University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.

It was a common remark of Doctor Waddel, “show me a school
boy with a horse, dog, and gun, and I'll show you a boy who will
never come to anything.” We can look back through the vista of
fifty years, and we cannot point to the man, living or dead, whose history
disproves the remark. We can point to many in verification of
it. But Master Mitten had as yet only a horse, and at worst according
to Waddel, he was only one-third of the way to nothing. Why,
then, was the Doctor so much afflicted by his horse? And why did
it distress him so much more to find William boarding at Mr. —'s,
than Smith and Jones?

He saw at once that William had changed his lodging only for the
pleasure of riding his horse every day. That his horse would necessarily
employ much of his time, that might be much better disposed
of, and be constantly engaging him in pleasure rides, or vice-rides,
when he ought to be at his books. He felt almost certain
that ere long that horse would bring him on the monitor's bill, and
he disliked exceedingly to give a promising boy his first whipping;
because he knew that half the stimulus to close study and good order
would be taken from him by his first whipping. But the great source
of the Doctor's uneasiness was his room-mates. Jones and Smith
were among the few students of the Doctor's school, who disliked
him, and they cordially despised him. And yet, strange as it may
seem, he had never flogged either of them, he had never said a cross
word to either of them. They feared whipping, and demeaned themselves
well enough when at school, to keep off the monitor's bills,
and recited well enough to drag along with their classes. “Why,
then, did they despise him?”

The reader must ask the Devil to explain that matter. We acknowledge
our utter incompetency to do it. Yes, we can go a little
way into the explanation of it, and as it is one of the paradoxes of
human nature, the philosophic reader is entitled to all the light
that we can shed upon it. If it were possible we should say that
Smith came into the world hating Doctor Waddel; for he seemed to
bring his hatred with him to the school. At their very first interview,
he showed palpable signs of it, already up to a red heat. Now
if it be possible for a rational being to hate furiously at sight, then
Smith's hatred commenced with this interview. But if this be morally

impossible, at what period of his life can we better place it
than at his birth?

As to Jones, his hatred, though curious, and smoked a little with
the unnatural, is nevertheless traeeable. From his introduction to
the Doctor, to the day of his becoming Smith's room-mate, he
seemed rather to like the Doctor; but on the evening of that day,
the most wonderful transition of feeling took place in him, that perhaps
ever occurred in the history of mind. As the two took their
seats, at their study-table, Jones observed, “Old Moses is a pretty
tight old fellow, but I can't help liking him.” “He's a d—nd
old tyrant!” said Smith. Whereupon Jones' countenance made
proclamation of the workings of his mind in this unmistakable language:—“Why,—La
me! I never thought of that! But it's so!
I see it plain enough now! What an escape I have made! A little
more, and I might have been precipitated into the bottomless abyss
of love!” Jones covered his ignorance and weakness in the usual
way, by pretending he was in fun, and to prove it, fell to cursing
the Doctor luxuriously. The most of their recreation hours of evenings,
were spent in brotherly contests for supremacy in hating and
abusing their excellent preceptor. Let no man say that such cases
never occurred. They are to be found in every school of a hundred
boys in the land—not exactly, to be sure, in the features which we
have given to them, but exactly in substance. Ye protestors against
the doctrine of native depravity, explain this matter, if you please.

Doctor Waddel knew well the feelings of these youths towards
him, and their worthlessness of character; and he was pleased that
they had selected a residence which cut them off almost entirely
from communication with the other students, save when they were
under his eye. No wonder that he had most gloomy forebodings
when he saw a youth of William's tender age, and bright promise,
placed in daily and nightly intercourse with them.

