The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Upward Path, by Various
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Upward Path
A Reader For Colored Children
Author: Various
Release Date: March 1, 2010 [EBook #31456]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UPWARD PATH ***
Produced by David Edwards, Richard J. Shiffer and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
[Transcriber's Note: Every effort has been made to replicate this
text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings
and other inconsistencies. Text that has been changed to correct an
obvious error is noted at the end of this ebook.]
THE UPWARD PATH
A READER FOR COLORED
CHILDREN
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
ROBERT R. MOTON
PRINCIPAL OF TUSKEGEE INSTITUTE
COMPILED BY
MYRON T. PRITCHARD
PRINCIPAL, EVERETT SCHOOL, BOSTON
AND
MARY WHITE OVINGTON
CHAIRMAN OF THE BOARD OF THE NATIONAL ASSOCIATION FOR THE
ADVANCEMENT OF COLORED PEOPLE
NEW YORK
HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE, INC.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The Boy and the Bayonet]
FOREWORD
To the present time, there has been no collection of stories and poems
by Negro writers, which colored children could read with interest and
pleasure and in which they could find a mirror of the traditions and
aspirations of their race. Realizing this lack, Myron T. Pritchard,
Principal of the Everett School, Boston, and Mary White Ovington,
Chairman of the Board of the National Association for the Advancement of
Colored People, have brought together poems, stories, sketches and
addresses which bear eloquent testimony to the richness of the literary
product of our Negro writers. It is the hope that this little book will
find a large welcome in all sections of the country and will bring good
cheer and encouragement to the young readers who have so largely the
fortunes of their race in their own hands.
The editors desire to express thanks to the authors who have generously
granted the use of their work. Especial acknowledgement is due to Mrs.
Booker T. Washington for the selection from _Up from Slavery_; to _The
Crisis_ for "The Rondeau," by Jessie Fauset, "The Brave Son," by Alston
W. Burleigh, "The Black Fairy," by Fenton Johnson, "The Children at
Easter," by C. Emily Frazier, "His Motto," by Lottie B. Dixon, "Negro
Soldiers," by Roscoe C. Jamison, "A Legend of the Blue Jay," by Ruth
Anna Fisher; to the American Book Company for "The Dog and the Clever
Rabbit," from _Animal Tales_, by A. O. Stafford; to Frederick A. Stokes
and Company for "A Negro Explorer at the North Pole," by Matthew A.
Henson; to A. C. McClurg and Company for the selection from _Souls of
Black Folk_, by W. E. B. DuBois; to Henry Holt and Company for the
selection from _The Negro_, by W. E. B. DuBois; to the Cornhill Company
for the selections from The _Band of Gideon_, by Joseph F. Cotter, Jr.,
and _The Menace of the South_, by William J. Edwards; to Dodd, Mead and
Company for "Ere Sleep Comes Down" and the "Boy and the Bayonet"
(copyright 1907), by Paul Laurence Dunbar.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE BOY AND THE BAYONET _Paul Laurence Dunbar_ 1
BEGINNINGS OF A MISSISSIPPI SCHOOL _William H. Holtzclaw_ 13
UP FROM SLAVERY _Booker T. Washington_ 15
BOOKER T. WASHINGTON _William H. Holtzclaw_ 20
ANNA-MARGARET _Augusta Bird_ 22
CHARITY _H. Cordelia Ray_ 28
MY FIRST SCHOOL _W. E. B. DuBois_ 29
ERE SLEEP COMES DOWN _Paul Laurence Dunbar_ 38
THE LAND OF LAUGHTER _Angelina W. Grimke_ 40
THE WEB OF CIRCUMSTANCE _Charles W. Chesnutt_ 47
IS THE GAME WORTH THE CANDLE? _James E. Shepard_ 48
O BLACK AND UNKNOWN BARDS _James Weldon Johnson_ 54
THE GREATEST MENACE OF THE SOUTH _William J. Edwards_ 56
THE ENCHANTED SHELL _H. Cordelia Ray_ 63
BEHIND A GEORGIA MULE _James Weldon Johnson_ 66
HAYTI AND TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE _W. E. B. DuBois_ 72
HIS MOTTO _Lottie Burrell Dixon_ 77
THE MONTHS _H. Cordelia Ray_ 86
THE COLORED CADET AT WEST POINT _Lieut. Henry Ossian
Flipper, U.S.A._ 90
AN HYMN TO THE EVENING _Phyllis Wheatley_ 95
GOING TO SCHOOL UNDER DIFFICULTIES _William H. Holtzclaw_ 96
THE BRAVE SON _Alston W. Burleigh_ 101
VICTORY _Walter F. White_ 102
THE DOG AND THE CLEVER RABBIT _A. O. Stafford_ 109
THE BOY AND THE IDEAL _Joseph S. Cotter_ 112
CHILDREN AT EASTER _C. Emily Frazier_ 114
ABRAHAM LINCOLN _William Pickens_ 117
RONDEAU _Jessie Fauset_ 120
HOW I ESCAPED _Frederick Douglass_ 121
FREDERICK DOUGLASS _W. H. Crogman_ 128
INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF FREDERICK DOUGLASS 134
ANIMAL LIFE IN THE CONGO _William Henry Sheppard_ 135
COÖPERATION AND THE LATIN CLASS _Lillian B. Witten_ 143
THE BAND OF GIDEON _Joseph F. Cotter, Jr._ 148
THE HOME OF THE COLORED GIRL BEAUTIFUL _Azalia Hackley_ 150
THE KNIGHTING OF DONALD _Lillian B. Witten_ 153
A NEGRO EXPLORER AT THE NORTH POLE _Matthew A. Henson_ 159
BENJAMIN BANNEKER _William Wells Brown_ 166
THE NEGRO RACE _Charles W. Anderson_ 168
PAUL CUFFE _John W. Cromwell_ 169
THE BLACK FAIRY _Fenton Johnson_ 175
IT'S A LONG WAY _William Stanley
Braithwaite_ 181
NEGRO MUSIC THAT STIRRED FRANCE _Emmett J. Scott_ 182
NOVEMBER 11, 1918 187
SEA LYRIC _William Stanley
Braithwaite_ 189
A NEGRO WOMAN'S HOSPITALITY _Leila A. Pendleton_ 190
RECORD OF "THE OLD FIFTEENTH" IN FRANCE _Emmett J. Scott_ 192
NEGRO SOLDIERS _Roscoe C. Jamison_ 194
THE "DEVIL BUSH" AND THE "GREEGREE BUSH" _George W. Ellis_ 195
EVENING PRAYER _H. Cordelia Ray_ 199
THE STRENUOUS LIFE _Silas X. Floyd_ 200
O LITTLE DAVID, PLAY ON YOUR HARP _Joseph F. Cotter, Jr._ 202
A DAY AT KALK BAY, SOUTH AFRICA _L. J. Coppin_ 203
BISHOP ATTICUS G. HAYGOOD _W. H. Crogman_ 205
HOW TWO COLORED CAPTAINS FELL _Ralph W. Tyler_ 207
THE YOUNG WARRIOR _James Weldon Johnson_ 208
WHOLE REGIMENTS DECORATED _Emmett J. Scott_ 209
ON PLANTING ARTICHOKES _Daniel A. Rudd and
Theodore Bond_ 210
A SONG OF THANKS _Edward Smyth Jones_ 214
OUR DUMB ANIMALS _Silas X. Floyd_ 216
A LEGEND OF THE BLUE JAY _Ruth Anna Fisher_ 218
DAVID LIVINGSTONE _Benjamin Brawley_ 220
IRA ALDRIDGE _William J. Simmons_ 224
FIFTY YEARS _James Weldon Johnson_ 228
A GREAT KINGDOM IN THE CONGO _William Henry Sheppard_ 233
PILLARS OF THE STATE _William C. Jason_ 249
OATH OF AFRO-AMERICAN YOUTH _Kelly Miller_ 250
NOTES 251
INTRODUCTION
The Negro has been in America just about three hundred years and in that
time he has become intertwined in all the history of the nation. He has
fought in her wars; he has endured hardships with her pioneers; he has
toiled in her fields and factories; and the record of some of the
nation's greatest heroes is in large part the story of their service and
sacrifice for this people.
The Negro arrived in America as a slave in 1619, just one year before
the Pilgrims arrived at Plymouth in search of freedom. Since then their
lot has not always been a happy one, but nevertheless, in spite of
difficulties and hardships, the race has learned many valuable lessons
in its conflict with the American civilization. As a slave the lessons
of labor, of constructive endeavor, of home-life and religion were
learned, even if the opportunity was not always present to use these
lessons to good advantage.
After slavery other lessons were learned in their order. Devoted
self-sacrificing souls--soldiers of human brotherhood--took up the task
in the schoolroom which their brothers began on the battlefield. Here it
was that the Negro learned the history of America, of the deeds of her
great men, the stirring events which marked her development, the ideals
that made America great. And so well have they been learned, that to-day
there are no more loyal Americans than the twelve million Negroes that
make up so large a part of the nation.
But the race has other things yet to learn: The education of any race is
incomplete unless the members of that race know the history and
character of its own people as well as those of other peoples. The Negro
has yet to learn of the part which his own race has played in making
America great; has yet to learn of the noble and heroic souls among his
own people, whose achievements are praiseworthy among any people. A
number of books--poetry, history and fiction--have been written by Negro
authors in which the life of their own people has been faithfully and
attractively set forth; but until recently no effort has been made on a
large scale to see that Negro boys and girls became acquainted with
these books and the facts they contained concerning their people.
In this volume the publishers have brought together a number of
selections from the best literary works of Negro authors, through which
these young people may learn more of the character and accomplishments
of the worthy members of their race. Such matter is both informing and
inspiring, and no Negro boy or girl can read it without feeling a deeper
pride in his own race. The selections are each calculated to teach a
valuable lesson, and all make a direct appeal to the best impulses of
the human heart.
For a number of years several educational institutions for Negro youths
have conducted classes in Negro history with a similar object in view.
The results of these classes have been most gratifying and the present
volume is a commendable contribution to the literature of such a course.
ROBERT R. MOTON
TUSKEGEE INSTITUTE, ALA.,
June 30, 1920
To the man in the tower the world below him is likely to look very
small. Men look like ants and all the bustle and stir of their hurrying
lives seems pitifully confused and aimless. But the man in the street
who is looking and striving upward is in a different situation. However
poor his present plight, the thing he aims at and is striving toward
stands out clear and distinct above him, inspiring him with hope and
ambition in his struggle upward. For the man who is down there is always
something to hope for, always something to be gained. The man who is
down, looking up, may catch a glimpse now and then of heaven, but the
man who is so situated that he can only look down is pretty likely to
see another and quite different place.
BOOKER T. WASHINGTON
THE UPWARD PATH
THE BOY AND THE BAYONET
PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
It was June, and nearing the closing time of school. The air was full of
the sound of bustle and preparation for the final exercises, field day,
and drills. Drills especially, for nothing so gladdens the heart of the
Washington mother, be she black or white, as seeing her boy in the blue
cadet's uniform, marching proudly to the huzzas of an admiring crowd.
Then she forgets the many nights when he has come in tired out and dusty
from his practice drill, and feels only the pride and elation of the
result.
Although Tom did all he could outside of study hours, there were many
days of hard work for Hannah Davis, when her son went into the High
School. But she took it upon herself gladly, since it gave Bud the
chance to learn, that she wanted him to have. When, however, he entered
the Cadet Corps it seemed to her as if the first steps toward the
fulfilment of all her hopes had been made. It was a hard pull to her,
getting the uniform, but Bud himself helped manfully, and when his
mother saw him rigged out in all his regimentals, she felt that she had
not toiled in vain. And in fact it was worth all the trouble and expense
just to see the joy and pride of "little sister," who adored Bud.
As the time for the competitive drill drew near there was an air of
suppressed excitement about the little house on "D" Street, where the
three lived. All day long "little sister," who was never very well and
did not go to school, sat and looked out of the window on the
uninteresting prospect of a dusty thoroughfare lined on either side with
dull red brick houses, all of the same ugly pattern, interspersed with
older, uglier, and viler frame shanties. In the evening Hannah hurried
home to get supper against the time when Bud should return, hungry and
tired from his drilling, and the chore work which followed hard upon its
heels.
Things were all cheerful, however, for as they applied themselves to the
supper, the boy, with glowing face, would tell just how his company "A"
was getting on, and what they were going to do to companies "B" and "C."
It was not boasting so much as the expression of a confidence, founded
upon the hard work he was doing, and Hannah and the "little sister"
shared that with him.
The child often, listening to her brother, would clap her hands or cry,
"Oh, Bud, you're just splendid an' I know you'll beat 'em."
"If hard work'll beat 'em, we've got 'em beat," Bud would reply, and
Hannah, to add an admonitory check to her own confidence, would break in
with, "Now, don't you be too sho'; dey ain't been no man so good dat dey
wasn't somebody bettah." But all the while her face and manner were
disputing what her words expressed.
The great day came, and it was a wonderful crowd of people that packed
the great baseball grounds to overflowing. It seemed that all of
Washington's colored population was out, when there were really only
about one-tenth of them there. It was an enthusiastic, banner-waving,
shouting, hallooing crowd. Its component parts were strictly and frankly
partisan, and so separated themselves into sections differentiated by
the colors of the flags they carried and the ribbons they wore. Side
yelled defiance at side, and party bantered party. Here the blue and
white of company "A" flaunted audaciously on the breeze beside the very
seats over which the crimson and gray of "B" were flying and they in
their turn nodded defiance over the imaginary barrier between themselves
and "C's" black and yellow.
The band was thundering out Sousa's "High School Cadet's March," the
school officials, the judges, and reporters, and some with less purpose
were bustling about discussing and conferring. Altogether doing nothing
much with beautiful unanimity. All was noise, hurry, gaiety, and
turbulence.
In the midst of it all, with blue and white rosettes pinned on their
breasts, sat two spectators, tense and silent, while the breakers of
movement and sound struck and broke around them. It seemed too much to
Hannah and "little sister" for them to laugh and shout. Bud was with
company "A," and so the whole program was more like a religious
ceremonial to them. The blare of the brass to them might have been the
trumpet call to battle in old Judea, and the far-thrown tones of the
megaphone the voice of a prophet proclaiming from the hill-top.
Hannah's face glowed with expectation, and "little sister" sat very
still and held her mother's hand save when amid a burst of cheers
company "A" swept into the parade ground at a quick step, then she
sprang up, crying shrilly, "There's Bud! there's Bud! I see him!" and
then settled back into her seat overcome with embarrassment. The
mother's eyes danced as soon as the sister's had singled out their dear
one from the midst of the blue-coated boys, and it was an effort for her
to keep from following her little daughter's example even to echoing her
words.
Company "A" came swinging down the field toward the judges in a manner
that called for more enthusiastic huzzas that carried even the Freshmen
of other commands "off their feet." They were, indeed, a set of
fine-looking young fellows, brisk, straight, and soldierly in bearing.
Their captain was proud of them, and his very step showed it. He was
like a skilled operator pressing the key of some great mechanism, and at
his command they moved like clockwork. Seen from the side it was as if
they were all bound together by inflexible iron bars, and as the end man
moved all must move with him.
The crowd was full of exclamations of praise and admiration, but a tense
quiet enveloped them as company "A" came from columns of four into line
for volley firing. This was a real test; it meant not only grace and
precision of movement, singleness of attention and steadiness, but
quickness tempered by self-control. At the command the volley rang forth
like a single shot. This was again the signal for wild cheering and the
blue and white streamers kissed the sunlight with swift impulsive
kisses. Hannah and "little sister" drew closer together and pressed
hands.
The "A" adherents, however, were considerably cooled when the next
volley came out, badly scattering, with one shot entirely apart and
before the rest. Bud's mother did not entirely understand the sudden
quieting of the adherents; they felt vaguely that all was not as it
should be, and the chill of fear laid hold upon their hearts. What if
Bud's company (it was always Bud's company to them), what if his company
should lose. But, of course, that couldn't be. Bud himself had said that
they would win. Suppose, though, they didn't; and with these thoughts
they were miserable until the cheering again told them that the company
had redeemed itself.
Someone behind Hannah said, "They are doing splendidly, they'll win,
they'll win yet in spite of the second volley."
Company "A," in columns of four, had executed the right oblique in
double time, and halted amid cheers; then formed left front into line
without halting. The next movement was one looked forward to with much
anxiety on account of its difficulty. The order was marching by fours to
fix or unfix bayonets. They were going at a quick step, but the boys'
hands were steady--hope was bright in their hearts. They were doing it
rapidly and freely, when suddenly from the ranks there was the bright
gleam of steel lower down than it should have been. A gasp broke from
the breasts of company "A's" friends. The blue and white dropped
disconsolately, while a few heartless ones who wore other colors
attempted to hiss. Someone had dropped his bayonet. But with muscles
unquivering, without a turned head, the company moved on as if nothing
had happened, while one of the judges, an army officer, stepped into the
wake of the boys and picked up the fallen steel.
No two eyes had seen half so quickly as Hannah and "little sister's" who
the blunderer was. In the whole drill there had been but one figure for
them, and that was Bud,--Bud, and it was he who had dropped his
bayonet. Anxious, nervous with the desire to please them, perhaps with a
shade too much of thought of them looking on with their hearts in their
eyes, he had fumbled, and lost all he was striving for. His head went
round and round and all seemed black before him.
He executed the movements in a dazed way. The applause, generous and
sympathetic, as his company left the parade ground, came to him from
afar off, and like a wounded animal he crept away from his comrades, not
because their reproaches stung him, for he did not hear them, but
because he wanted to think what his mother and "little sister" would
say, but his misery was as nothing to that of the two who sat up there
amid the ranks of the blue and white, holding each other's hands with a
despairing grip. To Bud all of the rest of the contest was a horrid
nightmare; he hardly knew when the three companies were marched back to
receive the judges' decision. The applause that greeted company "B" when
the blue ribbons were pinned on the members' coats meant nothing to his
ears. He had disgraced himself and his company. What would his mother
and his "little sister" say?
To Hannah and "little sister," as to Bud, all of the remainder of the
drill was a misery. The one interest they had had in it failed, and not
even the dropping of his gun by one of company "E" when on the march,
halting in line, could raise their spirits. The little girl tried to be
brave, but when it was all over she was glad to hurry out before the
crowd got started and to hasten away home. Once there and her tears
flowed freely; she hid her face in her mother's dress, and sobbed as if
her heart would break.
"Don't cry, Baby! don't cry, Lammie, dis ain't da las' time da wah goin'
to be a drill. Bud'll have a chance anotha time and den he'll show 'em
somethin'; bless you, I spec' he'll be a captain." But this consolation
of philosophy was nothing to "little sister." It was so terrible to her,
this failure of Bud's. She couldn't blame him, she couldn't blame anyone
else, and she had not yet learned to lay all such unfathomed
catastrophes at the door of fate. What to her was the thought of another
day; what did it matter to her whether he was a captain or a private?
She didn't even know the meaning of the words, but "little sister," from
the time she knew Bud was a private, thought that was much better than
being a captain or any other of those things with a long name, so that
settled it.
Her mother finally set about getting the supper, while "little sister"
drooped disconsolately in her own little splint-bottomed chair. She sat
there weeping silently until she heard the sound of Bud's step, then
sprang up and ran away to hide. She didn't dare to face him with tears
in her eyes. Bud came in without a word and sat down in the dark front
room.
"Dat you, Bud?" asked his mother.
"Yassum."
"Bettah come now, supper's puty 'nigh ready."
"I don't want no supper."
"You bettah come on, Bud, I reckon you's mighty tired."
He did not reply, but just then a pair of thin arms were put around his
neck and a soft cheek was placed close to his own.
"Come on, Buddie," whispered "little sister," "Mammy an' me know you
didn't mean to do it, an' we don't keer."
Bud threw his arms around his little sister and held her tightly.
"It's only you an' ma I care about," he said, "though I am sorry I
spoiled the company's drill; they say "B" would have won anyway on
account of our bad firing, but I did want you and ma to be proud."
"We is proud," she whispered, "we's mos' prouder dan if you'd won," and
pretty soon she led him by the hand to supper.
Hannah did all she could to cheer the boy and to encourage him to hope
for next year, but he had little to say in reply, and went to bed early.
In the morning, though it neared school time, Bud lingered around and
seemed in no disposition to get ready to go.
"Bettah git ready fer school," said Hannah cheerily.
"I don't believe I want to go any more," Bud replied.
"Not go any more? Why, ain't you 'shamed to talk that way! O' cose you
goin' to school."
"I'm ashamed to show my face to the boys."
"What you say about de boys? De boys ain't a-goin' to give you an
edgication when you need it."
"Oh, I don't want to go, ma; you don't know how I feel."
"I'm kinder sorry I let you go into dat company," said Hannah musingly,
"'cause it was de teachin' I wanted you to git, not the prancin' and
steppin'; but I did t'ink it would make mo' of a man of you, an' it
ain't. Yo' pappy was a po' man, ha'd wo'kin', an' he wasn't high-toned
neither, but from the time I first see him to the day of his death, I
nevah seen him back down because he was afeared of anything," and Hannah
turned to her work.
"Little sister" went up and slipped her hand in his. "You ain't a-goin
to back down, is you, Buddie?" she said.
"No," said Bud stoutly, as he braced his shoulders, "I'm a-goin'."
But no persuasion could make him wear his uniform.
The boys were a little cold to him, and some were brutal. But most of
them recognized the fact that what had happened to Tom Harris might have
happened to any one of them. Besides, since the percentage had been
shown, it was found that "B" had outpointed them in many ways, and so
their loss was not due to the one grave error.
Bud's heart sank when he dropped into his seat in the Assembly Hall to
find seated on the platform one of the blue-coated officers who had
acted as judge the day before. After the opening exercises were over he
was called upon to address the school. He spoke readily and pleasantly,
laying especial stress upon the value of discipline; toward the end of
his address he said "I suppose company 'A' is heaping accusations upon
the head of the young man who dropped his bayonet yesterday." Tom could
have died. "It was most regrettable," the officer continued, "but to me
the most significant thing at the drill was the conduct of that cadet
afterward. I saw the whole proceeding; I saw that he did not pause for
an instant, that he did not even turn his head, and it appeared to me as
one of the finest bits of self-control I had ever seen in any youth; had
he forgotten himself for a moment and stopped, however quickly, to
secure the weapon, the next line would have been interfered with and
your whole movement thrown into confusion." There were a half hundred
eyes glancing furtively at Bud, and the light began to dawn in his face.
