THE TURNING OF A WORM.
As to who Mr. Tiberius Gracchus Leonard was, or as to where he came
from, nobody in Winchester, save himself, knew.
Immediately following the close of the Civil War, Rev. Samuel
Christian, a poor but honorable retired minister of the M.E. Church,
South, was the first teacher employed to instruct the colored children
of the town.
He was one of those Southerners who had never believed in the morality
of slavery, but regarded it as a deep rooted evil beyond human power
to uproot. When the manacles fell from the hands of the Negroes he
gladly accepted the task of removing the scales of ignorance from the
blinded eyes of the race.
Tenderly he labored, valiantly he toiled in the midst of the mass of
ignorance that came surging around him. But only one brief year was
given to this saintly soul to endeavor to blast the mountains of
stupidity which centuries of oppression had reared. He fell asleep.
The white men who were trustees of the colored school, were sorely
puzzled as to what to do for a successor. A Negro, capable of teaching
a school, was nowhere near. White young men of the South, generally,
looked upon the work of teaching "niggers" with the utmost contempt;
and any man who suggested the name of a white young lady of Southern
birth as a teacher for the colored children was actually in danger
of being shot by any member of the insulted family who could handle a
pistol.
An advertisement was inserted in the Washington Post to the effect
that a teacher was wanted. In answer to this advertisement Mr. Leonard
came. He was a man above the medium height, and possessed a frame not
large but compactly built. His forehead was low and narrow; while the
back of his head looked exceedingly intellectual. Looking at him
from the front you would involuntarily exclaim: "What an infamous
scoundrel." Looking at him from the rear you would say: "There
certainly is brain power in that head."
The glance of Mr. Leonard's eye was furtive, and his face was sour
looking indeed. At times when he felt that no one was watching him,
his whole countenance and attitude betokened the rage of despair.
Most people who looked at him felt that he carried in his bosom a dark
secret. As to scholarship, he was unquestionably proficient. No white
man in all the neighboring section, ranked with him intellectually.
Despite the lack of all knowledge of his moral character and previous
life, he was pronounced as much too good a man to fritter away his
time on "niggers."
Such was the character of the man into whose hands was committed the
destiny of the colored children of Winchester.
As his mother foresaw would be the case, Belton was singled out by the
teacher as a special object on which he might expend his spleen. For
a man to be as spiteful as he was, there must have been something
gnawing at his heart. But toward Bernard none of this evil spirit was
manifested. He seemed to have chosen Bernard for his pet, and Belton
for his "pet aversion." To the one he was all kindness; while to the
other he was cruel in the extreme.
Often he would purchase flowers from the florist and give to Bernard
to bear home to his mother. On these days he would seemingly take
pains to give Belton fresh bruises to take home to _his_ mother. When
he had a particularly good dinner he would invite Bernard to dine with
him, and would be sure to find some pretext for forbidding Belton to
partake of his own common meal.
Belton was by no means insensible to all these acts of discrimination.
Nor did Bernard fail to perceive that he, himself, was the teacher's
pet. He clambered on to the teacher's knees, played with his mustache,
and often took his watch and wore it. The teacher seemed to be truly
fond of him.
The children all ascribed this partiality to the color of Bernard's
skin, and they all, except Belton, began to envy and despise Bernard.
Of course they told their parents of the teacher's partiality and
their parents thus became embittered against the teacher. But however
much they might object to him and desire his removal, their united
protests would not have had the weight of a feather. So the teacher
remained at Winchester for twelve years. During all these years he
instructed our young friends Belton and Bernard.
Strangely enough, his ardent love for Bernard and his bitter hatred
of Belton accomplished the very same result in respect to their
acquirements. The teacher soon discovered that both boys were talented
far beyond the ordinary, and that both were ambitious. He saw that the
way to wound and humiliate Belton was to make Bernard excel him. Thus
he bent all of his energies to improve Bernard's mind. Whenever he
heard Belton recite he brought all of his talents to bear to point
out his failures, hoping thus to exalt Bernard, out of whose work he
strove to keep all blemishes. Thus Belton became accustomed to the
closest scrutiny, and prepared himself accordingly. The result was
that Bernard did not gain an inch on him.
