 | CHAPTER III. Locke Amsden, The schoolmaster |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
Was all from simple nature drain'd.”
Gay.
It was late in the season when our hero returned home;
and having inadvertently omitted to apprise his friends of his
intention to engage himself as a teacher of some of the
winter schools in the vicinity of his father's residence, he
found, on his arrival, every situation to which his undoubted
qualifications should prompt him to aspire, already occupied
by others. He was therefore compelled, unless he
relinquished his purpose, to listen to the less eligible offers
which came from such smaller and more backward districts
or societies as had not engaged their instructors for the winter.
One of these he was on the point of deciding to accept,
when he received information of a district where the master,
from some cause or other, had been dismissed during the first
week of his engagement, and where the committee were now
in search of another to supply his place. The district from
which this information came, was situated in one of the
mountain towns about a dozen miles distant, and the particular
neighborhood of its location was known in the vicinity, to
a considerable extent, by the name of the Horn of the Moon;
an appellation generally understood to be derived from a peculiar
curvature of a mountain that partially enclosed the place.
Knowing nothing of the causes which had here led to the
recent dismissal of the teacher, nor indeed of the particular
character of the school, further than that it was a large one,
and one, probably, which, though in rather a new part of the
to a good instructor, Locke had no hesitation in
deciding to make an immediate application for the situation.
Accordingly, the next morning he mounted a horse, and set
out for the place in question.
It was a mild December's day; the ground had not yet
assumed its winter covering, and the route taken by our hero
becoming soon bordered on either side by wild and picturesque
mountain scenery, upon which he had ever delighted
“To look from nature up to nature's God,”
by the reflections thus occasioned, together with anticipations
of happy results from his expected engagement, he arrived,
after a ride of a few hours, at the borders of the romantic-looking
place of which he was in quest.
At this point in his journey, he overtook a man on foot, of
whom, after discovering him to belong somewhere in the
neighborhood, he proceeded to make some inquiries relative
to the situation of the school.
“Why,” replied the man, “as I live out there in the tip
of the Horn, which is, of course, at the outer edge of the
district, I know but little about the school affairs; but one
thing is certain, they have shipped the master, and want to
get another, I suppose.”
“For what cause was the master dismissed? For lack of
qualifications?”
“Yes, lack of qualifications for our district. The fellow,
however, had learning enough, as all agreed, but no spunk;
and the young Bunkers, and some others of the big boys,
mistrusting this, and being a little riled at some things he
had said to them, took it into their heads to train him a
little, which they did; when he, instead of showing any grit
on the occasion, got frightened and cleared out.”
“Why, sir, did his scholars offer him personal violence?”
“O no — not violence. They took him up quite carefully,
bound him on to a plank, as I understood, and carried him on
their shoulders, in a sort of procession, three times around
the schoolhouse, and then, unloosing him, told him to go at
his business again.”
“And was all this suffered to take place without any interference
from your committee?”
“Yes, our committee-man would not interfere in such a
case. A master must fight his own way in our district.”
“Who is your committee, sir?”
“Captain Bill Bunker is now. They had a meeting after
the fracas, and chose a new one.”
“Is he a man who is capable of ascertaining for himself
the qualifications of a teacher?”
“O yes — at least I had as lief have Bill Bunker's judgment
of a man who applied for the school as any other in
the district; and yet he is the only man in the whole district
but what can read and write, I believe.”
“Your school committee not able to read and write?”
“Not a word, and still he does more business than any
man in this neighborhood. Why, sir, he keeps a sort of
store, sells to A., B., and C., and charges on book in a fashion
of his own; and I would as soon trust to his book as that of
any regular merchant in the country; though, to be sure, he
has got into a jumble, I hear, about some charges against a
man at 'tother end of the Horn, and they are having a court
about it to-day at Bunker's house, I understand.”
“Where does he live?”
“Right on the road, about a mile ahead. You will see his
name chalked on a sort of a shop-looking building, which he
uses for a store.”
