 | CHAPTER IX. The Morgesons |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
Aunt Mercy had not introduced me to Miss Black as
the daughter of Locke Morgeson, the richest man in Surrey,
but simply as her neice. Her pride prevented her from
making any exhibition of my antecedents, which was wise, considering
that I had none. My grandfather, John Morgeson,
Locke Morgeson, was worthy to be called a Somebody,
it was not his destiny to make a stir in the world. Father was
a new man. Many of the families of my Barmouth schoolmates
had the fulcrum of a monied grandfather. The knowledge
of the girls did not extend to that period in the family
history when its patriarchs started in the pursuit of Gain.
Elmira Sawyer, one of Miss Black's pupils, never heard that
her grandfather, “Black Peter,” as he was called, had made
excursions, in an earlier part of his life, on the river Congo;
or that he was familiar with the soundings of Loango Bay. As
he returned from his voyages, bringing more and more money,
he enlarged his estate, and grew more and more respectable,
retiring at last from the sea, to become a worthy landsman;
he paid taxes to church and state, and even had a silver communion
cup, among the pewter service used on the occasion of
the Lord's Supper; but he never was brought to the approval
of that project of the Congregational Churches,—the Colonization
of the Blacks of Liberia. Neither was Hersilia Allen
aware that the pink calico in which I first saw her was
remotely owing to West India Rum. Nor did Charlotte Alden,
the proudest girl in school, know that her grandfather's, Squire
Alden's, stepping stone to fortune was the loss of the brig
“Capricorn,” which was wrecked in the vicinity of a comfortable
port, on her passage out to the whaling ground. An
auger had been added to the meagre outfit, and long after the
sea had leaked through the hole bored through her bottom, and
swallowed her, and the insurance had been paid, the truth
leaked out that the captain had received instructions, which
had been fulfilled. Whereupon two Insurance Companies
went to law with him, and a suit ensued, which ended in their
paying costs, in addition to what they had before paid Squire
Alden, who winked in a derisive manner at the Board
of Directors, when he received its check.
There were others who belonged in the category of Decayed
Families, and who were as exclusive as they were shabby.
There was also a list of parvenus, which included myself. By
the time I entered the school it was divided into clans, each
with its spites, jealousies, and emulations. Its esprit de corps,
however, was developed by my arrival; the girls united
against me, and though I perceived, when I compared myself
with them, that they were partly right in their opinions, their
ridicule and contempt stupefied and crushed me. They were
trained, intelligent, and adroit; I was uncouth, ignorant, and
affected by the general feeling in regard to me. Her pupils
knew sooner than I did, that she sympathized with them in their
opinions. She embarrassed me, when I should have despised
her. At first her regimen surprised, then filled me with
a dumb, clouded anger, which made me appear apathetic.
Miss Emily Black was a young woman, and, I thought,
a handsome one. She had crenulated black hair, large black
eyes, a Roman nose, and long white teeth. She bit her nails
when annoyed, and when her superiority made her perceive
the mental darkness of others, she laughed often. Being
pious, she conducted her school after the theologic pattern of
the Nipswich Seminary, at which she had been educated. She
opened the school each day with a religious exercise, reading,
in an unnatural voice, something from the Bible, and commenting
upon it, or questioning us regarding our ideas of
what she read. She often selected the character of David, and
was persistent in her efforts to explain and reconcile the discrepancies
in the history of the royal Son of Israel
“Miss C. Morgeson, we will call you,” she said in our first
interview; “the name of Cassandra is too peculiar.”
“My grandfather Locke liked the name; my sister's is
Veronica; do you like that better?”
“It is of no consequence in the premises what your sister
may be named,” she replied, running her eye over me. “What
will she study, Miss Warren?”
Aunt Mercy's recollections of my studies were dim, and her
knowledge of my school days was not calculated to prepossess
a teacher in my favor; but after a moment's delay, she said:
“What you think best.”
“Very well,” she answered; “I will endeavor to fulfil my
Christian duty towards her. We will return to the school
room.”
