CHAPTER II.
THE STRUGGLE OF BOYHOOD.
Socrates.—Alcibiades, what sayest thou that is, passing between us and yon wall?
Alcibiades.—I should call it a thing; some call it a boy.
Soc.—Nay, I call it neither a thing nor a boy, but rather a young man. By Hercules, if I should go further, I should say that that being is a god in embryo!
Alc.—You are my master, Socrates, or I should say that nature would have hard work to hatch a god out of such an object.
Soc.—Most men are fools, Alcibiades, because they are unable to discover in the germ, or even in the growing stalk, the vast possibilities of development. They forget the beauty of growth; and, therefore, they reckon not that nature and discipline are able to make yon boy as one of the immortals.
So the child James Garfield advanced into the golden age of boyhood. This period we will now briefly live over after him. Spring time deepens into early summer; the branches and the leaves are swollen with life’s young sap; what manner of fruit will this growing tree offer the creative sun to work upon?
The young lad, in whom our interest centers, was now, in the autumn of 1843, twelve years old, when something new came into his life, and gave to him his first definite and well-fixed purpose. He had always, and by nature, been industrious. In that little farm home, where poverty strove continually to carry the day against the combined forces of industry and economy, no service was without its value. And, therefore, it had doubtless been a delight to all in that narrow circle to observe in James the qualities of a good worker. He seemed a true child of that wonderful western country which is yet so young, and so able to turn its energies to advantage in every available way. So, while still too young to “make a hand” at anything, James had found his place wherever there was demand for such light duties as he was able to perform. At field, barn or cabin, in garden or in kitchen, place there was none where the little fellow’s powers were not exercised. Instinct with forces larger than his frame, development of them was inevitable.
GARFIELD AT SIXTEEN.
But now a great event in the family took place. Thomas, who had just attained his majority, had returned from a trip to Michigan with a sum of ready money, and wanted to build his mother a new house. Life in the cabin had, in his estimation, been endured long enough. Some of the materials for a frame building were already accumulated, and under the directions of a carpenter the work was begun and rapidly pushed to completion. In all these proceedings James took an intense interest, and developed such a liking for tools and timber as could but signify a member of the Builders’ Guild. He resolved to be a carpenter; and from this day on was never for a moment without an object in life.
The ambition to “be something” took many different turns, but was a force which, once created, could never be put down. The care and skill requisite to putting a house together, fitting the rafters into place, and joining part to part with mathematical precision, gave him an idea that these things were of a higher order than farm labor. Plain digging would no longer do; there must be a better chance to contrive something, to conjure up plans and ways and means in the brain, and show forth ideas by the skill of the hand. Consequently a variety of tools began to accumulate about James Garfield. There was a corner somewhere which, in imitation of the great carpenter who built their house, he called his “shop;” a rough bench, perhaps, with a few planes, and mallets, and chisels, and saws, and the like, to help in mending the gates and doors about the place. No independent farm can get along without such help, and of course these services were in constant demand.
The dexterity thus acquired soon led to earnings abroad. The first money Garfield ever received in this way was one dollar, which the village carpenter paid him for planing a hundred boards at a cent apiece. His active and earnest performance of every duty brought him plenty of offers, and between the ages of twelve and fifteen years he helped to put up a number of buildings in that district of country, some of which are standing to this day.
Thus this young life passed away the precious time of the early teens. Work and study; study and work. Hands and feet, marrow and muscle, all steadily engaged in the rugged discipline of labor, battling with nature for subsistence. But time rolls on; childhood fast recedes from that glory from the other side which fringes the dawn; and, as we move on, every rising sun wakes up a new idea. While our young friend gave his attention and strength to industry, his imagination began to live in a new world. He had been to school, and still went a few months each year; and the following incident will indicate what a good-hearted, bright school-boy he was. There was a spelling-match in the little log school-house, in which James, who was thirteen years old, took part. The teacher told the scholars that if they whispered she would send them home. The lad standing next to James got confused, and to help him James told him how to spell the word. The teacher saw this, and said: “James, you know the rule; you must go home.” James picked up his cap and left. In a very few seconds he returned and took his place in the class. “Why, how is this, James? I told you to go home,” said his teacher. “I know it, and I went home,” said James.
But the log school-house, with its mystery of the three R’s, was not sufficient. James was one of the boys who are born to the love of books. Whatever had an intelligent aspect, whatever thing had the color and glow of an idea, was by nature attractive to his mind, and this he sought with eagerness and zeal. Therefore, even before the boy could read, his mother had read to him; and afterwards winter evening and leisure summer hour alike went swiftly by. The scholar in him hungered for the scholar’s meat and drink; which means books, and books, and never enough of them.
These people did not have many volumes, but they used them only the more, and knew them the better. Among them all, first in their affections, was the Bible. The woman, whose staff at eighty, when bowed down under the great sorrow, was the Everlasting Word, loved the Bible in her youth, and led her children to it as to a fountain of pure water. Thus James early acquired some knowledge of the old Bible stories, and it is said was somewhat fond of showing his superior learning. This he did by asking his little friends profound questions, such as: “Who slew Absalom?” “What cities were destroyed with fire and brimstone from the sky?” And when all had professed ignorance, he would invite their admiration by a revelation of the facts.
