Harper's Young People, August 23, 1881 An Illustrated Weekly

THE MISTAKE ABOUT HAMP SEE.

BY GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON.

"Hamp See a dunce! Well, maybe so; but arter what I've seed, it 'ud take a smarter school-master than you to make me think so."

It was old Riley Vaughn who spoke, and although old Riley had no education, his hard sense and sound judgment were respected by all the men who sat there in the village post-office waiting for the mail. He had grown prosperous by dint of hard work and good judgment, and his neighbors were accustomed to ask for and to respect his opinions.

"I did not say precisely that, Mr. Vaughn," replied Mr. Penruddock, the school-master. "I only said that my best efforts to educate the boy were rendered futile and nugatory by reason of his inexplicable inability to grasp and retain so simple a thing as the accidence of the Latin verb."

"That means, in plain English, that he ain't got no grip on what you teach him, don't it?" asked Riley.

"Yes, that is what I mean," replied the school-master, with something like a shudder at old Riley's English. "But I will make an honorable exception in the matter of mathematics. He seems instinctively to grasp arithmetical principles."

"Yes," drawled old Riley; "one o' your boys tole me Hamp could figger out how long it 'ud take fer a cistern to git full ef they was three pipes o' different sizes a-runnin' into it, an' two others o' still different sizes a-runnin' out."

"Yes, he is expert in the practical applications of arithmetic; and yet even in arithmetic his standing is not good, because he seems incapable of mastering the exact terms of the formulæ and rules."

"Well, now, look here," said old Riley, rising and striking the counter with his big fist; "it jest comes to this here: the boy ain't got no grip on your words an' things; but he's got a good grip on idees an' principles, an' it's my belief that's the inside o' sense. I don't want to be unnecessarily offensive, but you an' all school-masters like you ought to teach parrots. They don't want no idees; they jest want the words, an' that's your notion o' learnin'. That's the trouble o' this here country down here: men learn words, an' kin make speeches, but they can't do nothin'. Now I've seed that boy Hamp See do what nary a man in this county could do. I bought the fust reapin'-machine as was ever seed in these parts, an' when it come it was all to pieces, an' packed in boxes. I sent one arter another fer all the blacksmiths an' wheelwrights an' carpenters hereabouts to set the thing up, an' I'm blest ef one on 'em could make out which end o' the thing was foremost. Not one on 'em could put any two pieces together. That 'ere boy hung around all the time, with his forred creased up like, an' finally he says to me, says he, 'Mr. Vaughn, let me try.' 'Well, try,' says I; 'an' ef you git her together, I've got a five-dollar bill fer you.' Maybe you won't believe it, but afore noon that very day that there reaper was a-reapin' wheat like a dozen hands. The boy jest seed right into the thing. Now I say ef he's a dunce, the sooner most people in these here parts loses their senses an' gits to be dunces, the better 'twill be for all concerned." And with that old Riley stalked indignantly out of the post-office.

Notwithstanding all that old Riley could say, however, public opinion was against Hamp See. It was certain that he was dull in his lessons. He could not keep up with Mr. Penruddock's classes, and instead of studying his Latin verbs, he was perpetually interrupting the school by asking Mr. Penruddock to explain things like thunder and lightning, and the presence of shells in the rocks on the mountain, and the curious ways that plants have of taking care of themselves--things which had no relation to the work of the school. It was agreed that Riley Vaughn could not know anything about education, because he was not himself educated. It was even said--and this came to Riley's ears--that he was prejudiced against education.

Even Hamp's mother was discouraged. Hamp was always "pottering," she said, instead of attending to his books.

"Why," she said, "he's been fooling with a spring up on the hill back of the house the whole season through. He's laid pipes to bring the water down here, and now he's turned the whole house into a mill." Then she would show her visitor what Hamp had done. He had constructed an ingenious water-wheel with which to make the most of the power afforded by the spring, and had set it at a variety of tasks. A stretch of line shafting passed under the floor of the house, and bands were passed through the floor to the churn and the sewing-machine, and even the sausage-chopper could be attached at will. "I don't deny that it's handy, and saves work," said his mother. "And now he's made a sort of fan in the dining-room, and has set that going too, so that it keeps the flies off the table. If we had a baby in the house, I believe he'd make the water rock the cradle. But it's discouraging about his studies. Mr. Penruddock is in despair, and says he don't know what is to be made of the boy."

