While in this brittle state of mind no great provocation would he need to produce a break with the black-salter. Accordingly, an insult, which soon offered, led to a scene and a departure. Some member of the family alluded to James as a “servant.” In an instant his warm blood rose to fever heat; he refused to stay another hour where such things could be said of him. The employer’s stock of eloquence was too small to change the fiery youth’s mind; and that night he slept again beneath his mother’s roof. Hitherto the forces and facts which rested in and about James A. Garfield had kept him near home; the outward tending movement now became powerful, and struggled for control. With the passion for the sea at its height, he began to consider the situation. At home was the dear mother with her great longing that he should love books, go to school, and become a man among men, educated, a leader, and peer of the best in character and intellect. And how could he leave her? The struggle for life had not yet become easy on the farm, and his absence would be felt. “Leave us not,” pleads the home. “The sea, land-lubber, the wide, free ocean,” says the buccaneer within. At this point, while he reflected at home on these things, being out of employment, a new incident occurred. Our young friend had now acquired something more than the average strength of a full-grown man. Born of a hardy race, constant exercise of so many kinds was giving him extraordinary physical power. So he felt equal to the opportunity which offered itself, and became a wood-chopper. Twenty-five cords of wood were rapidly cut for a reward of seven dollars. The place where this was done was near Newburg, a small town close to Cleveland. During this time his mother hoped and prayed that the previous intention of her son, to go to the lake and become a sailor, would weaken, and that he would be led to remain at home; but fate decreed otherwise. The scene of his wood-cutting exploit was close to the lake shore, where the vessels passed at every hour. The excitement within him, as each sail went out beyond the horizon, never ceased. The story never grew old. The pirate had not died, but still plotted for plunder, and hungered for black flags, cutlasses and blood. No doubt Garfield would have been a good-hearted corsair—one of the generous fellows who plundered Spanish galleons just because their gain had been ill-gotten; who spared the lives and restored the money of the innocent, gave no quarter to the real villains, and never let a fair woman go unrescued.