"This boy has shown what discipline means, and I for one want to shake
hands with him, if he is here."
When he had concluded the Principal called Bud forward, and the boys,
even his detractors, cheered as the officer took his hand.
"Why are you not in uniform, sir?" he asked.
"I was ashamed to wear it after yesterday," was the reply.
"Don't be ashamed to wear your uniform," the officer said to him, and
Bud could have fallen on his knees and thanked him.
There were no more jeers from his comrades, and when he related it all
at home that evening there were two more happy hearts in that South
Washington cottage.
"I told you we was more prouder dan if you'd won," said "little sister."
"An' what did I tell you 'bout backin' out?" asked his mother.
Bud was too happy and too busy to answer; he was brushing his uniform.
THE BEGINNINGS OF A MISSISSIPPI SCHOOL
WILLIAM H. HOLTZCLAW
I had been unable to get permission to teach in the little church, so I
started my school in the open air. We were out under the big trees
amidst the shrubbery. This would have made a very good schoolhouse but
for its size. In such a schoolhouse one could get along very well, if he
could keep his pupils close enough to him, but the chances are, as I
have found, that they will put bugs down one another's collars, and
while you are hearing one class the other children will chase one
another about. Their buoyant spirits will not permit them to keep quiet
while they are in the open. It is pretty hard to hear a class reciting
and at the same time to witness a boxing-match, but those who teach in
the open air must be prepared for such performances. These annoyances
were accentuated by the fact that some of my pupils were forty years old
while others were six.
After a while we moved into an abandoned house, which we used for a
schoolhouse, but it was little better than teaching out of doors. When
it rained the water not only came through the roof, but through the
sides as well. During cold winter rains I had to teach while standing
with my overcoat on and with arctic rubbers to protect myself against
pneumonia. During those rainy days Miss Lee, my assistant, would get up
on a bench and stand there all day to keep her feet out of the water and
would have an umbrella stretched over her to keep from getting wet from
above. The little fellows would be standing in the water below like
little ducks. They stood these conditions exceedingly well. Many of them
were not protected with overshoes or any shoes, but they came to school
each day just as if they had been properly clad.
It is impossible to describe the hardships that we suffered during that
winter, which was severe for the South. As the winter came on and grew
more and more severe a great many of the children were taken with
pneumonia, la grippe, and similar ailments. I wished, in the interest of
health, to abandon the school for a few weeks until better weather; but
neither pupils, nor teachers, nor parents would listen to this, and so
the school continued under these circumstances until the new schoolhouse
was ready for use. It is needless to say that some of the pupils never
survived those conditions; in fact, the strange thing is that any of us
did.
UP FROM SLAVERY
THE STRUGGLE FOR AN EDUCATION
Booker T. Washington
One day, while at work in the coal-mine, I happened to overhear two
miners talking about a great school for colored people somewhere in
Virginia. This was the first time that I had ever heard anything about
any kind of school or college that was more pretentious than the little
colored school in our town.
In the darkness of the mine I noiselessly crept as close as I could to
the two men who were talking. I heard one tell the other that not only
was the school established for the members of my race, but that
opportunities were provided by which poor but worthy students could work
out all or a part of the cost of board, and at the same time be taught
some trade or industry.
As they went on describing the school, it seemed to me that it must be
the greatest place on earth, and not even Heaven presented more
attractions for me at that time than did the Hampton Normal and
Agricultural Institute in Virginia, about which these men were talking.
I resolved at once to go to that school, although I had no idea where it
was, or how many miles away, or how I was going to reach it; I
remembered only that I was on fire constantly with one ambition, and
that was to go to Hampton. This thought was with me day and night.
After hearing of the Hampton Institute, I continued to work for a few
months longer in the coal-mine. While at work there, I heard of a vacant
position in the household of General Lewis Ruffner, the owner of the
salt-furnace and coal-mine. Mrs. Viola Ruffner, the wife of General
Ruffner, was a "Yankee" woman from Vermont. Mrs. Ruffner had a
reputation all through the vicinity for being very strict with her
servants, and especially with the boys who tried to serve her. Few of
them had remained with her more than two or three weeks. They all left
with the same excuse: she was too strict. I decided, however, that I
would rather try Mrs. Ruffner's house than remain in the coal-mine, and
so my mother applied to her for the vacant position. I was hired at a
salary of $5 per month.
I had heard so much about Mrs. Ruffner's severity that I was almost
afraid to see her, and trembled when I went into her presence. I had not
lived with her many weeks, however, before I began to understand her. I
soon began to learn that, first of all, she wanted everything kept clean
about her, that she wanted things done promptly and systematically, and
that at the bottom of everything she wanted absolute honesty and
frankness. Nothing must be sloven or slipshod; every door, every fence,
must be kept in repair.
I cannot now recall how long I lived with Mrs. Ruffner before going to
Hampton, but I think it must have been a year and a half. At any rate, I
here repeat what I have said more than once before, that the lessons
that I learned in the home of Mrs. Ruffner were as valuable to me as any
education I have ever gotten anywhere since. Even to this day I never
see bits of paper scattered around a house or in the street that I do
not want to pick them up at once. I never see a filthy yard that I do
not want to clean it, a paling off of a fence that I do not want to put
it on, an unpainted or unwhitewashed house that I do not want to paint
or whitewash it, or a button off one's clothes, or a grease-spot on them
or on a floor, that I do not want to call attention to it.
From fearing Mrs. Ruffner I soon learned to look upon her as one of my
best friends. When she found that she could trust me she did so
implicitly. During the one or two winters that I was with her she gave
me an opportunity to go to school for an hour in the day during a
portion of the winter months, but most of my studying was done at night,
sometimes alone, sometimes under some one whom I could hire to teach me.
Mrs. Ruffner always encouraged and sympathized with me in all my efforts
to get an education. It was while living with her that I began to get
together my first library. I secured a dry-goods box, knocked out one
side of it, put some shelves in it, and began putting into it every
kind of book that I could get my hands upon, and called it "my library."
Without any unusual occurrence I reached Hampton, with a surplus of
exactly fifty cents with which to begin my education. To me it had been
a long, eventful journey; but the first sight of the large, three-story,
brick school building seemed to have rewarded me for all that I had
undergone in order to reach the place. If the people who gave the money
to provide that building could appreciate the influence the sight of it
had upon me, as well as upon thousands of other youths, they would feel
all the more encouraged to make such gifts. It seemed to me to be the
largest and most beautiful building I had ever seen. The sight of it
seemed to give me new life. I felt that a new kind of existence had now
begun--that life would now have a new meaning. I felt that I had reached
the promised land, and I resolved to let no obstacle prevent me from
putting forth the highest effort to fit myself to accomplish the most
good in the world.
As soon as possible after reaching the grounds of the Hampton Institute,
I presented myself before the head teacher for assignment to a class.
Having been so long without proper food, a bath, and change of clothing,
I did not, of course, make a very favorable impression upon her, and I
could see at once that there were doubts in her mind about the wisdom of
admitting me as a student. I felt that I could hardly blame her if she
got the idea that I was a worthless loafer or tramp. For some time she
did not refuse to admit me, neither did she decide in my favor, and I
continued to linger about her, and to impress her in all the ways I
could with my worthiness. In the meantime I saw her admitting other
students, and that added greatly to my discomfort, for I felt, deep down
in my heart, that I could do as well as they, if I could only get a
chance to show what was in me.
After some hours had passed, the head teacher said to me, "The adjoining
recitation room needs sweeping. Take the broom and sweep it."
It occurred to me at once that here was my chance. Never did I receive
an order with more delight. I knew that I could sweep, for Mrs. Ruffner
had thoroughly taught me how to do that when I lived with her.
I swept the recitation-room three times. Then I got a dusting-cloth and
I dusted it four times. All the woodwork around the walls, every bench,
table, and desk, I went over four times with my dusting-cloth. Besides,
every piece of furniture had been moved and every closet and corner in
the room had been thoroughly cleaned. I had the feeling that in a large
measure my future depended upon the impression I made upon the teacher
in the cleaning of that room. When I was through, I reported to the head
teacher. She was a "Yankee" woman who knew just where to look for dirt.
She went into the room and inspected the floor and closets; then she
took her handkerchief and rubbed it on the wood-work about the walls,
and over the table and benches. When she was unable to find one bit of
dirt on the floor, or a particle of dust on any of the furniture, she
remarked quietly, "I guess you will do to enter this institution."
BOOKER T. WASHINGTON
A STUDENT'S MEMORY OF HIM
WILLIAM H. HOLTZCLAW
One thing about Mr. Washington that impressed me was his regularity. He
was as regular as the clock. He appeared at his office in the morning
exactly at eight o'clock, remained until twelve, very often took part in
an Executive Council meeting until one, and then went to lunch. At two
o'clock he would again be in his office and would invariably remain
there until half-past four, when he would leave and tramp across the
plantation; sometimes he would run for a mile or two, as fast as he
could go, for exercise. When he returned he would go to his library and
there would pass the time until six, when he would go to dinner. After
dinner he played with the children for a while and then returned to his
library until 8.40. He would then go to Chapel for evening prayers with
the whole student body. This prayer service was one that Mr. Washington
seldom ever missed and he always appeared on the rostrum exactly on the
minute.
Mr. Washington had a grasp of the details of the work of Tuskegee that
seemed almost incredible. I remember one evening that I was startled to
hear my name, together with that of one of my friends, called out by Mr.
Washington from the chapel platform. He simply said, "William Holtzclaw
and Charles Washington may rise." I was so weak in my knees that I could
scarcely stand, but I knew nothing else to do but to rise at the command
of that voice. After we stood up and the whole school was looking at us,
Mr. Washington said: "These young men may pass out of the Chapel and go
and pick up the tools they worked with to-day." We had been ditching and
when the work-bell rang had left our tools where we were working, when
they should have been carried to the toolhouse.
If the water main, or water pipe, had a defect in it so that it was
leaking anywhere on the grounds, Mr. Washington was almost sure to see
that something was wrong and to call the matter to the attention of the
Superintendent of Industries.
If he came into the dining-room while the students were eating their
meals, he would notice such small details as a student's pouring out
more molasses on his plate than he could eat and would stop in the
dining-room, send for the matron, have some bread brought to the
student, and wait until that student had eaten all the molasses he had
poured on his plate.
If one walked about the campus at night, he would be sure to meet Mr.
Washington almost anywhere on the grounds. For instance, he might be
found in the kitchen at two o'clock in the morning examining the method
of preparing the students' breakfast. He seldom seemed to me to take
sufficient rest for an average man.
ANNA-MARGARET
AUGUSTA BIRD
To Anna-Margaret's mind, being the baby of the family was simply awful.
This fact seemed to grow with it each day. It began in the morning when
she watched her sisters as they laughed and rollicked through their
dressing.
"Bet I'll beat, and you got on your stockings already," challenged
Edith.
"I'll bet you won't,--bet I'll be out to the pump, my face washed, and
be at the breakfast table and you won't have your shoes laced up,"
boasted Ruth, the older of the two.
"We'll see, we'll see," giggled Edith.
"Oho, I guess you will. Mother gave you new shoe strings," said Ruth
somewhat crestfallen.
"I told you so, I told you so," and Edith bounded out of the door,
closely pursued by Ruth who cried: "You didn't beat me but 'bout an
inch."
Anna-Margaret was left alone to sit and think for all the next hour how
perfectly awful it was to be the baby, until Mother Dear was able to
come and dress her.
The next morning it was the same torture all over again. It seemed to
Anna-Margaret that people never stopped to think or know what a baby was
forced to go through. There were Edith and Ruth racing again.
Anna-Margaret spied her shoes and stockings on a chair. Out of the side
of her crib she climbed.
"Look at Anna-Margaret!" screamed Edith.
"You, Anna-Margaret, get right back in that crib!" commanded Ruth
assuming her mother's tone.
"I won't!" And right over to the chair where her shoes and stockings
were, walked the baby. She seated herself on the floor and drew on her
stocking as if she had been in the habit of doing it on preceding
mornings. It was surprising to Anna-Margaret, herself, the ease with
which it went on.
"Look at that child," gasped Ruth.
Edith looked and said a little grudgingly, "I'll bet she can't put on
her shoes though." Edith remembered how long it was before she was able
to put on her shoes, and this accomplishment, in her mind, seemed to
give her a great superiority over her baby sister.
"Come on, Edith," called Ruth, "I'll beat you down to the pump and I'll
give you to the rose bush, too."
Struggling, pulling and twisting sat Anna-Margaret all alone, but the
shoe would not go on. She was just about to give up in utter despair and
burst into tears when Mother Dear appeared in the doorway.
"What is mother's angel doing? Well, well, look at Mother's smart child,
she has got on her stocking already,--here, let mother help her."
It was awful to think you were still such a baby that you couldn't do
anything yourself, but it was very nice, so Anna-Margaret thought, to
have such an adorable mother to come to your rescue.
"There now, run out and tell Ruth to wash your face and then mother will
give you your breakfast."
"Wash my face, Ruth," requested Anna-Margaret at the pump.
"Who laced up your shoes?" asked Edith suspiciously.
"I did." Anna-Margaret said it so easily that it startled herself.
"I don't believe it, I don't believe it. I am going to ask Mother."
"Hold still, will you, and let me wash your face," commanded Ruth.
As soon as she was free, away went Anna-Margaret back to the house.
"Muvver, Muvver," cried Anna-Margaret almost breathless as she entered
the big kitchen, "tell Edith I laced up my shoes, tell 'er, Muvver, will
yo', Muvver?"
Mother stopped her work at the breakfast table. "Anna-Margaret, I could
not do that because you didn't."
"But tell 'er I did, won't you, Muvver," she pleaded.
"Anna-Margaret, I can't do that because I would be telling a lie. Don't
I whip Ruth and Edith for telling lies?"
"Tell a lie, Muvver, tell a lie, _I won't whip you_."
Mother Dear was forced to smile. "Here, eat your breakfast, I can't
promise my baby I will tell a lie, even if she won't whip me."
Fortunately no one questioned Mother Dear and Anna-Margaret ate her
breakfast in silence. Then kissing her mother in a matter of fact way,
she went out to play with her sisters.
"Ah, here comes Anna-Margaret to knock down our things," moaned Edith.
"Let her come on," cried Ruth, "and we'll go down in the bottom and
build sand forts; it rained yesterday and the sand is nice and damp."
"Oh-oo, let's," echoed Edith, and off they scampered. Anna-Margaret saw
them and started after them as fast as her little chubby brown legs
could carry her, which wasn't very fast. The other children were far in
front of her. Anna-Margaret stopped suddenly,--she heard a little biddie
in distress. There was a mother hen darting through the grass after a
fleeing grasshopper, and close behind her was the whole flock save one.
Anna-Margaret watched them as the young chickens spread open their wings
and hurried in pursuit of their mother. Far behind one little black,
fuzzy biddie struggled and tripped over the tall grass stems. The baby
looked at the little chick and then at the other ones and saw that they
were different. She didn't know what the difference was. She could not
understand that the other chickens were several days older and that this
one had only been taken away from its own mother hen that morning in
order that she would remain on her nest until all her chicks were
hatched. All Anna-Margaret knew was that they were different.
"Poor l'll biddie, dey don't want you to play wif them," she
sympathized, "come, come to Anna-Margaret."
With little difficulty she captured the young chick and started back to
the house.
"Dat's all 'ight, I know what I'm gonna do," she decided, "I'm gonna
play Dod. Poor l'll biddie, just wait, Anna-Margaret'll fix yo', so you
can run and fly and keep up with the biddies. Won't dat be nice, uh?"
And she put her curly head down close to the little chick as if to catch
its answer.
Anna-Margaret went straight to the big sewing-basket and placing the
biddie on the machine extracted a threaded needle. Cutting two small
pieces of black cloth for wings, she took the chick and seated herself
on the drop-step between the sewing-room and dining-room. She then
attempted to sew one of the little black pieces of cloth to one of the
tiny wings of the young chick.
[Illustration]
"There, there, yo'll be all 'ight in dest a minute," she said amid the
distressful chirping of the chick. The biddie's cries brought Mother
Dear to the scene.
"Anna-Margaret, what on earth are you doing to the little chicken?"
Anna-Margaret turned her big brown eyes upon her mother. "I'm playin'
Dod and I'm puttin' some wings on des l'll biddie so it can run and fly
like the oo-ver ones, and so they won't run off all the time and leave
it."
"But Anna-Margaret, don't you know you are hurting the little biddie?"
"No-o, Muvver," she said slowly, "but I know what it is to be always
runned off and lef'."
Mother Dear understood what was in her baby's mind as she gathered her
up in her arms. Anna-Margaret dropped the sewing, cuddled the little
biddie close in one arm and clasped her mother's neck with the other.
Mother Dear held her closely.
"I love yo', Muvver Dear," whispered Anna-Margaret.
"I love you, baby dear," was the whispered answer.
Being the baby of the family to Anna-Margaret's mind, just now, was
awfully nice.
CHARITY
H. CORDELIA RAY
I saw a maiden, fairest of the fair,
With every grace bedight beyond compare.
Said I, "What doest thou, pray, tell to me!"
"I see the good in others," answered she.
MY FIRST SCHOOL
W. E. B. DUBOIS
Once upon a time I taught school in the hills of Tennessee, where the
broad dark vale of the Mississippi begins to roll and crumple to greet
the Alleghanies. 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.
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." So I
walked on--horses were too expensive--until I wandered beyond railways,
beyond stage lines, to a land of "varmints" and rattlesnakes, where the
coming of a stranger was an event, and men lived and died in the shadow
of one blue hill.
Sprinkled over hill and dale lay cabins and farmhouses, shut out from
the world by the forests and the rolling hills toward the east. There I
found at last a little school. Josie told me of it; she was a thin,
homely girl of twenty, with a dark-brown face and thick, hard hair. I
had crossed the stream at Watertown, and rested under the great willows;
then I had gone to the little cabin in the lot where Josie was resting
on her way to town. The gaunt farmer made me welcome, and Josie, hearing
my errand, told me anxiously that they wanted a school over the hill;
that but once since the war had a teacher been there; that she herself
longed to learn,--and thus she ran on, talking fast and loud, with much
earnestness and energy.
Next morning I crossed the tall round hill, lingered to look at the blue
and yellow mountains stretching toward the Carolinas, then plunged into
the wood, and came out at Josie's home. It was a dull frame cottage
with four rooms, perched just below the brow of the hill, amid peach
trees. The father was a quiet, simple soul, calmly ignorant, with no
touch of vulgarity. The mother was different,--strong, bustling, and
energetic, with a quick, restless tongue, and an ambition to live "like
folks."
There was a crowd of children. Two boys had gone away. There remained
two growing girls; a shy midget of eight; John, tall, awkward, and
eighteen; Jim, younger, quicker, and better looking; and two babies of
indefinite age. Then there was Josie herself. She seemed to be the
center of the family: always busy at service, or at home, or
berry-picking; a little nervous and inclined to scold, like her mother,
yet faithful, too, like her father. She had about her a certain
fineness, the shadow of an unconscious moral heroism that would
willingly give all of life to make life broader, deeper, and fuller for
her and hers.
I saw much of this family afterwards, and grew to love them for their
honest efforts to be decent and comfortable, and for their knowledge of
their own ignorance. There was with them no affectation. The mother
would scold the father for being so "easy"; Josie would roundly berate
the boys for carelessness; and all know that it was a hard thing to dig
a living out of a rocky side-hill.
I secured the school. I remember the day I rode horseback out to the
commissioner's house with a pleasant young white fellow who wanted the
white school. The road ran down the bed of a stream; the sun laughed
and the water jingled, and we rode on. "Come in," said the
commissioner,--"come in. Have a seat. Yes, that certificate will do.
Stay to dinner. What do you want a month?" "Oh," thought I, "this is
lucky"; but even then fell the first awful shadow of the Veil, for they
ate first, then I--alone.
The schoolhouse was a log hut, where Colonel Wheeler used to shelter his
corn. It sat in a lot behind a rail fence and thorn bushes, near the
sweetest of springs. There was an entrance where a door once was, and
within, a massive rickety fireplace; great chinks between the logs
served as windows. Furniture was scarce. A pale blackboard crouched in
the corner. My desk was made of three boards, reinforced at critical
points, and my chair, borrowed from the landlady, had to be returned
every night. Seats for the children--these puzzled me much. I was
haunted by a New England vision of neat little desks and chairs, but,
alas! the reality was rough plank benches without backs, and
at times without legs. They had the one virtue of making naps
dangerous,--possibly fatal, for the floor was not to be trusted.
It was a hot morning late in July when the school opened. I trembled
when I heard the patter of little feet down the dusty road, and saw the
growing row of dark solemn faces and bright eager eyes facing me. First
came Josie and her brothers and sisters. The longing to know, to be a
student in the great school at Nashville, hovered like a star above this
child-woman amid her work and worry, and she studied doggedly. There
were the Dowells from their farm over toward Alexandria,--Fanny, with
her smooth black face and wondering eyes; Martha, brown and dull; the
pretty girl-wife of a brother, and the younger brood.
There were the Burkes,--two brown and yellow lads, and a tiny
haughty-eyed girl. Fat Reuben's little chubby girl came, with golden
face and old-gold hair, faithful and solemn. 'Thenie was on hand
early,--a jolly, ugly, good-hearted girl, who slyly dipped snuff and
looked after her little bow-legged brother. When her mother could spare
her, 'Tildy came,--a midnight beauty, with starry eyes and tapering
limbs; and her brother, correspondingly homely. And then the big
boys,--the hulking Lawrences; the lazy Neills, unfathered sons of mother
and daughter; Hickman, with a stoop in his shoulders; and the rest.
There they sat, nearly thirty of them, on the rough benches, their faces
shading from a pale cream to a deep brown, the little feet bare and
swinging, the eyes full of expectation, with here and there a twinkle of
mischief, and the hands grasping Webster's blue-back spelling-book. I
loved my school, and the fine faith the children had in the wisdom of
their teacher was truly marvelous. We read and spelled together, wrote
a little, picked flowers, sang, and listened to stories of the world
beyond the hill.
At times the school would dwindle away, and I would start out. I would
visit Mun Eddings, who lived in two very dirty rooms, and ask why little
Lugene, whose flaming face seemed ever ablaze with the dark-red hair
uncombed, was absent all last week, or why I missed so often the
inimitable rags of Mack and Ed. Then the father, who worked Colonel
Wheeler's farm on shares, would tell me how the crops needed the boys;
and the thin, slovenly mother, whose face was pretty when washed,
assured me that Lugene must mind the baby. "But we'll start them again
next week." When the Lawrences stopped, I knew that the doubts of the
old folks about book-learning had conquered again, and so, toiling up
the hill, and getting as far into the cabin as possible, I put Cicero
"pro Archia Poeta" into the simplest English with local applications,
and usually convinced them--for a week or so.
