USA > Pennsylvania > Washington County > Claysville > Our church and our village > Part 10
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It is no exaggeration to state that the Book of our village neighborhood was THE BIBLE. The Sacred Oracles furnished the children with their stories. The youth stored away the Scripture system of truth as they said "the questions " of the Shorter Catechism on Saturday in the secular school. " Rouse's Version " of David's Psalms was the standard hymnology of Southwestern Pennsylvania during the earlier decades of the present century. The public service of the Sab-
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bath over, the afternoon of God's holy day found each member of the family with the Word of God in hand. Consequently, when such a community congregated in the church, the preacher was in touch with the electrify- ing power of an intelligent audience. You would have searched in vain for the editor, whom the story locates at St. Louis, who, having by accident received in his morning mail some proof-sheets intended for the em- ployees of a religious publishing house, after glancing over them, rushed to the city editor, yelling, "Why in the world didn't you get a report of that big flood? Even that slow, old religious paper across the way is ahead of you. Send out your force for full particulars -only one family saved. Interview the old man. His name is Noah."
The truth of history, however, demands the mention of that sui generis, the horse jockey. This individual kept the summer afternoons from being monotonous. He was as regular as a clock at every public gathering. A satisfactory explanation of his contracts was always on the end of his tongue, something like that of the following colloquy. "You told me, sir, that the horse was entirely without fault, and yet he is blind," said an irritated loser to the successful dealer, and was answered with the air of injured innocence: " I do not regard blindness as a fault, sir. It is a misfortune." More than one of our horse jockeys gave heed to the advice of a gentleman of color. "My advice to the Hoosier brudder am not to lie or deceive in tradin' mules, but to answer as few queshuns as he kin, and seem sort of keerless whether his offer am 'cepted or not."
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It must be confessed that our village neighborhood was rather litigious. My father was a justice of the peace, and the Saturday was lonesome which was not set down for a lawsuit. Many a purse was emptied by disputes about trifles. The two Abolitionists already mentioned, whom I shall call the Squire and Malachi, were the parties to one of the traditional lawsuits of the locality. The Squire's son Dan had a flock of ducks which, it was claimed, had been devoured by Malachi's old sow. Malachi brought suit for dam- ages. The case lasted for years, and ran the gauntlet of several courts and a board of arbitration. The most prominent lawyers of the Washington County Bar exhausted their knowledge of law and powers of eloquence in the issues involved, piling up the costs into the hundreds of dollars, and throwing the matter into such a condition of entanglement that the whole neighborhood was alive with the question: " Did the pig devour the ducks, or did the ducks eat the pig?"
But I cannot erase from my memory the woe, the sorrow, the contentions, the babbling, the wounds without cause, the redness of eyes with which the demon of intemperance stamped his victims in our village neighborhood. In my boyhood days the bar- room of the village tavern was a village centre. The sot, the tippler, the dram drinker, the bitters'-taker, the get-up-early-in-the-morning thirst, gave it a con- tinual run of business. It did its work so thoroughly in the ruin of individuals, in the misery of families, in the waste of capabilities and opportunities, that I want no better temperance lecture than to walk through the old village graveyard, which the village bar-room has
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sown so thickly with the drunkard's grave. And if in our village neighborhood it is the general rule in this year of grace for families to have, as old Ben Franklin puts it, " wood on the fire, meal in the barrel, flour in the tub, money in the purse, credit in the country, con- tentment in the house, clothes on the back, and vigor in the body," I believe that the reason is to be found in the fact that for the last thirty years there has not been a licensed bar or saloon in Our Village Home. I be- lieve, further, that our village neighborhood is a proof of the proposition that the best way to promote the growth of temperance is to foster and develop and enforce the temperance that there is in the laws that we have. Still further, I believe that our village neigh- borhood is a proof of the proposition that a community can be prepared for, and trained to, the practice and support of prohibition.
