A Novel / Griggs, Sutton E.

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Title: Imperium in Imperio: A Study Of The Negro Race Problem
       A Novel

Author: Sutton E. Griggs

Release Date: March 24, 2005 [EBook #15454]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

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  IMPERIUM
  IN IMPERIO

  A STUDY OF
  THE NEGRO RACE PROBLEM
  A NOVEL

  Sutton E. Griggs

  1899




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER.                                 PAGE.

        Berl Trout's Declaration               1
      I A Small Beginning                      3
     II The School                             8
    III The Parson's Advice                   15
     IV The Turning of a Worm                 24
      V Belton Finds a Friend                 38
     VI A Young Rebel                         48
    VII A Sermon, a Sock, And a Fight         64
   VIII Many Mysteries Cleared Up             83
     IX Love and Politics                     95
      X Cupid Again at Work                  111
     XI No Befitting Name                    125
    XII On the Dissecting Board              139
   XIII Married and yet not Married          161
    XIV   "      "   "   "    " (Continued)  171
     XV Weighty Matters                      177
    XVI Unwritten History                    188
   XVII Crossing the Rubicon                 200
  XVIII The Storm's Master                   223
    XIX The Parting of Ways                  249
     XX Personal (Berl Trout)                262




TO THE PUBLIC.


The papers which are herewith submitted to you for your perusal and
consideration, were delivered into my hands by Mr. Berl Trout.

The papers will speak for themselves, but Mr. Trout now being dead I
feel called upon to say a word concerning him.

Mr. Berl Trout was Secretary of State in the Imperium In Imperio, from
the day of its organization until the hour of his sad death. He was,
therefore, thoroughly conversant with all of the details of that great
organization.

He was a warm personal friend of both Bernard and Belton, and learned
from their own lips the stories of their eventful lives.

Mr. Trout was a man noted for his strict veracity and for the absolute
control that his conscience exercised over him.

Though unacquainted with the Imperium In Imperio I was well acquainted
with Berl, as we fondly called him. I will vouch for his truthfulness
anywhere.

Having perfect faith in the truthfulness of his narrative I have not
hesitated to fulfil his dying request by editing his Ms., and giving
it to the public. There are other documents in my possession tending
to confirm the assertions made in his narrative. These documents
were given me by Mr. Trout, so that, in case an attempt is made to
pronounce him a liar, I might defend his name by coming forward with
indisputable proofs of every important statement.

  Very respectfully,
  Sutton E. Griggs,
  March 1, 1899. Berkley, Va.




IMPERIUM IN IMPERIO.




BERL TROUT'S DYING DECLARATION.

    I am a traitor. I have violated an oath that was as solemn and
    binding as any ever taken by man on earth.

    I have trampled under my feet the sacred trust of a loving
    people, and have betrayed secrets which were dearer to them
    than life itself.

    For this offence, regarded the world over as the most
    detestable of horrors, I shall be slain.

    Those who shall be detailed to escort my foul body to its
    grave are required to walk backwards with heads averted.

    On to-morrow night, the time of my burial, the clouds should
    gather thick about the queenly moon to hide my funeral
    procession from her view, for fear that she might refuse to
    longer reign over a land capable of producing such a wretch as
    I.

    In the bottom of some old forsaken well, so reads _our_ law, I
    shall be buried, face downward, without a coffin; and my body,
    lying thus, will be transfixed with a wooden stave.

    Fifty feet from the well into which my body is lowered, a
    red flag is to be hoisted and kept floating there for time
    unending, to warn all generations of men to come not near the
    air polluted by the rotting carcass of a vile traitor.

    Such is my fate. I seek not to shun it. I have walked into
    odium with every sense alert, fully conscious of every step
    taken.

    While I acknowledge that I am a traitor, I also pronounce
    myself a patriot.

    It is true that I have betrayed the immediate plans of the
    race to which I belong; but I have done this in the interest
    of the whole human family--of which my race is but a part.

    My race may, for the time being, shower curses upon me; but
    eventually all races, including my own, shall call me blessed.

    The earth, in anger, may belch forth my putrid flesh with
    volcanic fury, but the out-stretched arms of God will receive
    my spirit as a token of approval of what I have done.

    With my soul feasting on this happy thought, I send this
    revelation to mankind and yield my body to the executioner to
    be shot until I am dead.

    Though death stands just before me, holding before my eyes my
    intended shroud woven of the cloth of infamy itself, I shrink
    not back.

  Yours, doomed to die,
  BERL TROUT.




IMPERIUM IN IMPERIO




CHAPTER I

A SMALL BEGINNING.


"Cum er long hunny an' let yer mammy fix yer 'spectabul, so yer ken go
to skule. Yer mammy is 'tarmined ter gib yer all de book larning dar
is ter be had eben ef she has ter lib on bred an' herrin's, an' die en
de a'ms house."

These words came from the lips of a poor, ignorant negro woman, and
yet the determined course of action which they reveal vitally affected
the destiny of a nation and saved the sun of the Nineteenth Century,
proud and glorious, from passing through, near its setting, the
blackest and thickest and ugliest clouds of all its journey; saved it
from ending the most brilliant of brilliant careers by setting, with a
shudder of horror, in a sea of human blood.

Those who doubt that such power could emanate from such weakness;
or, to change the figure, that such a tiny star could have dimensions
greater than those of earth, may have every vestige of doubt removed
by a perusal of this simple narrative.

Let us now acquaint ourselves with the circumstances under which the
opening words of our story were spoken. To do this, we must need lead
our readers into humble and commonplace surroundings, a fact that
will not come in the nature of a surprise to those who have traced
the proud, rushing, swelling river to the mountain whence it comes
trickling forth, meekly and humbly enough.

The place was Winchester, an antiquated town, located near the
northwestern corner of the State of Virginia.

In October of the year 1867, the year in which our story begins, a
white man by the name of Tiberius Gracchus Leonard had arrived in
Winchester, and was employed as teacher of the school for colored
children.

Mrs. Hannah Piedmont, the colored woman whom we have presented to
our readers as addressing her little boy, was the mother of five
children,--three girls and two boys. In the order of their ages, the
names of her children were: James Henry, aged fifteen, Amanda Ann,
aged thirteen, Eliza Jane, aged eleven, Belton, aged eight, and
Celestine, aged five. Several years previous to the opening of our
history, Mr. Piedmont had abandoned his wife and left her to rear the
children alone.

School opened in October, and as fast as she could get books and
clothing Mrs. Piedmont sent her children to school. James Henry,
Amanda Ann, and Eliza Jane were sent at about a week's interval.
Belton and Celestine were then left--Celestine being regarded as too
young to go. This morning we find Belton's mother preparing him for
school, and we shall stand by and watch the preparations.

The house was low and squatty and was built of rock. It consisted of
one room only, and over this there was a loft, the hole to climb into
which was in plain view of any one in the room. There was only one
window to the house and that one was only four feet square. Two panes
of this were broken out and the holes were stuffed with rags. In one
corner of the room there stood a bed in which Mrs. Piedmont and
Amanda Ann slept. Under this was a trundle bed in which Eliza Jane
and Celestine slept at the head, while Belton slept at the foot. James
Henry climbed into the loft and slept there on a pallet of straw. The
cooking was done in a fireplace which was on the side of the house
opposite the window. Three chairs, two of which had no backs to them,
completed the articles in the room.

In one of these chairs Mrs. Piedmont was sitting, while Belton stood
before her all dressed and ready to go to school, excepting that his
face was not washed.

It might be interesting to note his costume. The white lady for whom
Mrs. Piedmont washed each week had given her two much-torn pairs of
trousers, discarded by her young son. One pair was of linen and the
other of navy blue. A leg from each pair was missing; so Mrs. Piedmont
simply transferred the good leg of the linen pair to the suit of the
navy blue, and dressed the happy Belton in that suit thus amended. His
coat was literally a conglomeration of patches of varying sizes and
colors. If you attempted to describe the coat by calling it by the
name of the color that you thought predominated, at least a half dozen
aspirants could present equal claims to the honor. One of Belton's
feet was encased in a wornout slipper from the dainty foot of some
young woman, while the other wore a turned over boot left in town by
some farmer lad who had gotten himself a new pair. His hat was in
good condition, being the summer straw last worn by a little white
playfellow (when fall came on, this little fellow kindly willed his
hat to Belton, who, in return for this favor, was to black the boy's
shoes each morning during the winter).

Belton's mother now held in her hand a wet cloth with which she wished
to cleanse his face, the bacon skin which he gnawed at the conclusion
of his meal having left a circle of grease around his lips. Belton
did not relish the face washing part of the programme (of course
hair combing was not even considered). Belton had one characteristic
similar to that of oil. He did not like to mix with water, especially
cold water, such as was on that wet cloth in his mother's hand.
However, a hint in reference to a certain well-known leather strap,
combined with the offer of a lump of sugar, brought him to terms.

His face being washed, he and his mother marched forth to school,
where he laid the foundation of the education that served him so well
in after life.

A man of tact, intelligence, and superior education moving in the
midst of a mass of ignorant people, ofttimes has a sway more absolute
than that of monarchs.

Belton now entered the school-room, which in his case proves to be the
royal court, whence he emerges an uncrowned king.




CHAPTER II.

THE SCHOOL.


The house in which the colored school was held was, in former times, a
house of worship for the white Baptists of Winchester. It was a long,
plain, frame structure, painted white. Many years prior to the opening
of the colored school it had been condemned as unsafe by the town
authorities, whereupon the white Baptists had abandoned it for a more
beautiful modern structure.

The church tendered the use of the building to the town for a public
school for the colored children. The roof was patched and iron rods
were used to hold together the twisting walls. These improvements
being made, school was in due time opened. The building was located on
the outskirts of the town, and a large open field surrounded it on all
sides.

As Mrs. Piedmont and her son drew near to this building the teacher
was standing on the door-steps ringing his little hand bell, calling
the children in from their recess. They came running at full speed,
helter skelter. By the time they were all in Mrs. Piedmont and Belton
had arrived at the step. When Mr. Leonard saw them about to enter the
building an angry scowl passed over his face, and he muttered half
aloud: "Another black nigger brat for me to teach."

The steps were about four feet high and he was standing on the top
step. To emphasize his disgust, he drew back so that Mrs. Piedmont
would pass him with no danger of brushing him. He drew back rather
too far and began falling off the end of the steps. He clutched at
the door and made such a scrambling noise that the children turned
in their seats just in time to see his body rapidly disappearing in a
manner to leave his feet where his head ought to be.

Such a yell of laughter as went up from the throats of the children!
It had in it a universal, spontaneous ring of savage delight which
plainly told that the teacher was not beloved by his pupils.

The back of the teacher's head struck the edge of a stone, and when he
clambered up from his rather undignified position his back was covered
with blood. Deep silence reigned in the school-room as he walked down
the aisle, glaring fiercely right and left. Getting his hat he left
the school-room and went to a near-by drug store to have his wounds
dressed.

While he was gone, the children took charge of the school-room and
played pranks of every description. Abe Lincoln took the teacher's
chair and played "'fessor."

"Sallie Ann ain't yer got wax in yer mouf?"

"Yes sar."

