Boarding Round: Interesting Experiences of a Young Yankee Schoolmaster

Front matter

Copyright 1915 By JOHN OTIS BARROWS

All Rights Reserved

To the TEACHERS of Public Schools

Chapter 1

It was October and a lovely morning. It was one of the mornings in autumn when everything seems pervaded by a spirit of calm restfulness, as if Nature were waiting, for a little, to gather strength for the rough wrestlings of approaching winter. Nothing is stirring, or moved from its place. The leaves, yet remaining on the trees, hang motionless. The night crickets are silent. No sound comes to one from any quarter, except, it may be, the cawing of distant crows, or the occasional drumming of a happy old partridge.

James Ray Sears had set out to walk to Winfield for his examination as teacher of one of the district schools of that town. He could not have chosen a more auspicious morning, one more conducive to courage and hopefulness for the ordeal through which he must pass. And as he leisurely pursued his way, he would put to himself questions, in the studies with which he would be expected to be familiar, trying to frame the appropriate answers thereto. Thus engaged, the hours passed quickly, till the sun was high in the east; and with its rise, the wind began to blow, and to move the branches of the trees. He now heard some chestnuts fall from a tree before him by the roadside. The temptation to taste these was too great. Gathering a few for his pocket, he sat down on a rock beneath the tree to enjoy them. His only companion was a little red squirrel, that would come down the trunk of the tree, look him saucily in the face, then, with a whirr and a chitter, spring up and seat himself upon a limb, as much as to say, "You didn't get me, and, if you please, you needn't eat all of my nuts."

As James again started on his way, a man in a wagon drove up beside him. This man was known in his neighborhood as "Uncle Steve," and was as odd a character as his looks would indicate. He was unconventional in his habits. He was one of that kind of people who unconsciously contribute a humorous element to the social life of which they form a part. His horse and wagon, too, looked as if they might properly belong to him. The former had four legs that usually moved forward somewhat, when requested, but had times of disagreeable irregularity, especially when its driver was in haste to get along. The wagon had been subjected to numerous extemporized alterations, and now had, in place of a seat, a board laid across the body. On this board the venerable man sat, holding in one hand the reins, and in the other a small alder pole, with which he was accustomed, at near intervals, to exert a salutary influence upon the animal before him. His clothes were unique, and cannot easily be described. One can, however, hardly refrain from remarking that above his red face there appeared something which he still called his hat. This had been tall, fashionable, and new, when it was made; but for many years it had suffered from a process of slow degeneration, till one side had come to retain only about two-thirds of its original height, and the other side somewhat less. He had taught its brim to turn up behind, that it might rest securely on the inner edge of his coat collar. His hair and beard were long, worn loosely, and never troubled by brush or comb. His teeth had one by one taken leave of his jaws, but the vacancies, thus occasioned, were perpetually filled with quids of pigtail tobacco. At this time, the natural action of these quids, as they were vigorously revolved, caused aqueous broadsides to be discharged, with great force and frequency, over the forward wheel, on the lee side of his wagon. The wind, which was now becoming brisk, made any attempts on the other side difficult, and the shower to return in the form of disagreeable spray. The old man at once entered into conversation with the young stranger, and, finding that he was going on in the same direction with himself, cordially invited him to come up, and partake of the comforts of the board across his wagon: adding as he did so that he had forgotten to take the cushion. He did not wish to have it thought that he had also, for many years, forgotten it every time. He moved along for his guest to sit on the side protected from the wind; but he, as if so obtuse that he could not perceive where a place had been made for him, came up on the windward side. He very properly thought that his new silk hat, and the linen which his mother had been at such great pains to "do up," for the good appearance of her son, should not just then be exposed to such a heavy storm of liquid nicotine.

"Glad to give y' a leetle lift on your way. Have y' come fur?"

"Not very; about five miles, I think. I live near Long Pond."

"Oh, over there, in the age of Scaleville. I know naow. Ain't y' the young feller what's took the school in the Corner deestrict?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Wal, now, that's awful good; I c'n take y' right along. I live in that deestrict my- self. I've heerd y're goin' t' keep up there. Mother teld me. She went up there t' du a leetle tradin' t' the store, and everybody was a talkin' about young Sears—that's y'r name, ain't it? And the galls, she said, was all on tiptoe, wonderin' what kind of a feller the young marster would be. Wal, they won't be disappinted in his looks, 't any rate, ef I'm any judge o' horned cattle."

Uncle Steve always spoke of his wife as "Mother," with a peculiar circumflex accent on the first syllable.

