The Life and Public Services of James A. Garfield / Twentieth President of the United States, Including Full and Accurate Details of His Eventful Administration, Assassination, Last Hours, Death, Etc., Together with Notable Extracts from His Speeches and Letters

by E. E. Brown

CHAPTER I.

The "Great Heart of the People."—Bereaved of their Chief.—Universal Mourning.—Wondering Query of Foreign Nations.—Humble Birth in Log Cabin.—The Frontier Settlements in Ohio.—Untimely Death of Father.—Struggles of the Family.

"The great heart of the people will not let the old soldier die!"

So murmured the brave, patient sufferer in his sleep that terrible July night, when the whole nation, stricken down with grief and consternation at the assassin's deed, watched, waited, prayed—as one man—for the life of their beloved President.

And all through those weary eighty days that followed, of alternate hope and fear, how truly the great, loving, sympathetic heart of the people did battle, with millions of unseen weapons, for the strong, heroic spirit that never faltered, never gave up "the one chance," even while he whispered: "God's will be done; I am ready to go if my time has come."

Party differences were all forgotten; there was no longer any North or South—only one common brotherhood, one great, sorrowing household watching with tender solicitude beside the death-bed of their loved one.

How anxiously the varying bulletins were studied! How eagerly the faintest glimmer of hope was seized! And when, on that never-to-be-forgotten anniversary of Chickamauga's battle, the midnight bells tolled out their solemn requiem,

"The nation sent
Like Egypt, in her tenth and final blow.
Through all the land a loud and bitter cry;
And felt, like her, as o'er her dead she bent,
There is in every home a present woe!"

And yet, with renewed fervor, we repeat those pathetic words:

"The great heart of the people will not let the old soldier die!"

While bowing reverently, submissively to the decree of the Almighty Disposer of human affairs, the nation feels that "no canon of earth or Heaven can forbid the enshrining of his manly virtues and grand character, so that after-generations may profit by the contemplation of them."

A halo of immortal glory already gathers around the name of James A. Garfield.

The remembrance of his brave, self-forgetting endurance of pain, his strong, indomitable will, his tender regard for his aged mother, his simple, unaffected piety, his cheerful resignation, will never be effaced from the heart of the people.

And when expressions of sympathy and regret came to America from all parts of the world, the wondering query arose:

"How is it that republican manners and republican institutions can produce such a king among men as President Garfield?"

Let us go back to that humble log cabin in the wilds of Ohio where, fifty years ago, a little fair-haired, blue-eyed boy was born.

It is a bleak, bitter day in November, and the whistling of the winds through the crevices, mingles with the howl of hungry wolves in the woods close by.

But the new baby finds a warm welcome waiting him in that rough cabin home. The mother's love is fully reflected in the honest face of the great, warm-hearted father, as he folds the little stranger in his strong arms, and declares he is "worth his weight in gold."

Thomas, a boy of nine years, with Mehetabel and Mary, the two little sisters, look wonderingly upon their baby brother, and then run out to spread the good news through the neighborhood.

In those early days the frontier settlements seemed like one family, so interested were all in the joys and sorrows of each.

Eighteen months later, when the brave, strong father was cut down in the midst of his work, a circle of true-hearted, sympathizing friends stood, like a body-guard, around the little family.

One of those dreaded forest fires had been raging for days through the tract of country adjoining the Garfield farm. With the aid of his older children, Mehetabel and Thomas, the father had at last checked the flames, but, sitting down to rest by the open door, he took a severe cold which brought on congestion of the throat.

Before a physician could be called he was past all human aid, and, looking wistfully upon his children and heart-broken wife, he said, with dying breath,—

"I am going to leave you, Eliza. I have planted four saplings in these woods, and I must now leave them to your care."

The blue-eyed baby, who bore his father's name, could not understand the sorrowful faces about him, and, toddling up to the bedside, he put his little hands on the cold lips, and called "Papa! Papa!" till the weeping mother bore him out of the room.

"What will become of those poor, fatherless children?" said one neighbor to another.

"It is a strange providence," was the reply. "The mother is too young and too frail to carry on the farm alone. She will have to sell everything, and find homes for the children among her friends."

But Eliza Garfield was not the weak, dependent woman they had imagined. Moreover, she had one brave little helper close at hand.

"Don't cry, mother dear," said Thomas, making a great effort to keep back his own tears. "I am ten years old now, you know. I will take care of you. I am big enough to plough and plant, and cut the wood and milk the cows. Don't let us give up the farm. I will work ever so hard if we can only keep together!"

Noble little fellow! No wonder the mother's heart grew lighter as she watched his earnest face.

"You are not strong enough, dear child, to do all that," she said, "but God helping us, we will keep together. I will sell off part of the farm to pay our debts, and we shall then have thirty acres left, which will be quite enough for you and me to take care of."

It was now late in the spring, but Thomas managed to sow the wheat, plant the corn and potatoes and with the help of a kind neighbor complete the little barn his father had begun to build.

In cultivating the ground, his mother and sisters were always ready to help, and together they split the rails, and drove the stakes for the heavy fence around the wheat-field.

With such example of untiring industry and perseverance constantly before his eyes, it is no wonder the restless baby brother soon tried to lend a helping hand.

"Me do it too," he would cry, when Thomas took down the rake or the hoe, and started off for his work in the fields.

"One of these days, Jimmy," the boy-farmer would reply, with a merry smile: though even then he could not help hoping there might be better things in store for the little brother he loved so dearly.

Walking all the way to Cleveland, Thomas secures a little job, and brings home his first earnings, with a bounding heart.

"Now Jimmy can have a pair of shoes," he says to his mother who cannot keep back her tears as she looks at his own bare feet.

The old cobbler comes and boards at the cabin while he makes the little shoes, and when they are completed it is hard to tell which is the happier boy,—Thomas or little Jimmy.

Four years after the father's death, a school-house is built a mile and a half away.

"Jimmy and the girls must go," says Thomas.

"Yes," replies the mother, "but I wish you could go, too."

"It wouldn't do for me to leave the farm, mother dear," says the noble boy. "One of these days, perhaps I can study at home."

The mile and a half walk to the school-house was a long, hard pull for little Jimmy, in spite of those new shoes; and many a time Mehetabel might have been seen, carrying him back and forth on her broad shoulders.

It was a happy day for all the children when the new log school-house was put up on one corner of the Garfield farm. The land had been given by Mrs. Garfield, and the neighbors clubbed together and built the house, which was only twenty feet square, with a slab roof, a puncheon floor, and log benches without backs.

The master was a young man from New Hampshire. He boarded with Mrs. Garfield, and between him and little James a warm friendship was soon established.

The bright active child was never tired of asking questions.

"He will make his mark in the world, one of these days—you may take my word for it!" exclaimed the teacher, as he recounted James' wonderful progress at school.

The happy mother never forgot these words, and determined to give her little boy every possible advantage.

But the Ohio schools in those days were very poor. The three "R's," with spelling and geography, were the only branches taught, and oftentimes the teachers knew but little more than the scholars.

As soon as James could read, he eagerly devoured every book that came within his reach. The family library comprised not more than half a dozen volumes, but among these, Weems' "Life of Marion" and Grimshaw's "Napoleon" were especial favorites with the eager enthusiastic boy.

Every night the mother would read to her children from her old, well-worn Bible: and oftentimes James would puzzle his little playmates with unexpected scripture questions. His wonderful memory held a strange variety of information in its tenacious grasp. He delighted to hear his mother read poetry, and would often commit long passages by heart. His vivid imagination peopled the old orchard with all sorts of strange characters. Each tree was named after some noted Indian chief, or some favorite hero he had read about; and from a high ledge of rocks in the neighborhood, he would sometimes deliver long harangues to his imaginary audiences. Thomas watched the progress of his little brother with fatherly pride and admiration, and James looked up to him with loving confidence.

He could now help about the farm in many ways, and when Thomas got an opportunity to work out and earn a few extra pennies, James would look after the stock, chop the wood, hoe the corn, and help his mother churn and milk.

"One of these days, James," she said to him, as he was working diligently by her side, "I expect Thomas will go out into the world to earn his living, and then you will have to take his place here on the farm."

"But, how soon will that be, mother?" asked the little fellow, who felt then that he could not possibly get along without his big brother.

"Not until Thomas is twenty-one, and then you will be twelve years old—older by two years than Thomas was when your father died."

"I wish I could be as good a farmer as he," said James; "but I think I would rather be a carpenter."

"And I would rather have you a teacher or a preacher," said his mother; "but we must take our work just as Providence gives it to us, and farming, my boy, comes first to you."

It was a trying day to the whole family when Thomas left the little home to work on a clearing, "way off in Michigan." He would be gone six months, at least, and there was very little communication in those days between Ohio and the farther west.

"I wish you could have found work nearer home," said the fond mother.

"But I shall earn higher wages there—twelve dollars a month,"—answered the self-forgetting son; "and, when I get back, I shall have money enough to build you a frame house."

The little log cabin was fast coming to pieces, and for five years Thomas had been cutting and seasoning lumber for the new house, but they had never been able to hire a carpenter to put it up.

James tried very hard to fill his brother's place, but he could never throw his whole soul into farming as Thomas had done. He read and studied all the time he could get out of working hours, and his thirst for knowledge was constantly increasing. But how was he to procure the education for which he longed?

"Providence will open the way," said the good mother; "though how and when I cannot tell."

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CHAPTER II.

Boyhood of James.—Attempts at Carpentry.—First Earnings.—His Thirst for Knowledge.—The Garfield Coat-of-Arms.—Ancestry, etc.

True to his promise, Thomas returned in a few months with seventy-five dollars in gold, which seemed a great sum to the little family.

"Now you shall have the new house, mother," he exclaimed; and it was not many days after, that the carpenter was hired and the work begun.

James watched the building with keen, observant eyes. Before the house was completed he had learned a good part of the trade and practised it besides.

"I think I'll have to employ you when I want an extra hand," laughed the good-natured mechanic, as he noticed how cleverly James used the mallet, chisel and plane.

"I wish you would; I like the trade," exclaimed the boy, with sudden earnestness.

After the family had moved into the new house, which consisted of three rooms below and two above, Thomas went back to his work in Michigan, and James returned to his labor on the farm.

But the boy's restless spirit longed for a wider field. If he could only earn a little money, perhaps he would be able to buy a few books.

Passing the carpenter's shop one day, he saw a pile of boards at the door waiting to be planed. He stepped inside and asked for the job, which was readily given him.

"I will give you a cent a board," said the carpenter, "for I know you will do them well."

"How soon do you want them done?" asked James.

"Oh! it doesn't matter," answered the carpenter; "take your own time for them."

"All right!" said the boy, "I'll begin early to-morrow morning, just as soon as I get through with the chores on the farm."

Before night he had planed a hundred boards, and each board was twelve feet long!

He asked the carpenter to come and count them, lest he had made a mistake.

"That is too hard a day's work for a little fellow like you," exclaimed the astonished man; "but here are a hundred pennies, as I promised you."

This was the first money that James had ever earned, and it was with a proud, happy heart he emptied his load of coppers that night into his mother's lap.

It was not a difficult matter to find jobs after that. A boy who could plane a hundred boards in a day was just the sort of help the enterprising carpenter wanted. Not long after, he engaged James to help him put up a barn, paying him about twenty dollars for the job.

By this time James had learned about all he could in the district schools. He had performed problems in arithmetic that puzzled his teachers, and could repeat by heart the greater part of his reading books. A copy of "Josephus" came into his hands, and he read it over and over until long passages were indelibly impressed upon his memory.

"Robinson Crusoe," "Alonzo and Melissa," he devoured that winter with all a boy's enthusiasm, and the little home in Orange seemed smaller to him than ever. He longed to go out into the world and find a wider sphere of labor. The blood of his old Welsh ancestors was burning in his veins. He had often looked at the old Garfield coat of arms, which his father had kept with loyal pride, and wondered what it meant. Now he seemed to understand, as if by a sudden intuition, the crimson bars on the golden shield, with that strong arm, just above, wielding a sword, whose motto read, "In cruce vinco."

"Tell me about my great-great-grandfathers," he said one day to his mother, as they were sitting together by the open fire.

"Your father's family came from Wales," she answered, "and the first James Garfield was one of the brave knights of Gaerfili Castle. But that is going a long way back. I know your father used to say he was more proud of having an ancestor who had fought in the Revolutionary War, and that was Solomon Garfield, your own great-grandfather."

"How splendid it is to be a soldier!" exclaimed James.

"Yes," said his mother, "but there are many grand victories won in the world besides those upon the battle-field."

And just here it may be said that it was not only from his father's side that James Garfield inherited so many sterling traits of character. His mother is a descendant of Maturin Ballou, a French Huguenot, who joined the colony of Roger Williams, and settled in Cumberland, Rhode Island. From this pioneer preacher, a great many eminent men have sprung, among them the celebrated Hosea Ballou, a cousin of Eliza Ballou Garfield.

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CHAPTER III.

Life at the "Black-Salter's".—James wants to go to Sea.—His mother will not give her Consent.—Hires out as a Woodchopper.—His Powerful Physique.—His Strength of Character.

About ten miles from the little settlement at Orange, and not far from Cleveland, was a large potash factory, owned by a certain Mr. Barton. The neighboring farmers, when they cleared their lands, would draw the refuse logs and branches into a great pile and burn them. The ashes thus collected, they sold to this Mr. Barton, who went by the name of "black-salter," because the potash he manufactured was called in its crude state, "black salts." At one time he needed a new shed where the ashes were leached, and James assisted the carpenter who put it up.