At this period of time, however, it is likely that his lively imagination was more vividly impressed with two or three other books which had found their places on the book-shelf of the house—books of adventure, with their thrilling scenes, their deeds of danger, dashing and gallant. And accordingly it is related that about this time James Garfield became deeply interested in the life of Napoleon, as told by Grimshaw. How eagerly he must have followed out the magical story of that wonderful career of glory and blood through all its varied windings; seeing first a young Corsican lieutenant on the road to Paris, by sudden and brilliant successes rising quickly, step by step, but ever on the run, to be First Consul of the new French Republic, and then Emperor. Austerlitz, its carnage, its awful crisis, and its splendid victory; the terrible Russian campaign, with the untold horrors of that memorable retreat before the fierce troops of Cossack riders; on, and ever on through the changing fields of bright transfigurations and the Cimmerian darkness of defeat, down to the fell catastrophe at Waterloo,—and young Garfield lived and moved in it all, like an old soldier of the Imperial Legion. Another brave old book he knew was a “Life of Marion,” which had the added interest of telling the story of our own first great struggle for liberty. No wonder then, that, with such food for wild fancies as these at hand, James felt in his veins the hot blood of a martial hero, and resolved aloud, before his laughing relatives, that he meant to “be a soldier, and win great battles, as Napoleon did.”
But the smoke of battle was yet afar off. So on flew the winter days and nights at more than lightning speed, in hours of work and school, books and dreams, and all the myriad modes and moods of human life. So, too, passed the summer time, whose busy labors preserved the family from want. Our young farmer and carpenter kept ever at the post of duty. Pressed by necessity from without, moved from within by the growing restlessness of a spirit which fed on stories of adventure, a nervous and ceaseless activity pushed him steadily forward to the new experiences which only waited for his coming. Another motive, more to the credit of his goodness of heart, which kept James busy, was that deathless love for his mother which, from the beginning, was the chief fountain of all good in his life. He knew how the faithful widow had lived and worked only for her children; that her hopes were bound up in their fortunes; and he determined that, as for him, she should not be disappointed. With this high purpose in mind, he worked on,—worked on the farm, labored on the neighboring farms, exercised his carpentering skill in country and in village, till his friends proudly said: “James Garfield is the most industrious boy in his neighborhood; there is not a lazy hair on his head.”
When about fifteen years old, in the course of his trade, he was called on to assist in the building of an addition to a house, for a man who lived several miles away from the home farm. This man, whose business was that of a “black-salter,” noticed the peculiar activity and ingenuity displayed by James in his work, and took a liking to him. Being in need of such a person, he offered him his board and fourteen dollars a month to stay with him, help in the saltery, and superintend the financial part of the concern. After some meditation, and a consultation on the subject at home, James accepted the offer. This was against the judgment of Mrs. Garfield, whose advice was, at least, always respectfully heard, though not always followed. In this business he succeeded well, and was expected, by his employer, to make a first-class salter. But the spirit of adventure again revived in him. There came a new book, and a new epoch, and the old wish to become an American Napoleon took a fresh turn. He saw no way to be a soldier. The peaceful progress of the Ohio country, fast developing in agriculture and its attendant industries, did not offer very good opportunity for a great campaign, and military leadership was, therefore, not in demand.
In this unfortunate conjuncture of civil surroundings with uncivil ambitions, James began to read books about the sea. “Jack Halyard” took the place of General Marion; white sails began to spread themselves in his brain; the story of Nelson and Trafalgar, and the like men and things began to take shape in his thought as the central facts of history; and a life on the ocean wave hung aloft before him as the summit of every aspiration worth a moment’s entertainment. Through all these notions we can see only a reflection of the books he read. Give a child its first look at the world through blue spectacles, and the world will be blue to the child; give a boy his first ideas of the world beyond his neighborhood by means of soldiers and navies, and he will be soldier and sailor at once. James was now approaching the age of sixteen years. New force was added to the sea-fever by a work named “The Pirate’s Own Book.” New tales of adventure stirred his blood; he could even sympathize with the triumphs of a bold buccaneer, and with the Corsair sing:
While in this brittle state of mind no great provocation would he need to produce a break with the black-salter. Accordingly, an insult, which soon offered, led to a scene and a departure. Some member of the family alluded to James as a “servant.” In an instant his warm blood rose to fever heat; he refused to stay another hour where such things could be said of him. The employer’s stock of eloquence was too small to change the fiery youth’s mind; and that night he slept again beneath his mother’s roof.
Hitherto the forces and facts which rested in and about James A. Garfield had kept him near home; the outward tending movement now became powerful, and struggled for control. With the passion for the sea at its height, he began to consider the situation. At home was the dear mother with her great longing that he should love books, go to school, and become a man among men, educated, a leader, and peer of the best in character and intellect. And how could he leave her? The struggle for life had not yet become easy on the farm, and his absence would be felt. “Leave us not,” pleads the home. “The sea, land-lubber, the wide, free ocean,” says the buccaneer within. At this point, while he reflected at home on these things, being out of employment, a new incident occurred.
