CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Prospects and Provision

“I see the trees are sprouting fresh foliage again,” Adam observed as he and Jamie came onto campus on Wednesday morning.

“Bright new leaves every week,” Jamie tittered back.  His steps halted.  “I know what the red and blue sheets are, but there are white ones today, too.  Surely, there isn’t a third open society we haven’t heard of yet.”

“One way to find out,” chuckled Adam as he trotted over to a tree covered with posters.  “It’s a table of contents,” he called back, “for something called Yale Literary Magazine.”

“Oh, the Lit.!” Jamie cried.  “I’ve heard it’s wonderful.”

“The titles sound informative,” Adam said.  “One’s about the prize system here at Yale, and another is called ‘College Favor—Rules for Winning It.’  There’s an article about Halleck’s poems, too.”

“The whole magazine is student-written,” Jamie told him enthusiastically.  “I had hoped”—he bit his lip to silence his desire.

“To write for it?” Adam guessed.

Jamie smiled.  “Someday, perhaps.  For now, I’d be satisfied just to read it.”  He sighed.  “I can’t, though.”

“Money worries?”

Jamie nodded.  “Sounds ridiculous, I know, since it’s only two bits per issue, from what I’ve heard . . . but with Father’s finances so unstable . . .”

“I understand,” Adam said sympathetically.  “I really can’t afford the price, either, after paying my bond.”  He laughed.  “Now, if we just hadn’t indulged in Candy Sam’s divinity that first day, we could, at least, have shared a copy.”

“No more of that indulgence, either, I fear,” Jamie agreed with a playful pout, “at least not until Father finds employment.  In that event, I think we must squander our bankrolls in a wild celebration—one piece each for the three of us.”

Adam laughed.  “At least, we face our pecuniary deficiencies with good humor.  Uh-oh, there’s the first chapel bell.  Hoof it, chum!”  Both boys took off at a run.

* * * * *

            Despite their mutual pecuniary deficiencies, the two Edwards and Adam indulged in a cup of coffee together late Thursday evening.  The Brothers in Unity, in their meeting the previous night, had been urged to attend tonight’s gathering in town to support the work of the Sanitary Commission.  Knowing of his interest in the war effort, Adam and Jamie had invited Josiah to accompany them; at the very least, it would be something for him to do besides spend the evening alone in his shabby room near the wharves.  Now, over coffee, the young men bemoaned their inability to provide the comforts for the soldiers that had been requested.  Jamie shook his head as he again perused the list of items needed.  “I don’t see what I can possibly donate,” he said.  “I only brought the things I’d actually need when I came East.”

“Same here,” Adam commiserated.  “Mrs. Wiggins owns every stitch of bedding I use; I certainly can’t provide any delicacies for the sick and wounded, and the only books I have with me are my texts.”

“Boys, boys,” Josiah chided.  “There’s always something to be shared with those in need.  We just need to put on our thinking caps and be inventive.”

“Not you, Father,” Jamie protested.  “You, especially, haven’t anything to spare.”

Josiah shrugged.  “Well, I have to admit all I can think of at the moment is my copy of Don Quixote.  Having just reread it on the train, I’m willing to pass it on to one of our brave soldiers.  It’s old, but I’ve kept it in good condition, and the story is timeless.”

Propping his elbows on the table, Jamie cupped his chin in his hands.  “I guess I could spare a pair of woolen stockings,” he sighed, “but it doesn’t seem like much.”

“To a man whose have worn out with marching, it will,” Josiah said, smiling proudly at his son.

“And I’ll donate a second pair,” Adam said, grinning as he added, “though I may regret it, come winter.”

“Hopefully, by that time I’ll have found work and be able to replenish your toe warmers,” Josiah chuckled.

“Any prospects?” Adam asked, although he, of course, had no intention of allowing Jamie’s father to absorb the cost of his donation to the Sanitary Commission.

Josiah shook his head.  “Nothing definite, but I heard today that the arms factory might be hiring, so I’ll check that out tomorrow.”

For a few minutes the trio concentrated on finishing their coffee, for the boys had to rise early for chapel the next morning and Josiah wanted to get to the New Haven Arms Company as early as possible, too.  Just as he drained his last sip of brew, Adam brightened.  “I have it!” he cried.

“What?” asked Jamie.

“The perfect donation for the Sanitary Commission,” Adam announced.  “The Lit.!”  Seeing Josiah’s look of confusion, he amplified, “Yale Literary Magazine, a collection of essays by Yale students on various topics.”

