CHAPTER XIV.
THE YOUNG IDEA SHOOTS.
There was a region south, on the State road, partly in the townships of Auburn and Mantua, that, like "the woods," long remained a wilderness, and was known as the "Mantua Woods." Within the last year or two, the whole of it had been sold and settled, with the average of new settlers, strong, plain, simple people, with a sprinkling of the rough, and a little element of the dangerous.
They had built there a neat frame school-house, just on the banks of Bridge Creek, and were fully bent on availing themselves of the benefits of the Ohio Common School Fund and laws.
Here, on one bleak, late November Monday morning, in front of the new school-house, stood Bart Ridgeley, who appeared then and there pursuant to a stipulation made with him, to keep their first school. He undertook it with great doubt of his ability to instruct the pupils, but with none of his capacity to manage them. He stood surrounded by some forty young specimens of both sexes and all ages—from rough, stalwart young men, bold and fearless in eye and bearing, down to urchins of five. One-half were girls, and among them several well-grown lasses, rustic and sweet.
There had also come up seven or eight of the principal patrons, to see the young school-master and learn of the prospects. They were evidently disappointed, and wondered what "Morey" could be thinking of to hire that pale, green boy, with his neat dress and gloves, to come down there. Grid Bingham or John Craft would throw him out of the window in a week. Finally, Jo Keys did not hesitate to recommend him to go home; while Canfield, who knew his brother Morris, thought he had better try the school.
Bart was surprised and indignant. He cut the matter very short.
"Gentlemen," he said quietly, but most decidedly, "I came down here to keep your school, and I shall certainly do it," with a little nod of his head to Keys. "I shall be glad to see you at almost any other time, but just now I am engaged." The decided way in which he put an end to the interview was not without its effect.
He called the scholars in, and began. They brought every sort of reading-book, from the Bible, English Reader, American Preceptor, Columbian Orator, Third Part, etc., to a New England Primer. But beyond reading, and spelling, and writing, he had only arithmetic, grammar and geography. On the whole, he got off well, and before the end of the first week was on good terms, apparently, with his whole school, with one or two exceptions; and so on through the second, which closed on Friday, and Bart turned gladly and eagerly toward home, to his mother and brothers.
The close of that week had been a little under a cloud, which left just a nameless shadow over the commencement of the third, and Bart began it with an uneasy feeling.
Bingham, a short, stout, compact young ruffian, of twenty-two or twenty-three, not quite as tall as Bart, but a third more in weight, and who had an ugly reputation as a quarrelsome fellow of many fights, had at first treated Bart with good-natured toleration, and said he would let him go on awhile. With him consorted John Craft, a chap of about his age, but of better reputation. Bingham had broken up a school the winter before, just below in Mantua, and was from the first an object of dread to parents in the new district. He was a dull scholar, and his blunders had exposed him to ridicule, which the teacher could not always repress. He left the school, on that Friday, moody and sullen, and came back on Monday full of mischief.
Not a word was said, that reached Bart's ears, but the young women had a scared look, and an ominous dread seemed to brood over the school-room. Monday and Tuesday came and went, as did the scholars, and also Wednesday forenoon.
The room was arranged with three rows of desks on two sides, and one on the third. Behind these sat the large scholars, with Grid, near the door. When he called the scholars in, after the recess, Bart quietly locked the outside door, and put the key in his pocket. He was cool, collected, and on the alert.
The first class began to read, each rising while reading, and then sitting down. Bart had observed that Bingham sat with his book closed, and wholly inattentive to the exercise, and quietly placed himself within a few feet of his desk.
As it came Bingham's turn, he sat with an assumed look of swaggering indifference. "Mr. Bingham," said Bart very quietly, "will you read?"
"I'm not goin' to read for any God damned——" the sentence was never finished, though Grid was; yet just how, nobody who saw it could quite tell. Something cracked, and Grid and his desk went sprawling into the middle of the floor. A hand came upon his collar as the last word was uttered. It was so sudden that he only seized his desk, which was taken from its fastening at the bottom as if it were pasteboard, and went in ruins with its occupant. As he struck, half stunned and surprised, he arose partly to his feet, and received on the side of his head a full blow from the fist of Bart.
Craft, who had been amazed at the suddenness of the catastrophe, and who was to have shared in the fight, if necessary, arose hesitatingly just as Grid received his quietus. Bart turned upon him with his white, galvanized face, and watery, flashing eyes, "Sit down, John Craft," in a voice that tore him like a rasp on his spine, and John sat down. During this time, and until now, no other sound was heard in the room; now a half sob, with suppressed cries, broke from the terrified girls and children. "Hush! hush! not a word!" said the still excited master; "it is over, and nobody much hurt." Bingham now began to rise, and Bart approached him: "Wait a moment, Mr. Bingham," he said, and, unlocking the outside door: "There! now take your books and leave, and don't let me find you about this school-house so long as I remain—go!" and the humbled bully sullenly picked up his small property and went.
