From Canal Boy to President; Or, the Boyhood and Manhood of James A. Garfield

Chapter XVI—Entering Williams College

James Garfield had reached the mature age of twenty-two years when he made his first entrance into Williamstown. He did not come quite empty-handed. He had paid his expenses while at Hiram, and earned three hundred and fifty dollars besides, which he estimated would carry him through the Junior year. He was tall and slender, with a great shock of light hair, rising nearly erect from a broad, high forehead. His face was open, kindly, and thoughtful, and it did not require keen perception of character to discern something above the common in the awkward Western youth, in his decidedly shabby raiment.

Young Garfield would probably have enjoyed the novel sensation of being well dressed, but he had never had the opportunity of knowing how it seemed. That ease and polish of manner which come from mingling in society he entirely lacked. He was as yet a rough diamond, but a diamond for all that.

Among his classmates were men from the cities, who stared in undisguised amazement at the tall, lanky young man who knocked at the doors of the college for admission.

"Who is that rough-looking fellow?" asked a member of a lower class, pointing out Garfield, as he was crossing the college campus.

"Oh, that is Garfield; he comes from the Western Reserve."

"I suppose his clothes were made by a Western Reserve tailor."

"Probably," answered his classmate, smiling.

"He looks like a confirmed rustic."

"That is true, but there is something in him. I am in his division, and I can tell you that he has plenty of talent."

"His head is big enough."

"Yes, he has a large brain—a sort of Websterian intellect. He is bound to be heard of."

"It is a pity he is so awkward."

"Oh, that will wear off. He has a hearty, cordial way with him, and though at first we were disposed to laugh at him, we begin to like him."

"He's as old as the hills. At any rate, he looks so."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Compared with you he is, for he is nearly twenty-three. However, it is never too late to learn. He is not only a good scholar, but he is very athletic, and there are few in college who can equal him in athletic sports."

"Why didn't he come to college before? What made him wait till he was an old man?"

"I understand that he has had a hard struggle with poverty. All the money he has he earned by hard labor. Dr. Hopkins seems to have taken a liking to him. I saw him walking with the doctor the other day."

This conversation describes pretty accurately the impression made by Garfield upon his classmates, and by those in other classes who became acquainted with him. At first they were disposed to laugh at the tall, awkward young man and his manners, but soon his real ability, and his cordial, social ways won upon all, and he was installed as a favorite. The boys began to call him Old Gar, and regarded him with friendship and increasing respect, as he grew and developed intellectually, and they began to see what manner of man he was.

Perhaps the readiest way for a collegian to make an impression upon his associates is to show a decided talent for oratory. They soon discovered at Williams that Garfield had peculiar gifts in this way. His speaking at clubs, and before the church of his communion in Hiram, had been for him a valuable training. He joined a society, and soon had an opportunity of showing that he was a ready and forcible speaker.

One day there came startling news to the college. Charles Sumner had been struck down in the Senate chamber by Preston S. Brooks, of South Carolina, for words spoken in debate. The hearts of the students throbbed with indignation—none more fiercely than young Garfield's. At an indignation meeting convened by the students he rose and delivered, so says one who heard him, "one of the most impassioned and eloquent speeches ever delivered in old Williams."

It made a sensation.

"Did you hear Old Gar's speech at the meeting?" asked one of another.

"No, I did not get in in time."

"It was great. I never heard him speak better. Do you know what I think?"

"Well?"

"Gar will be in Congress some day himself. He has rare powers of debate, and is a born orator."

"I shouldn't wonder myself if you were right. If he ever reaches Congress he will do credit to old Williams."

James had given up his trade as a carpenter. He was no longer obliged to resort to it, or, at any rate, he preferred to earn money in a different way. So one winter he taught penmanship at North Pownal, in Vermont, a post for which he was qualified, for he had a strong, bold, handsome hand.

"Did you know Mr. Arthur, who taught school here last winter?" asked one of his writing pupils of young Garfield.

"No; he was not a student of Williams."

"He graduated at Union College, I believe."

"Was he a good teacher?"

"Yes, he was very successful, keeping order without any trouble, though the school is considered a hard one."

This was Chester A. Arthur, whose name in after years was to be associated with that of the writing-teacher, who was occupying the same room as his Presidential successor. But to James Garfield, at that time, the name meant nothing, and it never occurred to him what high plans Providence had for them both. It was one of those remarkable cases in which the paths of two men who are joined in destiny traverse each other. Was it not strange that two future occupants of the Presidential chair should be found teaching in the same school-room, in an obscure Vermont village, two successive winters?

As the reader, though this is the biography of Garfield, may feel a curiosity to learn what sort of a teacher Arthur was, I shall, without apology, conclude this chapter with the story of a pupil of his who, in the year 1853, attended the district school at Cohoes, then taught by Chester A. Arthur. I find it in the Troy Times:

"In the year 1853 the writer attended the district school at Cohoes. The high department did not enjoy a very enviable reputation for being possessed of that respect due from the pupils to teacher. During the year there had been at least four teachers in that department, the last one only remaining one week. The Board of Education had found it difficult to obtain a pedagogue to take charge of the school, until a young man, slender as a May-pole and six feet high in his stockings, applied for the place. He was engaged at once, although he was previously informed of the kind of timber he would be obliged to hew.