As a matter of course, in such a survey as the fore- going, I have dwelt upon the impressible features of our village and its neighborhood. I have said nothing of that majority whose lives were so quiet and unevent- ful that their earthly history finds its model in the fifth chapter of the Book of Genesis, as in their case life is summed up in their birth, their families, and their death. But did they live in vain? Nay, verily. The average acquaintance with the Bible on the part of the community, the average parental training, warrant the following interpretation of their quiet lives:
"In a valley, centuries ago, Grew a little fern leaf, green and slender, Veinings delicate and fibres tender,
Waving when the winds crept down so low.
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Rushes tall, and moss and grass grew round it ; Playful sunbeams darted in and found it ; Drops of dew stole down by night and crowned it ; But no foot of man e'er came that way- Earth was young and keeping holiday.
" Useless ? Lost ? There came a thoughtful man Searching nature's secrets far and deep ! From a fissure in a rocky steep
He withdrew a stone o'er which there ran .
Fairy pencillings, a quaint design,
Leafage veining, fibres clear and fine,
And the fern's life lay in every line.
So I think God hides some souls away,
Sweetly to surprise us the last day."
And I expect to find many such surprises when, in the light of the resurrection morn, I meet the popula- tion of Our Village Home and its neighborhood.
OUR VILLAGE HOLIDAY
The principal holidays of Our Village Home were the battalion muster (commonly designated by the little children as the pertallion muster) and the Fourth of July. The people were too Scotch-Irish to attach any significance to Christmas. A New Year's call was a thing unheard of. Still, both Christmas and the New Year were recognized by big dinners and often by the traditional country ball.
The battalion muster was signalized by the annual visit of the Brigade Inspector. The battalion stands out in line before my vision on the hill to the south of Our Village Home. Dutch Fork had sent forth its ·
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train bands. The Wheeling Hills had contributed their legions. There were the West Finley Rifles, with their green-coated fifer and drummer, and I will never forget how they were wont to scream and beat " The Devil's Dream." There were " The Blues," of Our Village Home, with its military band of boys, marching to the strains of such tunes as "Rory O'More," "The Campbells are Coming," "Yankee Doodle," "St. Patrick's Day," and " The Girl I Left Behind Me."
But that dress parade-that regimental line. So many uniformed and so many weaponed. Three streaks of regulation uniform at the right: " The Clays- ville Blues," "The West Finley Rifles," and "The Buffalo Artillery." Then followed a variegated mix- ture, made up of Sunday-go-to-meeting suits, war- muses, hunting shirts, and waistcoats whose color was relieved by the whiteness of the shirt sleeves. The variety of weapon was worthy the curiosity room of an arsenal. There were the army musket, the State rifle, the six-pounder, the bayonet, the artillery cutlass, the broadsword, the walking cane, the hickory shilla- lah, the alder stalk, and-memory fails me to tell of the other articles through which the yeomanry showed their ability to strike for their altars and their fires. The field officers, in their array of plume and blue and tinsel, were simply stunning.
The battalion muster was the set time for the pugi- listic encounters with which our ancestors usually ad- justed their differences. And we boys, following the example of our elders, when we opposed each other on the playground, found it oftentimes more convenient
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to say, "Just wait until the pertallion muster and I'll lick you." The "big muster " was also the day on which the man who only got drunk occasionally in- dulged himself. So that when evening came, there were several blackened eyes and staggering forms.
I recall with a glad heart the old-time celebrations of the Fourth of July-the procession to the church, with the " Village Blues " as the escort, Cal King and Josiah Carroll, fifers; James Noble and Aaron Patter- son, tenor; and Alexander Wallace and Marcus Dean, bass drummers. The exercises at the church! What an array of officers! President, vice-presidents, and secretaries. Sometimes there were present some old Revolutionary soldiers, who still "lingered on the shores of Time," as well as a more numerous company of the soldiers of the War of 1812, to occupy the seats of honor. Then came, first, the minister's prayer, then the reading of the Declaration of Independence, then the oration. Among the orators were the Hon. John H. Craig and the Hon. Sherrard Clemens, both bearing family names in our village neighborhood.
From the church the procession returned to the village tavern. Turkey, roast beef, roast pig, pie, cake, and coffee were the usual constituents of the bill of fare afforded by the dinner. Then came the toasts: " The President of the United States." "The Gov- ernor of the Commonwealth." "The Heroes of the Mexican War." "The Ladies, God bless them."
