Part 8

Mr. Josiah Crabtree, gentleman of color, Grand Master of the Lodge of Colored Masons and holder of various other offices of emolument and trust, had, metaphorically speaking, run against a snag. Being a plain and simple man of direct methods, the ornate made small appeal to his mentality. However, Mr. Crabtree had consented to argue the matter; and, in differences matrimonial, the husband who argues is lost.

“But, Penelope,” he began—he always called his wife Penelope when they disagreed, possibly because she disliked the name—“Penelope, what’s de use ob it? Here we is been libin’ togedder, happy an’ contented wid de few words Uncle Jake said ober us dat ebenin’ in de cabin on de ol’ plantation. Dey tuk us all fro’ war times, an’ we ain’t nebber fit yit; an’ what in de name o’ peace you want t’ hop up an’ git mahried all ober agin at dis late day fur, beats my time! You ought t’ know by now dat I ain’t gwine quit you; an’ effen you ain’t pleased wid me, all you got t’ do is t’ say de word.”

Mrs. Crabtree tossed her comely black head, and said petulantly: “’Pears lak I can’t git no notion o’ style or keepin’ up wid de pussession in yo’ nigger haid! You don’t seem t’ hab no mo’ ambitions dan a mole! You t’ink jes’ ’case we-alls had suttin’ ways in slave times, dem ways gwine fit de presen’ suckumstances. In cose it were ’missible for us t’ g’long satisfied wid de few words from Uncle Jake den; but dat don’t prove it’s de propper t’ing _now_! We’se innerpennant ’Merican citterzens dese days; we’se got as good a right t’ go t’ de Cote house as de next un.”

“Fo’ de Lawd, Penelope! you ain’t gwine trot me t’ de Cote House effen I gib in t’ you ’bout dis mattah, is you?”

“You got t’ go t’ de Cote House fo’ de license, you po’ fool nigger you! All de ladies an’ gemmens in our S’ciety is bein’ mahried ober agin, wid a license an’ a ring, an’ a preacher, an’ flowers an’ sech! It make me feel reel slavish, it sho’ do, t’ go on libin’ lak we is been. I’m de Seccertary o’ de Good S’maritans, an’ Sist’ Hapgood ain’t nothin’ but a privit member; yit her an’ Brer Hapgood done been mahried agin las’ mont’ wid a gol’ ring an’ dat beutiful piece writ about ’em in de paper. It make me feel pintedly lef’ out in de col’—it suttinly do;” and a few self-pitying tears fell on the shirt bosom Mrs. Crabtree was ironing.

“But what you gwine do ’bout Orleeny an’ Cato?” asked Mr. Crabtree, referring to the ebon-hued pledges of their conjugal love.

“Do? Nothin’ ’tall; ain’t nothin’ t’ be did! Des let ’em come ’long t’ dere Ma’s an’ Pa’s weddin’, an’ unnerstan’ dat effen we wuz bawn in slavery, an’ got mahried by jumpin’ de broomstick, we’se keepin’ up wid de pussession now. Mis’ Hapgood had her Aleck as one o’ de ushers when her an’ he’s pa got mahried las’ mon’; so we’ll des let our Orleeny be de maid o’ honnah. Dat’s de berry lates’ style.”

So, despite his perfect content with matters as they were, Mr. Crabtree listened to the siren voice, and finally consented, after twenty years of apparent matrimony, to have the entire thing done over again according to post-bellum methods, and in a style befitting American citizens living in the full blaze of an amended constitution. Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree were to be married again; by a preacher, with a license, in a church, with a gold ring. Orleeny was to be maid of honor, and Cato, in all the glory of white cotton gloves and other festal accessories, was to be usher in chief. In his honest soul Mr. Crabtree thought the whole thing unmitigated nonsense; but, like many a man with a lighter skin, concluded that, if nothing else would make his wife happy and give her proper éclat before the members of her S’ciety, he would consent to be a reluctant victim on the altar of matrimonial precedent!

