cadet corporal returned to inspect. He walked deliberately to the
clothes-press, and, informing me that everything was arranged wrong,
threw every article upon the floor, repeated his order and withdrew. And
thus three times in less than two hours did I arrange and he disarrange
my effects. I was not troubled again by him till after supper, when he
inspected again, merely opening the door, however, and looking in. He
told me I could not go to sleep till "tattoo." Now tattoo, as he
evidently used it, referred in some manner to time, and with such
reference I had not the remotest idea of what it meant. I had no
knowledge whatever of military terms or customs. However, as I was also
told that I could do anything--writing, etc.--I might wish to do, I
found sufficient to keep me awake until he again returned and told me it
was then tattoo, that I could retire then or at any time within half an
hour, and that at the end of that time the light _must_ be extinguished
and I _must_ be in bed. I instantly extinguished it and retired.
Thus passed my first half day at West Point, and thus began the military
career of the fifth colored cadet. The other four were Smith of South
Carolina, Napier of Tennessee, Howard of Mississippi, and Gibbs of
Florida.
AN HYMN TO THE EVENING
PHYLLIS WHEATLEY
Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main
The pealing thunder shook the heav'nly plain;
Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr's wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
And through the air their mingled music floats,
Through all the heav'ns what beauteous dyes are spread!
But the west glories in the deepest red;
So may our breasts with every virtue glow
The living temples of our God below!
Filled with the praise of him who gave the light,
And draws the sable curtains of the night,
Let placid slumbers soothe each weary mind,
At morn to wake more heaven'ly, more refin'd.
So shall the labors of the day begin
More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
Nights' leaden sceptor seal my drowsy eyes,
When cease my song, till fair Aurora rise.
GOING TO SCHOOL UNDER DIFFICULTIES
WILLIAM H. HOLTZCLAW
When I was four years old I was put to work on the farm,--that is, at
such work as I could do, such as riding a deaf and blind mule while my
brother held the plow. When I was six years old my four-year-old brother
and I had to go two miles through a lonely forest every morning in order
to carry my father's breakfast and dinner to a sawmill, where he was
hauling logs for sixty cents a day. The white man, Frank Weathers, who
employed a large number of hands, both Negroes and whites, was
considered one of the best and most upright men in that section of the
country.
In those days there were no public schools in that part of the country
for the Negroes. Indeed, public schools for whites were just beginning
to be established. This man set aside a little house in the neighborhood
of the sawmill, employed a teacher, and urged all the Negroes to send
their children to this school. Not a great many of them, however, took
advantage of his generosity, for this was at the time when everybody
seemed to think that the Negro's only hope was in politics.
But my father and mother had great faith in education, and they were
determined that their children should have that blessing of which they
themselves had been deprived.
Soon, however, Mr. Weathers had cut all the timber that he could get in
that section, and he therefore moved his mills to another district. This
left us without a school. But my father was not to be outdone. He called
a meeting of the men in that community, and they agreed to build a
schoolhouse themselves. They went to the forest and cut pine poles about
eight inches in diameter, split them in halves, and carried them on
their shoulders to a nice shady spot, and there erected a little
schoolhouse. The benches were made of the same material, and there was
no floor nor chimney. Some of the other boys' trousers suffered when
they sat on the new pine benches, which exuded rosin, but I had an
advantage of them in this respect, for I wore only a shirt. In fact, I
never wore trousers until I got to be so large that the white neighbors
complained of my insufficient clothes.
At the end of the first school year there was a trying time in our
family. On this occasion the teacher ordered all the pupils to appear
dressed in white. We had no white clothes, nor many of any other sort,
for that matter. Father and mother discussed our predicament nearly all
one night. Father said it was foolish to buy clothes which could be used
for that occasion only. But my ever resourceful mother was still
determined that her children should look as well on this important
occasion as any of our neighbors. However, when we went to bed the night
before the exhibition we still had no white clothes and no cloth from
which to make them. Nevertheless, when we awoke the next morning, all
three of us had beautiful white suits.
