The pranks of those days took the same forms as they do to-day—lawlessness, vandalism, and kicks against authority in general. The Commons, where we boarded for the munificent sum of five dollars a week, was run by the students; and sometimes they showed a surprising lack of originality (or was it extravagance?) in the choice of food. I couldn’t stand the meals from the first; but when we had mutton every day for a week the whole crowd struck and, rising at a signal and holding our plates in our right hands, we deposited the contents on the floor, singing:
“Oh, Lord of love, look from above
Upon this leg of mutton;
Once it was sweet and fit to eat,
But now, good God, it is rotten!”
Any jokes on the authorities were allowed to pass if put over in the right way. Old Doctor Peabody, who was the clergyman in the chapel when the pulpit was not occupied by a visiting preacher, was given a class in ethics to teach. It was considered the thing to worry this large, plain, worthy divine whenever we could, and putting asafetida down the radiator, causing a nauseous stink to permeate the room, was the act of some student’s fertile brain. If the intention was to bother the doctor, however, this act failed of its purpose, as he took pains to announce to all the class that he was entirely lacking in a sense of smell.
The old doctor led prayers each morning, and it was a tradition of the college that if the bell failed to ring we could plead ignorance of the time and not appear. Alas! the man whose duty it was to call chapel was far too reliable for that to happen. He had been ringing the bell for years and had grown old and white in the service—incidentally, he was beloved of all of us, and our friend.
One morning, however, there was great silence. Nobody went to prayers, and as the bell did not even ring for classes, of course we stayed away. It seems that some brave student had climbed up on to the metal rod that joined the roofs of Hollis and Harvard Halls and, managing in some way to haul up a bucket of water, turned the bell over, fastening the clapper to a beam, and filled it with the liquid. When the bell ringer pulled the rope, nothing happened. The water had frozen and it was some four hours before he managed to thaw it out.
Sometimes the pranks took the form of really righteous criticism. Outside the college boundaries, and in the town, was a huge statue of a soldier, a memorial of the Civil War. He was clothed in a uniform and trappings, including an overcoat with cape, but, incongruous to us, he wore no hat. A student passing a shop saw an enormous gold hat—it must have been three feet in width—placed outside as an advertisement. The next morning, to the amusement of the townspeople, the soldier appeared no longer bareheaded, but wore a chapeau that came way down over his ears, completely covering his face. The police tried to get it down, with no result except a great slipping and sliding on the sides of the monument. We boys formed a cordon around it and did all we could to impede the recovery of the trophy. At last the fire department had to be called out with hook and ladder, and amid much good-natured joshing brought down the hat, which we promptly pounced upon and bore away. The police would not be satisfied until we told them how it got there. A student, who was a Texan, threw a lasso over the statue’s head, and one of the boys climbed up hand over hand. We never heard anything from the sculptor, so our criticism must have gone home.
Even President Eliot was not free from gibes and witticisms. He is a tall man and has a large red birthmark on one side of his face which, instead of disfiguring him, really adds much distinction to his looks. Of course, this was the cause of the origin of many nicknames. I remember the visit of Duke Alexis of Russia, the uncle of the late Tsar. Doctor Eliot, in showing him the college, brought him to my room. Of course, I was excited, and after they left I watched them from the window until they disappeared from sight. The duke was the most magnificent male I ever saw—six foot two or three, blond beard, dazzling uniform of white; he represented the ideal type of warrior. Beside him was our president, lean, sharp faced, almost as tall, walking with not quite so military a tread, but holding his own in a remarkable fashion. The students who had come out to watch them drew back—you can always trust them to behave, if necessary—but a crowd of “townies” followed on behind. Then two little “micks” with shirt tails flying, detached themselves from the crowd and one yelled to the other: