Club," said Ralph, "but we haven't any horses."
"Well, now, to get down to your bullet hole," continued Mr. Curtis.
"Hazing, of course, was an ordinary affair, and it was not uncommon to
see a pitched battle of fisticuffs going on behind some college
building.
"Now, mind you, the hazing was not done by the best men, but by the
worst, and it was always the tougher elements in the sophomore class
that availed themselves of this method of showing that they were feeling
their oats. Every one of us looked forward, sooner or later, to getting
his dose, and any freshman who smoked cigars and kept a nigger might
have expected it as a matter of course. But Dick was a chap that did
just as he pleased, and did it with such a confounded air--the '_bel
air_,' you know--that you'd have thought we were all a parcel of
cavaliers walking in a palace garden. I don't blame them for feeling
that he ought to be taken down a peg, when you take everything into
consideration.
"For example, imagine his kissing old Mrs. Podridge's hand at a faculty
tea! Of course the antiquated thing liked it, but it was so conspicuous.
And worse than all, inviting Prex into his room to have a cigar and a
glass of Madeira! Think of that! The queer part of it was that Prex
nearly accepted the invitation.
"'Why not?' said Dick, in answer to my expostulation. 'Do you mean that
in the North one gentleman cannot, without criticism, extend to another
the hospitality of his own room?'
"It was all in the point of view. What could you say?
"Some carping fellows spread a canard that Randolph was trying to
introduce slavery into Cambridge. Dick did not even notice it
sufficiently to direct Moses to display his manumission papers. Of
course there was a deal of talking about him, mostly good-natured
chaff, and had it not been for Watkins I doubt if anything would have
happened. This person was an ill-conditioned, dissatisfied fellow who
had come from a small town in Rhode Island with a considerable amount of
the initial velocity arising out of local prestige, which, wearing off,
left him in a miserable state of doubt as to what to do to rehabilitate
himself in the garments of distinction. As you would say, he 'had it in'
for Randolph for no reason in the world. Dick was just too good-looking,
too prosperous, too independent--that was all. He had an idea, I
suppose, that if he could knock the statue off its pedestal he might
perhaps occupy the vacant situation.
"One evening I inquired carelessly of Randolph what he should do if the
sophomores tried to haze him. He replied, nonchalantly, that he should
exercise the sacred right of self-defense as circumstances might
require. If anyone tried to interfere with him he must take the
consequences. In certain situations the only thing to do was to shoot
your aggressor. I looked up to see if he were joking, but his face was
entirely serious.
"Another chap who was sitting there laughed and slapped his knee. I can
see now that it was just this kind of thing that gave Randolph's enemies
some color for saying that he was a sort of crazy fool. Perhaps I was
playing Sancho Panza to his Don Quixote, after all.
"Presently a lot of other fellows joined us, and by the time Moses
appeared we had disposed of a couple of bottles of old Port, from under
Dick's bed, and were loudly declaiming our loyalty to the Old Dominion
and consigning the class of '63 to eternal torment. In the midst of the
uproar some one grabbed Moses and shoved him upon the steps, shouting
'Speech! Speech!' What put the idea into his head I can't
imagine--probably antislavery speeches in the square which he had
overheard.
"'Gem'men,' he began, 'I'se not 'customed ter makin' speeches outa
meetin', 'specially ter gem'men like you-all, but I'se got suthin' I'se
been a-studyin' ober an' what's a-worryin' me, what I'd like ter say.
It's des' 'bout Marse Dick. I des' come from down de street whar I done
hear some gem'men a-speechifyin' 'bout him an' me. Dey says' (his voice
rose indignantly) 'dat Marse Dick didn't hab no business fo' ter hab me
here. Dat he didn't hab no right ter hab me work fo' him nohow, or Old
Marse; an' dey calls Marse Dick some mighty mean names. Now I des' 'ud
like ter know ef I ain't Marse Dick's boy an' why he ain't got no right
fo' ter hab me work fo' him. Didn't I work fo' Old Marse 'fo' he died,
an' didn' my ole man work fo' him, an' ain't I allus been a-workin' fo'
Ole Miss and Missy Dorothy? Him an' me's been bred up togedder; I'se
been a-totin' with him eber since he wuz born, ain't I, Marse Dick?'
"He paused amid a dead silence. None of us spoke. I looked at Randolph
and saw that he was gripping his pipe hard between his teeth.