Young teachers may caution a good, amiable, highly gifted boy,
against associating with a low, vulgar, abandoned youth of his school,
but an old one never does; for the plain reason that ninety-nine in
the hundred good boys, instead of thanking the teacher for his kindness,
holding his counsels in confidence, and improving them, will
go right off to the profligate and tell him all that his teacher has
said about him, render him ten times worse than he was before, infuriate
his parents, and spread the spirit of rebellion through the
whole school. Well for the kind man if he does not get his head
cracked by the father, his character cracked by the mother, and his

chair cracked by his patrons or trustees. All this, kind reader, in
answer to your question, “Why did not Dr. Waddel tell the boy
frankly that Smith and Jones were unfit associates for him, and that
they would ruin him, if he did not leave them immediately?” Doctor
Waddel well knew “that there were things,” not only “in heaven
and earth,” but in schools, “which never were dreamed of” in the
world's “philosophy.” We must not, however, take leave of Smith
and Jones without doing them the justice to say, that there were
two amiable, excellent, intelligent men, and as many women of like
character, whose opinion of them differed toto cœlo from ours: these
were their fathers and mothers.

On the evening of the fifth, William Mitten reported to Smith
and Jones all that had passed between the Doctor and himself;
wondering how the Doctor could be so much concerned about his
horse and his boarding at Newby's.

“I understand it,” said Smith, with expletives, which we omit,
“he and Newby are in cahoot. He knows you're good pay; and
another thing—he wants you there near him, where he can be poking
his grey eyes and club nose through the crack of your house, of
nights, without much trouble. If I stayed there and he was to
come peeping into my house, I'd take a sharp stick and punch out
his old peepers. I was always taught to despise caves-droppers, and
so I do.”

“Oh yes,” said William, “I see into it. He thinks if he can get
my horse away from me, rather than walk so far to school, I'll go
back to Newby's; but he misses it just as much as if he had burnt
his shirt. I ain't going to quit the good eating here, and the good
sleeping and easy living and go back there, to eating and sleeping
and working like a nigger, if my horse was gone.”

“Bill,” said Jones, “did you ever play cards?”

“O yes,” said Bill, “many a time.”

“I wish we had a pack,” said Smith. “We burnt up ours, at the
end of the term; but if you'll lend me your horse Saturday, I'll go
to Petersburg and get a pack.”

“Read that paper,” said William.

Smith read it.

“Well, how will your Uncle know that you lent him?” pursued
Smith.

“But I promised my Uncle solemnly to obey his orders about the
horse, and I hate to violate my word. It would distress my mother
to death, if I was to do so, and she find it out.”

“Well, are you going to use him Saturday?” said Jones. “If you
ain't, I'll tell you how we can fix it elegantly; you just leave him in
the stable, and I'll take him, without your lending him.”

“I thought I'd go, next Saturday and Sunday, with Mr. Waddel,
if he goes, to Rocky River Church; I must go one time—”

Here William's words were drowned, by most obstreporous laughter
from his companions.

“But hear me, hear me!” continued Bill. “Let me explain!
You see, Uncle disliked my bringing my horse very much; and
after giving him all the reasons I could think of to let me bring
him, I told him I would like sometimes to go with Mr. Waddel to
Rocky River Church! When I said that, I saw something in
Uncle's looks, which made me believe he thought I was telling a
lie—”

“And who the devil is your Uncle!” said Jones. “Do you belong
to your Uncle?”

“Jones, you mustn't say anything against my Uncle—he's one of
the best men in the world, and—”

“Oh, go on Bill; I didn't mean to say anything against your
Uncle.”

“Well, as I was saying, I want to go with Doctor Waddel one
time, and if I can go before I write my first letter, and tell 'em of it
when I write, it will convince Uncle I told the truth, please Mother,
and make them very willing for me to keep my horse till Christmas.
But if I don't, my Uncle, who watches everything like a hawk, will
have a boy here after my horse as soon as the weather turns cool.”

“Oh, well,” said Jones, “that's not so bad; but take care of old
Mose, by the way, or he'll have you back to Newby's Monday morning,
to a certainty.”

“But,” said Smith, “suppose old Wad. does not preach at Rocky
River, what will you do with your horse Saturday and Sunday?”

