USA > Ohio > Butler County > Oxford > Old Miami, the Yale of the early West > Part 7
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procession. If you just inquire, there are ever so many people who still remember the occasion with some emotion .. Promptly at midnight the procession sal- lied forth, with the Oxford brass band executing something that the tune-book called a dirge. Next came the strutting figure of the marshal of the night, the giant young Kentucky Colonel, closely at- tended by four sheeted spectres, labeled "Ghosts of Aristotle and Others," to satisfy the curiosity of the common herd. Following the corpse walked our old friend Barbara Celarent, weeping as be- -came a chief mourner, and attended in her grief by the Rev. Dic Tum. Then came in order two familiar connections of the deceased: the Dilemma, waving great paper horns some four feet long; and the Undistributed Middle, stuffed out with pillows till he could scarcely waddle.
A group of grotesque witches ca-
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· vorted in sunbonnet and wrapper at the rear of the cortege, and last of all limped the poor old "Beggar of the Question," grinning behind woolen whiskers and ex- tending a battered hat to one side and the other. Rain came down in torrents before the parade was half over; and mourners, pall-bearers and all broke into a grand scramble for the village market house. Half-drowned spectators flocked in from all sides, despite the hour, and the services proceeded. All the Logic family was represented in the program. . A. M. B. Guity read an appropriate poem, and N. Thymeme had written this touch- ing song, which they all chanted in chorus, as the destroying flames got in their work.
"His greasy corpus we will burn, And gather up his ashes vile; No sepulcher or storied urn Their baseness shall defile.
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"But in Death's dismal palace he Shall not remain, for, sad to tell, His death is but a Fallacy, As Sophs will know too well.
"Then join the song, forget his tricks, No longer he shall cram us: Joy to the class of '56, Vale et Gaudeamus."
There was an affecting sermon by Rev. Dic Tum and an incantation by the witches; then the formal exercises con- cluded with a malediction, and the Juniors suddenly realized that they were tired and wet and hungry and morning prayers were distressingly near.
After an affair like that, old Logic never could hope to be incinerated with doings that were anything but vile imi- tation, the very scum of the earth. Naturally the tradition soon died out. But not so the love of masquerading in burlesque procession; that lay too close to the hearts of men, a reminder perhaps of their childhood joy in make-believe. Perhaps too, as the war-clouds gathered,
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it was a pleasant thing to lose sight at times of the realities and merge one's self in the dancing, empty-pated harle- quin. At any rate these big Miami boys never lost a chance to play the clown and go parading. One fall Salmon P. Chase was elected governor of Ohio: everybody turned out for a triumphal procession. Had he been defeated, they would prob- ably all have been on hand, just as cheer- ful, and have called it a consolation jubi- lee.
Finally, about war-time, they cen- tered their energies on Washington's Birthday-George Day, as they called it -and the screaming of the eagle echoed from high heaven. There was of course a program, late in the evening; but no- body gave much thought to that, except the speakers, who had to save their voices. The real simon-pure unbottled patriotismn found expression in another
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of those fantastic parades, which went straggling about through slush or storm, brandishing smoky torches and howling itself hoarse for the sheer joy of living. These were usually anxious periods for the faculty however. Drink flowed all too freely on such nights of revelry, and blood coursed hot. Somebody was al- ways yearning for a fight, and there were those who would do anything to relieve a friend. The 23rd of February was marked with red in every professor's al- manac as police-court day, and the official firing squad did practice in the rifle range for weeks ahead. The dove of peace bluntly refused to flutter about George Day till a firm quietus was put forever upon the jolly old masked procession. Nowadays we sometimes have polite little robe de nuit soirees, culminating in fudge parties.