"Den take dis stick and prop yer mouf opun fur half hour. Dat'll teach
yer a lesson."

"Billy Smith, yer didn't know yer lessun," says teacher Abe. "Yer may
stan' on one leg de ballunce ob de ebenning."

"Henry Jones, yer sassed a white boy ter day. Pull off yer jacket.
I'll gib yer a lessun dat yer'll not furgit soon. Neber buck up to yer
s'periors."

"John Jones, yer black, nappy head rascal, I'll crack yer skull if yer
doan keep quiut."

"Cum year, yer black, cross-eyed little wench, yer. I'll teach yer to
go to sleep in here." Annie Moore was the little girl thus addressed.

After each sally from Abe there was a hearty roar of laughter, he
imitated the absent teacher so perfectly in look, voice, manner,
sentiment, and method of punishment.

Taking down the cowhide used for flogging purposes Abe left his
seat and was passing to and fro, pretending to flog those who most
frequently fell heir to the teacher's wrath. While he was doing this
Billy Smith stealthily crept to the teacher's chair and placed a
crooked pin in it in order to catch Abe when he returned to sit down.

Before Abe had gone much further the teacher's face appeared at the
door, and all scrambled to get into their right places and to assume
studious attitudes. Billy Smith thought of his crooked pin and had the
"cold sweats." Those who had seen Billy put the pin in the chair were
torn between two conflicting emotions. They wanted the pin to do its
work, and therefore hoped. They feared Billy's detection and therefore
despaired.

However, the teacher did not proceed at once to take his seat. He
approached Mrs. Piedmont and Belton, who had taken seats midway the
room and were interested spectators of all that had been going on.
Speaking to Mrs. Piedmont, he said: "What is your name?"

She replied: "Hannah Lizabeth Piedmont."

"Well, Hannah, what is your brat's name?"

"His name am Belton Piedmont, arter his grandaddy."

"Well, Hannah, I am very pleased to receive your brat. He shall not
want for attention," he added, in a tone accompanied by a lurking look
of hate that made Mrs. Piedmont shudder and long to have her boy
at home again. Her desire for his training was so great that she
surmounted her misgivings and carried out her purposes to have him
enrolled.

As the teacher was turning to go to his desk, hearing a rustling noise
toward the door, he turned to look. He was, so to speak, petrified
with astonishment. There stood on the threshold of the door a woman
whose beauty was such as he had never seen surpassed. She held a boy
by the hand. She was a mulatto woman, tall and graceful. Her hair was
raven black and was combed away from as beautiful a forehead as nature
could chisel. Her eyes were a brown hazel, large and intelligent,
tinged with a slight look of melancholy. Her complexion was a rich
olive, and seemed especially adapted to her face, that revealed not a
flaw.

The teacher quickly pulled off his hat, which he had not up to that
time removed since his return from the drug store. As the lady moved
up the aisle toward him, he was taken with stage fright. He recovered
self-possession enough to escort her and the boy to the front and
give them seats. The whole school divided its attention between the
beautiful woman and the discomfitted teacher. They had not known that
he was so full of smiles and smirks.

"What is your name?" he enquired in his most suave manner.

"Fairfax Belgrave," replied the visitor.

"May I be of any service to you, madam?"

At the mention of the word madam, she colored slightly. "I desire to
have my son enter your school and I trust that you may see your way
clear to admit him."

"Most assuredly madam, most assuredly." Saying this, he hastened to
his desk, opened it and took out his register. He then sat down, but
the next instant leapt several feet into the air, knocking over his
desk. He danced around the floor, reaching toward the rear of his
pants, yelling: "Pull it out! pull it out! pull it out!"

The children hid their faces behind their books and chuckled most
gleefully. Billy Smith was struck dumb with terror. Abe was rolling on
the floor, bellowing with uncontrollable laughter.

The teacher finally succeeded in extricating the offending steel and
stood scratching his head in chagrin at the spectacle he had made of
himself before his charming visitor. He took an internal oath to
get his revenge out of Mrs. Piedmont and her son, who had been the
innocent means of his double downfall that day.

His desk was arranged in a proper manner and the teacher took his pen
and wrote two names, now famous the world over.

"Bernard Belgrave, age 9 years."

"Belton Piedmont, age 8 years."

Under such circumstances Belton began his school career.




CHAPTER III.

THE PARSON'S ADVICE.


With heavy heart and with eyes cast upon the ground, Mrs. Piedmont
walked back home after leaving Belton with his teacher. She had
intended to make a special plea for her boy, who had all along
displayed such precociousness as to fill her bosom with the liveliest
hopes. But the teacher was so repulsive in manner that she did not
have the heart to speak to him as she had intended.

She saw that the happenings of the morning had had the effect of
deepening a contemptuous prejudice into hatred, and she felt that
her child's school life was to be embittered by the harshest of
maltreatment.

No restraint was put upon the flogging of colored children by their
white teachers, and in Belton's case his mother expected the worst.
During the whole week she revolved the matter in her mind. There was a
conflict in her bosom between her love and her ambition. Love prompted
her to return and take her son away from school. Ambition bade her to
let him stay. She finally decided to submit the whole matter to her
parson, whom she would invite to dinner on the coming Sunday.

The Sabbath came and Mrs. Piedmont aroused her family bright and
early, for the coming of the parson to take dinner was a great event
in any negro household. The house was swept as clean as a broom of
weeds tied together could make it. Along with the family breakfast, a
skillet of biscuits was cooked and a young chicken nicely baked.

Belton was very active in helping his mother that morning, and she
promised to give him a biscuit and a piece of chicken as a reward
after the preacher was through eating his dinner. The thought of
this coming happiness buoyed Belton up, and often he fancied himself
munching that biscuit and biting that piece of chicken. These were
items of food rarely found in that household.

Breakfast over, the whole family made preparations for going to
Sunday school. Preparations always went on peacefully until it came to
combing hair. The older members of the family endured the ordeal
very well; but little "Lessie" always screamed as if she was being
tortured, and James Henry received many kicks and scratches from
Belton before he was through combing Belton's hair.

The Sunday school and church were always held in the day-school
building. The Sunday school scholars were all in one class and recited
out of the "blue back spelling book." When that was over, members of
the school were allowed to ask general questions on the Bible, which
were answered by anyone volunteering to do so. Everyone who had in
any way caught a new light on a passage of scripture endeavored, by
questioning, to find out as to whether others were as wise as he, and
if such was not the case, he gladly enlightened the rest.

The Sunday school being over, the people stood in groups on the ground
surrounding the church waiting for the arrival of the parson from his
home, Berryville, a town twelve miles distant. He was pastor of three
other churches besides the one at Winchester, and he preached at each
one Sunday in the month. After awhile he put in his appearance. He was
rather small in stature, and held his head somewhat to one side and
looked at you with that knowing look of the parrot. He wore a pair of
trousers that had been black, but were now sleet from much wear. They
lacked two inches of reaching down to the feet of his high-heeled
boots. He had on a long linen cluster that reached below his knees.
Beneath this was a faded Prince Albert coat and a vest much too small.
On his head there sat, slightly tipped, a high-topped beaver that
seemed to have been hidden between two mattresses all the week and
taken out and straightened for Sunday wear. In his hand he held a
walking cane.

Thus clad he came toward the church, his body thrown slightly back,
walking leisurely with the air of quiet dignity possessed by the man
sure of his standing, and not under the necessity of asserting it
overmuch in his carriage.

The brothers pulled off their hats and the sisters put on their best
smiles as the parson approached. After a cordial handshake all around,
the preacher entered the church to begin the services. After singing
a hymn and praying, he took for his text the following "passige of
scripter:"

"It air harder fur a camel to git through de eye of a cambric needle
den fur a rich man to enter de kingdom of heben."

This was one of the parson's favorite texts, and the members all
settled themselves back to have a good "speritual" time.

The preacher began his sermon in a somewhat quiet way, but the members
knew that he would "warm up bye and bye." He pictured all rich men
as trying to get into heaven, but, he asserted, they invariably found
themselves with Dives. He exhorted his hearers to stick to Jesus. Here
he pulled off his collar, and the sisters stirred and looked about
them. A little later on, the preacher getting "warmer," pulled off his
cuffs. The brethren laughed with a sort of joyous jumping up and
down all the while--one crying "Gib me Jesus," another "Oh I am gwine
home," and so on.

One sister who had a white lady's baby in her arms got happy and flung
it entirely across the room, it falling into Mrs. Piedmont's lap,
while the frenzied woman who threw the child climbed over
benches, rushed into the pulpit, and swung to the preacher's neck,
crying--"Glory! Glory! Glory!" In the meanwhile Belton had dropped
down under one of the benches and was watching the proceedings with an
eye of terror.

The sermon over and quiet restored, a collection was taken and given
to the pastor. Mrs. Piedmont went forward to put some money on the
table and took occasion to step to the pulpit and invite the pastor
to dinner. Knowing that this meant chicken, the pastor unhesitatingly
accepted the invitation, and when church was over accompanied Mrs.
Piedmont and her family home.

The preacher caught hold of Belton's hand as they walked along. This
mark of attention, esteemed by Belton as a signal honor, filled
his little soul with joy. As he thought of the manner in which the
preacher stirred up the people, the amount of the collection that had
been given him, and the biscuits and chicken that now awaited him,
Belton decided that he, too, would like to become a preacher.

Just before reaching home, according to a preconcerted plan, Belton
and James Henry broke from the group and ran into the house. When
the others appeared a little later on, these two were not to be seen.
However, no question was asked and no search made. All things were
ready and the parson sat down to eat, while the three girls stood
about, glancing now and then at the table. The preacher was very
voracious and began his meal as though he "meant business."

We can now reveal the whereabouts of Belton and James Henry. They had
clambered into the loft for the purpose of watching the progress
of the preacher's meal, calculating at each step how much he would
probably leave. James Henry found a little hole in the loft directly
over the table, and through this hole he did his spying. Belton took
his position at the larger entrance hole, lying flat on his stomach.
He poked his head down far enough to see the preacher, but held it
in readiness to be snatched back, if the preacher's eyes seemed to be
about to wander his way.

He was kept in a state of feverish excitement, on the one hand, by
fear of detection, and on the other, by a desire to watch the meal.
When about half of the biscuits were gone, and the preacher seemed as
fresh as ever, Belton began to be afraid for his promised biscuit and
piece of chicken. He crawled to James Henry and said hastily--"James,
dees haf gone," and hurriedly resumed his watch. A moment later he
called out in a whisper, "He's tuck anudder." Down goes Belton's head
to resume his watch. Every time the preacher took another biscuit
Belton called out the fact to James.

All of the chicken was at last destroyed and only one biscuit
remained; and Belton's whole soul was now centered on that biscuit.
In his eagerness to watch he leaned a good distance out, and when the
preacher reached forth his hand to take the last one Belton was so
overcome that he lost his balance and tumbled out of his hole on the
floor, kicking, and crying over and over again: "I knowed I wuzunt
goin' to git naren dem biscuits."

The startled preacher hastily arose from the table and gazed on the
little fellow in bewilderment. As soon as it dawned upon him what
the trouble was, he hastily got the remaining biscuit and gave it to
Belton. He also discovered that his voracity had made enemies of the
rest of the children, and he very adroitly passed a five cent piece
around to each.