The man here turned off from the road, leaving our hero
so much surprised and staggered at what he had just heard,
had come to propose himself as a teacher, but of the man
who now had the control of it, that he drew up the reins,
stopped his horse in the road, and sat hesitating some moments
whether he would go back or forward. It occurring
to him, however, that he could do as he liked about accepting
any offer of the place which might be made him, and feeling,
moreover, some curiosity to see how a man who could neither
read nor write would manage in capacity of an examining
school committee, he resolved to go forward, and present
himself as a candidate for the school. Accordingly, he rode
on, and soon reached a rough-built, but substantial-looking
farm-house, with sundry out-buildings, on one of which he
read, as he had been told he might, the name of the singular
occupant. In the last-named building, he at once perceived
that there was a gathering of quite a number of individuals,
the nature of which was explained to him by the hint he had
received from his informant on the road. And tying his
horse, he joined several who were going in, and soon found
himself in the midst of the company assembled in the low,
unfinished room which constituted the interior, as parties,
witnesses, and spectators of a justice's court, the ceremonies
of which were about to be commenced. There were no
counters, counting-room, or desk; and a few broad shelves,
clumsily put up on one side, afforded the only indication,
observable in the interior arrangement of the room, of the
use to which it was devoted. On these shelves were scattered,
at intervals, small bunches of hoes, axes, bed-cords,
and such articles as are generally purchased by those who
purchase little; while casks of nails, grindstones, quintals of
dried salt fish, and the like, arranged round the room on the
floor, made up the rest of the owner's merchandise, an
annual supply of which, it appeared, he obtained in the cities
every winter in exchange for the products of his farm; ever
trade should not be against him. The only table and chair
in the room were now occupied by the justice; the heads of
casks, grindstones, or bunches of rakes, answering for seats
for the rest of the company. On the left of the justice sat
the defendant, whose composed look, and occasional knowing
smile, seemed to indicate his confidence in the strength of
his defence, as well as a consciousness of possessing some
secret advantage over his opponent. On the other hand sat
Bunker, the plaintiff in the suit. Ascertaining from the
remarks of the bystanders his identity with the committee-man
he had become so curious to see, Locke fell to nothing
his appearance closely, and the result was, upon the whole, a
highly favorable prepossession. He was a remarkably stout,
hardy-looking man; and although his features were extremely
rough and swarthy, they yet combined to give him an open,
honest, and very intelligent countenance. Behind him, as
backers, were standing in a group three or four of his sons,
of ages varying from fifteen to twenty, and of bodily proportions
promising any thing but disparagement to the Herculean
stock from which they originated. The parties were now
called and sworn; when Bunker, there being no attorneys
employed to make two-hour speeches on preliminary questions,
proceeded at once to the merits of his case. He
produced and spread open his account-book, and then went
on to show his manner of charging, which was wholly by
hieroglyphics, generally designating the debtor by picturing
him out at the top of the page with some peculiarity of his
person or calling. In the present case, the debtor, who was
a cooper, was designated by the rude picture of a man in the
act of hooping a barrel; and the article charged, there being
but one item in the account, was placed immediately beneath,
and represented by a shaded, circular figure, which the plaintiff
defendant some years before.
“Now, Mr. Justice,” said Bunker, after explaining, in a
direct, off-hand manner, his peculiar method of book-keeping,
“now, the article here charged the man had — I will, and do
swear to it; for here it is in black and white. And I having
demanded my pay, and he having not only refused it, but
denied ever buying the article in question, I have brought
this suit to recover my just due. And now I wish to see if
he will get up here in court, and deny the charge under oath.
If he will, let him; but may the Lord have mercy on his
soul!”
“Well, sir,” replied the defendant, promptly rising, “you
shall not be kept from having your wish a minute; for I
here, under oath, do swear, that I never bought or had a
cheese of you in my life.”
“Under the oath of God you declare it, do you?” sharply
asked Bunker.
“I do, sir,” firmly answered the other.
“Well, well!” exclaimed the former, with looks of utter
astonishment, “I would not have believed that there was a
man in all of the Horn of the Moon who would dare to do
that.”
After the parties had been indulged in the usual amount
of sparring for such occasions, the justice interposed and
suggested, that as the oaths of the parties were at complete
issue, the evidence of the book itself, which he seemed to
think was entitled to credit, would turn the scale in favor of
the plaintiff, unless the defendant could produce some rebutting
testimony. Upon this hint, the latter called up two of his
neighbors, who testified in his behalf, that he himself always
made a sufficient supply of cheese for his family; and
they were further knowing, that, on the year of the alleged
quantity of the article.
This evidence seemed to settle the question in the mind of
the justice; and he now soon announced, that he felt bound
to give judgment to the defendant for his costs.
“Judged and sworn out of the whole of it, as I am a sinner!”
cried the disconcerted Bunker, after sitting a moment
working his rough features in indignant surprise; “yes,
fairly sworn out of it, and saddled with a bill of cost to boot!
But I can pay it; so reckon it up, Mr. Justice, and we will
have it all squared on the spot. And, on the whole, I am
not so sure but a dollar or two is well spent, at any time, in
finding out a fellow to be a scoundrel who has been passing
himself off among people for an honest man,” he added,
pulling out his purse, and angrily dashing the required
amount down upon the table.
“Now, Bill Bunker,” said the defendant, after very coolly
pocketing his costs, “you have flung out a good deal of your
stuff here, and I have bore it without getting riled a hair;
for I saw, all the time, that you — correct as folks ginerally
think you — that you did n't know what you was about. But
now it 's all fixed and settled, I am going jist to convince you
that I am not quite the one that has sworn to a perjury in
this 'ere business.”
“Well, we will see,” rejoined Bunker, eying his opponent
with a look of mingled doubt and defiance.
“Yes, we will see,” responded the other, determinedly;
“we will see if we can't make you eat your own words.
But I want first to tell you where you missed it. When you
dunned me, Bunker, for the pay for a cheese, and I said I
never had one of you, you went off a little too quick; you
called me a liar, before giving me a chance to say another
word. And then, I thought I would let you take your own
course, till you took that name back. If you had held on a
you all how it was, and you would have got your pay on the
spot; but —”
“Pay!” fiercely interrupted Bunker, “then you admit
you had the cheese, do you?”
“No, sir, I admit no sich thing,” quickly rejoined the
former; “for I still say I never had a cheese of you in the
world. But I did have a small grindstone of you at the
time, and at jest the price you have charged for your supposed
cheese; and here is your money for it, sir. Now,
Bunker, what do you say to that?”