"'Well, gem'men, I doesn't want leab Marse Dick, ef I is a free nigger,
an' I doesn't want you ter let 'em tek me away from him, cuz he got no
one else ter look out fo' him, an' Azam an' Bur'pore an' de dogs, an'
Ole Miss say when I lef' de Hall how I was neber to leab Marse
Dick--nohow. An', gem'men, you won't let 'em, will yer?'
"He waited for our assurance. Oh, the constraint of generations of New
England character! It was so difficult for us to say what we felt. Dick
was staring out under the trees with glistening eyes. Some fellow made a
few halting remarks and said we'd stick up for him and Moses to the last
man, and then we all pounded Moses on the back, and Dick got out some
more Port and we had another toast, but something had hit us hard."
Mr. Curtis closed his eyes and leaned back his head for a moment as if
trying to recall some forgotten memory.
"The next evening," he continued presently, "we were both sitting before
the fire. Jim lay as usual beneath the table, his head pointing toward
the door. The lamps had not yet been lit and the windows, I remember,
were open, for the day had been warm--one of those Cambridge
Indian-summer days. From the lower end of the Yard came a confused
murmur of voices, mingled with occasional shouts. The voices grew
louder, and shortly there came a loud cheer, followed by the tramp of
many feet. I stepped to the window and saw through the dusk a cluster of
men moving slowly up the sidewalk by Massachusetts Hall. In a moment I
realized that the time might be at hand for the application of my
roommate's recently declared principles. With a distinct feeling of
apprehension I drew in my head and was about hurriedly to suggest a
walk, when there came the sound of flying feet, and Moses, with scared
face and starting eyes, burst into the room.
"'Oh, Marse Dick,' he cried in a trembling voice, 'dey's a-comin' ter
kill yer an' tek me away from yer. Dey's goin' ter hurt yer drefful!
Doan' let 'em do it, Marse Curtis!'
"Dick had risen quietly and was now engaged in lighting the lamp upon
the center table, while I shut and locked both door and windows. Jim got
up from his place beneath the table and watched us uneasily. The noise
of the crowd grew nearer. Then suddenly I heard a sharp click behind me
and turned to see Randolph holding one of the silver-mounted pistols
which he had taken from its case upon the mantel. He was calmly engaged
in loading.
"'Look here, Dick!' I cried, 'for Heaven's sake put that back!'
"Before I could say another word our assailants entered the hallway of
the building. There came a babel of voices, followed by a loud pounding
upon the door. We returned no answer. Then there were shouts of:
"'Run him out!'
"'Liberty forever!'
"'No slaves in Harvard!'
"'Smash in the door!'
"This last suggestion was accompanied by a yell and a rush against the
door, which swayed inward, and, the lock snapping, burst open. There was
an instant's hesitation on the part of the men outside; then they began
to surge through the narrow doorway. Randolph quickly raised his pistol.
"'Back!' he shouted. 'Leave the room!' Instinctively they retreated. I
can see them now, crowding out through the doorway. Just here, where I
am sitting, in the full light of the lamp, stood Randolph, the barrel of
his pistol glistening wickedly. There was a cold gleam in his eyes and a
drawn look about his mouth. Before him stood Jim, tail switching, and
lips curled back in a snarl that showed all his sharp teeth, while in
the background cowered Moses, fear pictured upon every feature, his
eyeballs gleaming white in the shadowy doorway of the bedroom.
"'I warn you, gentlemen,' said Randolph haughtily. 'I order you to leave
the room. I shall shoot the first man that crosses my threshold.'
"'Bosh!' cried a voice. 'Hear him!'
"'D----d slave owner!' shouted another.
"'Throw him out!'
"Watkins thrust himself forward.
"'Bah! I'm not afraid of any rum-drinking Southerner! He hasn't the
nerve to shoot!'
"'Look out!' called some one.
"There was a sudden rush from outside and Watkins either sprang or was
pushed, probably the latter, through the door. At the same instant there
was a flash, a report, a snarl, a loud cry, a tumult of feet. The smoke
cleared slowly away, showing the door empty. Across the threshold lay a
sophomore, while over him stood Jim, motionless, with his feet on the
man's chest and his teeth close to his face.
"Randolph laid the smoking pistol upon the table and pointed grimly to a
splintered crack in the strip above the door.