James Henry, forgetting his altitude and anxious not to lose his
recompense, cried out loudly from the loft: "Amanda Ann you git mine
fur me."

The preacher looked up but saw no one. Seeing that his request did not
have the desired effect, James Henry soon tumbled down full of dust,
straw and cobwebs, and came into possession of his appeasing money.
The preacher laughed heartily and seemed to enjoy his experience
highly.

The table was cleared, and the preacher and Mrs. Piedmont dismissed
the children in order to discuss unmolested the subject which had
prompted her to extend an invitation to the parson. In view of the
intense dislike the teacher had conceived for Belton, she desired
to know if it were not best to withdraw him from school altogether,
rather than to subject him to the harsh treatment sure to come.

"Let me gib yer my advis, sistah Hannah. De greatest t'ing in de wul
is edification. Ef our race ken git dat we ken git ebery t'ing else.
Dat is de key. Git de key an' yer ken go in de house to go whare you
please. As fur his beatin' de brat, yer musn't kick agin dat. He'll
beat de brat to make him larn, and won't dat be a blessed t'ing? See
dis scar on side my head? Old marse Sampson knocked me down wid a
single-tree tryin' to make me stop larning, and God is so fixed it dat
white folks is knocking es down ef we don't larn. Ef yer take Belton
out of school yer'll be fighting 'genst de providence of God."

Being thus advised by her shepherd, Mrs. Piedmont decided to keep
Belton in school. So on Monday Belton went back to his brutal teacher,
and thither we follow him.




CHAPTER IV.

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.




CHAPTER V.

BELTON FINDS A FRIEND.


Long before the rifle ball, the cannon shot, and the exploding shell
were through their fiendish task of covering the earth with mortals
slain; while the startled air was yet busy in hurrying to Heaven
the groans of the dying soldier, accompanied as they were by the
despairing shrieks of his loved ones behind; while horrid War, in
frenzied joy, yet waved his bloody sword over the nation's head, and
sought with eager eagle eyes every drop of clotted gore over which he
might exult; in the midst of such direful days as these, there were
those at the North whom the love of God and the eye of faith taught to
leap over the scene of strife to prepare the trembling negro for the
day of freedom, which, refusing to have a dawn, had burst in meridian
splendor upon his dazzled gaze.

Into the southland there came rushing consecrated Christians, men and
women, eager to provide for the negro a Christian education. Those
who stayed behind gathered up hoarded treasures and gladly poured them
into the lap of the South for the same laudable purpose. As a result
of the coming of this army of workers, bearing in their arms millions
of money, ere many years had sped, well nigh every southern state
could proudly boast of one or more colleges where the aspiring negro
might quench has thirst for knowledge.

So when Bernard and Belton had finished their careers at the
Winchester public school, colleges abounded in the South beckoning
them to enter. Bernard preferred to go to a northern institution, and
his mother sent him to enter Harvard University.

Belton was poor and had no means of his own with which to pursue his
education; but by the hand of providence a most unexpected door was
opened to him. The Winchester correspondent of the _Richmond Daily
Temps_ reported the commencement exercises of the Winchester public
school of the day that Belton graduated. The congressman present
at the exercises spoke so highly of Belton's speech that the
correspondent secured a copy from Belton and sent it to the editor of
_The Temps_.

This was printed in _The Temps_ and created a great sensation in
political and literary circles in every section of the country. Every
newspaper of any consequence reproduced the oration in full. It was
published and commented upon by the leading journals of England. The
President of the United States wrote a letter of congratulation to
Belton. Everywhere the piece was hailed as a classic.

After reading the oration, Mr. V.M. King, editor of _The Temps_,
decided to take it home with him and read it to his wife. She met him
at the door and as he kissed her she noticed that there was a sober
look in his eye. Tenderly he brushed back a few stray locks of his
wife's hair, saying as he did so, in a somewhat troubled tone: "Wife,
it has come at last. May the good Lord cease not to watch over our
beloved but erring land." She inquired as to what he meant. He led her
to his study and read to her Belton's oration.

In order to understand the words which we have just quoted as being
spoken by him to his wife, let us, while he reads, become a little
better acquainted with Mr. King and his paper, _The Temps_.

Mr. King was born and reared in Virginia, was educated at a Northern
University, and had sojourned for several years in England. He was a
man of the broadest culture. For several years he had given the negro
problem most profound study. His views on the subject were regarded
by the white people of the South as ultra-liberal. These views he
exploited through his paper, _The Temps_, with a boldness and vigor,
gaining thereby great notoriety.

Though a democrat in politics, he was most bitterly opposed to the
practice, almost universal in the South, of cheating the negro out
of his right to vote. He preached that it was unjust to the negro and
fatal to the morals of the whites.

On every possible occasion he viciously assaulted the practice of
lynching, denouncing it in most scathing terms. In short, he was an
outspoken advocate of giving the negro every right accorded him by the
Constitution of the United States.

He saw the South leading the young negro boy and girl to school,
where, at the expense of the state, they were taught to read history
and learn what real liberty was, and the glorious struggles through
which the human race had come in order to possess it. He foresaw that
the rising, educated negro would allow his eye to linger long on
this bloody but glorious page until that most contagious of diseases,
devotion to liberty, infected his soul.

He reasoned that the negro who had endured the hardships of slavery
might spend his time looking back and thanking God for that from
which he had made his escape; but the young negro, knowing nothing
of physical slavery, would be peering into the future, measuring the
distance that he had yet to go before he was truly free, and would
be asking God and his own right arm for the power to secure whatever
rights were still withheld.

He argued that, living as the negro did beneath the American flag,
known as the flag of freedom, studying American history, and listening
on the outer edge of great Fourth of July crowds to eloquent orators
discourse on freedom, it was only a matter of a few years before the
negro would deify liberty as the Anglo-Saxon race had done, and count
it a joy to perish on her altar.

In order that the Republic might ever stand, he knew that the
principles of liberty would have to be continually taught with all
the eloquence and astuteness at command; and if this teaching had the
desired effect upon the white man it would also be powerful enough to
awaken the negro standing by his side.

So, his ear was to the ground, expecting every moment to hear the
far off sounds of awakened negroes coming to ask for liberty, and if
refused, to slay or be slain.

When he read Belton's oration he saw that the flame of liberty was in
his heart, her sword in his hand, and the disdain of death stamped on
his brow. He felt that Belton was the morning star which told by its
presence that dawn was near at hand.

Thus it was that he said to his wife: "Wife, it has come at last. May
the good Lord cease not to watch over our beloved land."

This expression was not the offspring of fear as to the outcome of a
possible conflict, for, Anglo-Saxon like, that was with him a foregone
conclusion in favor of his own race. But he shuddered at the awful
carnage that would of necessity ensue if two races, living house to
house, street to street, should be equally determined upon a question
at issue, equally disdainful of life, fighting with the rancor always
attendant upon a struggle between two races that mutually despise and
detest each other.

He knew that it was more humane, more in accordance with right, more
acceptable with God, to admit to the negro that Anglo-Saxon doctrine
of the equality of man was true, rather than to murder the negro for
accepting him at his word, though spoken to others.

Feeling thus, he pleaded with his people to grant to the negro his
rights, though he never hinted at a possible rebellion, for fear that
the mention of it might hasten the birth of the idea in the brain of
the negro.

That evening, after he had read the oration to his wife and told her
of his forebodings, he sat with his face buried in his hands, brooding
over the situation. Late in the night he retired to rest, and the next
morning, when he awoke, his wife was standing by his bed, calling him.
She saw that his sleep was restless and thought that he was having
troubled dreams. And so he was.

He dreamed that a large drove of fatted swine were munching acorns
in a very dense forest of oaks, both tall and large. The oaks were
sending the acorns down in showers, and the hogs were greedily
consuming them. The hogs ate so many that they burst open, and from
their rotting carcasses fresh oaks sprang and grew with surprising
rapidity. A dark cloud arose and a terrible hurricane swept over the
forest; and the old and new oaks fought furiously in the storm, until
a loud voice, like unto that of a God, cried out above all the din of
the hurricane, saying in tones of thunder: "Know ye not that ye are
parents and children? Parents, recognize your children. Children, be
proud of the parents from whom you spring."

The hurricane ceased, the clouds sped away as if in terror, and
the oaks grew up together under a clear sky of the purest blue, and
beautiful birds of all kinds built their nests in the trees, and
carolled forth the sweetest songs.

He placed upon the dream the following interpretation:

The swine were the negroes. The oak trees were the white people. The
acorns were the doctrine of human liberty, everywhere preached by
Anglo-Saxons. The negroes, feasting off of the same thought, had
become the same kind of being as the white man, and grew up to a point
of equality. The hurricane was the contest between the two races over
the question of equality. The voice was intended to inform the whites
that they had brought about these aspirations in the bosom of
the negro, and that the liberty-loving negro was their legitimate
offspring, and not a bastard. The whites should recognize their own
doings. On the other hand, the negro should not be over boastful, and
should recognize that the lofty conception of the dignity of man
and value and true character of liberty were taught him by
the Anglo-Saxon. The birds betokened a happy adjustment of all
differences; and the dream that began in the gloom of night ended in
the dawn of day.

Mr. King was very cheerful, therefore, and decided to send to
Winchester for Belton, thinking that it might be a wise thing to keep
an eye and a friendly hand on a young negro of such promise. In
the course of a couple of days, Belton, in response to his request,
arrived in Richmond. He called at the office of _The Temps_ and was
ushered into Mr. King's office.

Mr. King had him take a seat. He enquired of Belton his history,
training, etc. He also asked as to his plans for the future. Finding
that Belton was desirous of securing a college education, but was
destitute of funds, Mr. King gladly embraced the opportunity of
displaying his kind interest. He offered to pay Belton's way through
college, and the offer was gladly accepted.

He told Belton to call at his home that evening at seven o'clock to
receive a check for his entire college course. At the appointed hour
Belton appeared at Mr. King's residence.

Mr. King was sitting on his front porch, between his wife and aged
mother, while his two children, a girl and boy, were playing on the
lawn. Belton was invited to take a seat, much to his surprise.

Seeing a stranger, the children left their play and came to their
father, one on each side. They looked with questioning eyes from
father to Belton, as if seeking to know the purpose of the visit.

Mr. King took the check from his pocket and extended it toward Belton,
and said: "Mr. Piedmont, this will carry you through college. I have
only one favor to ask of you. In all your dealings with my people
recognize the fact that there are two widely separated classes of us,
and that there is a good side to the character of the worst class.
Always seek for and appeal to that side of their nature."

Belton very feelingly thanked Mr. King, and assured him that he would
treasure his words. He was true to his promise, and decided from that
moment to never class all white men together, whatever might be the
provocation, and to never regard any class as totally depraved.

This is one of the keys to his future life. Remember it.




CHAPTER VI.

A YOUNG REBEL.


In the city of Nashville, Tennessee, there is a far famed institution
of learning called Stowe University, in honor of Mrs. Harriet Beecher
Stowe, author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin."

This institution was one of the many scores of its kind, established
in the South by Northern philanthropy, for the higher education of the
Negro. Though called a university, it was scarcely more than a normal
school with a college department attached.

