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 be 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?
