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Education and Social Change

“Its adept treatment of historical developments with interpretive themes is

accomplished in a remarkably concise and accessible manner.”—Sevan Terzian,
University of Florida, USA

“I really like the book’s central question: do schools change society or does
society change schools? While students quickly realize the answer is ‘both,’ this
interplay throughout the text works nicely for me. It also supports well another
central question that I usually emphasize: the ‘education for what purpose’
question.”—Monica McKinney, Meredith College, USA

This brief, interpretive history of American schooling focuses on the evolving

relationship between education and social change. Like its predecessors, this new
edition adopts a thematic approach, investigating the impact of social forces such as
industrialization, urbanization, immigration, globalization, and cultural conflict on
the development of schools and other educational institutions. It also examines the
various ways that schools have contributed to social change, particularly in enhancing
the status and accomplishments of certain social groups and not others. Detailed
accounts of the experiences of women and minority groups in American history
consider how their lives have been affected by education, while “Focal Point” sections
within each chapter allow the reader to hone in on key moments in history and their
relevance within the broader scope of American schooling from the colonial era to
the present.
This new edition has been comprehensively updated and edited for greater
readability and clarity. It offers a revised final chapter, updated to include recent
change in education politics and policy, in particular the decline of No Child Left
Behind and the impact of the Common Core and movements against it. It also
features a discussion of institutional change as a force in educational history, with
examples throughout the narrative. Further additions include enhanced coverage
of early American schooling, added materials on persistent issues such as race in
education, an updated discussion of the GED program, and a closer look at the role
of technology in schools. With its nuanced treatment of both historical and
contemporary factors influencing the modern school system, this book remains an
excellent resource for investigating and critiquing the social, economic, and cultural
development of American education.

John L. Rury is Professor of Education and (by courtesy) History at the University
of Kansas.
This page intentionally left blank
Education and Social Change
Contours in the History of American
Schooling

Fifth Edition

John L. Rury
Fifth edition published 2016
by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
and by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2016 Taylor & Francis
The right of John L. Rury to be identified as author of this work has been
asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or
utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or
registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation
without intent to infringe.
First edition published by Routledge, 2002
Fourth edition published by Routledge, 2013
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Rury, John L., 1951–
Education and social change : contours in the history of American
schooling / by John L. Rury.—Fifth edition.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
1. Education—United States—History. 2. Educational
sociology—United States. 3. Social change—United States. I. Title.
LA205.R67 2015
370.973—dc23 2015004923

ISBN: 978-1-138-88705-3 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-1-138-88704-6 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-315-71322-9 (ebk)

Typeset in Minion
by Keystroke, Station Road, Codsall, Wolverhampton
 Contents

Preface vii
Acknowledgments ix

Introduction: History, Social Change, and Education 1

1 Colonial America: Religion, Inequality, and Revolution 19
2 Emergence of a Modern School System: The 19th Century 49
3 Ethnicity, Gender, and Race: Contours of Social Change
in the 19th Century 81
4 Growth, Reform, and Differentiation: The Progressive Era 117
5 Education, Equity, and Social Policy: Postwar America
to the 1970s 155
6 Globalization and Human Capital: From A Nation at
Risk to Neo-Liberal Reform 191
Epilogue: Education and Social Change in Perspective 219

Bibliography 227
Index 253
This page intentionally left blank
 Preface

It is a common complaint that the world is changing rapidly. We live in a time

of seemingly endless social and political turmoil, marked by chronic economic
insecurity affecting billions of lives. Deep divisions and critical problems face
the nation, as issues are debated fervently, from economic policy, to poverty
and inequality, to the environment and a host of other issues. If there is anything
that most people seem to agree upon, however, it is the importance of education.
Without expanding our present knowledge and abilities, it is unlikely that we
will meet the challenges that lay ahead. The significance of education, however,
has led to it too becoming a topic of heated debate.
The passionate disputes of our time also reveal how far we have come, and
how we often take the conditions of modern life for granted. Technology
has transformed experience: We fly in airplanes, work in skyscrapers, and
communicate instantly. At the same time, our values have changed too, perhaps
less dramatically. Today we publicly object to discrimination, celebrate equality,
and cherish freedom. We also hold an extraordinary belief in the power of
education. These facets of contemporary American life, however, have not
existed very long in historical terms. To one extent or another, each is the result
of a vast and complex process of social change that has unfolded over centuries.
They also are the result of human sacrifice and anguish, a continuing process of
conflict and struggle. This course of events continues today and has come to
affect much of the world. This is partly what accounts for the fervor of debates
today. But understanding this process of social conflict, transformation, and
renewal is critical to appreciating who we are and how we can contend with
what lies ahead. It is to such purposes that this book is committed, focusing on
the question of education as a condition and manifestation of social change.
This is a history book, addressing a broad and complicated topic. Its purpose
is both analytic and descriptive, recounting what transpired and explaining
why events have taken a particular path. Finding the proper balance between
these goals has often proved difficult. But I trust that the resulting narrative is
testimony to the worthiness of the goal. It is meant to be an aid for students
beginning to think about these questions, although I hope that others also will
find it interesting and useful. The intent is to offer insights into the ways that
formal systems and practices of education have been linked to social change. In
viii • Preface

this respect, it is an exercise in the history of education, a field of inquiry and

explanation with a long and distinguished tradition of its own. Hopefully, the
book will convey the potential of this branch of scholarship for comprehending
the present and contemplating the future. As John Dewey pointed out many
years ago, the ultimate role of education is preparing for an ongoing and
inescapable process of change. Understanding this may be our best hope for
posterity, and studying history can help a great deal.
 Acknowledgments

In writing a book an author incurs many debts. In the years that I have worked
on this project, I have amassed a number of my own. The first is to Catherine
Bernard, senior publisher and my editor at Taylor & Francis, who inherited this
book following Lane Aker’s retirement. She has been an enthusiastic proponent
of this edition, holding me to a tight timetable. Lane got me started on this
book, and was a constant source of support and encouragement for many years.
Helpful ideas for revision were offered by KU doctoral students Sarah
Marten, Mike Bannen, and Matthew Lewis, who used the book in teaching
ELPS 250: Education and Society. It has benefited from many other colleagues,
too numerous to recount by name, along with generations of students. Several
anonymous reviewers also provided very valuable ideas for changes, as did
readers from around the country who generously suggested changes. I have
attempted to adopt these many suggestions, but problems undoubtedly remain.
Consequently, the customary academic aphorisms continue to be applicable in
this edition: My friends and colleagues should be held blameless for my own
shortcomings, and responsibility for any errors, omissions, and infelicities is
mine alone.
To close, I especially would like to acknowledge the continued support of my
wife, Aïda Alaka, who remains a steadfast advocate of this project. Although not
a historian, and engaged with her own highly demanding professional career,
she has been generous in enduring a spouse’s scholastic preoccupations.
She is an excellent writer and insightful editor, and has long been an inspi-
ration for my own work. Beyond all that, she remains an unwavering source
of encouragement—and it is for that, among countless other reasons, that I
continue to dedicate the book to her.
John L. Rury
February 2015
This page intentionally left blank
 Introduction
History, Social Change, and Education

This book is an introduction to the history of American education, and begins

with a simple query: Do schools change society, or does society change the
schools? Obviously, the answer is more complicated than this simple dichotomy
suggests. Influences run in both directions: Education clearly affects social
development, and schools also reflect the larger social context. Still, the question
of basic influence remains. Can schools function as instruments of social
change? Or are they shaped and therefore constrained by larger cultural,
economic, and political forces?
History can help to answer such questions. Reformers have long believed
that education can remedy social problems, and they have tried to improve
things through schooling. But their critics also raised nagging questions: Is
educational reform potent enough to affect sweeping change? Or is its impact
more limited, destined to ultimate disappointment? This is a persistent puzzle,
for Americans have placed uncommon faith in the power of education. As
historian Henry Perkinson noted, schooling has been an “imperfect panacea”
for curing the nation’s ills, often promising changes it couldn’t deliver
(Perkinson, 1968). But he said little about what it could do.
As already suggested, education includes a broad set of activities, but this book
focuses on schools and other institutions of formal education. It is not intended
to be comprehensive. Instead, as the title suggests, it is thematic, looking at
particular events and periods that help illuminate patterns or “contours” in the
past. By examining key steps in the evolution of the school system, it is possible to
see how education has been related to larger processes of social transformation.
The book’s principal goal is to help with thinking about history and changing
social institutions such as schools. In doing this it draws on ideas from the
social sciences, especially those widely used to explain social change in the past.
It is important, in that case, to devote some attention to a few of these ideas. At
the same time, it also is necessary to consider the meaning of terms such as
“education” and “social change.”

Why Study History?