“Grindstone — cheese — cheese — grindstone!” exclaimed
the now evidently nonplussed and doubtful Bunker, taking a
few rapid turns about the room, and occasionally stopping at
the table to scrutinize anew his hieroglyphical charge; “I
must think this matter over again. Grindstone — cheese —
cheese — grindstone. Ah! I have it; but may God forgive
me for what I have done! It was a grindstone, but I forgot
to make a hole in the middle for the crank.”
Upon this curious development, as will be readily imagined,
the opposing parties were not long in effecting an
amicable and satisfactory adjustment. And, in a short time,
the company broke up and departed, all obviously as much
gratified as amused at this singular but happy result of the
lawsuit.
As soon as all had left the room but Bunker and his sons,
Locke, perceiving that the others now seemed to expect an
announcement of his business, at once proceeded to make
known the object of his visit.
“Ah, indeed!” said Bunker, in surprise, as he keenly ran
his eye over the rather slight proportions of the other.
“Why, I had supposed, all the while, that you were some
young sprig of the law, who had scented out our foolish little
quarrel here from a distance, and had come to see whether
all the cheese himself, or leave enough to afford a nibble to a
lawyer. But have you really come to offer yourself as a
master for such a school as ours?”
“I came for that purpose, sir,” replied Locke; “and I
trust to be found qualified for the situation. I have brought
with me a certificate of qualifications; and further, I am
very willing to be examined personally by yourself and
others.”
“I have been examining you, for some minutes, with my
eyes,” said the other, “and that is a way of examining masters,
for our school at least, which is more necessary than
you may imagine. You may have learning enough for us,
perhaps; but the question first to be decided is, whether you
will be equal to managing our rough boys in the mountains
here.”
The two largest boys, who had stood in a corner glancing
at the person of our hero with a sort of contemptuous twinkling
of their eyes, now whispered together, and giggled
outright, apparently at the thought that such a fellow should
ever attempt to give them a thrashing; for they had always
been so accustomed to associate schoolmasters with thrashings,
that they never thought of the former without the
accompanying idea of the latter.
“Boys,” resumed Bunker, “do you know what Josh
Bemus intends doing this winter. I have been thinking, for
a day or two past, that he probably would have about enough
of the tiger in him to make you a very suitable master, if he
could be had. You have had king log, and trod upon him;
and now, if you don't get king stork, it wont be because you
don't deserve it.”
“You will hardly get Josh, I think,” replied one of the
boys. “He told me, at the turkey-shooting last week, that
he had engaged to tend horses this winter at the stage-tavern
school.”
“Well, every one for his taste,” said Bunker, laughing.
“I suppose Josh is not a fellow that would take much pleasure
in a thinking life; though, as he has succeeded in subduing
one or two unruly schools, I had thought of him for
ours. But as that is now out of the question, and as I can
hear of no other person who will do, I think we may as well
examine into this gentleman's qualifications, now he has
applied for the school.”
“I have but little hope, sir, that I shall be considered a
proper teacher of your district,” observed Locke, who had
become so much disconcerted by the ominous conduct of the
boys, and the remarks of their father of a similar significance,
that he now began to think of beating a retreat. “I cannot
be the person you want, I think, from what I gather from
your observations; and therefore we may as well drop the
subject at once, perhaps.”
“O, I don't know about that, sir,” rejoined Bunker. “You
look hardly equal to the task, be sure; but there is considerable
snap in those black eyes of yours, I see. I have seen
several fellows, in my time, of as little bodily show as you,
who turned out to be a match for any thing when called to
act. And I should not be surprised if you should prove to
be one of the same kidney. Boys,” he continued, turning to
his sons, “you know how sadly you all got disappointed in
that little, feeble-looking master of yours last winter. You
calculated, when he began his school, that you should be able
to control him as you pleased; but you soon found you had
reckoned without your host, I believe.”
“Well, he was a mean scamp, for all that,” replied the
oldest boy; “and we should have shipped him, at one time,
if some of the boys had not flummuxed from the agreement.
For he deserved it enough, and no mistake. Only think!
school-house as soon as he did, after our play-spell at noon,
should take a ferruling. And then what does he do but join
us in sliding down hill on a hand-sled; and when we got
warm at it, and just as a great load of us, he and all, had got
under weigh and could n't stop, off he jumps, gives the sled
a kick, and cuts and runs for the school-house, which he
reached first, of course; and we had to be ferruled for
breaking the rule. Now, you know, father, that was n't a
fair shake, and he ought to have been walloped for it; and
the boys were sneaks, that they had not stood by us, when
we tried, the next day, to turn the tables on him —”
“As he had first done on you, for some previous trick,
eigh?” interrupted the former. “You have generally had
strange doings in school, both by scholars and teachers, we
all know; but now they have put me in committee, I intend
to look after you a little myself. Now, sir,” he added, again
turning to Locke, “now, sir, we will come back to your case,
if you please — what will be your price a month, and
boarded?”
“Fifteen dollars.”
“We gave but fourteen last winter, and the master could
manage such a set of fellows as ours, too. The district will
never consent to rise on that price. Can't you fall a dollar?”
“Perhaps I might, if I could make up my mind to undertake
your school.”
“Make up your mind! why, you offered yourself; and
you did not come to trifle with me, did you?”
“Certainly not.”
“Well, wait then till we have thought and talked this
business all out. Don't get frightened before you are hurt.
You may think better of some of us before we get through.
But there is another thing: our district require a master to
teach all the working days in the month, and not twenty-two
consent to that?”
