Walter Harland by Harriet S. Caswell

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WALTER HARLAND

Or, Memories of the Past

by

H. S. CASWELL

Author of Clara Boscom; Earnest Harwood, etc.

1874

CHAPTER I.

Left entirely alone on a quiet afternoon, the unbroken stillness which
surrounded me, as well as the soft haze which floats upon the
atmosphere, in that most delightful of all seasons, the glorious "Indian
Summer" of Eastern Canada, caused my thoughts to wander far away into
the dreamy regions of the past, and many scenes long past, and almost
forgotten, passed in review before my mind's eye on that quiet
afternoon. While thus musing the idea occurred to me that there are few
individuals, however humble or obscure, whose life-history (if noted
down) would prove wholly without interest to others, in the form of a
book; and this thought caused me to form the idea of noting down some
passages from my own life--as they were on that day recalled to my mind.
Like the boy who dreamed a most remarkable dream and, when asked to
relate it, "didn't know where to begin," so was I puzzled as to how I
should make a beginning for my story. But the incidents of one
particular day when I was about thirteen years old were so vividly
brought back to my mind, that I have decided upon that day as a
starting-point; and now to my story.

"Where alive has that lazy, good-for-nothing boy taken, himself off to
now, I wonder, and the weeds I left him to pull in the garden not half
done yet; but it's just like him, as soon's my back's turned to skulk
off in this way. I'll put a stop to this work one of these days, see if
I don't. Its likely he's hiding in some out-of-the-way corner with a
book in his hand as usual." These and many other angry words came
harshly to my ears, on that June afternoon now so long ago. I was seated
in the small room over the kitchen which was appropriated to my use in
the dwelling of Farmer Judson, where I was employed as "chore boy," or,
in other words, the boy of all work.

"Walter, Walter Harland, come down here this minute, I say."

I started up, trembling with fear, for the angry tones of the farmer
made me aware that he had come home in one of his worst tempers, and his
best were usually bad enough; and, more than this, I knew myself to be
slightly in the fault. Before leaving home that morning Mr. Judson had
ordered me to clear the weeds from a certain number of beds in the
garden before his return. I worked steadily during the forenoon, and for
a portion of the afternoon, when, feeling tired and heated, I stole up
to my room, thinking to rest for a short time and then again resume my
labors. I was very fond of study, and, as my Algebra lay before me upon
the table, I could not resist the temptation to open it, and I soon
became so deeply absorbed in the solution of a difficult problem that I
heeded not the lapse of time till the harsh voice of my employer fell
upon my ear. I had learned by past experience to fear the angry moods
of Mr. Judson. In my hurry and confusion I forgot to lay aside my book,
and went downstairs with it in my hand. I stood silent before the angry
man, and listened to the storm of abuse which he continued to pour upon
me, until sheer exhaustion compelled him to stop.

"And now," said he (by way of conclusion) "be off to your work, and
don't be seen in the house again till the last weed is pulled from them
air beds." This was even better than I had dared to hope, for, on more
than one former occasion, I had borne blows from Mr. Judson when his
anger was excited. As I turned to leave the room the quick eye of the
farmer fell upon the book which before had escaped his notice. Stepping
hastily toward me he said:

"I see how it is, your head is so filled with the crankums you get out
o' them books, that you are good for nothing else, but I'll stop this
work once for all;" and, ere I was aware of his intention, he
snatched the book from my hand, and threw it upon the wood-fire which
burned in the kitchen fire-place. I sprang forward to rescue my book
from the flames, but, before I could reach it, it was burned to ashes.
As I have before stated I was then about thirteen years old, tall and
strong for my age. I was usually quiet and respectful, but for all this
I possessed a high spirit. I could easily be controlled by kindness and
mild persuasion, but never by harsh and unkind treatment, and this act
of Mr. Judson's enraged me beyond all control, and in a moment all the
smouldering anger occasioned by his past harshness shot up as it were in
a sudden blaze. I have often heard it said, and I believe with truth,
that there is something almost appalling in the roused anger of one of
those usually quiet and submissive natures. I have often since thought
that passion rendered me partially insane for the time being; trembling
with anger, I confronted my employer fearlessly, as I said "How _dare_
you burn my book? you bad, wicked man, you are just as mean as you can
be."

