That Eurasian

by Aleph Bey

I cannot but think, heathen as I am, that a parson, of all men, should always be a well favored, as well favored in body as well as mind, a manly man, of whom God or nature need not be ashamed and to whom the people would listen without disgust or pity. Another thing I could not understand why most of this class should always have that far away pious look, a ministerial drawl or holy moaning tone. Whether these are produced by their longings for heaven, or their food, or their devotions, or what I cannot tell. Their tone or drone and appearance, all goes to show that their profession has got the better of their manhood.

To return to the school. This teacher had really nothing in him or about him of a parson, except his manner and his clothes, and the clothes were the most valuable part of him. He evidently realized this himself, for, lacking in every respect what pertained to a real priest, he tried to make up in his dress and posing. By his manner, at first sight, not later, he would be taken to be one of God’s saints; and by his clothes, that he was the confidential adviser and chaplain of some great Archbishop or the Bishop himself. He went around the building or through our play grounds with his eyes turned towards the earth as if in holy meditation, appearing as meek as Moses was said to be, but an hour afterward when some of the boys were called before the beefy principal for some loud laughter or slight violation of the rules, we knew that “Yellow Skin” had been telling. How we learned to think of that man! not with hatred for he was not worthy of that, but with contempt, probably the same feeling that a noble mastiff has for a mangy pariah cur. He was lurking everywhere, with his eyes towards the ground as if searching for some lost jewel but we came to know that he always had his side eye upon us. Outside his classes he never spoke to the boys, as this might have compromised his clerical dignity. He never accused any one openly and the principal never revealed his informant, but any boy of us knew who had told. I always thanked my guiding star that I was not in any of his classes. By instinct I kept out of his range as much as possible.

The principal, portly as he was, knew a thing or two. He was a slow thinker, or probably thought but little, as I have not treasured up anything of his, not a saying, a witticism, an anecdote, and a man must be composed of the very essence of stupidity who in four years could not give out something worth saving. A learned professor—as I have read somewhere—claims that “genius is the evidence of a degenerative taint, that is, an epileptical degenerative psychosis.” To be just, I must absolve our chief from any such imputation. But he was business itself, a plodder in his little circle, with as much brilliancy and energy in his thoughts and movements, as in a buffalo going from grass to its wallow. He surely understood “Yellow Whiskers” thoroughly, as he never treated him as an associate, rather as a spy and lackey.

How different with the other teachers. We soon fell into the habit of making a note of their bright sayings, their anecdotes and witticisms and frequently after class, one boy would call out “Hallo Jim,” or “Dick” or “Japhet, I have got another,” and out would come the note-book and heads would be bent over it reading something good that he had got from his teacher in the class room. It became quite a competition as to who should get the most of these good things. And now after years have passed I often take out the old note-books and read them with the greatest pleasure, and again see the happy faces of the boys reading the bright things they had secured. But we never remembered anything of the sleek parson spy, except what we were obliged to do by the nature of memory, and what we would willingly have forgotten.

A little incident will show the character of one of our teachers. One morning, as we came into our class room, every eye was fixed upon a billy-goat tied in the master’s chair on the platform behind the table. Every boy looked at every other boy with a silent question on his lips, and waited in wonder what the teacher would say. I greatly admired him, as he was one of my model men, and I felt sorry for anything that might annoy him, and I think most of the class felt the same. Soon he came in, and apparently did not notice anything out of the way until he was about to step upon the platform, when he turned quickly, saying, “I beg your pardon, boys, I find I have made a mistake. I am not the kind of teacher you need, as I see you have selected a billy-goat to take my place. You, perhaps, think that he is able to teach you all you are capable of learning, so I had better seek another situation, but before I leave, as I would not act hastily, I would like to know if you all prefer the goat to me. Any one who wants the goat, hold up his hand.” Not a hand went up. “Now, any one who wants me to remain hold up his hand.” And every hand and arm in the room went up as high as they could be raised. “That settles it,” he said, “and I have a very good opinion of you. I think the chaukedar must have been playing on us all, so we will have him called to take the butt of his joke away.”