"Golly, y'll have a grand, good, big school; forty or fifty on 'em, I guess. Some o' them boys are slappin' big fellers—taller 'n I am. And then the galls, tu. Some o' them 's growed up. But they're mighty good galls. Y' needn't be a bit afraid on 'em. They're a likely set as y'll find anywheres. And there are some good lookin' ones among 'em, now I tell ye. But you mustn't show that you know that, y' know. That won't du. Some of the marsters what we've had here in years gone by, showed partiality, so they say, towards some of the best lookin' big galls. That starts up bad feelin's—alwuz dooz; so y' must look out for that. You must go right straight along 'tween what y' like an' what y' don't; then y'll git along. I never kep' school, but I c'n see a leetle how sich things work."

James happily found that he was able to avoid the showers of juice, but he was think- ing of what would be, should a sharp turn in the road bring him on the lee side.

Uncle Steve began to grow animated.

"I have one boy," he continued, "what'll go t' school. He's my grandson, my darter's son. He never knowed nothin' 'bout his father, and I'se alwuz took care on him. The boy don't take to his books quite so narturally as I'd like t' have him; and he's a leetle onusual in his disposition. Y'll have t' larn 'bout him a kinder gradurally, by degrees like, so t' speak, an' so git hold on him on the right side. The marster last winter didn't somehow seem to know jest how, an' so I had t' take the boy out o' school. The marster claimed he wa'n't respectful; but he didn't mean to do nothin' noway. You won't have no trouble with him, if y' keep your eyes open to see how he doos things. He has a kind o' way of his own, an' that y'll have to git used to, y' know. Ye ha'n't kep' school, I s'pose."

"No, sir, I haven't."

"Wal, we all has to begin everything somewheres. Our school hez had the name, in years past, o' bein' a leetle hard. But I think it's ben the marster's fault as much as anything. Last winter somehow, I dunno how 'twas, somehow or nuther, them big boys got all kinder sot agin him, an' then 'twas sleddin' on bare ground for him all winter. Don't now git an idee, from what I say, that them boys don't need to be thrashed—they du; but y' want to know when to du it, an' how t' du it. The Bible says, y' know, that there's a time for everything, an' I guess that thrashin' ugly boys ain't left out. Ye know the Bible? Y'r father's a deacon over there, ain't he?"

"Yes, sir, he is."

"Wal, it's a good thing to bring up boys on the Bible. I was, an' it's stood by me ever sense."

James assented to these sentiments.

"Y' board round?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wal, y' c'n come to my house any time. Mother ain't perticerler. But I alwuz a leetle druther the marster 'd come after I kill. Then we. farmers git somethin' for the table that's good."

One who had not a knowledge of a farmer's work might have supposed that there would be danger in going to Uncle Steve's house before he "killed."

"I don't ginerally kill till into December," the old man went on. "I've got a likely pig this year. It's a spring pig, an' so I wan' t' keep it as long as I can. It come ruther late, an' I took it off when it was only four weeks old. Mother made a place for it in our shed an' fed it on our best cow's milk. She knows jest how to make sich little critters begin to drink arter they're taken off. This come on, an' growed like a weed. I never had none du better. I'm fattin' on't now. I'll let y' know. I'll give y' a good bite. Mother knows how to fry meat so 't goes good, I c'n tell ye. An' she's neat as a pin."

Just as Uncle Steve said this, forgetting how he was situated in respect to his passenger, he attempted to spray the wheel on the windward side.

"Blast this plaguy wind! I didn't mean to git y'r shiny boots all spotted up. You've a handkercher in y'r pocket, hain't ye?"

"No matter for my boots. I've been walking; they need brushing anyway. I don't care for my feet; I feel more troubled about the other end of my body—how that will get along."

"Oh, it comes tu me naow; y'r goin' up to be examined, ain't ye?"

"Yes, sir, that's the solemn fact."

"Wal, you needn't be afraid o' nothin'; you'll git through all right. I've hearn about your family. Your father's name is Eliphelet Sears, ain't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"You said he's a deacon over there—deacon o' the Congregational Church?"

"Yes, sir; he's been a deacon for a good many years."

"And he went t' the legislatur a few years ago?"

"I think he did. I was a little boy then."

"You must be the youngest of the childern?"

"I am the youngest."

"And your mother, wa'n't she, she that was Sally Hanks?"

"That was my mother's name."

"Y've alwuz ben born an' brought up on a farm, hain't ye?"

"I suppose so; I don't remember quite so far back as that."

"Now about this ere examination o' yourn—'tain't no fun to be put on the gridiron, way they tell about they're duin up there."

"But how is that? What do they tell about?"

James Ray Sears now began to be conscious of an increasing interest in his aged friend's remarks.