I believe in the celebration of the Fourth of July. I sincerely trust that " the old-fashioned Fourth " will never become so antiquated as to become distasteful to the American people. The God of nations has given
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it a Scriptural warrant in the national festivals ordained in the Constitution of the Hebrew Commonwealth. The question of the Hebrew children: " What mean ye by this service?" suggests the information which the Fourth of July ought to give to the boys and girls of America.
The foregoing picture gives the most prominence to THE VILLAGE BLUES. We thought it a grand spectacle to see them marching along the street with glittering flintlock muskets, blue coats, and white pants. By general consent they were the essential, the attractive constituent of every "big muster " and Fourth of July. One of my early recollections is the interest with which we looked for their return from the Pittsburgh Encampment. Then, too, under their auspices an encampment was held on the village out- skirts, which became an epoch in our domestic annals. I suppose that every boy turned out to help the " Blues " escort the visiting commands to the camp- ing-ground. This very moment I hear the roar, and see the smoke, and witness the charges of the Ten Mile Rangers, in the sham battle. I must confess that I have always liked the pomp rather than the circumstance of war. This is certainly an honest con- fession, for, as a little boy, I quivered and trembled as, at least a half mile away, I looked on that sham battle. Certainly on that day I could have gone beyond Ar- temas Ward. He was perfectly willing that all his wife's relatives should enlist. I could have added all my uncles, aunts, cousins, even the most distant of my kith and kin.
There were several wearers of military titles in or
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near Our Village Home. There was the venerable Col. Benjamin Anderson, who saw service in the War of 1812. His old age was the figure of a gentleman wearing a crown of glory. There was Major Joseph Bryant, who was a welcome visitor at the fireside, and sat in the company which was wont to gather about in the home or in the village store, with the dignity of an oracle. There was Major Irwin, a prince among neighbors, yet of unflinching fearlessness in the utter- ance and maintenance of his opinions. There was that magnificent personality, Captain Rider, who would spend many a pleasant evening instructing the little boys in the military manual; the legislator who, be- cause he was fifty years ahead of his neighbors, and voted that the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad should have the right of way through Washington County, Pennsylvania, was so shamefully treated by our vil- lagers that he left for the West, to become an honored citizen of the State of Iowa. There was the dignified Capt. Charles Cracraft, who impressed a boy as a master of the English language. There was Capt. James Anderson, whom the whole community recog- nized as the officer who was born, not made.
I select for description but two of the eccentricities of our military organization. Jonathan - had the reputation of being one of the most awkward creatures that ever wore a uniform or handled a gun. It would have struck a stranger as very singular that he should always march at the rear of the company. His sur- prise would have disappeared if he had known that Jonathan could scarcely go through the simplest manœuvre of the manual of drill without threatening
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to remove the headgear of every comrade within ten feet of him, or exposing him to bodily harm. The story went the rounds that he had been known to walk clear out of the ranks to fall over a stone or log lying by the wayside. Hence he was relegated to the rear, where he could have plenty of room, and, without en- dangering others, fall all around.
Another member of the company was known as " -- The " Village Blues " were invited to accept the hospitalities of the military of Wheeling on a certain Fourth of July. Dinner was prepared at the McLure House, at which ice cream and water- melon were served as dessert. The ice cream was a revelation to our friend, and it struck him as one of the most delicious things that had ever passed his lips. It did not take him long to transfer the contents of the plate. The waiter, noticing its emptiness, politely in- quired if there was anything else he would have. " Yes," says "-," "you may give me another sasser of cold puddin' and another slice of watermillion if you have any more about the house." In the relation of his adventure at Wheeling, he observed that the din- ners at the McLure House were as good as the dinners that were given at a certain farmhouse when they had the threshing machine.
OUR VILLAGE SCHOOL " Oh, were you ne'er a schoolboy ?"
Then the reader will not wonder that the boys and girls of the past crowd out the scenes of the present. I have a distinct impression of my first teacher, James
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Graham, but time has swept the incidents of his tute- lage from the tablet of memory. Another early in- structor, Simon Meredith, exhibited every phase of temper as the pendulum swung between the extremes of kindness and cruelty. He was followed by one of the most womanly women I ever knew, Miss Margaret K. Bell. She was succeeded by Dr. John McCall, an able teacher and a stern disciplinarian. The next di- rector of my studies was John P. Gamble, who took great pride in the progress of his scholars. In the fore- going list are to be included Thomas H. Atkinson and George Bright Birch.