“Perhaps I should not be disposed to quarrel with you,
even on that point, if I were to take your school.”
“Very well. So then we can agree upon the terms, I
see,” said Bunker. “Now, for the main question — do you
know any thing?”
“I trust so, sir,” said Locke, hardly knowing yet what to
make of the man, “I trust so. Here is a certificate from
my late preceptor — will you hear it read?”
“No,” replied the other, “I should place no dependence
on any thing of that sort. Every one who goes to an academy
gets a certificate, if he wants one, I have noticed; while
not one in three, who go there, are fit for teachers. So you
see, that there is more than an even chance that we get
cheated, when we take a man on certificate. Why, how, sir,
could a preceptor know whether you could govern a school,
when you had never tried it? And how could he certify,
that you had a faculty to teach in a school that neither of
you had ever seen, where every scholar, perhaps, would
require the application of a different method, before he could
be brought to learn any thing worth mentioning?”
“I offered the paper only to show my acquirements —
that I understood all the sciences taught in common schools,”
said Locke in reply.
“O, I presume you have gone over enough of what is put
down in the books,” resumed the other. “But how can I
tell, from your recommendation, whether you can think for
yourself, independent of your books; and what is more for a
teacher, whether you can teach others to think for themselves?
Why, sir, I have known many a fellow returned
from an academy, and even a college, who had no more ideas
of his own than a blue jay. And besides that, his brains
were so trammeled by rules, &c., that there was little prospect
object of education should be, in my opinion, to teach men
to think, and not depend upon books for every thing to be
known. Now, here is the great book of nature open before
us, full of every kind of knowledge for those who can think.
Then, don't you see the advantage which a man who can
read that has over one who can only read the books of men,
which are so liable to contain errors?”
“I certainly agree with you in much you have said,
sir; but if you intend to say that book learning, as you
would term it, is useless, I must wholly dissent,” observed
Locke.
“I don't say or think so,” said Bunker. “No, it gives
one great advantages in knowing what others in different
parts of the world have found out, and may be, if rightly
used and understood, a great help to him in thinking and
making discoveries for himself. No, I don't think so of
learning; for I am half bothered to death for the want of it
myself, as you have to-day seen. And all I want of you is,
to find out whether you have it; and, if so, whether it has
made you a good thinker, and one who can teach others to
be so, as well as to teach them the books.”
“Very well, sir,” responded the other, “I am quite willing
you should satisfy yourself, and in your own way.”
“I will,” replied Bunker. “And first, let us see how you
stand in arithmetic. What will twenty-seven multiplied by
twenty-three produce? Don't look round for a slate or
paper, but work it out in your head, as I do all my reckoning.”
This sum, as soon as the answer was given by the one and
pronounced correct by the other, was followed by more questions
in each of the other fundamental rules of the science
under consideration. Then came questions requiring, first,
the aid of two of these rules, then three, then all, each
ground-work of common arithmetic was passed over by the
questioner; in all of which he showed himself a proficient in
mental arithmetic to a degree that perfectly astonished our
hero, who, though he was, from his former habits of working
sums in his head while at work, uncommonly ready at this
exercise, was yet often put to his best powers in furnishing
answers as soon as they were obtained by the proposer.
“Well, well, young man,” said Bunker, with a look of
approbation, as he brought his questions in this branch to a
close, “it is not every one that can do what you have done.
But we will now see if you can do as well in other matters.
We will take geography, which I rank next to arithmetic in
usefulness. Boys, will one of you step into the house, and
bring us my maps?”
The boy despatched soon returned with a full and valuable
set of maps, with which, to the surprise of Locke, the owner
soon showed himself perfectly familiar; he, it appeared,
having purchased them, some years before, for himself and
children, with whom he had studied them, always keeping a
boy by his side, when thus occupied, to read him the names
of rivers, lakes, &c., as, one by one, he traced out each on
the map with his finger, till he had mastered the whole.
A thorough and critical examination was now commenced,
and, for some time, carried on by Bunker, in a series of novel
and ingenious questions, well calculated to detect any deficiency
in the examined.
“Very well, very well, sir,” said the interrogator, good
humoredly, as he finished this part of his examination, “I
don't see but what you understand geography nearly as well
as a man who can neither read nor write. There is one
general question more, however, that I will ask you — which
do you call the largest river in the world?”
“The Amazon is so accounted,” replied the other.
“Yes, I know it is so laid down in the books; but do you
think it so yourself?”
“I had supposed that to be the case, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because it discharges the most water in a given time.”
“You have got hold of the right manner of testing it, if
it was only capable of being reduced to practice; and what
you assert of this river may be a fact; but the question is,
how it can be ascertained.”
“Why, sir, it is the widest river, certainly.”
“Widest! There again is one of your book rules, and
see where it will land you, sir! Don't these fools of book-makers
know, that one river may be twice as deep, and run
twice as fast as another; and consequently, that one river of
a mile wide may discharge as much water as another of
double that width, in the same time?”
“I had concluded that all these circumstances had been
taken into the account, when comparing the size of this river
with that of the Mississippi, or other large rivers, before the
fact in question was put down as established.”
“Some guess-work of the kind may have been had on the
subject, probably enough. But that is all; for do you suppose
anybody has ever measured the depth or swiftness of the
currents of these rivers? No! Why, it would take a board
of engineers two years, and at the cost of millions, to do this
with any accuracy. They would have to go, foot by foot,
through the constantly-varying currents from one side to the
other; and even then, how would they ascertain whether the
water at the surface did not move twice as fast as at the bottom?
