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Garies and their Friends

<h3 id="id01618" style="margin-top: 3em">CHAPTER XXIV.</h3> Charlie Distinguishes Himself. Charlie had now been many weeks under the hospitable roof of Mrs. Bird, improving in health and appearance. Indeed, it would have been a wonder if he had not, as the kind mistress of the mansion seemed to do nought else, from day to day, but study plans for his comfort and pleasure. There was one sad drawback upon the contentment of the dear old lady, and that was her inability to procure Charlie's admission to the academy. One morning Mr. Whately called upon her, and, throwing himself into a chair, exclaimed: "It's all to no purpose; their laws are as unalterable as those of the Medes and Persians—arguments and entreaty are equally thrown away upon them; I've been closeted at least half a dozen times with each director; and as all I can say won't make your protege a shade whiter, I'm afraid his admission to the academy must be given up." "It's too bad," rejoined Mrs. Bird. "And who, may I ask, were the principal opposers?" "They all opposed it, except Mr. Weeks and Mr. Bentham." "Indeed!—why they are the very ones that I anticipated would go against it tooth and nail. And Mr. Glentworth—surely he was on our side?" "He!—why, my dear madam, he was the most rabid of the lot. With his sanctified face and canting tongue!" "I'm almost ashamed to own it—but it's the truth, and I shouldn't hesitate to tell it—I found the most pious of the directors the least accessible; as to old Glentworth, he actually talked to me as if I was recommending the committal of some horrid sin. I'm afraid I shall be set down by him as a rabid Abolitionist, I got so warm on the subject. I've cherished as strong prejudices against coloured people as any one; but I tell you, seeing how contemptible it makes others appear, has gone a great way towards eradicating it in me. I found myself obliged to use the same arguments against it that are used by the Abolitionists, and in endeavouring to convince others of the absurdity of their prejudices, I convinced myself." "I'd set my heart upon it," said Mrs. Bird, in a tone of regret; "but I suppose I'll have to give it up. Charlie don't know I've made application for his admission, and has been asking me to let him go. A great many of the boys who attend there have become acquainted with him, and it was only yesterday that Mr. Glentworth's sons were teasing me to consent to his beginning there the next term. The boys," concluded she, "have better hearts than their parents." "Oh, I begin to believe it's all sham, this prejudice; I'm getting quite disgusted with myself for having had it—or rather thinking I had it. As for saying it is innate, or that there is any natural antipathy to that class, it's all perfect folly; children are not born with it, or why shouldn't they shrink from a black nurse or playmate? It's all bosh," concluded he, indignantly, as he brought his cane down with a rap. "Charlie's been quite a means of grace to you," laughingly rejoined Mrs. Bird, amused at his vehemence of manner. "Well, I'm going to send him to Sabbath-school next Sunday; and, if there is a rebellion against his admission there, I shall be quite in despair." It is frequently the case, that we are urged by circumstances to the advocacy of a measure in which we take but little interest, and of the propriety of which we are often very sceptical; but so surely as it is just in itself, in our endeavours to convert others we convince ourselves; and, from lukewarm apologists, we become earnest advocates. This was just Mr. Whately's case: he had begun to canvass for the admission of Charlie with a doubtful sense of its propriety, and in attempting to overcome the groundless prejudices of others, he was convicted of his own. Happily, in his case, conviction was followed by conversion, and as he walked home from Mrs. Bird's, he made up his mind that, if they attempted to exclude Charlie from the Sabbath-school, he would give them a piece of his mind, and then resign his superintendency of it. On arriving at home, he found waiting for him a young lady, who was formerly a member of his class in the Sabbath-school. "I've come," said she, "to consult you about forming an adult class in our school for coloured persons. We have a girl living with us, who would be very glad to attend, and she knows two or three others. I'll willingly take the class myself. I've consulted the pastor and several others, and no one seems to anticipate any objections from the scholars, if we keep them on a separate bench, and do not mix them up with the white children." "I'm delighted to hear you propose it," answered Mr. Whately, quite overjoyed at the opening it presented, "the plan meets my warmest approval. I decidedly agree with you in the propriety of our making some effort for the elevation and instruction of this hitherto neglected class—any aid I can render——" "You astonish me," interrupted Miss Cass, "though I must say very agreeably. You were the last person from whom I thought of obtaining any countenance. I did not come to you until armed with the consent of almost all the parties interested, because from you I anticipated considerable opposition," and in her delight, the young girl grasped Mr. Whately's hand, and shook it very heartily. "Oh, my opinions relative to coloured people have lately undergone considerable modification; in fact," said he, with some little confusion, "quite a thorough revolution. I don't, think we have quite done our duty by these people. Well, well, we must make the future atone for the past." Miss Cass had entered upon her project with all the