The bright, industrious lad pleased the old black-salter, and he offered him fourteen dollars a month, if he would come and work in his ashery.

This was two dollars more than Thomas was earning "away off in Michigan," and James was greatly delighted at the prospect of earning one hundred and sixty-eight dollars a year!

It was not, however, just the sort of work he would have chosen; and the mother dreaded for her son the rough companionship of the black-salters.

But James did not associate with the rude, coarse men out of working-hours. Their profanity shocked him; and he gladly turned to the books he found on an upper shelf at Barton's house.

As might have been expected, however, these books were very different from any he had read before. "Marryatt's Novels," "Jack Halyard," "Lives of Eminent Criminals," and "The Pirate's Own Book," were in fact more dangerous companions for him than the coarse, brutal men would have been. The printed page carried with it an authority that the excited boy did not stop to question. He would sit up all night to follow in imagination some reckless buccaneer in his wild exploits, till at last an insatiable longing to be a sailor fired his brain.

"A life on the ocean wave" seemed to him, at that time, the "ultima thule" of all his dreams. He longed to see some more of the world, and to the inexperienced lad this seemed the quickest and surest way.

One day, he happened to hear Mr. Barton's daughter speak of him in a sneering tone as her father's "hired servant." This was more than the high spirit of James could bear. Years after, he said to a friend,—

"That girl's cutting remark proved a great blessing to me. I was too much annoyed by it to sleep that night; I lay awake under the rafters of that old farm-house, and vowed, again and again, that I would be somebody; that the time should come when that girl would not call me a 'hired servant.'"

The next morning James informed his employer that he had concluded to give up the black-salter's business.

In vain Mr. Barton urged him to stay, by the offer of higher wages.

Much as he needed the money, the boy was determined to find some other and more congenial way of earning a living. If he could only go to sea!

Fortunately none of the family favored this wild scheme of James.

His mother declared that she could never give her consent. "If you ever go to sea, James," she said in her firm, decided tones, "remember it will be entirely against my will. Do not mention the subject to me again."

James was a dutiful son. He did not want to oppose his mother's will, and yet he did want to go to sea.

A few days after he heard that his uncle, who was clearing a large tract of forest near Cleveland, wanted to hire some wood-choppers. After talking the matter over with his mother, he decided to offer his services. He could not be idle, and wood-chopping was certainly preferable to leaching ashes.

His sister Mehetabel, who was now married, lived near this uncle, so James could make his home with her.

Altogether the plan pleased Mrs. Garfield, although she was loath to part with her boy, even for a few months.

James engaged to cut a hundred cords of wood for his uncle, at the rate of fifty cents a cord, and declared he could easily cut two cords a day.

Now it so happened that the edge of the forest where James' work lay overlooked the blue waters of Lake Erie. With stories from "The Pirate's Own Book" still haunting his brain, it was not strange that he often stopped in his work to count the sail, and watch the changing color of the beautiful waters.

By and by he noticed that the old German by his side, who seemed to wield his axe so slowly, was getting ahead of him in the amount of work accomplished. He began to realize that he was wasting a deal of time by these "sea dreams," and resolutely turned his back upon the fascinating waters.

It was not so easy, however, to drive out of his mind the bewitching sea-faring tales he had read; and when those hundred cords of wood were cut, he returned home with the old longing to be a sailor only intensified.

He said nothing, for he did not wish to grieve his mother, and as it was now the last week in June he hired himself out to a farmer for the summer months, to help in haying and harvesting.

James was now a strong, muscular boy in his teens. He possessed, naturally, a fine constitution, and his simple life and vigorous exercise in the open air had greatly enhanced his powers of endurance. Whatever he undertook he was determined to carry through successfully. His strong, indomitable will conquered every difficulty, while his stern integrity was a constant safeguard.

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CHAPTER IV.

James still longs for the Sea.—Experience with a Drunken Captain.—Change of Base.—Life on the Canal.

James went on with his work at home, attending school in the winter, reading whatever books he could find, and taking odd jobs in carpentry to add to the family income.

His heart, however, was still on the sea.

At last he said to his mother:

"If I should be captain of a ship some day, you wouldn't mind that, would you?"

Now Mrs. Garfield, like a wise mother, had been studying her restless boy and was not unprepared for this returning desire on his part "to follow the sea."

"You might try a trip on Lake Erie," she replied, "and see how you like it; but if you want to be 'somebody,' as you say, I would look higher than to a sea-captain's position."

James hardly heard his mother's last words, so delighted was he to have this unexpected permission.

He packed up his things as quickly as possible and walked the whole distance to Cleveland.

Boarding the first schooner he found lying at the wharf, he asked one of the crew if there was any chance for another hand on board.

"If you can wait a little," was the answer, "the captain will soon be up from the hold."

James had a very exalted idea of this important personage; he expected to see a fine, noble-looking man such as he had read about in his books.

Suddenly, he heard a fearful noise below, followed by terrible oaths. Stepping aside to let the drunken man pass him, he was greeted by the gruff question,—

"What d'yer want here, yer green land-lubber, yer?"

"I was waiting to see the captain," replied James.

"Wall, don't yer know him when yer do see him?" he shouted. "Get off my ship, I tell yer, double quick!" James needed no second invitation. Could this besotted brute be a specimen of the monarchs of the sea? The boy was so shocked and disgusted that he made no further effort to find a place on board ship. He began to think his story-books might be a little different from the reality in other things as well as captains!

Wandering through the city, he came to the canal which at that time was a great thoroughfare between Lake Erie and the Ohio river. One of the boats, called the "Evening Star," was tied to the bank, and James was greatly surprised to find that the captain of it was a cousin of his, Amos Letcher.

"Well, James, what are you doing here?" said the canal-boat captain.

"Hunting for work," replied the boy.

"What kind of work do you want?"

"Anything to make a living. I came here to ship on the lake, but they bluffed me off and called me a country greenhorn."

"You'd better try your hand on smaller waters first," said his cousin; "I should like to have you work for me, but I've nothing better to offer you than a driver's berth at twelve dollars a month."

"I must do something," answered James, "and if that is the best you can offer me, I'll take the team."

"It was imagination that took me upon the canal," he said, years after; and it is easy to see how fascinating the trips from Cleveland to Pittsburgh seemed at that time to the inquiring boy.

The "Evening Star" had a capacity of seventy tons, and it was manned, as most of the canal-boats were, with two steersmen, two drivers, a bowsman, and a cook. The bowsman stood in the forward part of the boat, made ready the locks, and threw the bow-line around the snubbing-post. The drivers had two mules each, which were driven tandem, and, after serving a number of hours on the tow-path, they took turns in going on board with their mules.

On the Tow-Path.

James had hardly taken his place behind "Kit and Nance," as his team was called, when he heard the captain call out,—

"Careful, Jim, there's a boat coming." The boy had seen it, and was trying to pass it to the best of his ability. But his inexperience and haste occasioned a sudden tightening of the reins, and, before any one quite knew what had happened, both driver and mules were jerked into the canal. For a few seconds it seemed as if they would go to the bottom, but James was equal to the emergency, and, getting astride the forward mule, kept his head above water until rescue came. This was his initiation in canal-boat driving, and the adventure was a standing joke among his comrades for a long time.

When they came to the "Eleven-Mile Lock," the captain ordered a change of teams, and James went on board with his mules.

Letcher, who is still living in Bryan, Ohio, gives the following account of his talk with the boy as they were passing the locks:

"I thought I'd sound Jim on education—in the rudiments of geography, arithmetic and grammar. For I was just green enough in those days to imagine I knew it all. I had been teaching school for three months in the backwoods of Steuben County, Indiana. So I asked him several questions, and he answered them all; and then he asked me several that I could not answer. I told him he had too good a head to be a common canal-hand."

One evening when the "Evening Star" was drawing near the twenty-one locks of Akron, the captain sent his bowsman to make the first lock ready. Just as he got there, a voice hailed him through the darkness. It was from a boat above that had reached the locks first.

"We are just around the bend," said her bowsman, "all ready to enter."

"Can't help it!" shouted the bowsman of the "Evening Star," with a volley of oaths; "we've got to hev this lock first!"

The captain was so used to these contests on the canal that he did not often interfere, but it was a new experience to James. He tapped his cousin Amos on the shoulder, and said,—

"Does that lock belong to us?"

"Well, I suppose not, according to law," was the answer, "but we will have it, anyhow."

"No! we will not!" he exclaimed.

"But why?" said the captain.

"Why?" he repeated, "because it don't belong to us."

Struck with the boy's sense of right, and ashamed of his own carelessness, the captain called out to his men,—

"Hold on, hold on! Let them have the lock."

When the boatmen knew that their fight had been prevented by James's interference they were greatly incensed, and began to call him "coward" and all sorts of derogatory names.

The boy only smiled; he knew he could vindicate his rights when the time came, and it was not long before he had an opportunity.

The boat had just reached Beaver, and James was on deck with his setting-pole against his shoulder; a sudden lurch wrenched it from him and threw it upon one of the boat-hands, who was standing close by.

"Beg pardon, Dave," said the boy quickly; "it was an accident."

The great, rough man, however, would take no apology, and rushed upon James with clenched fists. A fight seemed inevitable, but with one well-directed blow, the boy of sixteen threw down his burly antagonist, and held him fast.

"Pound him, James! Give him a good thrashing!" exclaimed the captain.

"Not when he is down and in my power," said the boy. Then, letting his conquered foe rise, he said,—

"Come, Dave, give us your hand!" and from that time forth they were the best of friends.

"He's dif'rent from the rest on us—that's sartin—but he's a good un, got a mighty sight o'pluck," said the whole crew.

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CHAPTER V.

Narrow Escape from Drowning.—Return Home.—Severe Illness.—James determines to fit Himself for a Teacher.—Geauga Seminary.—Personal Appearance.—Dr Robinson's Verdict.

One dark, stormy night, just as the "Evening Star" was leaving a long reach of slack water, James was called out of his berth to tend the bow-line. As he began to uncoil the rope, it caught on the edge of the deck; he pulled several times before he could extricate it, but suddenly it gave way with such force as to throw him headlong into the water.

The whole crew were soundly sleeping, the boat glided over him, and as he could not swim he felt there was no hope. Suddenly he caught hold of something hard; it was the rope which had become entangled in a crevice of the deck and become so tight that it was an easy matter to climb up by it into the boat.

As he stood there in his dripping clothes, rescued from a watery grave, he took the rope and tried to see how it happened to catch in the crevice. Six hundred times he threw it, but it would not kink in the same manner again.

"No one but God could have saved my life by such a thread as that!" he exclaimed, and then he began to wonder if he could not make a better use of his miraculously-spared life than by spending it upon a canal-boat.

A severe attack of chills and fever followed this night's drenching and exposure. He thought of his mother and her hopes for him, and made up his mind to return home as soon as he was able.

His mother was overjoyed when, a few weeks later, he stood before her and told her of his changed plans. But again the malaria asserted its sway over him, and for a long time he lay between life and death. It was six months before he was able to do anything, and then to his mother's delight he told her he was going to fit himself to be a teacher.

A young man named Samuel Bates (now a clergyman in Madison, Ohio,) had charge that winter of the district-school in Orange. He was a frequent visitor at Mrs. Garfield's, and between James and himself there sprang up a warm friendship. The young teacher had attended the Geauga Seminary in Chester, and was full of his school experiences. He told James how economically one could live, by clubbing together with other students, and the result was that in the following spring, Garfield and his two cousins, William and Henry Boynton, went to Chester and rented a room just across the street from the seminary. The house belonged to a poor widow, who agreed to look after their room and do their washing for a small sum. They bought their own cooking-stove, and immediately set up house-keeping. James had only eleven dollars in his pocket, but he hoped to earn more before that was gone.

The academy was a plain wooden building of three stories, and could accommodate about a hundred pupils. The library connected with it contained a hundred and fifty volumes, which seemed to James a perfect mine of wealth. Among the pupils at that time attending the academy was a studious young girl by the name of Lucretia Rudolph, but the boys and girls seldom saw each other except in their classes, and James was so shy and awkward he did not care much for the society of young ladies. He watched Miss Rudolph, however, with quiet admiration. Her sweet face, her pleasant manners, and fine scholarship, made her a universal favorite, and little by little a hearty friendship sprang up between the two students who had so many aims in common.

The principal of the academy at that time was an eccentric old gentleman by the name of Daniel Branch. His wife, who was his chief assistant and equally eccentric, was trying to introduce into the school a grammar of her own construction, which was totally at variance with all other systems. For instance, she insisted that but should be parsed as a verb, in the imperative mood, with the sense of to be out; she also declared that and was another verb in the imperative mood, and meant add!

Young Garfield, who had been thoroughly drilled in Kirkman's Grammar at the district school, constantly contended against these new ideas which, to his clear, well-balanced brain, presented nothing but absurdity. It is to be hoped that the other scholars followed his sage example, and that Branch's idiosyncrasy was soon banished from the school curriculum.

