CHAPTER TWELVE

Extracurricular Activities

“Get a move on, chum,” Adam urged on Thursday morning, “or we’ll be late for breakfast.”

Jamie looked up from his morning Bible reading.  “I’m not going.”

“Why?” Adam asked.  “Aren’t you feeling well?”

Jamie smiled and shook his head.  “The national day of fasting, remember?”

“Oh.”  Adam looked nonplussed.  He’d read, of course, of the President’s request that all Americans join him in fasting and prayer on this day, but he hadn’t really planned to participate.

“You needn’t join me,” his friend said, easily reading Adam’s thoughts, “but especially since we still haven’t heard from Father, I’d like to spend extra time in prayer today.”

“He’s barely had time to receive our letters,” Adam said, sitting on the bed beside his friend, “so it’s too soon to worry.”

“And I’m not,” Jamie assured him, “but I do want to pray that God keeps him safe on his journey to us—and for our soldiers, too, of course.”

Adam nodded soberly.  “Well, I’ll stay with you, then.”

“You shouldn’t, if it isn’t your own conviction,” Jamie said.  “It’s hard enough to go hungry when you do feel strongly about it, Adam.”

Adam gave him a wry smile.  “I feel strongly enough to miss one meal, at least.  After that, the strength of my convictions may depend on how belligerently my stomach makes its demands known.”

“You want to pray here or in chapel?” Jamie asked.  “It’s open early today.”

“I prefer here, in private,” Adam said, “unless you’d rather . . .”

“God’s everywhere, Adam,” Jamie said with a chuckle as he closed his Bible and slipped to his knees.

Adam started to join him, but since he’d never felt especially comfortable in that religious posture, he walked to the window and perched on the ledge, instead.  Closing his eyes, he thought first of Josiah and made a simple request that he’d be kept safe as he traveled through the contentious country between here and Missouri.  Having come that way himself not long ago, Adam had a clear idea of the dangers the man might meet, and he had to admit that he felt better after committing his friend’s father into the care of Almighty God.

He had a harder time praying, though, once his thoughts turned to the Union soldiers in the field.  They weren’t people he knew personally, and his father had so strongly urged him to stay out of the sectional divisiveness that he found it hard to ask God to intervene on one side or the other.  Then, as his mind drifted back to the battle he’d fought against the Paiutes back home, he decided he didn’t have to pick sides.  There’d been good men and bad on both sides of that conflict, and the same was probably true of this one here in the East.  Keep the good men alive and only let the bad ones die—too simplistic a prayer, of course, but that was what was in Adam’s heart as he gazed through the frosty windowpane.  Good men sometimes went bad, and bad ones sometimes reformed, and only God knew how a man’s life would end, for good or ill.  Do what You think is right for each of them seemed like a weak prayer, too, but it was the only way he could pray that morning.

* * * * *

            Just as the Latin tutor approached the lectern, Lucas slid onto the bench beside Adam in the recitation room.  “Why weren’t you at breakfast?” he hissed.

Adam responded with a cautioning elbow to his friend’s side.  Tutor Smith had a reputation for passing out demerits with a free hand, and although it was only two weeks into the term, Lucas had already managed to pick up a couple.  By missing chapel he had added two more to his tally, placing him a quarter of the way to the sixteen that would put him on report to the faculty, who would then send notice to his parents.  So far, Adam, like Jamie, had a clean slate and planned to keep it that way.  His father had sacrificed too much to give him this opportunity, and Adam never wanted Pa to feel that he’d made a mistake.  He’d probably pick up a few demerits along the way—everyone seemed to think that was inevitable—but since a clean slate required only class attendance, punctuality and reasonable behavior during recitation, he fully expected to stay well below sixteen . . . and certainly below the fatal forty-eight that would lead to suspension for six weeks or an entire term.

As soon as class ended, Lucas snared Adam by the elbow and propelled him down the steps.  “So, why’d you skip breakfast?” he demanded.

“They don’t give demerits for that,” Adam countered.  “Why’d you skip chapel?”

“Your fault,” Lucas alleged as he tossed his books to the ground and dropped beneath the elm where the four friends generally met after recitations.

Adam joined him.  “My fault?  How on earth do you figure that?”

“Easy,” Lucas said.  “I couldn’t bear to see good food go to waste, so I was delayed, polishing off your share and Edwards’, and that made me late for chapel.  Now, you know as well as I, my good fellow, that tardiness racks up just as many demerits as absence, so I decided I might as well use the time to bone up for my Latin recitation.”

Adam laughed.  “Well, it did seem to help.  You were more coherent than usual.”

“That’s poppycock,” Marcus snorted, he and Jamie having come up in time to hear Lucas’s explanation.  “You were late to breakfast; that’s why you were late leaving the table.”