Our young friend had now acquired something more than the average strength of a full-grown man. Born of a hardy race, constant exercise of so many kinds was giving him extraordinary physical power. So he felt equal to the opportunity which offered itself, and became a wood-chopper. Twenty-five cords of wood were rapidly cut for a reward of seven dollars. The place where this was done was near Newburg, a small town close to Cleveland. During this time his mother hoped and prayed that the previous intention of her son, to go to the lake and become a sailor, would weaken, and that he would be led to remain at home; but fate decreed otherwise. The scene of his wood-cutting exploit was close to the lake shore, where the vessels passed at every hour. The excitement within him, as each sail went out beyond the horizon, never ceased. The story never grew old. The pirate had not died, but still plotted for plunder, and hungered for black flags, cutlasses and blood. No doubt Garfield would have been a good-hearted corsair—one of the generous fellows who plundered Spanish galleons just because their gain had been ill-gotten; who spared the lives and restored the money of the innocent, gave no quarter to the real villains, and never let a fair woman go unrescued.
Returning home from Newburg to see his mother, she persuaded him to remain a while longer. Harvest-time would soon approach, and his services were needed on the farm. Of course, he stayed; helped them through the season, and even spent some extra time working for a neighbor. But the facts of a boy’s future sometimes can not be changed by circumstances. A firm-set resolve may be hindered long, but not forever. James Garfield had set his head to be a sailor, and a sailor he would be. Farming was a very good business, no doubt, and just the thing for the brother Thomas, but by no means suited to a young salt like himself.
Now, bright blue waves of Erie, dash against your shores with glee, and rise to meet your coming conqueror! The last family prayer was uttered, the good-bye kiss was given; and mother Garfield stood in the low doorway, peering out through the mists of morning, to catch a last glimpse of the boy who has just received her parting blessing. The story of that memorable time is already well known. With a bundle of clothes on a stick, thrown across his sturdy shoulder, he trudged along, sometimes wearily, but always cheerily, bound for the harbor of Cleveland. The way was probably void of noteworthy incidents; and, with his thoughts all absorbed on what he believed to be his coming experiences on deck, he arrived at Cleveland. It was an evening in July of 1848. The next morning, after due refreshment and a walk about the city, being determined on an immediate employment, he lost no more time in hastening toward the rolling deep. Boarding the only vessel in port at the time, he strolled about and waited for the appearance of his intended captain. The experience of that hour was never forgotten. Garfield’s ideas of a sailor had thus far chiefly come out of books, and Jack, as a swearing tar, he was not prepared to meet. Presently a confused sound came up from the hold, first faintly muttering, then swelling in volume as it came nearer and nearer. Uncertainty about the matter soon ceased, however, as the “noble captain’s” head appeared, from which were issuing rapid volleys of oaths, fired into space, probably, as a salute to the glorious god of day. Rough in looks, rude in manners, a coarse and petty tyrant on the water, and a drunkard both there and on land, this bloated individual was not the one to greet a green and awkward boy with soft words. Glad to see a new object for his hitherto objectless oaths, he inquired Garfield’s business there, in language not well shaped to courtesy nor kindness. The offer of his services was made, however, as James was not disposed to back out of any thing; but he was informed that they had no use for him, and obliged to retire in confusion, amid the continued curses of a magnanimous commander, and the profane laughter of an uncouth group of the commanded.
At this moment of time the reader will pause to reflect and consider on what a delicate balance hangs the history of the world, and the men who make the world. “Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!” The results of that day’s experience at Cleveland are written in every public event that ever felt the force of Garfield’s molding influence.
Senates owed a name which raised their reputation, armies owed their victories to the drunken vulgarity of an Erie captain! That was Garfield’s first day in Cleveland. You who know the future, which has now become the past, think, and compare it with his last day there!
Having beat an inglorious retreat from the lake, James was now forced to confront a new and unexpected difficulty. First, he became sensible that his treatment there had probably arisen principally from his rustic appearance; and the notion came close behind that the same scene was liable to be enacted if he should try again. He had plenty of pluck, but also a good stock of prudence. Go home he would not, at least till he had by some means conquered defeat. “What shall I do next?” he muttered as he sauntered along. He had already learned, by inquiries in town during the day, that work there would be difficult to get. In this perplexity, as in every doubtful situation in the world, when difficulties are met by determination, a clear way out came to him. The problem was solved thus: “I’m going to be a sailor. But the ocean is too far away, and I must make my way there by lake, meanwhile learning what I can about the business. But I can’t go on the lake now,—and there’s nothing left me but the muddy canal. I will go first by way of the canal, meanwhile learning what I can about the business.” To the canal he turned his tired steps.
It was the old Ohio and Pennsylvania Canal; and he found, by rare good fortune, a boat ready to start, and in need of a driver. The captain of this less ambitious navigating affair proved to be not quite so rich in profanity, but more wealthy in good-natured sympathy; his name was Amos Letcher, and he was Garfield’s cousin. To this man James told the story of his experience thus far, and asked employment on the boat. The result was a contract to drive mules. Letcher became much interested in his young friend, and is authority for some good stories about this “voyage.”
When the time came to start, the Evening Star was brought up to the first lock, and after some delay got through. On the other side waited the mule-team and its impatient driver, who was eager for the trip to begin. In a few hours he would be farther from home than ever in his life before, traveling a path which led he knew not whither. Practically, they were bound for Pittsburgh. To his imagination, it was a trip around the world. So the whip was flourished triumphantly, and this circumnavigation committee of one was on his way.