No, sir, this never was or will be done. We must
depend on other methods for ascertaining facts of this kind.”
“What other method would you then propose?”
“Why, I have been able to think of no method so good as
to ascertain the number of square miles which is drained by
the quantity of surface thus drained is found, take another
river, find the surface that drains also, compare the results,
and you have the relative size of the two. Now here is a
very simple method, which I practise for this purpose,” continued
the speaker, spreading open the maps of North and
South America. “Both these are on the same scale, you
see. Now I will place this piece of white paper over that
part of South America which is drained by the Amazon, and
then cut it down with the scissors, so that its outline shall
just cover the extreme points, or sources of all the tributaries
of this great river. Then we will cut the paper, thus
made to represent the required surface on the same scale
with the map, into triangles, or such other figures as can be
put together again in some square shape, for measurement in
square miles. In this manner, if the map be correct, you
get the surface drained by the Amazon. You then can go
through the same operation with the Mississippi, obtain your
result, compare it with that of the former, and you will have
the difference between the sizes of these two king-rivers of
the new world. And whenever you do it, you will find that
difference much less than is generally supposed; you will
find that our Mississippi of a mile wide, when it meets the
tide-waters, is more than three-fourths as large as the mighty
Amazon, which is put down in the books to be from fifty to
one hundred and eighty miles wide at its mouth. And if the
maps could be corrected, so as to show the exact truth, I am
not so sure but one would be found as large as the other.”
“Your method is new to me, Mr. Bunker,” observed
Locke, “and I shall probably be indebted to you for a new
idea. I will think of it.”
“Ay, think — that's the way to get true knowledge.”
“Have you any questions to ask me in the other branches,
sir?”
“Not many. There is reading, writing, grammar, &c.,
which I know nothing about; and as to them, I must, of
course, take you by guess, which will not be much of a guess,
after all, if I find you have thought well on all other matters.
Do you understand philosophy? It is not often
required of our common schoolmasters, I know, but it is a
grand thing for them to understand something of it; for then
they will naturally, on a thousand occasions, be putting new
ideas into the heads of their scholars, and in that way set
them to thinking for themselves.”
“To what branch of philosophy do you allude, sir?”
“To the only branch there is.”
“But you are aware, that philosophy is divided into different
kinds, as natural, moral, and intellectual?”
“Nonsense! philosophy is philosophy, and means the
study of the reasons and causes of the things which we see,
whether it be applied to a crazy man's dreams, or the roasting
of potatoes. Have you attended to it?”
“Yes, to a considerable extent, sir.”
“I will put a question or two, then, if you please. What
is the reason of the fact, for it is a fact, that the damp breath
of a person blown on to a good knife, and on to a bad one,
will soonest disappear from the well-tempered blade?”
“It may be owing to the difference in the polish of the
two blades, perhaps,” replied Locke.
“Ah! that is an answer that don't go deeper than the surface,”
rejoined Bunker, humorously. “As good a thinker as
you evidently are, you have not thought of this subject, I
suspect. It took me a week, in all, I presume, of hard
thinking, and making experiments at a blacksmith's shop, to
discover the reason of this. It is not the polish; for take
two blades of equal polish, and the breath will disappear
from one as much quicker than it does from the other, as the
blade is better. It is because the material of the blade is
In the first place, I ascertained that steel was made more
compact by being hammered and tempered, and that the
better it was tempered, the more compact it would become;
the size of the pores being made, of course, less in the same
proportion. Well, then, I saw the reason I was in search
of, at once. For we know a wet sponge is longer in drying
than a wet piece of green wood, because the pores of the first
are bigger. A seasoned or shrunk piece of wood dries
quicker than a green one, for the same reason. Or you
might bore a piece of wood with large gimblet holes, and
another with small ones, fill them both with water, and let
them stand till the water evaporated, and the difference of
time it would take to do this, would make the case still more
plain. So with the blades; the wet or vapor lingers longest
on the worst wrought and tempered one, because the pores,
being larger, take in more of the wet particles, and require
more time in drying.”
“Your theory is at least a very ingenious one,” observed
Locke, “and I am reminded by it of another of the natural
phenomena, of the true explanation of which I have not
been able to satisfy myself. It is this: what makes the
earth freeze harder and deeper under a trodden path than
the untrodden earth around it. All that I have asked, say
it is because the trodden earth is more compact. But is that
reason a sufficient one?”
“No,” said Bunker, “but I will tell you what the reason
is; for I thought that out long ago. You know that, in the
freezing months, much of the warmth we get is given out by
the earth, from which, at intervals, if not constantly, to some
extent, ascend the warm vapors to mingle with and moderate
the cold atmosphere above. Now those ascending streams
of warm air would be almost wholly obstructed by the compactness
of a trodden path, and they would naturally divide
earth on each side, leaving the ground along the line of the
path, to a great depth beneath it, a cold, dead mass, through
which the frost would continue to penetrate, unchecked by
the internal heat, which, in its unobstructed ascent on each
side, would be continually checking or overcoming the frost
in its action on the earth around. That, sir, is the true philosophy
of the case, you may depend upon it. But now let
me ask you a question — and it shall be the last one — a
question which, perhaps, you may think a trifling one, but
which, for all that, is full of meaning. What is the truest
sign by which you can judge of the coming weather?”