Lucas chuckled.  “Well, there’s that, too.”

“Adam,” Jamie said, “Marc wants some help with his Latin, so we’re going over to the library.”

“Don’t be late for geometry,” Lucas cautioned with an impish grin.

Adam gave him a playful shove.  “Follow your own advice, sir.  Jamie has probably never been late to class once in his life.”

“Not once,” Jamie admitted with an almost embarrassed smile.  “My father was a teacher, remember?  He trained me in punctuality from my first day in grammar school.”  As he and Marcus headed toward the library, he called over his shoulder, “See you at eleven-thirty.”

Adam waved back in acknowledgement.  “I probably should put in some extra study time myself, but I’m not in the mood.”

“Weak from hunger, no doubt,” Lucas teased.  “You never did explain your absence from the table.”

“Fasting,” Adam said.  “The President’s request, remember?”

“Glory be!” Lucas exclaimed.  “I like the little preacher boy, honestly I do, but I think he’s having a bad influence on you, mate.”

“He wanted to pray for his father’s safety,” Adam said, “and I hated to see him carry that burden alone.  You’re right about hunger, though.  The only Latin I wanted to concentrate on this morning was cibus!”

Lucas laughed.  “Ah, yes . . . food . . . my favorite Latin word.  You’ll present yourself for dinner then, I presume?”

“I think I’d better,” Adam agreed with a shrug.

“Jamie?”

“Still fasting, I’m sure.  More disciplined than the lot of us, you know.”

Lucas shook his head.  “The boy has no sense.”  He stood up, brushing the back of his pants.  “Much as it pains me, I suppose I should pay some attention to our upcoming session with Euclid.”

“Need help?” Adam asked.  “We could join the others in the library.”

“I think I’m beyond help in that department,” Lucas confessed, “but as you’re a bona fide genius in math, maybe it’s worth a try.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

They started to walk toward the library, when suddenly Lucas snapped his fingers.  “I almost forgot the most important news of the day.  We’re forming a baseball club Saturday afternoon.  With those finely muscled arms of yours, you’d be a natural.”

Stopping, Adam gave his friend a blank look.  “Baseball?”

Lucas gawked back at him.  Then he grinned.  “Hasn’t made its way west yet, I presume.”

Adam chuckled.  “I guess not.  Some sort of game?”

“The grandest game ever, Adam!” Lucas declared enthusiastically.  “If you’ve never seen it before, you might have to start in the muffin nine, but you’d rise through the ranks rapidly.  Do come watch the exhibition match.”

“You’re playing?”

“Of course!”

Adam nodded.  “Jamie and I were planning to walk up to West Rock after recitation on Saturday, but I’ll see if he’s willing to watch the game, instead.  It sounds interesting.  Now, interested or not, you are going to plug away at Euclid for the next hour.  Come on!”

* * * * *

            On Saturday afternoon Adam led the way to the middle rank of benches at the side of the playing field.  “We should have a good view from here,” he suggested.

“Yes, I’d say so,” Jamie agreed.  He looked up at the almost clear sky, the vast expanse of blue dotted here and there with puffy white clouds.  “A beautiful day for a game.  It’s a shame Marc already had other plans.”

“We did, too.  You’re not too disappointed at putting off our trip to West Rock, are you?” Adam queried.  “It’s beautiful weather for that, as well.”

Jamie laughed.  “Now, why would I be disappointed at trading an afternoon of Dr. Cartwright’s rigorous exercise regime for one of sitting quietly and watching others labor for my enjoyment?”

Adam clucked his tongue.  “You are a rebellious and lazy patient, but you will take some exercise after second service tomorrow, young man.”

Jamie grinned.  “Yes, doctor, and gladly.  I’m looking forward to this, though, especially as it’s so important to Lucas.”

“Oh, yes, he’s quite enthusiastic,” Adam agreed.  He gazed out over the playing field.  “I’d never heard of baseball, but this looks familiar.”

Jamie nodded.  “Yes, a little.  You remember town ball?  We used to watch the bigger boys play that in St. Joseph.”

“That’s it,” Adam said, snapping his fingers.  “That’s what’s been niggling at my brain.  The field’s shaped differently, though.”

A team in white shirts ran onto the diamond-shaped field and began firing the soft round sphere from man to man.  “What strong arms they have!” cried Jamie.  “But where is Lucas?”

“He must be on the opposing team,” Adam said.  The muscles in his arms tightened as he imagined himself out on the field, throwing fast balls to other teammates.  Much as he loved books and study, he sometimes missed opportunities to be outdoors and use his muscles.  This baseball club could provide him with that longed-for exercise . . . if only. . . .

“There’s Lucas!” Jamie shouted, pointing to their friend as boys in blue shirts took the field to warm up for the game.