Directly a boat approached from the opposite direction. Jim bungled, in his excitement, and got his lines tangled. While he stopped to get things straight, the boat came up even with him, leaving the tow-line slack for several yards. Eased of their load, the mules trotted on quickly to the extent of the line, when, with a sudden jerk, the boat caught on a bridge they were passing, and team, driver, and all were in the canal.
The boy, however, was not disconcerted, but climbed out, and, amid loud laughter from those on board, proceeded coolly along as if it had been a regular morning bath.
The rough men of the canal were fond of a fight, and always ready at fisticuffs. One of the most frequent occasions of these difficulties was at the locks, where but one boat could pass at a time. When two boats were approaching from opposite directions each always tried to get there first, so as to have the right to go through before the other. This was a prolific source of trouble.
As the Evening Star approached lock twenty-one at Akron, one of these scenes was threatened. An opposite boat came up just as Letcher was about to turn the lock for his own. The other got in first. Letcher’s men all sprang out for a fight. Just then Jim walked up to the captain and said, “Does the right belong to us?” “No, I guess not; but we’ve started in for it, and we are going to have it anyhow.” “No, sir,” said Garfield. “I say we will not have it. I will not fight to keep them out of their rights.” This brought the captain to his senses, and he ordered his men to give room for the enemy to pass.
There was half-mutiny on board that night, and many uncomplimentary remarks about the young driver. He was a coward, they said. Was he a coward? Or simply a just, fair-minded youth, and as brave as any of them? He made up his mind to show them which he was, when a good time came.
The captain had defended Jim from these accusations of the men, for a reason unknown to them. The boy had whipped him before they came to Akron. It was after a change of teams, and Jim was on the boat. Letcher was a self-confident young man, who had recently been a school teacher in Steuben County, Indiana, and felt as if all knowledge was his province. He had made all his men revere him for his learning, and now was the time to overwhelm the new driver.
So, sitting down near where the lad was resting, he said: “Jim, I believe you have been to school some, and as I have not heard a class lately, I will ask you some questions to see where you are, if you don’t care.”
GARFIELD ON THE TOW-PATH.
James assented. Pedagogue Letcher thought his time had come; he searched out witty inventions; he asked deep questions; he would open this youngling’s eyes. The examination did not last long, for all questions were quickly answered, and the quizzer ran out of materials; his stock of puzzlers was exhausted.
Then the tables turned. The tailor was out-tailored in three minutes, for in that time James had asked him seven questions which he could not answer. Hence the captain’s allowance for the boy’s refusal to fight. Letcher knew enough to appreciate the reason.
The Evening Star had a long trip before her, as the present load consisted of copper ore consigned to Pittsburgh. This ore came down to Cleveland first in schooners from Lake Superior, where those great treasuries of ore, which still seem inexhaustible, were at that time just beginning to become important interests. The habit of the canal-boatmen was to take up the copper at Cleveland, carry it to Pittsburgh, and bring back loads of coal. Garfield’s first experience here must have given him new ideas of the growing industries of his country. This constant and immense carrying trade between distant places indicated the play of grand forces; these great iron foundries and factories at Pittsburgh betokened millions of active capital, thousands of skilled workmen, and fast-increasing cities abounding in wonders and in wealth. Whatever the immediate result of Garfield’s canal life might have been, whether the boatmen had voted him coward or general, one fact must have remained—the mental stimulus imparted from these things which he had seen. Then must have dawned upon him for the first time a sense of the unmeasured possibilities which lay before his own country. Tramp, tramp the mules; lock after lock has been left behind, each turn bringing a new landscape, and the young driver pushed bravely on, self-reliant, patient, and popular with all the men. For these rough comrades liked him from the first as a pleasant fellow, and soon admired him as well. Opportunity came to him on the way to prove himself their equal in fighting qualities, and more than their equal in generosity. The occasion was one the like of which he often knew, where he came off victor with the odds favoring his enemies. At Beaver, from a point where the boats were towed up to Pittsburgh by steamboat, the Evening Star was about to be taken in. As Garfield stood in the bow of the boat, a burly Irishman, named Dave Murphy, who stood a few feet behind, was accidentally struck by a flying piece of rope from the steamer, which had evaded Garfield and gone over his head. No harm was done, but Murphy was a bully who saw here a good chance for a fight. He was thirty-five years old, Garfield sixteen. Turning on the boy in a towering rage, he aimed a blow with all his strength. But as sometimes occurs to men with more brawn than brains, he soon discovered that in this case Providence was not “on the side of the heavy battalions.” By a dexterous motion James eluded his antagonist, at the same instant planting a blow behind the fellow’s ear which sent him spinning into the bottom of the boat. Before the man could recover, his young antagonist held him down by the throat. The boatmen cheered the boy on; according to their rules of pugilism, satisfaction was not complete till a man’s features were pounded to a jelly. “Give him a full dose, Jim;” “Rah fer Garfield!” The two men arise; what does this mean? The Murphy face has not been disfigured; the Murphy nose bleeds not! Slowly the astonished men take in a new fact. Generosity has won the day, and brutality itself has been vanquished before their eyes. From that hour James became one of the heroes of the tow-path; and the day he left it was a day of regret to all his new acquaintances there.
