THE YOUNG IDEA SHOOTS.
There was a region south, on the State road, partly in the townships
of Auburn and Mantua, that, like "the woods," long remained a
wilderness, and was known as the "Mantua Woods." Within the last year
or two, the whole of it had been sold and settled, with the average of
new settlers, strong, plain, simple people, with a sprinkling of the
rough, and a little element of the dangerous.
They had built there a neat frame school-house, just on the banks
of Bridge Creek, and were fully bent on availing themselves of the
benefits of the Ohio Common School Fund and laws.
Here, on one bleak, late November Monday morning, in front of the
new school-house, stood Bart Ridgeley, who appeared then and there
pursuant to a stipulation made with him, to keep their first school.
He undertook it with great doubt of his ability to instruct the
pupils, but with none of his capacity to manage them. He stood
surrounded by some forty young specimens of both sexes and all
ages--from rough, stalwart young men, bold and fearless in eye and
bearing, down to urchins of five. One-half were girls, and among them
several well-grown lasses, rustic and sweet.
There had also come up seven or eight of the principal patrons, to
see the young school-master and learn of the prospects. They were
evidently disappointed, and wondered what "Morey" could be thinking of
to hire that pale, green boy, with his neat dress and gloves, to come
down there. Grid Bingham or John Craft would throw him out of the
window in a week. Finally, Jo Keys did not hesitate to recommend him
to go home; while Canfield, who knew his brother Morris, thought he
had better try the school.
Bart was surprised and indignant. He cut the matter very short.
"Gentlemen," he said quietly, but most decidedly, "I came down here to
keep your school, and I shall certainly do it," with a little nod
of his head to Keys. "I shall be glad to see you at almost any other
time, but just now I am engaged." The decided way in which he put an
end to the interview was not without its effect.
He called the scholars in, and began. They brought every sort of
reading-book, from the Bible, English Reader, American Preceptor,
Columbian Orator, Third Part, etc., to a New England Primer. But
beyond reading, and spelling, and writing, he had only arithmetic,
grammar and geography. On the whole, he got off well, and before the
end of the first week was on good terms, apparently, with his whole
school, with one or two exceptions; and so on through the second,
which closed on Friday, and Bart turned gladly and eagerly toward
home, to his mother and brothers.
The close of that week had been a little under a cloud, which left
just a nameless shadow over the commencement of the third, and Bart
began it with an uneasy feeling.
Bingham, a short, stout, compact young ruffian, of twenty-two or
twenty-three, not quite as tall as Bart, but a third more in weight,
and who had an ugly reputation as a quarrelsome fellow of many fights,
had at first treated Bart with good-natured toleration, and said he
would let him go on awhile. With him consorted John Craft, a chap
of about his age, but of better reputation. Bingham had broken up a
school the winter before, just below in Mantua, and was from the
first an object of dread to parents in the new district. He was a
dull scholar, and his blunders had exposed him to ridicule, which the
teacher could not always repress. He left the school, on that Friday,
moody and sullen, and came back on Monday full of mischief.
Not a word was said, that reached Bart's ears, but the young women
had a scared look, and an ominous dread seemed to brood over the
school-room. Monday and Tuesday came and went, as did the scholars,
and also Wednesday forenoon.
The room was arranged with three rows of desks on two sides, and one
on the third. Behind these sat the large scholars, with Grid, near the
door. When he called the scholars in, after the recess, Bart quietly
locked the outside door, and put the key in his pocket. He was cool,
collected, and on the alert.
The first class began to read, each rising while reading, and then
sitting down. Bart had observed that Bingham sat with his book closed,
and wholly inattentive to the exercise, and quietly placed himself
within a few feet of his desk.
As it came Bingham's turn, he sat with an assumed look of swaggering
indifference. "Mr. Bingham," said Bart very quietly, "will you read?"
"I'm not goin' to read for any God damned----" the sentence was never
finished, though Grid was; yet just how, nobody who saw it could quite
tell. Something cracked, and Grid and his desk went sprawling into the
middle of the floor. A hand came upon his collar as the last word
was uttered. It was so sudden that he only seized his desk, which was
taken from its fastening at the bottom as if it were pasteboard,
and went in ruins with its occupant. As he struck, half stunned and
surprised, he arose partly to his feet, and received on the side of
his head a full blow from the fist of Bart.
Craft, who had been amazed at the suddenness of the catastrophe, and
who was to have shared in the fight, if necessary, arose hesitatingly
just as Grid received his _quietus_. Bart turned upon him with his
white, galvanized face, and watery, flashing eyes, "Sit down, John
Craft," in a voice that tore him like a rasp on his spine, and John
sat down. During this time, and until now, no other sound was heard
in the room; now a half sob, with suppressed cries, broke from the
terrified girls and children. "Hush! hush! not a word!" said the still
excited master; "it is over, and nobody much hurt." Bingham now began
to rise, and Bart approached him: "Wait a moment, Mr. Bingham," he
said, and, unlocking the outside door: "There! now take your books and
leave, and don't let me find you about this school-house so long as
I remain--go!" and the humbled bully sullenly picked up his small
property and went.
