“Well, the Bible don’t have to agree with everything.”
James had just finished the study of the Constitution, of Political
Economy, of Moral Science, was thoroughly posted regarding political
parties and all the great questions of the day, and slavery had a
black, villanous look to him. Some of the sights he had witnessed had
roused his blood, and taking it altogether he was ready for quite a
campaign.
He had never been placed under any particular restraint, but had
talked right out the best he knew how, and so followed the person
up who encountered him pretty closely, until the questions were all
answered to their satisfaction, and a few difficult ones asked to
his satisfaction. But when the identical lady whom he had favored
with a seat, asked right out,--“Would you marry a nigger?” he seemed
lifted from his moorings all at once, and replied almost instantly,
without inspecting his words,--“No, ma’am, would you?” A fair amount
of indignation was in the air, without any perceptible delay, and
sundry epithets, so common in those days, such as “nigger-lover,”
“nigger-stealer,” and “black abolitionist,” found expression. James’
only apology was,--
“Madame, I only asked you the very respectful and lady-like question
you had so kindly asked me.”
“I admire your courage and independence of character, sir,” said a
young lady opposite, with some warmth, who, though rather large, and
with a look of rare intelligence, and a voice of peculiar sweetness and
volume, was evidently still in her teens,--possibly sweet sixteen, in
its fullest glory.
The driver stopped at the foot of a big hill, and, as was their
privilege, several passengers got out to walk up the hill. James was
among their number. It was a real relief to be in the open air.
“Give us your hand, young man,” said a fellow-passenger, as the stage
passed on. “I like yer pluck; brains is good, but it ain’t much without
pluck. I tell you, you sot the truth right home that time. You are
a right smart kind of a boy. Do they raise meny sich up in the old
Keystone or Yellowstone--What did you call it? I reckon that that
Missis was right down put out when you axed her what she axed you.
But, then, they do say a heap of jokers don’t like to be joked. But my
rule is, tit-for-tat. I tell you, a little nip and tuck now and then
is a mighty edicating sort of thing, and I guess you’ve been educated,
haven’t you?”
James shook hands and followed up the conversation until the top of the
hill was reached.
All had a good dinner, and felt better.
It was a simple act of courtesy which the occasion demanded, to help
the young lady of sixteen, more or less, from the coach, as she was
ready to step out after James had alighted, and as she thanked him very
graciously he could but offer to escort her to the table, and with rare
good grace she assented.
James had done such things before, and done them very handsomely, in
connection with their college-exhibitions and socials in the town, to
which he occasionally went.
Kentucky is a great country for quail, and the colored cook had broiled
and buttered them that day exactly to the taste of an epicurean. They
were simply delicious, and just in season. They enjoyed them hugely,
and chatted with the cheer and gusto of old friends, mostly speaking
of the glories of the North, in which they perfectly agreed, and upon
their homes. “One touch of nature makes the whole world kin” may be
true or not, but that little touch of nature in the stage-coach had
made them kin.
Another fresh brace of the savory quails had just been placed before
them, when the coach dashed around to the door, and the lusty voice of
the driver crying “All aboard!” resounded through the hall and open
door of the dining-room.
There was no alternative, so without delay they resumed their old
seats, and conversation was discontinued.
The political status of the company had been pretty well defined, and
James had made two friends, the names of neither of whom, however, he
had learned.
There was a lull in the conversation, and James was going over his
scheme of study and recitations for the twentieth time, when at three
o’clock Georgetown was announced. He bade his two friends good-bye, and
expressed the hope that all would enjoy their journey.
The stage had but just started, when the old Jacksonian said, “I dunno
but the boy is more n’r half right, anyhow.” The young lady knew he
was, but the lady number one did not know about it.
“Well, it’s mighty sartin the Declaration is agin’ Slavery, and the
Bible can’t stand up for both, nohow,” said the man who walked up the
hill with James.