Some people enjoy reading history, others dread it. But beyond intrinsic
pleasures and pains, does history have any particular value? To grasp educational
2 • Introduction

problems and their relationship to social change, examining history can seem
pretty silly. It may appear more practical, after all, to simply examine pertinent
data and devise tangible solutions to current problems. How can experiences
from the distant past help anyone today?
Things change. It is commonplace to observe that society is different from
not so very long ago. In fact, things often seem to be changing faster than ever.
Everyday news features stories of “progress” and the march of technology and
science. Who can doubt that the present is an era of significant social change?
Why should anyone look far into the past to understand it?
History poses a challenge to such questions. There is a tendency to believe
that today is somehow different—even better—than the past. After all, it is
natural to think people then were “old-fashioned” or unenlightened. But this is
a big presumption, and may not be true. Is the pace of change truly faster now?
It is possible, after all, that some periods witnessed even greater social and
economic shifts. This may come as a surprise, as it is easy to see the present as
more interesting and dynamic, if only because it is so immediate and familiar.
There is always nostalgia too, and constant reminders of big problems that
loom on the horizon. But most Americans believe that progress is clearly
evident and expect it to continue (Nevins, 1938).
In fact, the present is hardly unique as a time of change. Events occurred
quite rapidly in the past, often at a faster pace than today. Indeed, ours is an era
of considerable stability, even if technology and knowledge are rapidly
advancing. Truly revolutionary change occurred in the more distant past
(Aghion & Williamson, 1998). It was those earlier developments that set the
stage for today. One of the values in history, consequently, is to appreciate the
origins of our own time, and the challenges faced in earlier periods. There is
much to learn from how people responded to a rapidly changing world, and
appreciating how their experiences have shaped our own (Tuchman, 1978).
History also can make social change easier to recognize, as it is often difficult
to see in the present. It occurs continuously, after all, and usually quite gradually,
sometimes imperceptibly. There are major developments and minor ones, and it
is often hard to distinguish between them. History helps with this, and can show
how society has changed over time. In this way too, history can help illuminate
how the present has arrived. In the end it offers a telling point of comparison, to
better interpret our immediate circumstances and perhaps to respond to them.
What does this have to do with education and schools? Like social change,
education also is a knotty subject. On one hand it is an intricate process of
human growth and development, which everyone has experienced (Dewey,
1938); in other respects it also is a social and institutional transmission of
knowledge and values from one generation to the next. And because education
is linked to power and social status, it is subject to almost constant debate. In its
institutional form, education has become integral to imparting and certifying
skills and knowledge seen as critical to economic success, making it a topic of
 Introduction • 3

wide public interest. Understanding education in its many dimensions, conse-

quently, can be a daunting proposition.
Because of its manifold purposes and functions, education often has been a
centerpiece of important periods of change. It has contributed to economic
growth and political shifts, and it has helped to forge a national identity for the
country’s different cultural and social groups. Of course, the experience of
education itself also has evolved over time, influenced by the economy, the
political system, and other facets of the social structure. Schools today are quite
different from those in the past, and their purposes have changed as well.
It is possible to say, then, that education has been on either side of social
change: both as a causal agent and an activity that was transformed by other
social forces. The link between education and society, however, is complex and
constantly evolving. This makes it especially interesting as a topic of study, and
as a means for reflecting on the present.

Thinking about Social Change

In recent decades the study of history has gotten complicated. Historians no
longer have a monopoly on studying the past; they have been joined by social
scientists, especially in sociology, economics, and political science. Scholars in
these academic disciplines often study large-scale social change, as historians
do (Abrams, 1982; Rabb & Rotberg, 1982). These newcomers have contributed
more than just new information, however. They brought a number of ideas and
propositions, or theories, about society to test and refine with the use of
historical evidence (Skocpol, 1984; Smith, 1991).
Some of these concepts have become everyday terms of conversation. Social
critic Theodore Roszak has described the notions that help to shape our
thoughts as “Master Ideas” (Roszak, 1994). They assist thinking by organizing
facts, values, beliefs, and theories to understand the world more easily. Roszak
suggested that “all men are created equal” is such an idea, one that most
Americans share as a basic proposition of social experience. Others are a bit
more obscure, but familiar nonetheless. A commonplace example is the idea of
intelligence, which can be interpreted in a number of ways but often is related
to technical skill, knowledge, and verbal ability. These terms are often used to
describe human behavior or to understand events in particular contexts.
In academic settings, abstract ideas like these often fall into the realm of social
theory. As such, they can help in understanding large-scale shifts in society, past
and present. Whatever they are called, it is important to consider just how
historians and social scientists have thought of various concepts. Social change is
difficult to define, but certain concepts can help to identify its many dimensions.
The most pertinent social science ideas are those that describe vast processes
of transformation, on a grand historical scale. A prime instance is industrial-
ization, perhaps the most familiar single concept in discussions of this sort. It is
4 • Introduction

used to represent a host of shifts in society and the organization of work that
accompanied the rise of mass production manufacturing. Sometimes referred
to as the Industrial Revolution, it describes a rapid rise in per capita output, or
a sharp increase in the productivity of individual workers. This could only be
accomplished, of course, by instituting other changes, such as the introduction
of new technologies and organizing work differently. Historically, this first
occurred in Great Britain, between 1750 and 1850. It appeared a little later in
the United States, in the mid-19th century. And it developed even later in Japan
and other countries. Wherever it happened, however, industrialization had a
profound impact on the people who experienced it directly, and it has produced
a lasting effect on the organization of society (Ashton, 1948; Brownlee, 1979).
This can easily be seen in history. Before the Industrial Revolution most
people lived in the countryside, surviving by subsistence agriculture and
local crafts. This changed dramatically with industrialization. Large numbers
of people were employed in factories and related occupations (such as
transportation), and lived in cities where they consumed goods produced
elsewhere. They worked longer hours, often performing work dictated by
machines. Industrialization thus meant more than just a change in production;
for many people it meant a whole new way of life (Laslett, 1965).
The process of industrialization caused many aspects of society to change. For
many people—perhaps most—the proliferation of commodities meant a rising
standard of living. But for others it was a time of wrenching dislocation, especially
for those who left the countryside to seek work in burgeoning cities. In the
United States many industrial workers came from Europe, traveling thousands of
miles to seek employment. This often led to cultural conflict and political
instability. It also held important implications for education, as schools struggled
to prepare students for a rapidly changing world (Rabb & Rotberg, 1981).
As already suggested, industrialization also has been associated with
technology, the use of machinery or other devices to conserve or enhance
human labor. Factories called for new forms of labor controlled by mechanized
processes. Similar changes occurred in other settings. Even in the countryside,
farm machinery and modern horticulture reorganized work. Such changes had
important implications for education, as schools were expected to prepare
people for these developments. Technological change often required new work
habits and close attention to organization and efficiency, which schools could
help to foster (Cowan, 1997).
Yet another concept associated with social change—along with industrial-
ization and technology—is urbanization. This refers to the changing spatial
arrangement of society, particularly the growth of cities and all the myriad
social questions that came with them. Expanding cities during industrialization
meant ever more people crowding together, sharing space, and competing for
power and status. This, in turn, entailed the development of social institutions
such as schools, but also churches, reform groups, charities, and a host of
 Introduction • 5

governmental entities to insure social stability. As cities grew they became

more complicated, and finding new ways of managing their increasingly diverse
citizenry became a major challenge (Monkkonen, 1988; Rabb & Rotberg, 1981).
These changes augmented the importance of formal education. With the
growth of large cities, social scientists observed social behavior peculiar to
urban settings. People were constantly coming and going, and close personal
relationships became more difficult to sustain. They began to relate to one
another in largely functional terms, and some believed that social cohesion
began to weaken. Historically, it appeared that shared norms and expectations
eroded, and familiar social controls lost their significance. More formal,
institutionalized systems of socialization and discipline, such as the schools and
police, gained new significance (Schnore, 1965, 1974).
Such developments were manifestations of social change, and education
became more important in certifying individual abilities and moral character.
As the social scientists put it, secondary relationships based on status and
accomplishment were substituted for firsthand knowledge of a person’s past,
and formal credentials became increasingly significant. New patterns of
behavior evolved rapidly, and observers noted the emergence of an urban
culture largely defined by status symbols (Palen, 1997). These were growing
signs of the modern age.
A related concept of more recent vintage is globalization, which refers to the
increasing inter-dependency of economic, cultural, and political developments
around the world. Like urbanization, it is essentially concerned with spatial
relationships, and ways that activities in one domain or another come to
transcend nations and even continents. Globalization is associated with rising
international trade, transportation, and communication, and the collapse of
such barriers as tariffs, export fees, and immigration quotas. It has become a
widely used term, particularly following the end of the Cold War in the 1980s
and the rise of digital communications technology thereafter (Stiglitz, 2003).
Like industrialization and urbanization, of course, globalization also has a
history. “World-System” scholars argue that globalizing influences have been
evident for several centuries, extending back to colonial development and the
rise of trade between Europe and other continents (Wallerstein, 2004). Economic
historians maintain that the first “modern globalization” occurred during the
era of rapid industrialization, when a growing volume of trade and millions of
people moved freely around the world. World War and the Great Depression put
a stop to it, but globalization began to be evident again following World War II,
when the United States emerged as the world’s principal economic, political, and
cultural power. Due partly to American influence on policies of open trade and
freedom of communication, it has accelerated in recent decades, a development
with important implications for education (Aghion & Williamson, 1998).
Globalization is also linked to the idea of a worldwide division of labor, with
national economies playing new roles in the production of goods and services.
6 • Introduction

