MARY MYROVER's friends
were somewhat surprised when she began to teach a colored school. Miss
Myrover's friends are mentioned here, because nowhere more than in a Southern
town is public opinion a force which cannot be lightly contravened. Public
opinion, however, did not oppose Miss Myrover's teaching colored children; in
fact, all the colored public schools in town -- and there were several -- were
taught by white teachers, and had been so taught since the state had undertaken
to provide free public instruction for all children within its boundaries.
Previous to that time there had been a Freedman's Bureau school and a
Presbyterian missionary school, but these had been withdrawn when the need for
them became less pressing. The colored people of the town had been for some
time agitating their right to teach their own schools, but as yet the claim had
not been conceded.
The reason Miss
Myrover's course created some surprise was not, therefore, the fact that a Southern
white woman should teach a colored school; it lay in the fact that up to this
time no woman of just her quality had taken up such work. Most of the teachers
of colored schools were not of those who had constituted the aristocracy of the
old regime; they might be said rather to represent the new order of things, in
which labor was in time to become honorable, and men were, after a somewhat
longer time, to depend, for their place in society, upon themselves rather than
upon their ancestors. But Mary Myrover belonged to one of the proudest of the
old families. Her ancestors had been people of distinction in Virginia before a
collateral branch of the main stock had settled in North Carolina. Before the
war they had been able to live up to their pedigree. But the war brought sad
changes. Miss Myrover's father -- the Colonel Myrover who led a gallant but
desperate charge at Vicksburg -- had fallen on the battlefield, and his tomb in
the white cemetery was a shrine for the family. On the Confederate Memorial Day
no other grave was so profusely decorated with flowers, and in the oration
pronounced the name of Colonel Myrover was always used to illustrate the
highest type of patriotic devotion and self-sacrifice. Miss Myrover's brother,
too, had fallen in the conflict; but his bones lay in some unknown trench, with
those of a thousand others who had fallen on the same field. Ay, more, her
lover, who had hoped to come home in the full tide of victory and claim his
bride as a reward for gallantry, had shared the fate of her father and brother.
When the war was over, the remnant of the family found itself involved in the
common ruin, -- more deeply involved, indeed, than some others; for Colonel
Myrover had believed in the ultimate triumph of his cause, and had invested
most of his wealth in Confederate bonds, which were now only so much waste
paper.
There had been a little
left. Mrs. Myrover was thrifty, and had laid by a few hundred dollars, which
she kept in the house to meet unforeseen contingencies. There remained, too,
their home, with an ample garden and a well-stocked orchard, besides a
considerable tract of country land, partly cleared, but productive of very
little revenue.
With their shrunken
resources, Miss Myrover and her mother were able to hold up their heads without
embarrassment for some years after the close of the war. But when things were
adjusted to the changed conditions, and the stream of life began to flow more
vigorously in the new channels, they saw themselves in danger of dropping
behind, unless in some way they could add to their meagre income. Miss Myrover
looked over the field of employment, never very wide for women in the South,
and found it occupied. The only available position she could be supposed
prepared to fill, and which she could take without distinct loss of caste, was
that of a teacher, and there was no vacancy except in one of the colored
schools. Even teaching was a doubtful experiment; it was not what she would
have preferred, but it was the best that could be done.
"I don't like it,
Mary," said her mother. "It's a long step from owning such people to
teaching them. What do they need with education? It will only make them unfit
for work."
"They're free now,
mother, and perhaps they'll work better if they're taught something. Besides,
it's only a business arrangement, and doesn't involve any closer contact than
we have with our servants."
"Well, I should
say not!" sniffed the old lady. "Not one of them will ever dare to
presume on your position to take any liberties with us. I'll see to that."