We had held the conversation in the porch, and now aunt
Mercy gave me a nod of encouragement, and bidding Miss
Black, “Good day,” departed, looking behind her as long as
possible. I followed my teacher. As she opened the door
forty eyes were levelled at me; my hands were in my
way suddenly; my feet impeded my progress; how should I
pass that wall of eyes? A wisp of my dry, rough hair fell on
my neck and tickled it; as I tried to poke it under my comb,
I glanced at the faces before me. How spirited and delicate
they were! The creatures had their heads dressed as if they
were at a party—in curls, or braids and ribbons. An open,
I stood still, but my head went round. Miss Black mounted
her desk, and surveyed the school-room. “Miss Charlotte
Alden, the desk next you is vacant; Miss C. Morgeson, the
new pupil, may take it.”
Miss Charlotte answered, “Yes mim,” and ostentatiously
swept away an accumulation of pencils, sponges, papers and
books, to make room for me. I took the seat, previously
stumbling against her, whereat all the girls, whose regards
were immediately fixed upon me, smiled. That was my initiation.
The first day I was left to myself, to make interested but
unimpassioned studies. The school room was in the vestry of
the church, a building between it and grand'ther's house.
Each girl had a small desk before her. Miss Black occupied a
high stool in a square box, which served for the minister when
meetings were held; at its back was his seat, a low bench,
where she heard single recitations, or lectured a pupil. The
vestry yard, where the girls romped, and exercised with
skipping ropes, a swing, and a set of tilting boards, commanded
a view of grand'ther's premises; our street windows were
exposed to the raking fire of their eyes and tongues.
I observed that the dress and manners of the girls differed
from mine. Their manners were regulated by the impression
they wished to make upon each other, not by any innate principle.
The fact of their being well dressed aided me to the
discovery that I was ignorant of the art of dress. My clothes
were ill-made, clumsy, and of inappropriate colors; theirs were
stylish, harmonious, and worn with an ease which testified to
the habit of considering the toilet a necessary accomplishment.
After I went home I examined myself in the glass, and drew
an unfavorable conclusion from the inspection. My hair was
parted zig-zag; one shoulder was higher than the other; my
dress came up to my chin, and slipped down to my shoulder
blades. I was all waist; no hips were developed; my hands
were red, and my nails were chipped. I opened the trunk
where my wardrobe was packed; what belonged to me was
comfortable, in reference to weather and the wash, but not
pretty. I found I had a molasses-colored silk, called Turk
satin—one of mother's old dresses, made over for me, or an
individious selection of hers from the purchases of father, who
sometimes made a mistake in taste, owing to the misrepresentations
of shop-keepers and milliners. While thus engaged,
saw that I had tumbled my clothes out of the trunk.
“Aunt Mercy, these things are horrid, all of them. Look at
this shawl,” and I unrolled a square silk fabric, the color of a
sick orange. “Where did this come from?”
“Saints upon earth!” she exclaimed, “your father bought
it at the best store in New York. It was costly.”
“Now tell me, why do the pantalettes of those girls look so
graceful? They do not twirl round the ankle like a rope, as
mine do.”
“I can't say,” she answered with a sigh. “But you ought
to wear long dresses; yours are tucked, and could be let
down.”
“And these red prunella boots—they look like boiled crabs”
I put them on, and walked round the room crab-fashion, till
she laughed hysterically. “Miss Charlotte Alden wears
French kid slippers every day, and I must wear mine.”
“No,” she said, “you must only wear them to church.”
“I shall talk to father about that, when he comes here next.”
“Cassy, did Charlotte Alden speak to you to-day?”
“No; but she made an acquaintance by stares.”
“Well, never mind her if she says anything unpleasant to
you; the Aldens are a high set.”
“Are they higher than we are in Surrey? Have they heard
of my father, who is equal to the President?”
“We are all equal in the sight of God.”
“You do not look as if you thought so, aunt Mercy. Why
do you say things in Barmouth, you never said in Surrey?”
“Come down stairs, Cassandra, and help me finish the
dishes.”
Our conversation was ended; but I still had my thoughts on
the clothes question, and revolved my plans.