James was now in his lodgings, and liked the looks of things. He had
just brushed and dusted up when he heard the tap of a drum, and looking
out he saw a line of cadets forming, and ascertaining that that was
the academy, he walked over and saw one hundred and fifty fine-looking
young men, handsomely uniformed, each with a musket, marching to music
of fife and drum. They stood erect and stepped together. It was a fine
sight to him. They went through the evolutions, marked time, marched,
and countermarched.
The entire faculty were present. He ventured in, and soon heard a
messenger announce that Mr. Blaine had come, but he had missed him.
He simply said, “I am Mr. Blaine,” and the Principal grasped his hand
with evident delight, placing his left hand upon his shoulder and
saying, “I am glad to see you, Mr. Blaine,” and introduced him to the
other teachers, and then turning to the students he said, “Battalion,
permit me to present to you our new professor, James G. Blaine, of
Washington, Pennsylvania; you will please receive him at present
arms”; instinctively Mr. Blaine removed his hat in recognition of his
reception. “Perhaps you have a word for the boys,” said the Principal,
and the battalion was brought to a “shoulder arms,” an “order arms,”
and then to a “parade rest,” when, stepping forward, he said,--“I
am glad to see you, gentlemen, in such fine form and spirit, and so
accomplished at your drill, for I watched you several moments yonder,
unobserved. We had nothing of this kind where I studied, but I think
it must be a fine thing for you. I hope you will never be needed in
your country’s service, though it does begin to look a little as though
there might possibly be war with Mexico. But as I have been nearly two
weeks on my journey, and as we shall have ample time to get acquainted,
I will not detain you longer.”
Three cheers were proposed for Professor Blaine, and given with a will.
The Professor was the lion of the hour.
The Principal said, “You will take tea with me, Professor Blaine?”
“With great pleasure.”
And to the other professors, “You will please take tea with Professor
Blaine, at my house.”
The hour spent in the study with the Principal was not without a
purpose on his part. It confirmed all that Doctor McConaughy and
Professor Murray had written about him, and afforded certain knowledge
that they had drawn a prize. By an adroit, yet careless method of
conversation, introducing a general discussion of the textbooks of
the day, with their general contents, their defects and excellences,
the great knowledge of the new man was made evident, and it was not
restricted to the mere curriculum of studies.
“Surely,” thought he, “I am in for it now in earnest,” as he was left
alone for a few moments while his host went down to receive his other
guests.
There was not a soul within three hundred miles who would think of
calling him Jim Blaine, or Jimmy, nor dare to, if by some strange,
unnatural process it did occur to him.
He was treated, respected, and honored as a man and a scholar. The
world had opened to him, and he had entered. It was well there was no
show or shoddy about him, and he knew it. The stamp of the mint was on
him, and he passed at par, with the ring of honest coin.
There is a power in some men to meet any emergency when it is fairly
on them. They rise with the tide, become a part of the occasion, and
adjust themselves to it with a quiet dignity. He had this power, and
felt it on him now. As he was going down-stairs to be presented to the
ladies, he said to himself, as he threw back his hair with a quick,
decided toss, “No politics to-night”; and this prolific subject was
mentally abjured.
They received him as an equal, spoke of the favorable opinion they all
entertained of him, and the joy his coming had given them.
He thanked them, and spoke of the pleasure he experienced in coming to
a state so great in the nation’s life.
It was a matter of conscience with Professor Blaine to know where he
was going and where he had been, so that he had made his own state
as well as that of Ohio where he had spent the term at school, and
the state of Kentucky, a special study; so that when they were fairly
seated at table, and after repeated questions had been asked, he fairly
eclipsed all his former attempts at conversation, by the brilliancy of
his historical allusions, extending far back into colonial days.
He had learned, by his early drill in Plutarch’s Lives, where a brief
biography of a Roman and a Greek are alternately given, and then
comparisons and contrasts between them introduced, so to deal with
states and individuals. He had thus dealt with political parties and
their leaders, but not to-night. This method helped him greatly.