“Effen you gwine do the t’ing, you might ez well do it right”—was his conclusion, in which his progressive wife fully coincided. A tidy little sum that had gradually accumulated in the bank was drawn out; and preparations for the belated nuptials went on apace. It was to be not only a church wedding, but a S’ciety wedding likewise, where the various “Orders” with which Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree affiliated were to appear in full regalia and lend spectacular glory to the occasion.

“Dere ain’t nothin’ fitten to be bought in dis heah measly little town,” argued Mrs. Crabtree. “We’ll des git on de cyars an’ go ober t’ de county seat an’ lay in de trosso; you’ll hatter go dere for de license anyhow.”

By the time they had purchased a “trosso” befitting a sixteen-year-old bride, Mr. Crabtree’s arms were heavy-laden. The bride-to-be, radiant with visions of her coming loveliness, beamed upon him and insisted that an entire suit of black broadcloth for the groom was indispensable.

“Why, Pennie, it ’pears lak dat las’ blue suit dat ol’ Mas’ gin me ’ud do berry well. We could shine up de brass buttons an’ freshen it up wid benzine—” protested Mr. Crabtree, with prudent consideration for his fast diminishing exchequer.

“Now, honey,” insisted Mrs. Crabtree in her most coquettish manner, “you don’t ’spose I’m gwine ’low a good-lookin’ man lak you t’ ma’ch up de ile in dat ol’ blue suit, an’ me des ez fresh ez de mawnin’ jew in dat white swiss an ’dat long veil! An’ you de Master o’ de Lodge, too? It ’ud be scan’lous!”

So the broadcloth suit was added to the multitudinous bundles; and, at the suggestion of Mrs. Crabtree, deposited with their grocer for safe keeping. Then the bridal pair hastened towards the courthouse to procure the license. When this priceless document had been filled in with due solemnity, Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree felt their ante-nuptial arrangements were well-nigh perfected. As, arm in arm, and at peace with all the world they ambled towards the grocery store to reclaim their relinquished packages, Mrs. Crabtree exclaimed:

“Lawsee, Si! we done furgit de ring!”

The selection of the golden circlet that was to bind them in renewed wedded security was so momentous a question that the sun was slipping behind the hills before it was satisfactorily accomplished. At this juncture the absorbed bridal party recalled the fact that it must be nearly train time.

“We’ll des race ober t’ de grocery sto’ an’ grab up our bundles an’ scoot t’ de depo’—” urged Mr. Crabtree as he impelled his panting companion onward.

“Your bundles? Ah, yes; to be sure,” said the custodian of the “trosso;” “they’re all right. The colored man you sent after them carried them to the station some time ago.”

“De cullud man whot I sont atter em?” ejaculated Mr. Crabtree, with bulging eyes.

“Yes, he said you had been delayed, and would go straight to the train from the courthouse. Isn’t that all right?”

“Golly! I should say it wan’t all right!” cried the prospective groom, forgetting in the stress of the moment the dignity becoming the Master of the Lodge. “I ain’t never sont nobody atter dem bundles; I wouldn’ a trusted ’em wid de preacher hisse’f effen he’d a been a dark-complected genterman! What for looks was dat thievin’ nigger?”

The grocer’s face wore a look of puzzlement:

“Why, I couldn’t tell for my life. I didn’t notice him specially; I just supposed of course you sent him. Better go over to the station—maybe you’ll find your stuff there all right.”

But this cheerful prophecy failed of fulfillment, as no clue to the missing “trosso” or its mysterious purloiner could be gained.

“Dem Jingo mines closed down yistiddy, an’ dis heah town’s full o’ loafin’ thievin’ niggers—” Mr. Crabtree explained to his wife after two hours’ diligent search had failed to disclose any clue to thief or packages; “some ob ’em is hyerd us ’scussin’ our plans, an’ has followed us an’ swiped dat trosso.”

Which very plausible solution did credit to Mr. Crabtree’s powers of discernment.