“I shall ride him to Vienna, to mail a letter—”

“That'll do; when you get to Vienna, go over to Petersburg, and
buy a pack of cards.”

“But my orders are not to ride my horse further than Vienna,
except to preaching.”

“Well,” said Smith, “you needn't ride over to Petersburg, you
can go there afoot.”

“That's it,” said Bill, snapping his fingers joyously.

The evening passed off with but little study.

William's class usually recited to one of the Assistants, but the

next morning it was called before Doctor Waddel. The Doctor arranged
the order of recitation, so as to throw the last part of the
lesson to William. He had not been over it, and he bungled
shamefully.

“Why, William,” said the Doctor, “what's the matter with you?
I never knew you to recite so poor a lesson. I'm afraid you don't
study at your new boarding house as well as you did at your old
one.”

William was excessively mortified, and his classmates no less surprised.

After the class retired, William enquired of Doctor Waddel,
whether he preached at Rocky River, the next Sabbath.

“No, my son,” said the Doctor, “but I preach there the Sabbath
after. Why do you ask? Do you think of accompanying me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am very glad to hear that. Now you are going to make a good
use of your horse. If you never make a worse use of him, you will
do well.”

Saturday came, and William, at an early hour after breakfast, was
off to Vienna to mail a letter. As the letter was written only to be
mailed, it of course was not written in his usual diffuse, florid style;
but what it lost in beauty, grace and polish, it gained in conciseness,
nerve and point. Here it is:

After mailing his letter, he went over to Petersburg, and bought a
pack of cards, a tickler of peach brandy, and a plug of tobacco. “My
son,” said the merchant as he handed him the articles “these are
ugly things for such a youth as you are to buy.”

“Oh, I don't buy any of them for myself, I buy them for Mr.
Smith and Mr. Jones, who live about nine miles from here.”

The merchant knew William at sight as the youth who had distinguished
himself so much at the exhibition, and he naturally felt
pained to see a boy of his talents engaged in such a dangerous traffic.
Hence his remark, which produced from William one lie and

two truths, in consolidated form. He bought the cards for himself,
the brandy for Smith, and the tobacco for Jones.

He returned immediately to his residence, and spent the afternoon
and till twelve at night, playing cards and drinking peach brandy.
The next day he was sick. On Monday he went to school, was
called again to recite to Doctor Waddel, and knew nothing of his
lesson. It was rarely the case that the Doctor called one of the lower
classes to recite to him two mornings in succession.

“What,” said he to William, “with all Saturday, and all Monday
morning to get your lesson in, come up here and know nothing about
it, sir! You don't study, sir!”

The Doctor enquired of Mr. Dobbins how Smith and Jones recited
that morning. “They didn't recite at all,” responded Dobbins,
“Smith said he had been sick from Friday evening till Monday
morning, and Jones came up with his jaw tied up in a handkerchief,
and took on as if he was raving distracted with the tooth-ache. He
disturbed the class so that I excused him from attending recitation.”

Tuesday they all appeared at school, as well prepared for recitation
as usual, but the Doctor heard none of them.

On Wednesday they were not noticed until after prayer in the
evening. This service over, he hauled a tickler out of his pocket,
and said:

“William Mitten come forward!” William just had strength to
step forward, and that was all.

“Do you know this tickler, sir?”

“Ye-e-s, sir!”

“Whose is it?”

“It's Smith's, sir.”

“You took it to Petersburg last Saturday, didn't you, sir; and
got it filled with peach brandy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who did you get it for?”

“Smith, sir.”

“Whose pack of cards is this?” asked the Doctor, drawing a pack
from his pocket.”

Bill did not require an inspection of it, to give the answer:

“It's mine, sir.”

“You and Jones and Smith sat up late on Saturday night, playing
cards and drinking peach brandy, didn't you?”

“We—I—Jo—I did, sir.”

“You did, sir. Did you play cards by yourself till late at night?
—and drink all Smith's brandy yourself?”

“No sir; they drank some.”

“And did they sit by and help you drink, while you played cards
by yourself?”