"Promptly at nine o'clock A.M. every scholar was on hand to welcome the man who had said that he would 'conquer the school or forfeit his reputation.' Having called the morning session to order, he said that he had been engaged to take charge of the school. He came with his mind prejudiced against the place. He had heard of the treatment of the former teachers by the pupils, yet he was not at all embarrassed, for he felt that, with the proper recognition of each other's rights, teacher and scholars could live together in harmony. He did not intend to threaten, but he intended to make the scholars obey him, and would try and win the good-will of all present. He had been engaged to take charge of that room, and he wished the co-operation of every pupil in so doing. He had no club, ruler, or whip, but appealed directly to the hearts of every young man and young lady in the room. Whatever he should do, he would at least show to the people of this place that this school could be governed. He spoke thus and feelingly at times, yet with perfect dignity he displayed that executive ability which in after years made him such a prominent man. Of course the people, especially the boys, had heard fine words spoken before, and at once a little smile seemed to flit across the faces of the leading spirits in past rebellions.

"The work of the forenoon began, when a lad of sixteen placed a marble between his thumb and finger, and, with a snap, sent it rolling across the floor. As the tall and handsome teacher saw this act, he arose from his seat, and, without a word, walked toward the lad.

"'Get up, sir,' he said.

"The lad looked at him to see if he was in earnest; then he cast his eyes toward the large boys to see if they were not going to take up his defense.

"'Get up, sir,' said the teacher a second time, and he took him by the collar of his jacket as if to raise him. The lad saw he had no common man to deal with, and he rose from his seat.

"'Follow me, sir,' calmly spoke the teacher, and he led the way toward the hall, while the boy began to tremble, wondering if the new teacher was going to take him out and kill him. The primary department was presided over by a sister of the new teacher, and into this room he led the young transgressor.

"Turning to his sister he said: 'I have a pupil for you; select a seat for him, and let him remain here. If he makes any disturbance whatever, inform me.' Turning to the boy he said: 'Young man, mind your teacher, and do not leave your seat until I give permission,' and he was gone.

"The lad sat there, feeling very sheepish, and as misery loves company, it was not long before he was gratified to see the door open and observe his seat-mate enter with the new teacher, who repeated the previous orders, when he quietly and with dignity withdrew.

"The number was subsequently increased to three, the teacher returning each time without a word to the other scholars concerning the disposition made of the refractory lads. The effect upon the rest of the school was remarkable. As no intimation of the disposition of the boys was given, not a shade of anger displayed on the countenance of the new teacher, nor any appearances of blood were noticeable upon his hands, speculation was rife as to what he had done with the three chaps. He spoke kindly to all, smiled upon the scholars who did well in their classes, and seemed to inspire all present with the truth of his remarks uttered at the opening of the session.

"At recess the mystery that had enveloped the school was cleared away, for the three lads in the primary department were seen as the rest of the scholars filed by the door. While all the rest enjoyed the recess, the three lads were obliged to remain in their seats, and when school was dismissed for the forenoon, the new teacher entered the primary-room, and was alone with the young offenders. He sat down by them, and like a father talked kindly and gave good advice. No parent ever used more fitting words nor more impressed his offspring with the fitness thereof than did the new teacher. Dismissing them, he told them to go home, and when they returned to school to be good boys.

"That afternoon the boys were in their seats, and in two weeks' time there was not a scholar in the room who would not do anything the teacher asked. He was beloved by all, and his quiet manner and cool, dignified ways made him a great favorite. He only taught two terms, and every reasonable inducement was offered to prevail upon him to remain, but without avail. His reply was: "I have accomplished all I intended, namely, conquered what you thought was a wild lot of boys, and received the discipline that I required. I regret leaving my charge, for I have learned to love them, but I am to enter a law office at once."

"That teacher was Chester A. Arthur, now President of the United States; the teacher of the primary department was his sister, now Mrs. Haynesworth, and the first of the three refractory boys was the writer. When it was announced that our beloved teacher was to leave us, many tears were shed by his scholars, and as a slight token of our love, we presented him with an elegant volume of poems."

Chapter XVII—Life In College

Probably young Garfield never passed two happier or more profitable years than at Williams College. The Seminaries he had hitherto attended were respectable, but in the nature of things they could not afford the facilities which he now enjoyed. Despite his years of study and struggle there were many things in which he was wholly deficient. He had studied Latin, Greek, and mathematics, but of English literature he knew but little. He had never had time to read for recreation, or for that higher culture which is not to be learned in the class-room.

In the library of Williams College he made his first acquaintance with Shakespeare, and we can understand what a revelation his works must have been to the aspiring youth. He had abstained from reading fiction, doubting whether it was profitable, since the early days when with a thrill of boyish excitement he read "Sinbad the Sailor" and Marryatt's novels. After a while his views as to the utility of fiction changed. He found that his mind was suffering from the solid food to which it was restricted, and he began to make incursions into the realm of poetry and fiction with excellent results. He usually limited this kind of reading, and did not neglect for the fascination of romance those more solid works which should form the staple of a young man's reading.