James' personal appearance at this time is thus described by one of his friends:

"His clear, blue eyes, and free, open countenance were remarkably prepossessing. His height was exaggerated by the coarse, satinet trousers he wore, which were far outgrown, and reached only half-way down the tops of his cowhide boots. It was his one suit, and the threadbare coat was so short in the sleeves that his long arms had a singularly awkward look. His coarse, slouched hat, much the worse for wear, covered a shock of unkempt yellow hair that fell down over his shoulders like a Shaker's."

Without consulting any one, James resolved to be examined by a physician before going on with his studies.

He went to Dr. J. P. Robinson, of Bedford, who happened to be in the neighborhood, and said to him,—

"You are a physician, and know the fibre that is in men. I want you to examine me, and then say frankly whether or no it is worth while for me to take a course of liberal study. It is my earnest desire to do so, but if you advise me not to attempt it, I shall feel content."

The doctor, in speaking of this incident, says:—

"I felt that I was on my sacred honor, and the young man looked as though he felt himself on trial. I had had considerable experience as a physician, but here was a case much different from any other I had ever had. I examined his head, and saw that there was a magnificent brain there. I sounded his lungs, and found them strong and capable of making good blood. I felt his pulse, and saw that there was an engine capable of sending the blood up to the brain. I had seen many strong, physical systems with warm feet, but cold, sluggish brain; and those who possessed such systems would simply sit around and doze. At the end of a fifteen minutes' careful examination of this kind, we rose, and I said: 'Go on; follow the promptings of your ambition. You have the brain of a Webster, and you have the physical proportions that will back you in the most herculean efforts. Work, work hard, do not be afraid of overworking; and you will make your mark.'"

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CHAPTER VI.

Low State of Finances.—James Takes up Carpentry again.—The Debating Club.—Bread and Milk Diet.—First Experience in School-Teaching.—Becomes Interested in Religious Topics.—Creed of the Disciples.—James Joins the New Sect.

After buying his school-books and some other necessary articles, James found his small amount of funds rapidly decreasing. But this did not discourage him in the least.

"I have never yet had any difficulty in finding work, and I don't believe I shall now," he said to his cousins, as he started off one Saturday afternoon to find a carpenter's shop.

In those days planing was always done by hand, and Mr. Woodworth, the one carpenter at Chester, was very glad to engage so willing and capable an assistant as the young student.

By working at his shop before and after school, and all day upon Saturday, James earned enough money to pay all his bills that term, and carry home a few dollars besides. From that time forward he never failed to pay his own way, although to do it he was obliged to work very hard and deny himself many comforts.

The studies of his first term at Chester included English grammar, natural philosophy, arithmetic and algebra. It was one of the regulations of the school to write a composition every fortnight upon subjects chosen sometimes by the principal, and sometimes by the students themselves. These essays were occasionally read before the whole school, and the first time that James read his, he trembled so that he was "very glad," he writes, "of the short curtain across the platform that hid my shaking legs from the audience."

In the Debating Society James always took an active part. He was a little diffident at first, but soon astonished himself as much as his friends by his ready command of language. Whatever question came up before the club he studied as he would a problem in mathematics. The school library supplied him with books of reference, and his ready memory never failed him. The students at Geauga listened with astonishment to the eloquent appeals of their rough, ungainly schoolmate. The secret of his power was largely due to the thorough preparation with which he armed himself. He was so full of his subject he could not help imparting it in the strongest and most impressive manner. Here it was that he laid the basis of his future success as a public speaker.

Having taken from the library the "Life of Henry C. Wright," he became quite interested in the author's experiment of living upon a bread and milk diet. He told his cousins they had been too extravagant in their mode of living, that milk was better than meat for students, and that another term they must try it.

The boys, always ready to follow James, acquiesced; and after a trial of four weeks, found their expenses had been reduced to thirty-one cents each, per week. But their strength also had become reduced; and while still making milk their principal article of diet, they concluded to increase their table to the amount of fifty cents each for the remainder of the term.

When the long vacation came James was very anxious to teach school. The principal at Geauga had told him that he was fully competent, and with his usual energy and determination he started out to find a school.

"What! you don't expect we want a boy to teach in our district?" was the first reply to his modest application.

It was of no use to show the committee his excellent recommendation from Mr. Branch—they wanted a man, not a boy.

Somewhat discouraged, James walked on to the next district, only to find that a teacher had already been engaged. About three miles north was another school, but here, too, they were just supplied with a graduate from Geauga.

Two days of persistent school-hunting followed, but James was unable to find any position as teacher.

"It may be that Providence has something better in store for you," said his mother; but James was so tired and discouraged he had not a word to say.

Early next morning he was surprised by a call from one of the committee men belonging to their own district.

"We want some one to teach at the 'Ledge,'" he said to James, "and we heard that you were looking for a school. Now, the boys all know you in this district, and they are a pretty hard lot to manage, but I reckon you are stout enough to thrash them all."

Not a very encouraging outlook for James, surely! But after talking the matter over with his Uncle Amos Boynton, he concluded to undertake the school.

Beginning as "Jim Garfield," he determined to win the respect of both pupils and parents until he was known as "Mr. Garfield." To do this a deal of firmness was required, and his first day at school was a series of battles with naughty boys. After that a most friendly relation was established between pupils and teacher. They felt he had no desire to domineer over them, but that he would maintain order and decorum at any cost. In "boarding around," as was the custom for district school teachers in those days, he became well acquainted with all the families in the neighborhood and gained a still firmer hold upon the affections of his pupils. Before the winter was over, Mr. Garfield had won the reputation of being "the best teacher who had ever taught at the 'Ledge.'"

It was a great delight to his mother to have him so near her. Every Sunday he spent at home, and it was at this time that he became deeply interested in religious questions. His mother was a member of the Church of Disciples, or Campbellites, as they were sometimes called, from Alexander Campbell, the founder of the sect.

Their creed is as follows:

I. We believe in God, the Father.

II. We believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God, the only Saviour.

III. That Christ is a Divine Being.

IV. That the Holy Spirit is the Divine agent in the conversion of sinners, and the sanctification of Christians.

V. That the Old and New Testament Scriptures are the inspired word of God.

VI. That there is future punishment for the wicked, and future reward for the righteous.

VII. That the Deity is a prayer-hearing and prayer-answering God.

VIII. That the Bible is our only creed.

The founder of the sect was for a long time a member of the Baptist Church, and declared that he differed from them only in his "disbelief in the binding force of the church creed, and in the necessity of ministerial ordinations."

The new church grew very rapidly, notwithstanding the persecutions it received from both the Baptist and Freewill Baptist denominations, and it numbers now over half a million members.

It is not strange that James was drawn to this single-hearted, struggling sect of "Disciples." The earnest, persuasive arguments of one of its preachers led him to Christ, and when, that same winter, he was baptized in the little river at Orange, he became at once an earnest champion of the new church. In all religious discussions, he claimed the right of following the Bible according to the convictions of his own conscience, and declared that every one else should have the same right.

His consistent Christian life added strength to his spoken words, and the Disciples felt that a bright and shining light had been added to their ranks.

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CHAPTER VII.

Return to Geauga Seminary.—Works at Haying through the Vacation.—Teaches a higher Grade of School.—First Oration.—Determines to Go to College.—He visits the State Capitol at Columbus.

When James returned to the academy, he made an arrangement with Mr. Woodworth, by which he could have a comfortable boarding-place at one dollar and six cents a week. This was at Mr. Woodworth's own house, and the payment was to be taken out in labor at the carpenter's shop. It was an excellent plan, and gave James more time for his studies, in spite of the hard manual labor he performed out of school-hours. He could use the square and the scratch-awl now, as well as the plane; and his wages were correspondingly increased.

In the summer vacation of his third term at Geauga, James and a schoolmate resolved to earn a little money at haying. They accordingly hired themselves out to a neighboring farmer who wanted some extra hands. Noticing how vigorously the boys worked, the farmer turned to his men and said,—

"Lookee here, you lubbers! these boys are gitting way ahead of you. They make broader swaths, and they mow a sight better than you do!"

When the haying was done, and the settling day came, the farmer asked the boys what wages they expected.

"Whatever you think is right," replied James.

"Wall," said the farmer, "as yer only boys, of course yer won't expect men's wages."

"But didn't you say yourself," argued James, "that we did more work than your men? If that is so, why should you pay us less?"

The farmer was nonplussed, and gave the boys the same wages he paid his men, remarking, as he did so,—

"It's the fust time I ever paid boys so much, but you've fairly earned it—that's a fact!"

It was just about this time that the anti-slavery contest began to assert itself throughout the country.

In the little Debating Club at Geauga, the question was given out, "Ought slavery to be abolished in this republic?" It was a subject that roused James to his best efforts; and his school-mates, as they listened to his fiery denunciations against slavery, declared that "Jim ought to go to Congress!"

The following winter James procured a school at Warrensville, where he was paid sixteen dollars a month and his board, which was more than he had ever earned before. It was in this school that one of the pupils wanted to take up geometry—a branch of mathematics that James had never studied.

As usual, however, he was equal to the emergency. Buying a text-book, he studied geometry after school-hours, until he had mastered the science, and his pupils never once dreamed but that he was as familiar with it as with algebra or arithmetic.

It was at the annual exhibition of Geauga Seminary, in November, 1859, that James delivered his first oration. It was prepared with his usual carefulness, and delivered with so much magnetic earnestness that the whole audience were held spell-bound.

"He is bound to make his mark in the world," said every one who had listened to the earnest, enthusiastic student.

Mrs. Garfield noted with grateful joy that her son no longer spoke of "going to sea." The one great aim of his life now was to procure a liberal education. A deeper, broader ocean was stretching out before him, and already his pulses thrilled with the mighty, incoming tide.

It was during his last term at Geauga Seminary that James met a young man who was a graduate of a New England college. From him he learned that it was possible to work one's way through college as well as through school. It was a new thought to James. His poverty had seemed to him before an insurmountable obstacle in gaining a university education. Now, he began to study Latin and other branches that might pave the way to a college examination.

On his return home, he found his mother was just about to start on a journey to Muskingum County, where some of her relatives lived. She was very anxious that James should go with her, and, when he found that he could obtain a school near Zanesville, he was quite ready to go. The Cleveland and Columbus Railroad had just been opened, and this was James' first ride in the cars. When they reached Columbus they visited the legislature, which was then in session; and, as James remarked afterwards, "That alone was worth a month's schooling to me."

The mother and son spent three months in this part of Ohio, James teaching the little school at Harrison, and studying hard himself all the time. Having met a student from the Eclectic Institute at Hiram, Portage County, Ohio, he learned that opportunities were there afforded for studying the branches of the first two college years. The expenses of tuition were no greater than at Geauga Seminary, and the Institute was under the direction of the Church of the Disciples.

It seemed a providential opening, and, after talking over the matter with his mother, he determined to seek admission there the following autumn.

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CHAPTER VIII.

Hiram Institute.—The faithful Janitor.—Miss Almeda Booth.—James is appointed Assistant Teacher.—Critical habit of Reading.—Moral and Religious Growth.—Debating Club.

It was towards the latter part of August, 1851, and James was nearly twenty years of age when he first presented himself at Hiram Institute. The board of trustees was then in session, and he was directly introduced into the room where they were seated. Notwithstanding his shabby clothes and awkward manners, his earnest, intelligent face at once prepossessed them in his favor.

"I must work my way," he began; "but I am very anxious to get an education. I thought, perhaps, you would let me ring the bell and sweep the floors to pay part of my bills."

"How do we know that you can do the work well?" asked one of the trustees.

"If, at the end of a couple of weeks," replied James, "you find that my work does not suit you, I will not ask to keep the place."

"I think we had better try the young student," said another of the trustees, and so the question was settled, and James was duly installed as janitor.

The town of Hiram was at that time twelve miles from the railroad, and consisted of a straggling collection of houses, with two churches and a few stores at the cross-roads. Its natural advantages, however, were wonderfully fine, and to-day it is sometimes called "the crown of Ohio." Its location is very near the line where the waters divide, one part flowing northward to Lake Erie, the other southward to the Ohio river.

The Institute was a plain, brick building on the top of a hill, whose slopes were thickly planted with corn; from this eminence a charming panorama of the whole surrounding country could be obtained. It was built for the special accommodation of the sons and daughters of the Western Reserve farmers, and among its founders was Mr. Zebulon Rudolph, the father of James' old school-mate, Lucretia Rudolph. The Rev. A. S. Hayden was, at this time, its principal, and Thomas Munnell and Norman Dunshee were assistant teachers.

The aims of the school were,—

1st. To provide a sound, scientific and literary education.

2d. To temper and sweeten such education with moral and scriptural knowledge.

3d. To educate young men for the ministry.

Hiram College, Hiram, Ohio.

The charter of the Institute, according to the peculiar tenet of the religious movement in which it originated, was based upon the study of the Holy Scriptures. The Disciples believed that the Bible ought to take a larger place in general culture than had as yet been accorded to it. In the course of study, the system pursued was strictly elective. It was just the place for James to fit for college, and pursue, if he chose, branches that would enable him to enter a university two years in advance.

Among the pupils at Hiram, when James entered the Institute, was a Miss Almeda Booth, some nine years his senior, who proved an invaluable friend and helper. She was a teacher as well as scholar, but James, at the end of a few months, found himself pursuing the same studies and ranking in the same classes as Miss Booth. "I was far behind her," he writes, "in mathematics and the physical sciences, but we were nearly in the same place in Greek and Latin."