"How d' they du it? I have hearn 'em tell how, when they git hold of a feller that hain't kep' afore, they made up jest a little hotter fire, so to see how brave he is—what kind o' metal he's made out on. There's old Marster Brown—he's one on 'em. He don't keep naow, but he likes t' show that he hain't forgot haow. They say when the fire don't blaze up pooty well, he'll take his old bellerses an' go t' blowin'. It's fun t' them mighty larned men I s'pose to see their feller wiggle, an' squirm round, an' try t' git off from where he's ben put."

"Why, who told you that this is the way they do things?"

"Oh, don't y' be afraid o' them old chaps; they don't really hurt nobody; an' I know you'll be ready for 'em. They like t' show how mighty big they are—that's all. Their old guns are loaded with blank cartridges, all on 'em. They whang around, an' may burn a little powder in y'r face; they only try to scare—they don't load t' kill. There's Squire Hendee—he's chairman. He swells up like a gobble turkey in layin' time, talks big, an' is mighty perticuler about his words, but he won't hurt nobody. Go at him with a sharp stick, an' he'll run like an old hen when y'r stonin' on her out o' the garden. If they put fire under, an' begin t' blow, don't you squirm, an' they'll git tired on't, an' stop. They'll lose all the fun then."

This conversation, embracing subjects of varied interest to the prospective schoolmaster, but all affording similar relief to the pent up, talkative instincts of Uncle Steve, was continued for more than an hour. Meanwhile the old horse worried along over the hills—at one time breaking the harness, which, after appropriate exertion, was mended with strings and straps, carried for the purpose—till, coming to a cross-road, the garrulous old man, with unfeigned sorrow that he could not talk longer, felt obliged to say,

"Now I've got to turn off, an' go down that 'are way, down there. So you'll have to git out here. You see that 'are tall yarler house, up there, straight ahead? Wal, that's Squire Hendee's, where the committee meet. You see there's nothin' to be alarmed at. Jest stand square up tu 'em, an' you're all right."

With a kind of regret, though glad because of the relief from that sort of riding, James got down from the board, on which he had received so much information about things to come, and resumed his journey alone.

"Thank you, sir. Good day," he said.

You're welcome. Good luck tu ye. You'll hear from me."

But it was yet early. There was a little time remaining to prepare for the trial before the judges. So James found a quiet place where he could sit unobserved. He took from his pocket, and once more read, the letter which he had received from the district committee. He did this as if to assure himself that he had come at the right time, and on the right road; for somehow he felt very much as if he was a stranger in a strange place. It was all so still, but yet as if there were hidden forces all about him. The letter was as follows:

"Winfield, Conn., Oct. 20, 1851.

"Mr. James Ray Sears,

"Dear Sir: It has been decided that you have the school. The wages will be $12.50 a month and board. Our Examining Committee meet next Thursday at half past one, at Squire Hendee's. Hoping that our terms will be satisfactory,

"Yours truly, Hiram Watts."

The letter was all right. James knew that it was all right before he looked at it. But it did him good to read it once more. He also now made sure that he had in his pocket book the five-dollar bill that his father let him take for the day. This was not to meet expenses, for there would be none. But he had it rather for its silent influence, for its effect upon the imagination. A good old Baptist minister of the vicinity used to say that he could preach better when he had some money in his pocket. It was in accordance with such a notion that Mr. Sears thought to aid his boy in the so-much-dreaded examination.

The rest of the waiting time was taken up in framing more answers to probable questions. But the last preparation for entering the lions' den consisted in taking out his silk handkerchief and smoothing down to its utmost shininess his new silk hat.

It should be remarked that, at that time, a young man, even while in his teens, was not thought to be suitably dressed for occasions without a tall silk hat.

As James came back into the road, he looked up and down to see if any one might be coming, who should prove to be one of the committee; but he saw only a farmer with an ox-cart load of potatoes. He would hardly have been willing to acknowledge—what was the truth—that his heart began to beat faster as he came nearer to the "yarler" house.

Chapter 2

This board consisted of five men. They deserve our notice individually. First and foremost was the Reverend Thomas Colon, D.D. He had for many years been pastor of the Congregational Church of Winfield. He was a man of learning and ability. His forcefulness of character revealed itself in his very presence. But in his theology he was of the old school. He was extremely conservative. And he liked nothing better than to oblige his young friends, who, he thought, were imbibing new notions, to defend themselves against his hyper-Calvinistic dogmas. So it was that his part of the examination of candidates for teaching usually consisted in putting to them some abstruse questions in debatable theology.

