XVII.
IN WHICH FRANK SEES STRANGE THINGS.
In this frame of mind, Frank went on deck. He saw the old drum-majorcoming towards him. Being in any thing but a social mood, he tried toavoid him; and turning his back, walked away. But the veteran followed,and came to his side.
"Well, my young man," said the old cynic, exhibiting a little agitation,and speaking in a hurried tone, unusual with him, "I hear brave tidingsof you."
His voice sounded harsh and sarcastic to the irritated boy; and, indeed,there was resentment enough in the veteran's breast, as well as a bittersense of injury and disappointment, as he spoke.
Frank, nursing his sore heart, the wounds of which he could not bear tohave touched by the most friendly hand, compressed his lips together, andmade no reply.
"So you have been really gambling--have you?" added the old man, in tonesof suppressed emotion.
"That's my business," said Frank, curtly.
He regretted the undutiful words the instant they escaped his lips. Buthe was too proud to ask pardon for them. As for the old man, he stoodsilent for a long time, looking down at the boy, who looked not up againat him. And there was a tremor in his lip, and a dilatation in his eye,which at length grew misty with a tear that gathered, but did not fall.And with a sigh, he turned away.
"Well, be it so!" Frank heard him say, as if to himself. "I thought--Ihoped--but no matter."
He thought--he hoped--what? That his early faith in love and friendship,which had so long been dead, might be raised to life again by this boy,for whom he had conceived so singular a liking, and who, like all therest, proved ungrateful and unworthy when the hour of trial came.
Alas! such is the result of our transgressions. Once having offended ourown souls, we are quick to offend others. And vice makes us irritable,ungenerous, unjust. And not a crime can be committed, but its evilconsequences follow, not the author of it only, but also the innocent,upon whom its blighting shadow falls.
"Frank, if you want some fun!" said an eager whisper, with a promise ofmischief in it; a hand at the same time twitching the boy's coat.
It was Ned Ellis, who had come for him, and was hastening away again.Frank followed--all too ready for any enterprise that would bring thebalm of forgetfulness to his hurt mind.
The boys entered the hold of the vessel, where, in the hush andobscurity, a group of their companions; stood or sat, among the barrelsand boxes, still as statues, until they recognized the new comers.
"All right! nobody but us," whispered Ned, clambering over the freight,accompanied by Frank.
"Come along, and make no noise, if you value your hides," said Harris."Here, Frank, is something to console ye for your bad luck." And he heldout something in a tin cup.
"What is it?" said Frank; "water?"
"Something almost as good," said Harris. "It was water the boys came downhere in search of; and they've tapped five barrels of sirup in theoperation, and finally they've stuck the gimlet into a cask of--tasteon't."
Frank knew what it was by the smell. It was not the first time he hadsmelt whiskey; or tasted it, either. But hitherto he had stopped at thetaste, having nothing but his curiosity to gratify. Now, however, he badsomething else to gratify--a burning thirst of the body, aggravated byhis feverish excitement, and a burning thirst of the soul, which demandedstimulus of any kind whatsoever that would allay the inward torment.
And so he drank. He did not love the liquor, although the rank taste ofit was ameliorated by a liberal admixture of sirup. But he felt theinternal sinking and wretchedness of heart and stomach braced up andassuaged by the first draught; so he took another. And for the samereason he indulged in a third. And so it happened that his head beganshortly to swim, his eyes to see double, and things to look queer to themgenerally. The dim hold of the vessel might have been the pit ofdarkness, and the obscure grinning faces of his comrades might have beenthose of imps therein abiding, for aught he knew to the contrary, orcared. He began to laugh.
"What's the matter, Frank?"
"Nothing," he said, thickly; "only it's so droll." And he sat down on acask, laughing again with uncontrollable merriment--at nothing; aninfallible symptom that a person is either tipsy or a fool. But Frank wasnot a fool. _Ergo:_ he was tipsy.
"Get him up as quick as we can, boys," he heard some one saying, "or elsewe can't get him up at all."
"Better leave him here till he gets over it," said another. "That'll bethe best way."
"Who'd have thought a little dodger like that would upset him?" saidsomebody else. "By George we'll all get found out, through him."
"Whads mare?" said Frank, meaning to ask, "What is the matter?" butsomehow he could not make his organs of articulation go off right. "'Ziswachecall drung?" (Is this what you call drunk?)