As I have pondered over my early school life I am convinced that my education was rather mechanical than thoughtful; that my teachers helped me in the wrong way; that I memorized rather than grasped; that I was not drilled in the art of expressing that which I really knew.
But when I was in my fourteenth year, a teacher (James Ely) came who did all this, and the world of knowledge which spread out before me produced an enthusiasm and delight like that which made Colum- bus so glad when the New World first greeted his vision.
As I write, my schoolmates emerge from the shades of the past, and I see sober Tommy Ritezel. My head touches that of Bill Humes, as together we hunt for the unknown in the problems of arithmetic and algebra. I study that combination of ability, kindness, and ill temper known as Aaron Scott. I listen to the oracular statements of Dan Miller. I feel, this moment, the depression of the loneliness which possessed my soul
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when the Rider boys, George and Tom, went to Iowa; when the Kurtz boys, Ike, Morgan, Bill, and Tom, moved to Ohio. Who that ever knew Mark Dill will forget the appearance of a certain face when the good humor of his nature dissolved it into a grin? There was Bill Cracraft, whose speech found its analogy in the discharges of a Gatling gun. Jack Lloyd, in pluck and positiveness, was worthy to bear the name of Gen. Andrew Jackson. What a wide range of discussion filled the time which two boys, Nelse McNeal and my- self, took in our morning and evening walks to and from the cow pasture. Curious Sam Rickey; the Tom Nobles, known respectively as Squire's Tom and Becky's Tom; the Abercrombies, Chester, Ned, and Joe; the Gourleys, John and his brothers and cousins; the Mecrackens, Sam and John; the Warrells, Bob, Bill, and John; the McGills, Jim, Joe, and Sam; the Stewarts, Bill and Reed; the boy of affairs, Kep. Walker; companionable Jim Kerr, as it were, resurrect the old schoolhouse with its lessons and the old play- ground with its sports.
And as I close this roll-call of memory with the names of Mary Mecracken, now in Denver; of Mary Miller, now in Indiana; of Margaret Jane Mealy and Mary Bell, now in Heaven, I once more bask " in the laughing light and life of childhood " ; I once more partake of "the gaiety that has known no check" ; I once more act " the frankness that has felt no chill " ; I once more indulge " the hope that has never with- ered "; I once more realize "the joys that fade in blossoming."
A marked change in text-books took place during
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my school life. At its commencement the "New England Primer," with its pictures illustrating such couplets as
" In Adam's fall We sinned all."
" Youth forward slips Death soonest nips."
" The British king Lost States thirteen "-
gave the primary scholar the first lessons in history, theology, and patriotism. Lindley Murray's "Eng- lish Reader " and the " Western Calculator," with its pounds, shillings, and pence, were put into the hands of the more advanced scholars. We used to make the walls ring on the announcement, "Spelling Lessons," with the enunciation of the letters as Lyman Cobb and Salem Town arranged them into words. Our drill- books in the English language were Cobb's and Mc- Guffey's readers, McGuffey's being the more attrac- tive on account of the illustrations. Perhaps my schoolmates will remember the boy on the back of the St. Bernard dog in McGuffey's "Second Reader " ; the " Knowledge is Power," with the " ' I see, I see,' said the little man " in McGuffey's " Third Reader " ; the story of Inkle and Yarico in Cobb's "Fourth Reader " ; the "Vision of Mirza" and the play of " William Tell " in McGuffey's "Fourth Reader." I do not know that our schools have ever had better literature than the specimens which were gathered to- gether in our readers.
One of my best text-books was Parker's “ Progres-
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sive Exercises in English Composition." It taught us to tell what we thought. Greenleaf's " Arithmetic " gave me the best idea of figures. Davies' " Algebra " initiated us into the unknown of the x. Smith gave us the parts of grammar.