“No, sir; they played too—some.”

“Perhaps you may think that I got my information of your dealings
at Petersburg, from the merchant who sold you the cards, brandy,
and a plug of tobacco. I have not seen him, and no man in Petersburg
or Vienna told me a syllable about it. Alexander B. Linton,
bring me six tough hickories in the morning, suited to the occasion.
In the language of Rob Roper's composition, `the apple of discord
has been cast in among us, and if not speedily snipt in the bud, it
will inevitably explode and shroud us in the pitchy night of anarchy
and confusion, and deluge the country with fire and sword.' As
that apple is as dangerous to schools as it is to the country, I'll try
to nip it in the bud effectually, in the morning. You are dismissed.”

As for Jones and Smith, nobody cared for them, but the whole
school sympathized with William. They laid all his faults to them,
(rather more than was due to them by the way,) and rejoiced at the
retribution that was in reserve for them. Gilbert Hay accompanied
him for about a quarter of a mile on his way to his lodgings. To
this point they walked hand in hand. William leading his horse,
and both weeping bitterly.

Here they stopped, and William broke silence:

“Gilbert,” said he, “nothing gave me so much pain in leaving
Mr. Newby's as parting with you. How happy we were in talking
together, working together, playing together, and studying together!
I'd give ten thousand millions of dollars if I hadn't left you—”

“Will, come back now.”

“It's too late now—I'm disgraced, I'm ruined—I wish that my
horse and Jones and Smith were all tumbled together in the flames
of Hell!—Stop Gilbert; don't leave me!”

“I will leave you, William, if you talk in that way; and, much as
I love you, I must drop your acquaintance, if you use such language.”

“Forgive me, Gilbert, I hardly know what I say. You have no
idea what I suffer”—

“Why, it's no killing matter, to get whipped by Mr. Wad—”

“Whipped! I don't mind the whipping at all, severe as I know
it will be. If cutting my legs to the bone would just put me back

to that happy night I spent at your house, I'd take it willingly.”

“Then what is it that distresses you so?—You are not the first boy
that Mr. Waddel has ever caught playing cards and drinking liquor,
I know.”

“If I should tell you, you never would own me as a friend or acquaintance
again.”

“Well, it can't be worse than I'll think it is, if you don't tell
me.”

“In less than one short fortnight, I have deceived the best of
mothers, the best of uncles; forsaken you, the best of friends; despised
the advice of the best of teachers; drank, gambled and lied—
disgraced myself in my class, as you know, and disgraced myself in
the eyes of all who applauded me at the examination and exhibition.
They will hear of if—Why, here's Tom! What's the matter at
home, Tom?”

“Mas' David is very sick. He thinks he's going to die, and be
wants to see you before he dies. Here's a letter from Missis.”

“Lord have mercy upon my poor soul!” half shrieked William.

“Can't I die! Can't I die! Read it Gilbert!”

By the dim twilight be read:

“Oh Gilbert! Gilbert! How shall I face a dying uncle and an afflicted
mother? Show the letter to Mr. Waddel. Tell him I thank
him for all his kindness to me—that I never shall forget the beech
—”

“The beech! What does that mean, William?”

“He knows—he will tell you. Farewell, my dearest, best class-mate!”

Gilbert went immediately with the letter to Doctor Waddel, and
delivered it with William's message. The Doctor listened, read, and
walked the floor in great agitation of mind. After a few strides backwards
and forwards, he spoke: “It is awful, awful to think of such a
star as that being eclipsed just at its rising! A breath may change the
destiny of a youth for time and eternity. If ever there was a boy

of more brilliant promise than William Mitten, three months ago, I
don't think I ever saw him. And where is he now! Why is it that
in the contact of virtue and vice, vice always gets the advantage—at
least with the young?”

“Mr. Waddel, what did William mean by the beech?”