On the way back from Pittsburgh a vacancy occurred on deck; Garfield was promoted to the more responsible position of bowman, and the mules found a new master. So the ocean drew one step nearer; this was not exactly the sea, of course, but after all it was a little more like sailing. Up and down the narrow course, following all its windings, the Evening Star pursued its way without serious accident, and James Garfield stood at the bow till November of 1848. Then came a change. New things were preparing for him, and all unknown to him old things were passing away. The mother at home still watched for her boy; the mother at home still prayed for her son, and yearned for a fulfillment of her steadfast desire that he should be such a man as she had begun to dream of him when he was a little child. An accident now brought him home to her. The position of bowman on the Evening Star was rather an unsafe one. The place where James stood was narrow and often slippery, and, in a brief period of time, he had fallen into the water fourteen times. The last immersion chanced in the following manner: One night as the boat approached a lock the bowman was hastily awakened, and tumbled out half asleep to attend to his duty. Uncoiling a rope which was to assist in steadying the boat through, he lost his balance, and in a second found himself in a now familiar place at the bottom of the canal. The night was dark, and no help near. Struggling about, his hand accidentally clutched a section of the rope which had gone over with him. Now, James, pull for your life, hand over hand; fight for yourself, fight for another visit to home and mother. Strength began to fail. The rope slid off; swim he could not. Jerk, jerk; the rope has caught. Pulling away with a will, he climbed back to his place, and found that he had been saved by a splinter in a plank in which the rope had caught by a knot.
Such a narrow escape might well stir up the most lethargic brain to new and strange reflections; but to the active intellect and bright imagination of James A. Garfield it brought a profound impression, a fresh resolution and a new sphere of action. He saw himself rescued by a chance which might have failed him a thousand times. Might not this be in answer to a mother’s prayer? Was it possible that he had been saved for some better fortune than his present life promised? He recalled the vague ambitions which had at times stirred him for a career of usefulness, such as he knew his mother had in mind for him.
When the boat neared home again, James bade good-bye to the Evening Star. Now, farewell visions of the Atlantic; farewell swearing captain of the lake; farewell raging canal, for this sailor lad is lost to you forever. The romantic element of his character indeed was not destroyed, as it never could be; nor was the glamour of the sea quite gone. It would take the winter of sickness which was before him to remove all nautical aspirations. Arriving before the old gate one night while the stars were out in all their glory, he softly raised the latch, and walked up to the house. Never was happier mother than greeted him at that door. Mrs. Garfield felt that her triumph was now at hand; and set herself to secure it at once.
Four hard months of life on and in the canal had told heavily on the young man’s constitution. Four months more ague and fever held him fast; four months more he longed in vain for the vigor of health. During this dreary time one voice above all others comforted, cheered, and swayed his drooping spirits, and helped him back to a contented mood. In conversation and in song, the mother was his chief entertainer. Indeed, Mrs. Garfield had not only a singing voice of splendid quality, but also knew a marvelous number of songs; and James said, later in life, that he believed she could have sung many more songs consecutively, from memory, than her physical powers would have permitted. Songs in every kind of humor,—ballads, war songs (especially of 1812) and hymns with their sacred melody—these she had at command in exhaustless stores. And we may be sure that such sweet skill was not without its power on her children. That voice had been the dearest music James ever heard in childhood, and his ear was well fitted to its every tone; escape from its power was hopeless now if he had even wished it so.
Meanwhile the past receded, and new plans for the future were unfolding. It is interesting to notice how smoothly, and all unknown to ourselves, we sometimes pass over the lines which mark the periods of our lives. The manner of Garfield’s present experience was no exception to the rule.
Samuel D. Bates was a young man, not many years older than James A. Garfield. He was a good scholar, and had been attending a place called “Geauga Seminary,” which had grown up in the adjoining county. This winter he had taken the school on the Garfield farm, expecting to save some money and return to Geauga. With his head full of these ideas, he met Garfield, and soon had the latter interested in his plans. When the time came for the next term to begin, James was well again, and his mother and Bates proposed that he should go also. He thought the subject over carefully, but was still uncertain what to do. He was not sure of his capacity to turn an education to account, and did not wish to spoil a good carpenter for the sake of a bad professor or preacher. Before making a final decision, he therefore did a characteristically sensible thing. Dr. J. P. Robison was a physician of Bedford, a man well known for good judgment and skill in his profession. One day he was visited by an awkward country lad, who asked a private conversation with him, and, that favor being granted, said to him: “My name is James Garfield. My home is at Orange. Hitherto I have acquired only the rudiments of an education, and but a scanty knowledge of books. But, at this time, I have taken up the notion of getting an education, and, before beginning, I want to know what I have to count on. You are a physician, and know men well. Examine me, and say plainly whether you think I will be able to succeed.”
This frank speech was rewarded by as fair an answer. The physician sounded him well, as to both body and mind, and ended with an opinion which summed up in about this fashion: “You are well fitted to follow your ambition as far as you are pleased to go. Your brain is large and good; your physique is adapted to hard work. Go ahead, and you are sure to succeed.”
This settled the question at once and forever. Garfield the student, the thinker, the teacher, the preacher, and the statesman, are all included in this new direction, and time alone is wanting to reveal them to himself and to the world.