Events, dates, names, places, fell into line and were marshalled like
troops just when the drum tapped, or the word of command was given.
They all seemed amazed; an hour passed by; material sufficient for
a half-dozen Fourth of July orations had been given. A veritable
panorama of those three great states, three of the greatest in the
Union, seemed to march before them in sections and decades.
The members of the faculty, who understood very well what it was to
know and to talk, had some very complimentary things to say. He had won
them all, so unobtrusive was he, and entirely at his ease, withal.
Monday morning, at nine o’clock, twenty-eight young men marched into
the school-room and faced him as their teacher, twelve of them older
than himself. They had taken his measure when on drill, and felt
honored to call him teacher.
They were from the best families of the state, were clad in bright
uniforms, and sat erect. Mathematics was the first recitation. He
looked around almost instinctively for Solomon Phillips or Professor
Murray, but they were not there. He was on the platform, not in the
seats. He must lead off. A list of names had been furnished him. As he
read them over, calling each name by itself, the scholar came forward
and received a hearty shake of the hand, and was photographed at once
in the mind of the teacher. This was the work of but a few minutes,
yet it recognized each one of them, and made them feel acquainted. No
other teacher had done this, but it was something they could tell of,
write home about, and made them say,--“He is a fine man; I like him.”
He then told them many things about mathematics as a science, its power
in intellectual development, and its great value in the practical
business of life; its place in astronomy and engineering, in naval and
military operations, and the certainty with which it assures the mind.
It was a simple, quiet talk, illustrated in various ways by references
to the book and the sciences spoken of. He thus drew them nearer to
himself, and removed the dread with which so many approach the vexed
subject of mathematics. This class was in algebra, on at cube root,
doing pretty solid work. The ground was familiar to him. Problem after
problem had been performed; the whole class seemed roused to a new
interest, and in stepped the Principal, but the work went on. Every
blackboard was in use; it was a busy scene; there were no idlers there.
“Never touch a problem hereafter,” he said, “unless you are certain you
have the rule fixed in your minds. Do not forget this, and if you have
that clear, then ask yourself, in case of difficulty, ‘What axiom shall
I use next?’ for you must keep using them, as you do the letters of the
alphabet, over and over again.
“One thing more: we are going to have hard, quick work done in this
room, and be sure now that every one gets ready for it, and we will
have a splendid time.”
Mr. Blaine’s resources had never been drawn on before in any real,
business-like way. But it was an experience he was ready for, and he
liked it. He next had a class in Latin, and then in United States
history. He could not have been better suited in studies. They were
just the ones that delighted him. Christmas seemed to come that year on
wings, and soon the spring-time was on them, and the picnic season.
He had shut himself up closely to his work. Visitors had abounded,
but he accepted but few of the invitations that were given. He did
not even accept any one of several invitations to spend the holidays
with students at their homes. A short trip to Lexington and Frankfort
satisfied, and he was back at work.
The literature of every subject connected with his recitations must he
read up carefully, and every spare hour was devoted to these lines of
study.
But he did go to the annual picnic. He was part of the school, and he
must go. Everybody went, seemingly. It was a sectional affair; other
schools were there. He met a familiar face: it was a lady’s; who could
it be?
She recognized him, and bowed. He returned it. He awoke as from a
revery, he had so lived in his work; and being worried with the
question, “Where have I seen that face,” traced it at once to the
stage-coach. They were introduced.
It was Miss Hattie Stanwood, of Augusta, Maine. She also was teaching
school, not far away. It was quite the thing in that day for
well-educated New England girls or young ladies to go South and teach
school.
They had remembered each other through the winter, but neither knew the
other’s name, address, or occupation. Now all was clear. Thoughts and
dreams were actualized. It was a marvel, almost a miracle, that they
should meet.