This sudden outbreak from me, who hitherto had borne his abuse in
silence, took Mr. Judson quite by surprise. For a moment he looked at
me in silence, then, with a voice hoarse from passion, he addressed me,
saying, "such talk to _me_! you surely have lost any little sense you
ever may have had." Then seizing me roughly by the shoulder he
continued: "I'll teach you better manners than all this comes to, my
fine fellow, for I'll give you such a flogging as you won't forget in
a hurry, I'll be bound."

Instantly my resolution was taken; he should never flog me again.
Shaking off the rough grasp of his hand, I stepped backward, and drawing
myself up to my full height (even then I was not very tall) I looked him
unflinchingly in the face as I said,--"touch _me_ if you _dare_, I have
borne blows enough from you, and for little cause, but you shall _never_
strike me again. If you lay a hand upon me it will be worse for you."
Wild with anger I knew not what I said. The strength of a lad of my age
would, of course, have been as nothing against that of the sturdy
farmer; but, had he attempted to flog me, I certainly should have
resisted to the utmost of my ability. I know not how it was, but after
regarding me for a few moments with angry astonishment, he turned away
without any further attempt to fulfil his threat of flogging me. I
turned and was leaving the house when he called after me, in a voice,
which upon any previous occasion, would have frightened me into
submission.

"Come back, I say, this instant." I had now lost all fear and replied,
in a voice which I hardly recognized as my own, "go back, _never_.
Should I be compelled to beg my bread from door to door, I will never
stay another day under your roof." With these words I ran from the
house, and soon reached the little brown cottage in the village three
miles distant where lived my mother and sister Flora.

CHAPTER II.

I never knew a father's protecting care and watchful love; for he died
when I was but little more than three years old; and my sister Flora a
babe in our mother's arms. No prettier village could at that time have
been found in Eastern Canada than Elmwood, and this village was our
home. Its location was romantic and picturesque. Below the village on
one side was a long stretch of level meadow-land through which flowed
a clear and placid river--whose sparkling waters, when viewed from a
distance, reminded one of a surface of polished silver. The margin of
this river, on either side, was fringed with tall stately trees, called
the Rock-Elm. According to the statement of the first settlers in the
vicinity, the whole place was once covered with a forest of those noble
trees and to this circumstance the village owed its name of Elmwood. The
number of those trees which still shaded many of the streets added much
to the beauty of the village. The village was small, but much regularity
had been observed in laying out the streets. The buildings were mostly
composed of wood; and nearly all were painted a pure white with green
blinds, which gave a very tasteful appearance to the place. It had its
two churches, and three stores, where all articles necessary to a
country trade were sold, from a scythe down to cambric needles and pearl
buttons. There was also an academy, a hotel, one and two public schools,
and I believe I have now mentioned the most important of the public
buildings of Elmwood, as it then was. The cool and inviting appearance
of the village, as well as its facilities for fishing, boating and other
healthful recreations, caused it, in course of time, to become a
favorite summer resort for the dwellers in the large cities; and for
a few weeks, once a year, Elmwood was crowded with visitors from many
distant places, and, as may be readily supposed, these periodical visits
of strangers was something which deeply interested the simple residents
of our village. In looking back to-day through the long vista of years
which separate the past from the present, the object on which memory is
inclined to linger longer is a little brown house near one end of the
village of Elmwood. Kind reader that was the home of my childhood. There
was little in the external appearance of the house or its surroundings
to win admiration from the passer-by, but it was my home, and to the
young home is ever beautiful. Recalled by memory the old house looks
very familiar to-day, with its sloping roof covered, here and there,
with patches of green moss; and the large square chimney in the centre.
Between the house and the street was a level green, in which were
several fine shady trees, and one particular tree which stood near the
centre was what I most loved of every thing connected with the
surroundings of my early home--this tree was of the species known in
Canada as the Silver Fir, and I am certain that every one familiar with
this tree will testify, as to its beauty; they grow to a large size with
very thick and wide-spreading branches, which extend downward upon the
trunk in a circular form, each circle from the top growing larger, till
the lower limbs overshadow a large space of ground beneath. This tree
was my delight in the sunny days of childhood and early youth, and in
summer most of my school-tasks were committed to memory beneath its
friendly shade; and I loved it, in the dreary season of winter, for the
deep green which it retained, amid the general desolation by which it
was surrounded. When left a widow my mother was poor, so far as worldly
riches is considered. My father had once been in moderately easy
circumstances, but the illness which terminated in his death was long,
and the means he had accumulated gradually slipped away, till, at the
period of his death, all my mother could call her own was the little
brown house which sheltered us, and very thankful was she to find, (when
every debt was paid even to the last fraction) that she still possessed
a home for herself and children. My mother possessed much energy of
mind, as well as a cheerful, hopeful disposition, and, although she
sorrowed deeply for her sad loss, she did not yield to despondency; but
endeavored to discharge faithfully her duty to her children, and to this
end she sought employment, and toiled early and late that she might
provide for our wants, and so far did Providence smile upon her efforts
that we were enabled to live in comfort and respectability. By close
industry and economy she kept me at school from the age of six to
thirteen, and would willingly have allowed me to remain longer, as she
considered my education of the first importance, but during the last
year I remained at school (although only a child of twelve years) I grew
discontented and unhappy, by seeing my mother toiling daily that I might
remain at school. And many a night did I lay awake for hours, revolving
the question in my mind of how I could assist my mother, for I felt
that, young as I was, it was time for me to do something for my own
support. Had circumstances allowed, I would gladly have remained at
school, for I was fond of study; but I believe I inherited a portion
of my mother's energetic disposition, and I felt it my duty to leave
school, and seek some employment whereby I might support myself, and
possibly assist, in a small way, my mother and little sister. My mother
was reluctant to yield her consent that I should leave school, but when
she saw how much my mind was _set_ on it, and knowing the motives which
influenced me, she finally gave her consent, and leaving school I began
looking about me for employment. My mother's wish, as well as my own
was that I should, if possible, obtain some situation in the village
where I could still board at home, but, as is usually the case, no one
needed a boy at that time. After spending several days in search of
work, without success, I became disheartened. My mother advised me to
return to my books, and think no more about it; but I was unwilling that
my first attempt toward taking care of myself should prove an entire
failure.

