Democratic Sentinel, Volume 1, Number 30, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 September 1877 — BARRING OUT A SCHOOLMASTER. [ARTICLE]

BARRING OUT A SCHOOLMASTER.

My early life was made miserable by one Mulbery Bangs, a gentleman of the old school, who devoted himself to reading, writing and arithmetic, and the general uge of a sti k. Upon my head and. other parts of my person he imprinted himself so positively that I can see him now as plainly as if we had parted but yesterday. He was a stout man, who made in his figure, when seen iu profile, Hogarth's line of beauty, being roundshouldered and crook din the legs. He was a blonde. The hair of his head had that sunny tinge so much admired today, and when rubbed down with a tallow candle, as was his wont to dress it, was so smooth and straig* t that the boys believed that the flies slipped down it and Broke their legs. His eyes were dark and fierce, and hid unuer the cavernous recesaf s ma ;e 1 y his bushy red eyebrows, s em d to watch like evil spirits ove • his pr. cions nose, The nose w.is a ruby u s , i ot’l'e in sh >p *, an I when Bangs was am ry, which appeared to be all tne time, it glowed like toe headlight oi alo tomotive. His mOut i was finished without lips, and resembled a slit in a piece of sole leatlu r. My early experience gave me a distaste for tne whips in schools. But ’I am far from siding with the sentimentalists of the pr< s nt day, who advocate kindness and. moral su sion. The easier teachings—not the best, but, iu fact, the only ones—are those of the rod, that gave us a realizing sense of pain to the body, an t drilled us into patience and sehdi nial.

Boys are of two sorts—good little boys, who die young, an I bully boys, whocannot be killed.

As the last named only live to be men, instead of being transplanted into angels, it is well to discipline them through the only process known to animals, and that is the discipline of fear. The old adage is not far wrong that said, “ When you meet a boy whale him—for, if he has not been in mischief, he is going in.” What may have been my feelings when suffering under the stick of old Bangs, my objection to him now rests not so much on bis use of that instrument as the beastly appearance and character of the man. Later in life "I was the scholar of a man who was as severe with the rod, almost, as my enemy Bangs ; but to my dying day I shall remember him as one of the noblest of men and the truest friend I ever encountered. Alexander Kinmont lived and died in the obscurity of a select school, with the generous impulses and large, hearty brain that ought to have secured him a high position among the teachers and leaders of men. From that school came boys so disciplined to study, and so filled with the love of learning, that they, in making their mark in the world, lived to illustrate the beauty of the system. I did not, however, sit down to write of this, but to give in brief some of my earlier experiences. It was understood throughout the country that the boys were justifiable in barring out the master, and, if successful, were not only entitled to a week’s recess, but the admiration and praise of their parents. Old Bangs was famous for his power of resistance, and boasted that no school of his had ever succeeded in conquering in such attempts. On the occasion to which I refer we hail two big boys in school, named Bill Henning and Bob Strong. They were knotty-headed, broad-shoul-dered and hard-fisted fellows, who worked through the summer for means to attend schorl during the winter. Each, in turn, had been unmercifully whipped by the master, and it was understood throughout the school that the barring out of Master Bangs was to be accomplished and old scores settled.

The evening before the general engagement, Bill and Bob, our noble leaders, with a few confederates, stole back to the school-house, armed with hickory poles. Breaking open the door, they whittled one end of these tough saplings to a point, and then hardened the points in the fire. Tnen placing these in a corner ready for use, w.th a i.sout cord, they gave orders to the boys willing to tike part in the fight to be on hand at the school-house before daylight next morning. At tue time indicated nearly all the lads were in attendance. Some were pale and trembling, others were noisy and boastful; but [ observed that the real leaders and reliable soldiers were quiet—so quit t, indeed, that one might doubt them. “Men are but boys of a larger growth,” said Drvden, and that solemn pomp of a poet, Wordsworth, assures us that “the child is father to the man.” In the i.mm.»l 'propensities and tastes that survive our boyhood this is undoubtedly true, and many and many a time since, in hours of peril, I have re-

enacted the same exhibitions of character that occurred on that cold morning in December among the boys. Our first order was to cut ana carry in enough wood to serve the garrison during a'siege. This was promptly executed. Then the window-shutters were pulled to and securely nailed, the door closed, and desks and benches piled against it. After two port-holes were opened by removing the chinks and daubing, and gathering about a rotavag fire in the huge fireplace, we awaited the approach of the enemy. As the time approached for the master’s coming a dread silence fell upon the little crowd, so that when he did come we could hear his heavy tread upon the crusted snow, and many a heart sunk and face whitened in terror. . Our leaders sprung to their posts on each side of the door, and, on being ordered to surrender, boldly demanded a week’s holiday and a treat of cider and apples. This was sternly refused. “Fire !” cried Bill and Bob, and two poles were thrust out with . all the strength the stout arms could give them. They took the indignant pedagogue in the sides with such force that, but for a thick flannel overcoat,holes might have been in his wicked body. As it was, he staggered back, and for twenty minutes or more we saw him sitting upon a log catching his breath and rubbing his wounded sides. We gave no end of loud cheers, claiming for ourselves the first knock down, if not the first blood. At the end of twenty minutes the master arose. Digging a huge stone from under the snow, he approached and threw it with great violence against the door. The stout oak batting fairly shook under the blow, but held its own. Another, and another followed amid jeers and laughter; encouraged by our noble leaders to keep up the courage of their followers. The fourth stone split the door, and the fifth broke the upper wooden hinge, and but for the barricade within the breach would have been available. The enemy now, being aware of the defense within, suddenly dropped the stone and ran in at the door. We were not. to be taken by surprise. Again were the sharp lances thrust out. One hit with decided effect in the commissary, vulgarly called stomach; the other, as he stooped doubled by the pain, in the face, inflicting an ugly wound from which the blood flowed in profusion. He retreated, and we saw him fairly dance with rage and pain. The more of this he indulged in, the wilder grow our delight, which we testified in screams of laughter. He soon ended this exhibition, and disappeared around the school-house, evidently on a reconnoisance. There was a dead silence, and we realized that which we have so often felt since, the unknown movement of a silent enemy. This was ended by a noise upon the roof, and soon volumes of smoke pouring into the room told us that strategy had taken the place of assault. We were to be smoked out.