Weary, footsore, with blighted hopes and flabby pocket-book, a disgruntled colored gentleman and lady boarded the midnight train for Ducktown. On the lady’s finger a golden circlet gleamed in mocking irony; from the gentleman’s coat pocket a superfluous marriage license protruded.

“What you gwine do about it?” the gentleman finally took heart of grace and demanded of his sulky spouse.

“Don’t ax me what I’m gwine do! Effen I tole you, you’d be sho’ t’ put in an’ do sumpin t’ spile de whole puffommance. You might a knowed sumpin gwine happen t’ dat trosso when you tuhn it loose.”

With true feminine logic Mrs. Crabtree entirely overlooked the fact that the relinguishment of the packages was her own suggestion.

“I can tell you one t’ing,” she resumed with asperity, “dere ain’t gwine be no weddin’ wid dat trosso gone a glimmerin’! You can des put dat in yo’ pipe an’ smoke it!”

Later, as Mr. Crabtree extinguished the candle before retiring, he observed that his wife took a vial labelled “_Ipecac_” and stealthily deposited it beneath her pillow. But for this timely observation, the violent illness with which Mrs. Crabtree aroused the household the next morning would doubtless have caused graver concern in Mr. Crabtree’s kindly soul.

For some days Orleeny, whose epistolary attainments were the pride of the Crabtree household, was closeted with her suffering parent; and later, each individual who had been bidden to the intercepted nuptials received the following announcement:

“Owing to the suddent illness of the Bride, the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Crabtree have been indeffanately bosboned.”

TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

BY ISABELLA HOWE FISK.

“Carry the lad that was born to be king over the sea to Skye.”

Thoughts wait upon me, grateful thoughts that throng Prayer-wise and eager. To the master’s feet I fain would speed them, offering tribute meet. But, mute for very love, I cannot voice my song. Dear chief of utterance, I have lingered long As at deep wells in shimmering noons of heat, And like dumb beasts that drain the waters sweet, I, too, have quenched my thirst, and, silent have grown strong. Dear Louis—best of kings to bear the name. I think a smile still quivers on thy face That oval-wise, soul-white and bravely strong, Bears eyes, that look low loves and lives to shame. Thou, unawares, hast learned new lore of upward ways, And wondering taught the words—“The king can do no wrong.”

TRAINING SCHOOLS IN TENNESSEE AND THE SOUTH.

By James H. Kirkland, D.C.L., Ph.D.

Illustrated by views of the Campus, Vanderbilt University.

It is the purpose of this paper to describe an educational movement that has grown largely out of the influence of Vanderbilt University. In its relation toward secondary schools this institution has been impelled by the necessity of securing students. At the opening of the University there were two methods of procedure open. One was to put the requirements for admission at a point where they could easily be met even by untrained pupils; the other was to adopt a high standard, exclude unprepared students, and accept the burden of getting them ready to meet these requirements. It has been this latter policy that has brought about the vital connection between Vanderbilt University and a large number of preparatory schools.

Southern educational conditions are bad enough now, but they were far worse in 1875, the year Vanderbilt University opened its doors. At that time the public school systems of the South were striving to get under way and make some impression on the mass of illiterates. Nothing could be attempted outside a few favored cities in the way of public high schools. The common schools were running ninety-three days in the year, spending 81 cents per capita of population and meagerly educating 45 per cent of the school population. Clearly it was useless to await the coming of the public high school. The old antebellum academies for the most part had passed out of existence. Here and there a few survived, preserving charters that antedated the war and memories of happier and more prosperous existence. If the early copies of the reports of the Commissioner of Education are consulted there will be found few secondary schools having any historic background. The Episcopal High School near Alexandria, Va., has a charter dating from 1854. The Abingdon Male Academy was organized in 1822, and the Bingham School at Mebaneville, N. C., in 1793. These and quite a number of others opened again after the end of the Civil War, but most of them had a brief and uncertain career. In the report for 1877, the earliest one at hand as this is written, we find also mentioned the old Mt. Zion Institute of Winnsboro, S. C., then in charge of R. Means Davis, who was afterwards prominently known in the educational history of that state. Others are the Hanover Academy, Taylorsville, Va., the Yeates School, Belleville, Va.; Fletcher Institute, Thomasville, Ga.; Dawson Institute, White Plains, Ga. The Madison Academy, Rutledge, Tenn., has now become a public high school, the Sam Houston Academy at Jasper, Tenn., has given place to Pryor Institute, and Green River Academy at Elkton, Ky., to the Vanderbilt Training School at the same place. Of all those mentioned only two, the Episcopal High School and the Bingham School, seemed to be really taking up the task of preparing students for college. Each of these sent ten students to college from the class of 1877.