“The quantity of dew that has fallen the night before, or
that is then falling, if it be evening and the prognostic is
required for the next day,” replied the other. “At least I
have never noticed any better criterion.”
“That is an old rule, and a good one, I grant you,”
remarked Bunker; “but not so curious and unfailing as
another which I, some time ago, began to observe.”
“What may that be, sir?”
“Why, this, when you wish to know what the weather is
going to be, just go out, and select the smallest cloud you can
see, keep your eye upon it, and if it decreases and disappears,
it shows a state of the air which will be sure to be
followed by fair weather; but if it increases, you may as
well take your great coat with you, if you are going from
home, for falling weather will not be far off.”
“That is, indeed, a curious and interesting fact in meteorology,”
responded Locke, “and I can readily see the reason
why the indication should generally, at least, hold good.”
“And what is that reason?” asked Bunker, with interest.
“Why, it is resolvable into electric phenomenon, I suspect,”
answered the former. “Whenever the air is becoming
charged with electricity, you will see every cloud
And, on the contrary, when this fluid is passing off, or diffusing
itself, even a large cloud will be seen breaking to
pieces and dissolving.”
“Right, sir!” cried Bunker; “you are a thinker, and no
mistake. And let me tell you, there's more depending on
that same electricity than your book philosophers dream of.
I am pretty well satisfied, that not only our dry seasons and
our wet ones, our cold seasons and our warm ones, are caused
by some variation in the state of the electric fluid, but that
our epidemical diseases, and a thousand other things that we
cannot account for, are to be atributed to the same cause.
But we will now drop the discussion of these matters; for
I am abundantly satisfied, that you have not only knowledge
enough, but that you can think for yourself. And now, sir,
all I wish to know further about you is, whether you can
teach others to think, which is half the battle with a teacher.
But as I have had an eye on this point, while attending to
the others, probably one experiment, which I will put upon
you to make on one of the boys here, will be all I shall
want.”
“Proceed, sir,” said the other.
“Ay, sir,” rejoined Bunker, turning to the open fire-place,
in which the burning wood was sending up a column of
smoke; “there you see that smoke rising, don't you? Well,
you and I know the reason why smoke goes upward, but my
youngest boy don't, I rather think. Now take your own
way, and see if you can make him clearly understand it.”
Locke, after a moment's reflection and a glance round the
room for something to serve for apparatus, took from a shelf,
where he had espied a number of the articles, the smallest
of a set of cast-iron cart-boxes, as is usually termed the
round, hollow tubes, in which the axletree of a carriage
turns. Then selecting a tin cup, that would just take in the
with the box, would fill it, he presented them separately to
the boy, and said,
“There, my lad, tell me which of these is the heaviest?”
“Why, the cart-box, to be sure,” replied the boy, taking
the cup half-filled with water in one hand, and the hollow
iron in the other.
“Then you think this iron is heavier than as much water
as would fill the place of it, do you?” resumed Locke.
“Why, yes, as heavy again, and more too — I know 't is,”
promptly said the boy.
“Well, sir, now mark what I do,” proceeded the former,
dropping into the cup the iron box, through the hollow of
which the water instantly rose to the brim of the vessel.
“There, you saw that water rise to the top of the cup, did
you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Very well, what caused it to do so?”
“Why, I know well enough, if I could think; why, it is
because the iron is the heaviest, and as it comes all round
the water so it can't get away sideways, it is forced up.”
“That is right; and now I want you to tell me what
makes that smoke rise up the chimney.”
“Why, I guess,” replied the boy, scratching his head, “I
guess — I guess I don't know.”
“Did you ever get up in a chair to look on some high
shelf, so that your head was brought near the ceiling of a
heated room, in winter? and, if so, did you notice any difference
between the air up there and the air near the floor
below?”
“Yes, I remember — I have, and found the air up there
as warm as mustard; and when I got down, and bent my
head near the floor to pick up something, I found it as cold
as tunket.”
“That is ever the case; but I wish you to tell me how
the cold air always happens to settle down to the lower part
of the room, while the warm air, some how, at the same
time, gets above.”
“Why, why, heavy things settle down, and the cold air —
yes, that's it, an't it? — the cold air is heaviest, and so settles
down, and crowds up the warm air, that is lightest.”
“Very good. You then understand that cold air is heavier
than the heated air, as that iron is heavier than the water;
so we now will go back to the main question — what makes
the smoke go upwards?”
“Oh! I see it now as plain as day; the cold air settles
down all round, like the iron box, and drives up the hot air,
as fast as the fire heats it in the middle, like the water; and
so the hot air carries the smoke along up with it, same as
feathers and things in a whirlwind. Gorry! I have found out
what makes smoke go up — it is curious, though, an't it, you?”
“Done like a philosopher!” cried Bunker. “The thing
is settled. I will give up that you are an academician of a
thousand. You can not only think for yourself, but can
teach others to think; and I therefore pronounce you well
qualified for a schoolmaster, in every thing except government,
about which we will hope for the best, and run the
risk; so you may call it a bargain as quick as you please.”
“You offer to make it so on your part, I suppose you
mean to be understood,” said Locke; “for on mine, you
remember I told you, some time ago, that I feel unwilling to
undertake to govern a school of the character I have discovered
yours to be.”