On Friday nights I often went home with some of the children,--sometimes
to Doc Burke's farm. He was a great, loud, thin Black, ever working, and
trying to buy the seventy-five acres of hill and dale where he lived;
but people said that he would surely fail, and the "white folks would
get it all." His wife was a magnificent Amazon, with saffron face and
shining hair, uncorseted and barefooted, and the children were strong
and beautiful. They lived in a one-and-a-half-room cabin in the hollow
of the farm, near the spring. The front room was full of great fat white
beds, scrupulously neat; and there were bad chromos on the walls, and a
tired center-table. In the tiny back kitchen I was often invited to
"take out and help" myself to fried chicken and wheat biscuit, "meat"
and corn pone, string-beans and berries.
At first I used to be a little alarmed at the approach of bedtime in the
lone bedroom, but embarrassment was very deftly avoided. First, all the
children nodded and slept, and were stowed away in one great pile of
goose feathers; next, the mother and the father discreetly slipped away
to the kitchen while I went to bed; then, blowing out the dim light,
they retired in the dark. In the morning all were up and away before I
thought of awaking. Across the road, where fat Reuben lived, they all
went out-doors while the teacher retired, because they did not boast the
luxury of a kitchen.
I liked to stay with the Dowells, for they had four rooms and plenty of
good country fare. Uncle Bird had a small, rough farm, all woods and
hills, miles from the big road; but he was full of tales,--he preached
now and then,--and with his children, berries, horses, and wheat he was
happy and prosperous. Often, to keep the peace, I must go where life
was less lovely; for instance, 'Tildy's mother was incorrigibly dirty,
Reuben's larder was limited seriously, and herds of untamed insects
wandered over the Eddingses' beds. Best of all I loved to go to Josie's,
and sit on the porch, eating peaches, while the mother bustled and
talked: how Josie had bought the sewing-machine; how Josie worked at
service in winter, but that four dollars a month was "mighty little"
wages; how Josie longed to go away to school, but that it "looked like"
they never could get far enough ahead to let her; how the crops failed
and the well was yet unfinished; and, finally, how "mean" some of the
white folks were.
For two summers I lived in this little world; it was dull and humdrum.
The girls looked at the hill in wistful longing, and the boys fretted
and haunted Alexandria. Alexandria was "town,"--a straggling, lay
village of houses, churches, and shops, and an aristocracy of Toms,
Dicks, and Captains. Cuddled on the hill to the north was the village of
the colored folks, who lived in three- or four-room unpainted cottages,
some neat and homelike, and some dirty. The dwellings were scattered
rather aimlessly, but they centered about the twin temples of the
hamlet, the Methodist and the Hard-Shell Baptist churches. These, in
turn, leaned gingerly on a sad-colored schoolhouse. Hither my little
world wended its crooked way on Sunday to meet other worlds, and gossip,
and wonder, and make the weekly sacrifice with frenzied priest at the
altar of the "old-time religion." Then the soft melody and mighty
cadences of Negro song fluttered and thundered.
I have called my tiny community a world, and so its isolation made it;
and yet there was among us but a half-awakened common consciousness,
sprung from common joy and grief, at burial, birth, or wedding; from a
common hardship in poverty, poor land, and low wages; and above all,
from the sight of the Veil that hung between us and Opportunity. All
this caused us to think some thoughts together; but these, when ripe for
speech, were spoken in various languages. Those whose eyes twenty-five
or more years before had seen "the glory of the coming of the Lord," saw
in every present hindrance or help a dark fatalism bound to bring all
things right in His own good time. The mass of those to whom slavery was
a dim recollection of childhood found the world a puzzling thing: it
asked little of them, and they answered with little, and yet it
ridiculed their offering. Such a paradox they could not understand, and
therefore sank into listless indifference, or shiftlessness, or reckless
bravado. There were, however, some--such as Josie, Jim and Ben--to whom
War, Hell, and Slavery were but childhood tales, whose young appetites
had been whetted to an edge by school and story and half-awakened
thought. Ill could they be content, born without and beyond the World.
And their weak wings beat against their barriers,--barriers of caste,
of youth, of life; at last, in dangerous moments, against everything
that opposed even a whim.
ERE SLEEP COMES DOWN TO SOOTHE THE WEARY EYES
PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
Which all the day with ceaseless care have sought
The magic gold which from the seeker flies;
Ere dreams put on the gown and cap of thought,
And make the waking world a world of lies,--
Of lies most palpable, uncouth, forlorn,
That say life's full of aches and tears and sighs,--
Oh, how with more than dreams the soul is torn,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
Now all the griefs and heartaches we have known
Come up like pois'nous vapors that arise
From some base witch's caldron, when the crone,
To work some potent spell, her magic plies.
The past which held its share of bitter pain,
Whose ghost we prayed that Time might exorcise,
Comes up, is lived and suffered o'er again,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
What phantoms fill the dimly lighted room;
What ghostly shades in awe-creating guise
Are bodied forth within the teeming gloom.
What echoes great of sad and soul-sick cries,
And pangs of vague inexplicable pain
That pay the spirit's ceaseless enterprise,
Come thronging through the chambers of the brain,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
Where ranges forth the spirit far and free?
Through what strange realms and unfamiliar skies
Tends her far course to lands of mystery?
To lands unspeakable--beyond surmise,
Where shapes unknowable to being spring,
Till, faint of wing, the Fancy fails and dies
Much wearied with the spirit's journeying,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
Now questioneth the soul that other soul--
The inner sense which neither cheats nor lies,
But self exposes unto self, a scroll
Full writ with all life's acts unwise or wise,
In characters indelible and known;
So, trembling with the shock of sad surprise,
The soul doth view its awful self alone,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
When sleep comes down to seal the weary eyes,
The last dear sleep whose soft embrace is balm,
And whom sad sorrow teaches us to prize
For kissing all our passions into calm,
Ah, then, no more we heed the sad world's cries,
Or seek to probe th' eternal mystery,
Or fret our souls at long-withheld replies,
At glooms through which our visions cannot see,
When sleep comes down to seal the weary eyes.
THE LAND OF LAUGHTER
ANGELINA W. GRIMKE
Once upon a time there were two dear little boys, and they were all
alone in the world. They lived with a cruel old man and old woman, who
made them work hard, very hard--all day, and beat them when they did not
move fast enough, and always, every night, before they went to bed. They
slept in an attic on a rickety, narrow bed, that went screech! screech!
whenever they moved. And, in the summer, they nearly died with the heat
up there; and in the winter with the cold.
One wintry night, when they were both weeping very bitterly after a
particularly hard beating, they suddenly heard a pleasant voice saying:
"Why are you crying, little boys?"
They looked up, and there in the moonlight, by their bed, was the
dearest little old lady. She was dressed all in grey, from the peak of
her little pointed hat to her little, buckled shoes. She held a black
cane much taller than her little self. Her hair fell about her ears in
tiny, grey corkscrew curls; and they bobbed about as she moved. Her eyes
were black and bright--as bright as--well, as that lovely, white light
in the fire. And her cheeks were as red as an apple.
"Why are you crying, little boys?" she asked again, in a lovely, low,
little voice.
"Because we are tired and sore and hungry and cold; and we are all alone
in the world; and we don't know how to laugh any more. We should so like
to laugh again."
"Why, that's easy," she said, "it's just like this," and she laughed a
little, joyous, musical laugh. "Try!" she commanded.
They tried, but their laughing boxes were very rusty and they made
horrid sounds.
"Well," she said, "I advise you to pack up, and go away, as soon as you
can, to the Land of Laughter. You'll soon learn there, I can tell you."
"Is there such a land?" they asked doubtfully.
"To be sure there is," she answered, the least bit sharply.
"We never heard of it," they said.
"Well, I'm sure there must be plenty of things you never heard about,"
she said just the "leastest" bit more sharply. "In a moment you'll be
telling me the flowers don't talk together, and the birds."
"We never heard of such a thing," they said in surprise, their eyes like
saucers.
"There!" she said, bobbing her little curls. "What did I tell you. You
have much to learn."
"How do you get to the Land of Laughter?" they asked.
"You go out of the eastern gate of the town, just as the sun is rising;
and you take the highway there, and follow it; and if you go with it
long enough, it will bring you to the gate of the Land of Laughter. It
is a long, long way from here; and it will take you many days."
The words had scarcely left her mouth when, lo! the little lady
disappeared, and where she had stood was the white square of
moonlight--nothing else.
And without more ado these two little boys put their arms round each
other, and fell fast asleep. And in the grey, just before daybreak, they
awoke and dressed; and putting on their little ragged caps and mittens,
for it was a wintry day, they stole out of the house, and made for the
eastern gate. And just as they reached it and passed through, the whole
east leapt into fire.
[Illustration: The Land of Laughter]
All day they walked, and many days thereafter; and kindly people, by the
way, took them in and gave them food and drink and sometimes a bed at
night. Often they slept by the roadside; but they didn't mind that for
the climate was delightful--not too hot, and not too cold. They soon
threw away their ragged little mittens.
They walked for many days; and there was no Land of Laughter. Once they
met an old man, richly dressed, with shining jewels on his fingers, and
he stopped them and asked:
"Where are you going so fast, little boys?"
"We are going to the Land of Laughter," they said very gravely.
"That," said the old man, "is a very foolish thing to do. Come with me
and I will take you to the Land of Riches. I will cover you with
beautiful garments, and give you jewels and a castle to live in with
servants and horses and many things besides."
And they said to him, "No, we wish to learn how to laugh again; we have
forgotten how, and we are going to the Land of Laughter."
"You will regret not going with me. See if you don't," he said, and he
left them in quite a huff.
And they walked again, many days, and again they met an old man. He was
tall and imposing-looking and very dignified. And he said:
"Where are you going so fast, little boys?"
"We are going to the Land of Laughter," they said together very
seriously.
"What!" he said, "that is an extremely foolish thing to do. Come with
me, and I will give you power. I will make you great men; generals,
kings, emperors. Whatever you desire to accomplish will be permitted
you."
And they said politely:
"Thank you, very much, but we have forgotten how to laugh; and we are
going there to learn how."
He looked upon them haughtily, without speaking, and disappeared.
And they walked and walked more days; and they met another old man. And
he was clad in rags; and his face was thin; and his eyes were unhappy.
And he whispered to them:
"Where are you going so fast, little boys?"
"We are going to the Land of Laughter," they answered, without a smile.
"Laughter! laughter! that is useless. Come with me and I will show you
the beauty of life through sacrifice, suffering for others. That is the
only life. I come from the Land of Sacrifice."
And they thanked him kindly, but said:
"We have suffered enough. We have forgotten how to laugh. We would learn
again." And they went on; and he looked after them wistfully.
They walked more days; and at last they came to the Land of Laughter.
And how do you suppose they knew this? Because they could hear, over the
wall, the sound of joyous laughter--the laughter of men, women and
little children.
And one sat guarding the gate, and they went to her.
"We have come a long, long distance; and we would enter the Land of
Laughter."
"Let me see you smile, first," she said gently. "I sit at the gate and
no one who does not know how to smile may enter into the Land of
Laughter."
And they tried to smile, but could not.
"Go away and practise," she said kindly, "and come back tomorrow."
And they went away, and practised all night how to smile; and, in the
morning, they returned. And the gentle lady at the gate said:
"Dear little boys, have you learned how to smile?"
And they said: "We have tried. How is this?"
"Better," she said, "much better. Practise some more, and come back
tomorrow."
And they went away obediently and practised.
And they came the third day. And she said:
"Now, try again."
And tears of delight came into her lovely eyes.
"Those were very beautiful smiles," she said. "Now you may enter."
And she unlocked the gate and kissed them both, and they entered the
beautiful Land of Laughter.
Never had they seen such blue skies, such green trees and grass; never
had they heard such bird song.
And people, men, women and children, laughing softly, came to meet them,
and took them in, and made them at home; and soon, very soon, they
learned to laugh. All day they laughed, and even in their sleep. And
they grew up here, and married, and had laughing, happy children. And
sometimes they thought of the Land of Riches, and said, "Ah! well"; and
sometimes of the Land of Power, and sighed a little; and sometimes of
the Land of Sacrifice--and their eyes were wistful. But they soon
forgot, and laughed again. And they grew old, laughing. And when they
died--a laugh was on their lips. Thus are things in the beautiful Land
of Laughter.
THE WEB OF CIRCUMSTANCE
CHARLES W. CHESNUTT
Some time, we are told, when the cycle of years has rolled around, there
is to be another golden age, when all men will dwell together in love
and harmony, and when peace and righteousness shall prevail for a
thousand years. God speed the day, and let not the shining thread of
hope become so enmeshed in the web of circumstance that we lose sight of
it; but give us here and there, and now and then, some little foretaste
of this golden age, that we may the more patiently and hopefully await
its coming!
IS THE GAME WORTH THE CANDLE?
JAMES E. SHEPARD
A man's life depends upon his emotions, his aspirations, his
determinations.
A young man, somebody's son, starts out with the determination that the
world is indebted to him for a good time. "Dollars were made to spend. I
am young, and every man must sow his wild oats and then settle down. I
want to be a 'hail fellow well met' with every one."
With this determination uppermost in his life purpose he starts out to
be a good-timer. Perhaps some mother expects to hear great things of her
boy, some father's hopes are centered in him, but what does that matter?
"I am a good-timer." From one gayety to another, from one glass to
another, from one sin to another, and the good-timer at last is broken
in health, deserted by friends, and left alone to die. Thus the "man
about town" passes off the stage. When you ask some of his friends about
him, the answer is, "Oh, John was all right, but he lived too fast. I
like good times as well as anyone, but I could not keep up with John."
Was the game worth the candle?
Two pictures came before my mind: two cousins, both of them young men.
One started out early in life with the determination of getting along
"easy," shirking work, and looking for a soft snap. His motto was, "The
world owes me a living, and I am going to get mine." He was employed
first by one firm and then by another; if anything that he considered
hard came along, he would pay another fellow to do the work and he "took
things easy." It was not long before no one would hire him. He continued
to hold the idea that the world was indebted to him and furthermore, he
arrogated a belief that what another man had accumulated he could borrow
without his knowledge. He forged another man's name, was detected, and
sentenced to the penitentiary and is now wearing the badge of felony and
shame--the convict's stripes. Is the game worth the candle?
The other cousin started out with a determination altogether different.
He believed with Lord Brougham, that if he were a bootblack he would
strive to be the best bootblack in England. He began in a store as a
window-cleaner, and washed windows so well that they sparkled like
diamonds under the sun. As a clerk, no customer was too insignificant to
be greeted with a smile or pleasant word; no task was too great for him
to attempt. Thus step by step, he advanced, each day bringing new duties
and difficulties but each day also bringing new strength and
determination to master them, and today that cousin is a man of wealth
and an honored citizen, blessed, too, with a happy home.
Some young men start life with the idea that every dollar made requires
that one dollar and a half shall be spent; in order to be noticed they
must make a big show, give big dinners, carriage drives, and parties,
invite friends to the theaters, and have a "swell" time; must do like
Mr. "So-and-So." They forget in their desire to copy, that Mr.
"So-and-So," their pattern, has already made his fortune; that he began
to save before he began to spend. But no, his name appears often in the
papers and they think also that theirs must. So they begin their
careers. A few years pass. The young men marry; their debts begin to
accumulate and to press them, their countenances are always woe-begone;
where once were smiles, now are frowns, and the homes are pictures of
gloom and shadows. The lesson is plain.
Debt is the greatest burden that can be put upon man; it makes him
afraid to look honest men in the face. No man can be a leader in the
fullest sense who is burdened by a great debt. If there is any young man
who is spending more than he is making, let him ask himself the
question, Is the game worth the candle?
I know another young man who believed he could be happy by spending
one-third of what he made and saving the other portion. He said to me,
"some day I want to marry and I want to treat my wife better, if
possible, than she was treated at home. I want to respect my fellow
man, I want to be a leader, and I know I can only do so by saving a part
of what I make." It was my good pleasure, a few weeks ago, to visit the
city where this young man is practising medicine. He carried me over
that town in an automobile, he entertained me in his $5000 home, he
showed me other property which he owned. Ah, his indeed was a happy
home. Life to him was blessedly real.
A young man starts out in life with the determination to fight his way
by physical force to the front ranks. Bruised, disfigured, or killed, he
is forced back even beyond the lines again. A religiously inclined youth
asked his pastor, "Do you think it would be wrong for me to learn the
noble art of self-defense?" "Certainly not," replied the pastor, "I
learned it in youth myself, and I have found it of great value in my
life." "Indeed, sir, did you learn the Old English system or the
Sullivan system" "Neither; I learned Solomon's system!" replied the
minister. "Yes, you will find it laid down in the first verse of the
fifteenth chapter of Proverbs, 'A soft answer turneth away wrath'; it is
the best system of self-defense I know."
Another young man starts life with a wrong idea regarding city and
country life. Born in the country he is free, his thoughts and ambitions
can feed on a pure atmosphere, but he thinks his conditions and his
surroundings are circumscribed; he longs for the city, with its
bigness, its turmoil, and its conflicts. He leaves the old homestead,
the quiet village, the country people, and hies himself to the city. He
forgets to a large extent the good boy he used to be, in the desire to
keep up with the fashions and to make the people forget that he was once
a country boy. City life, as is often the case, breaks up his youth,
destroys his morals, undermines his character, steals his reputation,
and finally leaves the promising youth a wrecked man. Was the game worth
the candle?
Young men, never be ashamed of the old log-cabin in the country, or the
old bonnet your mother used to wear, or the jean pants your father used
to toil in. I had rather be a poor country boy with limited surroundings
and a pure heart than to be a city man bedecked in the latest fashions
and weighted down with money, having no morals, no character. I had
rather have the religion and faith of my fathers than to have the
highest offices. I had rather have glorious life, pure and lofty, than
to have great riches. Sir Walter Scott was right when he said:
"Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife,
To all the sensual world proclaim:
One crowded hour of glorious life
Is worth an age without a name."
There are two old Dutch words which have resounded through the world,
"_Neen nimmer_," "No, never." The fleets of Spain heard it, and
understood it fully, when they saw the sinking Dutch ships with the
flags nailed to the shattered mainmast, crying, "_Neen nimmer_," which
indicated that they would never surrender.
Will the young men who are to be the leaders, spend their hours in
riotous living? No, never! Will they be false to duty? No, never! Will
they shirk? No, never! Will they be disloyal to self, to home, to
country, and to God? No, never!
Croesus was a rich man, a king. One day Croesus said to Solon, the
philosopher, "Do you not think I am a happy man?" Solon answered, "Alas,
I do not know, Croesus; that life is happy that ends well." A few years
later when Croesus had lost his wealth, his kingdom, and his health, and
had been deserted by those who in his days of glory ran to do his
slightest bidding, Croesus in anguish and misery exclaimed, "Solon,
Solon, thou saidst truly that life is well and happy that ends well."
O BLACK AND UNKNOWN BARDS
JAMES WELDON JOHNSON
O black and unknown bards of long ago,
How came your lips to touch the sacred fire?
How, in your darkness, did you come to know
The power and beauty of the minstrel's lyre?
Who first from midst his bonds lifted his eyes?
Who first from out the still watch, lone and long,
Feeling the ancient faith of prophets rise
Within his dark-kept soul, burst into song?
Heart of what slave poured out such melody
As "Steal away to Jesus"? On its strains
His spirit must have nightly floated free,
Though still about his hands he felt his chains.
Who heard great "Jordan roll"? Whose starward eye
Saw chariot "swing low"? And who was he
That breathed that comforting, melodic sigh,
"Nobody knows de trouble I see?"
What merely living clod, what captive thing,
Could up toward God through all its darkness grope,
And find within its deadened heart to sing
These songs of sorrow, love, and faith, and hope?
How did it catch that subtle undertone,
That note in music heard not with the ears?
How sound the elusive reed so seldom blown,
Which stirs the soul or melts the heart to tears.
Not that great German master in his dream
Of harmonies that thundered 'mongst the stars
At the creation, ever heard a theme
Nobler than "Go down, Moses." Mark its bars,
How like a mighty trumpet-call they stir
The blood. Such are the notes that men have sung
Going to valorous deeds; such tones there were
That helped make history when Time was young.
There is a wide, wide wonder in it all,
That from degraded rest and servile toil
The fiery spirit of the seer should call
These simple children of the sun and soil.
O black slave singers, gone, forgot, unfamed,
You--you alone, of all the long, long line
Of those who've sung untaught, unknown, unnamed,
Have stretched out upward, seeking the divine.
You sang not deeds of heroes or of kings;
No chant of bloody war, no exulting pean
Of arms-won triumphs; but your humble strings
You touched in chord with music empyrean.
You sang far better than you knew; the songs
That for your listeners' hungry hearts sufficed
Still live,--but more than this to you belongs:
You sang a race from wood and stone to Christ.
THE GREATEST MENACE OF THE SOUTH
WILLIAM J. EDWARDS
In every age there are great and pressing problems to be solved. Perhaps
no section of this country has been confronted with more difficult
problems than the South. I therefore wish to present what I consider to
be the greatest menace of this section.
The one thing to-day, in which we stand in greatest danger, is the loss
of the fertility of the soil. If we should lose this, as we are
gradually doing, then all is lost. If we should save it, then all other
things will be added. Our great need is the conservation and
preservation of the soil.
The increased crops which we have in the South occasionally, are not due
to improved methods of farming, but to increased acreage. Thousands of
acres of new land are added each year and our increase in farm
production is due to the strength of these fresh lands. There is not
much more woodland to be taken in as new farm lands, for this source has
been well nigh exhausted. We must then, within a few years, expect a
gradual reduction in the farm production of the South.
Already the old farm lands that have been in cultivation for the past
fifty or fifty-five years are practically worn out. I have seen in my
day where forty acres of land twenty or twenty-five years ago would
produce from twenty to twenty-five bales of cotton each year, and from
800 to 1000 bushels of corn. Now, these forty acres will not produce
more than eight or nine bales of cotton and hardly enough corn to feed
two horses. In fact, one small family cannot obtain a decent support
from the land which twenty years ago supported three families in
abundance. This farm is not on the hillside, neither has it been worn
away by erosion. It is situated in the lowlands, in the black prairie,
and is considered the best farm on a large plantation. This condition
obtains in all parts of the South today. This constant deterioration of
land, this gradual reduction of crops year after year, if kept up for
the next fifty years, will surely prove disastrous to the South.