The next man that we notice was the Hon. Theophilus Bitum. He was a legal counselor whose home was in Winfield, and who had been for a considerable time a member of the school board. He had an angular, wedge- shaped face, with a long aquiline nose, on which rested a pair of spectacles made conspicuous by their heavy gold frame. Only wealthy, professional, or especially honorable people, were accustomed to wear such glasses in those days. So these upon the aquiline nose of the attorney were popularly supposed to have a promotive influence upon his mental activities when he was handling questions at law. And when young neophytes of the pedagogic profession came before him, their influence was too quickly apparent. It might have been well for him to have removed his glasses at such critical junctures, but no one ventured to make such a suggestion.

Another member of the examining committee was the village physician, Dr. Burner. His skill in the diagnosis of diseases was his justification for attempting to diagnose school teachers also. He carried a lancet in his pocket, and, according to belief of the time, was always ready to bleed a patient when first called to him. James Sears had once been through that experience in the first stages of typhoid fever, and he might be apprehensive that a similar process would be decided upon again. His cheeks were rosy, and betrayed a fair supply of fresh blood. Would it be thought that his naturally impulsive temperament should be evened up a little by quieting his pulse?

And now "Marster Brown," whom Uncle Steve had mentioned, must not be passed over without notice. He had "kept" school a good many years, and there were few people who had a good understanding of anything, which thing he didn't know. That is, he himself gave the impression that such was the case. Long "experience had made him sage." He could examine would-be school teachers on subjects, with which want of familiarity would be a serious bar to their healthy progress. He knew how things were, and how they should be.

But the last, though not least, member of the committee was Squire Hendee. He was a unique personality—his more especial characteristics being all his own. He took the utmost pains to preserve intact the dignity with which nature had endowed him, while endeavoring daily to add thereto. With him politeness was made a fine art. His words, too, were trained to keep their places. They were never allowed to crowd or jostle one another. Sometimes intermediary syllables were introduced. Moreover, for the sake of euphony, he often added a letter at the end of a word, or syllable, or else inserted it where it might seem to him that it originally ought to have been. In fine, there was no experiment in the use of the English language, by means of which he conceived that its beauty or impressiveness might be enhanced, that he hesitated to make.

But politically, the Squire had suffered one disappointment. It had long been his cherished ambition to be sent to the legislature, and for once thus take his place among the other great men of his native State. He would have preferred to have been chosen when the honorable body of lawmakers was to meet in New Haven; for then he might sit beneath the classic shades of Yale; yet he would not have considered it infelicitous to have been accorded a seat in the other capitol building, which stood in most inspiring proximity to the famous Charter Oak. But in the judgment of his townsmen, the time for this supreme honor had not yet arrived. This was a great grief to him, yet he was still living in hope. And while thus sustained, this failure prompted him to cultivate, with still greater carefulness and precision, a style of English, which seemed to himself at once full, elaborate, dignified, and stately.

As there was yet a little time before the committee would get together, James was asked to take a seat in the back parlor, and await their coming. As each, on arrival, passed into the room where they were to have their sitting, he would glance at the young man, as much as to say, "There's our victim." So, at least, it seemed to James, and he kept himself as quiet as he could. But it was hard to sit still. Every passing moment made his situation more and more unbearable. What he had thought of, as answers to probable questions, was fast escaping him. The new silk hat and the five-dollar bill were of no use. If he could only get out, and go home! But no, he was there. He was in for it, live or die. So he tried to summon up anything which he had remaining that seemed like courage. At last all were ready, and he was asked to come into the room with the committee. They were seated on one side of a table, and he was given a seat on the other side. As he felt his chair supporting him, he looked up into the five faces, and there were five pairs of eyes looking at him. There was the dignified minister with his wide white necktie, indicating his profession; the eagle-eyed lawyer, more careless of his dress, but intent on business; the physician, with his lancet carefully concealed in his pocket; the old schoolmaster, whose peculiar smile of self-satisfaction was subject to change without notice; and the Squire, whose added wrinkle above his raised eyebrows indicated unusual intellectual activity—all these,—embodiments respectively of theology, law, medicine, pedagogy, and politics,—combined to send an influence across the table, which entered the very bones and marrow of the poor suppliant for grace on the other side of it.

By common consent, the Squire was always expected to act as chairman. He now drew his chair nearer to the candidate. What was his object? Was it that, at close range, his first shot might do more execution—it seemed to James as if it must be so—or was it that he might show a more decided friendliness to one whom the law required them to subject to such an unpleasant ordeal?