CHAPTER III.

A few miles from the village of Elmwood lived Mr. Judson, a rich farmer,
he might properly be termed rich in this world's goods, for, besides the
broad acres which comprised the two farms in one where he resided, he
was the owner of several houses in the village, which brought him a
handsome annual income. The chief aim of his life appeared to be the
acquisition of money, and, when once it came into his possession, it was
guarded with miserly care. The very countenance and manner of the Farmer
bespoke his nature. Aided by memory, I see him now as I saw him years
ago:--he was of medium height, strong and muscular, but thin in flesh.
His hair had once been black, but was then sprinkled thickly with gray;
he had small piercing, restless black eyes that seemed to look several
ways at once. His nose was of the form which I have often heard styled a
hawk-bill; and, altogether, there was a sort of dry, hard look about the
man which rendered his personal appearance repulsive and disagreeable.
His constant care and anxiety was to get the largest possible amount of
labor out of those in his employ; consequently, he was always in a hurry
himself, and striving to hurry every one else. His farm-laborers used to
say that he kept his eyes in such unceasing motion, to see that every
thing went right on all sides, that a restless, roving expression of the
eyes had become natural to him. Though living only a few miles distant,
neither my mother nor myself knew any thing of the character of this
man; and when he came to engage me to do "chores and light work" as he
termed it, we gladly accepted his offer, as my mother had the idea that
residing for a time upon a farm (if not overworked) would have a
beneficial effect upon my health and constitution. Many wondered when
it became known that I had gone to live with Farmer Judson; but each one
kept their thoughts to themselves. When I took my place at the Farmer's
I soon found that, if my work was light, there was likely to be plenty
of it. I did not complain of this, for I expected to work; but what made
my position almost unbearable was the constant habit of fault-finding in
which my employer indulged. He was dreaded and feared by all under his
roof. He was constantly on the watch for waste and expenditure
within-doors, and without there could never be enough done to satisfy
him; do your best, and he always thought you should have done more. As
I have before said, I was very fond of books, and I had counted upon
having my evenings at my own disposal that I might still do something in
the way of self improvement; but I soon learned that books were quite
out of the question in my new home. There was either corn to shell or
errands to perform; in short, there was something to keep me busy till
nearly bed-time every night. I used sometimes to think the farmer used
to study up something to keep me busy on purpose to keep me from study.
I believe my greatest fault in his eyes was my love of books. He was
entirely without education himself, which, (in a great measure)
accounted for his narrow and sordid mind; he looked upon any time
devoted to books or mental culture as a dead loss.

