Sword and Pen Part 6

His heart for once failed him, for there seemed no earthly hope of escape. There was no time to spring off, even if the speed at which he was going would have permitted him to do so, for in a shorter time than it has taken to describe the scene, the shed was reached, bang went the mare's head against the opposite end, and at the same instant Willard felt a dull thud against his person, realized the fact that he was being thrown into the air, and then came darkness and unconsciousness. He was dashed violently upon the stones, and when picked up his body was found to be much lacerated and bruised.

Fortunately, however, no bones were broken, though he was obliged to keep his bed for some days afterwards. No doubt while lying there during slow convalescence he mused upon the vicissitudes attendant upon the career of a horse-tamer. At all events from this time he became much steadier and more prudent,--the wild adventures of his earlier boyhood having entirely lost their attraction for him.

CHAPTER IX.

THE YOUNG TRAPPER OF THE OSWEGATCHIE.

A plan of life.--Determination to procure an education.--A subst.i.tute at the plow.--His father acquiesces in his determination to become a trapper.--Life in the wild woods along the Oswegatchie.--The six "dead-falls."--First success.--A fallacious calculation.--The goal attained.--Seventy-five dollars in hard cas.h.!.+--Four terms of academic life.--The youthful rivals.--Lessons in elocution.--A fight with hair-brushes and chairs!--"The walking ghost of a kitchen fire."--Renewed friends.h.i.+p.--Teaching to obtain means for an education.

At this period of Willard's life, he is described by Mr. Rennehan as having acquired an appet.i.te for the acquisition of knowledge which soon became the controlling pa.s.sion of his nature, and, "thoroughly absorbed by this idea, he fixed upon the select school of his native town as the inst.i.tution best adapted to initiate him in the course suited to the fulfilment of his laudable ambition."

But his determination to procure an education met with obstacles from the outset. How to defray the necessary expenses which such a course involved was the question which continually presented itself for his ingenuity to solve. His father's reverses placed it quite beyond the possibilities to hire help upon the farm, and Willard's services had therefore come to be looked upon as something of vital importance.

In dragging from the hard soil of the Davis place the living which necessity compelled, he performed the work of a man, and the perfect trust which his father reposed in him gave his services additional value.

This fact increased the difficulty of his position; but though he made it a point to husband all his spare time for self-instruction, he was far from satisfied with the existing state of affairs, and pondered long and earnestly over the best means of securing the advantages of regular instruction.

At that time the streams tributary to the St. Lawrence were supplied with such fur-bearing animals as the mink, the musk-rat, the otter, and the more humble rabbit, the skins of all of which were more or less valuable and were sought by professional trappers. These men found the business a reasonably lucrative one, and it commended itself especially to Willard, as health and strength were the only capital required. The grand difficulty was how to supply his place in the work of the farm.

His father was a man who always listened with patience and sympathy to any scheme that promised to benefit his children. His son, therefore, had no hesitation in laying the whole matter before him and seeking his advice upon the subject. He felt, of course, that any proposal to withdraw his personal labor from the common stock of exertion by which the cultivation of the farm was rendered a possibility, was a direct pecuniary tax upon his father's resources; but he believed he could to a great extent neutralize the injury by supplying a subst.i.tute.

He also felt a.s.sured that although the step he proposed to take might be a present loss to the family it would prove an ultimate gain. He was thoroughly determined to make _his_ life a success, and he was just as thoroughly determined that any success which might crown his efforts should be shared by his parents. It is true that the road looked long and the path rough, but he had a "heart for any fate," and his courage never failed. A subst.i.tute at the plow he knew he could obtain for a small sum, and the board of such a person would take the place of his own at the home table, and he never doubted that he could earn a sufficient surplus to pay the wages of such an a.s.sistant. At all events he made up his mind to try the experiment.