Practically all the land in the black belt of the South is cultivated by
Negroes and the farm production has decreased so rapidly during the last
ten or fifteen years that the average Negro farmer hardly makes
sufficient to pay his rent and buy the few necessaries of life.
Of course, here and there where a tenant has been lucky enough to get
hold of some new land, he makes a good crop, but after three or four
years of cultivation, his crop begins to decrease and this decrease is
kept up as long as he keeps the land. Instead of improving, the tenant's
condition becomes worse each year until he finds it impossible to
support his family on the farm. Farm after farm is being abandoned or
given up to the care of the old men and women. Already, most of these
are too old and feeble to do effective work.
Now, the chief cause of these farms becoming less productive is the
failure on the part of the farmers to add something to the land after
they have gathered their crops. They seem to think that the land
contains an inexhaustible supply of plant food. Another cause is the
failure of the farmer to rotate his crop. There are farms being
cultivated in the South today where the same piece of land has been
planted in cotton every year for forty or fifty years. Forty years ago,
this same land would yield from one bale to one and a half per acre. And
today it will take from four to six acres to produce one bale.
Still another cause for the deterioration of the soil is erosion. There
is no effort put forth on the tenant's part to prevent his farm from
washing away. The hillside and other rolling lands are not terraced and
after being in use four or five years, practically all of these lands
are washed away and as farm lands they are abandoned. Not only are the
hillside lands unprotected from the beating rains and flowing streams,
but the bottom or lowlands are not properly drained, and the sand
washed down from the hill, the chaff and raft from previous rains soon
fill the ditches and creeks and almost any ordinary rain will cause an
overflow of these streams.
Under these conditions an average crop is impossible even in the best of
years. At present the South does not produce one-half of the foodstuff
that it consumes and if the present conditions of things continue for
the next fifty years, this section of the country will be on the verge
of starvation and famines will be a frequent occurrence. Of course,
Negro starvation will come first, but white man starvation will surely
follow. I believe, therefore, that I am justified in saying that there
is even more danger in Negro starvation than there is in Negro
domination.
I have noticed in this country that the sins of the races are
contagious. If the Negro in a community be lazy, indifferent, and
careless about his farm, the white man in the community will soon fall
into the same habit. On the other hand, if the white man is smart,
industrious, energetic and persevering in his general makeup, the Negro
will soon fall into line; so after all, whatever helps one race in the
South will help the other and whatever degrades one race in the South,
sooner or later will degrade the other.
But you may reply to this assertion by saying that the Negro can go to
the city and make an independent living for himself and family, but you
forget that all real wealth must come from the soil and that the city
cannot prosper unless the country is prosperous. When the country fails,
the city feels the effect; when the country weeps, the city moans; when
agriculture dies, all die. Such are the conditions which face us today.
Now for the remedy.
It is worth while to remember that there are ten essential elements of
plant food. If the supply of any one of the elements fails, the crop
will fail. These ten elements are carbon and oxygen taken into the
leaves of the plant from the air as carbon dioxide; hydrogen, a
constituent of water absorbed through the plant roots; nitrogen, taken
from the soil by all plants also secured from the air by legumes. The
other elements are phosphorus, potassium, magnesium, calcium, iron and
sulphur, all of which are secured from the soil. The soil nitrogen is
contained in the organic matter or humus, and to maintain the supply of
nitrogen we should keep the soil well stored with organic matter, making
liberal use of clover or other legumes which have power to secure
nitrogen from the inexhaustible supply in the air.
It is interesting to note that one of the ablest chemists in this
country, Prof. E. W. Clark of the United States Geological Survey, has
said that an acre of ground seven inches deep contains sufficient iron
to produce one hundred bushels of corn every year for 200,000 years,
sufficient calcium to produce one hundred bushels of corn or one bale
of cotton each year for 55,000 years, enough magnesium to produce such a
crop 7,000 years, enough sulphur for 10,000 years and potassium for
2,600 years, but only enough phosphorus for 130 years. The nitrogen
resting upon the surface of an acre of ground is sufficient to produce
one hundred bushels of corn or a bale of cotton for 700,000 years; but
only enough in the plowed soil to produce fifty such crops. In other
words, there are enough of eight of the elements of plant food in the
ordinary soil to produce 100 bushels of corn per acre or a bale of
cotton per acre for each year for 2,600 years; but only enough of the
other two, phosphorus and nitrogen, to produce such crops for forty or
fifty years.
Let us grant that most of our farm lands in the South have been in
cultivation for fifty or seventy-five years, and in many instances for
one hundred years, it is readily seen that practically all of the
phosphorus and nitrogen in the plowed soil have been exhausted. Is it
any wonder then that we are having such poor crops? The wonder is that
our crops have kept up so well. Unless a radical change is made in our
mode of farming, we must expect less and less crops each year until we
have no crops, or such little that we can hardly pay the rent.
To improve and again make fertile our soils, we must restore to them the
phosphorus and nitrogen which have been used up in the seventy-five or
more crops that we have gathered from them. This is a herculean task but
this is what confronts us and I for one believe we can accomplish it. By
the proper rotation of crops, including oats, clover, cowpeas, as well
as cotton and corn, and a liberal use of barnyard manure and cotton seed
fertilizer, all of the necessary elements of plant food can be restored
to our worn-out soil. But the proper use of these requires much
painstaking study.
If the Negro is to remain the farming class in the Black Belt of the
South, then he must be taught at least the rudiments of the modern
methods of improving farming. He must have agricultural schools and must
be encouraged to attend them. The loss of the fertility of the soil is
the greatest menace of the South. How can we regain this lost fertility
is the greatest question of the hour.
THE ENCHANTED SHELL
H. CORDELIA RAY
Fair, fragile Una, golden-haired,
With melancholy, dark gray eyes,
Sits on a rock by laughing waves,
Gazing into the radiant skies;
And holding to her ear a shell,
A rosy shell of wondrous form;
Quite plaintively to her it coos
Marvelous lays of sea and storm.
It whispers of a fairy home
With coral halls and pearly floors,
Where mermaids clad in glist'ning gold
Guard smilingly the jeweled doors.
She listens and her weird gray eyes
Grow weirder in their pensive gaze.
The sea birds toss her tangled curls,
The skiff lights glimmer through the haze.
Oh, strange sea-singer! what has lent
Such fascination to thy spell?
Is some celestial guardian
Prisoned within thee, tiny shell?
[Illustration: The Enchanted Shell]
The maid sits rapt until the stars
In myriad shining clusters gleam;
"Enchanted Una," she is called
By boatmen gliding down the stream.
The tempest beats the restless seas,
The wind blows loud, fierce from the skies;
Sweet, sylph-like Una clasps the shell,
Peace brooding in her quiet eyes.
The wind blows wilder, darkness comes,
The rock is bare, night birds soar far;
Thick clouds scud o'er the gloomy heav'ns
Unvisited by any star.
Where is quaint Una? On some isle,
Dreaming 'mid music, may she be?
Or does she listen to the shell
In coral halls within the sea?
The boatmen say on stormy nights
They see rare Una with the shell,
Sitting in pensive attitude,
Is it a vision? Who can tell?
BEHIND A GEORGIA MULE
JAMES WELDON JOHNSON
Now if you wish to travel fast,
I beg you not to fool
With locomotion that's procured
Behind a Georgia mule.
When I was teaching school in the backwoods of Georgia I had, one day,
to attend to some business in Mudville, an embryo city about eleven
miles from my school. Now you must know that a country school teacher
can do nothing without first consulting his Board of Trustees; so I
notified that honorable body that there was some business of vast
importance to be attended to, and asked them to meet me on Friday
afternoon; they all promised to be on hand "two hours b'sun." Friday
afternoon, after school was dismissed, they came in one by one until
they had all gathered.
As the chairman called the meeting to order, he said: "Brederen, de
objick ob dis meeting is to consider de ways ob pervidin de means ob
transposin de 'fessar to Mudville." Now, by the way, the chairman of the
Board was undoubtedly intended by nature for a smart man. He had a very
strong weakness for using big words in the wrong place, and thought it
his special duty to impress the "'fessar" at all times with his
knowledge of the dictionary. Well, after much debate it was finally
decided that "Brudder" Whitesides would "furnish de mule" and "Brudder
Jinks de buggy" and that I should start early the next morning.
The next morning I was up quite early, because I wished to start as soon
as possible in order to avoid the heat of the day. I ate breakfast and
waited--six o'clock, seven o'clock, eight o'clock--and still that
promised beast had not put in appearance. Knowing the proclivity of the
mule to meander along as his own sweet will dictates, especially when
the sun shines hot, I began to despair of reaching Mudville at all that
day; but "Brudder" Jinks, with whom I boarded, seeing my melancholy
state of mind, offered to hitch up Gypsy, an antiquated specimen of the
mule, whose general appearance was that of the skeleton of some
prehistoric animal one sees in a museum.
I accepted this proposition with haste, and repented at leisure.
I could see a weary, long-suffering look in that mule's eye, and I could
imagine how his heart must have sought the vicinity of his tail, when
they disturbed his dreams of green fields and pleasant pastures, and
hitched him to an old buggy, to encounter the stern realities of a dusty
road. "Verily, verily," I soliloquized, "the way of the mule is hard."
But, putting aside all tender feelings, I jumped into the buggy and
grasping a stick of quite ample proportions began to urge his muleship
on his way.
Nothing of much consequence hampered our onward journey except the
breaking down of three wheels and the excessive heat of the sun, which
great luminary seemed not more than ninety-five miles away.
I arrived at Mudville sometime between 12 M. and 6 P. M. After having
finished my business and having bountifully fed my mule on water and
what grass he could nibble from around his hitching post, I bought a
large watermelon and started for home. Before I was out of sight of the
town, I began to have serious misgivings about reaching home before a
very late hour. In the morning by various admonitions and applications
of the hickory, I had been able to get my mule into a jog trot, but on
the homeward journey he would not even get up a respectable walk. Well,
we trudged on for two hours or more, when to my dismay he
stopped,--stopped still. As the hour was getting late and it was growing
dark, I began advising him--with the hickory--that it was best to
proceed, but he seemed to have hardened his heart, and his back also,
and paid me no heed. There I sat--all was as still as the grave, save
for the dismal hoot of the screech-owl. There I was, five and a half
miles from home with no prospect of getting there.
I began to coax my mule with some words which perhaps are not in the
Sabbath School books, and to emphasize them with the rising and falling
inflection of the stick across his back; but still he moved not. Then
all at once my conscience smote me. I thought perhaps the faithful beast
might be sick. My mind reverted to Balaam, whose beast spoke to him when
he had smitten him but three times and here I had smitten my beast about
3,333 times. I listened almost in expectation of hearing him say,
"Johnson, Johnson, why smitest thou me 3,333 times?"
I got out of the buggy and looked at the mule; he gazed at me with a sad
far-away expression in his eye, which sent pangs of remorse to my heart.
I thought of the cruel treatment I had given him, and on the impulse of
the moment I went to the buggy, got out my large, luscious melon, burst
it open and laid it on the ground before the poor animal; and I firmly
resolved to be a friend of the mule ever after, and to join the Humane
Society as soon as I reached Atlanta.
As I watched that mule slowly munching away at my melon, I began to
wonder if I had not acted a little too hastily in giving it to him, but
I smothered that thought when I remembered the pledge I had just taken.
When he had finished he looked around with a satisfied air which
encouraged me; so I took hold of his bridle and after stroking him
gently for a moment, attempted to lead him off. But he refused to be
led. He looked at me from under his shabby eyebrows, but the sad,
far-away expression had vanished and in its stead there was a
mischievous gleam, born of malice afore-thought. I remonstrated with
him, but it only seemed to confirm his convictions that it was right
for him to stand there. I thought of my melon he had just devoured; then
I grew wrathy, and right there and then renounced all my Humane Society
resolutions, and began to shower down on that mule torrents of abuse and
hickory also, but all to no effect. Instead of advancing he began to
"revance." I pulled on the bridle until my hands and arms were sore, but
he only continued to back and pull me along with him. When I stopped
pulling he stopped backing, and so things went on for the space of about
half an hour.
I wondered what time it was. Just then the moon began to rise, from
which I knew it was about 9 o'clock. My physical exertion began to tell
on me and I hungered. Oh, how I hungered for a piece of that watermelon!
And I hit the mule an extra blow as a result of those longings.
I was now desperate. I sat down on the side of the road and groaned;
that groan came from the depths of my soul, and I know that I presented
a perfect picture of despair. However, I determined to gather all my
remaining strength for one final effort; so I caressed him up and down
the backbone two or three times as a sort of persuader, then grasping
the bridle with both hands, I began to pull, pull as I had never pulled
before and as I never hope to pull again. And he began to back. I
continued to pull and he continued to back.
How long this order of things might have gone on I do not know, but
just then a brilliant idea struck me so forcibly as to come near
knocking me down. I took the mule out, and by various tying, buckling
and tangling, I hitched him up again, upside down, or wrong side out,
or, well, I can't exactly explain, but anyhow when I got through his
tail pointed in the direction I wanted him to go. Then I got back in the
buggy and taking hold of the bridle began to pull, and he began to back;
and I continued to pull, and he continued to back; and will you believe
me, that mule backed all the way home! It is true we did not travel very
fast but every time he would slow down, I would put a little extra force
into my pull and he would put a little extra speed into his back. Ever
and anon he would glance at me with that mischievous, malicious twinkle,
which seemed to say "I've got you tonight," and I would smile back a
quiet, self-satisfied smile and give an extra pull.
But when we got home, that mischievous, malicious twinkle changed, and
he looked at me in a dazed sort of way and I smiled back quite audibly.
And do you know, that mule has been in a dark brown study ever since. He
is trying to get through his slow brain how I managed to make him pull
me home that night.
As I jumped out of the buggy the clock struck twelve. And there at that
solemn hour of the night, as the pale moon shed her silvery beams all
around and as the bright stars peeped down upon me from the ethereal
blue, and the gentle zephyrs wafted to me the odor of a hog-pen in the
near distance, I vowed a vow, an awful vow, that so long as I breathed
the vital air, never, no, never again, would I attempt to drive a
Georgia mule.
HAYTI AND TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE
W. E. B. DUBOIS
It was in the island of Hayti that French slavery centered. Pirates from
many nations, but chiefly French, began to frequent the island, and in
1663 the French annexed the eastern part, thus dividing the island
between France and Spain. By 1680 there were so many slaves and
mulattoes that Louis XIV issued his celebrated Code Noir, which was
notable in compelling bachelor masters, fathers of slave children, to
marry their concubines. Children followed the condition of the mother as
to slavery or freedom; they could have no property; harsh punishments
were provided for, but families could not be separated by sale except in
the case of grown children; emancipation with full civil rights was made
possible for any slave twenty years of age or more. When Louisiana was
settled and the Alabama coast, slaves were introduced there. Louisiana
was transferred to Spain in 1762, against the resistance of both
settlers and slaves, but Spain took possession in 1769 and introduced
more Negroes.
Later, in Hayti, a more liberal policy encouraged trade; war was over
and capital and slaves poured in. Sugar, coffee, chocolate, indigo,
dyes, and spices were raised. There were large numbers of mulattoes,
many of whom were educated in France, and many masters married Negro
women who had inherited large properties, just as in the United States
to-day white men are marrying eagerly the landed Indian women in the
West. When white immigration increased in 1749, however, prejudice arose
against these mulattoes and severe laws were passed depriving them of
civil rights, entrance into the professions, and the right to hold
office; severe edicts were enforced as to clothing, names, and social
intercourse. Finally, after 1777, mulattoes were forbidden to come to
France.
When the French Revolution broke out, the Haytians managed to send two
delegates to Paris. Nevertheless the planters maintained the upper hand,
and one of the colored delegates, Oge, on returning, started a small
rebellion. He and his companions were killed with great brutality. This
led the French government to grant full civil rights to free Negroes.
Immediately planters and free Negroes flew to arms against each other
and then, suddenly, August 22, 1791, the black slaves, of whom there
were four hundred and fifty-two thousand, arose in revolt to help the
free Negroes.
For many years runaway slaves under their own chiefs had hidden in the
mountains. One of the earliest of these chiefs was Polydor, in 1724, who
was succeeded by Macandal. The great chief of these runaways or
"Maroons" at the time of the slave revolt was Jean François, who was
soon succeeded by Biassou.
Pierre Dominic Toussaint, known as Toussaint L'Ouverture, joined these
Maroon bands, where he was called "the doctor of the armies of the
king," and soon became chief aid to Jean François and Biassou. Upon
their deaths Toussaint rose to the chief command. He acquired complete
control over the blacks, not only in military matters, but in politics
and social organization; "the soldiers regarded him as a superior being,
and the farmers prostrated themselves before him. All his generals
trembled before him (Dessalines did not dare to look in his face), and
all the world trembled before his generals."
The revolt once started, blacks and mulattoes murdered whites without
mercy and the whites retaliated. Commissioners were sent from France,
who asked simply civil rights for freedmen, and not emancipation. Indeed
that was all that Toussaint himself had as yet demanded. The planters
intrigued with the British and this, together with the beheading of the
king (an impious act in the eyes of Negroes), induced Toussaint to join
the Spaniards. In 1793 British troops were landed and the French
commissioners in desperation declared the slaves emancipated. This at
once won back Toussaint from the Spaniards. He became supreme in the
north, while Rigaud, leader of the mulattoes, held the south and the
west. By 1798 the British, having lost most of their forces by yellow
fever, surrendered Mole St. Nicholas to Toussaint and departed. Rigaud
finally left for France, and Toussaint in 1800 was master of Hayti. He
promulgated a constitution under which Hayti was to be a self-governing
colony; all men were equal before the law, and trade was practically
free. Toussaint was to be president for life, with the power to name his
successor.
Napoleon Bonaparte, master of France, had at this time dreams of a great
American empire, and replied to Toussaint's new government by sending
twenty-five thousand men under his brother-in-law to subdue the
presumptuous Negroes, as a preliminary step to his occupation and
development of the Mississippi valley. Fierce fighting and yellow fever
decimated the French, but matters went hard with the Negroes too, and
Toussaint finally offered to yield. He was courteously received with
military honors and then, as soon as possible, treacherously seized,
bound, and sent to France. He was imprisoned at Fort Joux and died,
perhaps of poison, after studied humiliations, April 7, 1803.
Thus perished the greatest of American Negroes and one of the great men
of all time, at the age of fifty-six. A French planter said, "God in his
terrestrial globe did not commune with a purer spirit." Wendell
Phillips said, "Some doubt the courage of the Negro. Go to Hayti and
stand on those fifty thousand graves of the best soldiers France ever
had and ask them what they think of the Negro's sword. I would call him
Napoleon, but Napoleon made his way to empire over broken oaths and
through a sea of blood. This man never broke his word. I would call him
Cromwell, but Cromwell was only a soldier, and the state he founded went
down with him into his grave. I would call him Washington, but the great
Virginian held slaves. This man risked his empire rather than permit the
slave trade in the humblest village of his dominions. You think me a
fanatic, for you read history, not with your eyes, but with your
prejudices. But fifty years hence, when Truth gets a hearing, the Muse
of history will put Phocion for the Greek, Brutus for the Roman, Hampden
for the English, La Fayette for France, choose Washington as the bright
consummate flower of our earlier civilization, then, dipping her pen in
the sunlight, will write in the clear blue, above them all, the name of
the soldier, the statesman, the martyr, Toussaint L'Ouverture."
The treacherous killing of Toussaint did not conquer Hayti. In 1802 and
1803 some forty thousand French soldiers died of war and fever. A new
colored leader, Dessalines, arose and all the eight thousand remaining
French surrendered to the blockading British fleet.
The effect of all this was far-reaching. Napoleon gave up his dream of
American empire and sold Louisiana for a song. "Thus, all of Indian
Territory, all of Kansas and Nebraska and Iowa and Wyoming and Montana
and the Dakotas, and most of Colorado and Minnesota, and all of
Washington and Oregon states, came to us as the indirect work of a
despised Negro. Praise, if you will, the work of a Robert Livingstone or
a Jefferson, but to-day let us not forget our debt to Toussaint
L'Ouverture, who was indirectly the means of America's expansion by the
Louisiana Purchase of 1803."
HIS MOTTO
LOTTIE BURRELL DIXON
"But I can't leave my business affairs and go off on a fishing trip
now."
The friend and specialist who had tricked John Durmont into a confession
of physical bankruptcy, and made him submit to an examination in spite
of himself, now sat back with an "I wash my hands of you" gesture.
"Very well, you can either go to Maine, now, at once, or you'll go
to--well, as I'm only your spiritual adviser, my prognostications as to
your ultimate destination would probably have very little weight with
you."
"Oh, well, if you are so sure, I suppose I can cut loose now, if it
comes to a choice like that."
The doctor smiled his satisfaction. "So you prefer to bear the ills of
New York than to fly to others you know not of, eh?"
"Oh, have a little mercy on Shakespeare, at least. I'll go."
And thus it was that a week later found Durmont as deep in the Maine
woods as he could get and still be within reach of a telegraph wire. And
much to his surprise he found he liked it.
As he lay stretched at full length on the soft turf, the breath of the
pines filled his lungs, the lure of the lake made him eager to get to
his fishing tackle, and he admitted to himself that a man needed just
such a holiday as this in order to keep his mental and physical balance.
Returning to the gaily painted frame building, called by courtesy the
"Hotel," which nestled among the pines, he met the youthful operator
from the near-by station looking for him with a message from his broker.
A complicated situation had arisen in Amalgamated Copper, and an
immediate answer was needed. Durmont had heavy investments in copper,
though his business was the manufacture of electrical instruments.
He walked back to the office with the operator while pondering the
answer, then having written it, handed it to the operator saying, "Tell
them to rush answer."
The tall lank youth, whose every movement was a protest against being
hurried, dragged himself over to the telegraph key.
"'S open."
"What's open?"
"Wire."
"Well, is that the only wire you have?"
"Yep."
"What in the world am I going to do about this message?"
"Dunno, maybe it will close bime-by." And the young lightning slinger
pulled towards him a lurid tale of the Wild West, and proceeded to enjoy
himself.
"And meanwhile, what do you suppose is going to happen to me?" thundered
Durmont. "Haven't you ambition enough to look around your wire and see
if you can find the trouble?"
"Lineman's paid to look up trouble; I'm not," was the surly answer.