“Oh, Adam, make sense,” Jamie scolded.  “We can’t afford a copy for ourselves, so how can we buy one for the soldiers?”

“We can’t,” Adam said, “but I doubt that any magazine ever sells every copy of an issue it prints.  Perhaps the editors would be willing to donate a few of their leftover copies, if we ask.”

“Brilliant!” Josiah declared.  “Do you think scholarly essays are the sort of material a soldier would enjoy, though?  Some of them may be barely literate.”

“Then they’d have equal difficulty with Cervantes,” Adam observed, and Josiah conceded the point with a nod.  “People would probably say the same about the miners in Virginia City,” Adam continued, “but they read anything they can get their hands on.  Those who can’t read themselves can listen to those who can, and the Lit. will certainly be better for them than some of the pap they’ll likely be sent—like those ghastly dime novels they sell on the trains.”

Josiah laughed.  “Are you sure you’re not training for a schoolmaster, young man?”

“Definitely not,” Adam insisted with a wry grin.  “Why, by the time I got home, Little Joe would be of school age, and that’s all the incentive I need to choose another profession!”

* * * * *

            When Adam and Jamie came out of the Vultures’ dining hall after lunch on Saturday, Josiah was waiting for them.  They’d made arrangements to meet here the night before when the two boys had returned from supper to find Jamie’s father perched on their doorstep, beaming from ear to ear.  They’d scarcely needed his vibrant “I start Monday” to tell them that he had found work at the arms factory, as he’d hoped.  To celebrate, particularly since this might be Josiah’s last opportunity, they’d decided to spend the afternoon together and make the long-planned excursion to East Rock.

“We come bearing gifts,” Jamie announced, holding up a parcel wrapped in brown paper.

“From the Vultures,” Adam explained.  “Bread and cheese left from lunch.”

“Ah!  My heartiest thanks to the Vultures,” Josiah said.  “I have a feeling we’ll welcome some refreshment after this little hike you’ve set for us.”

Adam laughed.  “You sound like a city man, and I know better.  It’s not as far as we walked to Mr. Whitcomb’s that morning.  A mile or so, Robert Raines said.”

“Ah, but there’s a hill to climb at the end of that mile,” Josiah reminded him with an admonishing wag of his finger.

“I’m concerned about that,” Jamie admitted.

“It’s part of your health regime,” Adam said firmly, “and you will climb it.”

Jamie popped a sassy salute at his friend.  “Yes, sir, Dr. Cartwright!”

“I see you’re as good as your word,” Josiah observed as they headed north toward the edge of town.  When he saw Adam’s eyebrow arch quizzically, he added, “Looking after my boy for me, just as you promised.”

Jamie drew himself upright.  “I’m quite capable of looking after myself, as I told you both before!”

“We’ll see if you say the same at the summit of East Rock,” Adam offered with a provoking smile.

They hadn’t gone far beyond the college when they entered the woods and walked for a time beneath the shade of lofty chestnut oaks, flaming with autumn color and interspersed with hemlock and cedar.  Adam breathed in deeply and murmured, “Not quite like the pines of home, but a worthy substitute.”

“Adam insists that the aroma of pine is a cure-all for every ailment known to man,” Jamie told his father with a teasing smile.

“I’m certainly feeling better today than I have in some time,” Josiah chuckled, “so perhaps there’s something to his theory.”

“Either that or the assurance that you will be able to pay your room and board next week,” Adam returned with a grin.

Josiah winked at Adam.  “I suppose that might have some liberating effect, as well.”

Coming out of the woods, they crossed a salt marsh, above which rose the red basalt cliffs of East Rock and began their circuitous climb up the steep trail to the summit.  Jamie was huffing before they’d made half the ascent.  “I don’t think I can,” he panted.

“You can and you will,” Adam insisted.  “The view is supposed to be spectacular, not to be missed.  Now, come on!”  He grabbed his friend by the elbow and began hauling him up the trail.

Jamie pulled back.  “No, I’ll go up under my own steam or not at all.”

“Do it, then,” Adam challenged.  Turning his back, he led the way up.

“Come on, son,” his father encouraged.  “I’m winded, too, but if we persevere, I’m sure we can make it.”

“Or never hear the last of it,” Jamie moaned.  He waved at Adam, who had stopped a few feet ahead to see if the others were following.  “I’m coming, hard-hearted doctor,” he called, waving.  “I’m coming.”