With young Willard, to think was to act, and this project was no sooner conceived than he proceeded to put it into execution. He laid his plans frankly before his father, who, to his great gratification, a.s.sented to his proposal. A man was hired for fifteen dollars a month to take Willard's place on the farm, and the latter made his first venture as a trapper.

His initial experiment was to set six traps of the pattern called a "dead-fall" or "figure of four," and this resulted in the capture of two minks worth about eight dollars. With what an exultant heart he drew out his first mink and realized that by his own unaided exertions he had made some money, no boy or man need be told. He at once, however, entered into some rather fallacious calculations and built some extremely airy castles. It occurred to him that if out of six traps he could obtain two skins, out of one hundred he could obtain thirty-three, and so on, in proportion.

This, however, proved to be a miscalculation, it not being so much the number of traps set, as the quant.i.ty of game in a given locality which regulates the amount of success for a trapper. Yet his efforts in this new business succeeded to a gratifying degree, and the fact of having exchanged the dull monotony of farm drudgery for the exhilarating excitement of a hunter's life, was in itself a sufficient reward for any amount of exertion. Indeed what mode of life could be happier or more free, for a healthy, strong-limbed youth of fifteen, than to live as he then did, almost entirely in the woods? Then too, his daily route lay in the midst of some of the finest scenery to be found anywhere in New York, even in that grand old county of St. Lawrence.

To a lover of nature nothing could be more alluring than the locality through which Willard, at that period of his life, trapped and hunted.

To follow the winding waters of the Oswegatchie is to enjoy a perpetual feast. That river is one of a great family of rivers, among which may be enumerated the Rackett, the Gra.s.se, the Indian, and the Black, all of which take their rise far up in the recesses of the great North Woods.

Though not to any extent navigable, it is yet nearly as broad as the lovely and "blue Juniata" of "peaceful Pennsylvania."

At times turbulent and brawling, it is often vexed in its pa.s.sage to the St. Lawrence by rapids and cataracts varying in height and volume, but which in their infinite variety give a wild and romantic beauty to this poetical stream. At times it glides smoothly along through low meadow lands, and again it plunges into some dense thicket or brawls through some briery dell where the foliage is so thick that one can only see the glint and ripple of its waters at rare intervals, s.h.i.+ning between the lapping leaves and tangled vines. Then again it sweeps onward through cleft rocks and jutting banks until, lost at last in the very heart of the primeval forest, its twilight waters reflect the images of giant trees which had their beginning on its banks a century ago.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Young Trapper Of The Oswegatchie.]

Willard's life during that autumn pa.s.sed in persevering work. Day by day he traveled his accustomed routes, while the leaves turned from green to red and from red to russet and brown, and at last fell from the naked branches of the forest trees with a little farewell rustle, to be trodden into the rich soil below.

By the time the first snow came he found himself much more robust physically, and with seventy-five dollars clear profit in his pocket. In addition to these advantages he also acquired the inestimable habit of self-reliance, so that when he entered upon a course of preparation for his academic life, it was with full faith in himself. For four terms, beginning August thirteenth, 1857, and ending the latter part of June, 1859, he remained at the excellent inst.i.tution of learning which he had selected, and while there gained considerable credit as a hard student.

During the first of these terms a generous rivalry existed between himself and a youth by the name of Albert Burt, as to which should lead the cla.s.s. As it turned out, however, they kept together and were both marked "perfect." The academy was under the management of the Rev. E. C.

Bruce, M. A., Princ.i.p.al; and Andrew Roe, Professor of Mathematics. About a month or six weeks after he entered the school, he arranged to take lessons in elocution under a Professor Bronson, that gentleman having organized a large cla.s.s at the academy.

In a brief diary kept by him at the time, we find the remark that he was "greatly pleased with the Professor's method of teaching that important branch of study." Willard had advanced to the higher grade of Algebra and Grammar, had added Philosophy to the list of his studies, and having cultivated a natural turn for public speaking, was elected on the eighteenth of December, 1857, a member of the Oratorical Society--an a.s.sociation connected with the inst.i.tution. His boy experiences were very similar to those which happen to all lads in academic life. He had his chums, among whom were Brayton Abbott and Ozias Johnson; he had his little flirtations with misses of his own age, and he had his fights, as all boys have.