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Goodness knows, it was hard enough to keep peace in the family, when every mail brought fresh news of deadly car- nage, and the big brothers were all clutching smoky rifles down south of the line. Somebody just had to break loose occasionally or strangle on his own emo- tions. Think of calmly demonstrating that all A's are B's, or dreaming lan- guidly amid the fumes of Horace's rich old Falernian, when the red wine of youth was staining the rank meadows of Virginia. And Greek !- Ye temples of Olympian Zeus, who wouldn't have re- belled against that ancient atrocity, when the reek of precious human hecatombs was saluting the nostrils of the God of Battles! So, in the absence of anything else to quarrel over, in November, '64, the Seniors mutinied against Greek. They had no grudge against the profes- sor. Neither did they lack ability in the
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subject. They had discovered somehow that previous classes had not carried the study beyond this point in their college career. This must mean a faculty con- spiracy to trample on their precious toot- sies; and the spirit of the hour, especi- ally among college Seniors, was simple and emphatic: "Don't tread on me!"
So one day, when the bell struck, the Senior Greek class did not appear; but the professor found on his desk an ex- tremely courteous note of farewell, in- forming him that they had passed the limit traditionally established for the subject, they did not see that further study in it would profit them for the time required, and they had the honor to wish him much happiness, etc. Then the fac- ulty went all askew again. First the cul- prits were admonished in the usual solemn and affectionate manner. One trembling lamb came bleating into the
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fold. Then an ultimatum was published and three men dismissed. Then the fac- ulty divided on the whole question, and the students were quick to take advan- tage of the cleavage. Threats of a whole- sale boycott floated about the campus till the faculty went on its mettle again, put the loudest talkers on probation, and in- formed them that they might promptly depart in peace, if they cared to travel under such a cloud. Then the reaction came, everybody felt a little sorry and a bit ashamed, and the Greek Rebellion ended in a bloodless compromise.
So much for the pranks and disturb- ances of early days. Every college in every era has its share of these little tea- pot tempests, all-absorbing till their one brief hour is struck, and then tame enough forever in the ears of disinter- ested listeners. The next generation, wrapped in its own concerns, passes these
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shabby old relics sometimes in scorn. Younger graduates, conscious of later es- capades, strut about beneath the trees at commencement time, rub their alder- manic fronts, and retail reminiscences unmellowed by the touch of time. But listen! Do you hear the quavering cackle from that comfortable bench among the maples ? There are '49 and '53, pounding their canes upon the sod, and laughing like school-boys at one of Doctor Ander- son's retorts, or the story of Professor Elliott's absent-minded apologies to the cow. You needn't talk to them about the pranks of these degenerate days, with their luxuries and flubdubs. For them the real golden age is far behind us, never to be enjoyed again.
PAR!
T HE musty old record-book of the Miami faculty is tame enough read- ing for the opening of 1861. A few ex- aminations passed, about as many fatally attempted, an occasional "drawback" or a reprimand :- all transcribed in the awk- ward, wabbly handwriting of Professor David Swing, at that time secretary of the learned circle. Then all at once God's lightning flashes in the clear sky. The young teacher has been rudely awakened from his academic dreams; and in the margin of his journal he has scrawled, in great bold characters, with three bristling exclamation-points, the one por- tentous word "War !!! " Opposite, un- der date of May 25, 1861, appears the re-
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cord: "In view of the fact that the fol- lowing members of the Senior Class were now enlisted in the service of their Coun- try, and were of good standing as schol- ars, they were excused from the final ex- amination, but are included among those recommended for graduation." There follows a list of fifteen names, out of a total Senior enrollment of thirty-five.
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Only the day before this record, the last strenuous tests of scholarship had been applied. The final social rites had been performed, in a perfect orgy of tight boots, ornate cravats and puckery lemon- ade. But only a fraction of the class had been on hand, to revel in the conscious- ness of duties done, and share the cakes and ale of jubilation. In the muddy camp at Zanesville, or somewhere along the muddier highway across the West Virginia line, their comrades, shorn of scholastic glories, were negotiating moist 205
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ground with thin blankets, and practicing the everlasting "hep, hep, hep!" that promised some day to lead them to heroic carnage. Even amid the buzz of conver- sation and the rustle of silken petticoats that night at the Senior party, there was heard at times the clank of metal and hoarse words of sharp command, as a raw troop of reserves went drilling by. Doctor Scott and his girls, as they jour- neyed home beneath the stars, were twice halted by the nervous young sentries of a city of white tents along their way. Vast changes had come upon serene little Ox- ford on her academic hill. Whether she would or not, echoes of the mad turmoil in the big world below forced themselves upon her senses, and the great God of Battles was calling for her best young blood to mingle in his sacrifice.