The teacher introduced the two boys into every needed field of
knowledge, as they grew older, hoping always to find some branch in
which Bernard might display unquestioned superiority. There were two
studies in which the two rivals dug deep to see which could bring
forth the richest treasures; and these gave coloring to the whole of
their afterlives. One, was the History of the United States, and the
other, Rhetoric.
In history, that portion that charmed them most was the story of
the rebellion against the yoke of England. Far and wide they went in
search of everything that would throw light on this epoch. They became
immersed in the spirit of that heroic age.
As a part of their rhetorical training they were taught to declaim.
Thanks to their absorption in the history of the Revolution, their
minds ran to the sublime in literature; and they strove to secure
pieces to declaim that recited the most heroic deeds of man, of
whatever nationality.
Leonidas, Marco Bozarris, Arnold Winklereid, Louis Kossuth, Robert
Emmett, Martin Luther, Patrick Henry and such characters furnished the
pieces almost invariably declaimed. They threw their whole souls into
these, and the only natural thing resulted. No human soul can breathe
the atmosphere of heroes and read with bated breath their deeds of
daring without craving for the opportunity to do the like. Thus the
education of these two young men went on.
At the expiration of twelve years they had acquired an academic
education that could not be surpassed anywhere in the land. Their
reputation as brilliant students and eloquent speakers had spread over
the whole surrounding country.
The teacher decided to graduate the young men; and he thought to
utilize the occasion as a lasting humiliation of Belton and exaltation
of his favorite, Bernard Belgrave. Belton felt this.
In the first part of this last school year of the boys, he had told
them to prepare for a grand commencement exercise, and they acted
accordingly. Each one chose his subject and began the preparation
of his oration early in the session, each keeping his subject and
treatment secret from the other.
The teacher had announced that numerous white citizens would be
present; among them the congressman from the district and the mayor of
the town. Belton determined upon two things, away down in his soul. He
determined to win in the oratorical contest, and to get his revenge
on his teacher on the day that the teacher had planned for
his--(Belton's) humiliation. Bernard did not have the incentive that
Belton did; but defeat was ever galling to him, and he, too, had
determined to win.
The teacher often reviewed the progress made by Bernard on his
oration, but did not notice Belton's at all. He strove to make
Bernard's oration as nearly perfect as labor and skill could make
it. But Belton was not asleep as to either of the resolutions he
had formed. Some nights he could be seen stealing away from the
congressman's residence. On others he could be seen leaving the
neighborhood of the school, with a spade in one hand and a few
carpenter's tools in the other.
He went to the congressman, who was a polished orator with a national
reputation, in order that he might purge his oration from its
impurities of speech. As the congressman read the oration and
perceived the depth of thought, the logical arrangement, the beauty
and rhythm of language, and the wide research displayed, he opened his
eyes wide with astonishment. He was amazed that a young man of such
uncommon talents could have grown up in his town and he not know it.
Belton's marvelous talents won his respect and admiration, and he gave
him access to his library and criticized his oration whenever needed.
Secretly and silently preparations went on for the grand conflict. At
last the day came. The colored men and women of the place laid aside
all work to attend the exercises. The forward section of seats was
reserved for the white people. The congressman, the mayor, the school
trustees and various other men of standing came, accompanied by their
wives and daughters.
Scholars of various grades had parts to perform on the programme, but
the eyes of all sought the bottom of the page where were printed the
names of the two oratorical gladiators:
"BELTON PIEDMONT.
BERNARD BELGRAVE."
The teacher had given Bernard the last place, deeming that the more
advantageous. He appointed the congressman, the mayor, and one of the
school trustees to act as judges, to decide to whom he should award a
beautiful gold medal for the more excellent oration. The congressman
politely declined and named another trustee in his stead. Then the
contest began. As Belton walked up on the platform the children
greeted him with applause. He announced as his subject: "The
Contribution of the Anglo-Saxon to the Cause of Human Liberty." In his
strong, earnest voice, he began to roll off his well turned periods.
The whole audience seemed as if in a trance. His words made their
hearts burn, and time and again he made them burst forth in applause.
The white people who sat and listened to his speech looked upon it as
a very revelation to them, they themselves not having had as clear a
conception of the glory of their race as this Negro now revealed.