Among the latter was one with Johnson, who was his room-mate, and who, being four years older than himself, undertook, for fun, to rub his face with a newly-purchased hair-brush. This kind of fun did not suit Willard, however, and he resented it by giving Johnson a "dig" in the ribs. Whereupon a fight ensued in earnest, and as Willard was too young and light to keep up the contest at close quarters, he dodged his adversary and covered his retreat by dropping chairs in front of Johnson's legs, which brought that young gentleman to the floor more than once, to his own intense disgust and Willard's great gratification.

At length Johnson managed to corner his opponent, and then rubbed his face so thoroughly with the bristles that his comrades that morning thought he had caught the scarlet-fever, or as d.i.c.kens says, that he was the "walking ghost of a kitchen fire."

As generally happens, however, between two manly fellows, their combat inspired a feeling of mutual respect, and from being mere acquaintances they grew to be fast friends.

Study and sedentary habits at length so much impaired Willard's health that, in the latter part of the month of August, 1858, he was compelled to cease his attendance at school and go home. The thirtieth of September following, however, found him at the Teachers' Inst.i.tute of St. Lawrence County, with the proceedings of which body he appears to have been highly gratified, for in the diary to which we have already referred, he speaks of it in these words:--

"I am now attending the Teachers' Inst.i.tute of this county, which is in session at Gouverneur, it having opened upon the twenty-seventh instant.

The School Commissioners are Mr. C. C. Church and Allen Wight. I am highly pleased with the proceedings and the method of conducting the exercises of this apparently indispensable part of a Teacher's instruction,"--adding that it was his "intention to become a teacher the coming winter." Indeed, to be a teacher seems to have been his favorite scheme of life, and his highest ambition was ultimately to fill the chair of Mathematics in one of the great inst.i.tutions of learning. That most exact of sciences was his favorite branch of study, and the intellectual stimulus which it imparts had for him a peculiar fascination.

In pursuance of his object, and in order, by teaching during one part of the year, to raise means to enable him to attend school during another portion, he set about procuring for himself a school. Fortunately for the accomplishment of his object, it was suggested to him to apply to the School Commissioner of his own a.s.sembly district, and he did so. The examination which followed his application, owing to some local rivalry, was extremely rigid; but he pa.s.sed through it with great credit and received the appointment he desired, being a.s.signed forthwith to duty in the town of Edwards, St. Lawrence County. He commenced teaching in the bleak month of November, 1858, and was very earnest in fulfilling the duties of his position, taking every opportunity not only of instilling knowledge into the minds of his pupils, but also striving to imbue them with a love of self-culture. He labored hard in his efforts to earn means with which to support himself during the coming summer at the Gouverneur Wesleyan Seminary, and discovered while thus working that teaching was as much of a discipline for himself as for his pupils.

The time does not seem to have pa.s.sed unpleasantly to him at this period of his career, for in an entry made in his diary on the twenty-eighth of November, 1858, he says:

"I am spending the evening with Mr. Hiram Harris and family, having come into the district this afternoon. My mission here is to teach school for a term of three months in fulfilment of the contract existing between the trustees and myself. In compliance with a custom that prevails, I am expected to 'board around,' as it is styled, and Mr. Harris, being one of the Trustees, has invited me to spend my first week at his house.

"The School Commissioner of this a.s.sembly district is Mr. C. C. Church, of Potsdam, from whom I received a certificate based upon the recommendation of Commissioner Allen Wight of the first district. The School Trustees are E. L. Beardsley, Hiram Harris, and Jeptha Clark. The present term will be my first experience in the profession I have adopted. I do hope it will prove a useful one, for I am of opinion that a teacher's first experience is apt to give color to his whole future career." The day after this entry he adds that "only a small attendance greeted me upon opening my school," and after consoling himself with the reflection that this will leave him plenty of time for study, he adopted a single rule--"Do right;" and an additional motto, "A time and place for everything and everything in its time and place."