Durmont was furious, but what he was about to say was cut off by a quiet
voice at his elbow.
"I noticed linemen repairing wires upon the main road, that's where this
wire is open. If you have any message you are in a hurry to send,
perhaps I can help you out."
Durmont turned to see a colored boy of fifteen whose entrance he had not
noticed.
"What can you do about it?" he asked contemptuously, "take it into town
in an ox team?"
"I can send it by wireless, if that is sufficiently quick."
Durmont turned to the operator at the table.
"Is there a wireless near here?"
"He owns one, you'll have to do business with him on that," said the
youth with a grin at Durmont's unconcealed prejudice.
It would be hard to estimate the exact amount of respect, mingled with
surprise, with which the city man now looked at the boy whose
information he had evidently doubted till confirmed by the white boy.
"Suppose you've got some kind of tom-fool contraption that will take
half a day to get a message into the next village. Here I stand to lose
several thousands because this blame company runs only one wire down to
this camp. Where is this apparatus of yours? Might as well look at it
while I'm waiting for this one-wire office to get into commission
again."
"It's right up on top of the hill," answered the colored boy. "Here,
George, I brought down this wireless book if you want to look it over,
it's better worth reading than that stuff you have there," and tossing a
book on the table he went out, followed by Durmont.
A couple of minutes' walk brought them in sight of the sixty-foot aerial
erected on the top of a small shack.
"Not much to look at, but I made it all myself."
[Illustration: His Motto]
"How did you happen to construct this?" And Durmont really tried to keep
the emphasis off the "you."
"Well, I'm interested in all kinds of electrical experiments, and have
kept up reading and studying ever since I left school, then when I came
out here on my uncle's farm, he let me rig up this wireless, and I can
talk to a chum of mine down in the city. And when I saw the wire at the
station was gone up, I thought I might possibly get your message to New
York through him."
They had entered the one-room shack which contained a long table holding
a wireless outfit, a couple of chairs and a shelf of books. On the walls
were tacked pictures of aviators and drawings of aeroplanes. A
three-foot model of a biplane hung in a corner.
"Now if he is only in," said the boy, going over to the table and giving
the call.
"He's there," he said eagerly, holding out his hand for the message.
Durmont handed it to him. His face still held the look of doubt and
unbelief as he looked at the crude, home-made instruments.
"Suppose I might as well have hired a horse and taken it into town." But
the sputtering wire drowned his voice.
"And get on your wheel and go like blazes. Tell 'em to rush answer. This
guy here thinks a colored boy is only an animated shoe-blacking outfit;
it's up to us to remedy that defect in his education, see!" Thus sang
the wires as Durmont paced the floor.
"I said," began the nervous man as the wires became quiet. "I--" again
the wire sputtered, and he couldn't hear himself talk. When it was
quiet, he tried again, but as soon as he began to grumble, the wire
began to sputter. He glanced suspiciously at the boy, but the latter was
earnestly watching his instruments.
"Say," shouted Durmont, "does that thing have to keep up that confounded
racket all the time?"
"I had to give him some instructions, you know, and also keep in
adjustment."
"Well, I'll get out of adjustment myself if that keeps up."
Durmont resigned himself to silence, and strangely enough, so did the
wire. Walking around the room he noticed over the shelf of books a large
white sheet on which was printed in gilt letters:
"I WILL STUDY AND MAKE READY, AND MAYBE MY CHANCE WILL COME."
--ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
Durmont read this, and then looked at the boy as if seeing him for the
first time. Again he looked at the words, and far beyond them he saw his
own struggling boyhood, climbing daily Life's slippery path, trying to
find some hold by which to pull himself up. And as he watched the
brown-skinned boy bending over the instruments, instinct told him here
was one who would find it still harder to fight his way up, because of
caste.
"Ah!"
The exclamation startled him. The boy with phones adjusted was busily
writing.
"Well, has that partner of yours got that message down at his end yet?"
"Yes, sir, and here is your answer from New York."
"Why it's only been half an hour since I wrote it," said Durmont.
"Yes, that horse wouldn't have got into town yet," grinned the boy.
Durmont snatched the paper, read it, threw his cap in the air,
exclaiming, "The day is saved. Boy, you're a winner. How much?" putting
his hand in his pocket suggestively.
"How much you owe to my help, I don't know," answered the lad sagely. "I
offered to help you because you needed it, and I was glad of the chance
to prove what I believed I could do. I'm satisfied because I succeeded."
Durmont sat down heavily on the other chair; his nerves couldn't stand
much more in one afternoon. To find himself threatened with a large
financial loss; to have this averted by the help of the scientific
knowledge of a colored boy, and that boy rating the fact of his success
higher than any pecuniary compensation--he had to pull himself together
a bit.
His eyes fell on the motto on the wall. He read it thoughtfully,
considered how hard the boy had worked because of that, his hopes of the
future based on that; saw the human element in him as it had not
appealed to him before, and then turning something over in his mind,
muttered to himself, "It's nobody's business if I do."
He got up, and walking over to the boy said: "What's your name?"
"Robert Hilton."
"Well, Robert, that motto you've got up there is a pretty good one to
tie to. You certainly have studied; you have made yourself ready as far
as your resources will permit, and I'll be hanged if I don't stand for
the 'chance.' In the manufacturing of electrical instruments you could
have great opportunity for inventive talent, and in my concern you shall
have your chance, and go as far as your efficiency will carry you. What
do you say, would you care for it?"
"I'd care for it more than any other thing on earth, and am very
grateful for the chance."
"The chance wouldn't be standing here now if you had not had the
inclination and the determination to live up to those words on the
wall."
THE MONTHS
H. CORDELIA RAY
JANUARY
To herald in another year,
With rhythmic note the snowflakes fall
Silently from their crystal courts,
To answer Winter's call.
Wake, mortal! Time is winged anew!
Call Love and Hope and Faith to fill
The chambers of thy soul to-day;
Life hath its blessings still!
FEBRUARY
The icicles upon the pane
Are busy architects; they leave
What temples and what chiseled forms
Of leaf and flower! Then believe
That though the woods be brown and bare,
And sunbeams peep through cloudy veils,
Though tempests howl through leaden skies,
The springtime never fails!
MARCH
Robin! Robin! call the Springtime!
March is halting on his way;
Hear the gusts. What! snowflakes falling!
Look not for the grass to-day.
Ay, the wind will frisk and play,
And we cannot say it nay.
APRIL
She trips across the meadows,
The weird, capricious elf!
The buds unfold their perfumed cups
For love of her sweet self;
And silver-throated birds begin to tune their lyres,
While wind-harps lend their strains to Nature's magic choirs.
MAY
Sweet, winsome May, coy, pensive fay,
Comes garlanded with lily-beds,
And apple blooms shed incense through the bow'r,
To be her dow'r;
While through the deafy dells
A wondrous concert swells
To welcome May, the dainty fay.
JUNE
Roses, roses, roses,
Creamy, fragrant, dewy!
See the rainbow shower!
Was there e'er so sweet a flower?
I'm the rose-nymph, June they call me.
Sunset's blush is not more fair
Than the gift of bloom so rare,
Mortal, that I bring to thee!
JULY
Sunshine and shadow play amid the trees
In bosky groves, while from the vivid sky
The sun's gold arrows fleck the fields at noon,
Where weary cattle to their slumber hie.
How sweet the music of the purling rill,
Trickling adown the grassy hill!
While dreamy fancies come to give repose
When the first star of evening glows.
AUGUST
Haste to the mighty ocean,
List to the lapsing waves;
With what a strange commotion
They seek their coral caves.
From heat and turmoil let us oft return,
The ocean's solemn majesty to learn.
SEPTEMBER
With what a gentle sound
The autumn leaves drop to the ground;
The many-colored dyes,
They greet our watching eyes.
Rosy and russet, how they fall!
Throwing o'er earth a leafy pall.
OCTOBER
The mellow moon hangs golden in the sky,
The vintage song is over, far and nigh
A richer beauty Nature weareth now,
And silently, in reverence we bow
Before the forest altars, off'ring praise
To Him who sweetness gives to all our days.
NOVEMBER
The leaves are sere,
The woods are drear,
The breeze that erst so merrily did play,
Naught giveth save a melancholy lay;
Yet life's great lessons do not fail
E'en in November's gale.
DECEMBER
List! list! the sleigh bells peal across the snow;
The frost's sharp arrows touch the earth and lo!
How diamond-bright the stars do scintillate
When Night hath lit her lamps to Heaven's gate.
To the dim forest's cloistered arches go,
And seek the holly and the mistletoe;
For soon the bells of Christmas-tide will ring
To hail the Heavenly King!
THE COLORED CADET AT WEST POINT
LIEUT. HENRY OSSIAN FLIPPER, U. S. A.
May 20th, 1873! Auspicious day! From the deck of the little ferry-boat
that steamed its way across from Garrison's on that eventful afternoon I
viewed the hills about West Point, her stone structures perched thereon,
thus rising still higher, as if providing access to the very pinnacle of
fame, and shuddered. With my mind full of the horrors of the treatment
of all former cadets of color, and the dread of inevitable ostracism, I
approached tremblingly yet confidently.
The little vessel having been moored, I stepped ashore and inquired of a
soldier there where candidates should report. He very kindly gave me all
information, wished me much success, for which I thanked him, and set
out for the designated place. I soon reached it, and walked directly
into the adjutant's office. He received me kindly, asked for my
certificate of appointment, and receiving that--or assurance that I had
it--I do not remember which--directed me to write in a book there for
the purpose the name and occupation of my father, the State,
Congressional district, county and city of his residence, my own full
name, age, State, county, and place of my birth, and my occupation when
at home. This done I was sent in charge of an orderly to cadet
barracks, where my "plebe quarters" were assigned me.
The impression made upon me by what I saw while going from the
adjutant's office to barracks was certainly not very encouraging. The
rear windows were crowded with cadets watching my unpretending passage
of the area of barracks with apparently as much astonishment and
interest as they would, perhaps, have watched Hannibal crossing the
Alps. Their words and jeers were most insulting.
Having reached another office, I was shown in by the orderly. I walked
in, hat in hand--nay, rather started in--when three cadets, who were
seated in the room, simultaneously sprang to their feet and welcomed me
somewhat after this fashion:
"Well, sir, what do you mean by coming into this office in that manner,
sir? Get out of here, sir."
I walked out, followed by one of them, who, in a similar strain, ordered
me to button my coat, get my hands around--"fins" he said--heels
together, and head up.
"Now, sir," said he, leaving me, "when you are ready to come in, knock
at that door," emphasizing the word "knock."
The door was open. I knocked. He replied, "Come in." I went in. I took
my position in front of and facing him, my heels together, head up, the
palms of my hands to the front, and my little fingers on the seams of
my pantaloons, in which position we habitually carried them. After
correcting my position and making it sufficiently military to suit
himself, one of them, in a much milder tone, asked what I desired of
them. I told him I had been sent by the adjutant to report there. He
arose, and directing me to follow him, conducted me to the bath-rooms.
Having discharged the necessary duty there, I returned and was again put
in charge of the orderly, who carried me to the hospital. There I was
subjected to a rigid physical examination, which I "stood" with the
greatest ease. I was given a certificate of ability by the surgeon, and
by him sent again to the adjutant, who in turn sent me to the treasurer.
From him I returned alone to barracks.
The reception given to "plebes" upon reporting is often very much more
severe than that given me. Even members of my own class can testify to
this. This reception has, however, I think, been best described in an
anonymous work, where it is thus set forth:
"How dare you come into the presence of your superior officer in that
grossly careless and unmilitary manner? I'll have you imprisoned.
Stand, attention, sir!" (Even louder than before.)
"Heels-together-and-on-the-same-line, toes-equally-turned-out,
little-fingers-on-the-seams-of-your-pantaloons, button-your-coat,
draw-in-your-chin, throw-out-your-chest,
cast-your-eyes-fifteen-paces-to-the-front,
don't-let-me-see-you-wearing-standing-collars-again. Stand-steady, sir.
You've evidently mistaken your profession, sir. In any other service, or
at the seat of war, sir, you would have been shot, sir, without trial,
sir, for such conduct, sir."
The effect of such words can be easily imagined. A "plebe" will at once
recognize the necessity for absolute obedience, even if he does know all
this is hazing, and that it is doubtless forbidden. Still "plebes"
almost invariably tremble while it lasts, and when in their own quarters
laugh over it, and even practise it upon each other for mutual
amusement.
On the way to barracks I met the squad of "beasts" marching to dinner. I
was ordered to fall in, did so, marched to the mess hall, and ate my
first dinner at West Point. After dinner we were again marched to
barracks and dismissed. I hastened to my quarters, and a short while
after was turned out to take possession of my baggage. I lugged it into
my room, was shown the directions on the back of the door for
arrangement of articles, and ordered to obey them within half an hour.
At the end of the time specified every article was arranged and the
cadet corporal returned to inspect. He walked deliberately to the
clothes-press, and, informing me that everything was arranged wrong,
threw every article upon the floor, repeated his order and withdrew. And
thus three times in less than two hours did I arrange and he disarrange
my effects. I was not troubled again by him till after supper, when he
inspected again, merely opening the door, however, and looking in. He
told me I could not go to sleep till "tattoo." Now tattoo, as he
evidently used it, referred in some manner to time, and with such
reference I had not the remotest idea of what it meant. I had no
knowledge whatever of military terms or customs. However, as I was also
told that I could do anything--writing, etc.--I might wish to do, I
found sufficient to keep me awake until he again returned and told me it
was then tattoo, that I could retire then or at any time within half an
hour, and that at the end of that time the light _must_ be extinguished
and I _must_ be in bed. I instantly extinguished it and retired.
Thus passed my first half day at West Point, and thus began the military
career of the fifth colored cadet. The other four were Smith of South
Carolina, Napier of Tennessee, Howard of Mississippi, and Gibbs of
Florida.
AN HYMN TO THE EVENING
PHYLLIS WHEATLEY
Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main
The pealing thunder shook the heav'nly plain;
Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr's wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
And through the air their mingled music floats,
Through all the heav'ns what beauteous dyes are spread!
But the west glories in the deepest red;
So may our breasts with every virtue glow
The living temples of our God below!
Filled with the praise of him who gave the light,
And draws the sable curtains of the night,
Let placid slumbers soothe each weary mind,
At morn to wake more heaven'ly, more refin'd.
So shall the labors of the day begin
More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
Nights' leaden sceptor seal my drowsy eyes,
When cease my song, till fair Aurora rise.
GOING TO SCHOOL UNDER DIFFICULTIES
WILLIAM H. HOLTZCLAW
When I was four years old I was put to work on the farm,--that is, at
such work as I could do, such as riding a deaf and blind mule while my
brother held the plow. When I was six years old my four-year-old brother
and I had to go two miles through a lonely forest every morning in order
to carry my father's breakfast and dinner to a sawmill, where he was
hauling logs for sixty cents a day. The white man, Frank Weathers, who
employed a large number of hands, both Negroes and whites, was
considered one of the best and most upright men in that section of the
country.
In those days there were no public schools in that part of the country
for the Negroes. Indeed, public schools for whites were just beginning
to be established. This man set aside a little house in the neighborhood
of the sawmill, employed a teacher, and urged all the Negroes to send
their children to this school. Not a great many of them, however, took
advantage of his generosity, for this was at the time when everybody
seemed to think that the Negro's only hope was in politics.
But my father and mother had great faith in education, and they were
determined that their children should have that blessing of which they
themselves had been deprived.
Soon, however, Mr. Weathers had cut all the timber that he could get in
that section, and he therefore moved his mills to another district. This
left us without a school. But my father was not to be outdone. He called
a meeting of the men in that community, and they agreed to build a
schoolhouse themselves. They went to the forest and cut pine poles about
eight inches in diameter, split them in halves, and carried them on
their shoulders to a nice shady spot, and there erected a little
schoolhouse. The benches were made of the same material, and there was
no floor nor chimney. Some of the other boys' trousers suffered when
they sat on the new pine benches, which exuded rosin, but I had an
advantage of them in this respect, for I wore only a shirt. In fact, I
never wore trousers until I got to be so large that the white neighbors
complained of my insufficient clothes.
At the end of the first school year there was a trying time in our
family. On this occasion the teacher ordered all the pupils to appear
dressed in white. We had no white clothes, nor many of any other sort,
for that matter. Father and mother discussed our predicament nearly all
one night. Father said it was foolish to buy clothes which could be used
for that occasion only. But my ever resourceful mother was still
determined that her children should look as well on this important
occasion as any of our neighbors. However, when we went to bed the night
before the exhibition we still had no white clothes and no cloth from
which to make them. Nevertheless, when we awoke the next morning, all
three of us had beautiful white suits.
It came about in this way. My mother had a beautiful white Sunday
petticoat, which she had cut up and made into suits for us. As there is
just so much cloth in a petticoat and no more, the stuff had to be cut
close to cover all of us children, and as the petticoat had been worn
several times and was, therefore, likely to tear, we had to be very
careful how we stooped in moving about the stage, lest there should be a
general splitting and tearing, with consequences that we were afraid to
imagine. At the exhibitions the next night we said our little pieces,
and I suppose we looked about as well as the others; at least we thought
so, and that was sufficient. One thing I am sure of,--there was no
mother there who was prouder of her children than ours. The thing that
made her so pleased was the fact that my speech made such an impression
that our white landlord lifted me off the stage when I had finished
speaking and gave me a quarter of a dollar.
If there happened to be a school in the winter time, I had sometimes to
go bare-footed and always with scant clothing. Our landlady was very
kind in such cases. She would give me clothes that had already been worn
by her sons, and in turn I would bring broom straw from the sedges, with
which she made her brooms. In this way I usually got enough clothes to
keep me warm.
[Illustration]
So, with my mother's encouragement, I went to school in spite of my bare
feet. Often the ground would be frozen, and often there would be snow.
My feet would crack and bleed freely, but when I reached home Mother
would have a tub full of hot water ready to plunge me into and thaw me
out. Although this caused my feet and legs to swell, it usually got me
into shape for school the next day.
I remember once, when I had helped "lay by" the crops at home and was
ready to enter the little one-month school, it was decided that I could
not go, because I had no hat. My mother told me that if I could catch a
'coon and cure the skin, she would make me a cap out of that material.
That night I went far into the forest with my hounds, and finally
located a 'coon. The 'coon was a mighty fighter, and when he had driven
off all my dogs I saw that the only chance for me to get a cap was to
whip the 'coon myself, so together with the dogs I went at him, and
finally we conquered him. The next week I went to school wearing my new
'coon-skin cap.
Exertions of this kind, from time to time, strengthened my will and my
body, and prepared me for more trying tests which were to come later.
As I grew older it became more and more difficult for me to go to
school. When cotton first began to open,--early in the fall,--it brought
a higher price than at any other time of the year. At this time the
landlord wanted us all to stop school and pick cotton. But Mother wanted
me to remain in school, so, when the landlord came to the quarters early
in the morning to stir up the cotton pickers, she used to outgeneral him
by hiding me behind the skillets, ovens, and pots, throwing some old
rags over me until he was gone. Then she would slip me off to school
through the back way. I can see her now with her hands upon my
shoulder, shoving me along through the woods and underbrush, in a
roundabout way, keeping me all the time out of sight of the great
plantation until we reached the point, a mile away from home, where we
came to the public road. There my mother would bid me good-bye,
whereupon she would return to the plantation and try to make up to the
landlord for the work of us both in the field as cotton pickers.
THE BRAVE SON
ALSTON W. BURLEIGH
A little boy, lost in his childish play,
Mid the deep'ning shades of the fading day,
Fancied the warrior he would be;
He scattered his foes with his wooden sword
And put to flight a mighty horde--
Ere he crept to his daddy's knee.
A soldier crawled o'er the death-strewn plain,
And he uttered the name of his love, in vain,
As he stumbled over the crest;
He fought with the fierceness of dark despair
And drove the cowering foe to his lair--
Ere he crept to his Father's breast.
VICTORY
WALTER F. WHITE
"Now, Ted, just forget they're after you and remember you've got ten men
out there with you. Fight 'em and fight 'em hard, but hold that
man-eating temper of yours. If you don't, we're lost."
Dawson, varsity coach of Bliss University, affectionately known and
revered by two thousand undergraduates as "Skipper Bill" sat in the
locker room with his arm around Ted Robertson's shoulders, star halfback
and punter of the varsity eleven. Around them moved the other varsity
players, substitutes, second string men, trainers and rubbers.
In the stands overhead every seat was taken, for these were the last few
minutes before the big game of the year--the annual battle with Sloan
College. On one side the sober blues and grays and blacks formed a
background for huge yellow chrysanthemums and light blue ribbons, the
Bliss colors, and the same background in the stands opposite set off the
crimson of Sloan College.
The rival college bands of the two most important colored universities
of the United States blared almost unheeded in the din, while agile
cheerleaders clad in white from head to foot performed gymnastics in
leading rolling volumes of cheers. All were in that tense,
nerve-gripping mood prior to that game in which victory or defeat meant
success or failure of the season's efforts of the teams of young giants
that represented the two schools.
In the locker room, however, a different scene was being enacted. Every
man was acting according to his own temperament and each in his own way
attempted to hide the anxious thrill that every real football player
feels before "the big game."
Jimmy Murray, quarterback and thrower of forward passes _par
excellence_, nervously tied and untied his shoe laces a dozen times;
"Tiny" Marshall, left tackle, who weighed two hundred and ten pounds,
tried to whistle nonchalantly and failed miserably, while "Bull" Bascom,
fullback, the only calm man in the room, was carefully adjusting his
shoulder pads. Around them hovered the odor of arnica and liniment mixed
with the familiar tang of perspiration which has dried in woolen
jerseys--perspiration that marked many a long and wearisome hour of
training and perfection of the machine that to-day received its final
"exam."
Ted Robertson, the man around whom most of the team's offense was built,
sat listening to Dawson's advice. Born with a fiery, almost unmanageable
temper, his reckless, dauntless spirit had made him a terror to opposing
teams. Strong was the line that could check his plunges, and fleet were
the ends who could tackle him when once he got loose in an open field.
Recognizing his phenomenal ability, both coach and players gave him the
credit due him and consciously or unconsciously relied on him as the
team's best player.
But to-day Sloan had declared that they were going to put Robertson out
of the game and threats had been freely uttered that before the game had
been going very long he "would be in the hospital." This news added to
the tenseness of feeling. If Robertson should be put out of the game, or
if he should lose his temper the chances of a victory for Bliss were
slim indeed, for rarely had two teams been so evenly matched in skill
and brain and brawn. Thus the final pleading of Dawson to Robertson to
"hold that temper."