It came about in this way. My mother had a beautiful white Sunday
petticoat, which she had cut up and made into suits for us. As there is
just so much cloth in a petticoat and no more, the stuff had to be cut
close to cover all of us children, and as the petticoat had been worn
several times and was, therefore, likely to tear, we had to be very
careful how we stooped in moving about the stage, lest there should be a
general splitting and tearing, with consequences that we were afraid to
imagine. At the exhibitions the next night we said our little pieces,
and I suppose we looked about as well as the others; at least we thought
so, and that was sufficient. One thing I am sure of,--there was no
mother there who was prouder of her children than ours. The thing that
made her so pleased was the fact that my speech made such an impression
that our white landlord lifted me off the stage when I had finished
speaking and gave me a quarter of a dollar.
If there happened to be a school in the winter time, I had sometimes to
go bare-footed and always with scant clothing. Our landlady was very
kind in such cases. She would give me clothes that had already been worn
by her sons, and in turn I would bring broom straw from the sedges, with
which she made her brooms. In this way I usually got enough clothes to
keep me warm.
[Illustration]
So, with my mother's encouragement, I went to school in spite of my bare
feet. Often the ground would be frozen, and often there would be snow.
My feet would crack and bleed freely, but when I reached home Mother
would have a tub full of hot water ready to plunge me into and thaw me
out. Although this caused my feet and legs to swell, it usually got me
into shape for school the next day.
I remember once, when I had helped "lay by" the crops at home and was
ready to enter the little one-month school, it was decided that I could
not go, because I had no hat. My mother told me that if I could catch a
'coon and cure the skin, she would make me a cap out of that material.
That night I went far into the forest with my hounds, and finally
located a 'coon. The 'coon was a mighty fighter, and when he had driven
off all my dogs I saw that the only chance for me to get a cap was to
whip the 'coon myself, so together with the dogs I went at him, and
finally we conquered him. The next week I went to school wearing my new
'coon-skin cap.
Exertions of this kind, from time to time, strengthened my will and my
body, and prepared me for more trying tests which were to come later.
As I grew older it became more and more difficult for me to go to
school. When cotton first began to open,--early in the fall,--it brought
a higher price than at any other time of the year. At this time the
landlord wanted us all to stop school and pick cotton. But Mother wanted
me to remain in school, so, when the landlord came to the quarters early
in the morning to stir up the cotton pickers, she used to outgeneral him
by hiding me behind the skillets, ovens, and pots, throwing some old
rags over me until he was gone. Then she would slip me off to school
through the back way. I can see her now with her hands upon my
shoulder, shoving me along through the woods and underbrush, in a
roundabout way, keeping me all the time out of sight of the great
plantation until we reached the point, a mile away from home, where we
came to the public road. There my mother would bid me good-bye,
whereupon she would return to the plantation and try to make up to the
landlord for the work of us both in the field as cotton pickers.
THE BRAVE SON
ALSTON W. BURLEIGH
A little boy, lost in his childish play,
Mid the deep'ning shades of the fading day,
Fancied the warrior he would be;
He scattered his foes with his wooden sword
And put to flight a mighty horde--
Ere he crept to his daddy's knee.
A soldier crawled o'er the death-strewn plain,
And he uttered the name of his love, in vain,
As he stumbled over the crest;
He fought with the fierceness of dark despair
And drove the cowering foe to his lair--
Ere he crept to his Father's breast.
VICTORY
WALTER F. WHITE
"Now, Ted, just forget they're after you and remember you've got ten men
out there with you. Fight 'em and fight 'em hard, but hold that
man-eating temper of yours. If you don't, we're lost."
Dawson, varsity coach of Bliss University, affectionately known and
revered by two thousand undergraduates as "Skipper Bill" sat in the
locker room with his arm around Ted Robertson's shoulders, star halfback
and punter of the varsity eleven. Around them moved the other varsity
players, substitutes, second string men, trainers and rubbers.
In the stands overhead every seat was taken, for these were the last few
minutes before the big game of the year--the annual battle with Sloan
College. On one side the sober blues and grays and blacks formed a
background for huge yellow chrysanthemums and light blue ribbons, the
Bliss colors, and the same background in the stands opposite set off the
crimson of Sloan College.
The rival college bands of the two most important colored universities
of the United States blared almost unheeded in the din, while agile
cheerleaders clad in white from head to foot performed gymnastics in
leading rolling volumes of cheers. All were in that tense,
nerve-gripping mood prior to that game in which victory or defeat meant
success or failure of the season's efforts of the teams of young giants
that represented the two schools.