enthusiasm of youth, and being anxious that her class, "in point of numbers," should make a presentable appearance, had drafted into it no less a person than Aunt Comfort. Aunt Comfort was a personage of great importance in the little village of Warmouth, and one whose services were called into requisition on almost every great domestic occasion. At births she frequently officiated, and few young mothers thought themselves entirely safe if the black good-humoured face of Aunt Comfort was not to be seen at their bedside. She had a hand in the compounding of almost every bridecake, and had been known to often leave houses of feasting, to prepare weary earth-worn travellers for their final place of rest. Every one knew, and all liked her, and no one was more welcome at the houses of the good people of Warmouth than Aunt Comfort. But whilst rendering her all due praise for her domestic acquirements, justice compels us to remark that Aunt Comfort was not a literary character. She could get up a shirt to perfection, and made irreproachable chowder, but she was not a woman of letters. In fact, she had arrived at maturity at a time when negroes and books seldom came in familiar contact; and if the truth must be told, she cared very little about the latter. "But jist to 'blege Miss Cass," she consented to attend her class, averring as she did so, "that she didn't 'spect she was gwine to larn nothin' when she got thar." Miss Cass, however, was of the contrary opinion, and anticipated that after a few Sabbaths, Aunt Comfort would prove to be quite a literary phenomenon. The first time their class assembled the white children well-nigh dislocated their necks, in their endeavours to catch glimpses of the coloured scholars, who were seated on a backless bench, in an obscure corner of the room. Prominent amongst them shone Aunt Comfort, who in honour of this extraordinary occasion, had retrimmed her cap, which was resplendent with bows of red ribbon as large as peonies. She had a Sunday-school primer in her hand, and was repeating the letters with the utmost regularity, as Miss Cass pronounced them. They got on charmingly until after crossing over the letter O, as a matter of course they came to P and Q. "Look here," said Aunt Comfort, with a look of profound erudition, "here's anoder O. What's de use of having two of 'em?" "No, no, Aunt Comfort—that's Q—the letter Q." "Umph," grunted the old woman, incredulously, "what's de use of saying dat's a Q, when you jest said not a minute ago 'twas O?" "This is not the same," rejoined the teacher, "don't you see the little tail at the bottom of it?" Aunt Comfort took off her silver spectacles, and gave the glasses of them a furious rub, then after essaying another look, exclaimed, "What, you don't mean dat 'ere little speck down at the bottom of it, does yer?" "Yes, Aunt Comfort, that little speck, as you call it, makes all the difference—it makes O into Q." "Oh, go 'way, child," said she, indignantly, "you isn't gwine to fool me dat ar way. I knows you of old, honey—you's up to dese 'ere things—you know you allus was mighty 'chevious, and I isn't gwine to b'lieve dat dat ar little speck makes all the difference—no such thing, case it don't—deys either both O's or both Q's. I'm clar o' dat—deys either one or tother." Knowing by long experience the utter futility of attempting to convince Aunt Comfort that she was in the wrong, by anything short of a miracle, the teacher wisely skipped over the obnoxious letter, then all went smoothly on to the conclusion of the alphabet. The lesson having terminated, Miss Cass looked up and discovered standing near her a coloured boy, who she correctly surmised was sent as an addition to her class. "Come here, and sit down," said she, pointing to a seat next Aunt Comfort. "What is your name?" Charlie gave his name and residence, which were entered in due form on the teacher's book. "Now, Charles," she continued, "do you know your letters?" "Yes, ma'am," was the answer. "Can you spell?" she inquired. To this also Charlie gave an affirmative, highly amused at the same time at being asked such a question. Miss Cass inquired no further into the extent of his acquirements, it never having entered her head that he could do more than spell. So handing him one of the primers, she pointed out a line on which to begin. The spirit of mischief entered our little friend, and he stumbled through b-l-a bla—b-l-i bli—b-l-o blo—b-l-u blu, with great gravity and slowness. "You spell quite nicely, particularly for a little coloured boy," said Miss Cass, encouragingly, as he concluded the line; "take this next," she continued, pointing to another, "and when you have learned it, I will hear you again." It was the custom of the superintendent to question the scholars upon a portion of Bible history, given out the Sabbath previous for study during the week. It chanced that upon the day of which we write, the subject for examination was one with which Charlie was quite familiar. Accordingly, when the questions were put to the school, he answered boldly and quickly to many of them, and with an accuracy that astonished his fellow scholars. "How did you learn the answers to those questions—you can't read?" said Miss Cass. "Yes, but I can read," answered Charlie, with a merry twinkle in his eye. "Why didn't you tell me so before?" she asked. "Because you didn't ask me," he replied, suppressing a grin. This was true enough, so Miss Cass, having nothing farther to say, sat and listened, whilst he answered the numerous and sometimes difficult questions addressed to the scholars. Not so, Aunt Comfort. She could not restrain her admiration of this display of talent on the part of one of her