It was situated just on the outskirts of the city, on a beautiful
ten-acre plot of ground. The buildings were five in number, consisting
of a dormitory for young men, two for young ladies, a building for
recitations, and another, called the teachers' mansion; for the
teachers resided there. These buildings were very handsome, and were
so arranged upon the level campus as to present a very attractive
sight.

With the money which had been so generously given him by Mr. King,
Belton entered this school. That was a proud day in his life when he
stepped out of the carriage and opened the University gate, feeling
that he, a Negro, was privileged to enter college. Julius Caesar,
on entering Rome in triumph, with the world securely chained to his
chariot wheels; Napoleon, bowing to receive the diadem of the Caesars'
won by the most notable victories ever known to earth; General Grant,
on his triumphal tour around the globe, when kings and queens were
eager rivals to secure from this man of humble birth the sweeter
smile; none of these were more full of pleasurable emotion than this
poor Negro lad, who now with elastic step and beating heart marched
with head erect beneath the arch of the doorway leading into Stowe
University.

Belton arrived on the Saturday preceding the Monday on which school
would open for that session. He found about three hundred and
sixty students there from all parts of the South, the young women
outnumbering the young men in about the proportion of two to one.

On the Sunday night following his arrival the students all assembled
in the general assembly room of the recitation building, which room,
in the absence of a chapel, was used as the place for religious
worship. The president of the school, a venerable white minister from
the North, had charge of the service that evening. He did not on this
occasion preach a sermon, but devoted the hour to discoursing upon
the philanthropic work done by the white people of the North for the
freedmen of the South.

A map of the United States was hanging on the wall, facing the
assembled school. On this map there were black dots indicating all
places where a school of learning had been planted for the colored
people by their white friends of the North. Belton sat closely
scrutinizing the map. His eyes swept from one end to the other.
Persons were allowed to ask any questions desired, and Belton was very
inquisitive.

When the hour of the lecture was over he was deeply impressed with
three thoughts: First, his heart went out in love to those who had
given so freely of their means and to those who had dedicated their
lives to the work of uplifting his people.

Secondly, he saw an immense army of young men and women being trained
in the very best manner in every section of the South, to go forth to
grapple with the great problems before them. He felt proud of being a
member of so promising an army, and felt that they were to determine
the future of the race. In fact, this thought was reiterated time and
again by the president.

Thirdly, Belton was impressed that it was the duty of those receiving
such great blessings to accomplish achievements worthy of the care
bestowed. He felt that the eyes of the North and of the civilized
world were upon them to see the fruits of the great labor and money
spent upon them.

Before he retired to rest that night, he besought God to enable him
and his people, as a mark of appreciation of what had been done for
the race, to rise to the full measure of just expectation and prove
worthy of all the care bestowed. He went through school, therefore, as
though the eyes of the world were looking at the race enquiringly; the
eyes of the North expectantly; and the eyes of God lovingly,--three
grand incentives to his soul.

When these schools were first projected, the White South that
then was, fought them with every weapon at its command. Ridicule,
villification, ostracism, violence, arson, murder were all employed
to hinder the progress of the work. Outsiders looked on and thought
it strange that they should do this. But, just as a snake, though a
venomous animal, by instinct knows its enemy and fights for its life
with desperation, just so the Old South instinctively foresaw danger
to its social fabric as then constituted, and therefore despised
and fought the agencies that were training and inspiring the future
leaders of the Negro race in such a manner as to render a conflict
inevitable and of doubtful termination.

The errors in the South, anxious for eternal life, rightfully feared
these schools more than they would have feared factories making
powder, moulding balls and fashioning cannons. But the New South, the
South that, in the providence of God, is yet to be, could not have
been formed in the womb of time had it not been for these schools. And
so the receding murmurs of the scowling South that was, are lost in
the gladsome shouts of the South which, please God, is yet to be.

But lest we linger too long, let us enter school here with Belton.
On the Monday following the Sunday night previously indicated, Belton
walked into the general assembly room to take his seat with the other
three hundred and sixty pupils. It was the custom for the school to
thus assemble for devotional exercises. The teachers sat in a row
across the platform, facing the pupils. The president sat immediately
in front of the desk, in the center of the platform, and the teachers
sat on either side of him.

To Belton's surprise, he saw a colored man sitting on the right
side of and next to the president. He was sitting there calmly,
self-possessed, exactly like the rest. He crossed his legs and stroked
his beard in a most matter of fact way. Belton stared at this colored
man, with his lips apart and his body bent forward. He let his eyes
scan the faces of all the white teachers, male and female, but would
end up with a stare at the colored man sitting there. Finally, he
hunched his seat-mate with his elbow and asked what man that was. He
was told that it was the colored teacher of the faculty.

Belton knew that there was a colored teacher in the school but he had
no idea that he would be thus honored with a seat with the rest of
the teachers. A broad, happy smile spread over his face, and his
eyes danced with delight. He had, in his boyish heart, dreamed of the
equality of the races and sighed and hoped for it; but here, he beheld
it in reality. Though he, as a rule, shut his eyes when prayer was
being offered, he kept them open that morning, and peeped through his
fingers at that thrilling sight,--a colored man on equal terms with
the white college professors.

Just before the classes were dismissed to their respective class
rooms, the teachers came together in a group to discuss some matter,
in an informal way. The colored teacher was in the center of the group
and discussed the matter as freely as any; and he was listened to with
every mark of respect. Belton kept a keen watch on the conference
and began rubbing his hands and chuckling to himself with delight at
seeing the colored teacher participating on equal terms with the other
teachers.

The colored teacher's views seemed about to prevail, and as one after
another the teachers seemed to fall in line with him Belton could not
contain himself longer, but clapped his hands and gave a loud, joyful,
"Ha! ha!"

The eyes of the whole school were on him in an instant, and the
faculty turned around to discover the source and cause of the
disorder. But Belton had come to himself as soon as he made the noise,
and in a twinkling was as quiet and solemn looking as a mouse.

The faculty resumed its conference and the students passed the query
around as to what was the matter with the "newcomer." A number tapped
their heads significantly, saying: "Wrong here." How far wrong were
they! They should have put their hands over their hearts and said:
"The fire of patriotism here;" for Belton had here on a small scale,
the gratification of the deepest passion of his soul, viz., Equality
of the races. And what pleased him as much as anything else was the
dignified, matter of fact way in which the teacher bore his honors.
Belton afterwards discovered that this colored man was vice-president
of the faculty.

On a morning, later in the session, the president announced that the
faculty would hold its regular weekly meeting that evening, but that
he would have to be in the city to attend to other masters. Belton's
heart bounded at the announcement. Knowing that the colored teacher
was vice-president of the faculty, he saw that he would preside.
Belton determined to see that meeting of the faculty if it cost him no
end of trouble. He could not afford, under any circumstances, to fail
to see that colored man preside over those white men and women.

That night, about 8:30 o'clock, when the faculty meeting had
progressed about half way, Belton made a rope of his bed clothes and
let himself down to the ground from the window of his room on the
second floor of the building. About twenty yards distant was the
"mansion," in one room of which the teachers held their faculty
meetings. The room in which the meeting was held was on the side of
the "mansion" furthest from the dormitory from which Belton had
just come. The "mansion" dog was Belton's friend, and a soft whistle
quieted his bark. Belton stole around to the side of the house, where
the meeting was being held. The weather was mild and the window was
hoisted. Belton fell on his knees and crawled to the window, and
pulling it up cautiously peeped in. He saw the colored teacher in
the chair in the center of the room and others sitting about here and
there. He gazed with rapture on the sight. He watched, unmolested, for
a long while.

One of the lady teachers was tearing up a piece of paper and arose to
come to the window to throw it out. Belton was listening, just at that
time, to what the colored teacher was saying, and did not see the lady
coming in his direction. Nor did the lady see the form of a man until
she was near at hand. At the sight she threw up her hands and
screamed loudly from fright. Belton turned and fled precipitately.
The chicken-coop door had been accidentally left open and Belton,
unthinkingly, jumped into the chicken house. The chickens set up a
lively cackle, much to his chagrin. He grasped an old rooster to stop
him, but missing the rooster's throat, the rooster gave the alarm all
the more vociferously. Teachers had now crowded to the window and were
peering out. Some of the men started to the door to come out. Belton
saw this movement and decided that the best way for him to do was to
play chicken thief and run. Grasping a hen with his other hand, he
darted out of the chicken house and fled from the college ground,
the chickens squalling all the while. He leapt the college fence at a
bound and wrung off the heads of the chickens to stop the noise.

The teachers decided that they had been visited by a Negro,
hunting for chickens; laughed heartily at their fright and resumed
deliberations. Thus again a patriot was mistaken for a chicken thief;
and in the South to-day a race that dreams of freedom, equality, and
empire, far more than is imagined, is put down as a race of chicken
thieves. As in Belton's case, this conception diverts attention from
places where startling things would otherwise be discovered.

In due time Belton crept back to the dormitory, and by a signal agreed
upon, roused his room-mate, who let down the rope, by means of which
he ascended; and when seated gave his room-mate an account of his
adventure.

Sometime later on, Belton in company with another student was sent
over to a sister University in Nashville to carry a note for the
president. This University also had a colored teacher who was one
point in advance of Belton's. This teacher ate at the same table with
the white teachers, while Belton's teacher ate with the students.
Belton passed by the dining room of the teachers of this sister
University and saw the colored teacher enjoying a meal with the white
teachers. He could not enjoy the sight as much as he would have liked,
from thinking about the treatment his teacher was receiving. He had
not, prior to this, thought of that discrimination, but now it burned
him.

He returned to his school and before many days had passed he had
called together all the male students. He informed them that they
ought to perfect a secret organization and have a password. They all
agreed to secrecy and Belton gave this as the pass word: "Equality or
Death."

He then told them that it was his ambition and purpose to coerce the
white teachers into allowing the colored teacher to eat with them.
They all very readily agreed; for the matter of his eating had been
thoroughly canvassed for a number of sessions, but it seemed as though
no one dared to suggest a combination. During slavery all combinations
of slaves were sedulously guarded against, and a fear of combinations
seems to have been injected into the Negro's very blood.

The very boldness of Belton's idea swept the students away from the
lethargic harbor in which they had been anchored, and they were eager
for action. Belton was instructed to prepare the complaint, which they
all agreed to sign. They decided that it was to be presented to the
president just before devotional exercises and an answer was to be
demanded forthwith. One of the young men had a sister among the young
lady students, and, through her Belton's rebellion was organized among
the girls and their signatures secured.

The eventful morning came. The teachers glanced over the assembled
students, and were surprised to see them dressed in their best clothes
as though it was the Sabbath. There was a quiet satisfied look on
their faces that the teachers did not understand.

The president arrived a little late and found an official envelope
on his desk. He hurriedly broke the seal and began to read. His color
came and went. The teachers looked at him wonderingly. The president
laid the document aside and began the devotional exercises. He was
nervous throughout, and made several blunders. He held his hymn book
upside down while they were singing, much to the amusement of the
school. It took him some time to find the passage of scripture which
he desired to read, and after reading forgot for some seconds to call
on some one to pray.