The summer proved to be a very dry one, and the gardens especially suffered for water. When the people began to complain, Hamp had an idea. He always had an idea when an emergency arose. He went into his mother's garden and worked all day, digging a trench down the middle, and making little trenches at right angles to the main one, so that each bed was surrounded by them, and the larger beds crossed as well. He was very careful to keep all these trenches on one level. When he had finished, he laid a drain from his water-wheel to the main trench, so that the waste water, after turning the wheel, was carried into the garden and emptied into the trench. Little by little the main trench filled; then the water trickled into the smaller trenches, and as the spring from which it came was a never-failing one, the garden was supplied with water throughout the dry, hot summer, and such a garden nobody in that region had seen that season.

People said that Hamp See certainly was a handy sort of boy; but they were sure to add, "It's a pity he is so dull."

One day old Riley Vaughn was offering extravagant prices for horse, mule, or ox teams to haul stone. He had taken a contract to supply from his quarry the stone for the railroad bridge over Bushy Run, and now the time for delivery was near at hand, and no teams could be had. All the horses were at work on the crops, and it began to appear that old Riley must either lose money on the contract by hiring horses and mules and teamsters at ruinous prices, or forfeit the contract itself. He tried in every direction to get mules and wagons, offering twice the usual wages, but still he could get very few. He was in real trouble, with a loss of several thousands of dollars threatening him.

One day Hamp, who knew what trouble Riley was in, went down to the creek, and, cutting several twigs, began setting them up at a distance from each other, and sighting from one to the other. The few teamsters who were at work watched him curiously, but could not make out what he was doing. He went up the creek with his sticks, moving one of them at a time, and always carefully sighting from one to another, or rather from one over another to a third. In this way he worked up to the quarry, which was immediately on the creek, nearly a mile above the point where the bridge was to be built.

When he had done, he walked back, examining the banks as he went; then he presented himself before Riley Vaughn.

"Mr. Vaughn," he said, "I've an idea that will help you out of your difficulty."

"Will it hire teams to haul stone?" asked Riley.

"No; but it will enable you to haul stone without teams."

"If it will-- Well, let me hear what it is," said Riley, changing his purpose while speaking.

"Raft the stones down," said Hamp.

"Now look a-here, Hamp See," said old Riley, "I've stood up fer you, an' said you wa'n't no dunce when everybody else said you was; but this here looks as ef they was right an' I was wrong. How in natur' kin I raft stone down a creek that ain't got more'n six inches o' water in it, a-bubblin' around among the stones of the bottom?"

"Well, you see," said Hamp, "I've levelled up from here to the quarry, and there's only two feet fall, or a little less, and the banks are nowhere less than five feet high; and so, as there's a good deal more water running down in a day than anybody would think, it's my notion to build a temporary dam just below the bridge--you've enough timber and plank here to do it with two hours' work of your men--building it, say, six feet high, there where the banks are closest together. Before noon to-morrow the water will rise to the top of the dam, and run over. When it does, you'll have six feet of water here, and four feet at the quarry, and your men can push rafts down as fast as they can load them."

"How do you know there's only two foot fall?" asked old Riley, eagerly.

"I've levelled it," said Hamp.

"That is, you figgered it out with them sticks?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you've got the right answer?" asked the old man, wild with eagerness.

"Perfectly sure. You see, it's simple. I plant my sticks--"

"Never mind about how you do it; I can't understand that ef you explain it; but look me in the eyes, boy. This thing means thousands o' dollars to Riley Vaughn ef you've got your answer right. I kin understand that much; an' ef you've worked out this big sum right for me, I'll choke the next man that says you're a dunce jest 'kase you don't take kindly to old Penruddock's chatterin' sort o' learnin'. I'll do it, or my name ain't Riley Vaughn, an' that's what I've been called for nigh onto fifty-five year now."

Old Riley was visibly excited. He called all his men to the place selected, and set them at work building the dam, while Hamp looked on, and occasionally made a suggestion for simplifying the work. The dam was finished at three o'clock in the afternoon, and at six o'clock the water had risen two feet six inches, while the back water had passed the quarry.

"There!" said Hamp; "that proves my work. The water is level, of course, as far up as back water shows itself, and we have six inches of back water at the quarry to two feet six inches at the dam: so the fall is two feet."

"It looks so," said Riley, who was also eagerly watching the rise of the water. The workmen had gone home, all of them convinced that this attempt to back the water a mile up the creek was the wildest foolishness; but old Riley and Hamp waited and watched.

"It doesn't rise so fast now," said Riley.

"That's because it has a larger surface; but it still rises, and the surface won't increase much more now, as there's a steep place just above the quarry, and it can't back any further up."

The two waited and watched. Midnight came, and the measurement showed three feet six inches depth at the dam. Still they waited and watched. At six o'clock in the morning the depth was four feet two inches. Then Riley sent a negro boy to his house with orders to bring back "a big breakfast for two." At seven o'clock the breakfast arrived, and the measurement showed four feet three inches and a half.