EDUCATION AT NORWICH.
A year later George Dewey left the school and went to the Morrisville
Academy, and there also Mr. Pangborn's teachings stood him in good
stead. His aptitude in sports always made Dewey a favorite with his
companions. He was one of the fastest runners and the best skaters, and
he had the knack of doing everything he did quickly and neatly, in the
way that shows the properly balanced relations between mind and eye and
body. He acted as he thought--quickly and surely--and he was certain to
resent any insult or infringement of what he considered his rights.
Dr. Dewey had been thinking over his son's future, and had decided upon
sending George to West Point, although even at this time the boy's
inclinations turned more strongly to the other branch of the service.
Yet he did not strenuously object, and so after a year at Morrisville
he was sent to Norwich University at Northfield, Vermont.
Norwich University stands on a plateau above the town of Northfield. It
is a fine old place, with a wide parade-ground extending before the
buildings, and back of it are the brick barracks that contain the
cadets' quarters and the armory and recitation rooms. Everything was
managed in military fashion, and there was no better school in which to
fit a boy for the life and habits of a soldier. It was in the year 1851
that George Dewey became a pupil there, and from the day of his coming
he manifested the powers of leadership that afterward distinguished
him.
Four or five young fellows in uniform were seated in one of the rooms
in the South Barrack. They belonged to the second-year men, and the
second year at any institution of learning is perhaps the crucial one.
If a boy gets into any mischief that is serious, it is generally in his
second year. The doings of the sophomore have cost many a dollar out of
the college treasury, to pay for stolen gates and burned fences,
smashed lamp-posts and injured constables. And it was so with the
second year's men at Norwich.
"Where's Doc. Dewey?" asked one of the boys. "We must get him into the
scheme, or the whole thing will fall through."
"If any of you fellows want to see Doc. Dewey, all you've got to do is
to come to the window," said a boy who was gazing out on the parade
ground.
At the farther end a solitary figure was patrolling up and down,
turning at the end of his beat about a large elm that stood in the
corner of the campus. The punishments at Norwich were of a military
character, and extra sentry duty was the reward for any breach of
discipline.
"I ought to be the one doing all that marching," said one of the boys,
"for George only tried to get me out of the scrape, but he wouldn't let
me tell."
"Well, he'll be off in half an hour," said another, "and we'll meet in
his rooms. What do you say?"
"So say we all of us," was the return. "We can hatch up the scheme
there better than anywhere else."
In a few minutes the party broke up, to meet later in a room down the
hallway.
Across the Connecticut River, which skirts the town of Northfield, is
the town of Hanover, the seat of old Dartmouth College. From time
immemorial the greatest rivalry had existed between the two
institutions, and in the years that preceded the civil war this feeling
had almost grown into a feud, and for a member of either institution to
cross the river was to enter the enemy's country, with all the
attendant risk. Only three or four evenings previously Dewey and one of
the other cadets had boldly crossed the bridge and appeared in the
Hanover streets in broad daylight. It had not taken long for the news
to reach the ears of a few of the Dartmouth sophomores, who were
spoiling for a row, and soon Dewey and his companions had found out
that they were followed. But it was not until they had reached the
entrance to the bridge that there was any sign of trouble. There, sure
enough, they saw four of the Dartmouth belligerents waiting for them.
An old farmer, crossing the bridge from Hanover to Northfield, was
driving a pair of rather skittish horses that were prancing as they
heard the rattling of the boards beneath their feet. It was almost time
for the evening assembly, and if the boys were to be prompt they must
not be stopped, although such, it was plain, was the intention of the
Dartmouth boys who were awaiting them. They asked the farmer if he
would give them a ride, and he declined; but they had jumped into the
wagon, and, when near the spot where their four enemies had lined
across the causeway, one of the cadets leaned forward and, picking up
the whip, struck the two horses across their backs. This was all they
needed; the Dartmouth boys had barely time to jump aside when the team
went tearing by. But it was easier to get the young horses going than
to stop them. The rattling of the bridge frightened them more and more,
and the people on the streets of Northfield were surprised to see a
runaway come roaring into town with an old man and two hatless cadets
hauling at the reins without result. It was fortunate that no harm was
done, and the horses were stopped halfway up the hill that leads to the
University; but the president had seen and recognized the two uniformed
figures, and that was one reason why Doc. Dewey was walking about the
old elm on this fine spring day.
The evening before, one of the cadets had returned from a nocturnal
excursion across the river with his coat torn and a story of being
badly treated. Revenge was being planned, and the plotters had chosen
Dewey as their leader for the coming expedition that was meant to teach
the Dartmouth fellows a lesson. This expedition resulted in a lively
encounter, in which, though outnumbered, the Norwich boys are said to
have been victorious. In the traditions of the school it is known as
the Battle of the Torn Coats.
In Dewey's last year at Norwich the faculty procured two fine
six-pounder howitzers, with limbers, to replace the old iron guns at
which the cadets had been exercised. When they arrived, the cadets took
down the old guns and brought up the new ones from the railway station.
As boys naturally would, they divided into two parties and made a
frolic of the occasion. It was tedious work getting the guns out of the
car, but as soon as they were out and limbered up the fun began. One of
the cadets has told the story very prettily in his diary.
"Ainsworth and Munson chose squads to draw them to the parade. I
chanced to be in Ainsworth's squad. Ainsworth's squad wanted to lead,
but as Munson's squad had the road ahead and we were at the side and in
sandy gutters, it was doubtful how we were to do it. They started off
with a fine spurt, getting a big lead. Going up the hill where the road
was broader we steadily gained until only the length of the trail in
the rear; then we gathered and started on a run, passing and keeping
the lead, with cheers and great glee. Climbing the hill, we proceeded
more slowly, Munson quietly in the rear, on our way round the North
Barracks and then through the usual gateway to position. As we entered
the village near the southeast corner of the parade, we noticed
Munson's squad, apparently under the lead of Dewey, making for a short
cut across the grounds, first breaking down the fence for passage. Now
our efforts were redoubled, and the boys of the other squad declare
that they never saw fellows run as we ran, or expect to see a gun jump
as that six-pounder bounded along the main street and around the
corner. But we led; round the North Barracks at double quick went gun
and gun squad, entered the barrack yard and placed the gun in position
before the west front of the South Barracks, giving three cheers for
No. 1 to the chagrin of No. 2, just approaching position. It was a
great race and pleased the faculty exceedingly."
This was only one of many episodes that prevented life at Norwich from
being dull for the boys, and sweetened their memories in after time,
though not assisting directly in any useful branch of education.