"'Come here, Jim!' he called. The dog unwillingly drew away, still eying
the man on the floor, who, finding himself unhurt, began to blubber
loudly.
"'You are free, suh,' remarked Randolph scornfully. 'Don't let me detain
you.'
"Watkins slowly and fearfully scrambled to his feet, and then, like a
flash, vanished into the darkness.
"'Golly, Marse Dick,' exclaimed Moses in an awestruck voice, 'I thought
you'd killed that gem'man, sho'!'
[Illustration: "'Back,' he shouted."]
"'Give us a glass of brandy, Moses!' said his master, extinguishing the
light. 'Where are they, Jack?'
"I raised the window and looked out. The sophomores were gathered in an
excited group about Jim's victim, gazing at our window, and talking
loudly among themselves. Randolph reloaded the pistol and stepped to the
door.
"'Pleased to see you at any time, gentlemen,' he said. 'But just now I
want to go to bed and don't like noise. Don't let me keep you. While I
sometimes miss a single bird I'm not so bad at a covey. Now off with
you!'
"Again he whipped up the pistol into position. It looked even more
wicked in the starlight than it had done inside. With one accord the
crowd broke and ran, Watkins well in the lead.
"Randolph came inside, lighted the lamp, and tossed off the brandy.
"'By Gad, suh,' he drawled with a laugh. 'They really thought they were
going to be murdered. You Yankees don't seem gifted with any sense of
humor. Here, Moses, run around to my friends' rooms and give them my
compliments and invite them all to the tavern for a bowl of punch.'"
Ralph clapped his hands together.
"Right in this very room!" he cried, "right in this room!" Then he
jumped to his feet and again critically examined the door. "Just as
fresh as ever!" he remarked delightedly. "Why, but that Randolph was a
ripper! And to think it all happened right between these four walls and
we never have heard a word about it before!"
"Tell us some more about him," said I. "What did the faculty say?"
"The faculty considered the case," replied Mr. Curtis, "but we never
heard from them in regard to it. Of course the story got all around the
college and Watkins was unmercifully guyed. But he had his turn."
"How was that?" inquired Ralph. "Do go on."
"I don't know," returned Mr. Curtis. "What do you think of Randolph?"
"The best ever!" pronounced Ralph with conviction.
"It's hard to resist such an enthusiastic audience--and so insistent,"
smiled Mr. Curtis. "Well, they let him alone after that, and he pursued
the even tenor of his way and increased in wisdom and stature and in
favor--at least with man.
"I can only tell you about Randolph's leaving college, and that takes me
to those sadder times of which I spoke. It was late in the spring, when
none of us had any longer time or inclination to think of college
distinctions or college jealousies. We were all overwhelmed at the
thought of the impending conflict. Already most of the Southerners had
departed for their homes.
"You see, I'm trying to give you an impression--a picture of a chap I
believe to have been one of the truest gentlemen that ever came here--I
feel you're entitled to know whose room it is you occupy and to share in
these memories, which are, after all, the best thing left in my lonely
old bachelor existence. When I tell you the rest and how we parted never
to meet again you won't be able to get a true understanding of it unless
you can grasp the real spirit of the times, the environment, the
intensity of the whole affair.
"Here I was rooming with a flamboyant Southerner who fully intended to
enlist as soon as his native State should declare herself, when four of
my uncles had already joined the Union army. Of course I wanted to go,
but my father wouldn't hear of it. The whole miserable business only
drew Randolph and me the closer together. I do not think that his
performance with the pistol had increased his popularity; in fact, the
sympathies of the undergraduates seemed on the whole to be with Watkins,
and the general sentiment that he was the aggrieved party. If Dick had
taken his medicine in good part it would doubtless have been better for
him in the end. You see, it gave his slanderers a handle and they made
the most of it. Neither did he abate any of those idiosyncrasies of
which I have spoken, but simply out of bravado, I suppose, rather let
himself go. His cravats increased in brilliancy, his waistcoats
multiplied their colors, and he was always careering around on Azam
through the Yard and Harvard Square. He had a trick of riding suddenly
out of nowhere, and appearing at recitations on horseback, turning his
beast over to Moses at the door until the lecture had concluded. I have
known Randolph at this period to keep his horse waiting an hour in order
that he might ride him the length of the Yard. Don't get the impression
that I am criticising him unfavorably; I am merely endeavoring to give
you the point of view of the outsiders who didn't like him. By April the
class was pretty evenly divided on the Randolph question. To half of us
he was a rather Quixotic hero--to the rest a sort of cheap _poseur_.