“What, back out now?” exclaimed the other, with a disappointed
air. “Why, I was beginning to have a first-rate
opinion of you, and thought, of course, you would have
spunk enough to make a trial, at least. Surely, you an't
such a coward as to be afraid to do that, are you?”
These last remarks of Bunker, as taunting as they were
in import, were yet made in such a half-reproachful, half-respectful
manner, that they might not have brought our
hero to any decision, but for the low, deriding laugh which
the two larger boys set up on the occasion, and which fell upon
his ears with such an exasperating effect, that it brought him to
an instant determination, and he replied, with unwonted spirit,
“I will come on, sir; and with your permission, we will
see whether pupil or teacher shall be the master of the school
for the remainder of the winter.”
“Good! that sounds like something,” said Bunker, with
returning good humor. “Boys,” he continued, nodding significantly
to his two oldest sons, “boys, did you hear that?
Ah! all will come out well enough, I imagine. But come,
sir, now we have settled the contract, we will walk into the
house for a little refreshment before we let you go home;
and while taking it, we will fix on the day of beginning the
school, first boarding place, &c. Come, sir, come on; and if
you have a good appetite, I will promise you a good dinner.”
The decisive answer, which bound our hero to engage in
this school, had now been given, and he had too much pride
to make any attempts to recede from it; although, it must be
confessed, that as soon as the momentary impulse, under
which he had thus consummated the bargain, had died away,
he more than half regretted the step he had taken. As it was,
however, he soon determined to throw aside, as far as possible,
both fears and regrets, and, arming himself with the
rectitude of his purposes, proceed boldly and decidedly upon
the task now before him. He at once saw, that, in this
school, as in many others in our country, especially in the
newer parts of it, a false standard of honor had, from some
peculiar combination of circumstances, sprung up among the
scholars; that instead of intellectual attainments, physical
prowess, or mere brute force, had unfortunately been made
very natural consequence, had led to the insubordination,
and the frequent attempts of bullying the master, of which
he had heard. And he justly reasoned, that, if he could
break down this false standard, and set up the true one, as
he was resolved, as far as practicable, to do, it would not
only insure his own success, but prove the greatest of blessings
to the school. He could not expect, however, to effect
this object, at once; and the greatest difficulties, therefore,
he would have to encounter, would be likely to occur during
the first weeks of his school. It was this which had caused
him so long to hesitate. But having, at length, been spurred
into the undertaking, in the manner above mentioned, he
now made up his mind to face the dangers manfully; and, if
acts of moral courage would not serve, physical force, according
to the best of his ability, should be employed to complete
the conquest, till his contemplated reformation, in this objectionable
feature of the school, could be effected. It was
with these feelings, that, after an interesting hour spent in
general conversation, during the preparing and partaking of
the substantial meal provided on the occasion, Locke Amsden
took leave of his singular host and employer, and departed.
On his way homeward, young Amsden fell to revolving
over in mind the occurrences of the day, dwelling on the
unexpected manner in which he had been received and examined,
and on the still more unexpected intelligence of the
man with whom he had thus come in contact, with the
interested and curious feelings of one to whom some new
leaf in the book of human nature has been presented for
contemplation and study. He had been taken by complete
surprise by the character of Bunker. Like many other students,
whose intercourse is yet mainly confined to their fellows
and instructors of the high schools, he had been led to
underrate the strength and compass of the uneducated mind;
he understood him to be ignorant of even the simplest rudiments
of learning, one of a corresponding ignorance of
principles and lack of ideas. But, instead of this, he had
found a wholly unlettered man, who had grasped and mastered
all the leading principles of several of the most important
sciences; and who, by his own unassisted thought and observation,
had stored his mind with a fund of original ideas
more ample, perhaps, than that of many a scholar who had
trod the whole round of the sciences. Some of Bunker's
notions, it is true — such, for instance, as his opinion of book-learning,
and the views he apparently entertained relative to
a dependence on force for governing a school — our hero
believed to be entirely erroneous; but the greater part of
the man's ideas had struck him as not only new, but generally
as forcible and just. And now, as he again called
them to mind, and thought of the disadvantages under which
they had been acquired, he could not forbear mentally exclaiming,
“What might not such a mind become by the
assistance of a well-applied education?”
Such were the reflections of our young aspirant, who, ever
eager for knowledge, from whatever source it might come,
felt himself instructed by what he had that day heard and
witnessed. And well and wisely had he acted, in listening,
in the spirit of candid inquiry, to the suggestions of one
whose ideas were so entirely the fruits of his own independent
thought and discriminating observation; for among
people of such minds, however obscure or illiterate they may
be, will be found, for those who can separate truth from the
errors with which it may there occasionally be intermixed,
the most productive fields for gleaning knowledge.