Manufacturing, for instance, has been moving to countries with lower wages
for decades, where unskilled workers can be hired to work in factories cheaply.
In more developed countries, on the other hand, technological development
has led to demand for more skilled workers, and the rise of service employment
has contributed to higher educational expectations. Given this, it is telling that
the biggest complaints about globalization come from people with less
education, while its supporters tend to be college-educated. Regardless of this,
however, there is little doubt that globalization represents a transformative
force in recent history (Applebaum & Robinson, 2005).
As suggested above, social scientists and historians have long noted that
industrialization, urbanization, and globalization have been linked to a more
highly defined social division of labor. Indeed, increased specialization in
occupations was almost axiomatic during industrial development; it was one of
the chief ways productivity gains (making goods at lower cost) have been
realized historically. At the same time, as urbanization advanced, there was a
sharpening division of labor in the occupational structure of cities. Larger cities
developed more specialized occupations and services. This too was an important
manifestation of social change, as only the biggest cities have the population
base necessary to support highly specialized activities and interests. And, of
course, the growing international division of labor is perhaps the single most
controversial aspect of globalization. Thus, the historical development of the
division of labor has been linked to each of these concepts. Because the division
of labor is closely tied to the need for new and different types of knowledge and
skills, it has had profound implications for the development of education in
American history (Hawley, 1950; Stiglitz, 2003).
The division of labor in society is tied to yet another enduring concept in
social theory: class conflict. This idea often is associated with social inequality
and the development of the capitalist economic system. Karl Marx, the famous
German revolutionary and philosopher, was probably the best known pro-
ponent of the view that capitalism inevitably produces such inequities, but it
has had many other adherents too. Today social scientists continue to debate
such questions, but few dispute the importance of systematic inequality based
on the type of work a person does or how much property he or she owns. And
when such inequalities grow extreme, conflict can erupt. Historically, as the
division between owners of capital and workers widened, Marx and others
predicted that people who owned nothing but their labor—the working class—
would come into conflict with those who controlled the means of production.
There is much evidence of this in history, even though the apocalyptic vision of
the Marxists has yet to be fully realized. With industrialization, and particularly
the development of the factory system, differences between social classes were
aggravated. This led to socialist movements, relatively small in the United States
but larger elsewhere, and the development of modern labor unions. Historically,
there was considerable strife over the rights and living standard of workers.
 Introduction • 7

This too was an important element of social change. These conflicts included
battles over education and schooling, especially in the nation’s growing
industrial cities (Bowles & Gintis, 1976).
Industrialization, urbanization, globalization, the development of techno-
logy, and the division of labor all have been important aspects of social change
as it has unfolded in the United States. They also are practical concepts,
developed by social scientists and historians to explain extensive transformations
in society. As such, they are vital to the task of comprehending just how
education and social change have been related. But these are hardly the only
ideas relevant to historical reasoning. Many additional social science concepts
also are pertinent to this task, most of which do not deal directly with large-
scale change. But they also fit Roszak’s definition of “master abstractions,” and
can be very useful in understanding social change in the past.

History and Social Theory

One of the goals of social science is to establish basic categories of collective
experience and to help explain behavior in a variety of settings. Such conceptions
are the elements of social theory, and they are critical to making sense of social
change in history.
A good example of this, and a very familiar one, is evident in the term culture.
Broadly defined as the way of life in human society, culture can be considered
behavioral characteristics or traits typical of a social group. These usually include
rituals or ceremonies, customs, attitudes, and ideas transmitted from one gen-
eration to the next. The tricky part is identifying these traits when they are
considered normal. Because it is so encompassing, culture is a slippery term to
define precisely. But it is indispensable in explaining the process of social change,
especially on a sweeping historical scale (Kluckhohn, 1949; Kuper, 2000).
Culture is especially pertinent to schooling, as education can be defined as a
form of cultural transmission. If society is to function smoothly, familiar
attitudes and values need to be taught to each succeeding generation. This does
not mean that such ideas are always accepted; younger generations often reject
aspects of the dominant culture. When new attitudes and behaviors develop
with the young, it often represents cultural change. And because schools are
directly involved in teaching ideas and shaping attitudes, they stand at the very
center of it. A major issue in the history of education, consequently, concerns
cultural transformation (Spindler, 1963).
Social scientists have used the idea of culture to pose yet another concept:
cultural capital. It is premised on the recognition that all cultures are not valued
equally. In the United States, for instance, certain forms of behavior, values, and
attitudes are more admired and rewarded than others. This is evidence of a
dominant culture that can dictate many traditional values and tastes. The
concept of cultural capital, thus, can be linked to social status. Certain ways
8 • Introduction

of speaking, dressing, and conducting oneself, after all, are associated with
greater standing or prominence. For example, an English accent is often
favored over a Spanish one; suits are higher status than jeans and tee shirts.
Knowledge of classical music or jazz is often taken as a sign of sophistication,
as is familiarity with fine wines. This sort of knowledge can represent cultural
capital, a command of information and abilities that are valued by others with
social status. Those who possess such knowledge and skills often have access to
greater social benefits. Those who lack it are frequently considered to be
inferior. In this respect, cultural capital is related to social inequality.
Cultural capital can also find expression in more significant ways. It can take
the form of a large vocabulary, for instance, a well-developed understanding of
history, or ability in a foreign language—especially a high status one such as
French. It can have more practical dimensions too, such as understanding how
institutions function or how to behave in certain situations, like being a good
conversationalist or even doing homework on time. Individuals who possess
these traits hold advantages in social life and often enjoy greater esteem as a
consequence. It is in this regard that the term capital is fitting. Because these
characteristics or conditions empower individuals to do things that provide
social benefits, they can be considered a tangible form of wealth (Bourdieu &
Coleman, 1991; DiMaggio, 1982; Lamont & Lareau, 1988).
Schools can assist in realizing such benefits if they grant the holders of
cultural capital greater access to credentials or other forms of recognition.
There is a large body of research demonstrating that cultural capital is an
advantage in educational institutions (Lareau & Horvat, 1999). Children with
highly educated parents, for instance, have access to books, music, magazines,
and media technology that may impress their teachers. They also learn to speak
properly and have opportunities to travel and visit museums and other cultural
institutions. Parents who understand how complex organizations function can
provide them with even more advantages. Every historical period has had some
form of cultural knowledge that can be passed across generations. Consequently,
cultural capital is a useful concept in studying education, even if its meaning
may shift from one historical setting to another (Kalmijn & Kraaykamp, 1996;
Roscigno, Ainsworth, & Race, 1999).
Another social science term that has gained currency is social capital. This
idea is parallel to cultural capital, but conveys a somewhat different point.
Social capital refers to advantages that individuals derive from relationships. As
sociologist James Coleman pointed out, in order for cultural capital (socially
valued knowledge and skills) to be conveyed across generations, there must be
positive and sustained relations between adults and children. In this respect,
supportive relationships can be a valuable asset, and hence a form of advantage
or capital. Within groups it can reinforce dominant attitudes and behavior, as
long as strong relations sustain them. Social capital can thus help to perpetuate
beneficial dispositions, values, and behavior within social groups. As Coleman
 Introduction • 9

noted, it also can be efficacious in networks of association and influence.

Knowing the right people to secure a certain advantage, such as lawyers or
bankers, can be considered a form of social capital. Tightly knit communities,
where people help one another with all types of problems, offer valuable social
capital to their residents. When members of these communities share values
that encourage socially responsible behavior, such as maintaining a job or
attending school, it can be a tangible benefit of social capital (Coleman, 1988).
Regarding education, a telling example of social capital is the effect of local
communities on school attendance. Some social groups seemed to encourage
regular enrollment more than others. The children of Jewish immigrants had
unusually high levels of school attendance in the early 20th century, even though
their parents often were poor and lacked formal education. Similar patterns
have been observed more recently among Asian Americans. Some of this
appears to have been linked to attitudes that young people should spend time in
schools and strive for success. This can be considered a form of cultural capital,
but its realization depended on the close relationships between adults and chil-
dren, ties that helped to transmit these advantageous values. Historically these
groups did not have many conventional forms of cultural capital, such as knowl-
edge of American customs or proper English. The school was an institution that
helped develop these traits, but these children’s success was influenced by rela-
tionships with adults in the community. In the case of immigrant groups with
comparatively little cultural capital, social capital was a resource that helped
them to overcome disadvantages. If a community is quite cohesive and can
influence the young to excel in school, the influence of social capital is typically
a factor (Perlmann, 1988; Rotberg, 2001; Zhou & Bankston, 1994).
Of course, this also can work in the opposite direction. There have been
groups that have shunned the schools, discouraging their children from
attendance. Italian immigrants, for instance, sometimes told their children to
leave school and find jobs to contribute directly to household income. These
relationships transmitted values that did not represent a form of cultural capital
in the larger society. As Coleman suggested, social capital is highly situational.
Indeed, if community relations have a contrary impact on school success,
children may be disadvantaged. Some social scientists have described this as
negative social capital, as it represents relationships that can be problematic. In
any case, a tightly knit community with broadly shared values and expectations
contributes to social capital only if it results in tangible advantages in the larger
social context (Perlmann, 1988; Portes, 1998).
Social capital and cultural capital are useful concepts for explaining why some
individuals and groups succeeded historically and others did not. In this respect,
both are related to the economic term human capital, which refers to differences
in skills and knowledge that help explain why some people—and groups—are
more economically productive. Lawyers and doctors, for example, can perform
tasks routinely that would take less knowledgeable people much longer to
10 • Introduction