In the locker room, however, a different scene was being enacted. Every
man was acting according to his own temperament and each in his own way
attempted to hide the anxious thrill that every real football player
feels before "the big game."
Jimmy Murray, quarterback and thrower of forward passes _par
excellence_, nervously tied and untied his shoe laces a dozen times;
"Tiny" Marshall, left tackle, who weighed two hundred and ten pounds,
tried to whistle nonchalantly and failed miserably, while "Bull" Bascom,
fullback, the only calm man in the room, was carefully adjusting his
shoulder pads. Around them hovered the odor of arnica and liniment mixed
with the familiar tang of perspiration which has dried in woolen
jerseys--perspiration that marked many a long and wearisome hour of
training and perfection of the machine that to-day received its final
"exam."
Ted Robertson, the man around whom most of the team's offense was built,
sat listening to Dawson's advice. Born with a fiery, almost unmanageable
temper, his reckless, dauntless spirit had made him a terror to opposing
teams. Strong was the line that could check his plunges, and fleet were
the ends who could tackle him when once he got loose in an open field.
Recognizing his phenomenal ability, both coach and players gave him the
credit due him and consciously or unconsciously relied on him as the
team's best player.
But to-day Sloan had declared that they were going to put Robertson out
of the game and threats had been freely uttered that before the game had
been going very long he "would be in the hospital." This news added to
the tenseness of feeling. If Robertson should be put out of the game, or
if he should lose his temper the chances of a victory for Bliss were
slim indeed, for rarely had two teams been so evenly matched in skill
and brain and brawn. Thus the final pleading of Dawson to Robertson to
"hold that temper."
A roar of cheers greeted their ears as the red jerseyed Sloan team took
the field. Led by Murray the Bliss players were likewise greeted by a
storm of applause as they trotted out on the field and the varsity
started through a brisk signal drill.
In a few minutes the referee called the rival captains to the center of
the field. Sloan won the toss and elected to defend the south goal,
kicking off with the wind behind its back. A breathless hush--the shrill
whistle of the referee--the thump of cleated shoe against the ball and
the game was on.
The teams, wonderfully even in strength and in knowledge of the game,
surged back and forth, the ball repeatedly changing hands as one team
would hold the other for downs. From the kick-off, the Sloan players
began their attempts to injure or anger Robertson. Vicious remarks were
aimed at him while the referee was not near enough to hear.
When Robertson carried the ball and after he was downed under a mass of
players, a fist would thud against his jaw or hard knuckles would be
rubbed across his nose. Once when an opposing player had fallen across
Robertson's right leg, another of his opponents seized his ankle and
turned it. Though he fought against it, his temper was slowly but surely
slipping away from him.
For three hectic quarters, with the tide of victory or defeat now
surging towards Bliss--now towards Sloan, the battle raged. As play
after play of brilliance or superbrilliance flashed forth, the stands
alternately groaned or cheered, according to the sympathies of each.
Robertson, a veritable stonewall of defense, time and again checked the
rushes of the Sloan backs or threw himself recklessly at fleet backs on
end runs when his own ends had failed to "get their man." On the
offensive he repeatedly was called on to carry the ball and seldom did
he fail to make the distance required.
A great weariness settled on Robertson and it was with difficulty that
he was able to fight off a numbness and dizziness that almost overcame
him. One thing sustained him. It was a bitter resentment against those
who sought to hurt him. The fires within him had grown until they became
a flaming, devastating thing that burned its way into his brain. It
needed only a spark to make him forget the game, school, the coach and
everything else. Yet even as he realized this he knew that if he did
lose his temper, Bliss might as well concede the victory to Sloan. It
was not conceit that caused him to know this and admit it but the
clearness of vision that comes oft-times in a moment of greatest mental
strain.
Finally, with the score still tied, neither side having scored, the time
keeper warned the rival teams that only three minutes remained for play.
His warning served to cause a tightening of muscles and a grimness of
countenance in a last final effort to put over a score and avert a tied
score. The huge crowd prayed fervently for a score--a touchdown--a
safety--a goal from field or placement--anything.
It was Sloan's ball on Bliss's forty-five-yard line. Only a fumble or
some fluke could cause a score. Every player was on his mettle burning
with anxiety to get his hands on that ball and scamper down the field to
a touchdown and everlasting fame in the annals of his school's football
history.