despised race; she was continually breaking out with expressions of wonder and applause. "Jis' hear dat—massy on us—only jis' listen to de chile," said she, "talks jis' de same as if he was white. Why, boy, where you learn all dat?" "Across the Red Sea," cried Charlie, in answer to a question from the desk of the superintendent. "'Cross de Red Sea! Umph, chile, you been dere?" asked Aunt Comfort, with a face full of wonder. "What did you say?" asked Charlie, whose attention had been arrested by the last question. "Why I asked where you learned all dat 'bout de children of Israel." "Oh, I learned that at Philadelphia," was his reply; "I learned it at school with the rest of the boys." "You did!" exclaimed she, raising her hands with astonishment. "Is dere many more of 'em like you?" Charlie did not hear this last question of Aunt Comfort's, therefore she was rather startled by his replying in a loud tone, "Immense hosts." "Did I ever—jis' hear dat, dere's ''mense hostes' of 'em jest like him! only think of it. Is dey all dere yet, honey?" "They were all drowned." "Oh, Lordy, Lordy," rejoined she, aghast with horror; for Charlie's reply to a question regarding the fate of Pharaoh's army, had been by her interpreted as an answer to her question respecting his coloured schoolmates at Philadelphia. "And how did you 'scape, honey," continued she, "from drowning 'long wid the rest of 'em?" "Why I wasn't there, it was thousands of years ago." "Look here. What do you mean?" she whispered; "didn't you say jest now dat you went to school wid 'em?" This was too much for Charlie, who shook all over with suppressed laughter; nor was Miss Cass proof against the contagion—she was obliged to almost suffocate herself with her handkerchief to avoid a serious explosion. "Aunt Comfort, you are mistaking him," said she, as soon as she could recover her composure; "he is answering the questions of the superintendent—not yours, and very well he has answered them, too," continued she. "I like to see little boys aspiring: I am glad to see you so intelligent—you must persevere, Charlie." "Yes, you must, honey," chimed in Aunt Comfort. "I'se very much like Miss Cass; I likes to see children—'specially children of colour—have expiring minds." Charlie went quite off at this, and it was only by repeated hush—hushes, from Miss Cass, and a pinch in the back from Aunt Comfort, that he was restored to a proper sense of his position. The questioning being now finished, Mr. Whately came to Charlie, praised him highly for his aptness, and made some inquiries respecting his knowledge of the catechism; also whether he would be willing to join the class that was to be catechised in the church during the afternoon. To this, Charlie readily assented, and, at the close of the school, was placed at the foot of the class, preparatory to going into the Church. The public catechizing of the scholars was always an event in the village; but now a novelty was given it, by the addition of a black lamb to the flock, and, as a matter of course, a much greater interest was manifested. Had a lion entered the doors of St. Stephen's church, he might have created greater consternation, but he could not have attracted more attention than did our little friend on passing beneath its sacred portals. The length of the aisle seemed interminable to him, and on his way to the altar he felt oppressed by the scrutiny of eyes through which he was compelled to pass. Mr. Dural, the pastor, looked kindly at him, as he stood in front of the chancel, and Charlie took heart from his cheering smile. Now, to Aunt Comfort (who was the only coloured person who regularly attended the church) a seat had been assigned beside the organ; which elevated position had been given her that the congregation might indulge in their devotions without having their prejudices shocked by a too close contemplation of her ebony countenance. But Aunt Comfort, on this occasion, determined to get near enough to hear all that passed, and, leaving her accustomed seat, she planted herself in one of the aisles of the gallery overlooking the altar, where she remained almost speechless with wonder and astonishment at the unprecedented sight of a woolly head at the foot of the altar. Charlie got on very successfully until called upon to repeat the Lord's Prayer; and, strange to say, at this critical juncture, his memory forsook him, and he was unable to utter a word of it: for the life of him he could not think of anything but "Now I lay me down to sleep"—and confused and annoyed he stood unable to proceed. At this stage of affairs, Aunt Comfort's interest in Charlie's success had reached such a pitch that her customary awe of the place she was in entirely departed, and she exclaimed, "I'll give yer a start—'Our Farrer,'"—then overwhelmed by the consciousness that she had spoken out in meeting, she sank down behind a pew-door, completely extinguished. At this there was an audible titter, that was immediately suppressed; after which, Charlie recovered his memory, and, started by the opportune prompting of Aunt Comfort, he recited it correctly. A few questions more terminated the examination, and the children sat down in front of the altar until the conclusion of the service. Mrs. Bird, highly delighted with the debut of her protege, bestowed no end of praises upon him, and even made the coachman walk home, that Charlie might have a seat in the carriage, as she alleged she was sure he must be much fatigued and overcome with the excitement of the day; then taking the reins into her own hands, she drove them safely home. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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