The picnic had no further charms for them. They quietly strolled away
together over the hills after the lunch was served, and for three full
hours they lived in each other’s lives. They seemed strangely near to
each other, and a peculiar peaceful joy seemed living in their hearts.
It had evidently come to stay. None other ever seemed to be so needful
to life itself. No formal words were spoken, only cards exchanged and
carefully preserved. In two weeks her school would close, and she
would spend the summer northward at her home, and he would take a long
trip southward through various states, and see what could be seen as
far down as New Orleans. They spent two afternoons in each other’s
company before the time of departure came; correspondence was agreed
upon, and in the autumn they would meet and renew acquaintance in the
old posts of duty. Some slight tokens were exchanged, and as they must
they nerved brave hearts for a long and perilous separation.
When the time for their departure came they were found seated side by
side in the same old coach, for Louisville. The ride was much shorter
and far more pleasant in that rich and beauteous spring-time than in
the ripe and luscious autumn before.
Politics was a barren subject now. Homes were admired as they passed
along; bits of sentiment indulged; snatches of song and lines of
poetry; much sober, sensible talk filled in the hours which served as a
needed respite to minds kept hard at thought throughout the year.
The future loomed up, real and grand. Their lives took on a glow of
interest and earnestness of hope they never had known. There seemed to
be a reason in them now, before unseen. They felt their worth and knew
their joy, as it was never felt or known before.
Mr. Blaine took his southern trip, and made business of it. He knew the
history of all that country, every state and town.
It had a vastly different look to him from any region of the North
which he had visited. Slavery was the hideous monstrosity of evil
that met him everywhere. It was to him the great contradiction and
condemnation of the South.
He had heard and heard, but determined to see for himself, and see
he did. There was much that seemed pleasant in plantation-life,
but when he went to the slave-pens and the slave-auctions, and saw
families broken and sold asunder, and heard their cries, and saw the
blows,--their only recognition,--his patriot-blood boiled fiercely in
his veins. It was enough. He sought his old home, and spent a happy
month or more with its loved ones, those who rejoiced with him greatly
over the achievements of the year.
Miss Stanwood made her journey northward amid all the loveliness of
Nature, and arrived home far more the woman than when she left. Life
was more real and earnest now, and filled with larger hopes. She was
charmed with the South, and had strange longings to return. But letters
are tell-tale things, for men, without any special reason, will write a
great, bold hand.
James was able to lay two hundred dollars on the table on his return,
and entertained them by the hour with stories of the South. He had seen
much gambling and drinking, many bowie knives and revolvers, and seen
many splendid specimens of men.
He was filled with its beauties and glories, and with its generous,
kindly hospitalities. It was a region so historic, so immense in
possibilities, so alive and magnificent with the old ante-bellum
greatness, and splendor of cities and homes; so many graduates from
Yale and Harvard, which had been a dream of fame and greatness ever to
him; so many men of leisure, and, withal, so much to see; so much of
pleasing, thrilling interest; so much stir and life, that weeks passed
by.
He spent parts of two winters in New Orleans. He was, in fact, a
southern man for the time. His business was in the South, and his great
social powers gave him friends and entrance everywhere.
The kind letters of his fellow-teachers,--Colonel Thorndike F. Johnson,
the principal of the Academy, and Colonel Bushrod Johnson, after of
the Confederate army,--gave him many pleasing acquaintances. This was
twelve or fourteen years before the war. The political business and
educational interests of the country were a unit. There was no talk of
rebels or of treason. The prominent men of the country, politically,
were largely from the South. The presidents had been selected largely
from that section, and the political contests throughout were carried
on by parties whose strongholds were North and South. Only the summer
before, President Polk had made a tour through the Middle and Eastern
states, going eastward as far as Portland, Maine, and was received with
every demonstration of respect. Nathan Clifford, of Maine, was his
Attorney-general, and Mr. Bancroft, his Minister to England.