It will thus be seen that he had already acquired a clear idea of the importance of order in every pursuit, and knew that method gives to an ordinary mortal Briaerean arms with which to accomplish whatever he may desire to do. How few attain to this knowledge until it is too late!

As a writer, whose words we think worthy of remembrance, has said:

"This is an era of doing things scientifically. People make scientific calculations of the weather, and the average number of murders for the next year. They measure the stars and they measure the affections, both scientifically. The only thing they fail to do scientifically is, to manage themselves. As a rule, they _drift_, and then find fault with fate and Providence because they don't drift into the right port. They drift _into_ life with a multiplicity of vague dreams, which are somehow to be realized; but they have a very dim idea of ways and means.

They drift _through_ it, carelessly, with an inadequate knowledge of their own resources, and a still more inadequate notion of using them to the best advantage; they drift _out_ of it with a melancholy sense of failure, both absolutely as to themselves and relatively as to the world. Of all their splendid possibilities, none are realized. Nothing is completed. They start wrong or they make one fatal step, and everything goes wrong all the way through. It seems as if most lives were only experiments. Now and then one is turned out which fits in its niche and is tolerably symmetrical. The rest are all awry, unfinished, misplaced, and merely faint suggestions of what might have been. Much of this is doubtless beyond mortal control, but a far greater portion is due to the lack of a nice direction of forces. The human mechanism is complicated, and a very slight flaw sets it all wrong. There may be too much steam or too much friction, or too little power or too little balance. But clearly the first step is to strengthen the weak points, to gauge its capabilities, to set it running smoothly, and to give it a definite aim. If existence were simply pa.s.sive and the mission of man was to _be_ instead of to _do_, he might perhaps be left to develop as the trees do, according to his own will or fancy or according to certain natural laws. But as it is the universal wish wherever one is, to be somewhere else, a little higher in the scale, it seems to be a part of wisdom, as well as humanity, to fit one for climbing. But many an aspirant finds his wings clipped in the beginning of his career, through the ignorance or carelessness of his friends, who never took the trouble of measuring his capabilities. He is treated as a receptacle into which a certain amount of ideas are to be poured, no matter whether they may answer to anything within him or not. He is turned out of an educational mill with five hundred others, and with plenty of loose knowledge, but without the remotest idea of what to do with it, or what nature intended him for, and with no especial fitness for any one thing. He can _think_, probably, if he has the requisite amount of brains, but how to establish a relation between thought and bread and b.u.t.ter is the problem. He has the requisite motive power, but it is not attached to anything. _He_ does not know how to attach it, so he revolves in a circle, or makes a series of floundering experiments, that bear meagre fruit, perhaps when the better part of his life is gone. He knows _books_, but he does _not_ know men. He is a master of theories, but cannot apply them. If he has a small amount of brains, his case is still more hopeless. To be sure, a proper amount of knowledge has been poured in, but it has all slipped through. He might have a.s.similated some other kind of knowledge, but that particular kind has left him with mental dyspepsia, and a vague feeling of hopelessness which is likely to prove fatal to all useful effort. Or perhaps he has talent, but is dest.i.tute of the requisite tact to make it tell upon the world. His success depends largely on his power to move others, but he has no lever and is forced to rely upon main strength, which involves a serious expenditure of vitality, with only doubtful results. He works all his life against perpetual friction, because no one had the foresight or insight to discern that this was the flaw in his machinery.

"Another fatal point is in the choice of a vocation. Having drifted through an education, he next drifts into his business or profession. He rarely stops to take an inventory of his capital, or, at best, he takes a very partial one. Chance or circ.u.mstance decides him. His grandfather sits on the judge's bench. He thinks the judge's bench a desirable place, so he takes to the law. He puts on his grandfather's coat without the slightest reference to whether it will fit or not. Perhaps he intends to grow to _it_, but a willow sapling cannot grow into an oak.