These changes had come abruptly, but to only the utterly thoughtless or the
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fondly optimistic had they been unex- pected. Slavery and state's rights had been agitated for generations, and far- seeing public men had looked into the future and shuddered. Old Miami, so near the border-line and gathering stu- dents freely from north and south alike, had been able to remain delightfully neu- tral, but not ignorant. The abolition movement, we have seen, had deposed one college president and brought in another. The abolition question, we have likewise seen, gave Gid. McNutt one spectacular chance to swell his chest be- fore his erstwhile brothers in the bond. In the class-room and literary hall, how- ever, such topics were rather zealously suppressed. One day in the 30's, even, when a bright youth of apocalyptic vision relieved himself of an essay predicting that out of these contentions would grow a civil war terrible in its possibilities for suffering, old Doctor Bishop had mildly 710
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reprimanded the author and taken prompt possession of his Sibylline manu- script to destroy it.
In 1847, when the abolition tide was rolling high, there had almost been one open outbreak. Oxford preachers knew better than to say much on the subject or to invite reputed fire-eaters to speak in their stead. At length a certain rather famous adherent of the cause got his chance, under promise to make no refer- ence whatever to slavery. All the stu- dents attended, from north and south, to have a look at the celebrity. The visitor arose and announced that he was un- decided in his conscience whether to obey God or man. He told quickly of his promise and then began to pray. Evidently conscience soon decided for him, for the prayer deflected into a series of terrible imprecations called down upon the heads of southern-
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ers in general and slave-holders in partic- ular. There was much uneasiness and shuffling throughout; and promptly at the Amen every southern student in the congregation arose and marched haught- ily for the door. The minister, brandish- ing his Bible, shrilly reminded them that the wicked have a habit of fleeing when no man pursueth. At this the end of the procession paused in the doorway, and responded eloquently in lurid words that made fond mothers stop their children's ears. The meeting, of course, broke up in wild confusion.
As the real crisis came nearer, the dangerous topic was still more studiously avoided. That decade before the con- flict embraced some splendid years of ex- perience and achievement. Long before their close, however, the spirit of dissen- sion stalked frequently abroad. Quarrels . and disturbance were the order of the day
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-and night, and nearly always they con- cluded in a fracas, sometimes with mur- derous weapons. One student was killed in a tavern brawl of this kind. Others merely had their feelings or their fea- tures disarranged, and furnished occupa- tion for the faculty. Incidentally the "Female Institutions" got their share of attention in these escapades.
Apparently the most frequent victim of this spirit of unrest, and certainly the most hopeless, helpless of them all, was an inoffensive little product of some Rheinische Turnverein, Roemler by name, who had been brought in to direct the destinies of the new gymnasium so pompously instituted by the trustees. The "gym" wasn't much to look at. It was somebody's cast-off barn, with a few dumb-bells hung on the harness-pegs and a trapeze or two suspended from the hay- mow. Roemler wasn't much to look at,
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cithier. He had very little English at his command and still less of knowledge re- garding that almost human animal, the American boy. True, he could turn all sorts of handsprings and whirligigs, and led the perspiring line through strange evolutions with his "Forwartz martz!"- "Laags steef!" But who cares for such mimic marching when any breeze from the southland may bring you real mili- tary strains? So they teased poor Roem- ler unmercifully, drove him into nasty spurts of temper, and brought his sanc- tum into such disapproval that "Physi- cal Education" was quietly but firmly . discontinued. Almost as the exercises and evolutions of peace went out, those of grim and serious strife came in.
"The South has fired upon the flag!" "Fort Sumter has been taken!" "The President has called for seventy-five thousand troops!" So fast did these an-
nouncements pour into the village that students and townspeople paled and trembled under the shock, and groped vainly for a moment in their attempt to realize. When the blood surged back to the surface, they understood and were ready. Lads of the North, to whom this agitation had always seemed a mere dem- agogue's extravagance, burned now to avenge the insult to their country and her colors. The imaginary patriotism of a thousand Exhibition speeches welled into actual being in an instant. Stalwart sons of the South, who loved the whole broad land of freedom and had learned the spirit of the northland, gathered in groups apart-not shunned, but re- spected-and there, in hushed tones, dis- cussed their one possible method of pro- cedure.