When the exercises were through he arose and took the document
nervously in hand. He said; "I have in my hands a paper from the
students of this institution concerning a matter with which they have
nothing to do. This is my answer. The classes will please retire."
Here he gave three strokes to the gong, the signal for dispersion. But
not a student moved. The president was amazed. He could not believe
his own eyes. He rang the gong a second time and yet no one moved. He
then in nervous tones repeated his former assertions and then pulled
the gong nervously many times in succession. All remained still. At
a signal from Belton, all the students lifted their right hands,
each bearing a small white board on which was printed in clear type:
"Equality or Death."

The president fell back, aghast, and the white teachers were all
struck dumb with fear. They had not dreamed that a combination of
their pupils was possible, and they knew not what it foreboded. A
number grasped the paper that was giving so much trouble and read it.
They all then held a hurried consultation and assured the students
that the matter should receive due attention.

The president then rang the gong again but the students yet remained.
Belton then arose and stated that it was the determination of the
students to not move an inch unless the matter was adjusted then and
there. And that faculty of white teachers beat a hasty retreat and
held up the white flag! They agreed that the colored teacher should
eat with them.

The students broke forth into cheering, and flaunted a black flag on
which was painted in white letters; "Victory." They rose and marched
out of doors two by two, singing "John Brown's Body lies mouldering in
the grave, and we go marching on."

The confused and bewildered teachers remained behind, busy with their
thoughts. They felt like hens who had lost their broods. The
cringing, fawning, sniffling, cowardly Negro which slavery left,
had disappeared, and a new Negro, self-respecting, fearless, and
determined in the assertion of his rights was at hand.

Ye who chronicle history and mark epochs in the career of races and
nations must put here a towering, gigantic, century stone, as marking
the passing of one and the ushering in of another great era in the
history of the colored people of the United States. Rebellions, for
one cause or another, broke out in almost every one of these schools
presided over by white faculties, and as a rule, the Negro students
triumphed.

These men who engineered and participated in these rebellions were the
future leaders of their race. In these rebellions, they learned the
power of combinations, and that white men could be made to capitulate
to colored men under certain circumstances. In these schools, probably
one hundred thousand students had these thoughts instilled in them.
These one hundred thousand went to their respective homes and told
of their prowess to their playmates who could not follow them to the
college walls. In the light of these facts the great events yet to be
recorded are fully accounted for.

Remember that this was Belton's first taste of rebellion against the
whites for the securing of rights denied simply because of color. In
after life he is the moving, controlling, guiding spirit in one on
a far larger scale; it need not come as a surprise. His teachers and
school-mates predicted this of him.




CHAPTER VII.

A SERMON, A SOCK AND A FIGHT.


Belton remained at Stowe University, acquiring fame as an orator and
scholar. His intellect was pronounced by all to be marvelously bright.

We now pass over all his school career until we come to the closing
days of the session in which he graduated. School was to close on
Thursday, and the Sunday night previous had been designated as the
time for the Baccalaureate sermon. On this occasion the entire
school assembled in the general assembly room,--the graduating class
occupying the row of front seats stretching across the room. The
class, this year, numbered twenty-five; and they presented an
appearance that caused the hearts of the people to swell with pride.

Dr. Lovejoy, president of the University, was to preach the sermon. He
chose for his text, "The Kingdom of God is within us." We shall choose
from his discourse just such thoughts as may throw light upon some
events yet to be recorded, which might not otherwise be accounted for:

"Young men, we shall soon push you forth into the midst of a turbulent
world, to play such a part as the voice of God may assign you. You
go forth, amid the shouts and huzzahs of cheering friends, and the
anxious prayers of the faithful of God. The part that you play, the
character of your return journey, triumphant or inglorious, will
depend largely upon how well you have learned the lesson of this text.
Remember that the kingdom of God is within you. Do not go forth into
the world to demand favors of the world, but go forth to give unto the
world. Be strong in your own hearts.

"The world is like unto a wounded animal that has run a long way and
now lies stretched upon the ground, the blood oozing forth from gaping
wounds and pains darting through its entire frame. The huntsman, who
comes along to secure and drink the feverish milk of this animal that
is all but a rotting carcass, seriously endangers his own well being.
So, young men, do not look upon this dying, decaying world to feed
and support you. You must feed and support it. Carry fresh, warm,
invigorating blood in your veins to inject into the veins of the
world. This is far safer and nobler than sticking the lance into the
swollen veins of the world, to draw forth its putrid blood for your
own use. I not only exhort you but I warn you. You may go to this
dying animal as a surgeon, and proceed to cut off the sound portions
for your own use. You may deceive the world for awhile, but it will,
ere long, discover whether you are a vandal or a surgeon; and if it
finds you to be the former, when you are closest to its bosom, it will
squeeze you tightly and tear your face to shreds.

"I wish now to apply these thoughts to your immediate circumstances.

"You shall be called upon to play a part in the adjusting of positions
between the negro and Anglo-Saxon races of the South. The present
status of affairs cannot possibly remain. The Anglo-Saxon race must
surrender some of its outposts, and the negro will occupy these. To
bring about this evacuation on the part of the Anglo-Saxon, and the
forward march of the negro, will be your task. This is a grave and
delicate task, fraught with much good or evil, weal or woe. Let us
urge you to undertake it in the spirit to benefit the world, and not
merely to advance your own glory.

"The passions of men will soon be running high, and by feeding these
passions with the food for which they clamor you may attain the
designation of a hero. But, with all the energy of my soul, I exhort
you to not play with fire, merely for the sake of the glare that it
may cast upon you. Use no crisis for self-aggrandizement. Be so full
of your own soul's wealth that these temptations may not appeal to
you. When your vessel is ploughing the roughest seas and encountering
the fiercest gales, consult as your chart the welfare of the ship and
crew, though you may temporarily lose fame as a captain.

"Young men, you are highly favored of God. A glorious destiny awaits
your people. The gates of the beautiful land of the future are flung
wide. Your people stand before these gates peering eagerly within.
They are ready to march. They are waiting for their commanders and
the command to move forward. You are the commanders who must give the
command. I urge, I exhort, I beseech you, my dear boys, to think not
of yourselves. Let your kingdom be within. Lead them as they ought to
be led, taking no thought to your own glory.

"If you heed my voice you shall become true patriots. If you disregard
it, you will become time-serving demagogues, playing upon the passions
of the people for the sake of short-lived notoriety. Such men would
corral all the tigers in the forest and organize them into marauding
regiments simply for the honor of being in the lead. Be ye none of
these, my boys. May your Alma Mater never feel called upon to cry to
God in anguish to paralyze the hand that she herself has trained.

"Be not a burrowing parasite, feasting off of the world's raw blood.
Let the world draw life from you. Use not the misfortunes of your
people as stones of a monument erected to your name. If you do, the
iron fist of time will knock it over on your grave to crumble your
decaying bones to further dust.

"Always serve the world as the voice of good conscience, instructed by
a righteous God, may direct. Do this and thou shalt live; live in the
sweetened memory of your countrymen; live in the heart of your Alma
Mater; live when the earth is floating dust, when the stars are dead,
when the sun is a charred and blackened ruin; live on the bosom of
your Savior, by the throne of his God, in the eternal Heavens."

The teacher's soul was truly in his discourse and his thoughts sank
deep into the hearts of his hearers. None listened more attentively
than Belton. None were more deeply impressed than he. None more
readily incorporated the principles enumerated as a part of their
living lives.

When the preacher sat down he bowed his head in his hands. His frame
shook. His white locks fluttered in the gentle spring breeze. In
silence he prayed. He earnestly implored God to not allow his work
and words to be in vain. The same fervent prayer was on Belton's lips,
rising from the center of his soul. Somewhere, these prayers met,
locked arms and went before God together. In due time the answer came.

This sermon had much to do with Belton's subsequent career. But an
incident apparently trivial in itself was the occasion of a private
discourse that had even greater influence over him. It occurred
on Thursday following the night of the delivery of the sermon just
reported. It was on this wise:

Belton had, in everything, excelled his entire class, and was,
according to the custom, made valedictorian. His room-mate was
insanely jealous of him, and sought every way possible to humiliate
him. He had racked his brain for a scheme to play on Belton on
commencement day, and he at last found one that gave him satisfaction.

There was a student in Stowe University who was noted for his immense
height and for the size and scent of his feet. His feet perspired
freely, summer and winter, and the smell was exceedingly offensive. On
this account he roomed to himself. Whenever other students called to
see him he had a very effective way of getting rid of them, when he
judged that they had stayed long enough. He would complain of a corn
and forthwith pull off a shoe. If his room was crowded, this act
invariably caused it to be empty. The fame of these feet spread to
the teachers and young ladies, and, in fact, to the city. And the huge
Mississippian seemed to relish the distinction.

Whenever Belton was to deliver an oration he always arranged his
clothes the night beforehand. So, on the Wednesday night of the week
in question, he carefully brushed and arranged his clothes for the
next day. In the valedictory there were many really touching things,
and in rehearsing it before his room-mate Belton had often shed tears.
Fearing that he might he so touched that tears would come to his eyes
in the final delivery, he had bought a most beautiful and costly silk
handkerchief. He carefully stowed this away in the tail pocket of his
handsome Prince Albert suit of lovely black. He hung his coat in the
wardrobe, very carefully, so that he would merely have to take it down
and put it on the next day.

His room-mate watched his movements closely, but slyly. He arose when
he saw Belton hang his coat up. He went down the corridor until he
arrived at the room occupied by the Mississippian. He knocked, and
after some little delay, was allowed to enter.

The Mississippian was busy rehearsing his oration and did not care
to be bothered. But he sat down to entertain Belton's room-mate for a
while. He did not care to rehearse his oration before him and he felt
able to rout him at any time. They conversed on various things for
a while, when Belton's room-mate took up a book and soon appeared
absorbed in reading. He was sitting on one side of a study table
in the center of the room while the Mississippian was on the other.
Thinking that his visitor had now stayed about long enough, the
Mississippian stooped down quietly and removed one shoe. He slyly
watched Belton's room-mate, chuckling inwardly. But his fun died away
into a feeling of surprise when he saw that his shoeless foot was not
even attracting attention.

He stooped down and pulled off the other shoe, and his surprise
developed into amazement when he saw that the combined attack produced
no result. Belton's room-mate seemed absorbed in reading.

The Mississippian next pulled off his coat and pretending to yawn and
stretch, lifted his arms just so that the junction of his arm with
his shoulder was on a direct line with his visitor's nose.
Belton's room-mate made a slight grimace, but kept on reading. The
Mississippian was dumbfounded.

He then signified his intention of retiring to bed and undressed,
eyeing his visitor all the while, hoping that the scent of his whole
body would succeed.

He got into bed and was soon snoring loudly enough to be heard two or
three rooms away; but Belton's room-mate seemed to pay no attention to
the snoring.

The Mississippian gave up the battle in disgust, saying to himself:
"That fellow regards scents and noises just as though he was a
buzzard, hatched in a cleft of the roaring Niagara Falls." So saying,
he fell asleep in reality and the snoring increased in volume and
speed.