Adam grinned and started up again.  He tried to hold his pace to that of his less stalwart companions, but still reached the summit well before either of them.  Then, cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted back down the hill, “It’s grand; you’ve got to see it!”

That encouragement seemed to give fresh vigor to the two Edwards, and each urging the other on, they finally joined Adam at the top and gazed down on the spires of Yale College and the surrounding town of New Haven.  Beyond that, they saw the blue waters of the Sound bordered in the distance by the lavender hills of Long Island.  “Spectacular,” Josiah said.  “Well worth the climb.”

Jamie dropped down to dangle his legs over the edge of the cliff.  “I agree.  In fact, I find it so spectacular that I think I’ll just sit and admire the view . . . for some time to come.”

Adam sat beside his friend.  “You’ve earned it . . . as well as a cheese sandwich for your labors.”

Jamie laughed.  “I can’t believe it: it isn’t long since dinner, but I’m famished.  I’ll take that sandwich right now.”

Adam, who had taken the package as soon as they’d started to climb, opened it and passed sandwiches to Jamie and Josiah before taking one himself.

Josiah took a bite, closed his eyes and sighed with contentment.  “Ah, food for the gods.”

Adam shook his head in amusement.  “Wherever you’ve been eating lately must be a poor excuse for an eatery if a simple cheese sandwich produces such lavish praise.”

“Must be the fresh air,” Josiah chuckled.

“Or the exercise,” Adam suggested with a grin.

“More than I’ve taken in a while,” Josiah admitted.  He glanced at his son’s wind-reddened cheeks and, tilting his head in Jamie’s direction, smiled meaningfully at Adam.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

So as not to embarrass his friend, Adam merely responded with a discreet nod.

* * * * *

            Adam looked up from his reading as Jamie entered their room at Mrs. Wiggins’.  “Did you have to beg them at length to receive our much-too-humble offerings?” he asked, with a teasing twitch of his mouth.  After their jaunt to East Rock, Josiah and Jamie had offered to deliver their contributions to the Sanitary Commission, which was receiving items at a store on Church Street.

“Of course not,” Jamie chuckled.  “If you’re referring to how long I’ve been gone, Father and I went back to his room and talked for a bit.  Between work and school, we won’t much opportunity hereafter.”

“That’s true,” Adam said, “and I’ll miss seeing him . . . almost as much as you will.”

Jamie nodded.  “He’ll meet us on the Green tomorrow morning and walk to chapel with us.  I suppose Sundays will be our only chance to see much of him.”  He removed his outer coat and hung it in the wardrobe.  “Did you get your letter to your friend—Ross, is it?—written and posted?”

Adam flapped the sheets in his hand.  “I did, and though virtue is supposed to be its own reward, I found one more tangible waiting for me.”

“A letter from home?” Jamie guessed, his face beaming with pleasure for his friend.

“Letters,” Adam said, his voice lilting with cheer.  “One each from Pa, Hoss and Little Joe.”

“Little Joe?” Jamie asked, surprised.  “You’ve told me he was bright, but I didn’t think he was capable of writing a letter yet.”

“See for yourself,” Adam suggested, handing over a sheet of paper.

Jamie laughed aloud when he saw what Little Joe’s “letter” consisted of.  Across the top of the page spread the alphabet in rather tipsy letters, while the remainder of the page was filled with a drawing.  “Do you have any idea what it’s supposed to be?” he asked.

“Nary a one,” Adam chuckled.  “I doubt that even God could recognize that as one of His creations.”

Jamie cocked his head and gazed appraisingly at the creature.  “Maybe it’s not,” he suggested.  “Maybe it’s something out of a fairy tale the child has heard.”

Adam shrugged.  “Maybe, though I’m not sure who has time or inclination to read him fairy tales these days.”  With me gone, he added silently to his own guilty heart.  Then he continued, “Hoss’s letter was interesting, and you’re welcome to read it—all about some loon named Sam Clemens trying to set fire to the Ponderosa.”

“Oh, Adam!” Jamie cried in instant alarm.

“No, everything’s all right,” Adam assured him.  “Pa mentioned the incident, too, and the fire wasn’t really on the Ponderosa itself, just near enough to be a threat if our men hadn’t stopped it when they did.”

Relief evident in his face, Jamie perched on his bed.  “Oh, I’m so glad.  Any more news you care to share?”

