The Drummer Boy Part 21

XVII.

IN WHICH FRANK SEES STRANGE THINGS.

In this frame of mind, Frank went on deck. He saw the old drum-major coming towards him. Being in any thing but a social mood, he tried to avoid 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 tidings of 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 bitter sense of injury and disappointment, as he spoke.

Frank, nursing his sore heart, the wounds of which he could not bear to have touched by the most friendly hand, compressed his lips together, and made no reply.

"So you have been really gambling--have you?" added the old man, in tones of suppressed emotion.

"That's my business," said Frank, curtly.

He regretted the undutiful words the instant they escaped his lips. But he was too proud to ask pardon for them. As for the old man, he stood silent for a long time, looking down at the boy, who looked not up again at 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--I hoped--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 the rest, proved ungrateful and unworthy when the hour of trial came.

Alas! such is the result of our transgressions. Once having offended our own souls, we are quick to offend others. And vice makes us irritable, ungenerous, unjust. And not a crime can be committed, but its evil consequences 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 of mischief 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 the balm of forgetfulness to his hurt mind.

The boys entered the hold of the vessel, where, in the hush and obscurity, a group of their companions; stood or sat, among the barrels and boxes, still as statues, until they recognized the new comers.

"All right! n.o.body 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 held out something in a tin cup.

"What is it?" said Frank; "water?"

"Something almost as good," said Harris. "It was water the boys came down here in search of; and they've tapped five barrels of sirup in the operation, and finally they've stuck the gimlet into a cask of--taste on't."

Frank knew what it was by the smell. It was not the first time he had smelt whiskey; or tasted it, either. But hitherto he had stopped at the taste, having nothing but his curiosity to gratify. Now, however, he bad something else to gratify--a burning thirst of the body, aggravated by his feverish excitement, and a burning thirst of the soul, which demanded stimulus of any kind whatsoever that would allay the inward torment.

And so he drank. He did not love the liquor, although the rank taste of it was ameliorated by a liberal admixture of sirup. But he felt the internal sinking and wretchedness of heart and stomach braced up and a.s.suaged by the first draught; so he took another. And for the same reason he indulged in a third. And so it happened that his head began shortly to swim, his eyes to see double, and things to look queer to them generally. The dim hold of the vessel might have been the pit of darkness, and the obscure grinning faces of his comrades might have been those of imps therein abiding, for aught he knew to the contrary, or cared. He began to laugh.

"What's the matter, Frank?"

"Nothing," he said, thickly; "only it's so droll." And he sat down on a cask, laughing again with uncontrollable merriment--at nothing; an infallible symptom that a person is either tipsy or a fool. But Frank was not a fool. _Ergo:_ he was tipsy.

"Get him up as quick as we can, boys," he heard some one saying, "or else we can't get him up at all."

"Better leave him here till he gets over it," said another. "That'll be the best way."

"Who'd have thought a little dodger like that would upset him?" said somebody else. "By George we'll all get found out, through him."

"Whads mare?" said Frank, meaning to ask, "What is the matter?" but somehow he could not make his organs of articulation go off right. "'Zis wachecall drung?" (Is this what you call drunk?)

"Can ye walk?"--He recognized the voice of his friend Tucket.--"It's too bad to leave him here, boys. We must get him to his berth 'fore he's any worse."

"Zhue, Sef?" (Is it you, Seth?) Frank, with the help of his friend, got upon 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 his conviction 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 to demonstrate the absurdity of the pretence, went stumbling loosely over the freight, saved from falling only by the a.s.sistance 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 the ladder 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 him gently, while a comrade above drew him also gently, until he was got safely out.

"I did that perrywell!" said Frank. "Now lemme h.e.l.l Sef!" (Now let me help Seth.) "You're a bully fellel, Sef. I'll h.e.l.lup 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 youme mush.e.l.lpitchuthth." (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 around Frank, hurried him away to his bunk, and tumbled him into it without much ceremony.

Not un.o.bserved, however. Captain Edney, who had had an anxious eye on Frank of late, saw him retire to his quarters in this rather suspicious manner.

"What's the matter with him?" he inquired of Seth.

"Nothing very serious, I believe, sir," replied Tucket, with the most perfect seriousness. "A little seasick, or sunthin of the kind. He'll git over it in a jiffy."

The waves were not running sufficiently high in the sound, however, to render the theory of seasickness very plausible; and, to satisfy his mind, Captain Edney approached Frank's bunk, putting to him the same question.

Frank replied in scarcely intelligible language, with a swimming gaze, tending to the cross-eyed, at the captain, "that there was nothing in partiggler 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_ mixed up.