Belton's room-mate now took a pair of large new socks out of his
pocket and put them into the Mississippian's shoes, from which he took
the dirty socks already there. Having these dirty socks, he quietly
tips out of the room and returns to his and Belton's room.

Belton desired to make the speech of his life the next day, and had
retired to rest early so as to be in prime nervous condition for the
effort. His room-mate stole to the wardrobe and stealthily extracted
the silk handkerchief and put these dirty socks in its stead. Belton
was then asleep, perhaps dreaming of the glories of the morrow.

Thursday dawned and Belton arose, fresh and vigorous. He was cheerful
and buoyant that day; he was to graduate bedecked with all the honors
of his class. Mr. King, his benefactor, was to be present. His mother
had saved up her scant earnings and had come to see her son wind up
the career on which she had sent him forth, years ago.

The assembly room was decorated with choice flowers and presented
the appearance of the Garden of Eden. On one side of the room sat the
young lady pupils, while on the other the young men sat. Visitors from
the city came in droves and men of distinction sat on the platform.
The programme was a good one, but all eyes dropped to the bottom in
quest of Belton's name; for his fame as an orator was great, indeed.
The programme passed off as arranged, giving satisfaction and whetting
the appetite for Belton's oration. The president announced Belton's
name amid a thundering of applause. He stepped forth and cast a tender
look in the direction of the fair maiden who had contrived to send him
that tiny white bud that showed up so well on his black coat. He moved
to the center of the platform and was lustily cheered, he walked with
such superb grace and dignity.

He began his oration, capturing his audience with his first sentence
and bearing them along on the powerful pinions of his masterly
oratory; and when his peroration was over the audience drew its
breath and cheered wildly for many, many minutes. He then proceeded to
deliver the valedictory to the class. After he had been speaking for
some time, his voice began to break with emotion. As he drew near
to the most affecting portion he reached to his coat tail pocket to
secure his silk handkerchief to brush away the gathering tears. As
his hand left his pocket a smile was on well-nigh every face in the
audience, but Belton did not see this, but with bowed head, proceeded
with his pathetic utterances.

The audience of course was struggling between the pathos of his
remarks and the humor of those dirty socks.

Belton's sweetheart began to cry from chagrin and his mother grew
restless, anxious to tell him or let him know in some way. Belton's
head continued bowed in sadness, as he spoke parting words to his
beloved classmates, and lifted his supposed handkerchief to his eyes
to wipe away the tears that were now coming freely. The socks had thus
come close to Belton's nose and he stopped of a sudden and held them
at arm's length to gaze at that terrible, terrible scent producer.
When he saw what he held in his hand he flung them in front of him,
they falling on some students, who hastily brushed them off.

The house, by this time, was in an uproar of laughter; and the
astonished Belton gazed blankly at the socks lying before him. His
mind was a mass of confusion. He hardly knew where he was or what
he was doing. Self-possession, in a measure, returned to him, and he
said: "Ladies and gentlemen, these socks are from Mississippi. I am
from Virginia."

This reference to the Mississippian was greeted by an even louder
outburst of laughter. Belton bowed and left the platform, murmuring
that he would find and kill the rascal who had played that trick on
him. The people saw the terrible frown on his face, and the president
heard the revengeful words, and all feared that the incident was not
closed.

Belton hurried out of the speakers' room and hastily ran to the city
to purchase a pistol. Having secured it, he came walking back at a
furious pace. By this time the exercises were over and friends were
returning to town. They desired to approach Belton and compliment him,
and urge him to look lightly on his humorous finale; but he looked so
desperate that none dared to approach him.

The president was on the lookout for Belton and met him at the door of
the boys' dormitory. He accosted Belton tenderly and placed his hand
on his shoulder. Belton roughly pushed him aside and strode into the
building and roamed through it, in search of his room-mate, whom he
now felt assured did him the trick.

But his room-mate, foreseeing the consequences of detection, had made
beforehand every preparation for leaving and was now gone. No one
could quiet Belton during that whole day, and he spent the night
meditating plans for wreaking vengeance.

The next morning the president came over early, and entering Belton's
room, was more kindly received. He took Belton's hand in his and sat
down near his side. He talked to Belton long and earnestly, showing
him what an unholy passion revenge was. He showed that such a passion
would mar any life that yielded to it.

Belton, he urged, was about to allow a pair of dirty socks to wreck
his whole life. He drew a picture of the suffering Savior, crying out
between darting pains the words of the sentence, the most sublime ever
uttered: "Lord forgive them for they know not what they do." Belton
was melted to tears of repentance for his unholy passion.

Before the president left Belton's side he felt sure that henceforth a
cardinal principle of his life would be to allow God to avenge all his
wrongs. It was a narrow escape for Belton; but he thanked God for the
lesson, severe as it was, to the day of his death. The world will
also see how much it owes to God for planting that lesson in Belton's
heart.

Let us relate just one more incident that happened at the winding
up of Belton's school life. As we have intimated, one young lady, a
student of the school, was very near to Belton. Though he did not love
her, his regard for her was very deep and his respect very great.

School closed on Thursday, and the students were allowed to remain in
the buildings until the following Monday, when, ordinarily, they left.
The young men were allowed to provide conveyances for the young
ladies to get to the various depots. They esteemed that a very great
privilege.

Belton, as you know, was a very poor lad and had but little money.
After paying his expenses incident to his graduation, and purchasing
a ticket home, he now had just one dollar and a quarter left. Out of
this one dollar and a quarter he was to pay for a carriage ride of
this young lady friend to the railway station. This, ordinarily, cost
one dollar, and Belton calculated on having a margin of twenty-five
cents. But you would have judged him the happy possessor of a large
fortune, merely to look at him.

The carriage rolled up to the girls' dormitory and Belton's friend
stood on the steps, with her trunks, three in number. When Belton saw
that his friend had three trunks, his heart sank. In order to be sure
against exorbitant charges the drivers were always made to announce
their prices before the journey was commenced. A crowd of girls was
standing around to bid the young lady adieu. In an off-hand way Belton
said: "Driver what is your fee?" He replied: "For you and the young
lady and the trunks, two dollars, sir."

Belton almost froze in his tracks, but, by the most heroic struggling,
showed no signs of discomfiture on his face. Endeavoring to affect an
air of indifference, he said: "What is the price for the young lady
and the trunks?"

"One dollar and fifty cents."

Belton's eyes were apparently fixed on some spot in the immensity of
space. The driver, thinking that he was meditating getting another
hackman to do the work, added: "You can call any hackman you choose
and you won't find one who will do it for a cent less."

Belton's last prop went with this statement. He turned to his friend
smilingly and told her to enter, with apparently as much indifference
as a millionaire. He got in and sat by her side; but knew not how on
earth he was to get out of his predicament.

The young lady chatted gayly and wondered at Belton's dullness.
Belton, poor fellow, was having a tough wrestle with poverty and
was trying to coin something out of nothing. Now and then, at some
humorous remark, he would smile a faint, sickly smile. Thus it went on
until they arrived at the station. Belton by this time decided upon a
plan of campaign.

They alighted from the carriage and Belton escorted his friend into
the coach. He then came back to speak to the driver. He got around the
corner of the station house, out of sight of the train and beckoned
for the driver to come to him. The driver came and Belton said:
"Friend, here is one dollar and a quarter. It is all I have. Trust me
for the balance until tomorrow."

"Oh! no," replied the driver. "I must have my money to-day. I have to
report to-night and my money must go in. Just fork over the balance,
please."

"Well," said Belton rather independently--for he felt that he now had
the upper hand,--"I have given you all the money that I have. And you
have got to trust me for the balance. You can't take us back," and
Belton started to walk away.

The driver said: "May be that girl has some money. I'll see her."

Terror immediately seized Belton, and he clutched at the man eagerly,
saying: "Ah, no, now, don't resort to any such foolishness. Can't you
trust a fellow?" Belton was now talking very persuasively.

The driver replied: "I don't do business that way. If I had known that
you did not have the money I would not have brought you. I am going to
the young lady."

Belton was now thoroughly frightened and very angry; and he planted
himself squarely in front of the driver and said: "You shall do no
such thing!"

The driver heard the train blow and endeavored to pass. Belton grasped
him by the collar and putting a leg quickly behind him, tripped him
to the ground, falling on top of him. The driver struggled, but Belton
succeeded in getting astride of him and holding him down. The train
shortly pulled out, and Belton jumped up and ran to wave a good-bye to
his girl friend.

Later in the day, the driver had him arrested and the police justice
fined him ten dollars. A crowd of white men who heard Belton's story,
admired his respect for the girl, and paid the fine for him and made
up a purse.

At Stowe University, Belton had learned to respect women. It was in
these schools that the work of slavery in robbing the colored women of
respect, was undone. Woman now occupied the same position in Belton's
eye as she did in the eye of the Anglo-Saxon.

There is hope for that race or nation that respects its women. It was
for the smile of a woman that the armored knight of old rode forth
to deeds of daring. It is for the smile of women that the soldier of
to-day endures the hardships of the camp and braves the dangers of the
field of battle.

The heart of man will joyfully consent to be torn to pieces if the
lovely hand of woman will only agree to bind the parts together again
and heal the painful wounds.

The Negro race had left the last relic of barbarism behind, and this
young negro, fighting to keep that cab driver from approaching the
girl for a fee, was but a forerunner of the negro, who, at the voice
of a woman, will fight for freedom until he dies, fully satisfied if
the hand that he worships will only drop a flower on his grave.

Belton's education was now complete, as far as the school-room goes.

What will he do with it?




CHAPTER VIII.

MANY MYSTERIES CLEARED UP.


On the day prior to the one on which Bernard first entered the public
school of Winchester, Fairfax Belgrave had just arrived in the town.

A costly residence, beautifully located and furnished in the most
luxurious manner, was on the eve of being sold. Mrs. Belgrave
purchased this house and installed herself as mistress thereof. Here
she lived in isolation with her boy, receiving no callers and paying
no visits. Being a devoted Catholic, she attended all the services of
her church and reared Bernard in that faith.

For a time white and colored people speculated much as to who Mrs.
Belgrave was, and as to what was the source of her revenue; for she
was evidently a woman of wealth. She employed many servants and these
were plied with thousands of questions by people of both races. But
the life of Mrs. Belgrave was so circumspect, so far removed from
anything suspicious, and her bearing was so evidently that of a woman
of pure character and high ideals that speculation died out after a
year or two, and the people gave up the finding out of her history as
a thing impossible of achievement. With seemingly unlimited money at
her command, all of Bernard's needs were supplied and his lightest
wishes gratified. Mrs. Belgrave was a woman with very superior
education. The range of her reading was truly remarkable. She
possessed the finest library ever seen in the northern section
of Virginia, and all the best of the latest books were constantly
arriving at her home. Magazines and newspapers arrived by every mail.
Thus she was thoroughly abreast with the times.

As Bernard grew up, he learned to value associating with his mother
above every other pleasure. She superintended his literary training
and cultivated in him a yearning for literature of the highest and
purest type. Politics, science, art, religion, sociology, and, in
fact, the whole realm of human knowledge was invaded and explored.
Such home training was an invaluable supplement to what Bernard
received in school. When, therefore, he entered Harvard, he at once
moved to the front rank in every particular. Many white young men of
wealth and high social standing, attracted by his brilliancy, drew
near him and became his fast friends. In his graduating year, he was
so popular as to be elected president of his class, and so scholarly
as to be made valedictorian.

