STATION ROAD AND RIVER PATH.
Traveling north by rail up the Hudson Valley you will come, when some
two hours from New York, to a little stone depot nestling at the
shoulder of a high wooded hill. To reach it the train suddenly leaves
the river a mile back, scurries across a level meadow, shrills a long
blast on the whistle, and pauses for an instant at Hillton. If your seat
chances to be on the left side of the car, and if you look quickly just
as the whistle sounds, you will see in the foreground a broad field
running away to the river, and in it an oval track, a gayly colored
grand stand, and just beyond, at some distance from each other, what
appear to the uninitiated to be two gallows. Farther on rises a gentle
hill, crowned with massive elms, from among which tower the tops of a
number of picturesque red-brick buildings.
Then the train hurries on again, under the shadow of Mount Adam, where
in the deep maple woods the squirrels leap all day among the tree tops
and where the sunlight strives year after year to find its way through
the thick shade, and once more the river is beside you, the train is
speeding due north again, and you have, perhaps without knowing it,
caught a glimpse of Hillton Academy.
From the little stone station a queer old coach rumbles away down a wide
country road. It carries the mail and the village supplies and, less
often, a traveler; and the driver, "Old Joe" Pike, has grown gray
between the station and the Eagle Tavern. If, instead of going on to the
north, you had descended from the train, and had mounted to the seat
beside "Old Joe," you would have made the acquaintance of a very worthy
member of Hillton society, and, besides, have received a deal of
information as the two stout grays trotted along.
"Yes, that's the 'Cademy up there among them trees, That buildin' with
the tower's the 'Cademy Buildin', and the squatty one that you can just
see is one of the halls--Masters they call it, after the man that
founded the school. The big, new buildin' is another of 'em, Warren; and
Turner's beyond it; and if you look right sharp you can see Bradley Hall
to the left there.
"Here's where we turn. Just keep your foot on that mail-bag, if you
please, sir. There's the village, over yonder to the right. Kind of high
up, ain't it? Ev'ry time any one builds he goes higher up the hill. That
last house is old man Snyder's. Snyder says he can't help lookin' down
on the rest of us. He, he!
"That road to the left we're comin' to 's Academy Road. This? Well, they
used to call it Elm Street, but it's generally just 'the Station Road'
nowadays. Now you can see the school pretty well, sir. That squatty
place's the gymnasium; and them two littler houses of brick's the
laboratories. Then the house with the wide piazza, that's Professor
Wheeler's house; he's the Principal, you know. And the one next it, the
yellow wooden house, I mean, that's what they call Hampton House. It's a
dormatory, same as the others, but it's smaller and more select, as you
might say.
"Hold tight, sir, around this corner. Most of them, the lads, sir, live
in the village, however. You see, there ain't rooms enough in the
'Cademy grounds. I heard the other day that there's nigh on to two
hundred and twenty boys in the school this year; I can remember when
they was'nt but sixty, and it was the biggest boardin' school for boys
in New York State. And that wa'n't many years ago, neither. The boys?
Oh, they're a fine lot, sir; a bit mischievous at times, of course, but
we're used to 'em in the village. And, bless you, sir, what can you
expect from a boy anyhow? There ain't none of 'em perfect by a long
shot; and I guess I ought to know--I've raised eight on 'em. There's the
town hall and courthouse, and the Methodist church beyond. And here we
are, sir, at the Eagle, and an hour before supper. Thank you, sir.
Get ap!"
* * * * *
Hillton Academy claims the distinction of being well over a century old.
Founded in 1782 by one Peter Masters, LL.D., a very good and learned
pedagogue, it has for more than a hundred years maintained its high
estate among boys' schools. The original charter provides "that there
be, and hereby is, established ... an Academy for promoting Piety and
Virtue, and for the Education of Youth in the English, Latin, and Greek
Languages, in Writing, Arithmetic, Music, and the Art of Speaking,
Practical Geometry, Logic, and Geography, and such other of the Liberal
Arts and Sciences or Languages as opportunity may hereafter permit, and
as the Trustees, hereinafter provided, shall direct."
In the catalogue of Hillton Academy you may find a proud list of
graduates that includes ministers plenipotentiary, members of cabinets,
governors, senators, representatives, supreme court judges, college
presidents, authors, and many, many other equally creditable to their
alma mater. The founder and first principal of the academy passed away
in 1835, as an old record says, "full of honor, and commanding the
respect and love of all who knew him." He was succeeded by that
best-beloved of American schoolmasters, Dr. Hosea Bradley, whose
portrait, showing a tall, dignified, and hale old gentleman, with white
hair, and dressed in ceremonious broadcloth, still hangs behind the
chancel of the school chapel. Dr. Bradley resigned a few years before
his death, in 1876, and the present principal, John Ross Wheeler, A.M.,
professor of Latin, took the chair.
As Professor Wheeler is a man of inordinate modesty, and as he is quite
likely to read these words, I can say but little about him. Perhaps the
statement of a member of the upper middle class upon his return from a
visit to the "office" will serve to throw some light on his character,
Said the boy:
"I tell _you_ I don't want to go through with that again! I'll take a
licking first! He says things that count! You see, 'Wheels' has been a
boy himself, and he hasn't forgotten it; and that--that makes a
difference somehow!"
Yes, that disrespectful lad said "Wheels!" I have no excuse to offer for
him; I only relate the incident as it occurred.
The buildings, many of them a hundred years old, are with one exception
of warm-hued red brick. The gymnasium is built of red sandstone. Ivy has
almost entirely hidden the walls of the academy building and of Masters
Hall. The grounds are given over to well-kept sod, and the massive elms
throw a tapestry of grateful shade in summer, and in winter hold the
snow upon their great limbs and transform the Green into a fairyland of
white. From the cluster of buildings the land slopes away southward, and
along the river bluff a footpath winds past the Society House, past the
boathouse steps, down to the campus. The path is bordered by firs, and
here and there a stunted maple bends and nods to the passing skiffs.
Opposite the boat house, a modest bit of architecture, lies Long Isle,
just where the river seemingly pauses for a deep breath after its bold
sweep around the promontory crowned by the Academy Buildings. Here and
there along the path are little wooden benches to tempt the passer to
rest and view from their hospitable seats the grand panorama of gently
flowing river, of broad marsh and meadow beyond, of tiny villages
dotting the distances, and of the purple wall of haze marking the line
of the distant mountains.
Opposite Long Isle, a wonderful fairyland inaccessible to the scholars
save on rare occasions, the river path meets the angle of the Station
Road, where the coach makes its first turn. Then the path grows
indistinct, merges into a broad ten-acre plot whereon are the track,
gridiron, baseball ground, and the beginning of the golf links. This is
the campus. And here is Stony Bunker, and beyond it is the bluff and the
granite ledge; and lo! here we are back again at the point from which we
started on our journey of discovery; back to Outfield West and to the
boy in the ridiculous straw hat.