Miss Myrover began her
work as a teacher in the autumn, at the opening of the school year. It was a
novel experience at first. Though there always had been negro servants in the
house, and though on the streets colored people were more numerous than her own
people, and though she was so familiar with their dialect that she might almost
be said to speak it, barring certain characteristic grammatical inaccuracies,
she had never been brought in personal contact with so many of them at once as
when she confronted the fifty or sixty faces -- of colors ranging from a white
almost as clear as her own to the darkest livery of the sun - - which were
gathered in the schoolroom on the morning when she began her duties. Some of
the inherited prejudice of her caste, too, made itself felt, though she tried
to repress any outward sign of it; and she could perceive that the children
were not altogether responsive; they, likewise, were not entirely free from
antagonism. The work was unfamiliar to her. She was not physically very strong,
and at the close of the first day she went home with a splitting headache. If
she could have resigned then and there without causing comment or annoyance to
others, she would have felt it a privilege to do so. But a night's rest
banished her headache and improved her spirits, and the next morning she went
to her work with renewed vigor, fortified by the experience of the first day.
Miss Myrover's second
day was more satisfactory. She had some natural talent for organization, though
she had never known it, and in the course of the day she got her classes formed
and lessons under way. In a week or two she began to classify her pupils in her
own mind, as bright or stupid, mischievous or well behaved, lazy or
industrious, as the case might be, and to regulate her discipline accordingly.
That she had come of a long line of ancestors who had exercised authority and
mastership was perhaps not without its effect upon her character, and enabled
her more readily to maintain good order in the school. When she was fairly
broken in she found the work rather to her liking, and derived much pleasure
from such success as she achieved as a teacher.
It was natural that she
should be more attracted to some of her pupils than to others. Perhaps her
favorite -- or rather, the one she liked best, for she was too fair and just
for conscious favoritism -- was Sophy Tucker. Just the ground for the teacher's
liking for Sophy might not at first be apparent. The girl was far from the
whitest of Miss Myrover's pupils; in fact, she was one of the darker ones. She
was not the brightest in intellect, though she always tried to learn her
lessons. She was not the best dressed, for her mother was a poor widow, who
went out washing and scrubbing for a living. Perhaps the real tie between them
was Sophy's intense devotion to the teacher. It had manifested itself almost
from the first day of the school, in the rapt look of admiration Miss Myrover
always saw on the little black face turned toward her. In it there was nothing
of envy, nothing of regret; nothing but worship for the beautiful white lady --
she was not especially handsome, but to Sophy her beauty was almost divine --
who had come to teach her. If Miss Myrover dropped a book, Sophy was the first
to spring and pick it up; if she wished a chair moved, Sophy seemed to
anticipate her wish; and so of all the numberless little services that can be
rendered in a school-room.
Miss Myrover was fond
of flowers, and liked to have them about her. The children soon learned of this
taste of hers, and kept the vases on her desk filled with blossoms during their
season. Sophy was perhaps the most active in providing them. If she could not
get garden flowers, she would make excursions to the woods in the early
morning, and bring in great dew-laden bunches of bay, or jasmine, or some other
fragrant forest flower which she knew the teacher loved.
"When I die,
Sophy," Miss Myrover said to the child one day, "I want to be covered
with roses. And when they bury me, I'm sure I shall rest better if my grave is
banked with flowers, and roses are planted at my head and at my feet."
Miss Myrover was at
first amused at Sophy's devotion; but when she grew more accustomed to it, she
found it rather to her liking. It had a sort of flavor of the old regime, and
she felt, when she bestowed her kindly notice upon her little black attendant,
some of the feudal condescension of the mistress toward the slave. She was kind
to Sophy, and permitted her to play the role she had assumed, which caused
sometimes a little jealousy among the other girls. Once she gave Sophy a yellow
ribbon which she took from her own hair. The child carried it home, and cherished
it as a priceless treasure, to be worn only on the greatest occasions.
Sophy had a rival in
her attachment to the teacher, but the rivalry was altogether friendly. Miss
Myrover had a little dog, a white spaniel, answering to the name of Prince.