Watkins was untiring in his innuendoes, and in this he was aided to a
considerable extent by the bitterness of the feeling between North and
South. Of course, everything possible was being done to conciliate the
Southern States, and it was the aim of the entire North to avert if
possible an open rupture. At the theaters the most popular music was
the old Southern airs and plantation melodies, and the audiences
conscientiously cheered when 'Dixie' was played. Naturally this was
vastly gratifying to Randolph, who failed, it seemed to me, to realize
its significance. I don't think that anyone really believed actual
hostilities would occur.
"Then like a lash across our faces came the firing on Sumter. The whole
North gasped and then the blood boiled in our veins. Right here under
these trees the war fever burned hottest.
"That night will never be forgotten by the class of '64. A huge
gathering of students filled the Yard, lights twinkled in all the
windows, torches flared here and there among the tree trunks, while
between Stoughton Hall and where Thayer now stands, just in front of
these very windows, the fellows concentrated in a solid mass, cheering
the Union again and again, as flights of rockets burst high above the
trees, sending down their floating canopies of sparks. Into that big
elm, out there, some of the seniors were hoisting a transparency,
bearing upon one side the words, 'The Constitution and Enforcement of
the Laws,' and upon the other, 'Harvard for War.'
"I was sitting in this window--Randolph in that. Perhaps I should have
been out on the grass shouting with the others, but the loneliest fellow
in Cambridge was at my side. Poor old chap! No wonder he was gloomily
silent. Outside the cheering continued and the rockets roared away over
the tops of the old buildings, until the students, forming into an
irregular procession, marched away singing patriotic airs, some to go to
their rooms, but most to pass the remainder of the evening at the
tavern, discussing the President's proclamation.
"Dick got up quietly and came over to the window. 'Jack,' he said
sadly, 'the game's about up with me. I can't stay here any longer. Now
that war is an actuality, I must go home, and the sooner the better.'
"'But Virginia hasn't seceded,' I answered, 'and most likely won't. If
she does there will be time enough for you to go.'
"'Virginia _will_ secede,' he replied, 'and blood will be shed in this
cursed quarrel within two weeks. I can't stay here when I might be at
home helping on the cause. I shall think you are acting from interested
motives,' he added, smiling.
"'What does your mother say?'
"'That's the trouble. She wants me to stay.'
"I read the letter which he handed me. It was plain enough. The good
lady desired to keep her only son out of harm's way just as long as
possible, although through it all I could perceive her consciousness of
the futility of any idea of preventing a Randolph from taking an active
part, in the event of the secession of his native State. I urged
parental duty and the foolishness of taking for granted something that
might not happen at all. He, of course, was keen for fighting anyhow,
but he was prepared to stand by his State's decision.
"Of course, you couldn't blame a woman for wanting to keep her only son
from throwing his life away. From the very first I had a presentiment
that that was what it would amount to, and I was for doing all I could
to help her carry out her purpose.
"But as the days dragged on it became harder and harder to keep Randolph
in Cambridge. You see, by that time he was practically the only
Southerner left there, and he found himself in a strangely awkward, not
to say painful, position. Even some of his friends, while their manner
toward him remained the same, ceased to come as frequently to our room.
"We kept trying to deceive ourselves all along about the seriousness of
the crisis. None of us did much studying--Randolph, none at all. He rode
about the country or sat in his room reading his last letters from the
Hall, fretting to get away from Cambridge. Nor did his continued
presence pass uncommented upon by the more fiery of our student
patriots.
"Several anonymous letters suggesting that his presence in Cambridge was
undesirable had been left at his room, while, quite accidentally of
course, it frequently happened that the sidewalk in front of our windows
was selected as the forum for vehement denunciation of the South, of
slavery and slaveholders. Randolph gripped his pipe grimly between his
teeth and held his head higher than ever. Once he actually tried to
address a meeting in front of the post office on the Inherent Right of
Secession. But he was groaned down. While few of us had been
Abolitionists we were now all Unionists, and '_Harvard was for war_.'