complete, if they could do them at all. The same principle applies to nearly all
jobs that require advanced levels of training. This, according to economists, is the
reason why people with higher levels of education usually earn more money than
others. Human capital has become a critical component of the modern economy
(Becker, 1964). To the extent that social and cultural capital can contribute to
opportunities to acquire human capital—typically through school or other types
of formal training—they can help improve social status.
These different conceptions of capital are important to understanding the
development of modern school systems. Human capital—skills and compre-
hension—is usually seen as an outcome of schooling, while cultural and social
capital—socially helpful knowledge and relationships—are typically considered
helpful for success in school. In all three examples, however, capital represents a
palpable resource that can be drawn upon for social advancement. Broadly
speaking, culture and capital are concepts that help to characterize people and
groups, and they allow greater understanding of human differences. Together,
these are ideas that have special significance in research on education, and they
are relevant to educational history as well (Rury, 2004).
People who occupy different positions, of course, often view the world in
quite dissimilar ways. Social scientists use the term ideology to represent systems
of ideas and beliefs that people use to interpret their circumstances and guide
their actions. This is yet another critical concept in comprehending the
relationship between education and social change, and it is clearly connected to
the definition of culture discussed above. One useful way of distinguishing
between them is to think of culture as principally representing attitudes and
behavior, and ideology as limited to beliefs and ideas, even though each
influences the other. As historian Carl Kaestle has noted, in the United States
ideology has been strongly linked to Protestantism and a battery of ideas
revolving around the capitalist economic system: private property, hard work,
and self-denial for purposes of enrichment. These somewhat disparate
ideological elements have worked together historically to form a coherent
worldview that has shaped politics and institutions. There are other aspects of
ideology, but as noted above, the development of values and attitudes clearly is
a crucial component of schooling. Ideology consequently has been a critical
factor in the development of education (Kaestle, 1983).
Like culture, ideology is a tricky concept because it is an aspect of everyday
life. History, however, provides a useful means of examining its effects on
familiar institutions and events. Racism and sexism are collections of ideas that
hold certain groups of people to be inferior to others, notions that historically
have had a profound effect on American society. Racism is an ideology that
suggests African Americans and other groups should be seen as biologically
different, mentally inferior, and less deserving of social status than others,
particularly Whites. Sexist ideology holds that women are inferior to men in
terms of intellect and physical stamina. Both have exerted powerful influences
 Introduction • 11

on popular thought and behavior in U.S. history. Obviously they also have held
important implications for education, and for the development of schooling in
the United States (Omi & Winant, 1994).
There is more to the question of ideology and its impact on education,
however, than the distressing legacy of racism and sexism. Yet another aspect of
popular ideology in the United States has been equity—or the principle of
equality of opportunity. This idea is associated with such other familiar features
of American ideology as freedom and democracy, and Roszak’s master
abstraction cited earlier, “all men are created equal.” Of course, these sentiments
are contradictory to racism and sexism, and other ideas that inhibit social groups
because of biological or cultural traits. It often has been noted that American
ideology is riddled with such incompatible elements. But conflict over these
issues has helped make the United States such a dynamic society, and helps to
account for its rapid pace of social and institutional change. The nation’s school
system continues to struggle with these questions today (Ravitch, 1983).
Concepts such as culture, industrialization, urbanization, globalization, social
and human capital, ideology, and equity can assist in thinking more clearly
about how society changes, and the ways this process has affected people’s lives.
In the case of education, these concepts are helpful in interpreting just why
schools and related social institutions, such as families and other agencies of
socialization, changed over time. Schools have evolved a great deal in the past
several centuries. As suggested earlier, studying this process can illuminate just
how schools and society have interacted over time.

The Evolution of American Education

Schools have become an integral element of American culture. Nearly everyone
has attended one for a considerable length of time, typically during life’s most
impressionable stages, and for the most part, people’s school experiences have
been quite similar. Hallways and classrooms are nearly ubiquitous, as are
teachers and principals. Almost all schools divide the day into discrete periods
of activity, and follow annual schedules set by state authorities. In the main,
schools pursue goals dictated by sponsoring institutions and agencies, such as
state governments or churches, and all share a commitment to individual
growth or human development and responsibility to the future of society.
For most people these and other aspects of schooling are generally taken for
granted, one of the most telling definitions of culture. Historians David Tyack
and Larry Cuban have referred to some of these features as the “grammar of
schooling,” rules and expectations that define the institution’s everyday
operations. Because schools contain large numbers of children, for instance,
they devote special attention to discipline and order, and require adult authority
in matters of supervision and training. Schools also place great emphasis on
routine transmission of formalized knowledge and evaluation of learning with
12 • Introduction

standardized methods of assessment. Of course, schools are also places to make

friends, play games, and do a variety of other things, but these features do not
make it a school. Rather, it is the rules and formal relationships of authority
that form the familiar institutional parameters most often associated with
schooling. Memories of these aspects of school life are familiar, and seem to be
essential to the very concept of “school” (Tyack & Cuban, 1995).
But schools have not always been this way. Indeed, many of these con-
temporary qualities of schools did not exist in earlier times. They have evolved
historically, in response to a wide array of factors. It is comforting to think of
schools as fixed social entities, but in fact they have been quite pliable
throughout history. One reason to study the history of education, in that case,
is to identify just how the familiar features of schooling developed.
This entails some basic questions: How did schools develop in the past,
and what caused them to change? These matters are central to the history
of education, and critical to anyone interested in educational reform. As a
prelude to the more detailed discussions in the chapters that follow, it is fitting
to take a look at some of the big changes that have affected schooling, and
consider how they may have been related to some of the social science concepts
considered thus far.
Two hundred years ago schools were held in makeshift huts or cabins, or in
rented rooms in urban areas. Most of the population lived in the countryside,
so small schoolhouses predominated, where any existed at all. Children of all
ages attended and teachers conducted different lessons simultaneously. School
terms sometimes only lasted a few months and attendance often was sporadic.
Teachers did not have regular employment, working from one term to the next,
and many were barely more educated than the students. Features of school that
people often take for granted, such as age-grading and a common curriculum,
all had to be conceived and accepted as widely practiced routines. These changes
were largely coterminous with industrialization. In fact, the first modern
schools often were compared to factories. Even so, the process of change was
painfully slow and often met with stubborn resistance. It may have occurred
during a time of rapid social change, but building the modern American school
system was often a protracted struggle (Axtell, 1974; Cremin, 1951).
Other features of the now familiar education system developed later. Most
teachers in the United States did not receive professional training until the early
20th century, and bureaucratic systems of management became widespread
even later. Schools for children of different ages, grammar schools and high
schools, were introduced in piecemeal fashion. Many of these changes were
driven by population growth, with more children attending schools. This was
especially true in major cities, some of which grew exponentially. Urbanization,
it turns out, was a central element of educational change. Without the growth
of enrollments, modern, rationalized school systems would not be practi-
cal. Larger numbers of children made age-grading feasible, along with the
 Introduction • 13

long-term employment of teachers. Just finding rooms for all of these students
was a major challenge facing educators (Tyack, 1974).
At the same time, the process of industrialization and the growing division
of labor became associated with curricular differentiation in schooling, and
the development of specific courses of study to prepare students for various
careers. By the early 20th century, high school students could choose between
industrial education courses, college preparatory programs, and such special-
ized subjects as home economics and stenography. The idea of linking schools
closely to the world of work became known as vocationalism. As schooling
became associated with a host of different types of jobs, school completion
(sometimes called attainment) became an important factor in the allocation of
people to various types of employment. Schools were becoming adapted to the
development of modern, urban America as it grew more diverse and forward-
looking (Rury, 1991a).
American schools have historically been organized in relatively small
independent districts, unlike most other countries that have national systems
of education. This added another facet to the change process: educators
imitating practices and policies from one another, or adapting them to new
circumstances. Schools or systems judged to be successful or prominent became
models for those seeking to improve their practice or augment their status. As
non-native settlement moved westward, educators often looked to older
systems in the East for ideas about how best to organize schools, even if they
were frequently modified in practice. Social scientists use the term institutional
isomorphism to describe this process (DiMaggio & Powell, 1983; Scott, 1995).
It represents the way different institutions or organizations came to share
similar characteristics as they sought greater legitimacy in a field or domain of
endeavor. In the case of schooling it helps explain how innovations such as age-
grading, bureaucratic management systems, and curricular reform spread from
one part of the country to another.
Institutional isomorphism could take a number of different forms, depending
on historical circumstances. Reform by imitation, called mimetic isomorphism,
was hardly the only way it happened. Change also occurred when educators
moved from one district to another, introducing new types of professional
knowledge and practice learned elsewhere. This is often labeled normative
isomorphism, when institutions adopt professional standards or practices that
personnel bring with them. It became increasingly important as more teachers
and administrators were trained in colleges and universities that shared similar
curricula. It was also abetted by growing professional organizations, such as
the National Education Association (NEA). Common professional standards
became clearer as a consequence, and exerted normative pressure on schools to
adopt them. Finally, systemic change also happened when schools were required
by state legislatures or education agencies to teach certain subjects, use particular
tests, or observe many other mandates. These were instances of regulative or
14 • Introduction