Prince was a dog of high degree, and would have very little to do with the
children of the school; he made an exception, however, in the case of Sophy,
whose devotion for his mistress he seemed to comprehend. He was a clever dog,
and could fetch and carry, sit up on his haunches, extend his paw to shake
hands, and possessed several other canine accomplishments. He was very fond of
his mistress, and always, unless shut up at home, accompanied her to school,
where he spent most of his time lying under the teacher's desk, or, in cold
weather, by the stove, except when he would go out now and then and chase an
imaginary rabbit round the yard, presumably for exercise.
At school Sophy and
Prince vied with each other in their attentions to Miss Myrover. But when
school was over, Prince went away with her, and Sophy stayed behind; for Miss
Myrover was white and Sophy was black, which they both understood perfectly
well. Miss Myrover taught the colored children, but she could not be seen with
them in public. If they occasionally met her on the street, they did not expect
her to speak to them, unless she happened to be alone and no other white person
was in sight. If any of the children felt slighted, she was not aware of it,
for she intended no slight; she had not been brought up to speak to negroes on
the street, and she could not act differently from other people. And though she
was a woman of sentiment and capable of deep feeling, her training had been
such that she hardly expected to find in those of darker hue than herself the
same susceptibility -- varying in degree, perhaps, but yet the same in kind - -
that gave to her own life the alternations of feeling that made it most worth
living.
Once Miss Myrover
wished to carry home a parcel of books. She had the bundle in her hand when
Sophy came up.
"Lemme tote yo'
bundle fer yer, Miss Ma'y?" she asked eagerly. "I'm gwine yo'
way."
"Thank you,
Sophy," was the reply. "I'll be glad if you will."
Sophy followed the
teacher at a respectful distance. When they reached Miss Myrover's home Sophy
carried the bundle to the doorstep, where Miss Myrover took it and thanked her.
Mrs. Myrover came out
on the piazza as Sophy was moving away. She said, in the child's hearing, and
perhaps with the intention that she should hear: "Mary, I wish you
wouldn't let those little darkies follow you to the house. I don't want them in
the yard. I should think you'd have enough of them all day."
"Very well,
mother," replied her daughter. "I won't bring any more of them. The
child was only doing me a favor."
Mrs. Myrover was an
invalid, and opposition or irritation of any kind brought on nervous paroxysms
that made her miserable, and made life a burden to the rest of the household;
so that Mary seldom crossed her whims. She did not bring Sophy to the house
again, nor did Sophy again offer her services as porter.
One day in spring Sophy
brought her teacher a bouquet of yellow roses.
"Dey come off'n my
own bush, Miss Ma'y," she said proudly, "an' I didn' let nobody e'se
pull 'em, but saved 'em all fer you, 'cause I know you likes roses so much. I'm
gwine bring 'em all ter you as long as dey las'."
"Thank you,
Sophy," said the teacher; "you are a very good girl."
For another year Mary
Myrover taught the colored school, and did excellent service. The children made
rapid progress under her tuition, and learned to love her well; for they saw
and appreciated, as well as children could, her fidelity to a trust that she
might have slighted, as some others did, without much fear of criticism. Toward
the end of her second year she sickened, and after a brief illness died.
Old Mrs. Myrover was
inconsolable. She ascribed her daughter's death to her labors as teacher of
negro children. Just how the color of the pupils had produced the fatal effects
she did not stop to explain. But she was too old, and had suffered too deeply
from the war, in body and mind and estate, ever to reconcile herself to the
changed order of things following the return of peace; and with an unsound yet
not unnatural logic, she visited some of her displeasure upon those who had
profited most, though passively, by her losses.
"I always feared
something would happen to Mary," she said. "It seemed unnatural for
her to be wearing herself out teaching little negroes who ought to have been
working for her. But the world has hardly been a fit place to live in since the
war, and when I follow her, as I must before long, I shall not be sorry to
go."
She gave strict orders
that no colored people should be admitted to the house. Some of her friends heard
of this, and remonstrated. They knew the teacher was loved by the pupils, and
felt that sincere respect from the humble would be a worthy tribute to the
proudest. But Mrs. Myrover was obdurate.
"They had my
daughter when she was alive," she said, "and they've killed her. But
she's mine now, and I won't have them come near her. I don't want one of them
at the funeral or anywhere around."
