STUNG TO THE QUICK.
James could be neither goaded to retaliation by the provocation of his
persecutors, nor stimulated to self-defence by the arguments and
persuasions of his friends, so thoroughly had the bitter lesson of
submission to superiors been impressed by the iron fingers of stern
necessity; but an event now occurred, which, placing the matter before
him in a new light, removed his scruples in a moment.
The persons who had put the snow in the fireplace were well known to
James, for Arthur had not scrupled to expose them after the time had
elapsed during which he had promised to keep the secret. James also knew
that they still continued to instigate Chuck Witham and other boys to
annoy and insult him. He occupied a side seat near one of the back
corners of the schoolhouse, and his head, when bent over his book, was
on a level with a crevice between two logs, that was stuffed with clay
and moss. One night after school, Chuck Witham bored a small hole
through this clay, and filled the hole with cotton, for fear James would
feel the draft and observe it. The next day he brought to school, half
an ox-goad, with a long brad in it, made of a saddler’s awl.
The day was warm for the season; there was quite a large fire, and at
recess time, the master opened a window on each side of the fire to
create a draft, and ventilate and cool the room.
James was in his seat writing, when he suddenly sprang to his feet,
upsetting his inkstand, and throwing all his books to the floor. The
master was walking back and forth on the floor, and seeing him put his
hand to his head, looked out of the window and saw Chuck running from
the hole, for the woods. He instantly pursued and caught him, with the
goad in his hand, called the scholars in and gave him a severe whipping.
Witham, with the expectation of mitigating his punishment, declared that
he was persuaded to it by Morse, Riggs, and Orcutt, and that Will Morse
gave him a two-bladed knife to do this and other things he had done to
James. This declaration was made before the whole school, and Peter and
Arthur Nevins now recollected that William Morse stayed in during
recess, a thing he had never been known to do before, and it was evident
to all that he had stayed in to gloat over the torture about to be
inflicted upon one who had never injured, or even spoken to him.
The brad was long, and entered deep, for the stab was given with
good-will, and the blood flowed freely.
At noontime the boys and girls collected together in knots, commenting
upon the affair, when Chuck Witham, still writhing under the effects of
the castigation, for it was most severe, made some disparaging remark
about redemptioners, in a tone loud enough for James to hear, as he was
passing by on his way to the spring, to wash off the blood that had
dried on his neck, upon which William Morse laughed heartily, in which
he was joined by Riggs and Orcutt.
Perfectly willing to pick a quarrel, Bert replied,—“Morse, you should
have had that licking yourself; for you set Chuck on, and have been at
the bottom of all the mean tricks that have been done, and that you had
not courage to do yourself.”
This brought a sharp rejoinder from Morse. Riggs and Orcutt sided with
Morse, and the debate became so warm that just as James came along on
his return from the spring, Morse, feeling he was getting the worst of
the argument, caught a stick from the wood-pile and felled Bertie to the
ground. James saw the blow fall on the head of the boy whom he loved
better than himself,—yea, almost worshipped,—his scruples vanished in a
moment. It was no longer the workhouse boy against the landed gentry;
but, forgetting all that, he dealt Morse a blow that cut through his
upper lip, knocked out a tooth, flattened his nose, and sent him
backward over the wood-pile. Riggs turned to run, but came in contact
with the broad shoulders of Arthur Nevins, who was purposely in the way,
and before he could recover himself, James, seizing him behind, flung
him to the ground, and catching up the stick that fell from the hand of
Morse, beat him till he cried murder. While this was going on George
Orcutt would have made his escape, but Stillman Russell, the most
retiring boy in school, and so diffident that he would blush if you
spoke to him, put out his foot and tripped him up. Before he could rise,
Arthur Nevins put his foot on him, but James went into the schoolhouse,
and resumed his studies.
“Now for Chuck Witham,” shouted Will Edibean. Chuck took to his heels
with three boys after him, but Edward Conly cried,—“He’s had enough;
he’s only an understrapper,” and they came back.
The boys had formed a ring round Orcutt, and whenever he would attempt
to break through, one would trip him, another pull him over backwards,
and while on his back others would pelt him with great chunks of snow
and crust, or push three or more smaller boys on top of him; and even
the girls took part and flung snowballs, so much was his conduct
detested. In the morning before school, it being a thaw, the smaller
boys had rolled up several great balls of snow, meaning at noon to make
a fort. With these they buried him, and stuck up over him, this
inscription, printed with a smut coal on a piece of fence-board,
“JUSTICE.
_Administered by the Scholars of District No. 2._”
They next formed a cordon around him, snowballs in their hands, and the
moment he attempted to move pelted him anew, and kept watch till the
master was so near that he could not but notice the inscription, and
then all went into the schoolhouse and were seated when he entered.
Morse having washed himself at the spring, came in late, in company with
Riggs, while George Orcutt crawled out of his prison, and sneaked home.
The face of Morse was discolored, and his lips swollen, and Riggs
exhibited two red stripes on the back of both hands, and one across his
face, extending from the roots of the hair across the forehead and face
to the lower jaw. They tried to attract the attention of the master.
Morse displayed a bloody handkerchief, and Riggs snivelled occasionally,
but the master was too much occupied to notice them, and asked no
questions. As for James, he was commended by nearly the whole school.
“Is he not a noble, manly fellow,” said Emily Conly, “to bear so much
from those mean creatures, while he might at any time have done what he
has done to-day?”
