The colored people of Patesville had at length gained the object they
had for a long time been seeking--the appointment of a committee of
themselves to manage the colored schools of the town. They had argued,
with some show of reason, that they were most interested in the
education of their own children, and in a position to know, better than
any committee of white men could, what was best for their children's
needs. The appointments had been made by the county commissioners during
the latter part of the summer, and a week later a meeting was called for
the purpose of electing a teacher to take charge of the grammar school
at the beginning of the fall term.
The committee consisted of Frank Gillespie, or "Glaspy," a barber, who
took an active part in local politics; Bob Cotten, a blacksmith, who
owned several houses and was looked upon as a substantial citizen; and
Abe Johnson, commonly called "Ole Abe" or "Uncle Abe," who had a large
family, and drove a dray, and did odd jobs of hauling; he was also a
class-leader in the Methodist church. The committee had been chosen
from among a number of candidates--Gillespie on account of his political
standing, Cotten as representing the solid element of the colored
population, and Old Abe, with democratic impartiality, as likely to
satisfy the humbler class of a humble people. While the choice had not
pleased everybody,--for instance, some of the other applicants,--it was
acquiesced in with general satisfaction. The first meeting of the new
committee was of great public interest, partly by reason of its novelty,
but chiefly because there were two candidates for the position of
teacher of the grammar school.
The former teacher, Miss Henrietta Noble, had applied for the school.
She had taught the colored children of Patesville for fifteen years.
When the Freedmen's Bureau, after the military occupation of North
Carolina, had called for volunteers to teach the children of the
freedmen, Henrietta Nobel had offered her services. Brought up in a New
England household by parents who taught her to fear God and love her
fellow-men, she had seen her father's body brought home from a Southern
battle-field and laid to rest in the village cemetery; and a short six
months later she had buried her mother by his side. Henrietta had no
brothers or sisters, and her nearest relatives were cousins living in
the far West. The only human being in whom she felt any special personal
interest was a certain captain in her father's regiment, who had paid
her some attention. She had loved this man deeply, in a maidenly, modest
way; but he had gone away without speaking, and had not since written.
He had escaped the fate of many others, and at the close of the war was
alive and well, stationed in some Southern garrison.
When her mother died, Henrietta had found herself possessed only of the
house where she lived and the furniture it contained, neither being of
much value, and she was thrown upon her own resources for a livelihood.
She had a fair education and had read many good books. It was not
easy to find employment such as she desired. She wrote to her Western
cousins, and they advised her to come to them, as they thought they
could do something for her if she were there. She had almost decided
to accept their offer, when the demand arose for teachers in the South.
Whether impelled by some strain of adventurous blood from a Pilgrim
ancestry, or by a sensitive pride that shrank from dependence, or by
some dim and unacknowledged hope that she might sometime, somewhere,
somehow meet Captain Carey--whether from one of these motives or a
combination of them all, joined to something of the missionary spirit,
she decided to go South, and wrote to her cousins declining their
friendly offer.
She had come to Patesville when the children were mostly a mob of dirty
little beggars. She had distributed among them the cast-off clothing
that came from their friends in the North; she had taught them to wash
their faces and to comb their hair; and patiently, year after year, she
had labored to instruct them in the rudiments of learning and the first
principles of religion and morality. And she had not wrought in vain.
Other agencies, it is true, had in time cooperated with her efforts, but
any one who had watched the current of events must have been compelled
to admit that the very fair progress of the colored people of Patesville
in the fifteen years following emancipation had been due chiefly to the
unselfish labors of Henrietta Noble, and that her nature did not belie
her name.
Fifteen years is a long time. Miss Noble had never met Captain Carey;
and when she learned later that he had married a Southern girl in the
neighborhood of his post, she had shed her tears in secret and banished
his image from her heart. She had lived a lonely life. The white people
of the town, though they learned in time to respect her and to value her
work, had never recognized her existence by more than the mere external
courtesy shown by any community to one who lives in the midst of it. The
situation was at first, of course, so strained that she did not expect
sympathy from the white people; and later, when time had smoothed over
some of the asperities of war, her work had so engaged her that she had
not had time to pine over her social exclusion. Once or twice nature had
asserted itself, and she had longed for her own kind, and had visited
her New England home. But her circle of friends was broken up, and she
did not find much pleasure in boarding-house life; and on her last visit
to the North but one, she had felt so lonely that she had longed for the
dark faces of her pupils, and had welcomed with pleasure the hour when
her task should be resumed.