After the morning exercises the next day, Miss Black called
me in to her desk. “I think,” she said, “you had better
study Geology. It is important, for it will lead your mind up
from nature to nature's God. My young ladies have finished
their studies in that direction; therefore you will recite alone,
once a day.”
“Yes 'em,” I replied; but it was the first time that I had
heard of Geology. The compendium she gave me must have
been dull and dry; I could not get its lessons perfectly. It
never inspired me with any interest for land or sea. I could
not associate any of its terms, or descriptions, with the great
rock under grand'ther's house. It was not for Miss Black to
mode of instruction. She proposed Botany also. The young
ladies had made botanical excursions to the fields and woods
outside Barmouth; I might as well join the class at once. It
was now in the family of the Legumes. I accompanied the
class on one excursion. Not a soul appeared to know that I
was present, and I declined going again. Composition I must
write once a month. A few more details closed the interview.
I mentioned in it that father desired me to study arithmetic.
Miss Black placed me in a class; but her interests were in the
higher, and more elegant branches of education. I made no
more advance in the humble walks of learning, than in those
adorned by the dissection of flowers, the disruption of rocks, or
the graces of composition. Though I entered upon my duties
under protest, I soon became accustomed to their routine, and
the rest of my life seemed more like a dream of the future,
than a realization of the present. I refused to go home at the
end of the month. I preferred waiting, I said, to the end of
the year. I was not urged to change my mind; neither was I
applauded for my resolution. The day that I could have gone
home, I asked father to drive me to Milford, on the opposite
side of the river which ran by Barmouth. I shut my eyes
tight, when the horse struck the boards of the long wooden
bridge between the towns, and opened them when we stopped
at an inn by the water side of Milford. Father took me into
a parlor, where sat a handsome, fat woman, hemming towels.
“Is that you, Morgeson?” she said. “Is this your daughter?”
“Yes; can I leave her with you, while I go to the bank?
She has not been here before.”
“Lord ha' mercy on us, you clip her wings, don't you?
Come here, child, and let me pull off your pelisse.”
I went to her with a haughty air; it did not please me to
hear my father called `Morgeson,' by a person unknown to me.
She understood my expression, and looked up at father; they
both smiled, and I was vexed with him for his unwarrantable
familiarity. Pinching my cheek with her fat fingers, which
were covered with red and green rings, she said, “We shall
do very well together. What a pretty silk pelisse, and silver
buckles, too.”
After father went out, and my bonnet was disposed of, Mrs.
Tabor gave me a huge piece of delicious sponge cake, which
softened me somewhat.
“What is your name, dear?'
“Morgeson”
“It is easy to see that.”
“Well, Cassandra.”
“Oh, what a lovely name,” and she drew from her workbasket
a paper-covered book; “there is no name in this novel
half so pretty; I wish the heroine's name had been Cassandra,
instead of Aldebrante.”
“Let me see it,” I begged.
“There is a horrid monk in it;” but she gave it to me, and
was presently called out. I devoured its pages, and for the
only time in that year of Barmouth life, I forgot my own wants
and woes. She saw my interest in the book when she came
back, and coaxed it from me, offering me more cake, which I
accepted. She told me that she had known father for years,
and that he kept his horse at the inn stables, and dined with
her. “But I never knew that he had a daughter,” she continued.
“Are you the only child?”
“I have a sister,” and after a moment remembered that I
had a brother, too; but did not think it a fact necessary to
mention.
“I have no children.”
“But you have novels to read.”
She laughed, and by the time father returned we were quite
chatty. After dinner I asked him to go to some shops with
me. He took me to a jeweller's, and without consulting me
bought an immense mosaic brooch, with a ruined castle on it,
and a pretty ring with a gold stone.
“Is there anything more?” he asked.
“Yes, I want a pink calico dress.”
“Why?”
“Because the girls at Miss Black's wear pink calico.”
“Why not get a pink silk?”
“I must have a pink French calico, with a three-cornered
white cloud on it; it is the fashion.”
“The fashion!” he echoed with contempt. But the dress
was bought, and we went back to Barmouth.