"After this experience I noticed a change in his demeanor, for there
were among that shouting, hissing crowd several who had been his
friends. Although he must have known that Virginia's supposed loyalty
was but a pretext on the part of his mother to keep him out of danger,
his devotion to her was such that he remained without a word to bear the
whips and scorns of time and the humiliation of his position, waiting
manfully until the official action of the government of Virginia should
set him free.
"It must have been exquisite torture for a chap of his high spirit to be
obliged to hear his principles and those of his father denounced on
every side, and the South that he really loved with all his heart
charged with treachery and infidelity.
"In those days the top story of Dane was used by the upper classmen and
the members of the Law School as a debating hall, their discussions
being frequently marked by personalities and a bitterness of invective
unparalleled even in the national Senate and House of Representatives.
After the firing upon Sumter these meetings grew more and more
turbulent, and were held almost daily.
"Randolph had at last made up his mind that he would wait but a week
longer at the latest, and had notified his mother of his decision. He
intended to leave Cambridge on April 18th, and nothing that I could say
had been able to shake his determination. I am inclined to believe that
the action of Virginia on the question of secession would not have made
any difference to him at this time. We had watched the departure of the
Sixth and Eighth Massachusetts regiments for Washington, and you can
easily imagine how irksome his enforced inaction must have been. All his
arrangements had been completed and he and Moses were to leave Boston on
an early morning train for the South.
"The morning of the 17th dawned clear and brilliant. I left Dick and
Moses packing books and dismantling the room, and walked across the Yard
to a recitation in Massachusetts Hall. After that I remember I attended
a lecture in some scientific course, chemistry, I believe, in
University, and about eleven o'clock wandered over to the square to see
if there were any fresh war bulletins. A group of excited people was
gathered about the telegraph office gesticulating toward a strip of
foolscap pasted in the window, and it was really unnecessary for me to
push my way among them and read what was written there: '_Virginia
secedes_.' The words had almost a familiar look--we had waited for them
so long.
"With the intention of telling Randolph the news I hurried across the
square. I did not get far, however. Just on the other side, tethered to
a post in front of the door of Dane Hall, stood Azam. He whinnied when
he saw me, for by this time we were old friends. His presence there
could only mean that Dick was inside, and with a qualm of apprehension I
pushed open the door and started up the stairs. From above came the hum
of voices followed by confusion and silence. Then as I reached the
landing I caught the tones of a familiar voice--Randolph's--and hurrying
up the flight leading to the second story breathlessly opened the door
into the hall. It was packed with students and hot almost to
suffocation, while the grins on most of the faces of those near me
showed plainly the state of their feelings toward the speaker.
"In the middle of the room, in a sort of cleared space, stood Randolph,
dressed with his customary braggadocio in riding boots, spurs, and
gauntlets. Whip and hat lay before him on the floor. The crowd were
jeering, and his face was flushed with an angry red--a thing I'd never
seen before.
"'Virginia has seceded,' he shouted, challenging the whole room with a
defiant glance. 'I thank God for it! Had she remained three days longer
in the Union I should have felt my native State humiliated. She has been
the last to take up the sword against oppression. Now may she be the
last to lay it down. For the last decade the rights of Virginia and of
the South have been trampled under foot. She has borne slander and
insult. She has bowed to an unlawful interpretation of the Constitution
and unjust administration of the laws. She has seen her lawful property
snatched from her outstretched hands. They tell me she has rebelled--I
rejoice that Virginia has resisted! Who dares say that a sovereign
State, who by her assent alone was joined to a union of other States,
has not the right to separate herself from them when such a partnership
has become intolerable!'
"He was being continually interrupted by hisses and groans and sarcastic
comments from all sides, but he continued unabashed:
"'Do you realize that you who once threw off the yoke of England have
yourselves become oppressors and are trampling the sacred rights of
others wantonly under foot? That you have become destroyers of liberty?
Virginia!--Virginia--' His voice broke. Absurdly theatrical as it all
was, I believe he had some of the fellows with him. Then Watkins
shouted:
'She is a traitor!'
"'That's a lie!' replied the orator fiercely.
"I never quite knew how Watkins had the nerve, but I suppose he thought
that Randolph was down and out, and he may have really believed that
poor Dick was just a swaggering braggart, after all. Anyhow, before any
of us realized what had happened, he had sprung forward and struck
Randolph in the face with his cap, exclaiming:
'Take that, you _Reb_!'
