_ GRANDE POINTE CHAPTER X. CONSPIRACY
About this time a certain Mr. Tarbox--G. W. Tarbox--was travelling on horseback and touching from house to house of the great sugar-estates of the river "coast," seeing the country and people, and allowing the _elite_ to subscribe to the "Album of Universal Information."
One Sunday, resting at College Point, he was led by curiosity to cultivate the acquaintance of three men who had come in from Grande Pointe. One of them was Chat-oue. He could understand them, and make them understand him, well enough to play _vingt et un_ with them the whole forenoon. He won all their money, drank with them, and took their five subscriptions, Chat-oue taking three--one for himself, one for Catou, and one for Crebiche. There was no delivery of goods there and then; they could not write; but they made their marks, and it was agreed that when Mr. Tarbox should come along a few days later to deliver the volumes, they were not to be received or paid for until with his scholarly aid the impostor who pretended to teach English education at Grande Pointe had been put to confusion and to flight.
"All right," said Tarbox; "all _right_. I'm the kind of State Superintendent you want. I like an adventure; and if there's any thing I just love, it's exposing a fraud! What day shall I come? Yes, I understand--middle of the day. I'll be on hand."
The fateful day came. In every house and on every galerie the morning tasks were early done. Then the best of every wardrobe was put on, the sun soared high, and by noon every chair in Grande Pointe was in the tobacco-shed where knowledge poured forth her beams, and was occupied by one or two persons. And then, at last, the chapel bell above Claude's head pealed out the final signal, and the schoolmaster moved across the green. Bonaventure Deschamps was weary. Had aught gone wrong? Far from it. But the work had been great, and it was now done. Every thing was at stake: the cause of enlightenment and the fortunes of his heart hung on the issue of the next few hours. Three pupils, one the oftenest rebuked of all the school, one his rival in love, one the queen of his heart, held his fate in their hands and knew it. With these thoughts mingled the pangs of an unconfessed passion and the loneliness of a benevolent nature famishing for a word of thanks. Yea, and to-day he must be his own judge.
His coat was on his arm, and the children round about him in their usual way as they came across the common; but his words, always so kind, were, on this day of all days, so dejected and so few that the little ones stole glances into his face and grew silent. Then, all at once, he saw,--yea, verily, he _saw_,--standing near the school entrance, a man from the great outer world!
He knew it by a hundred signs--the free attitude, the brilliant silk hat, the shaven face, and every inch of the attire. As plainly as one knows a green tree from a dead one, the Crusoe of Grande Pointe recognized one who came from the haunts of men; from some great nerve-centre of human knowledge and power where the human mind, trained and equipped, had piled up the spoils of its innumerable conquests. His whole form lighted up with a new life. His voice trembled with pent feeling as he said in deep undertone:
"Be callm, chil'run; be callm. Refrain excitement. Who you behole befo' you, yondeh, I ignore. But who shall we expect to see if not the State Sup'inten'ent Public Education? And if yea, then welcome, thrice welcome, the surprise! We shall not inquire him; but as a stranger we shall show him with how small reso'ce how large result." He put on his coat.
Mr. Tarbox had just reached the school-ground. His horse was fastened by the bridle to a picket in a fence behind him. A few boys had been out before the schoolhouse, and it was the sudden cessation of their clamor that had drawn Bonaventure's attention. Some of them were still visible, silently slipping through the gaps in the _pieux_ and disappearing within. Bonaventure across the distance marked him beckon persuasively to one of them. The lad stopped, came forward, and gave his hand; and thereupon a second, a third, fourth, fifth, tenth, without waiting for invitation, emerged again and advanced to the same grave and silent ceremony. Two or three men who stood near did the same. The handshaking was just ending when Bonaventure and the stranger raised their hats to each other.
"Trust I don't intrude?"
"Sir, we are honored, not intruded, as you shall witness. Will you give yourself the pain to enter the school-place? I say not schoolhouse; 'tis, as its humble teacher, not fitly so nominated. But you shall therein find a school which, the more taken by surprise, not the less prepared."
"The State ought to build you a good schoolhouse," said the stranger, with a slight frown that seemed official.
"Ah! sir," cried the young schoolmaster, beaming gratitude from his whole surface, "I--I"--he smote his breast,--"I would reimburst her in good citizen' and mother' of good citizen'! And both reading, writing, and also ciphering,--arithmeticulating, in the English tongue, and grammatically! But enter and investigate."