"Can ye walk?"--He recognized the voice of his friend Tucket.--"It's toobad to leave him here, boys. We must get him to his berth 'fore he's anyworse."
"Zhue, Sef?" (Is it you, Seth?) Frank, with the help of his friend, gotupon his feet. "No, I don' breeve I'm drung; I be bernaliddlewile;"meaning to say he did not believe he was intoxicated, and to express hisconviction that he would be better in a little while.
Seth repeated his first inquiry.
"Izzindee! I kung wong!" (Yes, indeed, I can walk.) And Frank, as if todemonstrate the absurdity of the pretence, went stumbling loosely overthe freight, saved from falling only by the assistance of his friend.
"Here's the ladder," said Tucket; "now be careful."
"'M I goung upthlarer, or am I goung downth larer?" (Was he going up theladder or was he going down the ladder?)
Tucket proceeded to show him that the ladder was to be ascended; and,directing him how to hold on, and how to place his feet, boosted himgently, while a comrade above drew him also gently, until he was gotsafely out.
"I did that perrywell!" said Frank. "Now lemme hell Sef!" (Now let mehelp Seth.) "You're a bully fellel, Sef. I'll hellup ye!"
"Thank ye, boy," said Tucket; indulging him in the ludicrous notion that_he_ was helping _his friends_. "Much obliged."
"Nod tall!" (Not at all,) said Frank. "Bully fellels like youmemushellpitchuthth." (Must help each other.) "You unstan me, Sef?"
"Yes, I understand you. But keep quiet now, and come along with me."
So saying, the athletic soldier threw his arm affectionately aroundFrank, hurried him away to his bunk, and tumbled him into it without muchceremony.
Not unobserved, however. Captain Edney, who had had an anxious eye onFrank of late, saw him retire to his quarters in this rather suspiciousmanner.
"What's the matter with him?" he inquired of Seth.
"Nothing very serious, I believe, sir," replied Tucket, with the mostperfect seriousness. "A little seasick, or sunthin of the kind. He'll gitover it in a jiffy."
The waves were not running sufficiently high in the sound, however, torender the theory of seasickness very plausible; and, to satisfy hismind, Captain Edney approached Frank's bunk, putting to him the samequestion.
Frank replied in scarcely intelligible language, with a swimming gaze,tending to the cross-eyed, at the captain, "that there was nothing inpartiggler the mare with him, but he was very busy.
"Busy?" said Captain Edney, severely; "what do you mean?"
"Not busy; but _busy, busy_!" repeated Frank.
"You mean dizzy?"
"Yes, thad's it! bizzy." He had somehow got _boozy_ and _dizzy_ mixedup.
"What makes you dizzy?"
"Boys gimme some drink, I donowat."
"The boys gave you some drink? You don't know what?--Tucket," saidCaptain Edney, "what's all this? Who has been getting that boy drunk?"
Seth perceived that any attempt to disguise the truth would be futile,except so far as it might be possible by ingenious subtleties to shieldhis companions. The alarm, be believed, must have reached them by thistime, and have scattered the group at the whiskey barrel; so he answeredboldly,--
>
"The fact, sir, is jest this. We've been about half crazy for water, asyou know, for the past week or two; and men'll do almost any thing forrelief, under such circumstances. It got rumored around, somehow, thatthere was plenty of water in the vessel, and the boys went to huntingfor't, and stumbled on the quartermaster's stores, and tapped a fewcasks, I believe, mostly sirup, but one turned out to be whiskey. Dry aswe be, it's no more'n nat'ral 't we should drink a drop, under thecircumstances."
"Who tapped the casks?"
"That's more'n I know. I didn't see it done," said Seth.
"Who drank?"
"I drinked a little, for one; jest enough to know 't wan't water.
"And how many of you are drunk?" demanded Captain Edney.
"I a'n't, for one. But I believe Manly is a little how-come ye-so. I'llsay this for him, though: he had nothing to do with tapping the casks,and he didn't seem to know what it was the boys gin him. He was dry; ittasted sweet, and he drinked, nat'rally."
"Who gave him the whiskey?"
"I didn't notice, particularly," said Seth.