“Pa wrote all the news from home,” Adam said with satisfaction.  “Most of it’s about people you wouldn’t know, but you’ve heard me mention Billy Thomas, I suppose?”

“Yes, of course.  Your best friend.”

“Along with you and Ross,” Adam amended.  “Anyway, Billy won’t be riding for the Pony Express much longer, because the telegraph is almost linked together, but Pa isn’t sure what he’ll be doing next.  He said he hoped that Billy would come to work on the Ponderosa, but he hasn’t had a chance to talk with him yet.  I know Billy would prefer working outdoors to helping Uncle Clyde in the smithy, but ranch work may seem mighty tame after riding for the Pony.  Maybe the next letter will tell me what he’s decided.  Knowing Billy, I wouldn’t be surprised if he came up with something totally unexpected!”

Jamie grinned.  “From what you’ve told me about him, I’m sure of that.”

Adam lifted a small sheet of paper and waved it back and forth.  “And this, my dear friend, is the most exciting item that arrived today.”

“Indeed?  It looks like—can it possibly be—a letter of credit?” Jamie asked with rising expectancy.

“A most astute deduction,” Adam replied enthusiastically.  “Pa sent a draft for $50, in case expenses here had been greater than we estimated.”

“Wonderful!” Jamie cried.  “And on what shall you spend these sudden riches?”

Adam stroked his chin in apparent thought, although he knew exactly what to do with the money.  “First, we’ll have to leave early for tonight’s Sigma Ep meeting, so that we have time to find Candy Sam and purchase that divinity we promised ourselves.”

“Of course,” Jamie agreed readily.  “One piece each and one for Father.”

“We’re rich now,” Adam stated with the most profligate air he could adopt.  “We’ll have two apiece, and on Monday I will buy my own copy of each textbook.  Next, I think we must treat ourselves to a subscription to the Lit.”

“I hope you’ll let me read yours,” Jamie hinted.

“Ours,” Adam corrected.  “You, being the more literary half of the partnership, will have the right and the responsibility to keep the collection.  If I want a copy for myself of some particular issue—anything with an article authored by you, for instance—we’ll pool our funds to buy an extra.”

“You are more than generous,” Jamie said, “but I insist that you let me repay you for half the subscription cost . . . when I can.”

Adam extended his hand, which Jamie clasped.  “Agreed—and the rest I’ll bank against future need.”

“Hasn’t God been good to us this week?” Jamie stated with shining eyes.

“With Pa and the New Haven Arms Company as His agents,” Adam replied with a smile.

            * * * * *

            At the close of the midday recitation on Wednesday, a representative from the Yale Literary Magazine appeared to outline for the new freshmen the benefits of a subscription.  Adam and Jamie, having already made their decision, promptly entered their subscription in Jamie’s name, and Adam took the opportunity to express his thanks for the copies of the magazine which had been promised to the Sanitary Commission.

“Ah, you’re the young man who made that beneficent suggestion, then,” the representative said, smiling pleasantly as he shook Adam’s hand.  “Excellent idea, my boy, simply hunky.  No better way for our soldiers to occupy their leisure than with a copy of the Lit., eh?”

“We thought so,” Adam returned.  “Would you like us to deliver your contribution to the Commission, sir?”

The young man shook his head.  “Not necessary.  We’ll have to wait until sales close, of course, but I would expect we’ll be able to donate about thirty copies to the cause.”

“Wonderful,” Jamie chimed in.  “Amazing, isn’t it, Adam?” he asked as they were walking toward the Vultures’ dining hall together with Lucas and Marc.  “We thought we had nothing whatever to share, but we’ve ended up inspiring quite a large contribution.”

“I thought it was the job of preachers to inspire,” Lucas teased, tweaking Jamie’s hat over his nose, and then had the prudence to take off running.

“You scoundrel!” Adam yelled, giving chase to defend Jamie’s honor and, by extension, his own.  “I’ll teach you to mock our powers of inspiration!”

~ ~ Notes ~ ~

The articles mentioned by Adam were published in the October, 1861, issue of The Yale Literary Magazine.  It is available online through Google Books.

A meeting of the Sanitary Commission took place in New Haven on October 10, 1861.  The Commission, a civilian organization, actively contributed to the needs and comfort of the Union soldiers through donations of food, clothing, reading material and funds raised through fairs.

The fire that Samuel Clemens foolishly set near the Ponderosa is described in his book, Roughing It.