When I appeared in school with my new brooch and ring
the girls crowded round me.
“What does that pin represent, whose estate?” inquired
one, with envy in her voice.
“Don't the ring make the blood rush into your hand?” asked
another; “it looks so.”
“Does it?” I answered; “I'll hold up my hand in the air,
as you do, to make it white.”
“What is your father's business?” asked Elmira Sawyer,
“is he a tailor?”
Her insolence made my head swim; but I did not reply.
When recess was over a few minutes afterwards, I cried under
the lid of my desk. These girls overpowered me, for I could
not conciliate them, and had no idea of revenge, believing that
their ridicule was deserved. But I thought I should like to
prove myself respectable. How could I? Grand'ther was a
tailor, and I could not demean myself by assuring them that
my father was a gentleman.
In the course of a month aunt Mercy had my pink calico
made up by the best dressmaker in Barmouth. When I put
it on I thought I looked better than I ever had before, and
went into school triumphantly with it. The girls surveyed me
in silence; but they criticised me. At last Charlotte Alden
asked me in a whisper if old Mr. Warren made my dress. She
wrote on a piece of paper, in large letters—“Girls, don't lets
wear our pink calicoes again,” and pushing it over to Elmira
Sawyer, made signs that the paper should be passed to all the
girls. They read it, and turning to Charlotte Alden nodded.
I watched the paper as it made its round, and saw Mary Bennett
drop it on the floor with a giggle.
It was a rainy day, and we passed the recess in-doors. I
remained quiet, looking over my lesson. “The first period
ends with the carboniferous system; the second includes the
saliferous and magnesean systems; the third comprises the
öolitic and chalk systems; the fourth”— “How attentive
some people are to their lessons,” I heard Charlotte Alden
say. Looking up I saw her near me with Elmira Sawyer.
“What is that you say?” I asked sharply.
“I am not speaking to you.”
“I am angry,” I said in a low tone, and rising.
“Who are you that you should be angry? We have heard
about your mother, when she was in love, poor thing.”
I struck her so violent a blow in the face, that she staggered
backwards “You are a liar,” I said, “and you must let me
alone.” Elmira Sawyer turned white, and moved away. I
threw my book at her; it hit her head, and her comb was
broken by my geological systems. There was a stir; Miss
Black hurried from her desk, saying, “Young ladies, what
does this mean? Miss C. Morgeson, your temper equals
your vulgarity, I find. Take your seat in my desk.”
I obeyed her, and as we passed Mary Bennett's desk
where I saw the paper fall, I picked it up. “See the good
lips as she glanced over it, turned back as if to speak to Charlotte
Alden, looked at me again, and went on. “Sit down,
Miss C. Morgeson, and reflect on the blow you have given;
will you ask pardon?”
“I will not; you know that.”
“I have never resorted to severe punishment yet; but I
fear I shall be obliged to in your case.”
“Let me go from here.” I clenched my hands, and tried to
get up. She held me down on the seat, and we looked close
into each other's eyes. “You are a bad girl.” “And you
are a bad woman,” I replied; “mean and cruel.” She made
a motion to strike me, but her hand dropped; I felt my nostrils
quiver strangely. “For shame,” she said in a tremulous
voice, and turned away. I sat on the bench at the back of the
desk, heartily tired, till school was dismissed; as Charlotte
Alden passed out, courtesying, Miss Black said she hoped she
would extend a Christian forgiveness to Miss C. Morgeson, for
her unlady-like behavior. “Miss C. Morgeson is a peculiar
case.”
She gave her a meaning look, which was not lost upon me.
Charlotte answered “Certainly,” and bowed to me gracefully,
whereat I felt a fresh sense of my demerits, and concluded
that I was worsted in the fray.
Miss Black asked no explanation of the affair; it was dropped,
and none of the girls alluded to it by hint or look afterward.
When I told aunt Mercy of it, she turned pale, and
said she knew what Charlotte Alden meant, and that perhaps
mother would tell me in good time.
“We had a good many troubles in our young days, Cassy.”
| CHAPTER IX. The Morgesons | |