"What's the use of botherin' over books," he would often say; and would
often add in a boasting manner, "I don't know _a_ from _b_, and if I do
say it myself, where will you find a man who has got along better in the
world than I have done." If getting along well with the world consists
only in hoarding up dollars and cents till every feeling of tenderness
and benevolence toward the rest of mankind becomes benumbed and
deadened, then truly Mr. Judson _had_ got along remarkably well. His
door was but a sorry place to ask charity, as every one could testify
who ever tried the experiment. It was reported that a poor woman once
called at the house and asked for food. The farmer chanced to be from
home, and his wife, thinking he might not return for a time, ventured
to prepare a comfortable meal for the poor traveller; but, as fate would
have it, he returned before the weary traveller had partaken of the meal
prepared for her. As soon as he saw how matters stood he gave his wife
a stern rebuke for "encouraging beggars"; and, with many harsh words,
ordered the woman to leave the house. The poor woman rose wearily to
obey the command, and, as she was passing from the room, she turned, and
fixing her eyes upon Mr. Judson, said in a stern voice, "I am poor and
needy--it was hunger alone which compelled me to ask charity--but with
all your riches I would not exchange places with you who have the heart
to turn from your door one in need of food; surely, out of your
abundance you might have at the least given food to one in want; but go
on hoarding up your dollars, and see how much softer they will make your
dying pillow." It was said that the farmer actually turned pale as the
woman left the house. Perhaps his conscience was not quite dead, and it
may be that a shadow from the events of future years, even then, fell
across his mind. It would have been difficult to find two natures more
unlike than were those of Mr. Judson and his wife. The former was
stingy, even to miserly niggardliness, as well as ill-tempered, sullen
and morose, while the latter was one of the most kind-hearted and
motherly old ladies imaginable, that is, had her kindly nature been
allowed to exhibit itself. As it was, not daring to act according to the
dictates of her own kind heart, through fear of her stern companion, she
had in the course of years, become a timid broken-spirited woman. In her
youthful days she had been a regular attendant at church, she also was a
valuable teacher in the sabbath-school; but, after marrying Lemuel
Judson, she soon found that all religious privileges of a social nature
were at an end. Poor man, money was the god he worshipped; and so
entirely did the acquisition of wealth engross his mind that every other
emotion was well-nigh extinguished. He seldom, if ever, entered a place
of public worship, and did what he could to prevent his wife from doing
so. She did at the first venture a feeble remonstrance when he refused
on Sundays to drive to the village church, but, as this was her first
attempt at any thing like opposition to his wishes, he determined it
should be her last, for he assailed her with every term of abusive
language at his command, and these were not a few, for his command of
language of this sort was something marvelous too listen to, and, if his
words and phrases were not always in strict accordance with the rules of
grammar, they certainly were sharp and pointed enough to answer his
purpose very well. From the sour expression of his countenance, as well
as the biting words which often fell from his tongue, the village boys
applied to him the name "vinegar face," sometimes varied by "old
vinegar Judson." Like all village boys, they were inclined on holidays
and Saturday afternoons to roam away to the neighbouring farms. Mr.
Judson always drove them from his premises the moment they set foot
hereon, and in a short time he learned that, as the saying is, there was
no love lost between them. He one day gave one of these boys a smart
blow with his horse-whip the boy had ventured into the hayfield among
the laborers. The blow of course caused him to take to his heels, but
from that time the whole band were in league against the farmer. If he
left a horse tied in the village, he would sometimes find him shorn of
his mane, and often a hopeless rent in his buffalo; and, as far as he
could find out, the deed was done by "nobody at all." As he was driving
leisurely homeward on a very dark night he suddenly came upon a number
of boys near the end of the village street, and one of the boys called
out loud enough for him to hear, "there goes old vinegar Judson;"
another emboldened by his companion, next addressed him with the
question; "What's the market price of vinegar, old man? you ought to
know if any one does, for you must drink a lot of it or you wouldn't be
so cross and ugly." It was a very dark night, and the farmer was unable
to distinguish one from the other, and horse-whip in hand he made a rush
among the whole crowd, who dispersed in all directions. He was not agile
enough to overtake a fast retreating army in the dark, and was forced to
abandon the pursuit. As he turned to pursue his journey homeward, a
voice from out of the darkness, again addressed him, saying, "don't you
only wish you could catch us, old vinegar man?" Knowing that further
pursuit would be useless, he proceeded on his way, uttering threats of
future vengeance. He did spend a portion of the following day in trying
to find out the boys who had insulted him; but all his efforts to that
end were without success. A gentleman to whom he complained ventured to
remark: "I fear, Mr. Judson, that in a great measure you have yourself
to blame for all this, for you ever treat the boys with unkindness; and,
without reason and experience to guide them, can you wonder that they
render evil for evil. If you exercised more of the spirit of kindness
in your casual intercourse with the boys, I think it would be better for
both you and them." This advice was very good, but it is to be feared
that the farmer profited but little by it. Through fear of her stern
husband Mrs. Judson finally ceased to mention attending church; but
often on a Sunday afternoon, when he was either asleep or walking over
his farm, she would seat herself in a quiet corner of the large
kitchen and read her Bible, and perhaps sing a hymn to some of the
old-fashioned plaintive airs, which formed a large portion of the Church
Music in her youthful days. I remember when I lived at the Farmer's, I
used often to think it no wonder that Mrs. Judson almost always sung her
Sunday hymn to the air of "Complaint," and read more frequently in the
book of Job and the Lamentations of Jeremiah than any other portion of
the Bible. The poor lonely woman seemed to feel a mother's tenderness
for me, which manifested itself in many little acts of kindness, when
unobserved by her husband, who took good care that no undue indulgence
should be shown to any one under his roof. I soon learned to regard the
old lady with all the affection of which I was capable; and it was her
kindness alone which rendered my position endurable. I sought in many
ways to lighten her labors, for, even in the busiest seasons, no help
was allowed her to perform all the household work; and I soon found many
ways of making myself useful.