Geauga Seminary was situated at a place called Chester, in Geauga County. The faculty consisted of three men and as many women. They were: Daniel Branch and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Coffin, Mr. Bigelow, and Miss Abigail Curtis. In the second year of Garfield’s attendance, Mr. and Mrs. Branch retired, and were succeeded by Mr. Fowler and Mr. Beach. The students were about one hundred in number, and of both sexes. There was a library of one hundred and fifty volumes, and a literary society, which offered a chance for practice in writing and speaking. Knowing these facts, and that the seminary offered the advantages common to many such institutions, we know the circumstances under which Garfield began that course of studies which, in seven years, graduated him with honor from an Eastern college.
There went with him to Chester two other friends besides Bates—one his cousin, William Boynton, the other a lad named Orrin H. Judd. These three being all poor boys, they arranged to live cheaply. Garfield himself had only seventeen dollars, which Thomas and his mother had saved for him to begin on; and he expected to make that go a long way by working at his old carpenter trade at odd hours, as well as by economy in spending money. So the trio kept “bachelors’ hall” in a rough shanty, which they fitted up with some articles brought from home; and a poor woman near by cooked their meals for some paltry sum.
There came a time when even this kind of life was thought extravagant. Garfield had read an autobiography of Henry C. Wright, who related a tale about supporting life on bread and crackers. So they dismissed their French cook, and did the work themselves. This did not last long, but it showed them what they could do.
Life at college on such a scale as this lacks polish, but may contain power. The labors which James A. Garfield performed at this academy, in the one term, from his arrival on March 6, 1849, to the end, were probably more than equal to the four years’ studies of many a college graduate. He never forgot a moment the purpose for which he was there. Every recitation found his work well done; every meeting of the literary society knew his presence and heard his voice. The library was his favorite corner of the building. A new world was to be conquered in every science, a new country in every language. Thus a year passed, and Garfield’s first term at Geauga was ended. During the summer vacation he was constantly busy; first he helped his brother to build a barn at home, then turned back for a season to his old business as a wood-cutter, and then worked in the harvest-field. About the latter a good story remains to us. With two well-grown, but young, school-fellows, James applied to a farmer who needed more hands, asking employment. The farmer thought them rather too young for the business; but, as they offered to work for “whatever he thought right,” he agreed, thinking it would not be much. But they had swung the scythe before, and soon made it a warm task for the other men to keep even with them. The old man looked on in mute admiration for a while, and finally said to the beaten men: “You fellows had better look to your laurels; them boys are a beatin’ ye all holler.” The men, thus incited to do their best, worked hard; but they had begun a losing battle, and the Garfield crowd kept its advantage. When settling time came round, these “boys” were paid men’s full wages.
Having, in these ways, saved enough money to begin on, James began the fall term at Geauga. Here he still pursued the same plan of alternate work and study, inching along the best he could. His boarding accommodations were furnished by a family named Stiles, for one dollar and six cents a week. The landlady, Mrs. Stiles, is made responsible for a story which illustrates how nearly penniless James was all this time. He had only one suit of clothes, and no underclothing. But toward the end of the term, his well-worn pantaloons split at the knee, as he bent over one day, and the result was a rent of appalling proportions, which the pin, with which he tried to mend matters, failed to conceal. Mrs. Stiles kindly undertook to assist him out of his trouble while he was asleep that night. But the time soon came when, though still poor, Garfield was beyond danger of being put in such straights again. For, even before the time came to go home again, he had paid his expenses and purchased a few books. One piece of work which he did at this time was to plane all the boards for the siding of a house, being paid two cents a board.
About the first of November James applied for an examination, and received a certificate of fitness to teach school. One whole year was gone since the sea-vision vanished, and his means for support in the new life had been made chiefly by the unaided force of his own tough muscles. Enough capital of a new kind had now accumulated to become productive, and he determined, for the future, to make money out of the knowledge in his head, as well as out of the strength and skill of his arm. The time for opening the country schools was come, and the young man made several applications to school trustees near his home, but found no place where he was wanted. Returning home discouraged, he found that an offer was waiting for him. He took the contract to teach the Ledge school, near by, for twelve dollars a month and board.
This school was one of those unfortunate seats of learning so often found in rural districts, where teachers are habitually ousted each term by the big boy terrible. For James Garfield, not yet quite eighteen years old, this would be a trying situation, but we already know enough about him to feel confident that he can not easily be put down. His difficulties were, however, peculiarly great; for, though a prophet, he was in his own country, and the scholars were not likely to be forward in showing respect to “Jim Gaffil.” It was the old story, which many a man who has taught country school can parallel in his own experience. First came insubordination, then correction, then more fight, followed by a signal victory, and at last Master Garfield was master of the situation. Then came success, his reward for hard study and hard blows. The Ledge prospered, its teacher became popular; and, when the time came to close, he did so, satisfied with himself, and possessor of a neat little sum of money.
Garfield went back to Geauga that year as planned. Early in 1851 he had his first ride on a railroad train. Taking passage on a train of the Cleveland and Columbus road, then new, he went, with his mother, to Columbus. There the representative to the legislature from Geauga County, Gamaliel Kent, kindly showed him the sights of the capital; from there they went to Zanesville, and then down the Muskingum, eighteen miles, to visit some relatives. There James is said to have taught a short term of school before he returned home again; after this came the renewal of school-days at Chester; and so progressing, we may end by saying that James managed to support himself at Chester for somewhat over two years, and to save a little money to begin on when he moved a step higher. We have been thus minute in relating these incidents only because they best show the stuff that was in this heroic young fellow, and he can have no better eulogy.