His accomplices were summoned, the quartermaster was notified, and theaffair was still further investigated. All confessed to having tasted theliquor, but nobody knew who tapped the casks, or who had given thewhiskey to Frank, and all had the same plausible excuse for theiroffence--intolerable thirst. It was impossible, where all were leaguedtogether, and all seemed equally culpable, to single out the ringleadersfor punishment, and it was not desirable to punish all. After a while,therefore, the men were dismissed with a reprimand, and the subjectpostponed indefinitely. That very afternoon forty barrels of water cameon board, and the men had no longer a pretext for tapping casks in thehold; and a few days later was the battle, in which they wiped out bytheir bravery all memory of past transgressions.
And Frank? The muss, as the boys called it, was over before his sensesrecovered from their infinite bewilderment. He lay stupefied in his bunk,which went whirling round and round with him, sinking down and down anddown, into void and bottomless chaos, where solid earth was none--type ofthe drunkard's moral state, where virtue has lost its foot-hold, andthere is no firm ground of self-respect, and conscience is a loosenedledge toppling treacherously, and there is no steady hope to stay hishorrible whirling and sinking. Stupefaction became sleep; with sleepinebriation passed; and Frank awoke to misery.
It was evening. The boys were playing cards again by the light of theship's lantern. The noise and the glimmer reached Frank in his berth, andcalled him back to time and space and memory. He remembered his watch,his insolent reply to his old friend Sinjin, the scene in the hold of thevessel, the sweet-tasting stuff, and the dizziness, a strange laddersomewhere which he had either climbed or dreamed of climbing; and hethought of his mother and sisters with a pang like the sting of ascorpion. He could bear any thing but that.
He got up, determined not to let vain regrets torment him. He shut outfrom his mind those pure images of home, the presence of which wasmaddening to him. Having stepped so deep into guilt, he would not, hecould not, turn back. For Frank carried even into his vices thatsteadiness of resolution which distinguishes such natures from those ofthe Jack Winch stamp, wavering and fickle alike in good and ill. Hepossessed that perseverance and purpose which go to form either the bestand noblest men, or, turned to evil, the most hardy and efficientvillains. Frank was no milksop.
"O, I'm all right," said he, with a reckless laugh, in reply to hiscomrades' bantering. "Give me a chance there--can't you?"
For he was bent on winning back his watch. It seemed that nothing shortof the impossible could turn him aside from that intent. The players maderoom for him, and he prepared his counters, and took up his cards.
"What do you do, Frank?" was asked impatiently; all were waiting for him.
What ailed the boy? He held his cards, but he was not looking at them.His eyes were not on the board, nor on his companions, nor on any objectthere. But he was staring with a pallid, intense expression--atsomething. There were anguish, and alarm, and yearning affection in hislook. His hair was disordered, his countenance was white and amazed; hiscomrades were astonished as they watched him.
"What's the matter, Frank? what's the matter?"
Their importunity brought him to himself.
"Did you see?" he asked in a whisper.
They had seen nothing that he had seen. Then it was all an illusion? afragment of his drunken dreams? But no drunken dream was ever like that.
"Yes, I'll play," he said, trying to collect himself thinking that hewould forget the illusion, and remembering he had his watch to win back.
But his heart failed him. His brain, his hand failed him also.Absolutely, he could not play.
"Boys, I'm not very well. Excuse me--I can't play to-night."
And hesitatingly, like a person who has been stunned, he got up, and leftthe place. Few felt inclined to jeer him. John Winch begun to saysomething about "the parson going to pray," but it was frowned down.
Frank went on deck. The evening was mild, the wind was south, the sky wasclear and starry; it was like a May night in New England. The schoonerwas riding at anchor in the sound; other vessels of the fleet lay aroundher, rocking gently on the tide--dim hulls, with glowing, fiery eyes; andhere there was a band playing, and from afar off came the sound of solemnsinging, wafted on the wind. And the water was all a weltering waste ofwaves and molten stars.
But little of all this Frank saw, or heard, or heeded. His soul was raptfrom him; he was lost in wonder and grief.
"Can you tell me any thing?" said a voice at his side.
"O, Atwater," said Frank, clutching his hand, "what does it mean? As Iwas playing, I saw--I saw--every thing else disappeared; cards, counters,the bench we were playing on, and there before me, as plainly as I eversaw any thing in my life----"
"What was it?" asked Atwater, as Frank paused, unable to proceed.
"My sister Hattie." then said Frank, in a whisper of awe, "in her coffin!in her shroud! But she did not seem dead at all. She was white as thepurest snow; and she smiled up at me--such a sweet, sad smile--O! O!"
And Frank wrung his hands.