It may grow into a very respectable willow, but if it aspires to the higher dignity, it will most likely get crushed or blown over. It may be that he has a grand vision of commercial splendor, and plunges into business life with a very good idea of Sophocles and Horace and no idea whatever of trade; with a very good talent for theories, but none whatever for facts; with some insight into metaphysics, but none at all into people. Instead of trying his strength in shallow waters, he starts to cross the Atlantic in a very small skiff. By the time he has reached mid-ocean he discovers his error, but it is too late to turn back; so he is buffeted about by winds and waves until he, too, goes down and counts among the failures.

"Another of the few points upon which life hinges is marriage, and people drift into that as they do into everything else. It is one of the things to be done in order to complete the circle of human experience. A man is caught by a pretty face and a winning smile. He takes no thought of the new element he is adding to his life, either with reference to his outward career or his inward needs. Caprice governs his choice, or perhaps a hard form of self-interest. Having committed one or two of the grand errors of life, he settles down to its serious business, and speedily discovers that he has a dead weight to carry. He has mistaken his vocation, whatever it may be.

"He is conscious now that it is too late to change; that he might have attained supreme excellence in some other calling. He toils with heavy heart and sinking spirit at the plodding pace of dull mediocrity. His work is drudgery and wearies him body and soul. Those who once smiled upon him pa.s.s him by. Men of far inferior capabilities distance him in the race. Perhaps too he has made another misstep, and has a wife who sympathizes neither with his tastes nor his trials: who has no comprehension of him whatever, save that he is a being whose business it is to love her and furnish her with spending money. The beauty which fascinated him has grown faded and insipid. The pretty coquetries that won him pall upon him; he is absolutely alone with the burden of life pressing heavily upon him. Is it strange that he is mastered in the battle and finally falls beneath the world's pitiless tread? This is a sad little picture, but it is an every-day one, and the world goes on its way as before.

"What matters it that a lonely, dissipated man has lain down in sorrow to rise no more! The world cannot stop to weep over the remains of the departed one it has trampled upon. Those whose business it is can take them on one side, lay them away under the green sod out of sight, shed a tear perhaps, and pa.s.s on until their turn comes to lay down wearily, go to sleep, and be laid away. The world chides, the world laughs, but it takes no cognizance of the grief--

"'That inward breaks and shows no cause without, _Why_ the man dies.'

"Yet there is but the difference of a point in the game between the victim and the hero. The cards are the same, or the victim, perhaps, _may_ hold the best trumps, but he plays recklessly, loses his point, loses his game, loses all! On such slight things does human destiny hinge. The hero has all his resources at command--his game dimly outlined. He knows his winning cards, and he plays them skilfully.

"Every point tells. Nothing is left to chance that can be accomplished by foresight. He wins the game. He wins the prizes. He has the mastery of life. The world takes off its hat to him. Fortune and people smile upon him. Not that he is better than others--very likely he is not so good. But the world counts results. Becky Sharp is not a model, but Becky Sharp is a power. The world does not like her in the abstract, but it likes her dinners, it courts her smiles, it fawns upon her, it showers its good things upon her, all because _she has mastered it_.

Becky Sharp is not a model. Her aims are unworthy, and her means unscrupulous; but she reads us a lesson in fact, in foresight, in energy, in the subtle art of making the most of limited resources. So long as life is a game, it is worth studying. The difference between playing it well and playing it ill is the difference between light and darkness, between joy and desolation, between life and death."

Even at that early and immature time of his life, Willard Glazier had thought much upon this subject--examples of the disjointed successes of all unplanned and unmethodical careers having been brought too frequently into close proximity to his own door, not to have made an impression upon his inquiring mind.

Hence, at the very threshold of his life as a teacher, he resolved to have plan and purpose clearly defined in everything he did.