Miss Booth was a lady of rare talent. Upon the death of the young man to whom she was engaged, she resolved to consecrate her life to higher intellectual attainments, in order to increase her usefulness.

In a tribute to her memory, a few years ago, Garfield said,—

"She exerted a more powerful influence over me than any other teacher, except President Hopkins.... The few spare hours which schoolwork left us were devoted to such pursuits as each of us preferred, but much study was done in common. I can name twenty or thirty books, which will be doubly precious to me because they were read and discussed in company with her. I can still read between the lines the memories of her first impressions of the page, and her judgment of its merits."

Whenever James had a thesis to prepare, he would talk over the subject for hours with Miss Booth, and together they read during one term a hundred pages of Herodotus and a hundred of Livy.

At the close of his first year at Hiram, James was given the position of assistant teacher of the English department and ancient languages. He had also secured regular work with the carpenter in Hiram, so it was no longer necessary for him to serve as janitor. But many of his old schoolmates still remember the faithfulness with which he performed the menial services of his first position. He was promptness itself at the ringing of every bell, and seemed the personification of Herbert's servant, in making "drudgery divine"—for truly,

"Who sweeps a room as to Thy laws,
Makes that and the action fine!"

It was while at Hiram Institute that he formed the habit of taking critical notes from all the books he read. It proved of invaluable service to him in after years, for no matter upon what topic he desired to speak, these indexes served as so many finger-posts in his library, and directed him at once to the subject-matter in hand.

All this time the moral and religious faculties of the young student were developing no less rapidly than his intellectual powers. At the frequent meetings of the Disciples he was a ready speaker, and his earnest appeals are remembered to this day by his school-mates. Every one seemed to think, as a matter of course, that he would become a preacher in the Church of the Disciples, but, as the months went by, he seemed disinclined to express any decision upon that point.

The Debating Club at Hiram called out his best powers. His practice at Geauga had fitted him to express his opinions upon whatever subject might be under discussion, in the clearest and most impressive manner. At one time the contest over some public question became so bitter and excited that James finally rose and declared he would no longer waste his time over such nonsensical things as the majority proposed. A division of the club was the final result, and James was chosen president of the new society.

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CHAPTER IX.

Ready for College.—His Uncle lends him Five Hundred Dollars.—Why he Decides to go to Williams.—College Life.

After spending three years at Hiram in faithful, persistent study, James felt he was prepared to enter the junior class at almost any college. But how was he to procure the means to carry on his studies? Thus far he had defrayed all his expenses by his own exertions as janitor, carpenter, and teacher; but, to enter college, he would need a little money in advance. His proud, independent spirit shrank from borrowing even from his friends. At last, he went to his uncle, Thomas Garfield, and asked for the use of five hundred dollars until he could earn enough money by teaching to pay it back.

His uncle Thomas had always shown a kindly interest in his efforts to obtain an education, and now gladly advanced him the sum he desired. In order to make sure the payment in case of his death, James procured a policy upon his life to the value of five hundred dollars, and presented it to his uncle.

He had now, as he thought, the necessary means to enter college, but which of the many inviting doors should he enter? Every one seemed to take it for granted that he would go to Bethany College; which was under the patronage of his own denomination, but, in a letter to a friend, he gave his final decision as follows:—

"After thinking it all over, I have made up my mind to go to Williamstown, Mass.... There are three reasons why I have decided not to go to Bethany:—1st. The course of study is not so extensive or thorough as in eastern colleges. 2d. Bethany leans too heavily toward slavery. 3d. I am the son of Disciple parents, am one myself, and have had but little acquaintance with people of other views; and having always lived in the West, I think it will make me more liberal both in my religious and general views and sentiments, to go into a new circle, where I shall be under new influence. Therefore, I wrote to the presidents of Brown University, Yale and Williams, setting forth the amount of study I had done, and asking how long it would take me to finish their course.

"Their answers are now before me. All tell me I can graduate in two years. They are all brief, business notes, but President Hopkins concludes with this sentence: 'If you come here we shall be glad to do what we can for you.' Other things being so nearly equal, this sentence, which seems to be a kind of friendly grasp of the hand, has settled that question for me. I shall start for Williams next week."

It was at the close of the summer term in 1854 that James presented himself before President Hopkins for examination. He is described at this time "as a tall, awkward youth, with a great shock of light hair, rising nearly erect from a broad, high forehead, and an open, kindly, and thoughtful face, which showed no traces of his long struggle with poverty and privation."

He passed the examination without difficulty, and soon became a great favorite with his class in spite of his shabby clothes and Western provincialisms. "Old Gar" and the "Ohio giant" were the names by which he was best known in college, and a classmate says of him that "he immediately took a stand above all his companions for accurate scholarship, and won high honors as a writer, reasoner, and debater."

The beautiful, mountainous scenery about Williamstown was a constant delight to the young Westerner. He would frequently climb to the top of Greylock and feast his eyes upon the magnificent panorama below. He was no longer obliged to work at the carpenter's bench, or perform the duties of janitor, and these long walks gave him needful exercise as well as pleasant recreation.

President Hopkins became greatly interested in the earnest, enthusiastic student. The "friendly hand-grasp" was extended to him in many ways, and, when the summer vacation came, he offered him the free use of the college library.

James gladly availed himself of this privilege, and browsed among the books to his heart's content. It was the first time in his life that he had ever found leisure to read the works of Shakespeare, consecutively. During the summer vacation he not only read and thoroughly studied the plays, but committed large portions of them to memory. He also varied his heavier reading with works of fiction, allowing himself one novel a month. Dickens and Thackeray were favorite authors, and Tennyson's poems were read with ever-increasing pleasure.

He completed his classical studies the first year he was at Williamstown, as he had entered far in advance of the other pupils. He then took up German as an elective study, and, in the space of a few months, had made such rapid progress that he could read Goethe and Schiller, and converse with fluency.

In the "Williams Quarterly," a magazine published by the students, James took great interest, and was a frequent contributor both in prose and poetry.

The following poem, entitled "Memory," he wrote the last year he was at Williams College:—

"'Tis beauteous night, the stars look brightly down
Upon the earth, decked in her robe of snow,
No light gleams at the window save my own,
Which gives its cheer to midnight and to me
And now with noiseless step sweet Memory comes,
And leads me gently through her twilight realms
What poet's tuneful lyre has ever sung,
Or delicatest pencil e'er portrayed
The enchanted shadowy land where Memory dwells?
It has its valleys, cheerless lone and drear,
Dark shaded by the mournful cypress tree,
And yet its sunlit mountain tops are bathed
In heaven's own blue. Upon its craggy cliffs,
Robed in the dreamy light of distant years,
Are clustered joys serene of other days,
Upon its gently sloping hillsides bend
The weeping willows o'er the sacred dust
Of dear departed ones, and yet in that land,
Whene'er our footsteps fall upon the shore,
They that were sleeping rise from out the dust
Of death's long silent years, and round us stand,
As erst they did before the prison tomb
Received their clay within its voiceless halls
The heavens that bend above that land are hung
With clouds of various hues some dark and chill
Surcharged with sorrow, cast then sombre shade
Upon the sunny, joyous land below,
Others are floating through the dreamy air,
White as the falling snow their margins tinged
With gold and crimson hues, then shadows fall
Upon the flowery meads and sunny slopes,
Soft as the shadows of angel's wing
When the rough battle of the day is done.
And evening's peace falls gently on the heart,
I bound away across the noisy years,
Unto the utmost verge of Memory's land,
Where earth and sky in dreamy distance meet,
And Memory dim with dark oblivion joins;
Where woke the first-remembered sounds that fell
Upon the ear in childhood's early morn;
And wandering thence, along the rolling years,
I see the shadow of my former self
Gliding from childhood up to man's estate.
The path of youth winds down through many a vale
And on the brink of many a dread abyss,
From out whose darkness comes no ray of light,
Save that a phantom dances o'er the gulf,
And beckons toward the verge. Again the path
Leads o'er a summit where the sunbeams fall;
And thus in light and shade, sunshine and gloom,
Sorrow and joy, this life-path leads along."

He was also a prominent member of the Philologian Society, of which he was afterwards elected president.

While James was at Williamstown, the anti-slavery contest was at a white heat. Charles Sumner had aroused the whole nation by his stirring, eloquent speeches in Congress; and when the tidings came of the attack made upon him by Preston Brooks of South Carolina, indignation meetings were held everywhere throughout the North. At the gathering in Williamstown, Garfield made a most powerful speech, denouncing slavery in the strongest terms.

"Hurrah for 'Old Gar!'" exclaimed his classmates; "the country will hear from him yet!"

When the fall term closed, James looked about for some position as teacher, and finally opened a writing-school in Pownal, Vermont. This brought him in quite a sum of money, and enlarged his circle of acquaintance. His sunny disposition, his energy, his warm-hearted, sympathetic nature, made him a great favorite wherever he went, and President Hopkins, writing of him at this time, says,—

"He was prompt, frank, manly, social, in his tendencies; combining active exercise with habits of study, and thus did for himself what it is the object of a college to enable every young man to do,—he made himself a MAN."

Professor, now President, Chadbourne adds his testimony as follows:—

"The college life of James Garfield was so perfect, so rounded, so pure, so in accordance with what it ought to be in all respects, that I can add nothing to it by eulogizing him. It was a noble college life; everything about him was high and noble and manly. He was one whom his teachers would never suspect as guilty of a dishonest or mean act, and one whom a dishonest or mean man would not approach. His moral and religious character, and marked intellectual ability, gave great promise of success in the world."

At the end of his first collegiate year, James visited his mother, who was then living with her married daughter in Solon, Ohio. What a tall, manly fellow he had grown to be! What a power he would be in the church, in the world! Her heart was full of grateful joy as she realized how abundantly God had answered her earnest prayers.

The next winter vacation James taught a school in Poestenkill, a little village some six miles from Troy, N.Y. There was a Church of the Disciples in the place, and James was a frequent attendant at the conference meetings. His able remarks and earnest exhortations excited so much comment that the pastor, Mr. Streeter, invited him to occupy his pulpit. After hearing him preach once, the people declared that they must hear him again, and so it came about that almost every Sunday found the young student in the desk.

"He will become the most noted preacher in the Disciples' Church," said his friends and classmates.

One day a certain Mr. Brooks, belonging to the school committee at Troy, called upon him and said,—

"Our high school needs a new teacher, Mr. Garfield, and we want you to supply the vacancy. You will not find it a difficult position, and we will pay you a salary of twelve hundred dollars."

It was a tempting offer, and would relieve James at once of the pecuniary difficulties that hung like weights about his feet. After taking some days to consider the matter, he finally said to Mr. Brooks,—

"Much as I need the money, I feel it would not be right for me to accept the position. It would prevent me from finishing my college course, and so cramp me, intellectually, for life. Then, again, I feel under some obligation to Hiram Institute, where the trustees expect me to return. My roots seem to be fixed in Ohio, and the transplanting might not succeed; it is best for me to complete my studies here, and then return to my homework, even for smaller pay."

Abiding by this decision, James applied himself to his books with renewed energy. President Hopkins had established the metaphysical oration as the highest honor of the class, and James' essay upon "The Seen and the Unseen" bore off the palm.

He graduated in August, 1856, and among the forty-two members that composed his class, are a number of names that have since won an enviable distinction.

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CHAPTER X.

Return Home.—Appointed Professor, then President, of Hiram Institute.—His Popularity as a Teacher.—Answers Prof. Denton.—Marriage.

Upon his return home, Garfield was immediately appointed Professor of Ancient Languages and Literature at Hiram Institute. Writing to a friend at this time, he says,—

"I have attained to the height of my ambition. I have my diploma from an eastern college, and my position here at Hiram as instructor; and now I shall devote all my energies to this Institution."

The following year, upon the resignation of A. L. Hayden, Garfield was appointed President of Hiram Institute. He was now twenty-six years of age, and one of his pupils writing of him at this time, says,—

"He was a tall, strong man, full of animal spirits, and many a time he used to run out on the green and play cricket with us. He combined an affectionate and confiding manner with respect for order in a most successful manner. If he wanted to speak to a pupil, either for reproof or approbation, he would generally manage to get one arm around him and draw him close up to him. He had a peculiar way of shaking hands, too, giving a twist to your arm and drawing you right up to him. This sympathetic manner has helped him to advancement. He took very kindly to me, and assisted me in various ways, because I was poor and was janitor of the buildings, and swept them out in the morning, and built the fires as he had done only six years before, when he was a pupil at the same school.

"Once when he assigned me a task that I feared was beyond my powers, I said,—

"'I am afraid I cannot do that.'

"'What!' he exclaimed, 'you are not going to give up without trying! It seems to me, Darsie, when one is in a place he can easily fill, it is time for him to shove out of it into one that requires his utmost exertion.'"

The present principal at Hiram, President Hinsdale, was one of Garfield's pupils, and it was through his advice and constant encouragement that the struggling student undertook the work of a liberal education.

"Tell me," he writes Hinsdale, "do you not feel a spirit stirring within you that longs to know, to do, and to dare, to hold converse with the great world of thought, and hold before you some high and noble object to which the vigor of your mind and the strength of your arm may be given? Do you not have longings like these which you breathe to no one, and which you feel must be heeded, or you will pass through life unsatisfied and regretful? I am sure you have them, and they will forever cling around your heart till you obey their mandate.... God has endowed some of His children with desires and capabilities for an extended field of labor and influence, and every life should be shaped according to 'what the man hath.' I know you have capabilities for occupying positions of high and important trust in the scenes of active life. I sincerely hope you will not, without an earnest struggle, give up a course of liberal study."