But with a most gracious air—if indeed it might partake a little of seeming condescension—the Chairman thus began:

"It is a matter of unusual pleasure, Mr. Se-ars, to meet you on this oc-ca-sion, and I have the utmost confidence that the gen-tle-men of this co-mit-tee, as well as my-self, do not believe that any ne-ces-si-ty will arise for the pro-lon-ga-tion of this examination. It may not be in-ap-pro-priate that we commence with geography, as that most in-ter-est-ing science is now attracting renewed attention among learned and scientific men. Will you be pleased to tell us, Mr. Se-ars, why two points on this oblate spheroid, on which we have our abode, are de-nom-i-nated poles?"

"They are the extremities of the axis on which the earth revolves."

"And how would you describe this axis, to which in your answer—which is cor-rect—you refer?"

"It is simply an imaginary line, sir."

"Then you would not say, would you, Mr. Se-ars, that it has any concrete reality?"

"I would not."

"You would explain it, would you not, Mr. Se-ars, that it bears no relation to the axle on which a carriage wheel revolves, except as an ac-com-mo-dation of speech, by which it is made to come within the scope of our imper-fect un-der-standing?"

"Somewhat so, sir."

By this time James began to think himself fortunate that he had so recently seen some wagon wheels revolve, that so his mind was being aided towards a more perfect understanding of the intricate subject before him. And he also began to feel much at his ease. The attack upon him was far from what he had expected. True, some of the batteries had not opened fire. But he was calm now, and ready for questions. Such figures of speech as his aged friend of the board seat referred to, had ceased from troubling.

"And now, Mr. Se-ars, a word further in regard to the surface of the planet on which we dwell. Let us make a supposition. Let us imagine that an ex-pe-dition, for the pur-pose of ex-plo-ration, were to set sail from the mouth of the majestic river Brah-ma-poot-ra, with the purpose of ascending to the sum-mit of the mountain called Po-po-cat-e-pel, in what direction would they point the prow of their ship? and what very celebrated cape, or point of land ex-tend-ing into the sea, would it be necessary for them to go around, or to double, on their passage?"

"They would sail in a southwesterly direction, and after passing around the cape of Good Hope, turn to the northwest."

"At what point would they cast anchor for a pro-lon-gation of their journey by land?"

"At Very Cruz."

"Which of our distin-guished military comman-ders recently landed a force there for the conquest of the land of the Mon-te-zuma kings?"

"General Scott."

"What would you say of the brill-ian-cy of his expedition?"

"I would say that it was very brilliant."

"When we take into account the exceeding paucity of his command, and the apparently in-su-per-able and in-sur-mountable obstacles in his path, do you think he has been outdone by any of the generals of antiquity—by Alexander, by Cæsar, by Hannibal, or by Napoleon?"

"Well, sir, I don't know that I am prepared to say that I think he has been."

"Would you, Mr. Se-ars, teach your scholars that our country will most surely, and without a shadow of doubt, at no very distant day rise to a commanding position among the civilized nations of the world? Would you hesitate at all to impart such instruction?"

"Certainly, I should not hesitate to do so." After a long series of similar questions and answers, the Squire turned to his associates. "It does not appear to me, gentlemen, that it is necessary that we further prolong this examination in geography. Is it your pleasure to proceed with any other study? If so, will you pro-pound questions?"

Master Brown had been impatiently waiting for such opportunity. He asked the candidate whether he had attended any of the teachers' institutes that had recently been held in neighboring towns. James had attended two of them. And then, in answer to a further question, it came out that he was quite sure that he had got much benefit from them. But the master of long experience could not assent to such an opinion. He said he did not believe in the new-fangled notions that some of the younger teachers were so eager to adopt.

"Better have new-fangled notions than not to have any notions at all," put in Lawyer Bitum. The main object of interest with him was to get some question started that they could discuss among themselves. And when Master Brown still insisted that to have a blackboard and wall maps, and things of that sort, was nonsense, he advocated their use, not only because he thought they should be used, but to see what his opponent would say. At last the discussion became so earnest that the Squire felt obliged to put in a sedative word.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I think it is the consensus of o-pin-ion among the most fully equipped teachers of the present day, that while blackboards are not a ne-ces-sity, they are highly con-du-cive to suc-cess in im-part-ing instruc-tion."

But now the next one to claim a front seat in the work of examination was Dr. Burner.

"I suppose, Mr. Sears," he opened up, that you have given some attention to physiology?

"Well, not a very great deal," was the reply.

"It is not required by law that it be taught in our schools, so my questions are a little out of course. You will pardon me. You perhaps can tell us how many bones there are in the human system. Or about how many, if you may not tell exactly."

"I think something more than two hundred."

"What difference does it make with a man's ability to teach school whether he knows how many bones he carries about with him?" interrupted Master Brown. But the Doctor was not to be put off the track.