For a month before Miss
Myrover's death Sophy had been watching her rosebush -- the one that bore the
yellow roses -- for the first buds of spring, and when these appeared had
awaited impatiently their gradual unfolding. But not until her teacher's death
had they become full-blown roses. When Miss Myrover died, Sophy determined to
pluck the roses and lay them on her coffin. Perhaps, she thought, they might
even put them in her hand or on her breast. For Sophy remembered Miss Myrover's
thanks and praise when she had brought her the yellow roses the spring before.
On the morning of the
day set for the funeral Sophy washed her face until it shone, combed and
brushed her hair with painful conscientiousness, put on her best frock, plucked
her yellow roses, and, tying them with the treasured ribbon her teacher had
given her, set out for Miss Myrover's home.
She went round to the
side gate -- the house stood on a corner -- and stole up the path to the
kitchen. A colored woman, whom she did not know, came to the door.
"W'at yer want,
chile?" she inquired.
"Kin I see Miss
Ma'y?" asked Sophy timidly.
"I don' know,
honey. Ole Miss Myrover say she don' want no cullud folks roun' de house
endyoin' dis fun'al. I'll look an' see if she's roun' de front room, whar de
co'pse is. You sed-down heah an' keep still, an' ef she's upstairs maybe I kin
git yer in dere a minute. Ef I can't, I kin put yo' bokay 'mongs' de res', whar
she won't know nuthin' erbout it."
A moment after she had
gone there was a step in the hall, and old Mrs. Myrover came into the kitchen.
"Dinah!" she
said in a peevish tone. "Dinah!"
Receiving no answer,
Mrs. Myrover peered around the kitchen, and caught sight of Sophy.
"What are you
doing here?" she demanded.
"I -- I'm-m
waitin' ter see de cook, ma'am," stammered Sophy.
"The cook isn't
here now. I don't know where she is. Besides, my daughter is to be buried
to-day, and I won't have any one visiting the servants until the funeral is
over. Come back some other day, or see the cook at her own home in the
evening."
She stood waiting for
the child to go, and under the keen glance of her eyes Sophy, feeling as though
she had been caught in some disgraceful act, hurried down the walk and out of
the gate, with her bouquet in her hand.
"Dinah," said
Mrs. Myrover, when the cook came back, "I don't want any strange people
admitted here to-day. The house will be full of our friends, and we have no
room for others."
"Yas'm," said
the cook. She understood perfectly what her mistress meant; and what the cook
thought about her mistress was a matter of no consequence.
The funeral services
were held at St. John's Episcopal Church, where the Myrovers had always
worshiped. Quite a number of Miss Myrover's pupils went to the church to attend
the services. The church was not a large one. There was a small gallery at the
rear, to which colored people were admitted, if they chose to come, at ordinary
services; and those who wished to be present at the funeral supposed that the
usual custom would prevail. They were therefore surprised, when they went to
the side entrance, by which colored people gained access to the gallery stairs,
to be met by an usher who barred their passage.
"I'm sorry,"
he said, "but I have had orders to admit no one until the friends of the
family have all been seated. If you wish to wait until the white people have
all gone in, and there's any room left, you may be able to get into the back
part of the gallery. Of course I can't tell yet whether there'll be any room or
not."
Now the statement of
the usher was a very reasonable one; but, strange to say, none of the colored
people chose to remain except Sophy. She still hoped to use her floral offering
for its destined end, in some way, though she did not know just how. She waited
in the yard until the church was filled with white people, and a number who
could not gain admittance were standing about the doors. Then she went round to
the side of the church, and, depositing her bouquet carefully on an old mossy
gravestone, climbed up on the projecting sill of a window near the chancel. The
window was of stained glass, of somewhat ancient make. The church was old, had
indeed been built in colonial times, and the stained glass had been brought
from England. The design of the window showed Jesus blessing little children.
