I was a Fisk student
then, and all Fisk men thought that Tennessee--beyond the
Veil--was theirs alone, and in vacation time they sallied forth
in lusty bands to meet the county school-commissioners.
Young and happy, I too went, and I shall not soon forget that
summer, seventeen years ago.
First, there was a Teachers' Institute at the county-seat; and
there distinguished guests of the superintendent taught the
teachers fractions and spelling and other mysteries,--white
teachers in the morning, Negroes at night. A picnic now and
then, and a supper, and the rough world was softened by
laughter and song. I remember how-- But I wander.
There came a day when all the teachers left the Institute
and began the hunt for schools. I learn from hearsay (for my
mother was mortally afraid of firearms) that the hunting of
ducks and bears and men is wonderfully interesting, but I am
sure that the man who has never hunted a country school has
something to learn of the pleasures of the chase. I see now
the white, hot roads lazily rise and fall and wind before me
under the burning July sun; I feel the deep weariness of heart
and limb as ten, eight, six miles stretch relentlessly ahead; I
feel my heart sink heavily as I hear again and again, "Got a
teacher? Yes.
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