Now, what were some of the elements of Garfield’s mental development at this period? During the first term he had revived the rusty recollections of his early acquirements, and pursued arithmetic, algebra, grammar, and natural philosophy; afterwards came more of the regular academic studies, including the rudiments of Latin and Greek; he also studied botany, and collected a good herbarium. Every step had been carefully taken, and his mind was becoming accustomed to close thinking. Probably his first political impressions of importance were at this time being made, but we have no record of any opinions formed by him at that time on the subjects which then made political affairs interesting.
At the end of the first term in Chester, the literary society gave a public entertainment; on that occasion James made a speech, which is referred to in the diary he kept at that time, with this comment: “I was very much scared, and very glad of a short curtain across the platform that hid my shaking legs from the audience.” Soon afterwards, he took some elocution lessons, which is evidence of the fact that he began to think of making some figure as a public speaker.
While Garfield taught the Ledge school another change had come to him. The old log school-house on his mother’s farm was used regularly as a church, where a good old man, eloquent and earnest in his devotion to religion, ministered to the little congregation of “Disciples” who assembled to hear him. Recent events, and serious thinking, had predisposed James to listen with a willing ear, and he began to feel drawn back again to the simple faith of childhood which had been taught him by his mother. The sect, of which his family were all members, were followers of a new religious leader. Alexander Campbell is a name familiar to all the present generation of older men. At a time of furious disputation on religious subjects, Campbell was one of the ablest of controversialists. First, a Presbyterian preacher, he had rejected the Confession of Faith, and founded a new church, called the “Disciples of Christ,” whose only written creed was the Bible. Gifted with a proselyting spirit, he soon saw his one society spread and grow into a multitude, so that soon not Virginia alone, but many surrounding States were included in the religious territory of the “Disciples,” called sometimes the “Campbellites.” It was one of this man’s followers and preachers who now attracted Garfield. Their fundamentals of belief have been summed up thus:
1. We call ourselves Christians or Disciples.
2. We believe in God the Father.
3. We believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God, and our only Savior. We regard the divinity of Christ as the fundamental truth in the Christian system.
4. We believe in the Holy Spirit, both as to its agency in conversion and as an indweller in the heart of the Christian.
5. We accept both the Old and New Testament Scriptures as the inspired Word of God.
6. We believe in the future punishment of the wicked and the future reward of the righteous.
7. We believe that Deity is a prayer-hearing and prayer-answering God.
8. We observe the institution of the Lord’s Supper on every Lord’s Day. To this table it is our practice neither to invite nor debar. We say it is the Lord’s Supper for all the Lord’s children.
9. We plead for the union of all God’s people on the Bible, and the Bible alone.
10. The Bible is our only creed.
11. We maintain that all the ordinances of the Gospel should be observed as they were in the days of the Apostles.
Aside from its adherence to the Bible, this organization did not have or profess to have any thing in the way of creed to attract a fervid young man to its acceptance.
Garfield was a man of susceptibility to influences; and peculiarly to those of religion. Nature prepared him for it, and his early influences led to it. The “wild-oats” had been sown, and the prodigal was ready to return. In March, 1850, he joined the Church, and at once became an enthusiastic worker for its interests. How this new connection came to have a potent influence in the shaping and development of his progress, will constantly appear as we observe the next few years of his life.
Garfield was always interested in any cause which still had its place to make in the world; for in that particular it would be like himself. He joined a young church; the first school he went to was a new one, as was also the second. He joined the Republican party before that party had ever won a national victory.
In 1851, Garfield thought he had about exhausted the advantages of Geauga, and he began to seek “fresh scenes and pastures new.” We ourselves can not do better than to take leave of that secluded spot, summing up our hero’s life there in these his own words: “I remember with great satisfaction the work which was done for me at Chester. It marked the most decisive change in my life. While there I formed a definite purpose and plan to complete a college course. It is a great point gained, when a young man makes up his mind to devote several years to the accomplishment of a definite work. With the educational facilities now afforded in our country, no young man, who has good health and is master of his own actions, can be excused for not obtaining a good education. Poverty is very inconvenient, but it is a fine spur to activity, and may be made a rich blessing.”
Alexander Campbell was not merely a zealous propagandist of religious opinions; he was an organizer of religious forces. Among these forces, education stands in the first rank. Understanding this fact, Campbell himself founded a college at Bethany, West Virginia,—then Virginia,—of which he was President until he died. Following their leader in this liberal spirit, the Disciples had established schools and colleges wherever they were able. Hiram, Portage County, Ohio, was a settlement where the new sect was numerous, and here, in 1850, was erected the first building of what is now widely known as Hiram College, but was then called the Eclectic Institute. It was toward this place that in the fall of that year James A. Garfield turned. A somewhat advanced course of study was promised, and he resolved to go there and prepare for college. Arriving there in time to begin with the first classes, he looked about as usual for something to do. One evening the trustees were in executive session, when a knock was heard at their door. The intruder was admitted. He was a tall, muscular young man, scarcely twenty years old, unpolished in appearance, and carrying himself awkwardly, but withal in a strikingly straightforward manner.