In a last desperate effort, the Bliss quarterback called a trick play.
It started out like a quarterback run around left end. The Bliss left
end ran straight down the field after delaying the man playing opposite
him. When the Bliss quarter had made a wide run drawing in the Sloan
secondary defense, he turned and like a flash shot a long forward pass
over the heads of the incoming Sloan backfield to the end who had gone
straight down the field and who was practically free of danger of being
tackled by any of the Sloan backs.
Too late the Sloan players saw the ruse. Only Robertson was between the
swift running end and a score. With grim satisfaction, his face streaked
with perspiration, drawn and weary with the long hard struggle and the
yeoman part he had played in it, Robertson saw that the man with the
ball was the one player on the opposing side who had done most of the
unfair playing in trying to put Robertson out of the game. All of the
bitterness--all of the anger in his heart swelled up and he determined
to overtake the end, prevent the score and tackle the man so viciously
that he would be certain to break an arm or a leg. Robertson dug his
cleats in the spongy turf with a phenomenal burst of speed, rapidly
overtook his man, driving him meanwhile towards the sidelines.
At last the moment came. By making a flying tackle, which would be
illegal but which he hoped the referee would not see, Robertson could
get his man and get him in such fashion that he would have no chance of
escaping injury. Robertson crouched for the spring. A fierce light came
into his eyes. In a flash he saw the end whom he now hated with an
intensity that wiped every thought from his mind except that of revenge,
lying prone on the ground.
But even as he gloated over his revenge, the words of Bill Dawson came
to him, "Hold that man-eating temper of yours." In a lightning-like
conflict, the impulse to injure fought a desperate battle with the
instinct of clean playing. His decision was made in a moment. Instead of
making the vicious flying tackle, he ran all the faster, but the end was
too swift and had too great a lead. Amid the frantically jubilant shouts
of the Bliss rooters and the painful silence of the Sloan supporters the
end went across the line for a touchdown just as time was up.
A gloom pervaded the dressing rooms of the Sloan team after the game.
Robertson was in disgrace. Forgotten was the playing through most of the
game. Forgotten were his desperate tackles that had saved the game more
than once. Forgotten were the long runs and the hard line plunges that
time and again had made first downs for his team. Only the fact that he
had apparently failed in the last minute remained. Only Dawson and
Robertson knew that it was not cowardice, that most detested of all
things in athletics, in life itself, had caused Robertson to refuse to
make that last dangerous, illegal flying tackle.
But in the heart of Robertson there was a strange peace. Being human,
he naturally resented the discernible thoughts in the minds of his
comrades of many a hard-fought battle. But a calmness made him forgetful
of all this for he knew that at last, in a moment of the supreme test,
he had conquered that which had been his master throughout all of his
life--his temper. All the slurs and coldness in the world could not rob
him of the satisfaction of this.
THE DOG AND THE CLEVER RABBIT
A. O. STAFFORD
There were many days when the animals did not think about the kingship.
They thought of their games and their tricks, and would play them from
the rising to the setting of the sun.
Now, at that time, the little rabbit was known as a very clever fellow.
His tricks, his schemes, and his funny little ways caused much mischief
and at times much anger among his woodland cousins.
At last the wolf made up his mind to catch him and give him a severe
punishment for the many tricks he had played upon him.
Knowing that the rabbit could run faster than he, the wolf called at the
home of the dog to seek his aid. "Brother dog, frisky little rabbit must
be caught and punished. For a nice bone will you help me?" asked the
wolf.
"Certainly, my good friend," answered the dog, thinking of the promised
bone.
"Be very careful, the rabbit is very clever," said the wolf as he left.
A day or so later while passing through the woods the dog saw the rabbit
frisking in the tall grass. Quick as a flash the dog started after him.
The little fellow ran and, to save himself, jumped into the hollow of an
oak tree. The opening was too small for the other to follow and as he
looked in he heard only the merry laugh of the frisky rabbit, "Hee, hee!
hello, Mr. Dog, you can't see me."
"Never mind, boy, I will get you yet," barked the angry dog.
A short distance from the tree a goose was seen moving around looking
for her dinner.
"Come, friend goose, watch the hollow of this tree while I go and get
some moss and fire to smoke out this scamp of a rabbit," spoke the dog,
remembering the advice of the wolf.