Hinsdale, as we all know, followed the advice of his earnest, sympathetic teacher, and is now ranked among the foremost scholars of the day.

A favorite mode of instruction with Garfield was by means of lectures.

"They were upon all sorts of subjects," writes one of his pupils, "and were usually the result of his readings and observation. One season he took a pleasure trip, and, on his return, gave a very interesting series on 'The Chain of Lakes,' including Niagara, The Thousand Isles, and sub-historic points. One lecture on ærolites I shall never forget. About the time of the attack on Fort Sumter, he gave several lectures upon 'Ordnance'; and the natural sciences, æsthetics, etc., always came in for a share of his effective treatment."

At one time a certain Prof. Denton, who was a strong advocate of spiritualism, gave a series of lectures in Northern Ohio, by which he attempted to prove the inaccuracy of the Scriptures. He was something of a scholar, and stated his theories in so plausible a manner that many weak minds were misled. At last he became so bold that he offered a challenge to any and every believer of the Bible in Ohio to refute his statements.

The Churches of the Disciples were greatly troubled. Many of their young men were falling away, and the false doctrines were gaining a rapid ascendancy throughout the community. They must have a strong champion, who could meet Professor Denton with sharp weapons upon his own ground. They applied to Garfield, who, after some persuasion, finally agreed to meet the professor upon the appointed evening and take up his challenge. He had only three days to prepare for the contest, but, selecting six of his most advanced students, he told them the plan of argument he had devised, and then sent them to the college library to look up the separate points. He also procured copies of all the previous lectures that Professor Denton had delivered, and sent in various directions for the latest scientific works. When the evening came he was thoroughly prepared at every point. A large and excited audience had gathered to hear the discussion. Professor Denton opened the debate. Supposing his opponent would not dare to attack him on scientific ground, he neglected to be precisely accurate in all his statements. Garfield waited until he had finished, and then, with overwhelming authority, took up each point of the discussion and refuted all the Professor's arguments with the very weapons he had himself been using. It was a complete victory, and Professor Denton had the manliness to acknowledge that he had never before met with so gifted and powerful an adversary.

As the Institute at Hiram was under the special patronage of the Disciples, a large number of the students in attendance were young men who were fitting for the ministry. Garfield's position, therefore, as principal, gave him a close connection with church-work. He was a preacher as well as a teacher, and at one time filled the pulpits at Solon and Newberg every Sunday. At the morning devotions it was his custom to deliver a short, impressive address; his favorite hymn at these services was, "Ho, reapers of life's harvest," and his pupils recall how, at the singing of the last verse, he would always rap upon his desk and request the whole school to rise. He frequently preached at the Disciples' Church in Hiram, and everyone believed that he would eventually choose the ministry for his profession.

Lucretia Rudolph, the bright, attractive school-mate to whom his thoughts had so often reverted, was now a teacher at Hiram. They had corresponded all the time he was in college, their long friendship had ripened into a deep and tender love, and on the 11th of November, 1858, they were united in marriage.

A poet-student at Hiram celebrates the event in the following ode:—

"Again a Mary? Nay, Lucretia;
The noble, classic name
That well befits our fair ladie,
Our sweet and gentle dame
With heart as leal and loving
As e'er was sung in lays
Of high-born Roman nation,
In old, heroic days;
Worthy her lord illustrious, whom
Honor and fame attend;
Worthy her soldier's name to wear.
Worthy the civic wreath to share
That binds her Viking's tawny hair;
Right proud are we the world should know
As hers, him whom we long ago
Found truest helper, friend."

In a humble little cottage, just in front of the college campus, they began their wedded life,—a life whose wonderful beauty, strength, and devotion was soon to be seen and known of all the world.

Mrs. Garfield became as great a favorite in the college as her husband. One of the graduates thus writes:—

"There are men and women scattered over the United States, holding positions of honor and wealth, who began the life that led them upward by the advice and with the assistance of Mr. and Mrs. Garfield."

The wife was always the ready and efficient helpmeet of her husband. Whenever he had a lecture or speech to prepare, she would search the whole library, consulting every book that pertained to the subject in hand, and then together they would discuss the topic from every point of view. One, in every thought and purpose, their quiet life at Hiram presented the same beautiful home picture that after honors could never dim nor tarnish.

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CHAPTER XI.

Law Studies.—Becomes Interested in Politics.—Delivers Oration at the Williams Commencement.—Elected State Senator.—His Courage and Eloquence.

Shortly after his marriage, Garfield entered his name in the law office of Riddle and Williamson, attorneys in Cleveland, Ohio, as a student of law. This formality was necessary in order to ensure admission to the bar. It was not here, however, that he studied, and for a long time his friends knew nothing of the step he had taken. After his hours of teaching, at odd moments through the day, and often far into the night, he pored over his law-books with the same intensity of purpose he had shown in all his other undertakings.

It was his patriotic interest in the measures which were then before the legislature of Ohio that first led him to take up a critical study of law. He always wanted to go to the bottom of things, and his college training under President Hopkins had developed a wonderful power of synopsizing. In entering upon a course of law studies, it was not so much with the thought of becoming a lawyer, as to make himself conversant with the principles of law. When, however, he was admitted to the bar, he was so thoroughly equipped for practice, that he could go into courts of any grade and try the most intricate cases.

In later years a friend said of him:—

"Had Garfield gone to the bar for a living, his gift of oratory, his strong analytical powers, and his ability to do hard work, would soon have made him eminent. In the few law cases he took during vacation seasons he held his own with some of the best lawyers of the country. In one of them his ability to grasp successfully with an unexpected situation was signally demonstrated. The case was tried in Mobile, and involved the ownership of the Mobile and Ohio Railroad. Garfield had prepared himself upon an important and difficult question of law involved, and felt a comfortable sense of readiness for the trial; but after he reached Mobile the court ordered the consolidation of three suits concerning the road, and the question upon which he had prepared himself passed wholly out of sight; and, as he wrote to a friend, 'the whole entanglement of an insolvent railroad twenty-five years old, lying across four states and costing $20,000,000, came upon us at once.' He was assigned the duty of summing up the case for his side. During the trial he did five days and five nights of the hardest work he ever did in his life. Then he made his argument and won the case."

It will be remembered that when at college, Garfield always took an active part in political discussions, although he did not cast a vote until four years after his majority. At that time the new Republican party was formed on the anti-slavery platform, with Fremont and Dayton as their candidates. Garfield heartily sympathized with this party that "drew its first inspiration from that fire of liberty which God has lighted in every human heart," and from that time forward became its earnest and ready champion. During the campaign of 1856 he was constantly called upon for speeches and lectures. A pupil at Hiram at that time says:—

"He would attend to his duties at the Institute through the day, jump into a buggy at night, taking me or some other student to keep him company, put his arm around me, talk all the way to the place where the meeting was to be held, be it ten or twenty miles. It would not be conversation on politics, but on history, general literature, or some great principle. He was always welcomed upon the platform, and after speaking would return, taking up the theme we had dropped, getting home in the small hours in the morning.

"At nine o'clock the next day he would be in the school as fresh as ever. When Sunday came he would have a sermon as fresh and vigorous as if it had been the study of the week. All the while he was carrying on the study of law and attending to the duties incumbent on him as the president of the Institute, keeping up a course of general reading, and his acquaintance with the classics."

In 1859, only three years after his graduation, the faculty of Williams College honored Garfield with an invitation to deliver the master's oration at Commencement. The able, brilliant speaker was constantly in demand, and he won fresh laurels wherever he went.

Upon his return to Ohio, he found to his surprise that his name had been proposed in Portage county for the state senatorship. The unanimous support he received was very gratifying, yet his first thought was of the Institute.

"You will be away but a few weeks at a time," said the trustees; "your influence is greatly needed at the Capitol, and Hiram must be content to wait."

So, after much persuasion, Garfield accepted the nomination, and the Institute jealously kept his name, though deprived of his presence.

It was in January, 1860, that Garfield first took his seat in the state senate. Secession and a civil war seemed imminent, but the North continued strong and steadfast in its denunciations against slavery. Garfield, scarcely thirty years of age at this time, was the youngest member of the senate. Jacob D. Cox, another radical member, and Professor Monroe of Oberlin College, were his intimate friends, and zealous coadjutors. The 'radical triumvirate,' they were called by the opposite party, and when the constitutional amendment which would give the slave states the continuation of slavery, was submitted to the Ohio legislature, Garfield led the brave minority with marked ability and courage.

In less than ten years from the time he visited Columbus with his mother, he had become one of the most prominent members of the state senate!

The following extract from the Fourth of July oration he delivered that year at Ravenna gives us a passing glimpse of his patriotic eloquence—

"The granite hills are not so changeless and abiding as the restless sea. Quiet is no certain pledge of permanence and safety. Trees may flourish and flowers may bloom upon the quiet mountain side, while silently the trickling rain-drops are filling the deep cavern behind its rocky barriers, which, by-and-by, in a single moment, shall hurl to wild ruin its treacherous peace. It is true that in our land there is no such outer quiet, no such deceitful repose. Here society is a restless and surging sea. The roar of the billows, the dash of the wave, is forever in our ears. Even the angry hoarseness of breakers is not unheard. But there is an understratum of deep, calm sea, which the breath of the wildest tempest can never reach. There is, deep down in the hearts of the American people, a strong and abiding love of our country and its liberty, which no surface-storms of passion can ever shake. That kind of instability which arises from a free movement and interchange of position among the members of society, which brings one drop up to glisten for a time in the crest of the highest wave, and then gives place to another while it goes down to mingle again with the millions below, such instability is the surest pledge of permanence. On such instability the eternal fixedness of the universe is based. Each planet, in its circling orbit, returns to the god of its departure, and on the balance of these wildly rolling spheres God has planted the base of His mighty works. So the hope of our national perpetuity rests upon that perfect individual freedom, which shall forever keep up the circuit of perpetual change. God forbid that the waters of our national life should ever settle to the dead level of a waveless calm. It would be the stagnation of death—the ocean grave of individual liberty."

Garfield was elected to a second term in the senate, and among the difficult questions he was obliged to discuss the following year that of "State Rights" was one of the most perplexing.

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CHAPTER XII.

War declared between the North and South.—Garfield forms a regiment from the Western Reserve.—Is appointed Colonel.—General Buell's Order.—Garfield takes charge of the 18th Brigade.—Jordan's perilous journey.—Bradley Brown.—Plan of a Campaign.—March against Marshall.

The Ohio legislature was still in session when, upon that never-to-be-forgotten April day, in 1861, Fort Sumter received the first rebel shot. The news was quickly followed by a call from President Lincoln for seventy-five thousand men. This, proclamation was read in the Ohio senate, and amid deafening applause, Garfield immediately sprang to his feet, and moved that Ohio should contribute twenty thousand men and three million dollars as the quota of the state.

Although the preservation of the Union was the first thought that presented itself to the minds of the people, another and deeper impulse—the overthrow of slavery—filled their hearts and nerved their hands for the coming conflict.

To his old pupil, Mr. Hinsdale, Garfield writes—

"My heart and thought are full almost every moment with the terrible reality of our country's condition. We have learned so long to look upon the convulsions of European States as things wholly impossible here, that the people are slow in coming to the belief that there may be any breaking up of our institutions; but stern, awful certainty is fastening upon the hearts of men. I do not see any way, outside a miracle of God, which can avoid civil war with all its attendant horrors. Peaceable dissolution is utterly impossible. Indeed I cannot say that I would wish it possible. To make the concessions demanded by the South would be hypocritical and sinful; they would neither be obeyed nor respected. I am inclined to believe that the sin of slavery is one of which it may be said that without the shedding of blood there is no remission."

Garfield, always as quick to act as to speak, immediately offered his services to Gov. Dennison, who at once sent him to Missouri to obtain five thousand stands of arms that General Lyon had placed there.

These having been safely shipped to Columbus, Gov. Dennison then sent Garfield to Cleveland to organize the seventh and eighth regiments of Ohio infantry. He would have appointed him colonel of one of them, but Garfield, with his usual modesty, declined because he had had no military experience. He agreed, however, to take a subordinate position if he could serve under a West Point graduate.

The governor then appointed him lieutenant-colonel, and commissioned him to raise a regiment from the Western Reserve. He hoped to have his old schoolmate, Captain Hazen, of the regular army, for colonel, but when the governor sent on for his transfer, General Scott refused to release him.

Meanwhile, the Hiram students had laid aside their books, and flocked with patriotic ardor to the standard of their old leader. The greater part of this forty-second regiment, indeed, was made up of Campbellites, whose noble self-sacrifice in the days that followed will never be forgotten.

When the regiment went into camp at Columbus it was still without a colonel. Again the governor begged Garfield to assume the command, and after repeated requests he finally consented.

After making the decision, he wrote thus to a friend:—

"One by one my old plans and aims, modes of thought and feeling, are found to be inconsistent with present duty, and are set aside to give place to the new structure of military life. It is not without a regret, almost tearful at times, that I look upon the ruins. But if, as the result of the broken plans and shattered individual lives of thousands of American citizens, we can see on the ruins of our own national errors a new and enduring fabric arise, based on a larger freedom and higher justice it will be a small sacrifice indeed. For myself I am contented with such a prospect, and, regarding my life as given to the country, am only anxious to make as much of it as possible before the mortgage upon it is foreclosed."