coercive isomorphism, a process that educators may not have welcomed but also
had the effect of making their institutions appear even more similar. This tended
to occur more frequently in the 20th century, as public education systems
became more expansive, costly to operate, and were increasingly embroiled in
politics (LeTendre, et al., 2001; Scott & Meyer, 1994).
As a consequence of these developments, today’s mature system of education
came fully into view by the mid-20th century. It had become so big and complex
that debates occurred over its purposes and functions. Some would say that it
became a mechanism for assigning people to different positions in the social
order, a large-scale sorting machine (Spring, 1976). In the words of one
observer, the schools helped to produce inequality (Kaye, 1973). Others would
argue that the schools were engines of opportunity, allowing individuals to
aspire to whatever position their talents were suited for (Ravitch, 1978).
In either case, the central question was the link between schooling and the
growing complexity of the social structure. As the social division of labor
became more intricate, the issues of schooling and training people for
productive careers became more important. Linked to this was the matter of
providing individuals and groups with the skills and knowledge required by the
economy. As technology advanced, the demand for people with appropriate
skills and knowledge grew significantly. By the latter 20th century there was a
revolution in the perceived importance of human capital, and public interest in
schooling reached new heights (Goldin, 2001).
These developments, in turn, made education a potent political issue,
especially in cities but elsewhere too. As schooling was seen as an economic and
cultural advantage, it also became a point of contention. The history of
American education is rife with groups organizing to demand changes in the
schools. Such incidents were commonplace in the 19th century, but increased
in frequency with the growing importance of education. By the latter 20th
century, education became an increasingly thorny issue, especially as it related
to social and economic status (Ravitch, 1983; Vinovskis, 1999).
Historically, much of this agitation focused on the question of equity, and
whether everyone had equal access to education. In the early 19th century
there were debates about working-class children in schools, along with
women in secondary and higher education. In the 20th century political
conflicts often concerned new ethnic groups, along with questions of school
funding. These battles were difficult, but they also contributed to important
changes. As a consequence, many of the greatest inequalities in American
education have been reduced or eliminated, even if important disparities
still exist. Today the issue of equity in education continues to be a point of
frequent dissension, and schooling has become a major issue in national
politics. Looking at the history of this issue can help clarify today’s conflicts
over education, and suggest ways to address them (Katznelson & Weir, 1985;
Peterson, 1985).
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 BOOK III

FAR, FAR AT SEA

CHAPTER I

“NAE POSSIBLE!” SAID TIBBIE

Sorrow does not hold the young heart long enthralled. It is as well it
should be so. It is for the old to feel sad, unless they can see in imagination
the bright and gladsome light that shines behind the pall of Death. But the
young—no, sorrow ought to be neither kith nor kin to them.
Back again, then, at the dear old farm of Kilbuie, with Willie as his
constant companion, for the lad had come to spend a long holiday, with
frequent visits to the house of his best of friends, Mackenzie the minister,
with many a little fishing excursion, in company with little Maggie May
and happy-go-lucky Tyro the collie—excursions that somehow always
ended in a kind of picnic—Sandie began to forget the sad and gloomsome
ending to his fishing experiences.
But the corn was now changing in patches from green to yellow. Soon it
would be all ablaze, and then there would be but little time to spend in
picnics or in fishing.
Willie had declared himself determined to assist at harvest work. He
could bind the sheaves if he could do nothing else, and he could carry and
stook them, that is, set them up together, that they might get dry and more
thoroughly ripe in the sunshine.
He had provided himself with a wonderful canvas apron, that quite
enveloped all his person in front, from chin to ankles.
 “I daresay,” said Willie, as he saw Jeannie—Mrs. Duncan, we ought now
to call her—smiling, “I daresay I look a bit of a guy, but I don’t mind,
because it will save my clothes. Do you see, Mrs. Jeannie?”
“I see,” said Jeannie, “you’re a thrifty lad.”
. . . . . .
In another week harvest had begun. Jamie Duncan drove the reaping-
machine. The new second horseman and Sandie wielded a scythe each.
And it was near and around them that all the blitheness and the fun
radiated. A reaping-machine is a very good invention, it must be admitted,
but at the same time it must be granted that there is no poetry, no romance
about it.
But listen to the musical swish swish of the curved and flashing scythe,
wielded by the brown bare arms of the sturdy reaper. Note how the golden
grain lies in its long straight swaths, till made into sheaves by the merry girl
gatherers, who are coming closely up behind. Note, too, the friendly rivalry
of the two scythemen, who work close at each other’s heels, pausing at last,
panting and perspiring, when the “bout” is finished, and chatting and
laughing and joking as they walk slowly to the other end of the field, there
to sharpen scythes, to swallow a draught of table-beer, butter-milk or whey,
and begin again once more.
A strong sturdy lass of about seventeen, with a complexion like
strawberries smothered in cream, acted as gatherer to the new second
horseman, while Jeannie herself followed Sandie. Then behind these came
Geordie Black the orra man, and Willie himself, with his immense apron,
doing duty as binders and stookers.
A word of digression, indulgent reader, which you may skip if you are so
minded; but I have often remarked the great difference that exists between
the reapers in an English and those in a Scotch harvest-field. In England
you will never, scarcely, hear a joke, certainly never a song; the men and
women look soddened, stupid, fat-headed, and that is precisely how they
feel. And it is all owing to the frequent applications they make to the jars of
beer, without which they would refuse to work. In Scottish harvest-fields it
is entirely different. Nothing stronger than butter-milk, whey, or “sma’ ale”
is taken, and the result is, that they are merry, lightsome, witty, and you may
hear them laughing, joking, and singing long before you come near the
field.
 Pardon the digression, though I can’t say I feel sorry I have made it.
And Sandie, with his friend Willie, was the life of the cornfields.
Dear me! how their tongues did rattle on, to be sure; and dear me! how
young Tibbie Morrison, she with the pretty complexion, did laugh. Why, it
came to pass after a little time that Willie had only to look at her to set her
off again; and when she laughed Geordie Black’s laugh was ready chorus.
Geordie was no beauty to look at, but he had a good heart of his own,
nevertheless. That is, I should say, he had had, until—well, it is always best
to speak the truth—until it was lost and won by bonnie Tibbie Morrison.
Jeannie herself remarked more than once, that all the time Geordie was
working he couldn’t take his eyes off Tibbie.
But I think that Geordie must have been hardly hit, and I will tell you
why. Going into the stable on the evening of the second day, Sandie was
surprised to find Geordie sitting with his back to the dusty cobwebby
window, and a slate in his hand.
He was so thoroughly absorbed, that he neither saw our hero nor heard
his footsteps.
So Sandie made bold to peep over Geordie’s shoulder, and, to his intense
surprise, he found he was writing verses. That they possessed but little
literary merit, the following specimen will prove:—
 BONNIE TIBBIE MORRISON.

O Tibbie, Tibbie Morrison,

I lo’e ye as my life,
And I would range the warld o’er
To mak’ ye my guid wife.

When ye are near, my Tibbie dear,

The sun seems shinin’ bright;
When Tibbie’s far awa’ frae me,
’Tis blackest, darkest night.

A ploughman lad is all my rank,

Sma’, sma’s my penny fee,
But I would gie it a’ awa’
For a love blink frae your e’e.

Tibbie, Tibbie! Tibbie!! TIBBIE!!!

Will ever ye be mine?
Will e’er I hold ye to my heart,
My wife and valentine?

“Why, Geordie, man!” cried Sandie, “is it as bad as that with you?”
Geordie sprang up as if shot, and grew as red as a beet. He tried to hide
the slate.
“Don’t trouble, Geordie; I’ve read it all, and really there is an anguish
displayed in the first line of that last verse that is quite touching.

‘Oh, Tibbie, Tibbie! Tibbie!! Tibbie!!!’