“I'll take you to it and explain, to-morrow at twelve; but I little
dreamed that the catastrophe was so near at hand! At a proper
time, I will write to his uncle,—or mother, to send him back. His
heart's in the right place still, and he may yet be the pride of his
mother, the boast of his teacher, and the glory of his country.”

“If you write, Mr. Waddel, tell him I love him yet; and that
the front side of my bed is waiting for him yet.”

William wended his way to his boarding house, slowly and sadly.
On reaching it, he went in and informed the landlord of the distressing
tidings from home, and that he would leave at the dawn in the
morning. He refused supper, and walked towards the study, near
the steps of which Smith and Jones were standing.

“Well,” said Smith, “you've stayed so long we thought you'd
run away. You've got us into a hell of a scrape, and you may well
look sheepish.”

“Smith, that boy has just come for me—my Uncle's at the point
of death—”

“You're d—nd lucky, to have a sick Uncle just at this time.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth, before the onset of William's
fight with Black was renewed precisely; but not with precisely
the same results. In his fall, Smith's head struck the corner
of a step, and he came senseless to the ground. Jones, supposing
that he was only a little stunned by the fall, and that he would soon
rally and give William a tremendons beating, (just what he desired)
did not interpose. William supposed so too, (i. c., that he would
soon rise,) and he resolved to improve the interim to the best advantage.
Such language, at such a time, from such a character, set his
whole soul on fire, and inspired him with supernatural strength and
inhumanity. He dealt blow after blow upon the face, neck and ribs
of the unresisting Smith, with a force and rapidity that horrified
Jones, and would have astonished any one. It was in vain that
Jones cried out “for God's sake, Mitten, stop, he's dead!” “If he
isn't dead, I'll kill him,” said Mitten. Rising from the body, he
stamped Smith in the face with his heavy nail-pegged shoes, and was
in the act of repeating the injury, when the landlord and Tom both
seized him and forced him into the house. As they dragged him

away, “Stop” said he, “let me give Jones a little, and then I'll be
satisfied.” He was given in charge of Tom, while the landlord and
Jones took care of Smith. His head was cut to the bone, and the
wound was clogged up with blood and dirt. His face was like nothing
human. He was washed, undressed, and put to bed; but he did
not recover his senses, though he breathed, and his pulse beat. There
was no physician within miles of the place, and the landlord did
not suppose it necessary to send for one so far off, as he deemed it
certain that Smith would die or be out of danger before he could
get there. In a half hour's time William became cool, and surrendered
himself to grief again. A bed was prepared for him in the
house, his trunk was brought in, he washed, changed his bloody
clothes for clean ones, packed such as he needed in the saddle-bags,
sent Tom to attend to the horses, and threw himself on the bed to
wait, in tears, the coming dawn.

In the meantime, Jones and the landlord were at the bedside of
Smith, in a state of the most intense anxiety. The former was in
the deepest agony. He and Smith had agreed to run away from
school the next morning. It was further arranged that Smith
should give Mitten a sound dressing over-night, because he had not
managed his purchases in Petersburg with sufficient cunning; because
he had not extemporized lies according to his talents, under
Waddel's examination; because he had told the truth where he
ought to have told lies, and bungled even at the truth, and because
“he wanted whipping anyhow.” There was a short debate between
them as to which should have the pleasure of chastising William.
Smith said that he was so much over Bill's size and age, that it
would look a little mean in him to do it.

“Now you, Jones,” continued Smith, “are just about his weight,
and you are but a little older than he is; if you would fan him out,
there would be some honor in it.”

“Oh, I can whip him easy enough,” said Jones, “and will do it
if you insist upon it, but he will be certain to bung up my face a
little at the beginning of the fight, for you know he can throw me
just as fast as I can get up, and I hate to go home with my face
scratched and bunged up. It will be hard enough for me to make
peace with old John (his father) anyhow. But you can tie him—
you can flog him without a scratch, and don't hurt him much. It
would be mean in a boy of your size to hurt him much; just whip a
little common sense in him.”

