Who Goes There?. B. K. Benson
actual object seemed present to my senses, while I could feel dimly, what I now know more thoroughly, that my memory during the interval had operated weakly, if at all, on matters speculative, so called--questions of doubtful import, questions of a kind upon which there might well be more than one opinion, being as nothing to my mind. Although I have truly said that I cannot explain how it was that my mind began its recovery, yet I cannot reason away the belief that the first step was an act of sensitive pride--the realization that it made some difference to me whether the New Hampshire regiment or the Palmetto regiment acquired the greater glory.
My father continued to send me each winter to Charleston, and my summers were spent at home. By the time I was fifteen he became dissatisfied with my progress, and decided that I should return to the South for the winter of 1853–4. and that if there should be no recurrence of my mental peculiarity he would thereafter put me in the hands of a private tutor who should prepare me for college.
For fully five years I had had no lapse of memory and my health was sound. At the school I took delight in athletic sports, and gained a reputation among the Charleston boys for being an expert especially in climbing. My studies, while not neglected, were, nevertheless, considered by me as secondary matters; I suppose that the anxiety shown by my father for my health influenced me somewhat; moreover, I had a natural bent toward bodily rather than mental exercise.
The feature most attractive to me in school work was the debating class. As a sort of ex-officio president of this club, was one of our tutors, whom none of the boys seemed greatly to like. He was called Professor Khayme--pronounced Ki-me. Sometimes the principal addressed him as Doctor. He certainly was a very learned and intelligent man; for although the boys had him in dislike, there were yet many evidences of the respect he commanded from better judges than schoolboys. He seemed, at various times, of different ages. He might be anywhere between thirty and fifty. He was small of stature, being not more than five feet tall, and was exceedingly quick and energetic in his movements, while his countenance and attitude, no matter what was going on, expressed always complete self-control, if not indifference. He was dark--almost as dark as an Indian. His face was narrow, but the breadth and height of his forehead were almost a deformity. He had no beard, and yet I feel sure that he never used a razor. I rarely saw him off duty without a peculiar black pipe in his mouth, which he smoked in an unusual way, emitting the smoke at very long intervals. It was a standing jest with my irreverent schoolmates that "Old Ky" owed his fine, rich colour to smoking through his skin. Ingram Hall said that the carved Hindoo idol which decorated the professor's pipe was the very image of "Old Ky" himself.
Our debating class sometimes prepared oratorical displays to which were admitted a favoured few of the general public. To my dying day I shall remember one of these occasions. The debate, so celebrated, between the great Carolinian Hayne and our own Webster was the feature of the entertainment. Behind the curtain sat Professor Khayme, prompter and general manager. A boy with mighty lungs and violent gesticulation recited an abridgment of Hayne's speech, beginning:--
"If there be one State in the Union, Mr. President, and I say it not in a boastful spirit, that may challenge comparison with any other for a uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion to the Union, that State is South Carolina."
Great applause followed. These were times of sectional compromise. I also applauded. We were under the falsely quieting influence of Douglas's Kansas-Nebraska Bill. There was effort for harmony between the sections. The majority of thinking people considered true patriotism to concist in patience and charity each to each. Mrs. Beecher Stowe's "Uncle Tom's Cabin" had appeared, but few Southerners had read it or would read it. I also applauded.
Professor Khayme now came forward on the rostrum, and announced that the next part of the programme would be "'Webster's Reply to Hayne,' to be recited"--and here the professor paused--"by Master Jones Berwick."
I was thunderstruck. No intimation of any kind had been given me that I was to be called on. I decided at once to refuse to attempt an impossibility. As I rose to explain and to make excuses, the boys all over the hall cried, "Berwick! Berwick!" and clapped loudly. Then the professor said, in a low and musical voice,--and his voice was by far his greatest apparent attraction,--that Master Berwick had not been originally selected to recite, but that the young orator chosen the duty had been called away unexpectedly, and that it was well known that Master Berwick, being a compatriot of the great Webster, and being not only thoroughly competent to declaim the abridged form of the speech in question, but also in politics thoroughly at one with the famous orator, could serve with facility in the stead of the absentee, and would certainly sustain the reputation of the club.
How I hated that man! Yet I could see, as I caught his eye, I know not what of encouragement. I had often heard the speech recited, but not recently, and I could not see my way through.
I stumbled somehow to the back of the curtain. The Doctor said to me, in a tone I had never heard before. "Be brave, my boy: I pledge you my word as a gentleman that you shall succeed. Come to this light." Then he seemed to be brushing my hair back with a few soft finger-touches, and I remembered no more until I found myself on the rostrum listening to a perfect din of applause that covered the close of my speech. If there were any fire-eaters in the audience, they were Carolina aristocrats an knew how to be polite, even to a fault.
I could not understand my success: I had vague inward inclination that it was not mine alone. My identity seemed to have departed for the time. I felt that some wonderful change had been wrought in me, and, youngster though I was, I was amazed to think what might be the possibilities of the mind.
For some time after this incident I tried to avoid Doctor Khayme, but as he had charge of our rhetoric and French, as well as oratory, it was impossible that we should not meet. In class he was reserved and confined himself strictly to his duties, never by tone or look varying his prescribed relation to the class; yet, though his outward gravity and seeming indifference, I sometimes felt that he influenced me by a power which no other man exerted over me.
One afternoon, returning from school to my quarters, I had just crossed Meeting Street when I felt a light hand on my shoulder, and, turning, I saw Doctor Khayme.
"Allow me to walk with you?" he asked.
He did not wait for an answer, but continued at once: "I have from your father a letter in relation to your health. He says that he is uneasy about you."
"I was never better in my life, sir," said I; "he has no reason to be worried."
"I shall be glad to be able to relieve his mind," said the Doctor.
Now, I had wit enough to observe that the Doctor had not said "I am glad," but "I shall be glad," and I asked, "Do you think I am wrong in health?"
"Not seriously," he replied; "but I think it will be well for you to see the letter, and if you will be so good as to accompany me to my lodging, I will show it to you."
Dr. Khayme's "lodging" proved to be a small cottage on one of the side streets. There was a miniature garden in front: vines clambered over the porch and were trained so that they almost hid the windows. An old woman, who seemed to be housekeeper, cook, and everything that a general servant may be, opened to his knock.
"I never carry a key," said the Doctor, seemingly in response to my thought.
I was led into a bright room in the back of the house. The windows looked on the sunset. The floor was bare, except in front of the grate, where was spread the skin of some strange animal. For the rest, there was nothing remarkable about the apartment. An old bookcase in a corner seemed packed to bursting with dusty volumes in antique covers, A writing-table, littered and piled with papers, was in the middle of the room, and there were a few easy-chairs, into one of which the Doctor motioned me.
Excusing himself a moment, he went to the mantel, took down a pipe with a long stem, and began to stuff the bowl with tobacco which I saw was very black; while he was doing so, I recognized on the pipe the carven image of an idol.
"Yes," he said; "I see no good in changing."
I did not say anything to this speech; I did not know what he meant.
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