You come to a splendid climax with that last Tibbie. Shall I show it to
my friend Willie?”
“Losh! man, no!”
“Or to Tibbie herself?”
“Loshie me! man, what can ye be thinkin’ o’?”
“But, Geordie, you don’t mean to say that verses containing so much
sweetness and pathos as these are going to waste their sweetness in the
desert air? I question if Bobbie Burns himself would have written anything
like them.”
 Geordie blushed again, and after much persuasion he agreed to write
them out—when Sabbath came round—and permit Sandie to present them.
“Of course,” said Sandie, somewhat mischievously, “when I give Tibbie
the poem, I will just brush the dew from her lips.”
“Oh, weel,” said Geordie resignedly, “I canna help that. You’ll do as you
like about it.”
The dinner-hour in the hairst (harvest) field was the most delightful of
all. The somewhat weary workers lay on the ground, or leant their backs
against the stocks. Mrs. M‘Crae herself, with Elsie and Geordie, brought the
dinner, and there was no want of appetite. The milk was of the creamiest,
the mashed potatoes like snow, the oatcakes crisp and delicious, and the
herrings done to a turn. Then there was curds and cream by way of dessert,
to say nothing of “swack” cheese, and potato-scones to finish up with.
The happy harvesters felt like giants refreshed, and there would still be
half-an-hour to rest.
That half-hour, however, was not spent in drowsy listlessness or sleep
itself. No, for the laugh and the joke went round; then Willie or Sandie
would always raise a song, a song with a chorus, and it was sweet to hear
the girlish voices of Tibbie and Jeannie chiming musically in with this
chorus.
Willie would have been nobody if he couldn’t have indulged in his joke,
and there was one song he sang, the chorus of which, it will be admitted,
was very witty indeed—that is, if brevity be the soul of wit.
Every line ended with the words—

“And the wind blew the bonnie lassie’s plaidie awa’!”

Then “Chorus,” Sandie would shout.

Chorus—“Plaidie awa!”

But the song made everybody laugh all the same, and so some
considerable good was accomplished by it.
. . . . . .
As far as the weather was concerned, the harvest was a delightful one,
for the sun shone brightly every day, and there blew a gentle breeze to help
to dry and “win” the corn.
As a crop, too, the yield was average, so Farmer M‘Crae was hopeful
and happy.
Then came the day when “kliack” would be taken, that is, when the last
or kliack sheaf would be cut.
As they neared the last “bout” cried Sandie, “Look out now, Geordie, for
the kliack hare!”
It is very strange, but true, that a hare very frequently starts off from the
last “bout” of corn that is cut on the harvest-field. This time was no
exception.
A splendid long brown-legged beast darted off for the woods.
Up to his shoulder went Geordie’s old gun.
Bang!
The echo rang back from the woods, and went reverberating away
among the rocky hills, but puss was intact. She gave her heels an extra kick,
took to the forest, and was seen no more.
So the hare was declared to be a witch, and no more was said about it.
But now comes Elsie herself, and Willie runs to meet her and lead her
forward by the hand. Right bonnie she looks in her dress of silken green
with poppies in her hair.
She has come to cut the kliack sheaf. Right deftly she does it too, and
binds it also with her own fair fingers.
Then cheers arise, three times three, that seem to make the welkin ring.
Harvest is done, kliack is taken, and every heart rejoices.
By-and-bye, when the stooking is quite finished, all march merrily
home.
Now, mark you this, reader, no vinous stimulant of any kind has been
used while harvest work was in progress.
But now, in the kitchen, all hands, each with a spoon, surround a big
table on which stands an immense basin of what is called meal and ale. I
will tell you its composition: about half a gallon of oatmeal, mixed with
good ale, sweetened with syrup, and fortified with a pint of the best Scotch
whisky.
 And hark! somewhere in that dish was Mrs. M‘Crae’s marriage-ring. So
every mouthful had to be carefully examined by the tongue previous to
swallowing, and the person who was lucky enough to find that ring would
be married before the year was out.
When all this strange dish of brose was finished, and everybody averred
he or she had seen nothing of the ring, everybody began to cast suspicious
glances at everybody else.
But at long and last, noticing a strange light in Geordie’s eyes, Sandie
jumped up, and seizing him by one ear, pulled it till the rustic poet’s eyes
began to water.
“You’ve got it, Geordie! You’ve got it!”
Then, blushing like a beggar at a “bap” or a bun, Geordie confessed.
Everybody shook hands with him, and he felt the happiest man in all the
parish.
But greater happiness still was in store for Geordie.
After the meal and ale, in some sly way or other, Sandie succeeded in
obtaining private audience of winsome Tibbie.
“I’ve something to show you, Tibbie,” said Sandie.
“Nae possible!” said the artless lassie.
“Ah! but it’s fact. Geordie Black is in love with you, and he wrote you
these beautiful verses. Come nearer and I’ll read them.”
“Nae possible!” said Tibbie.
While he slowly, and with much emotion, read these verses, Sandie
encircled Tibbie’s waist with one arm.
I am not quite certain that this was necessary.
Tibbie blushed as Sandie read.
“Now,” said Sandie, “I’ll let you have them to keep for a kiss.”
“Nae possible!” said Tibbie. But the bargain was concluded all the same.
Next evening all the lads and lasses in the countryside gathered at
Kilbuie to the kliack-ball, and if Geordie danced once that evening with
artless Tibbie, he danced with her fifty times.
Geordie was in the third heaven.
Tibbie was kind.
 CHAPTER II

“REMEMBER, REMEMBER THIS FIFTH OF

NOVEMBER”—MACLEAN’S ROOMS
Classes were once more up. The session had opened, and once again the
streets of Aberdeen were gay with the crimson togas of the students.
Everybody was glad to see everybody else, and the several professors
professed themselves rejoiced to meet again their pupils in the old and
classic halls of the University. They hoped work would now go on apace, so
that in after years of their lives the students would be able to look back with
pleasure to the time they spent so profitably within the embrace of their
beloved alma mater.
A week or two passed by, then came the never-forgotten 5th of
November.
Now, I do not believe that such a scene, as I fear I shall now all too
inadequately describe, is possible in the Aberdeen of to-day. I can only
premise that it is painted from the life.
Castlegate, let me tell you, is a large square formed at the junctions of
those splendid pearly-walled thoroughfares, Union and King Streets. It has
a granite statue of the Duke of Gordon, a fine old cross similar to that in
Chichester, and some other ancient cities, also a few pieces of cannon
captured from the Russians at Sebastopol.
In a line with King Street, and from the other side of the square, runs
Marischal Street, which is very steep, and leads direct to the quay, where lie
the ships. This is all I wish you to remember.
On this particular 5th of November, it did not appear that there would be
any greater excitement than usual.
“Only a bit of fun and a few fireworks,” Willie explained to Sandie, and
thus induced him to come along.
But by nine o’clock, not only was the square densely thronged by a mob
bent on merriment and mischief, but all the streets leading thereto.
About half-past nine the fun waxed fast and furious. Even had they tried,
the police force would have been powerless to clear the Castlegate. They
would have but infuriated the mob, and an Aberdeen mob, if it loses its
temper, is very terrible indeed, as witness the meal-mobs and the Chartist
riots.
The discharge of fireworks was incessant and marvellous. Pyrotechny
was there in every form. Rockets, Roman candles, St. Catherine wheels,
even dangerous maroons; while as for squibs, the deft young fellows stuck
them in pistols, lit them, and fired them in the air, or in through open first-
floor windows, much to the terror of those leaning over to gaze at the
pandemonium going on beneath.
Nearly everybody had their jackets closely buttoned up, but crackers and
squibs were lit and thrust into every available pocket that could be seen.
Many thus had their clothes burned and ruined.
A little after ten o’clock, policemen and watchmen, full ninety strong,
made their appearance in marching order, and attempted to clear the square.
They had no truncheons, only simply their sticks. Their endeavours,
however, were utterly unsuccessful. If the crowd disappeared before them at
one place, it was only to bank up in double force in another.
The police were good-natured.
“Gang hame noo, like good bairns,” was about all they said.
But the action of one townsman—I am glad to say he was no student—
precipitated a crisis at last. He was foolish enough to seize a watchman and
attempt to throw him. Both men came heavily to the ground, then others
took the townsman’s part, and in less time than it takes me to write it,
truncheons on the one side, and heavy bludgeons on the other were drawn,
and blood flowed like water. Ninety men opposed to about two thousand
have little chance, despite the fact that they have law on their side, so the
upshot of the collision was that in twenty minutes’ time the Bobbies and
Charlies were beaten back, and had to take refuge behind the Town Hall.
“Hadn’t we better get home now?” said Sandie. “If I am found or
captured in this crowd I shall lose my bursary, and that means ruin.”
“Father,” said Willie exultantly, “will be out before long to read the Riot
Act. After that you know the soldiers will come. We shall make a move just
before that.”
But now the riot entered upon a new phase. Some one raised the cry “A
boat! a boat!” and in a moment it spread like wildfire through all that vast
determined mob.
 Sandie and Willie had only time to back into an entry, when the crowd
went surging past them, one vast human river, flowing down Marischal
Street towards the harbour.
They seemed to have been gone no time when they were back again,
singing and yelling and shouting triumphantly, as they dragged a boat
along.
Where, I wonder, did the hammers come from? I cannot answer, but here
they were.
Bang, bang, smash, smash, and in a very few minutes the broken timbers
of the boat were piled in a heap in the middle of the square.
Where did that bucket of tar come from? I cannot even answer that. But
it was poured upon the woodwork, and the bucket itself was left on top.
Then a light was set to the pile, and in a few minutes the flames were
ascending sky-high. Every house around stood out in bold and fiery relief,
and the Duke’s monument looked like a martyr at the stake.
“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted the frantic mob. Then in a huge circle they
joined hands and danced around the blazing fire, just as many a time since
have I seen savages in Central Africa do.
How they yelled! How they shouted! How they sang!
But the fire began to burn dull and low at last, and just about this time
there arose a shout of alarm: the Provost in his robes was coming in an open
carriage to read the Riot Act.
“Come now, Sandie,” cried Willie, “we’ve had enough fun for one night.
Father musn’t see me here.”
Nor did he.
Indeed, he saw but very few.
For the mob had no wish to have a collision with the soldiers—“the
gallant Forty-twa,” so they melted away like snowflakes in a river, and truly
speaking, the Act was read to the dying embers of the fire.
One large party of students had still a little fun left in them, however.
They formed fours-deep, and went marching off down King Street, singing
“The Land o’the Leal.”
 “We’re wearin’ awa’, Jean,
Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean,
We’re wearin’ awa’—a’—a’
To the Land o’the Leal.”