For a moment our leaders looked puzzled. Fortunately, in the excitement of the conflict, the fire had not been fed, and now only a few embers and chunks supplied the smoke. These were scattered upon the broad hearth, and water thrown in to extinguish the remainder. Then Bill and Bob, selecting four of the stoutest poles, thrust them up the chimney, and, at the word, we gave, to use our own phrase, “ a bloody hist.” The consequences were a rattling of falling boards, with the- unmistakable thump of a heavier body upon the ground. W ,J found afterward that the master bad not only covered the chimneytop with boards, but had seated himself upon them; the sudden and unexpected “ hist” had tumbled him off. We heard dismal groans and cries for relief from the enemy. Some we r e in favor of going at once to his assistance; others, more cautious, opposed such a merciful errand. ‘ * He’s hollerin’ too loud to be hurt much,” said shrewd Bob. vVe had a division in our council of war. This ended in a call for a volunteer tom <ke a sortie and investigate. Jack Loder, one of the most daring and active among the younger boys, responded. A shutter on the opposite side to the cries for help was opened quickly and Jack thrust out. The result of this was not only a cessation of groaning, but a chase that we witnessed through the portholes. Jack was a good runner, and when the two disappeared over the meadow, into the willow thicket Jack was gaining on him, and we had .good hopes of his escape. To our dismay and horror, in half an hour we saw the master returning with poor Jack in his grasp. He had a hostage, and was swift in his use of the advantage. Stopping before the house, he began whipping the poor fellow unmercifully. Jack’s cries were piteous. “Oh, let him in, boys; let him in, he’s a killin’ o’me,” rung in our ears. There was a hurried consultation. The benches and desks were quietly removed from the door. A sortie had been determined on. The master stood at the side of the house south of the door, and as soon as the opening was made Bill unclosed a shutter and proposed a parley. The answer was a rush at the open window by the master, who began climbing in. Brave little Jack seized him by the legs, and before he could kick him oft' a dozen stout lads were cliuging to them, while as many more held him ou the inside. Bill seized the rope and attempted to pass the noose over his arms. In the hurry and confusion of the fight he succeeded only in getting it over his head. Pulling it as the boys did, there was a fair prospect of ending the useful labors of this teacher by strangulation. That he deserved it no one of us doubted ; but Bob, having climbed over the master in the window, and with all the school pulling at the ends of old Bangs, was soon master of the situation; getting hold of the rope, and assisted by Bill, he succeeded in tying the arms of the almost exhausted man to his sides. He was then tumbled from the window as unceremoniously as a pig. “ Will you give up?” demanded our leader.

“ No,” gasped the master. “Then we’ll put you down the well, hanged if we don’t!” The brave old pedagogue still refusing, he was dragged, rolled and tumbled to the well-curb. “ Will you give up, dern you ?” demanded Bob. “ No, I won’t.” He was shoved inside of the bucket, and orders given to lower. But the weight proved too much for the lads, and, the crank of the windlass slipping from their grasp, the learning of our district went whirling to the bottom with a thundering noise befitting such an exit. This was more than we bargained for. Had we really murdered the master? Bob and Bill, assisted by the stoutest, began pulling up the unfortunate old fellow. It was hard work, and, tugging at the windlass, they just caught a glimpse of his blonde head when a wild cry of “fire !” caused them to let go, and again the venerable Bangs rattled down with a splash in the water. The school-house was on fire; the chunks pulled out by the boys had communicated to the floor, and the dry, old concern was in a blaze. A few neighbors, who just then arrived, gave the alarm, and attempted to extinguish the flames. To do this they called for water, and the first bucket brought up contained the vanquished teacher of reading, writing, and arithmetic. He came up with his teeth chattering, and when lifted out and untied was too weak to stand or sit. The school-house burned down. The master was carried to a neighbor’s house, and soy weeks hung between life snd death. We were regarded as heroes

by the country ride, and in the burning of our place of torture and the sickness of the master we were the happiest set of little animals in the world. It is a long time, I am sorry te say, since then, and most of the actors in the drama have passed away. Bob, one of our gallant leaders, is now a well-to-do farmer in Illinois; while Bill fell in the bloody fight at Stone river.— Don Piatt.