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I LEARNED arithmetic in
Scotland without understanding any of it, though I had the rules by heart.
But when I was about fifteen or sixteen years of age, I began to grow hungry
for real knowledge, and persuaded father, who was willing enough to have me
study provided my farm work was kept up, to buy me a higher arithmetic.
Beginning at the beginning, in one summer I easily finished it without
assistance, in the short intervals between the end of dinner and the
afternoon start for the harvest-and hay-fields, accomplishing more without a
teacher in a few scraps of time than in years in school before my mind was
ready for such work. Then in succession I took up algebra, geometry, and
trigonometry and made some little progress in each, and reviewed grammar. I
was fond of reading, but father had brought only a few religious books from
Scotland. Fortunately, several of our neighbors had brought a dozen or two
of all sorts of books, which I borrowed and read, keeping all of them except
the religious ones carefully hidden from father's eye. Among these were
Scott's novels, which, like all other novels, were strictly forbidden, but
devoured with glorious pleasure in secret. Father was easily persuaded to
buy Josephus's "Wars of the Jews," and D'Aubigne's "History of the
Reformation," and I tried hard to get him to buy Plutarch's Lives, which, as
I told him, everybody, even religious people, praised as a grand good book;
but he would have nothing to do with the old pagan until the graham bread
and anti-flesh doctrines came suddenly into our backwoods neighborhood,
making a stir something like phrenology and spirit-rappings, which were as
mysterious in their attacks as influenza. He then thought it possible that
Plutarch might be turned to account on the food question by revealing what
those old Greeks and Romans ate to make them strong; and so at last we
gained our glorious Plutarch. Dick's "Christian Philosopher," which I
borrowed from a neighbor, I thought I might venture to read in the open,
trusting that the word "Christian" would be proof against its cautious
condemnation; But father balked at the word "Philosopher," and quoted from
the Bible a verse which spoke of "philosophy falsely so-called." I then
ventured to speak in defense of the book, arguing that we could not do
without at least a little of the most useful kinds of philosophy.
"Yes, we can," he said with
enthusiasm, "the Bible is the only book human beings can possibly require
throughout all the journey from earth to heaven."
"But how," I contended, "can
we find the way to heaven without the Bible, and how after we grow old can
we read the Bible without a little helpful science? Just think, father, you
cannot read your Bible without spectacles, and millions of others are in the
same fix; and spectacles cannot be made without some knowledge of the
science of optics."
"Oh!" he replied, perceiving
the drift of the argument, "there will always be plenty of worldly people to
make spectacles."
To this I stubbornly replied
with a quotation from the Bible with reference to the time coming when "all
shall know the Lord from the least even to the greatest," and then who will
make the spectacles? But he still objected to my reading that book, called
me a contumacious quibbler too fond of disputation, and ordered me to return
it to the accommodating owner. I managed, however, to read it later.
On the food question father
insisted that those who argued for a vegetable diet were in the right,
because our teeth showed plainly that they were made with reference to fruit
and grain and not for flesh like those of dogs and wolves and tigers. He
therefore promptly adopted a vegetable diet and requested mother to make the
bread from graham flour instead of bolted flour. Mother put both kinds on
the table, and meat also, to let all the family take their choice, and while
father was insisting on the foolishness of eating flesh, I came to her help
by calling father's attention to the passage in the Bible which told the
story of Elijah the prophet who, when he was pursued by enemies who wanted
to take his life, was hidden by the Lord by the brook Cherith, and fed by
ravens; and surely the Lord knew what was good to eat, whether bread or
meat. And on what, I asked, did the Lord feed Elijah? On vegetables or
graham bread? No, he directed the ravens to feed his prophet on flesh. The
Bible being the sole rule, father at once acknowledged that he was mistaken.
The Lord never would have sent flesh to Elijah by the ravens if graham bread
were better.
