Western Characters; or, Types of Border Life in the Western States

by John Ludlum McConnel

He knew that, in order to make a noise on the flute, or, indeed, anywhere else, it was necessary to blow, and blow he did, like Boreas! He always carried the instrument in his pocket, and on being asked to play—a piece of politeness for which he always looked—he drew it out with the solemnity of visage with which a tender-hearted sheriff produces a death-warrant, and while he screwed the joints together, sighed blasts like a furnace. He usually deposited himself upon the door-sill—a favorite seat for him—and collecting the younger members of the family about him, thence poured forth his strains of concentrated mournfulness.

He invariably selected the most melancholy tunes, playing, with a more profound solemnity, the gloomiest psalms and lamentations. When he ventured upon secular music, he never performed anything more lively than “The Mistletoe Bough,” or “Barbara Allen,” and into each he threw a spirit so much more dismal than the original, as almost to induce his hearers to imitate the example of the disconsolate “Barbara,” and “turn their faces to the wall” in despair of being ever again able to muster a smile!

He was not a scientific musician, then—fortunately for his usefulness—because thorough musicians are generally “good-for-nothing” else. But music was not a science among the pioneers, though the undertone of melancholy feeling, to which all sweet sounds appeal, was as easily reached in them as in any other people. Their wants in this, as in other things, were very easily satisfied—they were susceptible of pleasure from anything which was in the least commendable: and not feeling obliged, by any captious canon, to condemn nine true notes, because of the tenth false one, they allowed themselves to enjoy the best music they could get, without thinking of the damage done their musical and critical reputation.

But his flute was not the only means of pleasing within the schoolmaster's reach: for he could flatter as well as if the souls of ten courtiers had transmigrated into his single body. He might not do it quite so gracefully as one of these, nor with phrases so well-chosen, or so correctly pronounced, but what he said was always cunningly adapted to the character of the person whom he desired to move. He had “a deal of candied courtesy,” especially for the women; and though his sturdy manhood and the excellent opinion of himself—both of which came to him from his ancestry—usually preserved him from the charge of servility, he was sometimes a “cozener” whose conscience annoyed him with very few scruples. Occasionally he might be seen fawning upon the rich; but it was not with him—as it usually is with the parasites of wealthy men—because he thought Dives more respectable, but more useful, on account of his money: the opulent possessed what the indigent wanted, and the shortest road to the goal of Cupidity, lay through the region of Vanity. There was none of that servility which Mr. Carlyle has attempted to dignify with the name of “hero-worship,” for the rich man was rather a bird to be plucked, than a “hero” to be worshipped. And though it may seem that I do the schoolmaster little honor by the distinction, I can not but think cupidity a more manly trait than servility: the beast of prey a more respectable animal than the hound.

But the schoolmaster's obsequiousness was more in manner than in inclination, and found its excuse in the dependence of his circumstances. It has been immemorially the custom of the world, practically to undervalue his services, and in all time teaching and poverty have been inseparable companions. Nobody ever cared how poorly he was clad, how laborious his life, or how few his comforts; and if he failed to attend to his own interests by all the arts in his power, no one, certainly, would perform the office for him. He was expected to make himself generally useful without being particular about his compensation: he was willing to do the one, but was, very naturally, rather averse to the other: that which justice would not give him, he managed to procure by stratagem.

His manners thus acquired the characteristics we have enumerated, with also others. He was, for example, very officious; a peculiarity which might, perhaps, be derived from his parentage, but which was never repressed by his occupation. The desire to make himself agreeable, and his high opinion of his ability to do so, rendered his tone and bearing very familiar; but this was, also, a trait which he shared with his race, and one which has contributed, as much as any other, to bring the people called “Yankees” into contempt in the west. The men of that section are not themselves reserved, and hate nothing more than ceremonious politeness: but they like to be the first to make advances, and their demonstrations are all hearty, blunt, and open. They therefore disliked anything which has an insinuating tone, and the man who attempts to ingratiate himself with them, whether it be by elaborate arts or sidelong familiarity, at once arms them against them.

The schoolmaster was inquisitive, also, and to that western men most decidedly object. They have little curiosity themselves, and seldom ask impertinent questions. When they do so, it is almost always for the purpose of insulting the man to whom they are put, and never to make themselves agreeable. The habit of asking numerous questions was, therefore, apt to prejudice them against men whose characteristics might be, in other respects, very estimable; and it must be acknowledged, that vulgar and obtrusive impertinence is an unfortunate accompaniment to an introduction. But the schoolmaster never meant to be impertinent, for he was far from being quarrelsome (except with his scholars), and the idea that any one could be otherwise than pleased with his notice, however given, never entered his mind. Though his questions were, for the most part, asked to gratify a constitutional curiosity, he was actuated in some degree, also, by the notion that his condescension would be acceptably interpreted by those whom he thus favored. But, like many other benevolent men, who put force upon their inclinations for the benefit of their neighbors, he was mistaken in his “calculation;” and where he considered himself a benefactor, he was by others pronounced a “bore.” The fact is, he had some versatility, and, like most men of various powers, he was prone to think himself a much greater man than he really was.

He was not peculiarly fitted to shine as a gallant “in hall or bower,” but had he been the climax of knightly qualities, the very impersonation of beauty, grace, and accomplishment, he could not have been better adapted than, in his own estimation, he already was, to please the fancy of a lady. He was blissfully unconscious of every imperfection; and displayed himself before what he thought the admiring gaze of all dames and demoiselles, as proudly as if he had been the all-accomplished victor in some passage of arms. Yet he carried himself, in outward appearance, as meekly as the humblest Christian, and took credit to himself accordingly. He seldom pressed his advantages to the utter subjugation of the sighing dames, but deported himself with commendable forbearance toward the weak and defenceless whom his perfections had disarmed. He was as merciful as he was irresistible: as considerate as he was beautiful.

“What a saint of a knight is the knight of Saint John!”

The personal advantages which he believed made him so dangerous to the peace of woman, were counteracted, thus, by his saintly piety. For—as it became him to be, both in the character of a man, and in that of a descendant of the puritans—he was always habited in “the livery of heaven.” Some ill-natured and suspicious people, it is true, were inclined to call his exemplary “walk” hypocritical, and to stigmatise his pious “conversation” as cant. But the ungodly world has always persecuted the righteous, and the schoolmaster was correct in attributing their sneers to the rebuke which his example gave to their wickedness, and to make “capital” out of the “persecution.” And who shall blame him—when in the weary intervals of a laborious and thankless profession, fatigue repressed enthusiasm—if he sometimes eked out the want of inspiration by a godly snuffle? True piety reduces even the weapons of the scorner to the service of religion, and the citadel of the Gloomy Kingdom is bombarded with the artillery of Satan! Thus, the nose, which is so serviceable in the production of the devilish and unchristian sneer, is elevated by a saintlike zeal, to the expression of a devout whine: and this I believe to be the only satisfactory explanation which has ever been given, of the connection, in so many good men, between the nasal and the religious!