There was a sad lack of uniformity in our text-books. The schools were not graded. Instruction, for the greater part, was individual.
School government in the days of our youth recog- nized corporal punishment as the rule rather than the exception. It was generally understood that if the schoolmaster did not thrash the big boys, those young gentlemen would assume the control of the school- master. Indeed, the teacher felt that until this ques- tion was settled his school was not in full operation. I am aware that the general crusade against corporal punishment has been successful. Yet I will risk call- ing attention to the following from that great medical authority, the London Lancet:
SCHOOL CHASTISEMENTS
" Some grown persons would seem to think that there is no true place for chastisement in a system of education. Such, at all events, is our impression of those, and there are many par- ents among them, who regard an ordinary beating given in school as almost an indictable form of assault. People of this kind have 'evidently forgotten the singularities of their own wayward youth, or perhaps their lives knew only a genial and untroubled springtime of good conduct. In neither case can their judgment be relied upon to form a rule of discipline for the guidance of school teachers. The bad boy will continue to deserve, and to repay with better behavior, his needful thrashings, and even the good boy will sometimes err and will
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profit by corporal reproofs. The truth about physical punish- ment, we may take it, is that it is indispensable-an evil, per- haps, but a necessary one. It must be borne, but in order to attain success with the least possible amount of injurious fric- tion, it must also be regulated. There must be no impulsive pulling about, no random strokes with the hand or the ruler, no ear-boxing with its probable sequel-the ruptured tympanum. The head should never be struck, not even slapped. We may say the same of the body, but for one most tender but safely padded prominence which appears to mark the naturally appointed seat of childish affliction. We need hardly empha- size the importance of guarding jealously against all displays of temper while inflicting punishment. No doubt this is diffi- cult with refractory children, but such a degree of self-govern- ment as will enable parents or teachers to avoid the angry moment is nevertheless requisite for success. A case occurred lately which illustrates this point. It was that of a boy who was beaten about the back and hand the day following a school misdemeanor. Singularly enough, he injured his head next day, and being at the time in poor health, though believed to be well, died in a week from tubercular meningitis. At once his teacher was blamed, but proof being brought that the chastisement inflicted, was deliberate, orderly, and propor- tionate, though the means employed were not quite regular, he was entirely exonerated at a subsequent inquest. It would, indeed, in many cases render the duties of a schoolmaster as barren as difficult if he were not allowed a reasonable freedom in physical correction. The possible occurrence of such inci- dents as the above must, however, impress what we have said as to method in its application."
A popular feature of our village school was the examination and exhibition at the end of the term. A stage was erected. The seat of honor was occupied by the school directors of the district. There was not standing room left for any who endeavored to push
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their way into the crowd which thronged the building. Music, declamation, dialogue, and essay, serious and humorous, relieved the monotony of the examination.
But our village schoolhouse was also the scene of amateur theatricals, which were disguised by the name of exhibition. Those performances cover the extent of my attendance at the theatre. The favorite plays were " Richard the Third " and " William Tell." For weeks previous to their occurrence these exhibitions were the talk of every household. I remember two of the members of the orchestra, which varied in size, but was generally confined to John Hoon and Thaddeus C. Noble, as they played on the clarionet. The former became a Presbyterian elder, and the latter was well known in the political, commercial, and religious circles of Washington County. A friend has told me that, although this orchestra was often encored, its music, in this later day of the world, would set your teeth on edge and make your hair stand straight out. The person, Dick Lamborn, who represented Richard the Third was a consummate actor. Billy Ritezel, who appeared as Queen Margaret, has been a printer, newspaper editor, and publisher in Washington County, and editor in and legislator of the State of Ohio.
The closing performance of these exhibitions was an impersonation of our colored brethren. Alfred Prowitt, who was the " white man " who made him- self the " nigger minstrel " of the occasion, died at a good old age a short time since. How he could sing " Dandy Jim," "Coal Black Rose," and " Gumbo Chaff " !
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The schoolhouse yard furnished ample space for the sports of childhood. We played " town-hall," " alley- ball,""corner-ball," and " cat-ball," " prisoners' base," and " hunt the horn." We had our repertoire of those quaint doggerels known as counting out rhymes, such as
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