As an attempt to meet the educational needs of the South, quite a large number of new schools sprang into being between 1870 and 1880. These were generally considered academies or secondary schools, but undoubtedly most of their pupils were of an elementary age. In many cases the teachers were unprepared for their tasks. They were doing the best they could, trying to instruct according to the needs of their pupils and trying to make a living for themselves. Many an old soldier and many a good woman, whose property was gone and whose natural supporters had fallen on the battle field, took up these opportunities to earn a scant subsistence. From such schools, few if any students went to college. The preparation was insufficient, the atmosphere of school life was not such as to awaken a desire for a college education, and the colleges made no effort to get in touch with the schools. In the report just mentioned, of 1877, about forty such schools—male academies—are enumerated in Tennessee, yet it was a rare thing for one of their pupils to go to college.

In general the preparation for college was done by the colleges themselves. Practically all established preparatory departments; in many cases the college professors taught these departments, and frequently they contained more students than the college classes proper. As endowments had been swept away and state appropriations hardly begun, the faculty had to be supported from the fees alone. In 1877 East Tennessee University, now the University of Tennessee at Knoxville, Tenn., is credited with 195 preparatory students and 90 college students; the University of Mississippi with 257 preparatory and 174 college students; South Carolina College with 95 preparatory and 89 college students. Where some other institutions give no reports of preparatory students, we are inclined to believe it was because these had been fully incorporated with college students, under a most injudicious system of grouping, rather than that they were altogether lacking. From that system with all its faults we have not yet recovered. The best Southern colleges and universities have tried to eliminate this preparatory work, and where this could not be done, they have established independent academies, dissociated from all connection with the college proper. But quite a large number have not been able to take this step and still maintain the confused practice of reconstruction days.

Worse than the evils above enumerated was the creation of a number of chartered colleges and universities that were really nothing more than high schools, and in many cases did not furnish as good an education as an honest academy. Such institutions of course never sent students to college, but rewarded with baccalaureate and master degrees attainments insufficient to grace a freshman. Instead of being friends and fosterers of education, these institutions have often been its worst foes. They have served to transform ignorance into conceit, and make impossible true progress on a substantial basis. Boom towns have started universities as an advertisement; local high schools are called colleges in order to gratify local pride, and college degrees have become a farce. Thus we have in every Southern State colleges whose libraries contain less than a hundred volumes, whose scientific apparatus could be hauled away in a cart and cost less than $100, and whose endowment is nothing.

When Vanderbilt University opened its doors in 1875 it had no intention of receiving preparatory students; indeed, its first plan was to receive only such students as had completed half of their college course. Hence, preparation was made for two college classes and two university classes. But with the coming of the first class the ideals of the faculty were rudely shattered. A crowd of earnest but untrained students poured into the college halls. A large number of the courses that had been provided was found to be unsuitable and uncalled for, while there was an imperative demand for elementary classes in English, mathematics, Latin and Greek. In his report on the first year’s work Chancellor Garland stated that if the University had stood firmly by its rules it would have rejected fully two-thirds of those who had presented themselves for matriculation: “few had any power of fixed and prolonged attention or any practical knowledge of the modes of successful study.” In this way, then, Vanderbilt University found itself compelled to begin preparatory classes. These were continued for twelve years under protest. They were not advertised, no effort was made to secure students for them, but there were always enough candidates to make them a necessity. This continued until 1887 when they were finally abolished and the task of preparing students for the freshman class was boldly thrown upon the schools of Tennessee and the South. The immediate result of this step was alarming. Many prospective students saw it was needless to apply for admission, and of those that did apply a large per cent had to be rejected. The number of literary students fell to 112 in 1889-90; only 29 students finished the year in freshman English, and only 16 had been enrolled during the whole year in freshman Greek. But slowly the situation began to improve; schools arose to do the work demanded by the University and the number of students surpassed even the totals of former years. Gradually, too, it was seen that the University had not merely furthered its own interests, but had been the means of building up a whole system of training schools, thereby directly influencing for good the educational development of Tennessee and setting an example to the whole South. The results of this movement are worthy of special consideration.