A hush fell upon the school and the audience beyond it as the two men came in. Every scholar was in place--the little ones with bare, dangling feet, their shapely sun-tanned ankles just peeping from pantaloons and pantalettes of equal length; the older lads beyond them; and off at the left the larger girls, and Sidonie. The visitor, as his eye fell last upon her, silently and all to himself drew a long whistle of admiration. The master stood and eyed him with unspoken but confessed pride. A little maiden of six slipped from the bench to the earth floor, came forward, gave her hand, and noiselessly returned. One by one, with eyes dropped, the remaining sixteen girls followed. It seemed for a moment as if the contagion might break out in the audience, but the symptom passed.
There was just room on the teacher's little platform for Bonaventure to seat his visitor a little at one side and stand behind his desk. The fateful moment had come. The master stood nervously drawn up, bell in hand. With a quick, short motion he gave it one tap, and set it down.
"That, sir, is to designate attention!" He waved a triumphant hand toward the spectacle before them.
"Perfect!" murmured the stranger. A look of earnest ecstasy broke out upon the master's face. He turned at first upon the audience and then upon the school.
"Chil'run, _chil'run_, he p'onounce you perfect!" He turned again upon the visitor, threw high his right hand, flirted it violently, and cried:--
"At random! exclusively at random; state what class! at random!"
"I--I doubt if I under"--
"Name any class, exclusively at random, and you shall see with what promptness and quietude the chil'run shall take each one their exactly co'ect places."
"Oh, I understand. You want me to designate"--
"Any class! at yo' caprice."
"Well, if you have--third class in geography."
"Or spelling?" cried Bonaventure, a momentary look of dismay giving place to fresh enthusiasm.
"Yes--spell--I meant spelling."
"Third spelling!" The tongue of the bell fell with the emphasis, and as silently as sleep the tiniest seven in the school, four pairs of pantaloons, three of pantalettes, with seven of little bare feet at their borders and seven of hands pointed down stiffly at their sides, came out and stood a-row. The master turned to the visitor.
"Now, commencing wherever, even at the foot if desired! ask, sir, if you please, any English word of one syllable, of however difficult!"
"No matter how difficult?"
"Well, they are timid, as you see; advance by degrees."
"Very well, then," said the visitor with much kindness of tone; "I will ask the little boy at this end"--
"At the foot--but--still, 'tis well. Only--ah, Crebiche! every thing depend! Be prepared, Crebiche!"
"Yes," said the stranger; "I will ask him to spell hoss."
The child drew himself up rigidly, pointed his stiffened fingers down his thighs, rounded his pretty red mouth, and said slowly, in a low, melodious, distinct voice:--
"'O-double eth, awth."
Bonaventure leapt from the platform and ran to the child.
"_Ah! mon p'tit garcon_--ah! my lil boy! 'O-double eth, listten, my chile. O, sir, he did not hear the word precisely. Listten, my chile, to yo' teacher! remember that his honor and the school's honor is in yo' spelling!" He drew back a step, poised himself, and gave the word. It came like an anchor-chain crashing through a hawse-hole.
"Or-r-r-r-rus-seh!" And the child, winking at vacancy in the intensity of his attention, spelled:--
"Haich-o-r-eth-e, 'Orthe."
The breathless audience, leaning forward, read the visitor's commendation in his face. Bonaventure, beaming upon him, extended one arm, the other turned toward the child, and cried, shaking both hands tremulously:--
"Another! another word! another to the same!"
"Mouse," said the stranger, and Bonaventure turned and cried:--
"Mah-ooseh! my nob'e lil boy! Mah-ooseh!" and Crebiche, a speaking statue, spelled:--
"M-o-u-eth-e, mouthe."
"Co'ect, my chile! And yet, sir, and yet, 'tis he that they call Crebiche, because like the crawfish advancing backwardly. But to the next! another word! another word!"
The spelling, its excitements, its moments of agonizing suspense, and its triumphs, went on. The second class is up. It spells in two, even in three, syllables. Toutou is in it. He gets tremendously wrought up; cannot keep two feet on the ground at once; spells fast when the word is his; smiles in response to the visitor's smile, the only one who dares; leans out and looks down the line with a knuckle in his mouth as the spelling passes down; wrings one hand as his turn approaches again; catches his word in mid-air and tosses it off, and marks with ecstasy the triumph and pride written on the face of his master.