When he had finished, white men and women crowded to the front to
congratulate him upon his effort, and it was many minutes before quiet
was restored sufficiently to allow the programme to proceed.
Bernard took his position on the platform, announcing as his subject:
"Robert Emmett." His voice was sweet and well modulated and never
failed to charm. Admiration was plainly depicted on every face as he
proceeded. He brought to bear all the graces of a polished orator, and
more than once tears came into the eyes of his listeners. Particularly
affecting was his description of Emmett's death. At the conclusion it
was evident that his audience felt that it would have been difficult
to have handled that subject better.
The judges now retired to deliberate as to whom to give the prize.
While they are out, let us examine Belton's plans for carrying out
the second thing, upon the accomplishment of which he was determined;
viz., revenge.
In the rear of the schoolhouse, there stood an old wood-shed. For some
slight offence the teacher had, two or three years back, made Belton
the fire-maker for the balance of his school life instead of passing
the task around according to custom. Thus the care of the wood-house
had fallen permanently to Belton's lot.
During the last year Belton had dug a large hole running from the
floor of the wood-shed to a point under the platform of the school
room. The dirt from this underground channel he cast into a deep old
unused well, not far distant. Once under the platform, he kept on
digging, making the hole larger by far. Numerous rocks abounded in the
neighborhood, and these he used to wall up his underground room,
so that it would hold water. Just in the middle of the school-room
platform he cut, from beneath, a square hole, taking in the spot where
the teacher invariably stood when addressing the school. He cut the
boards until they lacked but a very little, indeed, of being cut
through. All looked well above, but a baby would not be safe standing
thereon. Belton contrived a kind of prop with a weight attached. This
prop would serve to keep the cut section from breaking through. The
attached weight was at rest in a hole left in the wall of the cavity
near its top. If you dislocated the weight, the momentum that it would
gather in the fall would pull down the prop to which it was attached.
Finally, Belton fastened a strong rope to the weight, and ran the rope
under the schoolhouse floor until it was immediately beneath his seat.
With an auger he made a hole in the floor and brought the end through.
He managed to keep this bit of rope concealed, while at the same time
he had perfect command of his trap door.
For two or three nights previous to commencement day Belton had worked
until nearly morning filling this cistern with water. Now when through
delivering his oration, he had returned to his seat to await the
proper moment for the payment of his teacher. The judges were out
debating the question as to who had won. They seemed to be unable
to decide who was victorious and beckoned for the teacher to step
outside.
They said: "That black nigger has beat the yellow one all to pieces
this time, but we don't like to see nigger blood triumph over any
Anglo-Saxon blood. Ain't there any loop-hole where we can give it to
Bernard, anyhow?"
"Well, yes," said the teacher eagerly, "on the ground of good
behavior."
"There you hit it," said the Mayor. "So we all decide."
The judges filed in, and the Mayor arose to announce their decision.
"We award," said he to the breathless audience, "the prize to Bernard
Belgrave."
"No! no! no!" burst forth from persons all over the house. The
congressman arose and went up to Belton and congratulated him upon
his triumph over oratory, and lamented his defeat by prejudice. This
action caused a perceptible stir in the entire audience.
The teacher went to his desk and produced a large gold medal. He took
his accustomed place on the platform and began thus:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the proudest moment of my life." He got
no further. Belton had pulled the rope, the rope had caused the weight
to fall, and the weight had pulled the prop and down had gone the
teacher into a well of water.
"Murder! Murder! Murder!" he cried "Help! Help! Help! I am drowning.
Take me out, it is cold."
The audience rushed forward expecting to find the teacher in a
dangerous situation; but they found him standing, apparently unharmed,
in a cistern, the water being a little more than waist deep. Their
fright gave way to humor and a merry shout went up from the throats of
the scholars.
The colored men and women laughed to one side, while the white people
smiled as though they had admired the feat as a fine specimen of
falling from the sublime to the ridiculous. Bending down over the
well, the larger students caught hold of the teacher's arms and lifted
him out.
He stood before the audience wet and shivering, his clothes sticking
to him, and water dripping from his hair. The medal was gone. The
teacher dismissed the audience, drew his last month's pay and left
that night for parts unknown.
Sometimes, even a worm will turn when trodden upon.