These achievements on his part were so remarkable that the Associated
Press telegraphed the news over the country, and many were the
laudatory notices that he received. The night of his graduation, when
he had finished delivering his oration that swept all before it as
does the whirlwind and the hurricane, as he stepped out of the door
to take his carriage for home, a tall man with a broad face and long
flowing beard stepped up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

Bernard turned and the man handed him a note. Tearing the envelope
open he saw in his mother's well known handwriting the following:

    "Dear Bernie:

    "Follow this man and trust him as you would your loving
    mother.

      "Fairfax Belgrave."

Bernard dismissed his carriage, ordered to take him to his lodging,
and spoke to the man who had accosted him, saying that he was at his
service. They walked a distance and soon were at the railroad station.
They boarded the train and in due time arrived in Washington, D.C.,
Bernard asking no questions, knowing that a woman as habitually
careful as his mother did not send that message without due care and
grave purpose.

In Washington they took a carriage and were driven to one of the most
fashionable portions of the city, and stopped before a mansion of
splendid appearance. Bernard's escort led the way into the house,
having a key to which all of the doors responded. Bernard was left in
the parlor and told to remain until some one called for him. The tall
man with long flowing beard went to his room and removed his disguise.

In a few minutes a negro servant, sent by this man, appeared and led
Bernard to a room in the rear of the house on the second floor. It was
a large room having two windows, one facing the east and the other the
north.

As he stepped into the room he saw sitting directly facing him a
white man, tall and of a commanding appearance. His hair, and for that
matter his whole noble looking head and handsome face bore a striking
resemblance to Bernard's own. The latter perceived the likeness and
halted in astonishment. The man arose and handed Bernard a note.
Bernard opened it and found it exactly resembling the one handed him
just prior to his journey to Washington.

The man eyed Bernard from head to foot with a look that betrayed the
keenest interest. Opening one of the drawers of his desk he drew
forth a paper. It was a marriage certificate, certifying to a marriage
between Fairfax Belgrave and ------.

"I am your mother's lawful husband, and you are my legitimate child."

Bernard knew not what to say, think, or feel. His mother had so
carefully avoided any mention of her family affairs that he regarded
them as among things sacred, and he never allowed even his thoughts to
wander in that direction.

"I am Senator ------ from the state of ------, chairman of ------
committee."

The information contained in that sentence made Bernard rise from his
seat with a bound. The man's name was a household word throughout the
nation, and his reputation was international.

"Be seated, Bernard, I have much to say to you. I have a long story to
tell. I have been married twice. My first wife's brother was Governor
of ------ and lived and died a bachelor. He was, however, the father
of a child, whose mother was a servant connected with his father's
household. The child was given to my wife to rear, and she accepted
the charge. The child bloomed into a perfect beauty, possessed a
charming voice, could perform with extraordinary skill on the piano,
and seemed to have inherited the mind of her father, whose praises
have been sung in all the land.

"When this child was seventeen years of age my wife died. This girl
remained in our house. I was yet a young man. Now that my wife was
gone, attending to this girl fell entirely into my hands. I undertook
her education. As her mind unfolded, so many beauteous qualities
appeared that she excited my warm admiration.

"By chance, I discovered that the girl loved me; not as a father, but
as she would a lover. She does not know to this day that I made the
discovery when I did. As for myself, I had for some time been madly in
love with her. When I discovered, that my affections were returned,
I made proposals, at that time regarded as honorable enough by the
majority of white men of the South.

"It seemed as though my proposition did not take her by surprise. She
gently, but most firmly rejected my proposal. She told me that the
proposal was of a nature to occasion deep and lasting repugnance, but
that in my case she blamed circumstances and conditions more than she
did me. The quiet, loving manner in which she resented insult and left
no tinge of doubt as to her virtue, if possible, intensified my love.
A few days later she came to me and said: 'Let us go to Canada and get
married secretly. I will return South with you. No one shall ever
know what we have done, and for the sake of your political and social
future I will let the people apply whatever name they wish to our
relationship.'

"I gladly embraced the proposal, knowing that she would keep faith
even unto death; although I realized how keenly her pure soul felt at
being regarded as living with me dishonorably. Yet, love and interest
bade her bow her head and receive the public mark of shame.

"Heroic soul! That is the marriage certificate which I showed you. You
were born. When you were four years old your mother told me that she
must leave, as she could not bear to see her child grow up esteeming
her an adulteress.

"The war broke out, and I entered the army, and your mother took you
to Europe, where she lived until the war was over, when she returned
to Winchester, Virginia. Her father was a man of wealth, and you own
two millions of dollars through your mother. At my death you shall
have eight millions more.

"So much for the past. Let me tell you of my plans and hopes for your
future. This infernal race prejudice has been the curse of my life.
Think of my pure-hearted, noble-minded wife, branded as a harlot, and
you, my own son, stigmatized as a bastard, because it would be suicide
for me to let the world know that you both are mine, though you both
are the direct descendants of a governor, and a long line of heroes
whose names are ornaments to our nation's history.

"I want you to break down this prejudice. It is the wish of your
mother and your father. You must move in the front, but all that money
and quiet influence can do shall be done by me for your advancement.
I paid Mr. Tiberius Gracchus Leonard two thousand dollars a year to
teach you at Winchester. His is a master mind. One rash deed robbed
the world of seeing a colossal intellect in high station. I shall tell
you his history presently.

"I desire you to go to Norfolk County, Virginia, and hang up your
sign as an attorney at law. I wish you to run for congress from that
district. Leonard is down there. As you will find out, he will be of
inestimable service to you.

"Now let me give you his history. Leonard was the most brilliant
student that ever entered ------ University in the state of ------.
Just prior to the time when he would have finished his education at
school, the war broke out and he enlisted in the Confederate Army, and
was made a colonel of a regiment. I was also a colonel, and when our
ranks became depleted the two regiments were thrown into one. Though
he was the ranking officer, our commander, as gallant and intrepid an
officer as ever trod a battle field, was put in command. This deeply
humilitated Leonard and he swore to be avenged.

"One evening, when night had just lowered her black wings over the
earth, we were engaging the enemy. Our commander was in advance of
his men. Suddenly the commander fell, wounded. At first it was thought
that the enemy bad shot him, but investigation showed that the ball
had entered his back. It was presumed, then, that some of his own men
had mistook him for an enemy and had shot him through mistake. Leonard
had performed the nefarious deed knowingly. By some skillful detective
work, I secured incontestible evidence of his guilt. I went to him
with my proof and informed him of my intentions to lay it before a
superior officer. His answer was: 'If you do, I will let the whole
world know about your nigger wife.' I fell back as if stunned. Terror
seized me. If he knew of my marriage might not others know it? Might
not it be already generally known? These were the thoughts that
coursed through my brain. However, with an effort I suppressed my
alarm. Seeing that each possessed a secret that meant death and
disgrace to the other (for I shall certainly kill myself if I am ever
exposed) I entered into an agreement with him.

"On the condition that he would prepare a statement confessing his
guilt and detailing the circumstances of the crime and put this paper
in my hand, I would show him my marriage certificate; and after that,
each was to regard the other's secret as inviolate.

"We thus held each other securely tied. His conscience, however,
disturbed him beyond measure; and every evening, just after dusk, he
fancied that he saw the form of his departed commander. It made him
cowardly in battle and he at last deserted.

"He informed me as to how my secret came into his possession. Soon
after he committed his crime he felt sure that I was in possession
of his secret, and he thought to steal into my tent and murder me. He
stole in there one night to perpetrate the crime. I was talking in my
sleep. In my slumber I told the story of my secret marriage in such
circumstantial detail that it impressed him as being true. Feeling
that he could hold me with that, he spared my life, determined to
wound me deeper than death if I struck at him.

"You see that he is a cowardly villain; but we sometimes have to use
such.

"Now, my son, go forth; labor hard and climb high. Scale the high wall
of prejudice. Make it possible, dear boy, for me to own you ere I pass
out of life. Let your mother have the veil of slander torn from her
pure form ere she closes her eyes on earth forever."

Bernard, handsome, brilliant, eloquent, the grandson of a governor,
the son of a senator, a man of wealth, to whom defeat was a word
unknown, steps out to battle for the freedom of his race; urged to put
his whole soul into the fight because of his own burning desire
for glory, and because out of the gloom of night he heard his grief
stricken parents bidding him to climb where the cruel world would be
compelled to give its sanction to the union that produced such a man
as he.

Bernard's training was over. He now had a tremendous incentive. Into
life he plunges.




CHAPTER IX.

LOVE AND POLITICS.


Acting on his father's advice Bernard arrived in Norfolk in the course
of a few days. He realized that he was now a politician and decided
to make a diligent study of the art of pleasing the populace and to
sacrifice everything to the goddess of fame. Knowing that whom
the people loved they honored, he decided to win their love at all
hazards. He decided to become the obedient servant of the people that
he might thus make all the people his servants.

He took up hie abode at Hotel Douglass, a colored hotel at which the
colored leaders would often congregate. Bernard mingled with these men
freely and soon had the name among them of being a jovial good fellow.

While at Harvard, Bernard had studied law simultaneously with
his other studies and graduated from both the law and classical
departments the same year.

Near the city court house, in a row of somewhat dilapidated old
buildings, he rented a law office. The rowdy and criminal element
infested this neighborhood. Whenever any of these got into
difficulties, Bernard was always ready to defend them. If they were
destitute of funds he would serve them free of charge and would often
pay their fines for them. He was ever ready to go on bonds of any who
got into trouble. He gave money freely to those who begged of him. In
this manner he became the very ideal of the vicious element, though
not accounted by them as one of their number.

Bernard was also equally successful in winning favor with the better
element of citizens. Though a good Catholic at heart, he divided his
time among all denominations, thus solving the most difficult problem
for a Negro leader to solve; for the religious feeling was so intense
that it was carried into almost every branch of human activity.

Having won the criminal and religious circles, he thought to go forth
and conquer the social world and secure its support. He decided to
enter society and pay marked attention to that young lady that would
most increase his popularity. We shall soon see how this would-be
conqueror stood the very first fire.

His life had been one of such isolation that he had not at all moved
in social circles before this, and no young woman had ever made more
than a passing impression on him.

There was in Norfolk a reading circle composed of the brightest,
most talented young men and women of the city. Upon taking a short
vacation, this circle always gave a reception which was attended
by persons of the highest culture in the city. Bernard received an
invitation to this reception, and, in company with a fellow lawyer
attended. The reception was held at the residence of a Miss Evangeline
Leslie, a member of the circle.

The house was full of guests when Bernard and his friend arrived. They
rang the door bell and a young lady came to the door to receive them.

She was a small, beautifully formed girl with a luxuriant growth of
coal black hair that was arranged in such a way as to impart a queenly
look to her shapely head. Her skin was dark brown, tender and smooth
in appearance. A pair of laughing hazel eyes, a nose of the prettiest
possible size and shape, and a chin that tapered with the most
exquisite beauty made her face the Mecca of all eyes.