Great noble heart! How grand and pathetic these words seem to-day as we read them in the light of the last sad tragedy!

The Forty-second regiment did not leave for the South until the middle of September. It was then ordered to join General Buell's forces at Louisville. While in camp near Columbus, Garfield applied himself to the study of military tactics. With his carpenter's tools he cut out of some maple blocks a whole regiment, and with these ingenious marionnettes he mastered the art of infantry. Then, forming a school for his officers, he required regular recitations in military tactics and illustrated the different movements of an army by means of his blocks. After this he could easily institute all sorts of drills, and his regiment soon gained the reputation of being the best disciplined in Ohio.

When the regiment reached Cincinnati, a telegram was received from General Buell, requesting a personal interview with Colonel Garfield. The latter hastened on to Louisville and presented himself at the General's headquarters, the following evening.

Looking the young colonel through and through with his clear, piercing eye, General Buell took down a map, and pointed out the position of Humphrey Marshall's forces in East Kentucky. He then marked the locations where the Union's troops were posted, described the country, capabilities, etc., and said to his visitor,—

"If you were in command of the sub-department of Eastern Kentucky, what would you do? Come here at nine o'clock to-morrow morning and tell me."

Garfield went back to his hotel, found a map of Kentucky, the latest census report, etc., and then with paper, pen, and ink, sat down to his problem. When daylight came he was still at work, but nine o'clock found him at General Buell's headquarters with the sketch of his plans all completed.

The elder officer read it, and immediately made it the foundation of a special order by which the Eighteenth Brigade, Army of the Ohio, was organized, and Colonel Garfield was made its commander.

Soon after, the new brigadier received his letter of instructions from General Buell, which was in substance an order to unite in the face of the enemy two small companies of soldiers that were stationed far apart, and drive the rebel General Marshall out of Kentucky.

Garfield set out for Catlettsburg without delay, and found his regiment had gone on to the little town of Louisa, some twenty-eight miles up the Big Sandy river.

The whole surrounding country was in a great state of excitement. The Fourteenth Kentucky regiment had been stationed at Louisa, but hearing that Marshall with all his forces was closely following them, they had hastily retreated to the mouth of the Big Sandy.

On the day before Christmas, Garfield joined his troops at Louisa, much to the relief of the terror-stricken citizens, who were just preparing to cross the river to find a place of safety.

The young commander had two very important and difficult things to accomplish. First, he must communicate with Colonel Cranor; then he must unite his own forces to that officer's, in the face of a greatly superior enemy that could, and probably would, swoop down upon them as soon as they made the least movement.

Going to Colonel Moore of the Fourteenth Kentucky, he said,—

"I want a man who is not afraid to take his life in his hand for the saving of his country."

"There is John Jordan from the head of Blaine," was the reply, "I think we could rely upon him."

Jordan was immediately sent for, and, notwithstanding his uncanny appearance, Garfield was at once prepossessed in his favor. He was tall and lank, with hollow cheeks and a curious squeaking voice. Born and bred among the Kentucky hills, he was rough and untutored, but his clear, gray eyes showed an unflinching courage and a downright honesty, that Garfield read with unerring intuition.

"Are you willing to risk your life for the country?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, sir!" was the ready response. "When I volunteered, I gave up my life for jest what it was wuth. If the Lord sees fit to make use of it now, I'm willin' He should take it."

"Do you mean you have come into the war not expecting to get out of it?"

"Yes, gin'ral, that's how I meant it."

"And are you willing to die rather than give up this despatch?"

"That's the gospel truth, gin'ral."

"Well, then, I think I can trust it with you."

So saying, Garfield rolled up into the form of a bullet the tissue-paper on which the despatch was written; he then coated it with warm lead and gave it to Jordan. He also gave him a carbine, a brace of revolvers, and the swiftest horse in the regiment.

The dangerous journey was to be taken only by night, and in the day-time the messenger was to hide in the woods.

It was just at midnight of the second day when Jordan reached Colonel Cranor's quarters at McCormick's Gap with his precious bullet.

Upon opening the despatch the colonel found it was dated Louisa, Dec. 24th. The order read to move his regiment as soon as possible to Prestonburg, to take as little baggage and as few rations as possible, as the safety of his command would depend upon his expedition. Hours were worth months at such a time; and early on the following morning Colonel Cranor's regiment was on the move. It consisted of one thousand one hundred men, while Garfield's larger division numbered about seventeen hundred. The enemy, under Gen. Marshall, were stationed with the main body of their forces near Paintville; but a company of eight hundred were at West Liberty, a town directly on the route by which Colonel Cranor was to join General Garfield. It was a hazardous expedition, but the brigadier colonel knew he must obey orders.

On the morning after Jordan's departure for Cranor's camp, Garfield set out with his men and halted at George's Creek, which was only twenty miles from Marshall's intrenched position at Paintville. The roads along the Big Sandy were impassable for trains, so Garfield decided to depend upon boats to transport his supplies. At this time of the year, however, the stream was very uncertain, as heavy freshets often rendered navigation impossible for a number of days.

Garfield, however, was used to contending with difficulties, and was not easily discouraged. Taking ten days' rations, he chartered two small steamboats and all the flat boats he could find, and loaded them with provisions.

Next morning, just as they were starting, one of the soldiers came up to Garfield and said,—

"There's a rough-looking man out here, colonel, who says he must see you."

Garfield stepped forward, and immediately recognized in the disreputable-looking tramp before him, Bradley Brown, one of his old companions on the canal boat.

It seemed that he belonged to the rebel army, and had heard a few days previous that Garfield, for whom he had always cherished a strong affection, was commanding the Union forces in that part of Kentucky.

Going to Marshall he told him of his former acquaintance with Garfield, and the help it might now prove to them if he should enter the camp and find out all about the Union forces. Marshall was entirely deceived by the plausibility of Brown's argument, never once dreaming that the tables might be turned upon himself.

Brown's real purpose was to warn Garfield of the rebel's strength and purpose, and he desired, above all things, to serve in the ranks of his old benefactor. He was just the man that the Union army wanted for a scout, and Garfield, when assured of his loyalty, employed him to reconnoitre through the mountain borders of Virginia.

The safe return of Jordan the following day, after many hairbreadth escapes, encouraged Garfield to organize a "secret service," which Rosecrans used to call "the eyes of the army."

It was a long, wearisome march for the Union forces, but on the sixth of January, 1862, they arrived within six miles of Paintville. While they were halting there, a messenger arrived from General Buell with an intercepted letter of Marshall's to his wife. It disclosed the fact that the rebels had four thousand four hundred infantry and six hundred cavalry, and that they were daily expecting an onslaught of ten thousand from the Union forces.

Garfield assembled a council of his officers.

"What shall we do?" he said. "Is it better to march at once, or wait for Cranor and his forces?"

All but one of the officers declared it was better to wait, but that one said: "Let us move on at once—our fourteen hundred can whip ten thousand rebels."

Garfield paused a moment, as if in deep reflection. Then he exclaimed, "Well, forward it is. Give the order."

There were three roads that led down to the enemy's intrenchment. One of these was a river road upon the western bank; another was a very winding road and came in at the mouth of Jenny's Creek: the third and most direct lay between the others, but it was very difficult to pass because of the intervening ridges.

In order to mislead Marshall as to the real strength of his forces, Garfield ordered a small division of his infantry to approach by the river road, drive in the enemy's pickets, and then move rapidly after them, as if preparing an attack upon Paintville. A similar force was sent off two hours later along the mountain road. A third detachment was ordered to take the road at the mouth of Jenny's creek.

The result of this strategy was just what Garfield had foreseen. When the pickets on the first route were attacked, they hurried back to Paintville in great confusion, and sent word to Marshall that the Union army was coming up by the river road. A large detachment of the rebel forces was at once dispatched to this point, but, by the time they reached them, the tidings had come that Garfield's forces were approaching by the mountain road. The rebel general then countermanded his first order, only to find his pickets had been attacked at another point. Finally, in utter confusion, they abandoned Paintville and fled to the fortified camp, declaring that the whole Union army was in hot pursuit.

Garfield immediately pushed forward and took possession of Paintville. This was on the afternoon of January 8th. Later in the evening, a rebel spy came to Marshall's camp and told him that Cranor, with three thousand three hundred men, was within twelve hours' march to the westward.

The rebel general naturally concluded that he was to be attacked by a band of Union forces far outnumbering his own. He therefore broke up camp and retreated so hastily that he was obliged to leave behind a large quantity of his supplies.

At nine o'clock in the evening, Garfield, with a thousand of his men, took possession of the deserted camp, and waited there for the arrival of Cranor.

Next morning Cranor arrived, but his men were so tired and footsore they seemed in no condition for making an attack. Garfield, however, knew that the time had come for a decisive challenge, and so he ordered to the front all who were able to march. Eleven hundred,—and four hundred of these were from Cranor's exhausted ranks—obeyed the call, and hastened after Marshall and his retreating army.

The Union forces had marched about eighteen miles when they came to the mouth of Abbott's Creek, three miles below Prestonburg. Here Garfield learned that Marshall and his army were encamping on the same stream some three miles distant. As it was then nine o'clock in the evening he ordered his men to put up their tents, and then he sent a messenger back to Lieutenant-Colonel Sheldon, who had been left in command at Paintville, and ordered him to bring up the remainder of the army as soon as possible.

The whole night he spent in reconnoitring about the country, so eager was he to know the exact arrangement of Marshall's troops and the probable contingencies of a battle.

Jordan's ride through the enemy's country had been of invaluable service to him. Marshall had strongly posted his army on a semi-circular hill at the forks of Middle Creek, and was quietly waiting there in ambuscade for the approach of the Union forces.

It was a chill night, and a driving rain added to the cheerlessness of the dreary bivouac in the valley.

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CHAPTER XIII.

Opening of Hostilities—Brave Charge of the Hiram Students—Giving the Rebels "Hail Columbia"—Sheldon's Reinforcement—The Rebel Commander Falls—His Army Retreats in Confusion.

With the first glimmer of light in the east, Garfield's men begin their march down into the valley. As the advance guard turns a jutting ridge, it is fired upon by a company of rebel horsemen. Instantly Garfield forms his soldiers into a hollow square, and a heavy volley from their rifles drives the enemy back.

Marshall and his whole army must be close by, but to find out their exact position, Garfield sends forward a reconnoitring party. Suddenly a twelve-pound shell whirs above the tree-tops, and tears up the ground at their feet. But the mounted company of twelve go bravely forward; and as they sweep around a curve in the road, another shell whistles past them, and they can hear in the distance a threatening rumble.

The enemy's position is at once clearly defined. The main body of their army is posted upon the top of two ridges at the left of Middle Creek, but there is also a strong detachment upon the right, with a battery of heavy artillery to hold the forks of the stream. Marshall's plan is to draw the Union forces down into the narrow rocky road along the Creek, where between two fires, he knows it will be an easy matter to hem them in and utterly destroy the whole number.

But Garfield, with his quick intuition, takes in the situation at a glance. He immediately orders a hundred of his Hiram students to cross the stream, climb the ridge where the firing has been most frequent, and open the battle.

Bravely the little company plunge into the icy stream, and clinging to the low underbrush, begin the perilous ascent. A shower of bullets from two thousand rifles is falling all around them, but nothing daunted, they press onward till the summit is reached. Then, from every side the deadly shots are hurled, and, for a moment, the little band begin to waver.

"Every man to a tree!" shouts the leader, Captain Williams. "Give them as good as they send, boys!"

The word passes from lip to lip, and instantly from behind the great oaks and maples, they take their stand, and open a volley of fire upon the rebels. This is followed by a hand-to-hand fight with the bayonets, and little by little, the brave boys are driven back.

"To the trees again!" cries the leader, "we may as well die here as in Ohio!"

One of the Hiram students, a lad of eighteen, is shot through the thigh, and a confederate soldier passing by says to him,—

"Here, boy, give me your musket." "Not the gun, but its contents," he replies, and in another instant the rebel lies dead at his feet. His companion takes up a weapon to kill the brave young student, but the latter seizes the dead man's rifle and, with unerring aim, fells him to the ground.

When his comrades bear him away to the camp, and a surgeon tells him that the wounded limb must be amputated, his only words are: "Oh, what will mother do?"

The story of the noble lad—Charles Carlton of Franklin, Ohio,—is told in the Ohio Senate, two weeks later, and a statute is immediately framed to make provision for the widows and mothers of our soldiers.

A hundred men like young Carlton present a steady resistance to the enemy's fire, but Garfield watching them from a rocky height, realizes their perilous situation and exclaims,—

"They will surely be driven back, they will lose the hill unless supported."

Instantly, five hundred of the Ohio Fortieth and Forty-second, under Major Pardee and General Cranor, are ordered forward.

"Hurrah for Captain Williams and his Hiram boys!" they shout, as they ford the stream, holding their cartridge-boxes high above their heads. But the fire of four thousand muskets fall upon them and though,—

"Bravely they fight and well,
Stormed at with shot and shell,"

the unequal contest is quickly noted by the Union commander.

"This will never do," he exclaims. "Who will volunteer to carry the crest of the mountain?"

"Let us go forward," cries Colonel Monroe, of the Twenty-second Kentucky, "we know every inch of the ground."