"An extraordinary stillness fell upon us. I thought for a moment that
Randolph would fall, for he turned deathly pale and his hands twitched
as if he were going to have an epileptic fit. He swayed, recovered
himself, tried to speak, choked, and finally said in a hoarse whisper:
"'I suppose you understand what that means?'
"Then in the silence he stooped, picked up his whip and hat, and looking
straight before him strode out of the hall. I followed automatically.
"The door behind us shut out a tremendous roar of laughter, in which
could be distinguished cries of 'You're done for now, Watkins!' 'Better
make your will, old chap!' We were hardly clear of the building before
the whole meeting adjourned with a rush, pounding down the stairs with
such impetuosity that it is a wonder they didn't carry the rickety
structure along with them.
"Shades of John Harvard and Cotton Mather! A duel was to be fought in
Harvard College! The rumor flew from the college pump to the tavern; it
sprang from lip to lip--from window to window; sneaked by professors'
houses in silence; and burst into garrulity upon the steps of Hollis and
Stoughton. If you had asked one from the jocular groups gathered in
front of the different buildings and upon the gravel paths what was to
pay, he would probably have replied with a twinkle in his eye,
'_Virginia has seceded._'
"I must confess to you that I felt like a fool. It was the same feeling
that I had experienced in a lesser degree when my cavalier had kissed
the hand of old Mrs. Podridge, but now it was clear I was playing Sancho
Panza in earnest. I had followed Dick to the room and pleaded with him
in vain. He was impervious to argument. There could be only one thing
done under the circumstances. There was no question about it at all. He
failed utterly to comprehend my alleged attitude in the case, or at any
rate pretended to do so. Why hadn't he thrashed Watkins then and there?
Simply because by so doing he'd have made himself nothing more nor less
than a common brawler. It was not a case of a street fight, but of
insulting a man's honor.
"Of course I might have thrown him over. But somehow I couldn't leave
Randolph to face the music all alone, and I knew well enough that
laughter would be far harder for him to bear than the actual hatred or
disapproval of his associates. And then he was going away the following
morning and I might never see him again.
"I'd hoped, and in fact expected, that Watkins would laugh in my face
when I submitted Randolph's challenge. It would have been quite in
keeping with the fellow's character and past performances, but he took
the wind entirely out of my sails by the gravity with which he listened
to what I had to say, and unhesitatingly chose '_pistols at twenty
paces_.' Up to that time I'd felt merely that Dick had made an ass of
himself and had rather unnecessarily dragged me into it, but now the
other aspect of the thing--that I might become the accessory to a
homicide--caused me a feeling of revolt against having anything to do
with the affair.
"I completed my arrangements with Watkins's second, a fellow named
Scott, as quickly as possible, leaving to him most of the details. And
then Dick and I took a long ride together in the country, supping at a
farmhouse and not reaching home until after nine o'clock.
"Randolph roused me from fitful slumbers early next morning by holding
the lamp to my face, and I saw that he was fully dressed.
"'You haven't been to bed at all!' I cried in reproach.
"'I had no time. I've been writing,' he replied, as he replaced the
lamp in the study. A dim suggestion of the dawn came through the
windows, and the complete silence was broken only by the snapping of the
fire which Moses had kindled and over which he was boiling coffee. While
I hurried into my clothes Dick reëntered my room with a packet in his
hand and sat down upon the bed.
"'Jack,' said he, cheerily enough, 'of course there's no use disguising
things. The beggar may wing me, and if anything happens I want you to
take this to my mother. I'd like you to have the horses and--and Jim.
You'll see that Moses gets back, won't you?'
"O Dick!' I almost sobbed. 'Of course I'll do exactly as you say, but
it's not too late, and perhaps Watkins will apologize or agree to fight
it out with fists. What's the use of shooting at each other?'
"'You can't understand!' he sighed. 'Well, here's the packet. Don't
forget now.' He began to whistle 'Dixie' and oil his pistols. Two years
later I learned that his father had been killed in a duel at Paxton
Court House.
"'Coffee's ready,' announced Moses. 'Look out, Marse Curtis, it's hot.'
He laid two smoking cups upon the table, and Dick poured a finger of
brandy into each.
"'To the cause!' said he with a gay laugh.
"'To the cause!' cried I.
"And we drained them--each to his own.
"From a distant steeple came four widely separated and mournful notes.
"'We must be off!' exclaimed Dick, throwing on his greatcoat. 'Have the
horses at the bridge, Moses, in twenty minutes.'