I remember as a great and
sudden discovery that the poetry of the Bible, Shakespeare, and Milton was a
source of inspiring, exhilarating, uplifting pleasure; and I became anxious
to know all the poets, and saved up small sums to buy as many of their books
as possible. Within three or four years I was the proud possessor of parts
of Shakespeare's, Milton's, Cowper's, Henry Kirke White's, Campbell's, and
Akenside's works, and quite a number of others seldom read nowadays. I think
it was in my fifteenth year that I began to relish good literature with
enthusiasm, and smack my lips over favorite lines, but there was desperately
little time for reading, even in the winter evenings — only a few stolen
minutes now and then. Father's strict rule was, straight to bed immediately
after family worship, which in winter was usually over by eight o'clock. I
was in the habit of lingering in the kitchen with a book and candle after
the rest of the family had retired, and considered myself fortunate if I got
five minutes' reading before father noticed the light and ordered me to bed;
an order that of course I immediately obeyed. But night after night I tried
to steal minutes in the same lingering way, and how keenly precious those
minutes were, few nowadays can know. Father failed perhaps two or three
times in a whole winter to notice my light for nearly ten minutes,
magnificent golden blocks of time, long to be remembered like holidays or
geological periods. One evening when I was reading Church history father was
particularly irritable, and called out with hope-killing emphasis, "John, go
to bed! Must I give you a separate order every night to get you to go to
bed? Now, I will have no irregularity in the family; you must go when the
rest go, and without my having to tell you." Then, as an afterthought, as if
judging that his words and tone of voice were too severe for so pardonable
an offense as reading a religious book, he unwarily added: "If you will
read, get up in the morning and read. You may get up in the morning as early
as you like."
That night I went to bed
wishing with all my heart and soul that somebody or something might call me
out of sleep to avail myself of this wonderful indulgence; and next morning
to my joyful surprise I awoke before father called me. A boy sleeps soundly
after working all day in the snowy woods, but that frosty morning I sprang
out of bed as if called by a trumpet blast, rushed downstairs, scarce
feeling my chilblains, enormously eager to see how much time I had won; and
when I held up my candle to a little clock that stood on a bracket in the
kitchen I found that it was only one o'clock. I had gained five hours,
almost half a day!, "Five hours to myself!" I said, "five huge, solid
hours!" I can hardly think of any other event in my life, any discovery I
ever made that gave birth to joy so transportingly glorious as the
possession of these five frosty hours.
In the glad, tumultuous
excitement of so much suddenly acquired time-wealth, I hardly knew what to
do with it. I first thought of going on with my reading, but the zero
weather would make a fire necessary, and it occurred to me that father might
object to the cost of firewood that took time to chop. Therefore, I
prudently decided to go down cellar, and begin work on a model of a
self-setting sawmill I had invented. Next morning I managed to get up at the
same gloriously early hour, and though the temperature of the cellar was a
little below the freezing point, and my light was only a tallow candle, the
mill work went joyfully on. There were a few tools in a corner of the cellar
— a vise, files, a hammer, chisels, etc., that father had brought from
Scotland, but no saw excepting a coarse crooked one that was unfit for
sawing dry hickory or oak. So I made a fine-tooth saw suitable for my work
out of a strip of steel that had formed part of an old-fashioned corset,
that cut the hardest wood smoothly. I also made my own bradawls, punches,
and a pair of compasses, out of wire and old files.
My workshop was immediately
under father's bed, and the filing and tapping in making cogwheels,
journals, cams, etc., must, no doubt, have annoyed him, but with the
permission he had granted in his mind, and doubtless hoping that I would
soon tire of getting up at one o'clock, he impatiently waited about two
weeks before saying a word. 1 did not vary more than five minutes from one
o'clock all winter, nor did I feel any bad effects whatever, nor did I think
at all about the subject as to whether so little sleep might be in any way
injurious; it was a grand triumph of will-power over cold and common comfort
and work-weariness in abruptly cutting down my ten hours' allowance of sleep
to five. I simply felt that I was rich beyond anything I could have dreamed
of or hoped for. I was far more than happy. Like Tam o'Shanter I was
glorious, "O'er a' the ills o' life victorious."
Father, as was customary in
Scotland, gave thanks and asked a blessing before meals, not merely as a
matter of form and decent Christian manners, for he regarded food as a gift
derived directly from the hands of the Father in heaven. Therefore every
meal to him was a sacrament requiring conduct and attitude of mind not
unlike that befitting the Lord's Supper. No idle word was allowed to be
spoken at our table, much less any laughing or fun or story-telling. When we
were at the breakfast-table, about two weeks after the great golden
time-discovery, father cleared his throat preliminary, as we all knew, to
saying something considered important. I feared that it was to be on the
subject of my early rising, and dreaded the withdrawal of the permission he
had granted on account of the noise I made, but still hoping that, as he had
given his word that I might get up as early as I wished, he would as a
Scotchman stand to it, even though it was given in an unguarded moment and
taken in a sense unreasonably far-reaching. The solemn sacramental silence
was broken by the dreaded question:
"John, what time is it when
you get up in the morning?"