It was a favorite theory of the self-taught mountaineer
whom we have introduced, it will be recollected, that every
thing depended on being able to think. It would be well,
claiming to be friends to her advancement, more who held to
the same opinion — who were at the same pains to enforce,
by precept and example, this theory in its true meaning, as
they are to remould, amplify, and bring out in new dresses,
the thoughts which those old strong thinkers of gone-by
days have wrought out for the appropriation of the intellectual
idlers and surface-skimming book-makers of the
present. This may be, and doubtless is, a reading age; but
with all its advantages, we see not what claim it has to be
called a thinking age. The cause of this may, in some
measure, perhaps, be attributable to the prevailing utilitarian
spirit of the times, which is more likely to lead only to the
lighter investigations required in turning to account what is
already known in science, than to laborious thinking, and
those profound researches by which the scholars of past
times were accustomed to push their way in the field of discovery;
and which, by inviting and turning, through superior
inducement, the greater proportion of the talents of the day
into one channel, may have a tendency to circumscribe, impede,
and weaken the operations of mind, and unfit it for the
free, bold, and vigorous action which ever characterizes a
thinking age. Another cause for this intellectual characteristic
of our times may, perhaps, be found in the great
comparative ease with which knowledge is now acquired.
The sciences, as now taught in our schools, are simplified to
the utmost. Besides this, a great proportion of our text-books
are prepared with questions involving most of what
is essential to be learned on the subject matter therein
contained. The answers to these questions, we fear, are
quite too often obtained at an easier rate than by investigations
of the lessons from which they alone should be gathered,
and consequently without a full understanding of the subject.
What is still worse in this system, as usually conducted,
he conceives he need not push his investigations; and when
that limit, which embraces all the questions propounded, is
gained, he thinks his task perfected. In this manner he
is deterred from extending his inquiries on many different
points which might otherwise occur to his mind, and from
examining many bearings of the subject which he otherwise
would do. But whatever may be the cause of the fact, if
fact it be, as we believe, the existence of that fact is an evil
which is as unnecessary as it is ominous to the progress of
scientific discovery; and it should awaken the attention of
the friends of science to the adoption of a course of measures
that shall have a tendency to supply a remedy, without
infringing upon the advantages to be derived from any real
improvements which have been made.
We will now return from our digression. After a long
and tedious ride, during which a dark and squally night had
shut down over the desolate landscape, our hero's eyes were
at length greeted with the cheering light that issued from the
blazing logs, which, as usual on nights of the wintry character
of the present, were liberally piled on the hearth of his
father's kitchen. On reaching the house, he put his horse
into the stable, and joined the family group within, whom,
for the last hour, he had been envying, as he truly pictured
them sitting in comfort around the social fireside. Having
done good justice to a choice repast which maternal solicitude
had prepared and kept in readiness for his expected return,
he related the adventures of his excursion and the result,
and paused to hear the comments which his parents and
brother might make on the occasion.
“They must be strange people,” remarked Mrs. Amsden;
“and as parents, singular, indeed, must be their notions,
which permit them thus to sanction the conduct of their
sorry you engaged in such a place, Locke.”
“O, I don't know,” said Mr. Amsden; “they seem rather
rough, according to Locke's story, to be sure; but it may do
him good to place him among folks that will wake him up a
little. There's spunk enough in him, if you could get it to
the surface, I rather guess. At all events, now he has
engaged, I would do my best to carry it out, if I was he.”
“So would I,” promptly responded Ben. “Why, I've
seen those Horn-of-the-Moon boys often enough at the wrestling
rings at the muster trainings. Some of 'em, particularly
the Bunkers, are as strong as mooses, sure enough; but, in
any case that takes real grit to carry it out, I don't believe
they are any great scratch. I saw a little up-and-coming
sort of a fellow, from Sodom corner, in a fracas that a lot of
'em got into at the last muster, fairly scare from the ground
a fellow of the Horn gang as big as two of him; and then
stumped all the rest to come on, one at a time, and there
was n't a soul of the whole boodle that dared go it. Concern
'em! I could contrive a way to manage 'em.”
“And what would be the general features of your plan of
operations, my learned brother?” said Locke, smiling good-naturedly
at the thought of the other turning adviser in
matters of school-keeping.
“I am learned enough to know what is the best way of
getting along with such a pack as the Horn-of-the-Moon
boys, at any rate, I think,” replied Ben, slightly nettled;
“and that is more than you know, or can do, without help, I
fear. But if you want to know my plan, I will tell you: —
In the first place, I would give out, in some way, that I was
most furious quick-tempered, and so unfortunate bad and
ructious, that from a child, when any one crossed and disputed
me. I would fly all to pieces, and, without knowing
him down. Now, don't you think they would be rather
careful what they did, after they believed that?”
“I shall go on and endeavor to do my duty in a proper
and decided manner,” said Locke, in reply; “but to adopt
your plan, though it might have its effect for a while, would
yet be practising a deception to which I could never condescend.”
“That is right, my son,” said Mrs. Amsden: “I approve
your determination to practise no deception; I would not,
whatever the result.”
“Why, mother,” said Ben, “to fight Old Nick with Old
Nick's play, if we must fight him at all, I thought was right,
the world over.”
“No, Benjamin,” rejoined the mother seriously, but
kindly, “that is a bad principle to act upon. Deception
never long prospers; and, by its destructive effect on the
morals of him who begins to practise it, generally ends in
the ruin of him and all his plans.”
Ben did not attempt to controvert his mother's general
position, but still manifested a disposition to adhere to his
opinion respecting the right and expediency of adopting the
particular project he had advanced; and muttering, “Well,
Locke must be helped for all that,” fell to musing and
devising some means by which his plan might be carried
into effect without his brother's agency; but, not seeing fit to
make known any of his conclusions, his remarks were soon
forgotten, and the whole subject being at length dropped, the
family retired for the night.
| CHAPTER III. Locke Amsden, The schoolmaster | |