The blue team’s ball flew around the field until their allotted time was up.  Lucas caught sight of his friends and waved as he trotted to the side and took his place beside his teammates.  The first striker for the blue team took his position, bat in hand.  He swung wildly at the first ball, but connected with the second and ran successfully to first base.  The second striker hit the ball on the first pitch, but a man in the far right field ably caught it.  “Wait a minute,” Adam said as he saw Lucas approach the striker’s point.  “Isn’t that an out?  Shouldn’t the teams switch places now?”

“They did in town ball,” Jamie recalled, “but perhaps the rules for this are different.”

“Apparently so,” Adam conceded, leaning forward to watch more intently.

Lucas swung strongly, but missed the first ball and the second.  When he swung the third time, however, the air cracked with the force of his strike.  The ball flew like a bullet toward the far end of the diamond and beyond.  Spectators leaped to their feet.  “An ace!” one yelled.  “Go it, Cameron!”

Adam and Jamie were on their feet, too.  “Run, Luke, run!” Adam screamed, and Jamie echoed the prevailing encouragement as Lucas rounded base after base and returned to the striking point.

The next two men struck out under the concentrated pitching of the white team, and then the two teams switched sides.  “Three outs per side in baseball, I surmise,” Adam said, turning to Jamie.

Jamie nodded.  “I like that better.”

As the game proceeded, it became obvious that Lucas was one of the better players.  “Not that I’m surprised,” Adam told him when he and Jamie congratulated their friend after the match ended.  “You have the look of a true sportsman.”

“I love the game,” Lucas admitted and then laughed.  “Far more than Euclid, to be sure.”

“Who doesn’t?” Adam chuckled.

“Even I,” Jamie said with a smile, “although I probably succeed better with Euclid than sports.”

Lucas’s patronizing pat on the shoulder said that he agreed, but he politely didn’t voice his doubts about the other boy’s athletic abilities.  “What about you, Adam?” he asked eagerly.  “If you think you’d be interested in joining, I’ll be happy to put in a good word for you with the organizers.”

Adam glanced down swiftly, to hide the wistful look in his eyes.  “Perhaps later, Luke.  College life is still so new to me that I think I should concentrate on basic studies for the time being.”

“Oh, Adam!” Lucas chided.  “All work and no play is . . . well, practically un-American . . . not to mention un-Yalensian.”

Adam gave him a shove.  “And all play and no work definitely is!”  He sobered.  “Seriously, Luke, let me get grounded with what I’ve already taken on before I add more.  If I feel I can manage it, I guarantee you I’ll join up.”

“Oh, all right,” Lucas said.  His nose wrinkled.  “Whew!  Get a whiff of me!  I’d better get back to my rooms and scrub off some of this sweat.”

Adam’s mouth twitched.  “Please do.  I don’t fancy sitting at table with you in this condition.”

Lucas returned the shove he’d received moments before and after shaking both Adam’s hand and Jamie’s took off for his lodgings.

As Adam and Jamie made their way back to their own room, Jamie asked soberly, “Is it because of me?”

Adam turned toward him.  “Is what because of you?”

Jamie flicked a nervous glance in his friend’s direction.  “The reason you won’t join the team.  Is it what you said or are you holding yourself back because you know it’s something I can’t participate in with any degree of success?”

“Neither one, to be honest,” Adam admitted.

“Because you needn’t,” Jamie continued as if he hadn’t heard Adam’s response.  “Much as I enjoy your company and all the time we spend together, Adam, I know you have other interests that I don’t share.  So, if you want this, don’t let me be a hindrance.  I’ll gladly cheer for you each Saturday, as well as for Lucas.”

Adam took his friend by the shoulders and turned him until they were face to face.  “Jamie, it isn’t you,” he said bluntly.  “It’s money, pure and simple.  There are dues for this club, like any other, and apparently a uniform to buy and probably other expenses.  I hated to tell Luke that, but you know my situation.”

“Indeed . . . and share it,” Jamie sighed.  “I’m sorry, Adam.”

Adam shrugged.  “Well, maybe someday I’ll be able to swing it.  For now, it probably is best that I concentrate on my studies.”

“And we’d better get to that right away,” Jamie agreed.  “With our first Sigma Ep meeting tonight, we haven’t much time left to study.”

“That being the case . . . race you back to George Street,” Adam challenged and started out at a slow trot to give Jamie a chance to get his shorter legs pumping.

* * * * *

            It was ten of eight that evening when Adam and Jamie entered the society hall in the upper story of the Brewster Building.  “Look!  There’s Marc,” Jamie said, pointing, “but I don’t see Lucas.”

Adam grinned.  “Our friend Lucas is scarcely the punctual type.  He’ll probably come skidding in at the last minute.”