A roar of cheers greeted their ears as the red jerseyed Sloan team took
the field. Led by Murray the Bliss players were likewise greeted by a
storm of applause as they trotted out on the field and the varsity
started through a brisk signal drill.
In a few minutes the referee called the rival captains to the center of
the field. Sloan won the toss and elected to defend the south goal,
kicking off with the wind behind its back. A breathless hush--the shrill
whistle of the referee--the thump of cleated shoe against the ball and
the game was on.
The teams, wonderfully even in strength and in knowledge of the game,
surged back and forth, the ball repeatedly changing hands as one team
would hold the other for downs. From the kick-off, the Sloan players
began their attempts to injure or anger Robertson. Vicious remarks were
aimed at him while the referee was not near enough to hear.
When Robertson carried the ball and after he was downed under a mass of
players, a fist would thud against his jaw or hard knuckles would be
rubbed across his nose. Once when an opposing player had fallen across
Robertson's right leg, another of his opponents seized his ankle and
turned it. Though he fought against it, his temper was slowly but surely
slipping away from him.
For three hectic quarters, with the tide of victory or defeat now
surging towards Bliss--now towards Sloan, the battle raged. As play
after play of brilliance or superbrilliance flashed forth, the stands
alternately groaned or cheered, according to the sympathies of each.
Robertson, a veritable stonewall of defense, time and again checked the
rushes of the Sloan backs or threw himself recklessly at fleet backs on
end runs when his own ends had failed to "get their man." On the
offensive he repeatedly was called on to carry the ball and seldom did
he fail to make the distance required.
A great weariness settled on Robertson and it was with difficulty that
he was able to fight off a numbness and dizziness that almost overcame
him. One thing sustained him. It was a bitter resentment against those
who sought to hurt him. The fires within him had grown until they became
a flaming, devastating thing that burned its way into his brain. It
needed only a spark to make him forget the game, school, the coach and
everything else. Yet even as he realized this he knew that if he did
lose his temper, Bliss might as well concede the victory to Sloan. It
was not conceit that caused him to know this and admit it but the
clearness of vision that comes oft-times in a moment of greatest mental
strain.
Finally, with the score still tied, neither side having scored, the time
keeper warned the rival teams that only three minutes remained for play.
His warning served to cause a tightening of muscles and a grimness of
countenance in a last final effort to put over a score and avert a tied
score. The huge crowd prayed fervently for a score--a touchdown--a
safety--a goal from field or placement--anything.
It was Sloan's ball on Bliss's forty-five-yard line. Only a fumble or
some fluke could cause a score. Every player was on his mettle burning
with anxiety to get his hands on that ball and scamper down the field to
a touchdown and everlasting fame in the annals of his school's football
history.
In a last desperate effort, the Bliss quarterback called a trick play.
It started out like a quarterback run around left end. The Bliss left
end ran straight down the field after delaying the man playing opposite
him. When the Bliss quarter had made a wide run drawing in the Sloan
secondary defense, he turned and like a flash shot a long forward pass
over the heads of the incoming Sloan backfield to the end who had gone
straight down the field and who was practically free of danger of being
tackled by any of the Sloan backs.
Too late the Sloan players saw the ruse. Only Robertson was between the
swift running end and a score. With grim satisfaction, his face streaked
with perspiration, drawn and weary with the long hard struggle and the
yeoman part he had played in it, Robertson saw that the man with the
ball was the one player on the opposing side who had done most of the
unfair playing in trying to put Robertson out of the game. All of the
bitterness--all of the anger in his heart swelled up and he determined
to overtake the end, prevent the score and tackle the man so viciously
that he would be certain to break an arm or a leg. Robertson dug his
cleats in the spongy turf with a phenomenal burst of speed, rapidly
overtook his man, driving him meanwhile towards the sidelines.
At last the moment came. By making a flying tackle, which would be
illegal but which he hoped the referee would not see, Robertson could
get his man and get him in such fashion that he would have no chance of
escaping injury. Robertson crouched for the spring. A fierce light came
into his eyes. In a flash he saw the end whom he now hated with an
intensity that wiped every thought from his mind except that of revenge,
lying prone on the ground.
But even as he gloated over his revenge, the words of Bill Dawson came
to him, "Hold that man-eating temper of yours." In a lightning-like
conflict, the impulse to injure fought a desperate battle with the
instinct of clean playing. His decision was made in a moment. Instead of
making the vicious flying tackle, he ran all the faster, but the end was
too swift and had too great a lead. Amid the frantically jubilant shouts
of the Bliss rooters and the painful silence of the Sloan supporters the
end went across the line for a touchdown just as time was up.
A gloom pervaded the dressing rooms of the Sloan team after the game.
Robertson was in disgrace. Forgotten was the playing through most of the
game. Forgotten were his desperate tackles that had saved the game more
than once. Forgotten were the long runs and the hard line plunges that
time and again had made first downs for his team. Only the fact that he
had apparently failed in the last minute remained. Only Dawson and
Robertson knew that it was not cowardice, that most detested of all
things in athletics, in life itself, had caused Robertson to refuse to
make that last dangerous, illegal flying tackle.
But in the heart of Robertson there was a strange peace. Being human,
he naturally resented the discernible thoughts in the minds of his
comrades of many a hard-fought battle. But a calmness made him forgetful
of all this for he knew that at last, in a moment of the supreme test,
he had conquered that which had been his master throughout all of his
life--his temper. All the slurs and coldness in the world could not rob
him of the satisfaction of this.
THE DOG AND THE CLEVER RABBIT
A. O. STAFFORD
There were many days when the animals did not think about the kingship.
They thought of their games and their tricks, and would play them from
the rising to the setting of the sun.
Now, at that time, the little rabbit was known as a very clever fellow.
His tricks, his schemes, and his funny little ways caused much mischief
and at times much anger among his woodland cousins.
At last the wolf made up his mind to catch him and give him a severe
punishment for the many tricks he had played upon him.
Knowing that the rabbit could run faster than he, the wolf called at the
home of the dog to seek his aid. "Brother dog, frisky little rabbit must
be caught and punished. For a nice bone will you help me?" asked the
wolf.
"Certainly, my good friend," answered the dog, thinking of the promised
bone.
"Be very careful, the rabbit is very clever," said the wolf as he left.
A day or so later while passing through the woods the dog saw the rabbit
frisking in the tall grass. Quick as a flash the dog started after him.
The little fellow ran and, to save himself, jumped into the hollow of an
oak tree. The opening was too small for the other to follow and as he
looked in he heard only the merry laugh of the frisky rabbit, "Hee, hee!
hello, Mr. Dog, you can't see me."
"Never mind, boy, I will get you yet," barked the angry dog.
A short distance from the tree a goose was seen moving around looking
for her dinner.
"Come, friend goose, watch the hollow of this tree while I go and get
some moss and fire to smoke out this scamp of a rabbit," spoke the dog,
remembering the advice of the wolf.
"Of course I'll watch, for he has played many of his schemes upon me,"
returned the bird.
When the dog left, the rabbit called out from his hiding place, "How can
you watch, friend goose, when you can't see me?"
"Well, I will see you then," she replied. With these words she pushed
her long neck into the hollow of the tree. As the neck of the goose went
into the opening the rabbit threw the dust of some dry wood into her
eyes.
"Oh, oh, you little scamp, you have made me blind," cried out the bird
in pain.
[Illustration]
Then while the goose was trying to get the dust from her eyes the rabbit
jumped out and scampered away.
In a short while the dog returned with the moss and fire, filled the
opening, and, as he watched the smoke arise, barked with glee, "Now I
have you, my tricky friend, now I have you." But as no rabbit ran out
the dog turned to the goose and saw from her red, streaming eyes that
something was wrong.
"Where is the rabbit, friend goose?" he quickly asked.
"Why, he threw wood dust into my eyes when I peeped into the opening."
At once the dog knew that the rabbit had escaped and became very angry.
"You silly goose, you foolish bird with web feet, I will kill you now
for such folly." With these words the dog sprang for the goose, but only
a small feather was caught in his mouth as the frightened bird rose high
in the air and flew away.
THE BOY AND THE IDEAL
JOSEPH S. COTTER
Once upon a time a Mule, a Hog, a Snake, and a Boy met. Said the Mule:
"I eat and labor that I may grow strong in the heels. It is fine to have
heels so gifted. My heels make people cultivate distance."
Said the Hog: "I eat and labor that I may grow strong in the snout. It
is fine to have a fine snout. I keep people watching for my snout."
"No exchanging heels for snouts," broke in the Mule.
"No," answered the Hog; "snouts are naturally above heels."
Said the Snake: "I eat to live, and live to cultivate my sting. The way
people shun me shows my greatness. Beget stings, comrades, and stings
will beget glory."
Said the Boy: "There is a star in my life like unto a star in the sky. I
eat and labor that I may think aright and feel aright. These rounds will
conduct me to my star. Oh, inviting star!"
"I am not so certain of that," said the Mule. "I have noticed your kind
and ever see some of myself in them. Your star is in the distance."
The Boy answered by smelling a flower and listening to the song of a
bird. The Mule looked at him and said: "He is all tenderness and care.
The true and the beautiful have robbed me of a kinsman. His star is
near."
Said the Boy: "I approach my star."
"I am not so certain of that," interrupted the Hog. "I have noticed your
kind and I ever see some of myself in them. Your star is a delusion."
The Boy answered by painting the flower and setting the notes of the
bird's song to music.
The Hog looked at the boy and said: "His soul is attuned by nature. The
meddler in him is slain."
"I can all but touch my star," cried the Boy.
"I am not so certain of that," remarked the Snake. "I have watched your
kind and ever see some of myself in them. Stings are nearer than stars."
The Boy answered by meditating upon the picture and music. The Snake
departed, saying that stings and stars cannot keep company.
The Boy journeyed on, ever led by the star. Some distance away the Mule
was bemoaning the presence of his heels and trying to rid himself of
them by kicking a tree. The Hog was dividing his time between looking
into a brook and rubbing his snout on a rock to shorten it. The Snake
lay dead of its own bite. The Boy journeyed on, led by an ever inviting
star.
CHILDREN AT EASTER
C. EMILY FRAZIER
That day in old Jerusalem when Christ our Lord was slain,
I wonder if the children hid and wept in grief and pain;
Dear little ones, on whose fair brows His tender touch had been,
Whose infant forms had nestled close His loving arms within.
I think that very soberly went mournful little feet
When Christ our Lord was laid away in Joseph's garden sweet,
[Illustration: Children At Easter]
And wistful eyes grew very sad and dimpled cheeks grew white,
When He who suffered babes to come was prisoned from the light.
With beaming looks and eager words a glad surprise He gave
To those who sought their buried Lord and found an empty grave;
For truly Christ had conquered death, Himself the Prince of Life,
And none of all His Followers shall fail in any strife.
O little ones, around the cross your Easter garlands twine,
And bring your precious Easter gifts to many a sacred shrine,
And, better still, let offerings of pure young hearts be given
On Easter Day to Him who reigns the King of earth and heaven.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
WILLIAM PICKENS
He was the first President of the Republic who was American through and
through. There was not one foreign element in his bringing up; he was an
unmixed child of the Western plains, born in the South, reared in the
North. Most of the Presidents before him, being reared nearer the
Atlantic, had imbibed more or less of Eastern culture and had European
airs. This man Lincoln was so thoroughly democratic as to astonish both
Old and New England. He never acted "the President," and was always a
man among men, the honored servant of the people.
From a five-dollar fee before a justice of the peace, he had risen to a
five-thousand-dollar fee before the Supreme Court of Illinois. From a
study of "Dilworth's Spelling Book" in his seventh year, he had risen to
write, in his fifty-seventh year, his second Inaugural, which is the
greatest utterance of man, and yet all of his days in school added
together are less than one year. His pioneer life had given him a vein
of humor which became his "Life-preserver" in times of stress; it had
also given him a love for human liberty that was unaffected. He felt
that the enslavement of some men was but the advance guard, the miner
and sapper, of the enslavement of all men.
From a poor captain of volunteers in the scandalous little Black Hawk
War, where he jokingly said he "bled, died, and came away," although he
never had a skirmish nor saw an Indian, he had risen to the chief
command in a war that numbered three thousand battles and skirmishes and
cost three billion dollars. Having no ancestry himself, being able to
trace his line by rumor and tradition only as far back as his
grandfather, he became, like George Washington, the Father of his
Country. Born of a father who could not write his name, he himself had
written the Proclamation of Emancipation, the fourth great state paper
in the history of the Anglo-Saxon race,--the others being Magna Charta,
the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. If we accept the
statement of Cicero that the days on which we are saved should be as
illustrious as the days on which we are born, then Lincoln the Savior
must always remain coördinate with Washington, the Father of his
country. Jackson was "Old Hickory," Taylor was "Old Rough," and there
have been various names given to the other Presidents, but Washington
and Lincoln were the only ones whom the American people styled "Father."
Child of the American soil, cradled and nursed in the very bosom of
nature, he loved his country with the passion with which most men love
their human mothers. He could not bear the thought of one iota of
detraction from her honor, her dignity or her welfare. Against her
dismemberment he was willing to fight to the end of his second
administration or till the end of time. He might tolerate anything else
except disunion,--even the right of some of his fellowmen to enslave
others. Of every concession which he made during his administration, to
friend or foe, the _sine qua non_ was Union. A house divided against
itself cannot stand.
In this he left us a great heritage; it is a lesson for both sections,
and all races of any section. White men of America, black men of
America, by the eternal God of heaven, there can be no division of
destiny on the same soil and in the bosom and in the lap of the same
natural mother. Men may attempt and accomplish discrimination in a small
way, but Almighty God and all-mothering nature are absolutely impartial.
They have woven the fabric of life so that the thread of each man's
existence is a part of the whole. He who sets fire to his neighbor's
house, endangers the existence of his own; he who degrades his
neighbor's children, undermines the future of his own. Together we rise
and together we fall is the plan of God and the rule of nature. We must
lean together in the common struggle of life: the syncline is stronger
than the anticline.
In a great nation with an increasing fame, the lesson of Lincoln's life
must grow in importance. As long as the human heart loves freedom his
name will be a word on the tongues of men. His name will be a watchword
wherever liberty in her struggles with tyranny lifts her embattled
banners. No man of the ancient or the modern world has a securer place
in the hearts and memories of men than this man Lincoln, who was born in
obscurity, who died in a halo, and who now rests in an aureole of
historic glory.
RONDEAU
JESSIE FAUSET
When April's here and meadows wide
Once more with spring's sweet growths are pied,
I close each book, drop each pursuit,
And past the brook, no longer mute,
I joyous roam the countryside.
Look, here the violets shy abide
And there the mating robins hide--
How keen my senses, how acute,
When April's here!
And list! down where the shimmering tide
Hard by that farthest hill doth glide,
Rise faint sweet strains from shepherd's flute,
Pan's pipes and Berecynthian lute.
Each sight, each sound fresh joys provide
When April's here.
HOW I ESCAPED
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
Although slavery was a delicate subject, and very cautiously talked
about among grown-up people in Maryland, I frequently talked about it,
and that very freely, with the white boys. I would sometimes say to
them, while seated on a curbstone or a cellar door, "I wish I could be
free, as you will be when you get to be men. You will be free, you know,
as soon as you are twenty-one, and can go where you like, but I am a
slave for life. Have I not as good a right to be free as you have?"
Words like these, I observed, always troubled them; and I had no small
satisfaction in drawing out from them, as I occasionally did, that fresh
and bitter condemnation of slavery which ever springs from natures
unseared and unperverted. Of all consciences, let me have those to deal
with, which have not been seared and bewildered with the cares and
perplexities of life.
I do not remember ever to have met with a boy while I was in slavery,
who defended the system, but I do remember many times, when I was
consoled by them, and by them encouraged to hope that something would
yet occur by which I would be made free. Over and over again, they have
told me that "they believed I had as good a right to be free as they
had," and that "they did not believe God ever made any one to be a
slave."
On Monday, the third day of September, 1838, in accordance with my
resolution, I bade farewell to the city of Baltimore, and to slavery.
My success was due to address rather than courage; to good luck rather
than bravery. My means of escape were provided for me by the very men
who were making laws to hold and bind me more securely in slavery. It
was the custom in the State of Maryland to require of the free colored
people to have what were called free papers. This instrument they were
required to renew very often, and by charging a fee for this writing,
considerable sums from time to time were collected by the State. In
these papers the name, age, color, height, and form of the free man were
described, together with any scars or other marks upon his person.
Now more than one man could be found to answer the same general
description. Hence many slaves could escape by impersonating the owner
of one set of papers; and this was often done as follows: A slave nearly
or sufficiently answering the description set forth in the papers, would
borrow or hire them till he could by their means escape to a free state,
and then, by mail or otherwise, return them to the owner. The operation
was a hazardous one for the lender as well as the borrower.
A failure on the part of the fugitive to send back the papers would
imperil his benefactor, and the discovery of the papers in possession of
the wrong man would imperil both the fugitive and his friend. It was
therefore an act of supreme trust on the part of a freeman of color thus
to put in jeopardy his own liberty that another might be free. It was,
however, not infrequently bravely done, and was seldom discovered. I was
not so fortunate as to sufficiently resemble any of my free
acquaintances to answer the description of their papers.
But I had one friend--a sailor--who owned a sailor's protection, which
answered somewhat the purpose of free papers--describing his person, and
certifying to the fact that he was a free American sailor. The
instrument had at its head the American eagle, which gave it the
appearance at once of an authorized document. This protection did not,
when in my hands, describe its bearer very accurately. Indeed, it called
for a man much darker than myself, and close examination of it would
have caused my arrest at the start.
In order to avoid this fatal scrutiny I had arranged with a hackman to
bring my baggage to the train just on the moment of starting, and jumped
upon the car myself when the train was already in motion. Had I gone
into the station and offered to purchase a ticket, I should have been
instantly and carefully examined, and undoubtedly arrested.
In choosing this plan upon which to act, I considered the jostle of the
train, and the natural haste of the conductor, in a train crowded with
passengers, and relied upon my skill and address in playing the sailor
as described in my protection, to do the rest. One element in my favor
was the kind feeling which prevailed in Baltimore, and other seaports at
the time, towards "those who go down to the sea in ships." "Free trade
and sailors' rights" expressed the sentiment of the country just then.
In my clothing I was rigged out in sailor style. I had on a red shirt
and a tarpaulin hat and black cravat, tied in sailor fashion, carelessly
and loosely about my neck. My knowledge of ships and sailor's talk came
much to my assistance, for I knew a ship from stem to stern, and from
keelson to cross-trees, and could talk sailor like an "old salt."
On sped the train, and I was well on the way to Havre de Grace before
the conductor came into the Negro car to collect tickets and examine the
papers of his black passengers. This was a critical moment in the drama.
My whole future depended upon the decision of this conductor. Agitated I
was while this ceremony was proceeding, but still externally, at least,
I was apparently calm and self-possessed. He went on with his
duty--examining several colored passengers before reaching me. He was
somewhat harsh in tone, and peremptory in manner until he reached me,
when, strangely enough, and to my surprise and relief, his whole manner
changed.
Seeing that I did not readily produce my free papers, as the other
colored persons in the car had done, he said to me in a friendly
contrast with that observed towards the others: "I suppose you have your
free papers?" To which I answered: "No, sir; I never carry my free
papers to sea with me." "But you have something to show that you are a
free man, have you not?" "Yes, sir," I answered; "I have a paper with
the American eagle on it, that will carry me around the world." With
this I drew from my deep sailor's pocket my seaman's protection, as
before described. The merest glance at the paper satisfied him, and he
took my fare and went on about his business.
This moment of time was one of the most anxious I ever experienced. Had
the conductor looked closely at the paper, he could not have failed to
discover that it called for a very different looking person from myself,
and in that case it would have been his duty to arrest me on the
instant, and send me back to Baltimore from the first station.
When he left me with the assurance that I was all right, though much
relieved, I realized that I was still in great danger: I was still in
Maryland, and subject to arrest at any moment. I saw on the train
several persons who would have known me in any other clothes, and I
feared they might recognize me, even in my sailor "rig," and report me
to the conductor, who would then subject me to a closer examination,
which I knew well would be fatal to me.
Though I was not a murderer fleeing from justice, I felt, perhaps, quite
miserable as such a criminal. The train was moving at a very high rate
of speed for that time of railroad travel, but to my anxious mind, it
was moving far too slowly. Minutes were hours, and hours were days
during this part of my flight. After Maryland I was to pass through
Delaware--another slave State. The border lines between slavery and
freedom were the dangerous ones, for the fugitives. The heart of no fox
or deer, with hungry hounds on his trail, in full chase, could have
beaten more anxiously or noisily than did mine, from the time I left
Baltimore till I reached Philadelphia.
The passage of the Susquehanna river at Havre de Grace was made by
ferry-boat at that time, on board of which I met a young colored man by
the name of Nichols, who came very near betraying me. He was a "hand" on
the boat, but instead of minding his business, he insisted upon knowing
me, and asking me dangerous questions as to where I was going, and when
I was coming back, etc. I got away from my old and inconvenient
acquaintance as soon as I could decently do so, and went to another part
of the boat.
Once across the river I encountered a new danger. Only a few days before
I had been at work on a revenue cutter, in Mr. Price's ship-yard, under
the care of Captain McGowan. On the meeting at this point of the two
trains, the one going south stopped on the track just opposite to the
one going north, and it so happened that this Captain McGowan sat at a
window where he could see me very distinctly, and would certainly have
recognized me had he looked at me but for a second. Fortunately, in the
hurry of the moment, he did not see me; and the trains soon passed each
other on their respective ways.
But this was not the only hair-breadth escape. A German blacksmith, whom
I knew well, was on the train with me, and looked at me very intently,
as if he thought he had seen me somewhere before in his travels. I
really believe he knew me, but had no heart to betray me. At any rate he
saw me escaping and held his peace.
The last point of imminent danger, and the one I dreaded most, was
Wilmington. Here we left the train and took the steamboat for
Philadelphia. In making the change here I again apprehended arrest, but
no one disturbed me, and I was soon on the broad and beautiful Delaware,
speeding away to the Quaker City. On reaching Philadelphia in the
afternoon I inquired of a colored man how I could get on to New York? He
directed me to the Willow street depot, and thither I went, taking the
train that night. I reached New York Tuesday morning, having completed
the journey in less than twenty-four hours. Such is briefly the manner
of my escape from slavery--and the end of my experience as a slave.