"Mr. Craft," said Bart, approaching that cowed and trembling youth,
"you and I can get along. I don't want to part with you if you will
remain with me. I will excuse you from school this afternoon, and you
can come back in the morning, and that may be the last of it. I will
not humiliate you and myself with any punishment." There was a
tremor in Bart's voice, and a softness in his face. John arose: "Mr.
Ridgeley, I don't know how I came to--I am very sorry--I want to stay
with you."
"All right, John, we will shake hands on it." And they did.
"My poor, poor children!" said Bart, going up to the younger ones, who
had huddled into the farthest corner and clambered on to the desks.
"My poor scared little things, it is all over now, and we are all so
glad and happy, aren't we?" and he took up some of the smallest in his
arms and kissed them, and the still frightened, but glad and rejoicing
young women, looked as if they would be willing to have that passed
round. When they were pacified, and resumed their places, Charley
Smith gathered up the boards and parts of the disabled desk, and Bart,
with a few kind words to the older scholars, resumed the exercises of
the school.
Scenes of violence were rare, even in that rude day, among that
people; the sensibilities of the children were deeply wounded, and
none of them were in a fitting condition to profit by their exercises,
which were barely gone through with, and they were early dismissed to
their homes, with the marvellous tale of the afternoon's events.
Bart was in the habit of remaining to write up the copies, and place
everything in order before he left. The young men and older maidens
lingered at the door, and then returned in a body, to say how glad
they were that it had ended as it did. They knew something would
happen, and they were so glad, and then they shook hands with him, and
went hurrying home.
When they left, Bart locked the door, and, throwing himself into
the chair by his table, laid his head down and burst into an
uncontrollable flood of tears;--but he was a man now, and tears only
choked and suffocated him. He was ashamed of himself for his weakness,
and bathing his eyes, walked about the school-room to regain his
composure. Every particle of anger left his bosom before Bingham left
the house, and now he was fully under the influence of the melancholy
part of his nature. Never before, even in childish anger, had he
touched a human being with violence, and now he had exerted his
strength, and had grappled with and struck a fellow-man in a brute
struggle for animal mastery; he felt humiliated and abased. That the
fellow's nature was low, and that he was compelled to act as he had
done, was little comfort to him. He was glad that he decided not to
punish or expel John. Darkness came, and he was aroused by a noise at
the door. He unlocked it, and found Canfield and Morey and Smith.
"Hullo, Ridgeley!" exclaimed the former. "Good God! and so you had
a pitched battle, and licked that bully before he had time to begin;
give me your hand! Who would have thought it?"
"I did," said Morey. "I knowed he'd do it. What will Jo Keys say now,
I wonder?" And the party went inside, and wondered over the wrecked
desk, and asked all about it. And then came in the stalwart Jo
himself, celebrated for his strength.
"Wal, wal, wal! if this don't beat all natur, I give it up! What are
you made of, young man, all spring and whalebone? I'd a bet he would
'a cleaned out a school-house full o' such dainty book chaps. I
give it up. Let me feel o' you," taking Bart good-naturedly by the
shoulder. "You'll do, by----. My Valdy said that when Grid gathered
himself up the first time, he went heels over head, clear to the
fire-place."
And so the good-natured athlete went over with it all, with a huge
relish for the smallest detail, and others came in, until nearly all
the male patrons of the school had assembled; and Bart informally, but
with hearty unanimity, was declared the greatest school-master of his
day; they quoted all the similar instances within the range of memory
or legend, and this achievement was pronounced the greatest. They were
proud of him, and of the exploit, and of themselves that they had him.
Morey, who had taken him because he could find no other, blazed
up into a man of fine discernment; and Jo nearly killed him with
approving slaps on his feeble back. Indeed, his apologies for what he
had said were too striking.
Life in all new communities is run mainly on muscle, and whoever
exhibits skill and bravery in its rough encounters, peaceful or
warlike, always commands a premium. The people among whom Bart lived
had not passed beyond the discipline of brute force, and he shared
the usual fortune of heroes of this sort, of having his powers and
achievements exaggerated, even by those under whose eyes he had acted.
A rumor reached Markham's and Parker's, from which it spread, that
Bart's school had arisen against him, and the first version was that
he was killed, or very dangerously wounded; that he defended himself
with desperation, and killed one or two, but was finally overcome;
that the neighborhood was divided and in arms, and the school-house
had been burned. But the stage came in soon after, and the driver
declared that he had seen Grid Bingham, whom he knew, brought out
dead, that John Craft was badly hurt, and one or two more, and that
Bart, who escaped without injury, would be arrested for murder. It was
finally said that he would not be arrested, but that Grid was either
dead or dying; that he headed four or five of the older boys, and
they were whipped out by Bart single-handed, who locked the door, and
pitched in, etc.
The rumor produced a deep sensation in Newbury; and, whilst it was
thought that Bart had been rash, and undoubtedly in fault, yet he had
behaved handsomely. When it was ascertained that he was victor, it was
generally thought that he was a credit to the place, which was very
natural and proper, considering that he had never before been thought
to be a credit to anything anywhere.