The Life and Work of James A. Garfield, Twentieth President of the United States / Embracing an Account of the Scenes and Incidents of His Boyhood; the Struggles of His Youth; the Might of His Early Manhood; His Valor As a Soldier; His Career As a Statesman; His Election to the Presidency; and the Tragic Story of His Death.

by John Clark Ridpath

The exulting sense, the pulse’s maddening play,

That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?”

While in this brittle state of mind no great provocation would he need to produce a break with the black-salter. Accordingly, an insult, which soon offered, led to a scene and a departure. Some member of the family alluded to James as a “servant.” In an instant his warm blood rose to fever heat; he refused to stay another hour where such things could be said of him. The employer’s stock of eloquence was too small to change the fiery youth’s mind; and that night he slept again beneath his mother’s roof.

Hitherto the forces and facts which rested in and about James A. Garfield had kept him near home; the outward tending movement now became powerful, and struggled for control. With the passion for the sea at its height, he began to consider the situation. At home was the dear mother with her great longing that he should love books, go to school, and become a man among men, educated, a leader, and peer of the best in character and intellect. And how could he leave her? The struggle for life had not yet become easy on the farm, and his absence would be felt. “Leave us not,” pleads the home. “The sea, land-lubber, the wide, free ocean,” says the buccaneer within. At this point, while he reflected at home on these things, being out of employment, a new incident occurred.

Our young friend had now acquired something more than the average strength of a full-grown man. Born of a hardy race, constant exercise of so many kinds was giving him extraordinary physical power. So he felt equal to the opportunity which offered itself, and became a wood-chopper. Twenty-five cords of wood were rapidly cut for a reward of seven dollars. The place where this was done was near Newburg, a small town close to Cleveland. During this time his mother hoped and prayed that the previous intention of her son, to go to the lake and become a sailor, would weaken, and that he would be led to remain at home; but fate decreed otherwise. The scene of his wood-cutting exploit was close to the lake shore, where the vessels passed at every hour. The excitement within him, as each sail went out beyond the horizon, never ceased. The story never grew old. The pirate had not died, but still plotted for plunder, and hungered for black flags, cutlasses and blood. No doubt Garfield would have been a good-hearted corsair—one of the generous fellows who plundered Spanish galleons just because their gain had been ill-gotten; who spared the lives and restored the money of the innocent, gave no quarter to the real villains, and never let a fair woman go unrescued.

Returning home from Newburg to see his mother, she persuaded him to remain a while longer. Harvest-time would soon approach, and his services were needed on the farm. Of course, he stayed; helped them through the season, and even spent some extra time working for a neighbor. But the facts of a boy’s future sometimes can not be changed by circumstances. A firm-set resolve may be hindered long, but not forever. James Garfield had set his head to be a sailor, and a sailor he would be. Farming was a very good business, no doubt, and just the thing for the brother Thomas, but by no means suited to a young salt like himself.

Now, bright blue waves of Erie, dash against your shores with glee, and rise to meet your coming conqueror! The last family prayer was uttered, the good-bye kiss was given; and mother Garfield stood in the low doorway, peering out through the mists of morning, to catch a last glimpse of the boy who has just received her parting blessing. The story of that memorable time is already well known. With a bundle of clothes on a stick, thrown across his sturdy shoulder, he trudged along, sometimes wearily, but always cheerily, bound for the harbor of Cleveland. The way was probably void of noteworthy incidents; and, with his thoughts all absorbed on what he believed to be his coming experiences on deck, he arrived at Cleveland. It was an evening in July of 1848. The next morning, after due refreshment and a walk about the city, being determined on an immediate employment, he lost no more time in hastening toward the rolling deep. Boarding the only vessel in port at the time, he strolled about and waited for the appearance of his intended captain. The experience of that hour was never forgotten. Garfield’s ideas of a sailor had thus far chiefly come out of books, and Jack, as a swearing tar, he was not prepared to meet. Presently a confused sound came up from the hold, first faintly muttering, then swelling in volume as it came nearer and nearer. Uncertainty about the matter soon ceased, however, as the “noble captain’s” head appeared, from which were issuing rapid volleys of oaths, fired into space, probably, as a salute to the glorious god of day. Rough in looks, rude in manners, a coarse and petty tyrant on the water, and a drunkard both there and on land, this bloated individual was not the one to greet a green and awkward boy with soft words. Glad to see a new object for his hitherto objectless oaths, he inquired Garfield’s business there, in language not well shaped to courtesy nor kindness. The offer of his services was made, however, as James was not disposed to back out of any thing; but he was informed that they had no use for him, and obliged to retire in confusion, amid the continued curses of a magnanimous commander, and the profane laughter of an uncouth group of the commanded.

At this moment of time the reader will pause to reflect and consider on what a delicate balance hangs the history of the world, and the men who make the world. “Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!” The results of that day’s experience at Cleveland are written in every public event that ever felt the force of Garfield’s molding influence.

Senates owed a name which raised their reputation, armies owed their victories to the drunken vulgarity of an Erie captain! That was Garfield’s first day in Cleveland. You who know the future, which has now become the past, think, and compare it with his last day there!

Having beat an inglorious retreat from the lake, James was now forced to confront a new and unexpected difficulty. First, he became sensible that his treatment there had probably arisen principally from his rustic appearance; and the notion came close behind that the same scene was liable to be enacted if he should try again. He had plenty of pluck, but also a good stock of prudence. Go home he would not, at least till he had by some means conquered defeat. “What shall I do next?” he muttered as he sauntered along. He had already learned, by inquiries in town during the day, that work there would be difficult to get. In this perplexity, as in every doubtful situation in the world, when difficulties are met by determination, a clear way out came to him. The problem was solved thus: “I’m going to be a sailor. But the ocean is too far away, and I must make my way there by lake, meanwhile learning what I can about the business. But I can’t go on the lake now,—and there’s nothing left me but the muddy canal. I will go first by way of the canal, meanwhile learning what I can about the business.” To the canal he turned his tired steps.