"Go in, then," says Garfield, "and give them 'Hail Columbia!'"

Crossing the stream a little lower down, they mount the ridge to the left, and in ten minutes are face to face with the rebel army.

"Don't shoot till you see the eyes of your enemy," shouts the colonel, and although the men have never been in battle before, they are as cool and calm as their commander.

Five hundred against five thousand! It was a fearful contest, equalled only by the famous charge of the "Light Brigade."

"Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them,
Volleyed and thundered!"

And Garfield, standing upon a rock scarred with bullets, watched and waited for Sheldon's reinforcements, until, fearing the little band would be forced to retreat, he turned to the company held back as reserves, threw his military cloak into a tree, and exclaimed,—

"Come on, boys! It is our turn now to give them 'Hail Columbia'!" And then, as the ballad tells the story,—

"He led, they followed, spreading wide
Among the rebels routed;
From rank to rank, in liberal gift,
The self-same thing he shouted."

The short winter's day was almost over. Hotter and hotter raged the battle, but the Union forces, in spite of their inferior number, were constantly gaining ground. They seemed infused with the indomitable spirit of their commander. Their coolness and intrepidity gave added power to every shot, while the enemy, not understanding the difficulty of firing "down hill," frequently missed aim and let their bullets fall harmlessly upon the tree-tops, or far beyond the mark.

At this juncture, Dr. Pomerene, the surgeon of the Ohio Forty-second, saw a gleam of muskets in the distance. Hatless and excited, he mounted a fleet horse, crossed the stream, and hurried on to ascertain, what colors were borne by the coming troops. The glorious star-spangled banner met his eyes, and, drawing nearer, he saluted Colonel Sheldon with the longed-for reinforcements.

"For God's sake, hurry!" he cried, "or the boys on the other side will be captured!"

From his elevated position on the opposite hill, Marshall had already descried the starry banner, and Sheldon's fresh troops hurrying to the rescue.

"Retreat!" he shouted to his men, and then, pierced by six bullets, he fell to the ground. Night closed about the contending armies, the rebels were seized with a sudden panic and fled wildly in all directions.

"God bless you, boys! You have saved Kentucky!" exclaimed Garfield, as he led the victorious troops back to camp. It was, indeed, a wonderful contest. The entire loss on the federal side was but one killed and eleven wounded.

"In all the battles of the late war," writes Edmund Kirke, in the New York Tribune, "there was not another like it. Measured by the forces engaged, the valor displayed, and the results that followed, it throws into shade the achievements of even that mighty host that saved the nation."

It was the first decided victory upon the Union side, but, years after, Garfield himself said of the skirmish,

"I see now, that favorably as it terminated, the engagement was a very rash and imprudent affair on my part. A West Point officer would probably have had more caution, and would not have attempted so unequal a contest. I didn't know any better, then."

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CHAPTER XIV.

Garfield's Address to his Soldiers.—Starvation Stares them in the Face.—Garfield takes Command of the "Sandy Valley"—Perilous Trip up the River.—Garfield's Address to the Citizens of Sandy Valley.—Pound Gap.—Garfield Resolves to Seize the Guerillas.—The Old Mountaineer.—Successful Attack.—General Buell's Message.—Garfield is Appointed Brigadier-General.

Marshall and his entire force were dislodged from their intrenchments. Garfield had obeyed General Buell's orders, and the following day he issued the following address to his army:—

"Soldiers of the Eighteenth Brigade:

"I am proud of you all! In four weeks you have marched some eighty, and some a hundred miles, over almost impassable roads. One night in four you have slept, often in the storm, with only a winter sky above your heads. You have marched in the face of a foe of more than double your number—led on by chiefs who have won a national renown under the old flag—intrenched in hills of his own choosing, and strengthened by all the appliances of military art. With no experience but the consciousness of your own manhood, you have driven him from his strongholds, pursued his inglorious flight, and compelled him to meet you in battle. When forced to fight, he sought the shelter of rocks and hills; you drove him from his position, leaving scores of his bloody dead unburied. His artillery thundered against you, but you compelled him to flee by the light of his burning stores, and to leave even the banner of his rebellion behind him. I greet you as men. Our common country will not forget you. She will not forget the sacred dead who fell beside you, nor those of your comrades who won scars of honor on the field. I have called you from the pursuit that you may regain vigor for still greater exertions. Let no one tarnish his well-earned honor by any act unworthy an American soldier. Remember your duties as American citizens, and sacredly respect the rights and property of those with whom you may come in contact. Let it not be said that good men dread the approach of an American army. Officers and soldiers, your duty has been nobly done. For this I thank you."

The enemy, after burning their supplies and baggage of every description, had made their escape through Pound Gap, and Garfield knew that it would be worse than useless to pursue them any farther. His own little force was greatly exhausted and short of food, as it had started with only two days' rations. A heavy rain-storm had caused an overflow of the Big Sandy, and a large part of the valley was under water. The boats were all detained in the Ohio, and among them the steamers that Garfield had loaded with provisions for his troops. Meanwhile, starvation stared them in the face. Foraging was strictly forbidden, and if it had been possible for them to march over the muddy roads, it would have been in disobedience to orders, for the enemy might at any moment return and take possession of the country.

The young commander saw but one way out of the difficulty. Calling Brown, his faithful scout, he said to him,—

"What do you say to our going down the river and hurrying up the supplies? The boatmen say it can't be done, but you and I have had some experience on the water."

"I say, gin'ral," answered Brown, "I'd rather drown than starve, any day. Jest give me the word for't and I'm yer right-hand man!"

"We'll go, Brown," was the laconic reply, and, boarding a small skiff, they floated down the seething waters to the mouth of the Big Sandy.

Here they found a small steamboat, called the "Sandy Valley," which had formerly been in the quartermaster's service. This, Garfield loaded with supplies, and ordered up river.

The captain, who was a secessionist, declared it was impossible to stem the current in such a flood. The water was at least sixty feet deep, and the trees along the banks were covered to their topmost branches.

"I will take the command of this steamer," said Garfield in an authoritative tone, at the same time ordering the captain and his men to get on board.

Placing Brown at the bow, Garfield took his stand at the helm. The most careful steering was necessary, for the water was full of dangerous snags and treacherous banks of sand. At one time the boat ran aground.

"We must get a line to the opposite shore!" exclaimed Garfield.

"It can't be done," said the rebel captain; "it's death to any man that attempts it!"

"It must be done!" cried Garfield, as he sprang into a yawl and called Brown to follow. For a few moments it seemed as if the little boat would be overborne by the current and utterly submerged. But the strong arm and indomitable will at last prevailed. Another moment of fearful suspense, and the opposite shore was gained. It was an easy matter, then, to fasten the rope, construct a windlass, and draw the steamboat out of the mud.

For two days and the greater part of one night, Garfield stood at the wheel, and at nine o'clock the following morning the provisions were safely landed at Paintville.

"Had it not been for my experience on the canal-boat," he said, afterwards, "I could never have managed that trip up the Big Sandy."

When the half-famished men saw the boat and their noble commander at the helm, they could hardly contain themselves. They shouted and cheered, and would have borne him in triumph upon their shoulders had he not made a resolute protest against such manifestations.

The whole neighboring country about Paintville were greatly terrified when they heard of Marshall's retreat. The rebel troops spread such alarming reports of the hostile intentions of the Union forces that the people left their homes and took refuge in the woods.

To quiet their fears, Garfield issued the following:—

"Citizens of Sandy Valley

"I have come among you to restore the honor of the Union, and to bring back the old banner which you once loved, but which, by the machinations of evil men, and by mutual misunderstanding, has been dishonored, among you. To those who are in arms against the Federal Government, I offer only the alternative of battle or unconditional surrender. But to those who have taken no part in this war, who are in no way aiding or abetting the enemies of this Union—even to those who hold sentiments averse to the Union, but will give no aid or comfort to its enemies—I offer the full protection of the government, both in their persons and property.

"Let those who have been seduced away from the love of their country to follow after, and aid the destroyers of our peace, lay down their arms, return to their homes, bear true allegiance to the Federal Government, and they shall also enjoy like protection. The army of the Union wages no war of plunder, but comes to bring back the prosperity of peace. Let all peace-loving citizens, who have fled from their homes, return and resume again the pursuits of peace and industry. If citizens have suffered any outrages by the soldiers under my command, I invite them to make known their complaints to me, and their wrongs shall be redressed and the offenders punished. I expect the friends of the Union in this valley to banish from among them all private feuds, and let a liberal love of country direct their conduct toward those who have been so sadly estrayed and misguided, hoping that these days of turbulence may soon be ended and the days of the Republic soon return.

"J. A. Garfield,
"Colonel Commanding Brigade."

This promise of protection allayed the fears of the people, and they began to flock about the Union camp. From them Garfield learned that Marshall and his forces were still lurking about the country. At last, through the scout, Jordan, he found out that a grand muster of the rebel militia was to meet in Pound Gap on the 15th of March, and that, by uniting their forces, they hoped to enter Kentucky and drive out the Union army.

Pound Gap is a narrow opening in the Cumberland mountains and leads into Virginia. On the top of the gorge through which the road passes, the rebels had built a long line of huts; and, directly across the gap, they had thrown up a breastwork, behind which they declared five hundred men could easily resist five thousand.

About six hundred of the rebel militia under Major Thompson had been stationed here for a number of weeks. Forming guerilla bands, they would come down into the peaceful valleys and commit all sorts of depredations. Before the terrified inhabitants could offer any resistance they would retreat to their strongholds, where pursuit was impossible.

Garfield felt his work in Kentucky would not be done until some effort had been made to break up these mountain hordes. When he heard of the intended muster, he set out with seven hundred men, and, although the way was beset with difficulties, he pushed on through swollen streams and muddy roads until he was within two miles of the rebel garrison. His plan was to send one hundred of his horsemen up the road to attract the enemy's attention, while he, with the six hundred infantry, were climbing the steep side of the mountain and attacking the rebels on the flank.

He could find no one, however, to act as a guide in this perilous expedition, until one morning an old man, with long hair and snow-white beard, came into camp.

"I came down the mountain ten days ago," he said, "and where I can come down, ye can go up."

"But, do you think we can get over the road safely?" asked Garfield; "they tell me in winter the slope is a sheet of ice with three feet of snow on the summit."

"Wall," said the old man; "ye'll hev to make yer own path most likely, but it's worth yer trouble if ye can only ketch that nest o' murderin' thieves as is pesterin' the hull country!"

Garfield looked steadily into the old man's face with that peculiar searching glance of his, and then said,—

"We will do it to-morrow, and you shall be our guide."

The snow was falling in blinding drifts next morning when they commenced their ascent. The ridge rises to a height of two thousand feet above the valley at this point, and sudden precipices yawn on every side. A single misstep is certain death; and slowly, cautiously the little band follow their weird-looking guide up the icy slope.

At length the old man turns suddenly to Garfield, saying,—

"The rebels are just a half mile from here; press on at the double and ye hev 'em!"

A firing from the picket-guard greets them, and the enemy call together all their forces to resist the intruders.

But Garfield and his men are equal to the occasion.

"Press forward, scale the hill, and carry it with the bayonet!" cries the Union commander, and with loud cheers the order is obeyed.

Little by little, the rebels fall back into the forest. The undaunted band follow with gleaming weapons, and before night are comfortably established in the enemy's quarters. Next morning, they burn the long huts, some sixty in number, destroy the breastworks, and set out for their own camp at Piketon. A week later, the order comes to march to Louisville, and the campaign on the Big Sandy comes to a successful close.

Kentucky is thoroughly rid of the rebel hordes, and General Buell is so delighted that he sends to Garfield the following message:—

"The general commanding takes occasion to thank General Garfield and his troops for their successful campaign against the rebel force under General Marshall, on the Big Sandy, and their gallant conduct in battle. They have overcome formidable difficulties in the character of country, conditions of the roads and the inclemency of the season, and, without artillery, have in several engagements, terminating in the battle of Middle Creek, on the 10th inst., driven him back into the mountains, with a loss of a large amount of baggage and stores, and many of his men killed or captured. These services have called into action the highest qualities of a soldier,—fortitude, perseverance and courage."

President Lincoln, to whom the news of "Middle Creek" had come like a benediction in his discouragement, immediately appointed Colonel Garfield a Brigadier-General.

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CHAPTER XV.

Garfield takes Command of the Twentieth Brigade.—Battles of Shiloh and Corinth.—The fugitive Slave.—Attack of Malaria.—Home Furlough.—Summoned to Washington.—Death of his Child.—Ordered to Join General Rosecrans.—Kirke's description of Garfield.

When Garfield reached Louisville he found that General Buell had hastened on to the assistance of Grant, who was then at Pittsburg Landing. Overtaking General Buell at Columbia, Tennessee, he was assigned to the command of the Twentieth Brigade, and in the famous battle of Shiloh won new laurels.

In the long and wearisome siege of Corinth, Garfield's brigade did signal service; and in June, 1862, they were sent to repair and protect the Memphis and Charleston railroad. Here, as well as at Huntsville, Alabama, Garfield's old skill at carpentry came into play; and he gained no small renown for his fine military engineering.