"But, sir," cries Bonaventure, "why consume the spelling-book? Give, yourself, if you please, to Toutou, a word not therein comprise'." He glanced around condescendingly upon the people of Grande Pointe. Chat-oue is in a front seat. Toutou gathers himself for the spring, and the stranger ponders a moment and then gives--"Florida!"
"F-l-o, flo, warr-de-warr-da,--Florida!"
A smile broke from the visitor's face unbidden, but--
"Right! my chile! co'ect, Toutou!" cried Bonaventure, running and patting the little hero on the back and head by turns. "Sir, let us"--He stopped short. The eyes of the house were on Chat-oue. He had risen to his feet and made a gesture for the visitor's attention. As the stranger looked at him he asked:--
"He spell dat las word r-i-i-ight?" But the visitor with quiet gravity said, "Yes, that was all right;" and a companion pulled the Raccoon down into his seat again. Bonaventure resumed.
"Sir, let us not exhoss the time with spelling! You shall now hear them read."
The bell taps, the class retires; again, and the reading class is up. They are the larger girls and boys. But before they begin the master has a word for their fathers and mothers.
"Friends and fellow-citizens of Gran' Point', think not at the suppi-zing goodness of yo' chil'run' reading. 'Tis to this branch has been given the largest attention and most as_sid_u'ty, so thus to comprise puffection in the English tongue, whether speaking aw otherwise." He turned to the stranger beside him. "I am not satisfied whilst the slightest accent of French is remaining. But you shall judge if they read not as if in their own vernaculary. And you shall choose the piece!"
The visitor waived the privilege, but Bonaventure gently insisted, and he selected Jane Taylor's little poem, "The Violet," glancing across at Sidonie as he himself read out the first two lines:--
"Down in a green and shady bed
A modest violet grew."
Bonaventure proclaimed the title and page and said:--
"Claude, p'oceed!" And Claude read:--
"'Dthee vy--ee-lit. Dah-oon-a hin hay grin and-a shad-y bade--A mo-dest-a vy-ee-lit gr[)o]o--Hits-a stallk whoz baint hit hawngg-a hits hade--Has hif-a too hah-ed-a frawm ve-[)o]o. Hand h-yet it whoz a lo-vly flow'r--Hits-a co-lors-a brah-eet and fair-a--Heet maheet-a h[=a]ve grass-ed a rozzy bow'r--Heenstade-a hof hah-ee-dingg there"--
"Stop!" cried Bonaventure; "stop! You pronounciate' a word faultily!" He turned to the visitor. "I call not that a miss; but we must inoculate the idea of puffection. So soon the sly-y-test misp'onounciating I pass to the next." He turned again: "Next!" And a black-haired girl began in a higher key, and very slowly:--
"Yate there eet whoz cawntaint-a too bulloom--Heen mo-dest-a teent z-arrayed--And there-a heet sprade-a heets swit pre-fume-a--Whit-hin thee sy-y-lent-a shade"--
"Stop! Not that you mistook, but--'tis enough. Sir, will you give yourself the pain to tell--not for my sake or reputation, but to the encouragement of the chil'run, and devoid flattery--what is yo' opinion of that specimen of reading? Not t'oubling you, but, in two or three word' only--if you will give yo'self the pain"--
"Why, certainly; I think it is--I can hardly find words--it's remarkable." Bonaventure started with joy.
"Chil'run, do you hear? Remawkable! But do you not detect no slight--no small faultiness of p'onounciating?"
"No, not the slightest; I smile, but I was thinking of something else." The visitor's eye, wandering a trifle, caught Chat-oue giving him one black look that removed his disposition to smile, yet he insisted, "No, sir; I can truthfully say I never heard such a pronunciation." The audience drank his words.
"Sir," cried the glad preceptor, "'tis toil have p'oduce it! Toil of the teacher, in_dust_ry of the chil'run! But it has p'oduce' _beside_! Sir, look--that school! Since one year commencing the A B C--and now spelling word' of eight syllabl'!"
"Not _this_ school?"
"Sir, you shall see--or, more p'operly, hear. First spelling!"
"Yes," said the stranger, seeing Sidonie rise, "I'd like to hear that class;" and felt Chat-oue looking at him again. _