“Well, sir, what is your business with us?”
In firm, clear tones the answer came: “Gentlemen, I have come here from my home in Orange. I have been two years at Geauga Seminary, and am here to continue my work. Being the son of a widow, who is poor, I must work my way along; and I ask to be made your janitor.” Some hesitation was visible in the faces of the trustees, and he added: “Try me two weeks, and if you are not satisfied I will quit.”
The offer was accepted, and James A. Garfield again found himself a rich man; rich in opportunities, rich in health, rich in having some way, though a humble one, to support himself through another period of magnificent mental growth. His inflexible rule was to do every thing which fell in his way to do, and do all things well. Before the term was far gone, the entire school had become interested in him. With a pleasant word for every one, always more than willing to do a favor, earnest, frank, and a ready laugher, nobody could be more popular than Garfield. In a short time one of the teachers of Science and English, became ill, and Garfield was chosen to fill the temporary vacancy. This duty was so faithfully performed that some of the classes were continued to him, and so he was never without from three to six classes till he went away to college. As a teacher he was singularly successful; the classes never flagged in interest, for the teacher was always either drawing forth ideas on the subject in hand from some one else, or he was giving his own views in a manner which invariably held attention. By these helps, by still working as a carpenter in the village, and in various other ways, making as much and spending as little as he could, Garfield finally left Hiram, free from debt, and possessor of three hundred and fifty dollars on which to start into college.
From the time when he became a member of the church at Geauga, Garfield had continually increased in devotion to religious affairs, and at Hiram quickly became a power. He was constantly present at the social prayer-meetings, where his remarks were frequent, and attracted notice. In a short time he was called on to address the people, and this becoming a habit, rapidly improved, and came to be called “the most eloquent young man in the county.” For a number of years Garfield was known as a first-rate preacher; in regularity of speaking, however, he was very much like that order known among Methodists as “local preachers.”
That Garfield was at this time beginning to have political connections, appears from a story told by Father Bentley, then pastor of the church at Hiram. On one occasion an evening service was about to be held, and the pastor had invited our friend to sit with him on the platform; also expecting him to address the people. Unnoticed by Father Bentley, a young man called Garfield away, and was hastening him off to talk at a political meeting. Discovering his departure, Bentley was about to call him back; when, suddenly, he stopped, and said: “Well, I suppose we must let him go. Very likely he will be President of the United States, some day!”
Garfield’s general progress at Hiram was intimately connected with that of the people about him; and the best possible view of him must come from a knowledge of his friends, and the work they did together. In a late address to the Alumni of Hiram, Garfield has furnished a good sketch of the kind of human material that made up the “Eclectic Institute.”
“In 1850 it was a green field, with a solid, plain brick building in the center of it, and almost all the rest has been done by the institution itself. Without a dollar of endowment, without a powerful friend anywhere, a corps of teachers were told to go on the ground and see what they could make of it, and to find their pay out of the tuitions that should be received; who invited students of their own spirit to come here on the ground and find out by trial what they could make of it. The chief response has been their work, and the chief part of the response I see in the faces gathered before me to-day. It was a simple question of sinking or swimming, and I do not know of any institution that has accomplished more, with little means, than this school on Hiram hill. I know of no place where the doctrine of self-help has had a fuller development. As I said a great many years ago, the theory of Hiram was to throw its young men and women overboard, and let them try for themselves. All that were fit to get ashore got there, and we had few cases of drowning. Now, when I look over these faces, and mark the several geologic ages, I find the geologic analogy does not hold—there are no fossils. Some are dead and glorified in our memories, but those who are alive are ALIVE. I believe there was a stronger pressure of work to the square inch in the boilers that ran this establishment than any other I know of. Young men and women—rough, crude and untutored farmer boys and girls—came here to try themselves, and find out what manner of people they were. They came here to go on a voyage of discovery, to discover themselves, and in many cases I hope the discovery was fortunate.”
Among these brave toilers were two or three of Garfield’s more intimate friends, with whom we must become acquainted before we can come at a thorough knowledge of Garfield himself. Of his introduction to them he has said:
“A few days after the beginning of the term, I saw a class of three reciting in mathematics—geometry, I think. I had never seen a geometry, and, regarding both teacher and class with a feeling of reverential awe for the intellectual height to which they had climbed, I studied their faces so closely that I seem to see them now as distinctly as I saw them then. And it has been my good fortune since that time to claim them all as intimate friends. The teacher was Thomas Munnell, and the members of his class were William B. Hazen, George A. Baker and Almeda A. Booth.”
Afterwards he met here, for the second time, one who had been, known to him in Chester. Lucretia Rudolph was a farmer’s daughter, whose humble home was then not far from Chester. Her father was from Maryland; his uncle had been a brave soldier of the Revolution, and, as the story goes, he afterward went to France, enlisted under the banner of Napoleon, and was soon known to the world as Marshal Ney. Lucretia’s mother came from Vermont, and her name had been Arabella Mason. The Rudolph family was poor, but industrious and ambitious. Their daughter had, therefore, been sent to Geauga. She was a “quiet, thoughtful girl, of singularly sweet and refined disposition,” and a great reader.