It was while in the command of this brigade that a fugitive slave came running into his camp, badly wounded and terribly frightened. A few minutes after, his master came riding up, and, with a volley of oaths, demanded his "property." Garfield was not present, so he passed on to the division commander. This man was a believer in the theory that fugitive slaves should be returned to their masters, and that the Union soldiers should see that this was done. He accordingly wrote a peremptory order to General Garfield, in whose command the slave was thought to be hidden, telling him to hunt out the fugitive and deliver him over to his master.

General Garfield took the order and quietly wrote on the back of it,—

"I respectfully, but positively, decline to allow my command to search for, or deliver up any fugitive slaves. I conceive that they are here for quite another purpose. The command is open, and no obstacles will be placed in the way of search." When reminded by one of his staff-officers that these rash words might bring him up before a court-martial, he replied,—

"The matter may as well be tested first as last. Right is right, and I do not propose to mince matters at all. My soldiers are here for other purposes than hunting and returning fugitive slaves. My people, on the Western Reserve of Ohio, did not send my boys and myself down here to do that kind of business, and they will back me up in my action."

The order was returned with the indorsement unchanged, and nothing more was said about it.

The exposures of the past year, together with the malarial atmosphere of the South, began at last to tell upon the strong physique of the young commander, and he was obliged to take a few weeks' furlough. He had hardly started for home however, when the secretary of war, who had now learned his rare qualities, issued orders for him to relieve General Morgan of his command at Cumberland Gap.

Garfield was too sick to obey, and, a month later the secretary desired him to report in person at Washington, as soon as his health would allow. A new honor awaited him here, for so high an estimate had been placed upon his judgment and his technical knowledge of law that he had been chosen one of the first members in the court-martial of Fitz John Porter.

While at Washington, he was called home by the sickness and death of his eldest child, the "Little Trot," whose simple headstone in the cemetery at Hiram bears the touching inscription,—

"She has gained the crown without the cross."

In the following January, Garfield was ordered to join General Rosecrans, then in command of the Army of the Cumberland. It is said that Rosecrans was somewhat prejudiced against Garfield because he had heard of him as a preacher who had taken up politics. A few days' acquaintance however, so thoroughly changed the General's opinion, that he gave Garfield the choice of joining his staff or commanding a brigade. He chose the former, and Rosecrans, writing of him, said,—

"I found him to be a competent and efficient officer, an earnest and devoted patriot, and a man of the highest honor."

It is interesting to read just here Edmund Kirke's graphic picture of Garfield, "Down in Tennessee," which was written in 1863.

"In a corner by the window, seated at a small pine desk—a sort of packing-box perched on a long-legged stool, and divided into pigeon-holes, with a turn-down lid, was a tall, deep-chested, sinewy-built man, with regular, massive features, a full, clear blue eye, and a high broad forehead, rising into a ridge over the eyes, as if it had been thrown up by a plough. There was something singularly engaging in his open expressive face, and his whole appearance indicated great reserve power. His uniform, though cleanly brushed and sitting easily upon him, had a sort of democratic air, and everything about him seemed to denote that he was a man of the people. A rusty slouched hat, large enough to have fitted Daniel Webster, lay on the desk before him; but a glance at that was not needed to convince me that his head held more than the common share of brains. Though he is yet young—not thirty-three—the reader has heard of him, and if he lives he will make his name long remembered in our history."

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CHAPTER XVI.

Rosecrans Quarrels with the War Department.—Garfield as Mediator.—Remarkable Military Document.—The Tullahoma Campaign.—Insurrection averted.—Chattanooga.—Battle of Chickamauga.—Brave Defence of Gen. Thomas.—Garfield's Famous Ride.

Just at the time Garfield succeeded Garesche as Rosecrans' chief-of-staff, that officer was having a series of bickerings with the War Department. In his demands for more cavalry and arms, Garfield fully sympathized, but his unreasonable requests, oftentimes couched in the most exasperating language, the new chief endeavored to modify or repress.

From January until June, Rosecrans' army had lain idle at Murfreesboro'. With the opening of spring the War Department urged him to advance. Grant had begun his campaign against Vicksburg; and Halleck declared that unless Rosecrans made some decided movement, the rebel General, Bragg, would send a part of his force to aid Pemberton at Vicksburg.

General Rosecrans, however, still delayed; he waited for reinforcements, for the roads to be in better condition, for the corn to ripen. It was better to keep quiet, he said, while Grant was at Vicksburg, for should that General happen to fail, all the rebels of the surrounding section, as well as those under General Johnston, would confront him.

At first, Garfield approved of Rosecrans' delay, but as soon as his army was thoroughly reinforced with men and supplies, he urged him to make an advance. Through the secret service system which he had established since Jordan's wonderful expedition, Garfield discovered that Bragg's army was greatly reduced, and he felt assured that the time had come for a decisive blow. At last, General Rosecrans sent a formal letter to his corps, division, and cavalry generals asking their opinion concerning the feasibility and wisdom of such a movement. Not one of the seventeen generals was in favor of an immediate or even an early advance.

Garfield took the answers sent in from the generals, and in one of the ablest military documents on record,[A] he refuted every objection raised, and added therewith such powerful arguments in favor of an immediate advance, that General Rosecrans was convinced. Twelve days later, the army moved, much to the chagrin of the other officers, who declared it was a rash and fatal step for which Garfield alone should be held responsible.

It was the opening of the famous Tullahoma campaign—a campaign remarkable throughout for its fine conception and able execution. Bragg's army would have been utterly destroyed had the advance been made a few days earlier; as it was, the rebel forces were finally driven south of the Tennessee, a thousand five hundred and seventy-five prisoners were captured, together with considerable ammunition, and the state of Tennessee was again under the flag of the Union.

Almost on the boundary line between Tennessee and Georgia stands the village of Chattanooga. It is on the southern bank of the Tennessee river, and to the north Lookout Mountain rises almost perpendicularly to a height of twenty-four hundred feet. Missionary Ridge, which is a much lower elevation, lies upon the eastern side, and along its base flows the West Chickamauga Creek that empties into the Tennessee just at Chattanooga. On the opposite side is Pigeon Mountain.

The Tullahoma campaign had forced Bragg and his remaining troops across the Tennessee, and they were now posted all along the southern bank of the stream from Chattanooga far down toward Atlanta.

Rosecrans' army had encamped themselves on the west with a line of fortifications one hundred and fifty miles long, while General Burnside had moved into Eastern Tennessee, and taken possession of Knoxville. The great problem now was how to force Bragg from his position at Chattanooga.

It was about this time that Rosecrans received a letter, in which a plan for arming the negroes and sending them throughout the slave states, was proposed.

"It would doubtless end the rebellion at once," said one of Rosecrans' officers; "and the letter says that no blood would be shed except in self-defence."

"But, think what vengeance the blacks might take, if suddenly let loose upon their masters!" exclaimed Rosecrans. "I must talk the matter over with Garfield."

After a careful reading of the letter, the chief-of-staff said, quietly, but firmly,—

"It will never do, General. We don't want to whip by such means. If the slaves, of their own accord, rise and assert their original right to themselves, that will be their own affair; but we can have no complicity with them without outraging the moral sense of the civilized world."

"But what if the other departments should encourage these uprisings?"

"We must do all in our power to prevent them," exclaimed Garfield.

Rosecrans, whose confidence in his chief-of-staff was daily increasing, immediately took measures to stop the movement, and the insurrection, with all its attendant horrors, was averted.

To Garfield was now submitted the task of planning some movement which would oblige Bragg to leave Chattanooga. General Halleck, then in Washington at the head of the War Department, had sent to Rosecrans the following telegram,—

"The orders for the advance of your army are peremptory."

The only movement that could be made with any advantage at this time, would be for the Union army to cross the river in three divisions and cut off Bragg from all communication with Atlanta, whence he was expecting supplies and reinforcements.

Pontoons were, therefore, brought forward, and materials prepared for building a couple of bridges. This was done with all possible secrecy, but high up on Lookout Mountain the signal corps of Bragg's army, with their field-glasses, were stealthily watching, and promptly reporting every movement.

The Confederates readily yielded their post at Chattanooga, but it was only to give the appearance of a retreat. In reality, they were concentrating all their forces along the banks of the Chickamauga, and already their troops outnumbered Rosecrans' by several thousands. Bragg's plan was to cross the Chickamauga at the various bridges and fords, push across Missionary Ridge to Rossville, and then, closing in upon Rosecrans' army, completely destroy it by the force of his superior numbers.

Garfield, by means of his secret service system, had discovered this plan of the rebel commander, and apprized Rosecrans, who was now on the alert and confronting Bragg's troops at every feasible point of the road.

"The resistance offered by the enemy's cavalry," writes the Confederate general, "as well as the difficulties arising from the bad and narrow country roads, caused unexpected delays."

On the morning of the 19th of September, the battle began on the banks of the Chickamauga between Pigeon Mountain and Missionary Ridge. It raged fiercely all day, and when night closed down upon the contending armies, the contest was still undecided.

Bragg's army had been reinforced by a large detachment under General Longstreet, and McLawes' division was expected every moment. The prospect seemed very dark to the Union army, whose scattered troops numbered at most but sixty thousand, and whose supplies were cut off in all directions. They still held, however, the road to Rossville, the one especial point for which Bragg had been fighting.

It was a fortunate turn of affairs that gave to General Thomas the command of the left wing of Rosecrans' army. Here it was that the brunt of the battle came, on the second day at Chickamauga; and, through the whole fearful struggle, the brave general and his devoted troops showed the same invincible spirit that had won laurels for them in the victories of Mill Spring, Pittsburg Landing, and Stone River.

Garfield, as chief-of-staff, kept his place by Rosecrans' side until, at a critical point in the battle, he turned to his commanding officer, and said,—

"General, I ask permission to return and join General Thomas." Consent was reluctantly granted, for, although it was necessary to inform General Thomas of the condition of affairs, Rosecrans knew that Garfield was undertaking a fearful risk.

"As you will," he said, at last; "God bless you; we may not meet again. Good-bye!"

With the brave Captain Gaw as his guide, and two orderlies, Garfield sets out on his famous ride. There are eight miles to be crossed before they can reach Thomas; they ride swiftly and securely through the neighboring forest, but as they emerge from the narrow road at Rossville Gap, a shower of bullets falls about them. Longstreet's skirmishers and sharp-shooters have surrounded them, and the two orderlies fall from their horses, mortally wounded.

Garfield spurs on his magnificent charger, leaps a fence, and finds himself in an open field, white with ripening cotton. Only a slight ridge now divides him from the outposts of Thomas's division, but, as he makes a zig-zag ascent up the slope, the gray-coats send volley after volley of whizzing bullets, and suddenly his horse is struck beneath him. It is only a flesh wound, however, and the fiery creature is urged forward with still greater impetuosity.

Another second, and the crest of the hill is gained. Horse and rider gallop down the other side and a band of mounted blue-coats surround them.

"Good God, Garfield!" cries General McCook, "I thought you were killed. How you have escaped is a miracle."

Though twice wounded, Garfield's horse plunges on, through tangled under-brush, over fences, up hill and down, until the remaining four miles are accomplished. Then, passing through another shower of shot and shell, Garfield catches a glimpse of Thomas.

"There he is!" he shouts, "God bless the old hero! he has saved the army!"

In five minutes more, Garfield is by the side of Thomas; the perilous ride is safely over, the message is delivered. But look! the noble horse is staggering, and now it drops down dead at the feet of General Thomas.

A half hour longer the battle raged desperately, and then with a sudden break in their lines the rebels abandoned the fight and began to retreat.

Garfield sat down behind a dead tree and wrote a dispatch to General Rosecrans. In the midst of the heaviest firing, a white dove was seen to hover around for several minutes, and then to settle down on the top of the tree above Garfield's head.

"A good omen of peace!" exclaimed General Wood, who was standing close by. Garfield said nothing, but kept on with his writing.

At seven o'clock that evening, a battery of six Napoleon guns, by order of Generals Granger and Garfield, thundered after the retreating rebels.

The battle of Chickamauga was ended; the Union army had won the day.

"Again, O fair September night!
Beneath the moon and stars,
I see, through memories dark and bright,
The altar fires of Mars.
The morning breaks with screaming guns
From batteries dark and dire,
And where the Chickamauga runs
Red runs the muskets' fire.

"I see bold Longstreet's darkening host
Sweep through our lines of flame,
And hear again, 'The right is lost!'
Swart Rosecrans exclaim!
'But not the left,' young Garfield cries:
'From that we must not sever,
While Thomas holds the field that lies
On Chickamauga River.'

"Through tongues of flame, through meadows brown,
Dry valley roads concealed,
Ohio's hero dashes down
Upon the rebel field
And swift, on reeling charger borne,
He threads the wooded plain.
By twice a hundred cannon mown,
And reddened with the slain.

"But past the swathes of carnage dire,
The Union guns he hears,
And gains the left, begirt with fire,
And thus the heroes cheers—
'While stands the left, yon flag o'erhead,
Shall Chattanooga stand!'
'Let the Napoleons rain their lead!'
Was Thomas's command.

"Back swept the gray brigades of Bragg,
The all with victory rung,
And Wurzel's 'Rally round the flag!'
'Mid Union cheers was sung.
The flag on Chattanooga's height
In twilight crimson waved,
And all the clustered stars of white
Were to the Union saved.

"O Chief of staff! the nation's fate.
That red field crossed with thee,
The triumph of the camp and state,
The hope of liberty!
O Nation! free from sea to sea,
With union blessed forever,
Not vainly heroes fought for thee
By Chickamauga's River."