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
W. H. CROGMAN
Frederick Douglass is dead! How strange that sounds to those of us who
from earliest boyhood have been accustomed to hear him spoken of as the
living exponent of all that is noblest and best in the race. The mind
reluctantly accepts the unwelcome truth. And yet it is a truth--a
serious, a solemn truth. Frederick Douglass is no more. The grand old
hero of a thousand battles has at last fallen before the shaft of the
common destroyer, and upon his well-battered shield loving hands have
tenderly borne that stalwart form to its last, long resting place. Earth
to earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes!
This country will never again see another Douglass; this world will
never again see another Douglass, for in all probability there will
never again exist that peculiar combination of circumstances to produce
exactly such a type of manhood. Man is, in a measure, the product of
environment. Yet it would be injustice to Frederick Douglass to say that
he was great simply because of environment. He was great in spite of
environment. Born a slave, subjected in his youth and early manhood to
all the degrading, stultifying, demoralizing influences of slavery, he
has left behind him, after a public life long and varied and stormy, a
name as clean and spotless as driven snow. Take notice of this, young
men, you who have ambitions, you who are aspiring to public place,
position, and power. Take notice that a public life need not be
separated from unsullied honor.
I said Frederick Douglass was great in spite of environment. Had there
been no slavery to fight, no freedom to win, he would still have been a
great man. Greatness was inherent in his being, and circumstances simply
evoked it. He was one of those choice spirits whom the Almighty sends
into this world with the stamp of a great mission on their very form and
features. Said Sam Johnson with reference to Edmund Burke: "Burke, sir,
is such a man that if you met him for the first time in the street,
where you were stopped by a drove of oxen, and you and he stepped aside
to take shelter but for five minutes, he'd talk to you in such a manner
that when you parted you would say, 'This is an extraordinary man.'"
The same could doubtless have been said of Douglass; but it was not
necessary to hear him talk, to discover his unusual ability and
surpassing intelligence. There was in his very presence something that
instantly indicated these. An eminent divine said some years ago that
Douglass's escape from slavery was a very fortunate thing for the South,
as in any uprising of slaves he must have proved a very formidable
leader. "He had," said he, "the mind to plan, the heart to dare, and the
hand to execute," and added, "If you were to see him sitting in Exeter
Hall in the midst of a sea of faces, you would instantly recognize in
him a man of extraordinary force of character."
Such was the impression that Douglass commonly made on people, and such
was the impression he made on me at my first sight of him. It was in
Faneuil Hall, in the summer of 1872. The colored people of New England
were assembled in political convention. Entering the hall in the midst
of one of their morning sessions, the first object that met my eyes was
the old hero himself on the rostrum. There he stood, over six feet in
height, erect, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, with massive, well-formed
head, covered with thick, bushy hair, about half gray. I judged him then
to be midway in his fifties. His face, strongly leonine, was clean
shaven, except moustache, while those eyes, that even in the seventies
could flash fire, lighted up the whole countenance, and made the general
effect such as not to be easily forgotten by a young man. There stood
the orator and the man, and never since have I seen the two in such
exquisite combination. The old Greek sculptor would have delighted to
immortalize such a form in marble.
Whispering to a tall white brother beside me (the audience was half
white) I asked: "Who, sir, is that man speaking?" "That man? That man is
Frederick Douglass." Then looking down upon me with an expression of
mingled pity and surprise in his face, he said: "Why, don't you know
Fred Douglass?" I need not say that that question brought to my mind
feelings of pride not altogether unmixed with humiliation.
As the old orator swept on, however, in his own inimitable style,
sprinkling his remarks with genuine original wit I forgot everything
else around me. His voice, a heavy barytone, or rendered a little
heavier than usual by a slight hoarseness contracted in previous
speaking, could be distinctly heard in that historic but most wretched
of auditoriums. I was particularly struck with his perfect ease and
naturalness, a seemingly childlike unconsciousness of his surroundings,
while, like a master of his art, as he was, he swayed the feelings of
that surging multitude. In the most impassioned portions of his speech,
however, it was evident to the thoughtful observer that there was in the
man immense reserved force which on momentous occasions might be used
with startling effect.
At first I had entered the hall to remain but a few minutes, and,
consequently, had taken my stand just inside the door. How long I did
remain I cannot tell, but it was until the speaker finished, at which
time I found myself half way up towards the rostrum in the midst of
that thickly standing audience. Such was my first sight and impression
of one of the world's great orators, and beyond comparison the greatest
man of the race yet produced on this continent.
His splendid physique, so often admired, was well in keeping with the
strength and grasp of his masterly mind. Without the privilege of a
day's instruction in the schoolroom, he acquired a fund of useful
knowledge that would put to shame the meager attainments of many a
college graduate. His speeches and writing are models of a pure English
style, and are characterized by simplicity, clearness, directness,
force, and elegance.
Many of the interesting facts and incidents in the life of this great
man are already well known--his escape from slavery, his arrival in the
North, his early marriage, his settling down to work at his trade in New
Bedford, his first speech in an anti-slavery convention, that drew
attention to his wonderful powers of oratory, and led to his employment
by the Anti-slavery Bureau to lecture through the North on the most
unpopular question that up to that time had been presented to the
American people, his rise as an orator, his trip to England and its
magical effects on the English people, his return to this country, and
the purchase of his freedom, to relieve him of the apprehension of being
seized and taken back into slavery, his editorship of the North Star,
his services to the government during the war in the raising of troops,
his securing of pay for the black soldiers equal to that of the whites,
the editorship immediately after the war of the New National Era, his
popularity as a lyceum lecturer, his mission to San Domingo under Grant,
his marshalship of the District of Columbia under Hayes, his ministry to
Santo Domingo. These are some of the experiences which came into that
eventful life.
If I were asked to sum up in a word what made Frederick Douglass great,
I should say a noble purpose, fixed and unchangeable, a purpose to
render to mankind the largest possible service. Verily he has served us
well, faithfully, unselfishly, and now, full of years and full of
honors, loaded with such distinctions as this poor world has to give, he
dies, dies as he lived, a brave, strong, good man. No more shall we
behold that manly form. No more shall we listen to those eloquent lips
upon which for over fifty years so many thousands have hung with
rapture, those eloquent lips that made his name famous in two
hemispheres, and will surely keep it so long as freedom has a history.
God grant that the mantle of this old hero may fall upon a worthy
successor! God grant that our young men, contemplating his life and
emulating his example, may be lifted up to a higher conception of life,
of duty, of responsibility, of usefulness!
INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF FREDERICK DOUGLASS
Long after the Civil War, Mr. Douglass once told the following story of
his life to the pupils of a colored school in Talbot County, Maryland,
the county in which he was born:
"I once knew a little colored boy whose father and mother died when he
was six years old. He was a slave and had no one to care for him. He
slept on a dirt floor in a hovel and in cold weather would crawl into a
meal bag, headforemost, and leave his feet in the ashes to keep them
warm. Often he would roast an ear of corn and eat it to satisfy his
hunger, and many times has he crawled under the barn or stable and
secured eggs, which he would roast in the fire and eat.
"This boy did not wear pants as you do, only a tow linen shirt. Schools
were unknown to him, and he learned to spell from an old Webster's
spelling book, and to read and write from posters on cellars and barn
doors, while boys and men would help him. He would then preach and
speak, and soon became well known. He finally held several high
positions and accumulated some wealth. He wore broadcloth and did not
have to divide crumbs with the dogs under the table. That boy was
Frederick Douglass.
"What was possible for me is possible for you. Do not think because you
are colored you can not accomplish anything. Strive earnestly to add to
your knowledge. So long as you remain in ignorance, so long will you
fail to command the respect of your fellow men."
ANIMAL LIFE IN THE CONGO
WILLIAM HENRY SHEPPARD
At daybreak Monday morning we had finished our breakfast by candle light
and with staff in hand we marched northeast for Lukunga.
In two days we sighted the Mission Compound. Word had reached the
missionaries (A.B.M.U.) that foreigners were approaching, and they came
out to meet and greet us. We were soon hurried into their cool and
comfortable mud houses. Our faithful cook was dismissed, for we were to
take our meals with the missionaries.
Mr. Hoste, who is at the head of this station, came into our room and
mentioned that the numerous spiders, half the size of your hand, on the
walls were harmless. "But," said he, as he raised his hand and pointed
to a hole over the door, "there is a nest of scorpions; you must be
careful in moving in or out, for they will spring upon you."
Well, you ought to have seen us dodging in and out that door. After
supper, not discrediting the veracity of the gentleman, we set to work,
and for an hour we spoiled the walls by smashing spiders with slippers.
The next morning the mission station was excited over the loss of their
only donkey. The donkey had been feeding in the field and a
boa-constrictor had captured him, squeezed him into pulp, dragged him a
hundred yards down to the river bank, and was preparing to swallow him.
The missionaries, all with guns, took aim and fired, killing the
twenty-five-foot boa-constrictor. The boa was turned over to the natives
and they had a great feast. The missionaries told us many tales about
how the boa-constrictor would come by night and steal away their goats,
hogs, and dogs.
The sand around Lukunga is a hot-bed for miniature fleas, or "jiggers."
The second day of our stay at Lukunga our feet had swollen and itched
terribly, and on examination we found that these "jiggers" had entered
under our toe nails and had grown to the size of a pea. A native was
called and with a small sharpened stick they were cut out. We saw
natives with toes and fingers eaten entirely off by these pests. Mr.
Hoste told us to keep our toes well greased with palm oil. We followed
his instructions, but grease with sand and sun made our socks rather
"heavy."
The native church here is very strong spiritually. The church bell, a
real big brass bell, begins to ring at 8 A. M. and continues for an
hour. The natives in the neighborhood come teeming by every trail, take
their seats quietly, and listen attentively to the preaching of God's
word. No excitement, no shouting, but an intelligent interest shown by
looking and listening from start to finish.
In the evening you can hear from every quarter our hymns sung by the
natives in their own language. They are having their family devotions
before retiring.
Our second day's march brought us to a large river. Our loads and men
were ferried over in canoes. Mr. Lapsley and I decided to swim it, and
so we jumped in and struck out for the opposite shore. On landing we
were told by a native watchman that we had done a very daring thing. He
explained with much excitement and many gestures that the river was
filled with crocodiles, and that he did not expect to see us land alive
on his side. We camped on the top of the hill overlooking N'Kissy and
the wild rushing Congo Rapids. It was in one of these whirlpools that
young Pocock, Stanley's last survivor, perished.
In the "Pool" we saw many hippopotami, and longed to go out in a canoe
and shoot one, but being warned of the danger from the hippopotami and
also of the treacherous current of the Congo River, which might take us
over the rapids and to death, we were afraid to venture. A native Bateke
fisherman, just a few days before our arrival, had been crushed in his
canoe by a bull-hippopotamus. Many stories of hippopotami horrors were
told us.
One day Chief N'Galiama with his attendant came to the mission and told
Dr. Simms that the people in the village were very hungry and to see if
it were possible for him to get some meat to eat.
Dr. Simms called me and explained how the people were on the verge of a
famine and if I could kill them a hippopotamus it would help greatly. He
continued to explain that the meat and hide would be dried by the people
and, using but a little at each meal, would last them a long time. Dr.
Simms mentioned that he had never hunted, but he knew where the game
was. He said, "I will give you a native guide, you go with him around
the first cataract about two miles from here and you will find the
hippopotami." I was delighted at the idea, and being anxious to use my
"Martini Henry" rifle and to help the hungry people, I consented to go.
In an hour and a half we had walked around the rapids, across the big
boulders, and right before us were at least a dozen big hippopotami.
Some were frightened, ducked their heads and made off; others showed
signs of fight and defiance.
At about fifty yards distant I raised my rifle and let fly at one of the
exposed heads. My guide told me that the hippopotamus was shot and
killed. In a few minutes another head appeared above the surface of the
water and again taking aim I fired with the same result. The guide, who
was a subject of the Chief N'Galiama, sprang upon a big boulder and
cried to me to look at the big bubbles which were appearing on the
water; then explained in detail that the hippopotami had drowned and
would rise to the top of the water within an hour.
The guide asked to go to a fishing camp nearby and call some men to
secure the hippopotami when they rose, or else they would go out with
the current and over the rapids. In a very short time about fifty men,
bringing native rope with them, were on the scene and truly, as the
guide had said, up came the first hippopotamus, his big back showing
first. A number of the men were off swimming with the long rope which
was tied to the hippopotamus' foot. A signal was given and every man did
his best. No sooner had we secured the one near shore than there was a
wild shout to untie and hasten for the other. These two were securely
tied by their feet and big boulders were rolled on the rope to keep them
from drifting out into the current.
The short tails of both of them were cut off and we started home. We
reported to Dr. Simms that we had about four or five tons of meat down
on the river bank. The native town ran wild with delight. Many natives
came to examine my gun which had sent the big bullets crashing through
the brain of the hippopotami. Early the next morning N'Galiama sent his
son Nzelie with a long caravan of men to complete the work. They leaped
upon the backs of the hippopotami, wrestled with each other for a while,
and then with knives and axes fell to work. The missionaries enjoyed a
hippopotamus steak that day also.
Before the chickens began to crow for dawn I was alarmed by a band of
big, broad-headed, determined driver ants. They filled the cabin, the
bed, the yard. There were millions. They were in my head, my eyes, my
nose, and pulling at my toes. When I found it was not a dream, I didn't
tarry long.
Some of our native boys came with torches of fire to my rescue. They are
the largest and the most ferocious ant we know anything about. In an
incredibly short space of time they can kill any goat, chicken, duck,
hog or dog on the place. In a few hours there is not a rat, mouse,
snake, centipede, spider, or scorpion in your house, as they are chased,
killed and carried away. We built a fire and slept inside of the circle
until day.
We scraped the acquaintance of these soldier ants by being severely
bitten and stung. They are near the size of a wasp and use both ends
with splendid effect. They live deep down in the ground and come out of
a smoothly cut hole, following each other single file, and when they
reach a damp spot in the forest and hear the white ants cutting away on
the fallen leaves, the leader stops until all the soldiers have caught
up. A circle is formed, a peculiar hissing is the order to raid, and
down under the leaves they dart, and in a few minutes they come out with
their pinchers filled with white ants. The line, without the least
excitement, is again formed and they march back home stepping high with
their prey.
The small White Ants have a blue head and a white, soft body and are
everywhere in the ground and on the surface. They live by eating dead
wood and leaves.
We got rid of the driver ants by keeping up a big fire in their cave for
a week. We dug up the homes of the big black ants and they moved off.
But there was no way possible to rid the place of the billions of white
ants. They ate our dry goods boxes, our books, our trunks, our beds,
shoes, hats and clothing. The natives make holes in the ground,
entrapping the ants, and use them for food.
The dogs look like ordinary curs, with but little hair on them, and they
never bark or bite. I asked the people to explain why their dogs didn't
bark. So they told me that once they did bark, but long ago the dogs and
leopards had a big fight, the dogs whipped the leopards, and after that
the leopards were very mad, so the mothers of the little dogs told them
not to bark any more, and they hadn't barked since.
The natives tie wooden bells around their dogs to know where they are.
Every man knows the sound of his bell just as we would know the bark of
our dog.
There are many, many kinds of birds of the air, all known and called by
name, and the food they eat, their mode of building nests, etc., were
familiar to the people. They knew the customs and habits of the
elephant, hippopotamus, buffalo, leopard, hyena, jackal, wildcat,
monkey, mouse, and every animal which roams the great forest and
plain,--from the thirty-foot boa-constrictor to a tiny tulu their names
and nature were well known.
The little children could tell you the native names of all insects, such
as caterpillars, crickets, cockroaches, grasshoppers, locusts, mantis,
honey bees, bumble bees, wasps, hornets, yellow jackets, goliath
beetles, stage beetles, ants, etc.
The many species of fish, eels and terrapins were on the end of their
tongues, and these were all gathered and used for food. All the trees of
the forest and plain, the flowers, fruits, nuts and berries were known
and named. Roots which are good for all maladies were not only known to
the medicine man, but the common people knew them also.
CO-OPERATION AND THE LATIN CLASS
LILLIAN B. WITTEN
The few minutes that intervened between the devotionals and the
beginning of the first period were always eagerly seized by the Senior
class in the L---- high school for those last furious attempts at
learning the date of the battle of Marathon, the duties of the President
of the United States, and other pieces of information that the faculty
set so much store by.
Bored indifference was the sole notice they gave to the antics of the
freshmen boys who were trying to get a Webster's unabridged dictionary
on the floor of the aisle without attracting the attention of the
guardian of the room.
One little group of seniors was especially busy, cooperatively busy one
might say. This was one of the overflow divisions of eight students
which made up a class in Virgil. In all of the athletics of their three
years in school they had been taught the value of team work and
coöperation. One bright student had conceived the idea of bringing this
same team work into the Virgil class. It worked beautifully. Sixty lines
of Virgil was their customary assignment. Sixty lines divided among
eight students, as everybody could see, was about eight lines per
student. Each pupil had his number and studied correspondingly: number
one translated the first seven lines with great care, number two the
second seven, et cetera down the line. Then during the study period
which preceded the Latin recitation each one translated his lines for
the benefit of the other seven, while they attentively followed his
translation with the Latin text.
Busy over those vindictive lines in which Queen Dido, spurned by Aeneas,
pronounces a curse upon his head and all his generation, the eight
seniors on this particular morning translated one for the other, "Hate,
with a never-ceasing hate." All of the savage beauty of the lines was
lost on them, floundering in the maze of ablatives, subjunctives and the
like. But they managed between them all to make out some sort of
translation.
The composition work lent itself to team work much more effectively.
There were ten sentences given them each day to be translated from
English into Latin. They were divided among the eight in the same manner
as the Virgil, each one taking turns in doing the two extra sentences.
Passed around from one to the other and carefully copied they made up a
carefully done composition lesson. The beauty of it was that the Latin
teacher called upon them to put these sentences upon the board, each one
being given a different sentence. Thus the similarity of the work could
not be a subject of unpleasant comment by the teacher who never presumed
to collect the notebooks.
The gong sounded for second period; noise and bustle commenced, the
Virgil class made for the Latin recitation room with all the enthusiasm
of prepared lessons. Time dragged today of all days, the day of the
annual football game between the Juniors and the Seniors, so much more
vivid than the wanderings of Aeneas. Red and orange, the colors of the
Senior and Junior classes respectively, were everywhere conspicuous.
But lessons had to be gotten through somehow so with open books, making
the final attempt to gather up loose ends in the translation, they
waited for the recitation to commence. Miss Rhodes, the young Latin
teacher, had observed the class during the three weeks of the new term.
She had noted the fact that none of the class excelled the others, that
all of them sometimes made brilliant recitations, all sometimes stumbled
through passages in a way to cause the long deceased Virgil to blush
with shame. The students could have explained that if she would always
call upon them for the particular seven lines which had been their
portion they could always be brilliant. However, they maintained a wise
and discreet silence. Scientific observation and analysis is never
wasted, however.
"Will the class please pass their Latin sentences to me?" Miss Rhodes
requested at the beginning of the hour.
Eight pairs of eyes were instantly fixed on her in amazed
consternation. Eight pairs of unwilling hands fumbled among papers and
slowly gave up the one paper, which was the exact duplicate of every
other paper. "Hurry, please, class. You may now write your translations
of today's lesson for twenty minutes."
The clock ticked, eight industrious students concentrated and slaved
over Dido's curse. Translations which sounded plausible enough when
orally stumbled through did not look well when written. In the meantime
Miss Rhodes looked through the sentences which they had given her. Her
suspicions were confirmed. The class, unaware that they were harming
only themselves, were daily copying their sentences from each other.
Stolen glances at the young and pretty teacher informed the students
that her mouth had tightened, her chin had suddenly become terrifyingly
firm. After an eternity had passed the period came to an end.
"Class is dismissed. Please reassemble in this room this afternoon at
2.30," Miss Rhodes succinctly stated. Did they hear aright? Why, this
afternoon was the afternoon of the game. It was incredible. Eight
seniors and one of them the crack halfback of the senior team, not to be
at their own game. It was not to be dreamed of. In vain they protested.
"If you expect to graduate, you will be here at 2.30. Cheaters deserve
no consideration."
Half past two found the eight sad and wiser seniors again in the Latin
room. Again they applied themselves to translating Latin into English,
English into Latin, while in the distance they could hear the shouts of
the football fans. The hours ticked by. The game was over, the Juniors
winners in one of the closest games of years over the Seniors, who lost
because of the absence of their halfback who sat translating Latin,
failing his class in their need. He would never live down the shame.
Just before dismissing this extra session of the class, Miss Rhodes
quietly said, "Let me tell you from experience that the ability to make
a good bluff is a rare gift. Good bluffs are always founded on
consistent hard work."
Slowly and sadly the Virgil class passed out of the room; realizing that
the days of coöperative Virgil were relegated to the dim, suffering
past.
THE BAND OF GIDEON
JOSEPH S. COTTER
The Band of Gideon roam the sky,
The howling wind is their war-cry,
The thunder's roll is their trump's peal,
And the lightning's flash their vengeful steel.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strong deed,
"The sword of the Lord and Gideon."
And men below rear temples high
And mock their God with reasons why,
And live, in arrogance, sin and shame,
And rape their souls for the world's good name.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strong deed,
"The sword of the Lord and Gideon."
The band of Gideon roam the sky
And view the earth with baleful eye;
In holy wrath they scourge the land
With earthquake, storm and burning brand.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strong deed,
"The sword of the Lord and Gideon."
The lightnings flash and the thunders roll,
And "Lord have mercy on my soul,"
Cry men as they fall on the stricken sod,
In agony searching for their God.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strong deed,
"The sword of the Lord and Gideon."
And men repent and then forget
That heavenly wrath they ever met,
The band of Gideon yet will come
And strike their tongues of blasphemy dumb.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strong deed,
"The sword of the Lord and Gideon."
THE HOME OF THE COLORED GIRL BEAUTIFUL
AZALIA HACKLEY
The Home of the Colored Girl Beautiful will reflect her. She will help
her parents to buy a home that it may give her family more standing in
the civic community. Taste and simplicity will rule, for the home will
harmonize with the girl. If her parents are not particular about the
trifles in the way of curtains, fences, and yards, then it must be her
special task to make the home represent the beautiful in her, the God,
for all that is beautiful and good comes from God.
Windows generally express the character of the occupants of a house. The
day has passed when soiled or ragged lace curtains are tolerated. The
cheaper simpler scrims and cheese cloths which are easily laundered are
now used by the best people.