“Yes,” said Mary Nevins, “and when at last he did turn upon them, it was
not upon his own account, but Albert Whitman’s, and our Arthur and Elmer
both say they don’t believe he would have touched them, let them have
done what they might to him, if William Morse had not struck Albert.”
“What a different spirit he manifested,” said Emily, “from Morse, who
after hiring Witham to stick the awl into James, stayed in at recess to
see and enjoy it, but Renfew didn’t stop and look on when the other
scholars were punishing George Orcutt, but went right back to his books.
Oh, I do like him.” Then feeling she had gone too far, and seeing the
rest of the girls begin to titter, she blushed to the roots of her hair,
and stopped short.
“Never mind, Emily,” said Jane Gifford; “we all like him; all of the
girls are on the side of the redemptioner.”
“My brother Stillman thinks the reason he learns so fast, is because he
is so old, and sees the need of it, and makes a business of learning, as
a young boy wouldn’t; and not knowing anybody, and being so by himself,
has nothing to take off his attention. Still. says if he knew all the
boys and girls, and had brothers and sisters, and went with them, to
bees and apple-parings, and singing schools, and parties, and spelling
schools, he wouldn’t learn half so fast; but now he’ll learn as much and
more this winter, than a small boy would in three years,” said Eliza
Russell.
The friends of James could hardly contain themselves till school was
out. Arthur Nevins had invited Peter, Bertie, the Edibeans, and Ned
Conly, to take supper with him, and have a real “howl of triumph,” and
had sent Elmer home at recess to tell his mother she would have seven
hungry school boys at supper time. After a bountiful supper, they sat
down to eat nuts and apples, and to congratulate each other upon the
success of all their plans.
“The master,” said Ned Conly, “is going to put James into arithmetic
soon.”
“He’s got all the multiplication by heart now,” said Bertie, “and every
night after supper, father and grandpa give him sums to do in his head,
and he can add, and subtract, and multiply, and divide, and makes
handsome figures. When he first came to our house he didn’t know how
long a year was, but called four years four times reaping wheat, and
couldn’t tell the clock; but now he can tell how many months there are
in a year, and how many days in a year, and how many hours in a day, and
minutes in an hour, and all about it. I think that’s a good deal for a
boy to do in one fall and winter, starting from nothing. He is fast
learning to handle tools, too, and can dovetail, and plane and saw and
handle a broad axe.”
The first question asked by Bert when he reached home, was,—“Mother,
where is James?”
“Gone to bed.”
“And grandfather, too?”
“Yes, James said the whole of his multiplication table, and didn’t miss
a figure, and then your father and grandfather gave him sums to do in
his head.”
“Did he tell you what happened at school to-day?”
“He didn’t tell us anything.”
“Just like him. Didn’t he tell you there had been a real sisemarara—an
eruption, an earthquake—there to-day. Didn’t you see the blood on his
shirt collar? Don’t you see that bunch on top of my skull?” displaying a
swelling the size of a hen’s egg. “Oh, he’s done it; he’s done it up to
the handle.” And Bert went capering about the room, and slapping his
sides with his hands.
“Tell us what you mean, if you mean anything, Albert,” said his father,
“or else sit down and let Peter.”
“Tell, Pete, tell ‘em regular, and I’ll put in the side windows, the
filagree work.”
Peter rehearsed the whole matter to his parents, by virtue of keeping
his hand part of the time on Bert’s mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell your father or me what was going on, and ask your
father’s advice?”
“Because,” said Peter, “James begged us not to; said he didn’t want to
make a disturbance, and the boys would get ashamed of their tricks after
a while, and leave off. James said we might tell grandfather if he would
promise not to tell, and he did, and so we told him.”
“What did your grandfather say?”
“He had a long talk with James, and told him he had borne enough; to
give no offence and take none; but if they continued to insult him,
knock ‘em over.”
“Well, I don’t know about such doings; husband, what do you think of
it?”
Jonathan Whitman, who had listened all this time without question,
replied,—“I think father gave good advice, and James did well to take
it.”
There the matter dropped. Morse, Riggs, and Orcutt were so ashamed, and
so well convinced that nearly all the members of the school heartily
despised them, and that if they made complaint at home the master and
scholars would inform their parents of the provocation James had
received, that they lied to account for their bruises, and made no
complaint at home.
Jonathan Whitman and his next neighbor, Mr. Wood, were great friends,
and had been from boyhood, though about as unlike as men could well be,
and though, when his boys told him of the doings at school, Mr. Wood
fell in with the general verdict of the district, “served them right,”
he could but feel a little sore, that his neighbor should be so much
more fortunate in his choice of a redemptioner than himself.
The first time they met he could not forbear remarking,—
“Jonathan, they say that you are finding out what’s in your redemptioner
pretty fast; that he begins to feel his oats, and is showing a clean
pair of heels. How do you like him now, neighbor?”
“Better and better. Old Frank is the best horse I ever had, and a little
child might safely crawl between his legs; Bert has done it many a time,
but a man would run the risk of his life who should abuse him.”
These apparently untoward events accomplished what nothing else could
have done, and which all the efforts of his friends had utterly failed
to effect, they broke the crust and shattered the reserve, hitherto
impenetrable, that isolated him, and furnished a stimulant that urged
him onward in a course of more rapid development.
Before the boys separated on the evening which they spent together at
Mr. Nevins’, they were closeted an hour in Arthur’s bedroom. What grave
consultations were held, and what profound ideas were originated in
their teeming noddles, will probably never be fully known, save that as
they parted, Bertie shouted back: “Good night; now we’ve got him
a-going, let’s keep him a-going.”