Only the colleges of the borderland witnessed such a scene as followed on
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the morrow. The whole student commu- nity assembled at the station, as the time approached for the train to Cincinnati. All the usual signs of abundant life and high spirits were wanting. Every man stood tense and silent, and a few white cheeks gave signs of tears. The parting and the heart-ache of war were very new just then. Down the street came the Southern fellows, with heads erect and the gleam of consecrated purpose in their eyes. Some of them, within two months past, had poured out their very souls in public homage to the dear old striped flag, the banner of a united country. Some of those hearts were full to break- ing now with the anguish of this separa- tion. But home and kindred had decided for them and they never wavered. There was no demonstration to the scene. Some choking words were spoken: hands clasped in a last pressure across this
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strange new gulf of war. Here and there an arm sought some broad manly shoul- der, and lingered there in silent farewell. Then the train came puffing in, and com- rades from the North and South severed their acquaintance forever. No, not in every case forever. They met sometimes, all shrouded in the smoke of battle, sworn enemies in hostile lines, and then they felt anew the falseness and the horror of it all.
There were lively times in Oxford for the next few days. Every fellow around the campus was getting ready to go to war. They recognized no age limit nor any other obstacle. Lessons they calmly ignored, at least so far as the ever-dili- gent faculty would permit. Recruiting began at once for a college company, the University Rifles, and the crowd fairly fought for the privilege to sign up. By nightfall of the first day there was a wait-
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ing-list, and word was sent to Columbus that the country was saved. Then came a few nerve-racking days of suspense, awaiting marching-orders. You know what that might mean in a student crowd. They didn't get afraid or indifferent. Bless you, no! They just took a sober second thought that the projected scheme was not a primrose path of dalliance, and that there were hosts of important duties demanding their immediate attention right at home. Not many of the volun- teers would have backed down even then, if the mail service from the home folks hadn't gone into active operation. Of course the authorities stubbornly insisted that these militant youngsters should have parental consent.
It was soon evident that the Univer- sity Rifles must use village talent to make up their quota. Here recruiting was al- most as easy, and all the way to the capi-
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tal volunteers and camp-followers swelled the company beyond the legal limit. Choice of a captain was soon made. Only one fellow of them all had ever juggled a musket in regulation way, and he was a Senior, Ozro J. Dodds, who had been under Lew Wallace in an Indiana mili- tary school. Dodds didn't remember much of his manual except the marching, but the way he kept those poor perspir- ing rookies scratching holes in University greensward would have rejoiced any pa- triot. The minor offices didn't matter much: at best they were painfully few. Why, there were not nearly enough to go around, even when the captain insisted on three lieutenants, as there had been at Crawfordsville.
Finally the company was ready for departure. You know what always hap- pened on such occasions. Maybe you have seen it yourself, or you are sure to
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have read the conventional account some- where. The concourse of admiring and much bestarched maidens, all sweet and teary 'round the lashes. The rather awk- ward file of heroes, sheepishly trying to appear unconscious of the furore they were making. The home-made silk ban- ner, presented with an address and a benediction by some good old minister, this time impersonated by Doctor Hall, of the University. The kindly mothers in Israel, pressing testaments into the hands of the young soldiers, and the well- to-do citizens with their little offerings of pocket-money. The martial music and the cheers, the blessings and the hand- shakes, and then the "chug-chug" of the locomotive drawing the human freight away to-God knows what or where. Perhaps now we can find some humor in such an episode; can smile blandly at the
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homely earnestness of the participants. Then it was only a pitiable reality.