Perhaps the University would not have dared to make the experiment it did if it had not felt sure of at least one strong school on which entire reliance could be placed from the very beginning. This was the Webb School, which had then been in operation seventeen years and which had recently been moved from Culleoka to Bell Buckle, Tenn. Shortly before Vanderbilt University was founded Mr. W. R. Webb came to Tennessee from North Carolina to engage in school work. Educated at Bingham School and the University of North Carolina, he had become familiar with the best methods of school work and realized the great need of such work in the South at that time. The establishment of a university in close reach of his school gave him an objective point for his labors, and his students were very promptly turned in that direction. So successful was the Culleoka school, from the very beginning, that in a few years Mr. John Webb, a younger brother, was brought in as partner. It would be hard to overstate the value of the work of these two men for Tennessee and the South. For thirty-five years they have labored, and have put their stamp for good on at least 2,500 Southern boys. Their patronage has come from every Southern State and the size of their school has been limited only by the number they were willing to receive. Their old students are scattered over all the world. A year ago when this writer was in Constantinople without an acquaintance, as he supposed, within a thousand miles, he was surprised to receive a call from the resident physician of Robert College, who was an old Webb boy, delighted at the chance of seeing some one he had known while at school. The Webb School has always been considered unique. Its buildings are plain and its furnishings are of the simplest kind. It has no scientific apparatus, for it is strictly a classical school. But it has a good library, the doors of which stand open winter and summer, day and night, and the books are used. Life is keyed to a high tone in the schoolroom, and the boys feel it. Form counts for little—perhaps too little—but substance counts for much. Professional students of pedagogy, visiting the school, go away surprised—and grieved, for they do not find much respect shown their pet theories. The whole school is wrapped up in the personality of the two men who have made it. Some of the Tennessee training schools could not have come into being or could not now continue without the support of Vanderbilt University, but the Webb School would have been a success under any circumstances. When the surroundings at Culleoka did not seem to be suited at one time to the success of school work, Messrs. Webb quietly informed the citizens that they would move the school, and they did. The success of the Webb School, as well as the demands of Vanderbilt University, have made it easy for other schools to come into being.

The Mooney School deserves mention next on our list. In 1886 Messrs. S. V. Wall and W. D. Mooney took charge of the school at Culleoka. After three years they removed to Franklin, Tenn., where they built up the well-known Battleground Academy. About eight years ago Mr. Wall removed to Honey Grove, Texas, where he still has a large school. Mr. Mooney continued the work at Franklin. In 1902 his school building was destroyed by fire, and he was induced to move to Murfreesboro, where handsome grounds and buildings had been provided for his use at an expense of about $30,000. The Mooney School has furnished many students to Vanderbilt University and they have frequently carried off the honors of the University for high scholarship. The Wallace University School was opened in Nashville, in 1886. The principal, Mr. C. B. Wallace, impressed himself so strongly on his pupils and patrons that a building was soon erected for his use in order to fix his school at Nashville. The Wallace School has sent more pupils to Vanderbilt University within the past ten years than any other school except Webb’s, and in proportion to its enrollment it is far ahead of any in University attendance. Fourteen of its graduates of June, 1904, entered Vanderbilt a few months later.