It is well known that among poets Tennyson was his favorite, so that in after years, when at fifteen minutes' notice, on the first anniversary of Lincoln's assassination, he was called upon to move an adjournment of the House, as a mark of respect to the martyred President, he was able from memory to quote in his brief speech, as applicable to Lincoln, the poet's description of some

 
"Divinely gifted man,
Whose life in low estate began,
And on a simple village green,
Who breaks his birth's invidious bars,
And grasped the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance,
And grapples with his evil stars;
Who makes by force his merit known,
And lives to clutch the golden keys
To mould a mighty state's decrees,
And shape the whisper of the throne;
And moving up from high to higher,
Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope
The pillar of a people's hope,
The center of a world's desire."
 

I am only repeating the remark made by many when I call attention to the fitness of this description to Garfield himself.

Our young student was fortunate in possessing a most retentive memory. What he liked, especially in the works of his favorite poet, was so impressed upon his memory that he could recite extracts by the hour. This will enable the reader to understand how thoroughly he studied, and how readily he mastered, those branches of knowledge to which his attention was drawn. When in after years in Congress some great public question came up, which required hard study, it was the custom of his party friends to leave Garfield to study it, with the knowledge that in due time he would be ready with a luminous exposition which would supply to them the place of individual study.

Young Garfield was anxious to learn the language of Goethe and Schiller, and embraced the opportunity afforded at college to enter upon the study of German. He was not content with a mere smattering, but learned it well enough to converse in it as well as to read it.

So most profitably the Junior year was spent, but unhappily James had spent all the money which he had brought with him. Should he leave college to earn more? Fortunately, this was not necessary. Thomas Garfield, always unselfishly devoted to the family, hoped to supply his younger brother with the necessary sum, in installments; but proving unable, his old friend, Dr. Robinson, came to his assistance.

"You can pay me when you are able, James," he said.

"If I live I will pay you, doctor. If I do not—"

He paused, for an idea struck him.

"I will insure my life for eight hundred dollars," he continued, "and place the policy in your hands. Then, whether I live or die, you will be secure."

"I do not require this, James," said the doctor kindly.

"Then I feel all the more under obligations to secure you in return for your generous confidence."

It was a sensible and business-like proposal, and the doctor assented. The strong, vigorous young man had no difficulty in securing a policy from a reputable company, and went back to college at the commencement of the Senior year. I wish to add that the young man scrupulously repaid the good doctor's timely loan, for had he failed to do so, I could not have held him up to my young readers as in all respects a model.

There was published at Williams College, in Garfield's time, a magazine called the Williams Quarterly. To this the young man became a frequent contributor. In Gen. James S. Brisbin's campaign Life of Garfield, I find three of his poetic contributions quoted, two of which I will also transfer to my pages, as likely to possess some interest for my young reader. The first is called

"THE CHARGE OF THE TIGHT BRIGADE,"

and commences thus:

 
"Bottles to right of them,
Bottles to left of them,
Bottles in front of them,
Fizzled and sundered;
Ent'ring with shout and yell,
Boldly they drank and well,
They caught the Tartar then;
Oh, what a perfect sell!
Sold—the half hundred!
Grinned all the dentals bare,
Swung all their caps in air,
Uncorking bottles there,
Watching the Freshmen, while
Every one wondered;
Plunged in tobacco smoke,
With many a desperate stroke,
Dozens of bottles broke;
Then they came back, but not,
Not the half hundred!"
 

Lest from this merry squib, which doubtless celebrated some college prank, wrong conclusions should be drawn, I hasten to say that in college James Garfield neither drank nor smoked.

The next poem is rather long, but it possesses interest as a serious production of one whose name has become a household word. It is entitled

"MEMORY.

 
"'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 lonely 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 hillside's bank
The weeping-willows o'er the sacred dust
Of dear departed ones; and yet in that land,
Where'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 their 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; their shadows fall
Upon the flowery meads and sunny slopes,
Soft as the shadows of an 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."
 

During the year 1856 young Garfield was one of the editors of the college magazine, from which the above extracts are made. The hours spent upon his contributions to its pages were doubtless well spent. Here, to use his own words, he learned "to hurl the lance and wield the sword and thus prepare for the conflict of life." More than one whose names have since become conspicuous contributed to it while under his charge. Among these were Professor Chadbourne, S.G.W. Benjamin, Horace E. Scudder, W.R. Dimmock, and John Savary. The last-named, now resident in Washington, has printed, since his old friend's death, a series of sonnets, from which I quote one:

 
"How many and how great concerns of state
Lie at the mercy of the meanest things!
This man, the peer of presidents and kings;
Nay, first among them, passed through dangers gate
In war unscathed, and perils out of date,
To meet a fool whose pistol-shot yet rings
Around the world, and at mere greatness flings
The cruel sneer of destiny or fate!
Yet hath he made the fool fanatic foil
To valor, patience, nobleness, and wit!
Nor had the world known, but because of it,
What virtues grow in suffering's sacred soil.
The shot which opened like a crack of hell,
Made all hearts stream with sacred pity's well
And showed that unity in which we dwell."