Bernard was so struck with the girl's beauty that he did not greet
her when she opened the door. He stared at her with a blank look. They
were invited in.

Bernard pulled off his hat and walked in, not saying a word but eyeing
that pretty girl all the while. Even when his back was turned toward
her, as he walked, his head was turned over his shoulders and his eye
surveyed all the graceful curves of her perfect form and scanned those
features that could but charm those who admire nature's work.

When he had taken a seat in the corner of a room by the side of his
friend he said: "Pray, who is that girl that met you at the door? I
really did not know that a dark woman could look so beautiful."

"You are not the only one that thinks that she is surpassingly
beautiful," said his friend. "Her picture is the only Negro's picture
that is allowed to hang in the show glasses of the white photographers
down town. White and colored pay homage to her beauty."

"Well," said Bernard, "that man who denies that girl's beauty should
be sent to the asylum for the cure of a perverted and abnormal taste."

"I see you are rather enthusiastic. Is it wise to admire mortgaged
property?" remarked his friend.

"What's that?" asked Bernard, quickly. "Is any body in my way?"

"In your way?" laughed his friend. "Pray what do you mean? I don't
understand you."

"Come," said Bernard, "I am on pins. Is she married or about to be?"

"Well, not exactly that, but she has told me that she cares a good bit
for me."

Bernard saw that his friend was in a mood to tease him and he arose
and left his side.

His friend chuckled gleefully to himself and said: "The would-be
catcher is caught. I thought Viola Martin would duck him if anybody
could. Tell me about these smile-proof bachelors. When once they are
struck, they fall all to pieces at once."

Bernard sought his landlady, who was present as a guest, and through
her secured an introduction to Miss Viola Martin. He found her
even more beautiful, if possible, in mind than in form and he sat
conversing with her all the evening as if enchanted.

The people present were not at all surprised; for as soon as Bernard's
brilliancy and worth were known in the town and people began to love
him, it was generally hoped and believed that Miss Martin would take
him captive at first sight.

Miss Viola Martin was a universal favorite. She was highly educated
and an elocutionist of no mean ability. She sang sweetly and was the
most accomplished pianist in town. She was bubbling over with good
humor and her wit and funny stories were the very life of any circle
where she happened to be. She was most remarkably well-informed on all
leading questions of the day, and men of brain always enjoyed a chat
with her. And the children and older people fairly worshipped her; for
she paid especial attention to these. In all religious movements among
the women she was the leading spirit.

With all these points in her favor she was unassuming and bowed her
head so low that the darts of jealousy, so universally hurled at
the brilliant and popular, never came her way. No one in Norfolk was
considered worthy of her heart and hand and the community was tenderly
solicitous as to who should wed her.

Bernard had made such rapid strides in their affections and esteem
that they had already assigned him to their pet, Viola, or Vie as she
was popularly called.

When the time for the departure of the guests arrived, Bernard with
great regret bade Miss Martin adieu.

She ran upstairs to get her cloak, and a half dozen girls went
tripping up stairs behind her; when once in the room set apart for the
ladies' cloaks they began to gleefully pound Viola with pillows and
smother her with kisses.

"You have made a catch, Vie. Hold him," said one.

"He'll hold himself," said another. To all of which Viola answered
with a sigh.

A mulatto girl stepped up to Viola and with a merry twinkle in her eye
said: "Theory is theory and practice is practice, eh, Vie? Well, we
would hardly blame you in this case."

Viola earnestly replied: "I shall ask for no mercy. Theory and
practice are one with me in this case."

"Bah, bah, girl, two weeks will change that tune. And I, for one,
won't blame you," replied the mulatto still in a whisper.

The girls seeing that Viola did not care to be teased about Bernard
soon ceased, and she came down stairs to be escorted home by the young
man who had accompanied her there.

This young man was, thus early, jealous of Bernard and angry at Viola
for receiving his attentions, and as a consequence he was silent all
the way home.

This gave Viola time to think of that handsome, talented lawyer whom
she had just met. She had to confess to herself that he had aroused
considerable interest in her bosom and she looked forward to a
promised visit with pleasure. But every now and then a sigh would
escape her, such as she made when the girls were teasing her.

Her escort bade her good-night at her father's gate in a most sullen
manner, but Viola was so lost in thought that she did not notice
it. She entered the house feeling lively and cheerful, but when she
entered her room she burst into crying. She would laugh a while and
cry a while as though she had a foretaste of coming bliss mixed with
bitterness.

Bernard at once took the place left vacant by the dropping away of the
jealous young man and became Viola's faithful attendant, accompanying
her wherever he could. The more he met Viola, the more beautiful she
appeared to him and the more admirable he found her mind.

Bernard almost forgot his political aspirations, and began to ponder
that passage of scripture that said man should not be alone. But he
did not make such progress with Viola as was satisfactory to him.
Sometimes she would appear delighted to see him and was all life and
gayety. Again she was scarcely more than polite and seemed perfectly
indifferent to him.

After a long while Bernard decided that Viola, who seemed to be very
ambitious, treated him thus because he had not done anything worthy
of special note. He somewhat slacked up in his attentions and began
to devote himself to acquiring wide spread popularity with a view to
entering Congress and reaching Viola in this way.

The more he drew off from Viola the more friendly she would seem to
him, and he began to feel that seeming indifference was perhaps the
way to win her. Thus the matter moved along for a couple of years.

In the mean time, Mr. Tiberius Gracchus Leonard, Bernard's old
teacher, was busy in Norfolk looking after Bernard's political
interests, acting under instructions from Bernard's father, Senator
------.

About this stage of Bernard's courtship Mr. Leonard called on him and
told him that the time was ripe for Bernard to announce himself
for Congress. Bernard threw his whole soul into the project. He
had another great incentive to cause him to wish to succeed, Viola
Martin's hand and heart.

In order to understand what followed we must now give a bit of
Virginia political history.

In the year ---- there was a split in the democratic party of Virginia
on the question of paying Virginia's debt to England. The bolting
section of the party joined hands with the republicans and whipped
the regular democrats at the polls. This coalition thus formed was
eventually made the Republican party of Virginia.

The democrats, however, rallied and swept this coalition from power
and determined to forever hold the state government if they had to
resort to fraud. They resorted to ballot box stuffing and various
other means to maintain control. At last, they passed a law creating a
state electoral commission.

This commission was composed of three democrats. These three democrats
were given the power to appoint three persons in each county as an
Electoral Board. These county electoral boards would appoint judges
for each precinct or voting place in the county. They would also
appoint a special constable at each voting booth to assist the
illiterate voters.

With rare exceptions, the officials were democrats, and with the
entire state's election machinery in their hands the democrats could
manage elections according to their "own sweet will." It goes without
saying that the democrats always carried any and every precinct that
they decided, and elections were mere farces.

Such was the condition of affairs when Bernard came forward as a
candidate from the Second Congressional District. The district was
overwhelmingly republican, but the democrats always secured the
office.

It was regarded as downright foolhardy to attempt to get elected to
Congress from the District as a republican; so the nomination was
merely passed around as an honor, empty enough.

It was such a feeling that inspired the republicans to nominate
Bernard; but Bernard entered the canvass in dead earnest and conducted
a brilliant campaign.

The masses of colored people rallied around his flag. Ministers of
colored churches came to his support. Seeing that the colored people
were so determined to elect Bernard, the white republicans, leaders
and followers, fell into line. Viola Martin organized patriotic clubs
among the women and aroused whatever voters seemed lethargic.

The day of election came and Bernard was elected by a majority
of 11,823 votes; but the electoral boards gave the certificate of
election to his opponent, alleging his opponent's majority to be
4,162.

Bernard decided to contest the election in Congress, and here is where
Leonard's fine work was shown. He had, for sometime, made it appear in
Norfolk that he was a democrat of the most radical school. The leading
democrats made his acquaintance and Leonard very often composed
speeches for them. He thus became a favorite with certain prominent
democrats and they let him into the secret workings of the electoral
machinery. Thus informed, Leonard went to headquarters of the
Democratic party at Richmond with a view to bribing the clerks to give
him inside facts. He found the following to be the character of the
work done at headquarters.

A poll of all the voters in the state was made. The number of white
and the number of colored voters in each voting precinct was secured.
The number of illiterate voters of both races was ascertained. With
these facts in their possession, they had conducted all the campaign
necessary for them to carry on an election. Of course speakers were
sent out as a sham, but they were not needed for anything more than
appearances.

Having the figures indicated above before them, they proceeded to
assign to each district, each county, each city, each precinct just
such majorities as they desired, taking pains to make the figures
appear reasonable and differ somewhat from figures of previous
years. Whenever it would do no harm, a precinct was granted to the
republicans for the sake of appearances.

Ballot boxes of varied patterns were secured and filled with ballots
marked just as they desired. Some ballots were for republicans, some
for democrats, and some marked wrong so as to indicate the votes of
illiterates. The majorities, of course, were invariably such as suited
the democrats. The ballots were all carefully counted and arranged;
and tabulated statements of the votes cast put in. A sheet for the
returns was put in, only awaiting the signatures of the officials
at the various precincts in order to be complete. These boxes were
carried by trusted messengers to their destinations.

On election day, not these boxes, but boxes similar to them were used
to receive the ballots. On the night of the election, the ballot boxes
that actually received the votes were burned with all their contents
and the boxes and ballots from Richmond were substituted. The judges
of election took out the return sheet, already prepared, signed it
and returned it to Richmond forthwith. Thus it could always be
known thirty days ahead just what the exact vote in detail was to
be throughout the entire state. In fact a tabulated statement was
prepared and printed long before election day.

Leonard paid a clerk at headquarters five thousand dollars for one of
these tabulated statements. With this he hurried on to Washington
and secretly placed it before the Republican Congressional Campaign
Committee, with the understanding that it was to be used after
election day as a basis for possible contest. Fifteen of the most
distinguished clergymen in the nation were summoned to Washington and
made affidavits, stating that they had seen this tabulated statement
twenty days before the election took place.

When Virginia's returns came in they were found to correspond in every
detail to this tabulated report.

As nothing but a prophet, direct from God, could have foreseen the
results exactly as they did occur, this tabulated statement was proof
positive of fraud on a gigantic scale.

With this and a mass of other indisputable evidence at his back,
secured by the shrewd Leonard, Bernard entered the contest for his
seat. The House of Representatives was democratic by a small majority.
The contest was a long and bitter one. The republicans were solidly
for Bernard. The struggle was eagerly watched from day to day. It
was commonly believed that the democrats would vote against Bernard,
despite the clear case in his favor.

The day to vote on the contest at last arrived and the news was
flashed over the country that Bernard had triumphed. A handful of
democrats had deserted their party and voted with the republicans.
Bernard's father had redeemed his promise of secret support. Bernard's
triumph in a democratic house caused the nation to rub its eyes and
look again in wonder.

The colored people hailed Bernard as the coming Moses. "Belgrave,
Belgrave, Belgrave," was on every Negro tongue. Poems were addressed
to him. Babies were named after him. Honorary titles were showered
upon him. He was in much demand at fairs and gatherings of notable
people. He accepted every invitation of consequence, whenever
possible, and trav