That was all. He never referred to the matter again, and our lessons went on as usual. We all, or most of us, felt so sorry for the master that we proposed as we left the room to keep dead silent. But the news of it got to the principal. We never knew how, but we all believed that the spy, always lurking about, had seen the goat through the window. That evening, as our chief pastor read the prayers, I felt by his tone, manner, and the redness of his face, that something was coming; just as the heated air and the distant rumbling thunder, tells of the coming storm.

Prayers said, little Johnny, he who was so timid that he could not kneel down before the boys to say his prayers, was called in front of the desk. Said our portly head in a pompous, angry voice, fierce enough to make a lion tremble; his face crimson, and his whole mountain of flesh fairly shaking with wrath: “You were seen in front of the school building last night, when several large boys ran past you, and I am sure they were the ones who put the goat in the master’s chair, and I want you to tell who they were?” There was a dead silence, of a minute, it seemed to me, but it may have been only a half of one, yet it was an awful long time. Johnny was as silent as the rest of us. Then the chief, angrier than ever: “Are you going to tell me who those boys were, or not?” “No, sir, I shall not tell,” said the brave lad. His voice trembled, but had a deal of firmness in it. As he gave his answer our chief drew a rattan from the table drawer, and laid it upon poor Johnny, right and left, up and down, regardless where he struck. Every blow hit me, for I had often met the little fellow and loved him. One thing, especially, brought us together. One day he told me he had never had a father, so this made us twin brothers in sympathy ever afterward. I screamed in pain, pain in my heart, the worst kind of pain. At my scream the big flogger stopped and shaking the rattan at me, shouted out: “If that boy makes another sound, I will give him something to remember. This will do for to-day,” said he, as he seemed to be exhausted, and out we went, the spy following us.

As I had been threatened for my sympathy with Johnny, my instinct told me that it might be better for him that I should not be seen in his company by the spy. I went back up the hill to a bit of level ground where we often walked, and where I knew Johnny would come, and soon he appeared. We went into a quiet little nook, and then he pulled up his trousers and showed the great red marks that were swelling into welts, and then showed me his arms and back. How those cuts must have hurt! I had never been whipped, but had received some cuts in play, so I could imagine how such a thrashing must have felt. But he never whimpered. He seemed to be more hurt in his thoughts than in his body. I took him in my arms, and told him he was a brave noble fellow, that there was not another boy in the school who could have stood such a licking without screaming and blubbering. This greatly pleased and consoled him, but he carried the marks, as he was black and blue for months. He then said that the night before, he had gone out for a few minutes, and just as he was in front of the hall, four boys ran out of the class room. He knew every one of them, as the moon was shining brightly. Just as he entered the door, the spy appeared. Neither of them said anything. When he was called up by the principal he was surprised, as he could not think of any reason for it. He was thunderstruck when the question was asked, and more so, when the blows fell.

Just as we thought, the spy was in it. Johnny did not tell me who the boys were, and I did not wish to know the name of any one who would sit still like a great skulking coward, and see a boy like Johnny, be thrashed for his fault. Though Johnny never told, they became known and were not forgotten during our four year’s course. They were not blamed for the goat affair, as all took that as a joke, but for their cowardice and meanness in letting Johnny be whipped while they looked on. They were often left out of our games when sets were made up if we could do without them. Often we would find placards on the walls and trees asking: “Who were the cowards that let Johnny be thrashed?” “Little Johnny is known, but who are the sneaks?”

But where was our teacher? It appeared that he had gone out for a stroll with a friend after his classes, but I felt sure that he knew something was going to happen about the goat affair, and he would get out of the way so as not to be called on to say anything, or to blame any one. This was just like him. He was a man, and we all admired and loved him.