But for several reasons the school at Patesville was of more importance
to Miss Noble at this particular time than it ever had been before.
During the last few years her health had not been good. An affection
of the heart similar to that from which her mother had died, while not
interfering perceptibly with her work, had grown from bad to worse,
aggravated by close application to her duties, until it had caused her
grave alarm. She did not have perfect confidence in the skill of the
Patesville physicians, and to obtain the best medical advice had gone to
New York during the summer, remaining there a month under the treatment
of an eminent specialist. This, of course, had been expensive and had
absorbed the savings of years from a small salary; and when the time
came for her to return to Patesville, she was reduced, after paying her
traveling expenses, to her last ten-dollar note.
"It is very fortunate," the great man had said at her last visit, "that
circumstances permit you to live in the South, for I am afraid you could
not endure a Northern winter. You are getting along very well now, and
if you will take care of yourself and avoid excitement, you will be
better." He said to himself as she went away: "It's only a matter of
time, but that is true about us all; and a wise physician does as much
good by what he withholds as by what he tells."
Miss Noble had not anticipated any trouble about the school. When
she went away the same committee of white men was in charge that had
controlled the school since it had become part of the public-school
system of the State on the withdrawal of support from the Freedmen's
Bureau. While there had been no formal engagement made for the next
year, when she had last seen the chairman before she went away, he had
remarked that she was looking rather fagged out, had bidden her good-by,
and had hoped to see her much improved when she returned. She had left
her house in the care of the colored woman who lived with her and did
her housework, assuming, of course, that she would take up her work
again in the autumn.
She was much surprised at first, and later alarmed, to find a rival for
her position as teacher of the grammar school. Many of her friends and
pupils had called on her since her return, and she had met a number
of the people at the colored Methodist church, where she taught in the
Sunday-school. She had many friends and supporters, but she soon found
out that her opponent had considerable strength. There had been a time
when she would have withdrawn and left him a clear field, but at
the present moment it was almost a matter of life and death to
her--certainly the matter of earning a living--to secure the
appointment.
The other candidate was a young man who in former years had been one of
Miss Noble's brightest pupils. When he had finished his course in the
grammar school, his parents, with considerable sacrifice, had sent him
to a college for colored youth. He had studied diligently, had worked
industriously during his vacations, sometimes at manual labor, sometimes
teaching a country school, and in due time had been graduated from his
college with honors. He had come home at the end of his school life,
and was very naturally seeking the employment for which he had fitted
himself. He was a "bright" mulatto, with straight hair, an intelligent
face, and a well-set figure. He had acquired some of the marks of
culture, wore a frock-coat and a high collar, parted his hair in the
middle, and showed by his manner that he thought a good deal of himself.
He was the popular candidate among the progressive element of his
people, and rather confidently expected the appointment.
The meeting of the committee was held in the Methodist church, where,
in fact, the grammar school was taught, for want of a separate
school-house. After the preliminary steps to effect an organization, Mr.
Gillespie, who had been elected chairman, took the floor.
"The principal business to be brought befo' the meet'n' this evenin',"
he said, "is the selection of a teacher for our grammar school for the
ensuin' year. Two candidates have filed applications, which, if there
is no objection, I will read to the committee. The first is from Miss
Noble, who has been the teacher ever since the grammar school was
started."
He then read Miss Noble's letter, in which she called attention to her
long years of service, to her need of the position, and to her affection
for the pupils, and made formal application for the school for the
next year. She did not, from motives of self-respect, make known the
extremity of her need; nor did she mention the condition of her health,
as it might have been used as an argument against her retention.