The matter was arranged accordingly; but instead of Smith's

whipping a little common sense into Bill, behold Bill had knocked a
great deal of very common sense out of Smith.

To run away and leave Smith in his present condition was not to
be thought of. To remain with him until after prayers the next
morning, would be certain to awaken Doctor Waddel's curiosity concerning
the state of his health, as early as old Hector could bring
him hither; and as his old prejudices had greatly strengthened that
day, he had no disposition to encounter him anywhere. From what
had passed between him and Smith, there was a fair implication that
if Smith did not whip William, he would; and though Smith might
not hold him responsible for the implied pledge, he would be very
apt to hold him responsible for allowing William to beat him while
he was in a state of insensibility. William's retiring remark, too,
made him feel very uncomfortable; for though he had done nothing
to incur his wrath but sympathise with Smith in everything, and
drop one disrespectful remark about William's uncle, already atoned
for, it was plain that William's mind was not in a condition to allow
the proper credits, in closing up his uncle's claims. He was very
certain that William would sleep none that night, and if he should
conclude to come out a little before day and give him a parting blessing
when all were asleep but the two, it would be—very ill-timed,
to say the least of it. So that, upon the whole, none of the household
spent a more uncomfortable night of it than poor Jones did.
To have got rid of the troubles of that single night, he would
have been perfectly willing to sign a written pledge to love “old
Moses” all his life, elegantly, and to accompany him to Rocky River
Church monthly, during the term of his pupilage.

Smith did not come fully to himself until about twelve o'clock.
When he recovered his mind, and saw with but one eye (for he
could not open the other, and one not fully,) Jones and the landlord
keeping watch over him, his shirt all bloody, and found himself in
pain all over, “Why, what's the matter with me?” muttered he from
two hideously swollen lips.

“Never mind,” said Jones, “lie still and be quiet till morning,
and we'll tell you all about it.”

While Jones was talking, Smith was feeling his face and head.

“Why, how did I get in this fix?” enquired he, “I'm in a dreadful
fix—my back, hip, head and face all pain me awfully. Jones,
tell me who treated me so. Have I been out of my head? What
o'clock is it?”

“Never mind, Smith—never mind,” said Jones, “you'll soon be

over it if you'll be quiet. Lie still till morning, and we'll explain
all things to your satisfaction.”

“Didn't Mitten clinch me? Did he strike me with a stick? He
couldn't—”

“Oh, go to sleep, go to sleep, Smith, and quit talking. A bad
accident has happened to you, and you must be quiet, or there's no
telling what'll come of it.”

“I don't recollect anything after he clinched me; but it's impossible
he could have hurt me so bad. Is he gone?”

“Yes,” said Jones, “he's gone long ago—he didn't do it—it was
an accident, I tell you, and you must be quiet, and not talk, or you
may lose your life.”

In this way Smith was quieted, dropped to sleep, and did not wake
until an hour by sun the next morning, when William was ten miles
on his way homeward.

By ten o'clock Doctor Waddel was at Mr. — 's. The whole
matter was explained to him. He told Jones to stay with Smith,
and nurse him until he was able to walk to school. Jones did so;
but instead of walking to school, they walked home—or rather
walked to where they could get horses to ride home. It was the
Doctor's habit to follow runaways and bring them back, but he was
too glad to get rid of these gentlemen to do so in this instance.

William's purchase in Petersburg soon became the town talk, for
almost everybody in town knew him as the bright boy of the exhibition,
and everybody deplored the indications of ruin that his purchases
gave. The talk soon spread from Petersburg to Willington,
and from Willington to Doctor Waddel's ears. He went immediately
to Mitten's room, where he found the cards and tickler unconcealed,
and surprised Mitten with them, as we have seen. Thus did
he possess himself of the few facts, from which he drew out of William
all that the trio had done after the cards and brandy reached
their room. He explained to young Hay, according to his promise,
William's reference to the beech, the import of which William fully
understood after his disgrace. What a lamentable thing it is, that
there is no way of inducing the young to follow the counsels of the
old!