For the life of him the douce Provost could not help laughing, as they
went filing past his carriage.
Willie went with Sandie to his attic, and Sandie’s little busybody of a
landlady placed before them a delicious supper of mashed potatoes, stewed
tripe, and fragrant coffee.
“Glad we’ve got safe home,” said Sandie. “Aren’t you, Willie?”
“Oh, delighted, but I must say I enjoyed myself immensely. That bonfire
was a beauty. I hope my dear old father won’t catch cold. And the soldiers
will have nothing to do, if they do come, but drown out the dying embers of
the fire.”
. . . . . .
The great prize of sixty pounds, tenable for two years, was to be
competed for at the end of the present session. There were in reality two,
one for Greek, the other for higher mathematics, but it was to the latter
Sandie determined to bend all his energies, as he thought the competition
would not here be so great.
Next to Sandie, if not indeed superior in this branch of the curriculum,
was a Highland student of the name of Maclean, with whom I must now
make the reader better acquainted.
Sandie, by the way, had made quite enough at the herring-fishing to
render him independent of his dunderheaded pupil for one session at least;
and for this he felt he could not be too thankful.
Maclean and he one day, while sauntering arm-in-arm along Union
Street, deep in the mysteries of x + y, entered into a compact to study
together. One evening it was to be in Sandie’s garret, and the next in
Maclean’s diggings, as he termed his lodgings.
The first grind took place in our hero’s attic. At one o’clock, when both
parted for the night, they each agreed that the evening had been most
profitably spent.
 Next night, at eight o’clock, Sandie, after some difficulty, found his way
to Maclean’s door. The house in which the lodgings were was a somewhat
cheap and unsavoury thoroughfare off George Street.
The stairs were sadly rickety, the house itself was not a sweet one. From
a room on the ground-floor issued the scraping of a vile old fiddle,
accompanied by the scuffling of feet, and every now and then an eldritch
shriek of laughter. But Sandie went onwards and upwards, and on the top
floor of all a door was suddenly thrown open, and Maclean held out his
hand to welcome him in.
A great oil lamp was burning on a table at one end of the long room.
This lamp served for heat and light both, for there was no fire. In fact, these
students—of whom there were four in all living in this one room—could
not afford fire except to cook.
“You are right welcome, Mr. M‘Crae,” said Maclean.
Then he pointed to another young man who sat book in hand by the
table.
“My brother,” he said; “he is at the grammar-school, but he won’t disturb
us. Now,” he continued, “look around you, and I’ll put you up to our
domestic economy and household arrangements. To begin with, you know
we are all as poor as rats, though all bursars, and we all mean to study for
the Church, or to be teachers at least. Yonder, in that bed, are the brothers
Macleod. They come from our parish. Well, you see, they go to bed—we
only have one—at seven and sleep till one. My brother and I study till one,
then we have the bed and they begin their studies, though often enough they
curl up in their plaids and have a few more hours on the floor.”
“Yes, I understand, and I don’t blame them.”
“Well, we have no landlady. The few sticks of furniture you see are all
hired, except the frying-pan and other cooking utensils. These we bought.
We are not going to invite you to dinner, Mr. M‘Crae, because our fare is
far too meagre.
“You see those barrels? Well, two contain herrings, salt and red, one
contains nice oatmeal, and the small one pease-flour. And with the addition
of milk that is brought to us every morning, and now and then an egg, and a
bit of butter, with always a nice sheep’s head and trotters on Sunday, I can
assure you we live like fighting-cocks. Don’t we, Donal?”
 “That we do,” said Donal, looking smilingly up from Xenophon’s
Anabasis.
And poor though an Englishman would consider fare like this, it must be
confessed that the two Macleans were as hard and brown as hazel-nuts upon
it.
“And now then, my friend, if you are ready, let us begin the grind.”
And the “grind” was commenced accordingly. And hardly did those
earnest plodding students lift head except to address each other in low
monotones, till forth from the great steeple of the East Church peeled the
solemn stroke of one.
Then Maclean closed his books with a bang and jumped joyfully up.
“Turn out the Macleods,” he shouted as loud as he could. “One o’clock,
my hearties. Turn out! Turn out! There, Donal! pull the blankets off them
while I see Mr. M‘Crae safely down the rickety old stairs.”
He lit match after match for this purpose.
“Don’t lean on the bannisters,” he said, “else over you go.”
Sandie was safe in the street at last, and bade his friend good-night, just
as every watchman in the city with stentorian lungs was bawling—
“Past one! Pa-a-ast one-n-n,” with a long ringing musical emphasis on
the “n” of the one.
Sandie went homewards happy enough, and just a little tired and sleepy,
but he had found out one truth, namely, that poor though he himself might
be, he was not, by a long way, the poorest student at the great Northern
University.
Sandie and his friend Maclean kept up their mathematical studies
together in the most friendly way till the very last day. Everybody knew that
the prize lay between these two hard-working students, and it came to pass
that when the day of competition arrived at last, and Sandie and Maclean
found their way to the class-room where the papers were to be given out,
they only found two other opponents there, and both left within an hour
without handing in a paper.
The Professor looked up from his desk and smiled.
“When Greek meets Greek,” he said, “then comes the tug of war.”
 CHAPTER III