Mr. Gillespie then read the application of the other candidate, Andrew
J. Williams. Mr. Williams set out in detail his qualifications for the
position: his degree from Riddle University; his familiarity with the
dead and living languages and the higher mathematics; his views of
discipline; and a peroration in which he expressed the desire to devote
himself to the elevation of his race and assist the march of progress
through the medium of the Patesville grammar school. The letter was well
written in a bold, round hand, with many flourishes, and looked very
aggressive and overbearing as it lay on the table by the side of the
sheet of small note-paper in Miss Noble's faint and somewhat cramped
handwriting.
"You have heard the readin' of the applications," said the chairman.
"Gentlemen, what is yo' pleasure?"
There being no immediate response, the chairman continued:
"As this is a matter of consid'able importance, involvin' not only the
welfare of our schools, but the progress of our race, an' as our action
is liable to be criticized, whatever we decide, perhaps we had better
discuss the subjec' befo' we act. If nobody else has anything to
obse've, I will make a few remarks."
Mr. Gillespie cleared his throat, and, assuming an oratorical attitude,
proceeded:
"The time has come in the history of our people when we should stand
together. In this age of organization the march of progress requires
that we help ourselves, or be forever left behind. Ever since the war we
have been sendin' our child'n to school an' educatin' 'em; an' now the
time has come when they are leavin' the schools an' colleges, an' are
ready to go to work. An' what are they goin' to do? The white people
won't hire 'em as clerks in their sto's an' factories an' mills, an' we
have no sto's or factories or mills of our own. They can't be lawyers
or doctors yet, because we haven't got the money to send 'em to medical
colleges an' law schools. We can't elect many of 'em to office, for
various reasons. There's just two things they can find to do--to preach
in our own pulpits, an' teach in our own schools. If it wasn't for
that, they'd have to go on forever waitin' on white folks, like their
fo'fathers have done, because they couldn't help it. If we expect our
race to progress, we must educate our young men an' women. If we want
to encourage 'em to get education, we must find 'em employment when they
are educated. We have now an opportunity to do this in the case of
our young friend an' fellow-citizen, Mr. Williams, whose eloquent an'
fine-lookin' letter ought to make us feel proud of him an' of our race.
"Of co'se there are two sides to the question. We have got to consider
the claims of Miss Noble. She has been with us a long time an' has
done much good work for our people, an' we'll never forget her work an'
frien'ship. But, after all, she has been paid for it; she has got
her salary regularly an' for a long time, an' she has probably saved
somethin', for we all know she hasn't lived high; an', for all we know,
she may have had somethin' left her by her parents. An' then again,
she's white, an' has got her own people to look after her; they've got
all the money an' all the offices an' all the everythin',--all that
they've made an' all that we've made for fo' hundred years,--an' they
sho'ly would look out for her. If she don't get this school, there's
probably a dozen others she can get at the North. An' another thing: she
is gettin' rather feeble, an' it 'pears to me she's hardly able to stand
teachin' so many child'n, an' a long rest might be the best thing in the
world for her.
"Now, gentlemen, that's the situation. Shall we keep Miss Noble, or
shall we stand by our own people? It seems to me there can hardly be but
one answer. Self-preservation is the first law of nature. Are there any
other remarks?"
Old Abe was moving restlessly in his seat. He did not say anything,
however, and the chairman turned to the other member.
"Brother Cotten, what is yo' opinion of the question befo' the board?"
Mr. Cotten rose with the slowness and dignity becoming a substantial
citizen, and observed:
"I think the remarks of the chairman have great weight. We all have
nothin' but kind feelin's fer Miss Noble, an' I came here to-night
somewhat undecided how to vote on this question. But after listenin' to
the just an' forcible arguments of Brother Glaspy, it 'pears to me that,
after all, the question befo' us is not a matter of feelin', but of
business. As a business man, I am inclined to think Brother Glaspy is
right. If we don't help ourselves when we get a chance, who is goin' to
help us?"
"That bein' the case," said the chairman, "shall we proceed to a vote?
All who favor the election of Brother Williams--"
At this point Old Abe, with much preliminary shuffling, stood up in his
place and interrupted the speaker.