"He thrust his pistol into his pocket and linking his arm through mine
led me into the Yard. A cold mist hung over the lawn and the red
buildings looked black in the vague light. A silence as of the grave was
everywhere. At certain angles the windows looked out like blank,
whitish, dead faces.
"'On a morning like this,' remarked Dick, 'my great-aunt Shirley should
be about. Joyful, isn't it?'
"I was in no mood for joking. Already the effect of the brandy had
vanished and a chill was creeping through my body. My arm trembled and
Randolph felt it.
"'Dear me, Jack!' he cried as we passed out into the Square, 'this will
never do! Cheer up, man! Ague is contagious at this hour of the
morning.'
"I made a heroic effort to restrain the dance of my muscles. Our steps
made a loud rattling on the cobblestones of the Square, but we met no
one and were soon well on our way to the river. As we trudged along the
sky grew lighter, and crossing the bridge I noticed that the roofs of
old Cambridge showed black against the whiteness of the dawning.
Everywhere the mist covered the downs with a thick mantle, and a light
breeze had sprung up, which set it drifting and swirling fantastically.
The creaking of the draw was the only sound in the heavy silence, save
the lapping of the water against the sunken piles, and behind us the
faint clatter of hoofs which told us that Moses was on his way.
"We left the road and started across the downs, and the mist thinned as
the day neared its breaking. A quarter of a mile away three figures
moved slowly along the river.
"Who's the third man?' asked Randolph.
"'Watkins wanted a doctor,' I replied. He gave no answer, but strode
rapidly over the harsh grass and dry reeds of the marshy fields. No
note of bird added touch of life to the gray scene, and the three dim
shapes before us seemed more like phantoms than fellow-creatures.
Although warm from our half-mile walk, a cold perspiration broke out all
over my body and I once more lost control of my muscles. Indeed, had not
Dick pulled me somewhat roughly on, I doubt if my legs could have held
me up, so intense was my fear of what was coming.
"Scott, as we approached, came to meet us, and without further formality
paced off the distance. Then, quite as if it were a common affair with
him, he examined the priming of our pistols and offered them to me for
selection. I took one, almost dropping it in my nervousness, and passed
the weapon to Dick, who pressed my hand for a moment before
relinquishing it. Hardly a word had been spoken, and before I knew it
the two were in their places. The spot chosen was in a bend of the
sluggish river, and at this point the mist had entirely blown away. Each
raised his pistol and took aim, just as the first claret streaks of dawn
shot up into the east. The water swept by, oily and purple, with here
and there a swirl of iridescent color. A heron rose with a roar of
flapping wings and rustled away into the mist, squawking harshly, and
the strong, salt breath of the sea floated across the marshes and set me
sneezing.
"'One!' called Scott sharply. 'Two--three-- Fire!'
"The two reports seemed but as one, two tiny spurts of white smoke
leaped from the pistols, there was a sharp groan, and Watkins reeled,
staggered, and fell upon his back among the reeds, his left hand
grasping convulsively at a tuft of grass beside him. Randolph stood
motionless with the smoking pistol in his hand, his eyes riveted upon
the body on the ground, over which both the doctor and Scott were
bending anxiously. Then the latter raised himself with a look of horror
on his face, and said wildly:
"'O God! You've killed him!'
"'How is he, doctor?' asked Randolph unemotionally.
"The doctor placed his hand to the heart of the man on the ground. Then
he announced:
"'He is dead. His heart has ceased to beat.'
"I don't know exactly what happened after that. I think I fainted, for I
have a dim recollection of some one thrusting a handkerchief strong with
ammonia into my face. But the first thing I rightly recollect is
striding hand in hand with Randolph over the downs toward the bridge,
where Moses was in waiting with the two horses.
"I was conscious of a hurried parting with Dick, of his saying that of
course he could never come back, and that I must not think the less of
him for what he had done, and that we must never forget one another. And
then he leaped on Azam's back and galloped away in the direction of
Boston with Moses riding hard behind him, just as the sun burst red
above the roofs of Harvard College through the mist.