"About one o'clock," I
replied in a low, meek, guilty tone of voice.
"And what kind of a time is
that, getting up in the middle of the night and disturbing the whole
family?"
I simply reminded him of the
permission he had freely granted me to get up as early as I wished.
"I know it," he said, in an
almost agonized tone of voice, "I know I gave you that miserable permission,
but I never imagined that you would get up in the middle of the night."
To this I cautiously made no
reply, but continued to listen for the heavenly one-o'clock call, and it
never failed.
After completing my
self-setting sawmill I dammed one of the streams in the meadow and put the
mill in operation. This invention was speedily followed by a lot of others —
waterwheels, curious doorlocks and latches, thermometers, hygrometers,
pyrometers, clocks, a barometer, an automatic contrivance for feeding the
horses at any required hour, a lamplighter and fire-lighter, an
early-or-late-rising machine, and so forth.
After the sawmill was proved
and discharged from my mind, I happened to think it would be a fine thing to
make a timekeeper which would tell the day of the week and the day of the
month, as well as strike like a common clock and point out the hours; also
to have an attachment whereby it could be connected with a bedstead to set
me on my feet at any hour in the morning; also to start fires, light lamps,
etc. I had learned the time laws of the pendulum from a book, but with this
exception I knew nothing of timekeepers, for I had never seen the inside of
any sort of clock or watch. After long brooding, the novel clock was at
length completed in my mind, and was tried and found to be durable and to
work well and look well before I had begun to build it in wood. I carried
small parts of it in my pocket to whittle at when I was out at work on the
farm, using every spare or stolen moment within reach without father's
knowing anything about it. In the middle of summer, when harvesting was in
progress, the novel time-machine was nearly completed. It was hidden
upstairs in a spare bedroom where some tools were kept. I did the making and
mending on the farm, but one day at noon, when I happened to be away, father
went upstairs for a hammer or something and discovered the mysterious
machine back of the bedstead. My sister Margaret saw him on his knees
examining it, and at the first opportunity whispered in my ear, "John,
fayther saw that thing you're making upstairs." None of the family knew what
I was doing, but they knew very well that all such work was frowned on by
father, and kindly warned me of any danger that threatened my plans. The
fine invention seemed doomed to destruction before its time-ticking
commenced, though I thought it handsome, had so long carried it in my mind,
and like the nest of Burns's wee mousie it had cost me mony a weary
whittling nibble. When we were at dinner several days after the sad
discovery, father began to clear his throat to speak, and I feared the doom
of martyrdom was about to be pronounced on my grand clock.
"John," he inquired, "what is
that thing you are making upstairs?"
I replied in desperation that
I didn't know what to call it.
"What! You mean to say you
don't know what you are trying to do?"
"Oh, yes," I said, "I know
very well what I am doing."
"What, then, is the thing
for?"
"It's for a lot of things," I
replied, "but getting people up early in the morning is one of the main
things it is intended for; therefore it might perhaps be called an
early-rising machine."
After getting up so
extravagantly early all the last memorable winter, to make a machine for
getting up perhaps still earlier seemed so ridiculous that he very nearly
laughed. But after controlling himself and getting command of a sufficiently
solemn face and voice he said severely, "Do you not think it is very wrong
to waste your time on such nonsense?"
"No," I said meekly, "I don't
think I'm doing any wrong."
"Well," he replied, "I assure
you I do; and if you were only half as zealous in the study of religion as
you are in contriving and whittling these useless, nonsensical things, it
would be infinitely better for you. I want you to be like Paul, who said
that he desired to know nothing among men but Christ and Him crucified."
To this I made no reply,
gloomily believing my fine machine was to be burned, but still taking what
comfort I could in realizing that anyhow I had enjoyed inventing and making
it.
After a few days, finding
that nothing more was to be said, and that father after all had not had the
heart to destroy it, all necessity for secrecy being ended, I finished it in
the half-hours that we had at noon and set it in the parlor between two
chairs, hung moraine boulders that had come from the direction of Lake
Superior on it for weights, and set it running. We were then hauling grain
into the barn. Father at this period devoted himself entirely to the Bible
and did no farm work whatever. The clock had a good loud tick, and when he
heard it strike, one of my sisters told me that he left his study, went to
the parlor, got down on his knees and carefully examined the machinery,
which was all in plain sight, not being enclosed in a case. This he did
repeatedly, and evidently seemed a little proud of my ability to invent and
whittle such a thing, though careful to give no encouragement for anything
more of the kind in future.