“Probably,” Jamie admitted.  He waved at Marcus, who was signaling that there were seats available beside him.  They crossed the room, and Jamie took the seat next to Marcus.

“Hi, Marc,” Adam said, leaning around Jamie to greet their friend.  “Looking forward to the program?”

“I can’t even imagine what it’ll be like,” Marcus admitted, “but I’m eager to find out.”

“As are we,” Jamie assured him.

They hadn’t long to wait.  Promptly at eight o’clock (with still no sign of Lucas) the program began with a debate between two other freshmen, comparing the literary genius of William Cowper with that of William Wordsworth.

Adam smiled.  He enjoyed the works of both authors, but Cowper recalled pleasant memories of the days when he and Ross Marquette had first gotten acquainted while cutting timber for the new schoolhouse.  He’d quoted a bit of Cowper to the other boy that first day and later had loaned him a book of Cowper’s poems.  They’d discussed them on other occasions and in letters to and from Sacramento.  I haven’t written Ross a word since I got here, Adam chided himself, or Billy, either.  I need to work that in sometime tomorrow, if I can, now that I know the mail will go through.

Polite applause interrupted Adam’s train of thought, and he realized with a start that the debate had ended.

“Well done, well done,” said the president of the society.  “It’s never easy to go first in any new undertaking, and I commend both of you for taking on the challenge and fulfilling it commendably.  Now, there will be critique from the members at our next meeting, but I’m sure the response will be favorable.  Next, our oration of the evening will be presented by Mr. Baker.”

Baker made his way to the front, swallowed hard and announced his topic, The Importance of Geography to the Development of Nations.  Adam listened intently this time and joined in the applause with sincerity.  Baker had, in his opinion, done a fine job of proving his points.

The president again faced the group.  “This, as I understand procedure, is when we would normally critique the debate and oration of the previous week, but as this is our first meeting, I suppose we must logically forego that pleasure—or pain—tonight.”  After the laughter that met these words died down, he continued, “We will, instead, proceed to the announcement of next week’s appointments.”

Adam barely paid attention as the topic of debate and the two men taking opposing sides were announced, but he abruptly sat upright as he heard his own name mentioned next.  “We appoint Mr. Adam Cartwright to give our next oration,” the president announced.  “Since Mr. Cartwright comes from a new territory, unknown to the majority of us, we ask him to give us a thorough description of Nevada, tracing its development from early settlement to the present.”

As had the newly assigned debaters before him, Adam rose to his feet and said, “I am pleased to accept, sir, and thank you for the honor.”

“It really is an honor, Adam,” Jamie enthused as they walked back to their lodging house.  “To be selected so early in the year, when there are so many better known to the majority . . . why, I never expected it.”

“Nor did I,” Adam replied.  “I suspect the novelty of someone from the far West influenced the decision, that and the allure of a mountain of silver.  They’re probably hoping to hear stories of wild shooting sprees and lavish riches.”

“Both of which you can supply,” Jamie pointed out.

“I suppose,” Adam agreed with a shrug, “but I don’t want to leave our new friends with the impression that that’s all there is to Nevada.  We have more solid citizens than ruffians and more men of moderate means than millionaires.”

“And you’re just the man to show them the real Nevada,” Jamie declared.  “I can’t wait to hear you next week!”

* * * * *

            Late that night, after Jamie was soundly asleep, Adam slipped out of bed and walked across the room to the open window.  As he perched on the windowsill, the air was chilly on his bare legs, but the crispness kept him alert and helped him think.  Though Jamie seemed to have complete confidence in him, Adam himself wondered how he’d fare next Saturday night.  He’d given little talks in his Sacramento classes, of course, but his classmates there had been no better educated than he.  Their acceptance had been easy to earn.  Here he’d be speaking before men who’d been trained in classical rhetoric in the great preparatory schools of the East—and they’d be offering critiques on his work, too!  He’d never experienced that before, and he definitely wanted to make a good first impression.  Survive the first assignment, and he would, of necessity, find the next less daunting.  Fail it and—no!  He wouldn’t let himself think of failure.  When a fellow did that, he charted a path all too easy to follow.

What would he speak about?  Should he give them the wild and woolly antics sure to hold their attention—the time he and Billy Thomas had trailed Sam Brown on his last shooting spree, for instance—or should he hold up to their eyes a truer picture of home?  Was there a way to blend the two?  To ease the tension in his neck, Adam rolled his head back on his shoulders.  Why, oh why, had he ever thought that he’d drawn a simple topic for his first oration?  He had a feeling he’d be spending every night this week on this windowsill, pondering what to say.

~ ~ Notes ~ ~

Baseball, in the form we know, developed around 1840 and became a national craze after the Civil War.