“WE HAVE BEEN AS BROTHERS: WE ARE BROTHERS

STILL”
Yes, Greek had met Greek, and the tug of war had begun.
It really does seem surprising, when we come to consider it, that those
two humble Scottish students, knowing that they were rivals, well aware
that they would have to fight against each other at the great competition,
should have studied side by side, cheek by cheek, for so many weary
months.
But such was the case.
They were very far separated now though, many seats apart, and each
was for himself.
Before he even glanced at the paper, Sandie bent his head over his hands
on the desk and prayed long and fervently, asking a blessing on the work he
was about to do, but reverently adding, “If it be Thy will.”
Do not smile, O thoughtless reader. I myself, the writer of this true story,
have had in my time the most marvellous answers to prayers, and I do not
think I ever prayed for anything fervently, earnestly, without my prayer
being granted.
Sandie soon found that he could do every portion of the exercises,
difficult though they were, except one. That he could not bring out. After
finishing all the rest, he pored and posed over this for one long hour. His
head felt splitting in twain, strange nervous tremors ran along his limbs, and
the cold sweat burst out from every pore.
At last a strange drowsiness stole over him. He put up his feet upon the
seat, leaned his head upon his folded hands, and fell fast asleep.
Now, account for it as you may, reader, account for it if you can, I but
state a fact when I say that in a dream Sandie got out of his difficulty, and
saw the question written plainly out before him.
He was hardly awake when he sprung up and recommenced to write, fast
and faster, and presently the thing was done.
“Hurrah!” he shouted, “Eureka!”
 He really could not help it.
The Professor looked a little surprised, but smiled.
“I hope you enjoyed your nap,” he said.
“Did I sleep long?” said Sandie.
“Only two hours.”
“Oh dear, Professor, I am very very sorry, and I see Maclean has gone. It
was cruel of me to keep you.”
“All right, my lad; don’t mention it. Are you ready now?”
“I shall just write a clean copy of this last, then I’m done.”
In fifteen minutes more he had handed in his papers. The Professor
shook him by the hand, and he went away happy and hopeful.
But he did not remain long so, for while at tea, about an hour after, on
looking over his papers he discovered a mistake he had made, which threw
him into the lowest depths of despair.
He had scarcely finished, when there was a modest knock at the door,
and his friend Maclean himself entered, smiling too.
“He is the winner,” said Sandie to himself, when he saw that smile.
“May I come in?”
“Don’t ask such a question; you know you are as welcome as the
primrose in spring!”
Maclean seated himself on the edge of a chair.
“Mr. M‘Crae—Sandie,” he said, “if you don’t win this £60 prize, I will.”
“True!”
“And, Sandie, if I lose, you will win.”
“Naturally!”
“But I haven’t flattered myself I shall win, so don’t think it will keep me
awake at night if I don’t.”
“Bravo! Maclean. Spoken like a true Highlander.”
“But, Sandie——”
“Yes, Mac!”
“I want you to promise me one thing, and the same promise do I now
make to you.”
“Name it, lad.”
 “I promise faithfully that whichever way the prize goes, it shall not alter
my friendship for you.”
“And I promise the same, Mac.”
“Shake hands.”
“Will you have a cup of tea? Do.”
“Well, I will, to please you.”
“And now,” said Mac, when tea was finished, “suppose we compare
papers.”
“Right; but, Maclean, I tell you to begin with, that when I handed in my
work, I thought it was sine errore, but only a few minutes ago I discovered
an egregious mistake. So I fear I have little chance.”
The landlady came at Sandie’s summons—there was no bell; he simply
knocked on the floor with the heel of his boot. She cleared the table and
placed thereon cold water and glasses.
Then those two anxious young men drew near, and first Sandie’s papers
were carefully gone over. No mistake but the one could be discovered.
“If you are right,” said Maclean, his hopes going down to zero, “then
I’m very far out of my reckoning in many things.”
And so it really seemed.
Sandie took very great pains, but could not help condemning more than
one of Maclean’s exercises.
Maclean leaned back in his chair at last and heaved a deep sigh.
“What is to be will be,” he said resignedly. “Sandie, you are the lucky
man.”
“Maclean,” said Sandie innocently, “I begin to think I am. Oh, would we
could both get a prize!”
“Maclean,” he said, after a pause, “we have worked and toiled together
all throughout the weary winter. We have been as brothers. We are as
brothers still. We are both poor, but, Mac, you are the poorer. It seems
certain this prize is mine; let me share it with you. I can rub along, God
helping me, with half of it.”
The tears sprang to poor Mac’s eyes.
“Och, and och,” he said, rapidly dashing his hand across his face, “I
never thought the man was living who could bring tears to the eyes of a
Maclean, whose forbears fought and bled at Culloden. Sandie, if anybody
but yourself had made me such an offer, it is wild with the anger I would
have been. But you are like a brother. Promise never to repeat the offer, and
I’ll forgive you. Never will a Maclean touch the copper penny he has not
won or earned. Promise!”
“I promise, and crave your forgiveness—brother.”
. . . . . .
Yes, Sandie was declared victor.
And just an hour afterwards, a little boy with a buff-coloured envelope
appeared at the door of Kilbuie house. Elsie flew to meet him, and went
rushing in with the telegram to her mother.
Mrs. M‘Crae’s hand shook so, she could not open it, so Elsie tore it
open.
Her face sparkled with joy when she read the glad tidings.
About the same time another telegraph-boy put in an appearance at the
manse of Belhaven.
This message was addressed to Maggie May. It was the first telegram
ever she had received in her life. She read it a dozen times over, ay, and
kissed it. Then she went joyfully bounding down the road to meet her
father, who had been paying visits in the pony trap.
“O father, father! what do you think?” she shouted.
“Oh, I can guess.”
“Yes, Sandie has won! Oh, isn’t it nice? oh, isn’t he clever?”
She jumped up beside her father as she spoke, that with his own eyes he
might read the joyful news.
“So glad, so glad!” he said with moistening eyes. “He is our own boy—
so glad!”
. . . . . .
I may state here at once, that both sums of £60 each, that were paid to
Sandie during the next two years, were placed carefully away in the North
of Scotland Bank. They would come in handy later on, when he
commenced the study of Divinity.
Meanwhile, Sandie relaxed no effort to keep well ahead of his classes.
He determined not only to pass his examinations for his Bachelor of Arts
degree, but to pass with honours.
With this end in view, I am bound to say that he studied harder than he
ought to have done.
Sandie was, however, much reinvigorated in health from his herring-
fishing cruises, which he took every summer. But he never sailed again
from Blackhive. The memories of the sad deaths of poor Eppie and her wee
man were far too painful, and he wished rather they should die away than
revive.
. . . . . .
. . . . . .
It is the end of the last session of the curriculum. Sandie and several
others are to be capped and gowned in the great hall, as they have their
degrees conferred upon them.
The ceremony is a very pretty, not to say an impressive one, and the hall
is crowded with lady sight-seers, chiefly the friends and relations of the
young Masters and Bachelors of Arts.
Among these is a young girl of about sixteen, so innocently beautiful
that many an opera-glass is turned towards her by the students—who as a
class are by no means shy. She sits by the side of an elderly clergyman with
mild blue eyes and a pleasant smile. The girl is Maggie May, the gentleman
her father. Next her on the other side is Elsie herself, flanked by Willie
Munro. She too is beautiful, and commands a greater share of attention than
she desires, for more than once the colour suffuses her face, and she feels
anything but happy.
When Sandie was receiving his degree, so great was the silence you
might have heard the proverbial pin drop, especially when the Principal of
the University addressed him in words somewhat as follows:—
“I cannot let this opportunity pass, Mr. M‘Crae, of congratulating you on
the most successful career you have sustained at this University. My brother
Professors all agree with me in saying you have been an honour to the great
Northern University. We all wish you long life and good health. If you have
this latter blessing, we do not fear for your success in life.”
Then every Professor shook Sandie kindly by the hand, while the
cheering of his fellow-students was like thunder itself.
. . . . . .
 It was all over now, and it is no wonder that reaction came on, or that
depression succeeded to the long-continued excitement of study.
Sandie was home at Kilbuie, and Willie—merry-hearted Willie, who
never let anything trouble him long—was on an early summer visit to the
farm.
But do what he could, he was unable to rouse Sandie from the seeming
lethargy into which he was sinking.
Sandie was changed too, and changing still. His cheeks and temples had
become more hollow of late; there was a red spot beneath each eye that his
mother did not like; he had lost much of his strength, perspired more easily
than he ought to have done; his voice was weak, and, worst symptom of all,
he sometimes had a hollow cough.
Willie went straight away to Aberdeen one day, and when he returned
next forenoon Dr. Kilgour was with him.
He most carefully examined our ploughboy-student, then he said to him
—
“You’re a sensible youth, so I can speak to you straight. If you can get
away to sunnier climes for a year, including a long sea-voyage in a sailing
ship, you’ll return as hard as a hunter. If you don’t do this, you are booked
for the other side of Jordan.”
The rough but kindly doctor told his mother the same, and she began to
cry.
“Oh,” she moaned, “if my boy goes to sea, I shall never never see him
more!”
“Tuts! woman, don’t be a fool. I tell you it is his only chance. You are
bound to let him go—so there!”
. . . . . .
There was that sum of £120 lying untouched in the bank, and this Sandie
determined to devote to the payment of his expenses. If it pleased God, he
said to himself, to bring him back from sea safe and well, he would be able
by teaching to make enough to pay his divinity classes.
So he commenced at once to get ready his outfit.
There was a hopeful pleasure in even this, and while so engaged Sandie
believed himself getting better already.
 The parting from his parents and Elsie, and from Maggie May and the
minister, would, he knew, be painful enough, but then there was Hope to sit
up aloft and breathe the flattering tale.
One day Willie, who had been to Aberdeen, burst into Sandie’s room in a
state of joyful excitement. He was waving aloft a curious-looking
document, which was half printed, half written.
“Hurrah!” he cried. “Now, Sandie, I’m going to astonish you. Better
catch hold of something for fear you fall. Do you know the Tomlisons, the
rich shipowners?”
“By hearsay, Willie.”
“Well, they know you by hearsay. They know all your strange story, and
all your hard struggles, and they have heard about your illness, and even got
Dr. Kilgour’s report, and they have sent you a free pass to Australia, round
by the Horn.”
“Oh, how kind!” cried Sandie. “But, Willie, can I in honour accept?”
“If you didn’t accept, I should look upon you as a pagan, Sandie. Sit
down there at once, and write and thank them.”
And Sandie did.

CHAPTER IV

THE DANGER AND DIFFICULTY WAS TO COME

The Boo-boo-boo was a crack Aberdeen clipper barque, of large
dimensions, and though not in the habit of carrying passengers, beautifully
fitted aft, with a saloon like a marble hall, and splendid well-fitted state-
rooms off it.
She was in the Australian trade. Her cargo might best be described by
the American term “notions,” for she carried anything and everything by
which she was likely to turn an honest penny.
The barque was nearly new, having only made three voyages, and
always with pecuniary success to her owners.
She lay in Aberdeen harbour, and was nearly ready for sea.
. . . . . .