But somehow it seemed
impossible to stop. Inventing and whittling faster than ever, I made another
hickory clock, shaped like a scythe to symbolize the scythe of Father Time.
The pendulum is a bunch of arrows symbolizing the flight of time. It hangs
on a leafless mossy oak snag showing the effect of time, and on the snath is
written, "All flesh is grass." This, especially the inscription, rather
pleased father, and, of course, mother and all my sisters and brothers
admired it. Like the first it indicates the days of the week and month,
starts fires and beds at any given hour and minute, and, though made more
than fifty years ago, is still a good timekeeper.
My mind still running on
clocks, I invented a big one like a town clock with four dials, with the
time-figures so large they could be read by all our immediate neighbors as
well as ourselves when at work in the fields, and on the side next the house
the days of the week and month were indicated. It was to be placed on the
peak of the barn roof. But just as it was all but finished, father stopped
me, saying that it would bring too many people around the barn. I then asked
permission to put it on the top of a black-oak tree near the house. Studying
the larger main branches, I thought I could secure a sufficiently rigid
foundation for it, while the trimmed sprays and leaves would conceal the
angles of the cabin required to shelter the works from the weather, and the
two-second pendulum, fourteen feet long, could be snugly encased on the side
of the trunk. Nothing about the grand, useful timekeeper, I argued, would
disfigure the tree, for it would look something like a big hawk's nest. "But
that," he objected, "would draw still bigger bothersome trampling crowds
about the place, for who ever heard of anything so queer as a big clock on
the top of a tree?" So I had to lay aside its big wheels and cams and rest
content with the pleasure of inventing it, and looking at it in my mind and
listening to the deep solemn throbbing of its long two-second pendulum with
its two old axes back to back for the bob.
One of my inventions was a
large thermometer made of an iron rod, about three feet long and five
eighths of an inch in diameter, that had formed part of a wagon-box. The
expansion and contraction of this rod was multiplied by a series of levers
made of strips of hoop iron. The pressure of the rod against the levers was
kept constant by a small counterweight, so that the slightest change in the
length of the rod was instantly shown on a dial about three feet wide
multiplied about thirty-two thousand times. The zero-point was gained by
packing the rod in wet snow. The scale was so large that the big black hand
on the white-painted dial could be seen distinctly and the temperature read
while we were ploughing in the field below the house. The extremes of heat
and cold caused the hand to make several revolutions. The number of these
revolutions was indicated on a small dial marked on the larger one. This
thermometer was fastened on the side of the house, and was so sensitive that
when any one approached it within four or five feet the heat radiated from
the observer's body caused the hand of the dial to move so fast that the
motion was plainly visible, and when he stepped back, the hand moved slowly
back to its normal position. It was regarded as a great wonder by the
neighbors and even by my own all-Bible father.
Boys are fond of the books of
travelers, and I remember that one day, after I had been reading Mungo
Park's travels in Africa, mother said: "Wee!, John, maybe you will travel
like Park and Humboldt some day." Father overheard her and cried out in
solemn deprecation, "Oh, Anne! dinna put sic notions in the laddie's heed."
But at this time there was precious little need of such prayers. My brothers
left the farm when they came of age, but I stayed a year longer, loath to
leave home. Mother hoped I might be a minister some day; my sisters that I
would be a great inventor. I often thought I should like to be a physician,
but I saw no way of making money and getting the necessary education,
excepting as an inventor. So, as a beginning, I decided to try to get into a
big shop or factory and live awhile among machines. But I was naturally
extremely shy and had been taught to have a poor opinion of myself, as of no
account, though all our neighbors encouragingly called me a genius, sure to
rise in the world. When I was talking over plans one day with a friendly
neighbor, he said: "Tow, John, if you wish to get into a machine-shop, just
take some of your inventions to the State Fair, and you may be sure that as
soon as they are seen they will open the door of any shop in the country for
you. You will be welcomed everywhere." And when I doubtingly asked if people
would care to look at things made of wood, he said, "Made of wood! Made of
wood! What does it matter what they're made of when they are so out-and-out
original. There's nothing else like them in the world. That is what will
attract attention, and besides they're mighty handsome things anyway to come
from the backwoods." So I was encouraged to leave home and go at his
direction to the State Fair when it was being held in Madison. |