Time had dealt gently with the window; but just at the feet of the figure of
Jesus a small triangular piece of glass had been broken out. To this aperture
Sophy applied her eyes, and through it saw and heard what she could of the
services within.
Before the chancel, on
trestles draped in black, stood the sombre casket in which lay all that was
mortal of her dear teacher. The top of the casket was covered with flowers; and
lying stretched out underneath it she saw Miss Myrover's little white dog,
Prince. He had followed the body to the church, and, slipping in unnoticed among
the mourners, had taken his place, from which no one had the heart to remove
him.
The white-robed rector
read the solemn service for the dead, and then delivered a brief address, in
which he spoke of the uncertainty of life, and, to the believer, the certain
blessedness of eternity. He spoke of Miss Myrover's kindly spirit, and, as an
illustration of her love and self-sacrifice for others, referred to her labors
as a teacher of the poor ignorant negroes who had been placed in their midst by
an all-wise Providence, and whom it was their duty to guide and direct in the
station in which God had put them. Then the organ pealed, a prayer was said,
and the long cortege moved from the church to the cemetery, about half a mile
away, where the body was to be interred.
When the services were
over, Sophy sprang down from her perch, and, taking her flowers, followed the
procession. She did not walk with the rest, but at a proper and respectful
distance from the last mourner. No one noticed the little black girl with the
bunch of yellow flowers, or thought of her as interested in the funeral.
The cortege reached the
cemetery and filed slowly through the gate; but Sophy stood outside, looking at
a small sign in white letters on a black background: --
"Notice. This cemetery
is for white people only. Others please keep out."
Sophy, thanks to Miss
Myrover's painstaking instruction, could read this sign very distinctly. In
fact, she had often read it before. For Sophy was a child who loved beauty, in
a blind, groping sort of way, and had sometimes stood by the fence of the
cemetery and looked through at the green mounds and shaded walks and blooming
flowers within, and wished that she could walk among them. She knew, too, that
the little sign on the gate, though so courteously worded, was no mere
formality; for she had heard how a colored man, who had wandered into the
cemetery on a hot night and fallen asleep on the flat top of a tomb, had been
arrested as a vagrant and fined five dollars, which he had worked out on the streets,
with a ball-and-chain attachment, at twenty-five cents a day. Since that time
the cemetery gate had been locked at night.
So Sophy stayed
outside, and looked through the fence. Her poor bouquet had begun to droop by
this time, and the yellow ribbon had lost some of its freshness. Sophy could
see the rector standing by the grave, the mourners gathered round; she could
faintly distinguish the solemn words with which ashes were committed to ashes,
and dust to dust. She heard the hollow thud of the earth falling on the coffin;
and she leaned against the iron fence, sobbing softly, until the grave was
filled and rounded off, and the wreaths and other floral pieces were disposed
upon it. When the mourners began to move toward the gate, Sophy walked slowly down
the street, in a direction opposite to that taken by most of the people who
came out.
When they had all gone
away, and the sexton had come out and locked the gate behind him, Sophy crept
back. Her roses were faded now, and from some of them the petals had fallen.
She stood there irresolute, loath to leave with her heart's desire unsatisfied,
when, as her eyes fell upon the teacher's last resting place, she saw lying
beside the new-made grave what looked like a small bundle of white wool.
Sophy's eyes lighted up with a sudden glow.
"Prince! Here,
Prince!" she called.
The little dog rose,
and trotted down to the gate. Sophy pushed the poor bouquet between the iron
bars. "Take that ter Miss Ma'y, Prince," she said, "that's a
good doggie."
The dog wagged his tail
intelligently, took the bouquet carefully in his mouth, carried it to his
mistress's grave, and laid it among the other flowers. The bunch of roses was
so small that from where she stood Sophy could see only a dash of yellow
against the white background of the mass of flowers.
When Prince had
performed his mission he turned his eyes toward Sophy inquiringly, and when she
gave him a nod of approval lay down and resumed his watch by the graveside.
Sophy looked at him a moment with a feeling very much like envy, and then
turned and moved slowly away.
Charles W. Chesnutt