"Of course I'll watch, for he has played many of his schemes upon me,"
returned the bird.
When the dog left, the rabbit called out from his hiding place, "How can
you watch, friend goose, when you can't see me?"
"Well, I will see you then," she replied. With these words she pushed
her long neck into the hollow of the tree. As the neck of the goose went
into the opening the rabbit threw the dust of some dry wood into her
eyes.
"Oh, oh, you little scamp, you have made me blind," cried out the bird
in pain.
[Illustration]
Then while the goose was trying to get the dust from her eyes the rabbit
jumped out and scampered away.
In a short while the dog returned with the moss and fire, filled the
opening, and, as he watched the smoke arise, barked with glee, "Now I
have you, my tricky friend, now I have you." But as no rabbit ran out
the dog turned to the goose and saw from her red, streaming eyes that
something was wrong.
"Where is the rabbit, friend goose?" he quickly asked.
"Why, he threw wood dust into my eyes when I peeped into the opening."
At once the dog knew that the rabbit had escaped and became very angry.
"You silly goose, you foolish bird with web feet, I will kill you now
for such folly." With these words the dog sprang for the goose, but only
a small feather was caught in his mouth as the frightened bird rose high
in the air and flew away.
THE BOY AND THE IDEAL
JOSEPH S. COTTER
Once upon a time a Mule, a Hog, a Snake, and a Boy met. Said the Mule:
"I eat and labor that I may grow strong in the heels. It is fine to have
heels so gifted. My heels make people cultivate distance."
Said the Hog: "I eat and labor that I may grow strong in the snout. It
is fine to have a fine snout. I keep people watching for my snout."
"No exchanging heels for snouts," broke in the Mule.
"No," answered the Hog; "snouts are naturally above heels."
Said the Snake: "I eat to live, and live to cultivate my sting. The way
people shun me shows my greatness. Beget stings, comrades, and stings
will beget glory."
Said the Boy: "There is a star in my life like unto a star in the sky. I
eat and labor that I may think aright and feel aright. These rounds will
conduct me to my star. Oh, inviting star!"
"I am not so certain of that," said the Mule. "I have noticed your kind
and ever see some of myself in them. Your star is in the distance."
The Boy answered by smelling a flower and listening to the song of a
bird. The Mule looked at him and said: "He is all tenderness and care.
The true and the beautiful have robbed me of a kinsman. His star is
near."
Said the Boy: "I approach my star."
"I am not so certain of that," interrupted the Hog. "I have noticed your
kind and I ever see some of myself in them. Your star is a delusion."
The Boy answered by painting the flower and setting the notes of the
bird's song to music.
The Hog looked at the boy and said: "His soul is attuned by nature. The
meddler in him is slain."
"I can all but touch my star," cried the Boy.
"I am not so certain of that," remarked the Snake. "I have watched your
kind and ever see some of myself in them. Stings are nearer than stars."
The Boy answered by meditating upon the picture and music. The Snake
departed, saying that stings and stars cannot keep company.
The Boy journeyed on, ever led by the star. Some distance away the Mule
was bemoaning the presence of his heels and trying to rid himself of
them by kicking a tree. The Hog was dividing his time between looking
into a brook and rubbing his snout on a rock to shorten it. The Snake
lay dead of its own bite. The Boy journeyed on, led by an ever inviting
star.
CHILDREN AT EASTER
C. EMILY FRAZIER
That day in old Jerusalem when Christ our Lord was slain,
I wonder if the children hid and wept in grief and pain;
Dear little ones, on whose fair brows His tender touch had been,
Whose infant forms had nestled close His loving arms within.
I think that very soberly went mournful little feet
When Christ our Lord was laid away in Joseph's garden sweet,
[Illustration: Children At Easter]
And wistful eyes grew very sad and dimpled cheeks grew white,
When He who suffered babes to come was prisoned from the light.
With beaming looks and eager words a glad surprise He gave
To those who sought their buried Lord and found an empty grave;
For truly Christ had conquered death, Himself the Prince of Life,
And none of all His Followers shall fail in any strife.
O little ones, around the cross your Easter garlands twine,
And bring your precious Easter gifts to many a sacred shrine,
And, better still, let offerings of pure young hearts be given
On Easter Day to Him who reigns the King of earth and heaven.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
WILLIAM PICKENS