"Mr. Chuhman," he said, "I s'pose I has a right ter speak in dis meet'n?
I S'POSE I is a member er dis committee?"
"Certainly, Brother Johnson, certainly; we shall be glad to hear from
you."
"I s'pose I's got a right ter speak my min', ef I is po' an' black, an'
don' weah as good clo's as some other members er de committee?"
"Most assuredly, Brother Johnson," answered the chairman, with a
barber's suavity, "you have as much right to be heard as any one else.
There was no intention of cuttin' you off."
"I s'pose," continued Abe, "dat a man wid fo'teen child'n kin be 'lowed
ter hab somethin' ter say 'bout de schools er dis town?"
"I am sorry, Brother Johnson, that you should feel slighted, but there
was no intention to igno' yo' rights. The committee will be please' to
have you ventilate yo' views."
"Ef it's all be'n an' done reco'nized an' 'cided dat I's got de right
ter be heared in dis meet'n', I'll say w'at I has ter say, an' it won't
take me long ter say it. Ef I should try ter tell all de things dat Miss
Noble has done fer de niggers er dis town, it'd take me till ter-morrer
mawnin'. Fer fifteen long yeahs I has watched her incomin's an' her
outgoin's. Her daddy was a Yankee kunnel, who died fighting fer ou'
freedom. She come heah when we--yas, Mr. Chuhman, when you an' Br'er
Cotten--was jes sot free, an' when none er us didn' have a rag ter ou'
backs. She come heah, an' she tuk yo' child'n an' my child'n, an' she
teached 'em sense an' manners an' religion an' book-l'arnin'. When she
come heah we didn' hab no chu'ch. Who writ up No'th an' got a preacher
sent to us, an' de fun's ter buil' dis same chu'ch-house we're settin'
in ter-night? Who got de money f'm de Bureau to s'port de school? An'
when dat was stop', who got de money f'm de Peabody Fun'? Talk about
Miss Noble gittin' a sal'ry! Who paid dat sal'ry up ter five years ago?
Not one dollah of it come outer ou' pockets!
"An' den, w'at did she git fer de yuther things she done? Who paid her
fer de gals she kep' f'm throwin' deyse'ves away? Who paid fer de boys
she kep' outer jail? I had a son dat seemed to hab made up his min' ter
go straight ter hell. I made him go ter Sunday-school, an' somethin' dat
woman said teched his heart, an' he behaved hisse'f, an' I ain' got no
reason fer ter be 'shame' er 'im. An' I can 'member, Br'er Cotten, when
you didn' own fo' houses an' a fahm. An' when yo' fus wife was sick, who
sot by her bedside an' read de Good Book ter 'er, w'en dey wuzn' nobody
else knowed how ter read it, an' comforted her on her way across de
col', dahk ribber? An' dat ain' all I kin 'member, Mr. Chuhman! When yo'
gal Fanny was a baby, an' sick, an' nobody knowed what was de matter wid
'er, who sent fer a doctor, an' paid 'im fer comin', an' who he'ped nuss
dat chile, an' tol' yo' wife w'at ter do, an' save' dat chile's life,
jes as sho' as de Lawd has save' my soul?
"An' now, aftuh fifteen yeahs o' slavin' fer us, who ain't got no claim
on her, aftuh fifteen yeahs dat she has libbed 'mongs' us an' made
herse'f one of us, an' endyoed havin' her own people look down on her,
aftuh she has growed ole an' gray wukkin' fer us an' our child'n, we
talk erbout turnin' 'er out like a' ole hoss ter die! It 'pears ter me
some folks has po' mem'ries! Whar would we 'a' be'n ef her folks at de
No'th hadn' 'membered us no bettuh? An' we hadn' done nothin', neither,
fer dem to 'member us fer. De man dat kin fergit w'at Miss Noble has
done fer dis town is unworthy de name er nigger! He oughter die an' make
room fer some 'spectable dog!