"I stood there for a moment and then I ran, ran anywhere, until I
thought that I should drop; until the pain in my side seemed eating me
up; and when I really came to my senses I found myself wandering on the
high road hard by Lexington. I sneaked into the back door of a farmhouse
and asked for some milk and bread, but the woman refused me and, I
thought, looked at me with suspicion. Probably they were already
arranging for my arrest and a warrant had been issued. Visions of a
trial as an accessory for murder in the East Cambridge court house, and
of a judge with a black cap--a _hanging_ judge--nearly crazed me with
apprehension. But I had only myself to blame. I could have prevented it.
He could not have fought alone. And I remember feeling rather sorry for
Watkins--that he hadn't been such a bad fellow, after all. I lay under a
tree most of the afternoon, and I can't say which emotion was uppermost,
fear or regret. It never entered my mind that I should escape with
anything less than a long term in State's prison.
"It came back to me again and again throughout that interminable
afternoon, how, as I was hurrying with Dick across the downs after the
fatal shot, and the sun had jumped above the roofs before us, I had
turned for an instant and seen the doctor and Scott still bending over
Watkins's body. Then, somehow realizing that flight was impossible, and
feeling so utterly wretched that I cared nothing for what became of me,
I begged a lift from a passing teamster most of the way back to
Cambridge, and shortly after nine o'clock stealthily entered the College
Yard. The dismantled room opened bare and empty like a sepulcher before
me, and in its gravelike silence my steps echoed loudly as I crossed the
floor and threw myself upon the window seat. With a rush the vanished
happiness of our life together came over me. Never had any days been
half so sweet as those we had passed in this very room. And now he had
fled--a murderer--leaving me, his accomplice, to face the consequences
alone.
"Presently a group of fellows came strolling up the walk and seated
themselves upon the step by the window, where Dick and I had always sat.
I resented their presence, for it only served to heighten my desolation.
One of them was evidently telling a funny story. For a moment or two I
purposely paid no attention; then like a douche of cold water I
recognized the voice. The revulsion of feeling almost sickened me.
"'Yes,' the jubilant Watkins was saying, 'didn't I always say he was an
ass? Why, the trick would've been impossible on any less of a fool.
Curtis can't be much better. When the pistols were produced Scott merely
turned his back and had no difficulty in reloading them with graphite
bullets, for the mist was pretty thick, and he says Curtis was shivering
like a wet dog. All I had to do was a little play-acting and, while I
assure you it is easier to play dead than to play doctor, Hunt carried
out his part to perfection. In fact, the whole thing went off like a
full-dress rehearsal. Randolph must be half-way to Virginia by this
time. I reckon they'll make him colonel of a regiment when they hear
he's killed a Yankee in a duel!'"
Mr. Curtis spoke with a shade of asperity in his voice, and from where I
sat I could see disappointment in Ralph's face.
"Why go further?" continued Mr. Curtis. "I brazened it out as best I
could and denounced the whole wretched performance as a piece of
unmitigated cowardice which should brand Watkins forever as unworthy the
society of self-respecting men. The college, as a whole, however, did
not take that position, although I never suffered very heavily for my
part in the proceeding.
"And now, boys, you've had the whole story, and you know, in part at
least, something of what Randolph was like."
"I bet I know that Watkins!" exclaimed Ralph. "Was his name _Samuel J._
Watkins? There's a fellow in our class named Samuel J. Watkins, Jr. He
makes me tired. Sometimes his father comes out to see him--an old fellow
with bedspring whiskers. He looks just mean enough to put up a trick
like that."
"That was Watkins's name," admitted Mr. Curtis. "But he wasn't a bad
fellow, after all, and later we became good friends." He took out his
watch. "Heavens, it's half-past twelve! And to think I've been sitting
here, the night before one of your examinations probably, dreaming away
three hours and a half and boring you chaps to death. I had no idea it
was so late."
"I am awfully glad you did," said Ralph. "I tell you we don't have men
like that nowadays. At least I don't know of any. But what became of
Randolph--afterwards?"
"Dick got it at Antietam!" he answered.
Both of us felt very much embarrassed. But then, as Mr. Curtis lit
another cigar, picked up his hat and cane, and held out his hand,
Ralph's insatiable curiosity got the better of him.
"And Moses--was that he with you to-day at the memorial service? We saw
you, you know."
"Yes," replied Mr. Curtis. "After Mrs. Randolph's death Moses came North
to live with me."
I thought Ralph had gone far enough, but I was rather glad afterwards
that, as he took our guest's hand in parting, he said impulsively:
"I think Mr. Randolph was a splendid gentleman!"