The Eventful Call—“Cump” in the Sandbank—The Unexpected Summons
—He obeys—His new Home—School days—A Studious and Reliable
Boy—Is appointed Cadet—Leaves Home for West Point—His Life in
the Academy—Graduates and goes to Florida.
“MOTHER, may I go and play in the sand?” said a bright boy one day,
cap in hand, ready to bound into the open air. Almost before the
expected “yes” had ceased to echo in the room, “Cump,” as he was
familiarly called, hastened to a bank in which excavations had been
made, and the sand taken away. He was soon “busy as a bee,” throwing up
miniature fortifications and heaps in various forms, after the models of
his own juvenile invention.
Meanwhile the distinguished Hon. Thomas Ewing, now the venerable
representative of the statesmen of the past, a resident of Lancaster,
entered the widowed mother’s dwelling. He knew that the benevolent and
departed father had not left her large family a fortune. It would
therefore be no easy task to educate and start them in the world. And
his errand there was to ask her to commit one of the boys to his home
and care. He said, with a playful earnestness, “I must have the smartest
of the lot; I will take no other, and you must select him for me.” After
a short consultation between the mother and eldest daughter, the choice
fell upon “Cump.” So it was decided that Mr. Ewing should take him to
his house and educate him with his own children.
Leaving the mother and sister saddened with the prospect of parting with
the boy, he went to the sandbank, where we just now left William at
play. “Come, my boy,” said the unexpected visitor, “you are going to
live with me. I have seen your mother; she has given her consent.”
The astonished little worker listened, and looked a moment at his
benefactor, then straightened up, brushed off the sand, and started
after him. That night he went to his bed in his new and beautiful home
with strange thoughts, and a shadow upon his young spirit. He had left
mother and the home of his childhood for life; only as an occasional
visitor. It was a crisis in his history, and one which decided in the
result his brilliant martial career. The public schools, which are now
the pride of our land, were not then known in Ohio. But Lancaster could
boast a good academy, and into its English department Tecumseh was
entered as a pupil. He had reached his ninth year, and soon convinced
his teacher and companions that he could take a high rank among the
boy-students of his age.
Mr. Ewing assured me that there was nothing remarkable or eccentric in
his experience during the years that followed, excepting his executive
ability in little matters of business committed to him. He “never knew
so young a boy who would do an errand so correctly and promptly as he
did. He was transparently honest, faithful, and reliable. Studious and
correct in his habits, his progress in education was steady and
substantial.” At the age of sixteen, Mr. Ewing, in his official
position, had at his disposal the appointment of a cadet to the Military
Academy at West Point, and determined to offer it to his “_protégé_.”
Tecumseh had a taste for military life, and of course gladly accepted
the honor.
Before we follow him to that institution we will take another glimpse of
the home of his adoption. Mrs. Ewing was a highly intelligent lady, a
member of the Roman Catholic Church, and had the privilege of educating
her children in her own faith. Her daughter Ellen was at this time an
attractive girl of nearly the same age of Tecumseh. For half a dozen of
life’s most careless, happy years, they had been to school, talked and
played together. And it is not strange that among the friends he left
behind him, when he turned the second time from home, and now for a
distant abode among strangers, that to part with her should be no common
trial for his young and manly heart. But he had entered for himself
“Upon life’s broad field of battle,”
and hastened to the ordeal of examination for admission to the academy.
The bright day of trial has come. Look in upon the spacious hall where
the Examining Board and distinguished visitors have gathered, to see and
hear what the young candidates for freshman honors may know. Now listen;
young Sherman’s name is called. He is modest, yet perfectly
self-possessed. After answering a test question with remarkable
propriety and dignity, a professor remarked: “He is a _blooded_ fellow!”
that is, he was of good blood—had the _ingrained_ qualities of
manliness, and the promise of honorable distinction. This was in the
summer of 1836. He advanced from class to class, mastering the studies
in the course, and maintaining a high reputation in all his relations to
the officers and students of the academy. He was quite at home in
artillery, which you know is the handling of heavy guns; and in the
saddle at the riding school of the institution. He graduated fifth in
his class June 30th, 1840. The rebel General Beauregard was a classmate.
You have learned that, as a man, he _loses no time_ in his military
movements. Created second lieutenant in the Third Artillery, he repaired
to Florida in the service of the regular army. When the autumnal leaves
rustled in the war-path, he was fairly in the ranks and under the old
flag, which he was destined to honor so well, and with whose stars his
name would shine while it floats over the land of his birth.