"Br'er Glaspy says we got a' educated young man, an' we mus' gib him
sump'n' ter do. Let him wait; ef I reads de signs right he won't hab
ter wait long fer dis job. Let him teach in de primary schools, er in de
country; an' ef he can't do dat, let 'im work awhile. It don't hahm a'
educated man ter work a little; his fo'fathers has worked fer hund'eds
of years, an' we's worked, an' we're heah yet, an' we're free, an' we's
gettin' ou' own houses an' lots an' hosses an' cows--an' ou' educated
young men. But don't let de fus thing we do as a committee be somethin'
we ought ter be 'shamed of as long as we lib. I votes fer Miss Noble,
fus, las', an' all de time!"
When Old Abe sat down the chairman's face bore a troubled look. He
remembered how his baby girl, the first of his children that he could
really call his own, that no master could hold a prior claim upon,
lay dying in the arms of his distracted young wife, and how the thin,
homely, and short-sighted white teacher had come like an angel into his
cabin, and had brought back the little one from the verge of the grave.
The child was a young woman now, and Gillespie had well-founded hopes of
securing the superior young Williams for a son-in-law; and he realized
with something of shame that this later ambition had so dazzled his eyes
for a moment as to obscure the memory of earlier days.
Mr. Cotten, too, had not been unmoved, and there were tears in his eyes
as he recalled how his first wife, Nancy, who had borne with him the
privations of slavery, had passed away, with the teacher's hand in hers,
before she had been able to enjoy the fruits of liberty. For they had
loved one another much, and her death had been to them both a hard and
bitter thing. And, as Old Abe spoke, he could remember, as distinctly
as though they had been spoken but an hour before, the words of comfort
that the teacher had whispered to Nancy in her dying hour and to him in
his bereavement.
"On consideration, Mr. Chairman," he said, with an effort to hide a
suspicious tremor in his voice and to speak with the dignity consistent
with his character as a substantial citizen, "I wish to record my vote
fer Miss Noble."
"The chair," said Gillespie, yielding gracefully to the majority, and
greatly relieved that the responsibility of his candidate's defeat
lay elsewhere, "will make the vote unanimous, and will appoint Brother
Cotten and Brother Johnson a committee to step round the corner to Miss
Noble's and notify her of her election."
The two committeemen put on their hats, and, accompanied by several
people who had been waiting at the door to hear the result of the
meeting, went around the corner to Miss Noble's house, a distance of a
block or two away. The house was lighted, so they knew she had not gone
to bed. They went in at the gate, and Cotten knocked at the door.
The colored maid opened it.
"Is Miss Noble home?" said Cotten.
"Yes; come in. She's waitin' ter hear from the committee."
The woman showed them into the parlor. Miss Noble rose from her seat by
the table, where she had been reading, and came forward to meet them.
They did not for a moment observe, as she took a step toward them, that
her footsteps wavered. In her agitation she was scarcely aware of it
herself.
"Miss Noble," announced Cotten, "we have come to let you know that you
have be'n 'lected teacher of the grammar school fer the next year."
"Thank you; oh, thank you so much!" she said. "I am very glad.
Mary"--she put her hand to her side suddenly and tottered--"Mary, will
you--"
A spasm of pain contracted her face and cut short her speech. She would
have fallen had Old Abe not caught her and, with Mary's help, laid her
on a couch.
The remedies applied by Mary, and by the physician who was hastily
summoned, proved unavailing. The teacher did not regain consciousness.
If it be given to those whose eyes have closed in death to linger
regretfully for a while about their earthly tenement, or from some
higher vantage-ground to look down upon it, then Henrietta Noble's
tolerant spirit must have felt, mingling with its regret, a compensating
thrill of pleasure; for not only those for whom she had labored sorrowed
for her, but the people of her own race, many of whom, in the blindness
of their pride, would not admit during her life that she served them
also, saw so much clearer now that they took charge of her poor clay,
and did it gentle reverence, and laid it tenderly away amid the dust of
their own loved and honored dead.
TWO weeks after Miss Noble's funeral the other candidate took charge of
the grammar school, which went on without any further obstacles to the
march of progress.