CHAPTER IV.

One rainy afternoon, while busied about the house, Mrs. Judson surprised
me by saying suddenly: "I suppose you don't know what makes me take so
to you, Walter; but I'll tell you, you remind me of my youngest boy,
Reuben." I looked at the old lady with wonder, saying, "I did not know
you had any children, Mrs. Judson." "True" said she, "I forgot you did
not know; but no further than your mother lives from here she must
remember that I once had two boys who were very dear to me, but perhaps
she never told you about it. It ill becomes me to speak of _his_ faults,
but I must say my poor boys had a hard life of it with their father. He
had no patience with them when mere children, and matters grew worse as
they became older. Do what they would, they could never please him, and
he often beat them cruelly. But one way and another they got along till
Charley was sixteen and Reuben fourteen years of age. Their father one
day left them ploughing in the field while he went to the village; the
ground was rough and stoney, and by some accident the ploughshare was
broken. When their father came home and found what had happened, he
seized the horse-whip and gave both the boys a terrible flogging.
Neither of the boys had ever before given their father a word; but, when
he stopped beating them, Charley stood up and said: 'You have beaten us,
father, a great many times and for very little cause; but this is the
last time.' That was all he said. His father told him to shut up his
mouth and go about his work. After dinner he went back to the village,
and some business detained him till late in the evening. I remember as
if it were but yesterday how my two boys looked that night when they
came home to supper. After supper they rose from the table, and Charley
said: 'Mother, we are very sorry to leave you, but we must go. I don't
know what we have done that father should treat us so; he seems almost
to hate the sight of us, and it is better that we should go before his
harshness provokes us to some act of rebellion. I am older than Reuben,
and will do my best to care for him, and we will never forget you,
mother; but I believe it to be for the best that we should leave home.'
I had long feared this; and I begged of them to stay and try and bear
it, at any rate till they should be older; but talking was of no use,
the boys had made up their minds, and go they would. They each took a
change of clothing in a small bundle, and prepared to leave the home
which had sheltered them from their infancy. When I saw they _would_ go,
I divided the little money I had of my own between them that they might
not go forth into the world entirely destitute. I could not really blame
the boys, for their father's harsh words, day by day, was like the
continual dropping which wears the stone, and the poor boys were fairly
tired and worn out with being continually censured and blamed. With a
heart heavy with a sorrow which only a mother can know, I walked with
the boys to the turn of the road where they were to wait for the stage.
I felt sorrowful enough but I kept back my tears till the hour sounded
which announced the arrival of the stage. They both shook hands with me
and kissed me, and poor Reuben, the youngest, cried as if his heart
would break.

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