Mr. Blaine’s father had moved to Washington, as he was prothonotary of
the courts, during his term at college, so that he had made his home
with them during some of these years, and the remainder of the time
with a Mrs. Acheson. He had ample opportunity to renew acquaintance
with old friends; with Prof. Wm. P. Aldrich, who had drilled him so
faithfully in mathematics: with Prof. Richard Henry Lee, grandson of
Richard Henry Lee, of the Revolutionary war, who was his professor of
rhetoric and belle-lettres; with his firm friend, Professor Murray,
who so inspired him in the study of the languages, and gave Mr. Blaine
a regular theological drill in the study of Greek, that most perfect
receptacle of human thought, in all its shades and vastness, even
now,--a language which took up Christ, his kingdom, and his mission,
thoughts and doctrines, and perpetuated them for the world.
No drill is more highly intellectual, more conducive of fine taste,
good judgment, and accuracy, than the study of the Greek; and this he
had under the master-hand.
To Prof. Richard Henry Lee may be traced the training of power so
brilliantly displayed in Mr. Blaine’s forensic efforts and on the stump.
To renew acquaintance with these men, and a multitude of other friends,
was a part of his great pleasure. He was fresh and full as ever, taller
by an inch, and larger every way. He no longer seemed to them a boy,
but had the air and manners of a man, and yet his laugh was as merry
and hearty, his shake of the hand as vigorous and friendly as ever.
The sunny South shone full upon them in the fresh report he brought. It
was a goodly land, and he had made it a study, bringing to bear all his
power of close observation.
He had taken his course at college principally for the sake of study,
simply, and the knowledge he gained; but the prominent thought in his
mind had been journalism. This had not been his purpose in education,
but simply a chief idea in his mind rather than a chosen aim in
life. So that with this thought within him, and the habit of seeing
everything on him, but little escaped the wide range of his vision
during his southern journeyings.
Of course when home he did not ignore the old college-library. It was a
resort so greatly loved, and almost sacred.
But when the hour struck he was eager to be off for his post of
duty,--Kentucky. Promptness and despatch were ever elements of power
with him. He reached Georgetown ahead of time, and was rested and in
readiness when the new year of work began, and it was a year of hard,
steady, constant work with him. He not only had now a reputation to
sustain, but to be greatly advanced. That a man stops growing when he
is satisfied, was a thing perfectly understood by him. A man without
ambition is dead while he lives, and the one content to live with his
head over his shoulder may as well be turned into a pillar of salt.
It is the men who look ahead, and who look up who have a future. A
backward look is a downward look to them.
Competition was strong at the academy. Enthusiasm was great. Professor
Blaine had done much to arouse it, but all unconsciously. He had
held steadily to his fixed habits of study, preparing carefully for
each recitation himself, permitting no shams in his class-room. The
military discipline at the institution aided greatly its matter of
discipline. Life and energy were everywhere manifest.
And so the year passed with nothing special worthy of note, except
the amount of real work performed, and the large measure of success
achieved.
Acquaintance with his lady friend was early renewed and pleasantly
continued. It had much to do with the inspiration of the present and
in shaping his future. Of course it was kept a profound secret, and no
one in Kentucky permitted to know that they were aught to each other
except chance friends, and indeed in point of formal fact they were not
until near the close of the year, when the crisis came; but the young
professor was a gallant knight, and had occasion required might readily
have performed some thrilling act of knighthood that would have set
the neighborhood agog, for none can doubt he had it in him even then.
Milder methods have ever been his rule, except emergency arise, and
then he arises with it.
It is this ability of abilities, this almost perfection of powers,
that has made him equal to every occasion, however dire or desperate
opposition may have been; that has given him his great prominence in
journalism, in halls of legislature, both of state and nation, and
in the field of politics. But he has had this mountain-peak of power
because beneath and back of it lay a long mountain-range of endeavor,
capacity, and growth.
The patient, hard, honest toil of years has ever and anon had its
culmination in hours of splendid victory.
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