The Rifles, as such, achieved no great distinction. At Columbus ruthless offi- cials went through the ranks, and brought them within bounds by sending home those freshest from the cradle-roll. This was a dark hour for young Cal. Brice, who had put more enthusiasmn into this brief military career than he ever did later into a senatorial campaign. But "the atrocious crime of being a young man" was this time beyond pardon, and the youth was promptly billed for Ox- ford, his red hair bristling with disgust and an occasional big tear winding its way through his wilderness of freckles. In a few days the troop was rechristened as Company B of the 20thi Ohio, and was sent on its way for three months of ser- vice. From Columbus it moved to Hamil- ton: then back to Columbus again. later
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to Zanesville, and at last across the boundary into West Virginia, to wear out its time in monotonous guard duty along the railroads. No wonder most of the members promptly re-enlisted, in search of some real war. Be it known that they afterwards got it.
Back at Oxford all was still excite- ment. Every mail brought stacks of let- ters from the soldier boys, and the air was charged with war news. The Rifles had hardly left the station when a new company-the Home Guards-was being organized, with Professor MacFarland at their head. This last was a tactful move, for the faculty kept its patriotism cravenly suppressed. Lessons-the base routine of Latin, Greek and mathematics -actually went on the same as before! The current number of the Miami Month- ly is a bit amusing at this point. "The paucity of students," remarked the
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editor, "has not in the least interfered with the operations of the College. Daily chapel exercises have been just as regu- lar as they were before, and the door bolted against stragglers, after the sec- ond bell, just as securely as ever. Les- sons have been just as long, and the pro- fessors as unintermitting in their en- deavors. Grading has been as carefully observed as previously, and war has had no effect on the number of zeros. In a word, our number, but not our equani- mity, has been disturbed. Students may stop, but college does not. War may go on, but so does Miami University. As long as one man remains, there are eight professors to teach him." The same is- sue is loaded down with the usual weighty discussions of "Detail in Land- scape Painting" and "Ferdousi: the Per- sian Homer."
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It was no child's-play to preserve academic tranquility in those days. Even the simon-pure patriots were obstreper- · ous enough at times; and there were just a few disgruntled, cross-grained fault- finders hanging about, who were "agin the government" and kept busy picking trouble with the rest. One of these was promptly handled by the faculty for "uttering treasonable sentiments and hurrahing for Jeff. Davis and the so- called Southern Confederacy." Later a definite rule was formulated against the public parading of such sentiments. Pa- triotism effervesced in all sorts of scrapes and antics, many of them clustering about those fatal "George Days." In the ab- sence of other military features, the army canteen was patronized liberally about this time. A fellow had to do something like a soldier. Perhaps young Brice was anisz.
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he was called on the carpet for confis- cating wood and shingles from respected Oxford citizens.
In June, '62, the Home Guards got their opportunity. A fresh call was made for troops, and those fellows who had double-quicked and counter-marched about town for more than a year could be kept down no longer. Professor Mac, their drill-master, was urged to take com- mand. The faculty argued that he should go, since they felt largely responsible for the fortunes of these reckless lads en- trusted to their care. At length he con- sented, obligating himself to accept no appointment that would remove him from his boys. Again came the mustering at Columbus, this time with the S6th Ohio; and again the weary weeks of guard duty in West Virginia. Those performances in Oxford had their reward at last though.
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mous-and accordingly puffed up-as being the best drilled company in the regiment; and the captain himself, true to his pledge, was kept busy turning down promotions.
Before this three-months' service had expired, Miami was called upon once more to save her country, this time in one of the opera-bouffe episodes of the war. Kirby Smith and his famous rebel raiders were on the war-path chanting the scalp- song, and rumor had it they were headed straight for Cincinnati. Volunteers were called for in a panicky way all over the state, and Oxford was promptly in the field, with Charley Fisk of Kentucky in the lead. The company that recruited on the campus was a miscellaneous assort- ment of town and country boys, with such students as were still on the prem- ises. No time had they for the gaudy fripperies of war. Uniforms were un-
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thought of, tactics were delightfully un- orthodox, and weapons were of all ages, sizes and varieties, just what they were able to wheedle away from grand-dad's care or purloin somewhere in the name of the state. Such nondescript methods everywhere gave to the assembled horde the appropriate name "Squirrel-Hunt- ers," the most picturesque of all Ohio's soldiery. The Oxford company made its exit with as much eclat as anybody, and did yeoman service for a week or so, patrolling a lonesome railroad bridge which nobody had the remotest intention of crossing.
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