"Mr. Craft," said Bart, approaching that cowed and trembling youth, "you and I can get along. I don't want to part with you if you will remain with me. I will excuse you from school this afternoon, and you can come back in the morning, and that may be the last of it. I will not humiliate you and myself with any punishment." There was a tremor in Bart's voice, and a softness in his face. John arose: "Mr. Ridgeley, I don't know how I came to—I am very sorry—I want to stay with you."
"All right, John, we will shake hands on it." And they did.
"My poor, poor children!" said Bart, going up to the younger ones, who had huddled into the farthest corner and clambered on to the desks. "My poor scared little things, it is all over now, and we are all so glad and happy, aren't we?" and he took up some of the smallest in his arms and kissed them, and the still frightened, but glad and rejoicing young women, looked as if they would be willing to have that passed round. When they were pacified, and resumed their places, Charley Smith gathered up the boards and parts of the disabled desk, and Bart, with a few kind words to the older scholars, resumed the exercises of the school.
Scenes of violence were rare, even in that rude day, among that people; the sensibilities of the children were deeply wounded, and none of them were in a fitting condition to profit by their exercises, which were barely gone through with, and they were early dismissed to their homes, with the marvellous tale of the afternoon's events.
Bart was in the habit of remaining to write up the copies, and place everything in order before he left. The young men and older maidens lingered at the door, and then returned in a body, to say how glad they were that it had ended as it did. They knew something would happen, and they were so glad, and then they shook hands with him, and went hurrying home.
When they left, Bart locked the door, and, throwing himself into the chair by his table, laid his head down and burst into an uncontrollable flood of tears;—but he was a man now, and tears only choked and suffocated him. He was ashamed of himself for his weakness, and bathing his eyes, walked about the school-room to regain his composure. Every particle of anger left his bosom before Bingham left the house, and now he was fully under the influence of the melancholy part of his nature. Never before, even in childish anger, had he touched a human being with violence, and now he had exerted his strength, and had grappled with and struck a fellow-man in a brute struggle for animal mastery; he felt humiliated and abased. That the fellow's nature was low, and that he was compelled to act as he had done, was little comfort to him. He was glad that he decided not to punish or expel John. Darkness came, and he was aroused by a noise at the door. He unlocked it, and found Canfield and Morey and Smith.
"Hullo, Ridgeley!" exclaimed the former. "Good God! and so you had a pitched battle, and licked that bully before he had time to begin; give me your hand! Who would have thought it?"
"I did," said Morey. "I knowed he'd do it. What will Jo Keys say now, I wonder?" And the party went inside, and wondered over the wrecked desk, and asked all about it. And then came in the stalwart Jo himself, celebrated for his strength.
"Wal, wal, wal! if this don't beat all natur, I give it up! What are you made of, young man, all spring and whalebone? I'd a bet he would 'a cleaned out a school-house full o' such dainty book chaps. I give it up. Let me feel o' you," taking Bart good-naturedly by the shoulder. "You'll do, by——. My Valdy said that when Grid gathered himself up the first time, he went heels over head, clear to the fire-place."
And so the good-natured athlete went over with it all, with a huge relish for the smallest detail, and others came in, until nearly all the male patrons of the school had assembled; and Bart informally, but with hearty unanimity, was declared the greatest school-master of his day; they quoted all the similar instances within the range of memory or legend, and this achievement was pronounced the greatest. They were proud of him, and of the exploit, and of themselves that they had him. Morey, who had taken him because he could find no other, blazed up into a man of fine discernment; and Jo nearly killed him with approving slaps on his feeble back. Indeed, his apologies for what he had said were too striking.
Life in all new communities is run mainly on muscle, and whoever exhibits skill and bravery in its rough encounters, peaceful or warlike, always commands a premium. The people among whom Bart lived had not passed beyond the discipline of brute force, and he shared the usual fortune of heroes of this sort, of having his powers and achievements exaggerated, even by those under whose eyes he had acted.
A rumor reached Markham's and Parker's, from which it spread, that Bart's school had arisen against him, and the first version was that he was killed, or very dangerously wounded; that he defended himself with desperation, and killed one or two, but was finally overcome; that the neighborhood was divided and in arms, and the school-house had been burned. But the stage came in soon after, and the driver declared that he had seen Grid Bingham, whom he knew, brought out dead, that John Craft was badly hurt, and one or two more, and that Bart, who escaped without injury, would be arrested for murder. It was finally said that he would not be arrested, but that Grid was either dead or dying; that he headed four or five of the older boys, and they were whipped out by Bart single-handed, who locked the door, and pitched in, etc.
The rumor produced a deep sensation in Newbury; and, whilst it was thought that Bart had been rash, and undoubtedly in fault, yet he had behaved handsomely. When it was ascertained that he was victor, it was generally thought that he was a credit to the place, which was very natural and proper, considering that he had never before been thought to be a credit to anything anywhere.