The Colored Girl Beautiful will study the possibilities of her home and
will attempt to secure the restful effects for the eye. Too much
furniture is bad taste. The less one has, the cleaner houses may be
kept.
The ornate heavy furniture and the upholstered parlor sets are passing
away because they are no longer considered good taste, besides they are
too heavy for cleanliness and are harmful to the health of women who do
their own work.
Furniture of less expensive model, with simple lines and of less weight
is being selected. This may be paid for in cash instead of "on time," as
has been the custom of many people in smaller towns and in the country
districts.
The furniture sold by the payment houses always shows its source in its
heaviness and shininess.
The wall paper should be selected as one would select a color for
clothes, to harmonize with the color of the skin in all lights, and for
service. Color schemes in decoration are being followed and we have no
more stuffy parlors, often closed for days. Instead we have living
rooms, with cleanable furniture, strong but light, entirely suitable for
winter, and cool in summer. No one has a parlor now-a-days. The best
room is generally a living room for the whole family. No more do we see
enlarged pictures which good taste demands should be placed in bedrooms
and private sitting rooms. The ten-cent stores have done a great deal of
good in educating the poor, white and black alike. These stores have
everywhere sold small brown art prints of many of the great paintings,
to take the place of the gaudy dust-laden chromos and family pictures.
Pictures are hung low that they may be thoroughly dusted, as well as to
give a near view of the subject.
Expensive carpets are also things of the past. Painted and stained
floors with light weight rugs are more generally used. These may be
cleaned and handled without giving the backache to women. Many colored
girls boast of having painted their own floors and woodwork. Much of
this has been learned in the boarding school.
A tawdry home expresses its mistress as do her clothes. Next to the
kitchen a fully equipped bath room is now the most important room in the
house. Health and sanitation are the topics of the hour and a colored
girl should know how to put a washer on a faucet as well as her father
or brother.
A house without books is indeed an unfurnished home. Good books are the
fad now. They are everywhere in evidence in the up-to-date colored home.
They are exhibited almost as hand-painted china was. In every inventory
or collection one finds a Bible, a dictionary, and an atlas.
The times are changing and the colored people are changing with the
times. Cleanliness and health are the watchwords, and "Order" is
Heaven's first law.
THE KNIGHTING OF DONALD
LILLIAN B. WITTEN
"With spear drawn Sir Cedric rode steadily through the forest, while
ever nearer and nearer came the dragon. Swift and sudden was the
onslaught and great was the struggle, until finally Sir Cedric
dismounted from his black charger and stood victor over the huge monster
who had committed so many depredations against the country side."
Slowly and lingeringly Donald closed the book. The many-branched tree
under which he lay changed into a grey stone castle with moat and
drawbridge upon which through the day armored knights on prancing steeds
rode from castle to village, always on missions of good to the towns and
hamlets. Never did Donald tire of reading about Arthur, Galahad, Merlin
and the others, but Launcelot, the Bold, was his favorite knight. As he
read of their deeds his black eyes flashed, his nervous slim body
quivered, the deep rich red flooded his brown cheeks. He was one of
them, took part in their tournaments, rescued the lovely ladies and
overcame wicked monsters for his king.
Of all the stories a never-to-be-forgotten one was of a little boy like
himself who lived in a small cottage near a castle which harbored many
knights. This little boy idolized them even as Donald did. One day as
the knights were returning from a strenuous day's work, one, weary and
worn, stopped at the cottage and asked for a drink of water. Eagerly the
boy ran, filled his cup at the brimming spring, and gave it to the
knight.
"Thank you, my little boy," smiled the man. "Already you are a knight
for you have learned the lesson of service."
How Donald envied the boy. To serve a knight, he dreamed, even to see
one. Would he had lived in the olden times when knighthood was in
flower. But having been born centuries too late he tried in every way to
live as the knights had lived. Daily he exercised, practiced physical
feats, restrained himself from over indulgence, following out the
program of those who would be knights. With shining eyes he would often
repeat his motto, the motto of Arthur's knights: "Live pure, speak the
truth, right the wrong, follow the Christ."
Thus dreaming Donald grew and everybody loved him. Dreamer though he
was, he ever kept before him the ideal of service. Tense with interest
in the exploits of the black knight, he was often tempted not to answer
when his mother called him from his reading to go on errands. Only a
second, however, would temptation last. Launcelot could never approve of
a boy who acted dishonestly.
Working, playing, and dreaming, Donald grew into a lovable boy, adept
in all of the sports of boyhood and with the manners of a prince. He had
reached the last year in grammar school, the graduating class. Already
the obligations of maturity were forcing themselves upon the boys and
girls. They, for the first time in their school career, were an
organized group. They were going to elect officers, dignified officers.
Nominations had been many and enthusiasm surged around the youthful
candidates, but the choice for president had narrowed itself down
between Donald and a laughing-eyed girl with crinkly black hair. As
usual there were more girls in the class than boys, but while the boys
stood solidly as one behind the masculine candidate, there were a few
girls who put their trust in manly courage rather than feminine charm
and were disposed to break loose from the suffragette camp. Public
opinion thus gave the election to Donald.
As the time for election drew near, the interest became more intense and
the various camps campaigned vigorously, each striving to gain the
majority vote. One day as the school was assembling in their usual room
they were stopped by the sight of their principal questioning one of the
members of the class.
"But this is your knife, isn't it?" sternly inquired the principal.
"Yes, sir," responded John, a trustworthy boy, the son of a widowed
mother whom he helped by working after school hours.
"Mr. Starks found this knife underneath his broken window last night. It
had evidently been dropped by the boy who, in climbing out of his cherry
tree, accidentally smashed the window. You know that I announced last
week that the next boy who was caught trespassing upon Mr. Starks'
property would be suspended from school for the rest of the year. I am
disappointed in you, John. This does not sound like you. Did you drop
this knife last night?"
"No, sir," responded John.
"No? Well, speak up. Who had the knife?"
"I can't say, sir."
"But you must. This is a serious matter. One of the rules of the school
has been broken." Then looking nervously around the room of girls and
boys, the principal commanded: "Will the boy who dropped this knife last
night speak, or shall I be forced to find out the culprit for myself?"
There was no answer. Every boy stood taut, his eyes steadfastly before
him in the thick silence that followed.
"Very well," snapped the principal. "John, who had the knife yesterday?"
"I cannot say, sir," responded John unwillingly.
"You may do one of two things, either you will tell the name of the boy
to whom you lent the knife or you may be suspended from school for the
rest of the year."
The silence was more intense. One, two, three minutes passed.
"You are dismissed," said the principal.
Slowly John left the room. Three days passed. John's mother, much
disturbed, bewailed the fact that he would lose this year out of his
school life and, perhaps, would not have the opportunity of going again.
John thought of the responsibility toward his mother and then of that
toward the boy whose fault he was concealing. Was he doing right or was
he doing the easiest thing in not telling?
On the fourth day John sought the principal. "If it is necessary to tell
the name of the boy who had my knife before I can return to school, I
will tell," he anxiously said.
"It certainly is necessary."
And John told.
There was great excitement in the graduating class. The traditions of
centuries had been broken. One of their number had become a tattler.
John resumed his school work, systematically and obviously shunned by
the other boys.
But Donald reflected over the incident. "After all," he thought, "John
did the bravest thing. It would have been easier to appear heroic and to
sacrifice his mother for the sake of a boy who needed to be punished."
The next day Donald sought John, accompanied him to school, and showed
the class that he regarded John as a hero instead of a tell-tale.
The boys divided into two camps, some following Donald's example, and
others loudly denouncing him.
[Illustration]
Donald's sponsorship of John cost him the presidential election just as
he had foreseen, but he knew that he had lived up to the best within him
and he was satisfied.
As he climbed into bed at the end of the day upon which he had been
defeated and yet had gained a great victory, his mother tucked the
covers closely around him, kissed him good-night, and lowered the light.
Then she bent over him again and kissed him once more and whispered,
"My brave little knight."
A NEGRO EXPLORER AT THE NORTH POLE
MATTHEW A. HENSON
"Matthew A. Henson, my Negro assistant, has been with me in one capacity
or another since my second trip to Nicaragua in 1887. I have taken him
on each and all of my expeditions, except the first, and also without
exception on each of my farthest sledge trips. This position I have
given him primarily because of his adaptability and fitness for the work
and secondly on account of his loyalty. He is a better dog driver and
can handle a sledge better than any man living, except some of the best
Esquimo hunters themselves.
"Robert E. Peary, Rear Admiral, U. S. N."
Exactly 40° below zero when we pushed the sledges up to the curled-up
dogs and started them off over rough ice covered with deep soft snow. It
was like walking in loose granulated sugar. Indeed I might compare the
snow of the Arctic to the granules of sugar, without their saccharine
sweetness, but with freezing cold instead; you cannot make snowballs of
it, for it is too thoroughly congealed, and when it is packed by the
wind it is almost as solid as ice. It is from the packed snow that the
blocks used to form the igloo-walls are cut.
At the end of four hours, we came to the igloo where the Captain and his
boys were sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion. In order not to
interrupt the Captain's rest, we built another igloo and unloaded his
sledge, and distributed the greater part of the load among the sledges
of the party. The Captain, on awakening, told us that the journey we had
completed on that day had been made by him under the most trying
conditions, and that it had taken him fourteen hours to do it. We were
able to make better time because we had his trail to follow, and,
therefore, the necessity of finding the easiest way was avoided. That
was the object of the scout or pioneer party and Captain Bartlett had
done practically all of it up to the time he turned back at 87° 48´
north.
March 29, 1909: You have undoubtedly taken into consideration the pangs
of hunger and of cold that you know assailed us, going Poleward; but
have you ever considered that we were thirsty for water to drink or
hungry for fat? To eat snow to quench our thirsts would have been the
height of folly, and as well as being thirsty, we were continually
assailed by the pangs of a hunger that called for the fat, good, rich,
oily, juicy fat that our systems craved and demanded.
Had we succumbed to the temptations of the thirst and eaten the snow, we
would not be able to tell the tale of the conquest of the Pole; for the
result of eating snow is death. True, the dogs licked up enough
moisture to quench their thirsts, but we were not made of such stern
stuff as they. Snow would have reduced our temperatures and we would
quickly have fallen by the way. We had to wait until camp was made and
the fire of alcohol started before we had a chance, and it was with hot
tea that we quenched our thirsts. The hunger for fat was not appeased; a
dog or two was killed, but his carcass went to the Esquimos and the
entrails were fed to the rest of the pack.
April 1, the Farthest North of Bartlett: I knew at this time that he was
to go back, and that I was to continue, so I had no misgivings and
neither had he. He was ready and anxious to take the back-trail. His
five marches were up and he was glad of it, and he was told that in the
morning he must turn back and knit the trail together, so that the main
column could return over a beaten path.
He swept his little party together and at three P. M., with a cheery
"Good-by! Good Luck!" he was off. His Esquimo boys, attempting English,
too, gave us their "Good-bys."
The Captain had gone. Commander Peary and I were alone (save for the
four Esquimos), the same we had been with so often in the past years,
and as we looked at each other we realized our position and we knew
without speaking that the time had come for us to demonstrate that we
were the men who it had been ordained, should unlock the door which held
the mystery of the Arctic. Without an instant's hesitation, the order
to push on was given, and we started off in the trail made by the
Captain to cover the Farthest North he had made and to push on over one
hundred and thirty miles to our final destination.
Day and night were the same. My thoughts were on the going and getting
forward, and on nothing else. The wind was from the southeast, and
seemed to push on, and the sun was at our backs, a ball of livid fire,
rolling his way above the horizon in never-ending day.
With my proven ability in gauging distances, Commander Peary was ready
to take the reckoning as I made it and he did not resort to solar
observations until we were within a hand's grasp of the Pole.
The memory of those last five marches, from the Farthest North of
Captain Bartlett to the arrival of our party at the Pole, is a memory of
toil, fatigue, and exhaustion, but we were urged on and encouraged by
our relentless commander, who was himself being scourged by the final
lashings of the dominating influence that had controlled his life. From
the land to 87° 48´ north, Commander Peary had had the best of the
going, for he had brought up the rear and had utilized the trail made by
the preceding parties, and thus he had kept himself in the best of
condition for the time when he made the spurt that brought him to the
end of the race. From 87° 48´ north, he kept in the lead and did his
work in such a way as to convince me that he was still as good a man as
he had ever been. We marched and marched, falling down in our tracks
repeatedly, until it was impossible to go on. We were forced to camp, in
spite of the impatience of the Commander, who found himself unable to
rest, and who only waited long enough for us to relax into sound sleep,
when he would wake us up and start us off again. I do not believe that
he slept for one hour from April 2 until after he had loaded us up and
ordered us to go back over our old trail, and I often think that from
the instant when the order to return was given until the land was again
sighted, he was in a continual daze.
Onward we forced our weary way. Commander Peary took his sights from the
time our chronometer-watches gave, and I, knowing that we had kept on
going in practically a straight line, was sure that we had more than
covered the necessary distance to insure our arrival at the top of the
earth.
It was during the march of the 3d of April that I endured an instant of
hideous horror. We were crossing a lane of moving ice. Commander Peary
was in the lead setting the pace, and a half hour later the four boys
and myself followed in single file. They had all gone before, and I was
standing and pushing at the upstanders of my sledge, when the block of
ice I was using as a support slipped from underneath my feet, and before
I knew it the sledge was out of my grasp, and I was floundering in the
water of the lead. I did the best I could. I tore my hood from off my
head and struggled frantically. My hands were gloved and I could not
take hold of the ice, but before I could give the "Grand Hailing Sigh of
Distress," faithful old Ootah had grabbed me by the nape of the neck,
the same as he would have grabbed a dog, and with one hand he pulled me
out of the water, and with the other hurried the team across.
He had saved my life, but I did not tell him so, for such occurrences
are taken as part of the day's work, and the sledge he safeguarded was
of much more importance, for it held, as part of its load, the
Commander's sextant, the mercury, and the coils of piano-wire that were
the essential portion of the scientific part of the expedition. My
kamiks (boots of sealskin) were stripped off, and the congealed water
was beaten out of my bearskin trousers, and with a dry pair of kamiks,
we hurried on to overtake the column. When we caught up, we found the
boys gathered around the Commander, doing their best to relieve him of
his discomfort, for he had fallen into the water, also, and while he was
not complaining, I was sure that his bath had not been any more
voluntary than mine had been.
It was about ten or ten-thirty A. M., on the 7th of April, 1909, that
the Commander gave the order to build a snow-shield to protect him from
the flying drift of the surface-snow. I knew that he was about to take
an observation, and while we worked I was nervously apprehensive, for I
felt that the end of our journey had come. When we handed him the pan of
mercury the hour was within a very few minutes of noon. Lying flat on
his stomach, he took the elevation and made the notes on a piece of
tissue-paper at his head. With sun-blinded eyes, he snapped shut the
vernier (a graduated scale that subdivides the smallest divisions on the
sector of the circular scale of the sextant) and with the resolute
squaring of his jaws, I was sure that he was satisfied, and I was
confident that the journey had ended.
The Commander gave the word, "We will plant the Stars and Stripes--_at
the North Pole_!" and it was done; on the peak of a huge paleocrystic
floeberg the glorious banner was unfurled to the breeze, and as it
snapped and crackled with the wind, I felt a savage joy and exultation.
Another world's accomplishment was done and finished, and as in the
past, from the beginning of history, wherever the world's work was done
by a white man, he had been accompanied by a colored man. From the
building of the pyramids and the journey to the Cross, to the discovery
of the North Pole, the Negro had been the faithful and constant
companion of the Caucasian, and I felt all that it was possible for me
to feel, that it was I, a lowly member of my race, who had been chosen
by fate to represent it, at this, almost the last of the world's great
work.
BENJAMIN BANNEKER
WILLIAM WELLS BROWN
Benjamin Banneker was born in the State of Maryland, in the year 1732,
of pure African parentage; their blood never having been corrupted by
the introduction of a drop of Anglo-Saxon. His father was a slave, and
of course could do nothing towards the education of the child. The
mother, however, being free, succeeded in purchasing the freedom of her
husband, and they, with their son, settled on a few acres of land, where
Benjamin remained during the lifetime of his parents. His entire
schooling was gained from an obscure country school, established for the
education of the children of free negroes; and these advantages were
poor, for the boy appears to have finished studying before he arrived at
his fifteenth year.
Although out of school, Banneker was still a student, and read with
great care and attention such books as he could get. Mr. George
Ellicott, a gentlemen of fortune and considerable literary taste, and
who resided near to Benjamin, became interested in him, and lent him
books from his large library. Among these books were three on Astronomy.
A few old and imperfect astronomical instruments also found their way
into the boy's hands, all of which he used with great benefit to his own
mind.
Banneker took delight in the study of the languages, and soon mastered
the Latin, Greek and German. He was also proficient in the French. The
classics were not neglected by him, and the general literary knowledge
which he possessed caused Mr. Ellicott to regard him as the most learned
man in the town, and he never failed to introduce Banneker to his most
distinguished guests.
About this time Benjamin turned his attention particularly to astronomy,
and determined on making calculations for an almanac, and completed a
set for the whole year. Encouraged by this attempt, he entered upon
calculations for subsequent years, which, as well as the former, he
began and finished without the least assistance from any person or books
than those already mentioned; so that whatever merit is attached to his
performance is exclusively his own.
He published an almanac in Philadelphia for the years 1792, '93, '94,
and '95, which contained his calculations, exhibiting the different
aspects of the planets, a table of the motions of the sun and moon,
their risings and settings, and the courses of the bodies of the
planetary system. By this time Banneker's acquirements had become
generally known, and the best scholars in the country opened
correspondence with him. Goddard & Angell, the well-known Baltimore
publishers, engaged his pen for their establishment, and became the
publishers of his almanacs.
He knew every branch of history, both natural and civil; he had read all
the original historians of England, France, and was a great antiquarian.
With such a fund of knowledge his conversation was equally interesting,
instructive, and entertaining. Banneker was so favorably appreciated by
the first families in Virginia, that in 1803 he was invited by Mr.
Jefferson, then President of the United States, to visit him at
Monticello, where the statesman had gone for recreation. But he was too
infirm to undertake the journey. He died the following year, aged
seventy-two. Like the golden sun that has sunk beneath the western
horizon, but still throws upon the world, which he sustained and
enlightened in his career, the reflected beams of his departed genius,
his name can only perish with his language.
THE NEGRO RACE
CHARLES W. ANDERSON
As a race, we have done much, but we must not forget how much more there
is still to do. To some extent we have been given opportunity, but we
must not cease to remember that no race can be given relative rank--it
must win equality of rating for itself. Hence, we must not only acquire
education, but character as well. It is not only necessary that we
should speak well, but it is more necessary that we should speak the
truth.
PAUL CUFFE
JOHN W. CROMWELL
Paul Cuffe was born in 1759 on the island of Cuttyhunk, near New
Bedford, Massachusetts. There were four sons and six daughters of John
Cuffe who had been stolen from Africa, and Ruth, a woman of Indian
extraction. Paul, the youngest son, lacked the advantage of an early
education, but he supplied the deficiency by his personal efforts and
learned not only to read and write with facility, but made such
proficiency in the art of navigation as to become a skillful seaman and
the instructor of both whites and blacks in the same art.
His father, who had obtained his freedom and bought a farm of one
hundred acres, died when Paul was about fourteen. When he was sixteen,
Paul began the life of a sailor. On his third voyage he was captured by
a British brig and was for three months a prisoner of war. On his
release he planned to go into business on his own account. With the aid
of an elder brother, David Cuffe, an open boat was built in which they
went to sea; but this brother on the first intimation of danger gave up
the venture and Paul was forced to undertake the work single-handed and
alone, which was a sore disappointment. On his second attempt he lost
all he had.
Before the close of the Revolutionary War, Paul refused to pay a
personal tax, on the ground that free colored people did not enjoy the
rights and privileges of citizenship. After considerable delay, and an
appeal to the courts, he paid the tax under protest. He then petitioned
to the legislature which finally agreed to his contention. His efforts
are the first of which there is any record of a citizen of African
descent making a successful appeal in behalf of his civil rights. On
reaching the age of twenty-five he married a woman of the same tribe as
his mother, and for a while gave up life on the ocean wave; but the
growth of his family led him back to his fond pursuit on the briny deep.
As he was unable to purchase a boat, with the aid of his brother he
built one from keel to gunwale and launched into the enterprise.
While on the way to a nearby island to consult his brother whom he had
induced once more to venture forth with him, he was overtaken by pirates
who robbed him of all he possessed. Again Paul returned home
disappointed, though not discouraged. Once more he applied for
assistance to his brother David and another boat was built. After
securing a cargo, he met again with pirates, but he eluded them though
he was compelled to return and repair his boat. These having been made,
he began a successful career along the coast as far north as
Newfoundland, to the south as far as Savannah and as distant as
Gottenburg.
In carrying on this business, starting in the small way indicated, he
owned at different times besides smaller boats, "The Ranger," a schooner
of sixty or seventy tons, a half interest in a brig of 162 tons, the
brig "Traveller," of 109 tons, the ship "Alpha," of 268 tons and
three-fourths interest in a larger vessel.
A few noble incidents may illustrate his resourcefulness, difficulties
and success over all obstacles. When engaged in the whaling business he
was found with less than the customary outfit for effectually carrying
on this work. The practice in such cases was for the other ships to loan
the number of men needed. They denied this at first to Cuffe, but fair
play prevailed and they gave him what was customary, with the result
that of the seven whales captured, Paul's men secured five, and two of
them fell by his own hand!
In 1795 he took a cargo to Norfolk, Virginia, and learning that corn
could be bought at a decided advantage, he made a trip to the Nanticoke
River, on the eastern shore of Maryland. Here his appearance as a black
man commanding his own boat and with a crew of seven men all of his own
complexion, alarmed the whites, who seemed to dread his presence there
as the signal for a revolt on the part of their slaves. They opposed his
landing, but the examination of his papers removed all doubts as to the
regularity of his business, while his quiet dignity secured the respect
of the leading white citizens. He had no difficulty after this in
taking a cargo of three thousand bushels of corn, from which he realized
a profit of $1000. On a second voyage he was equally successful.
Although without the privilege of attending a school when a boy, he
endeavored to have his friends and neighbors open and maintain one for
the colored and Indian children of the vicinity. Failing to secure their
active coöperation, he built in 1797 a schoolhouse without their aid.
Because of his independent means and his skill as a mariner, he visited
with little or no difficulty most of the larger cities of the country,
held frequent conferences with the representative men of his race, and
recommended the formation of societies for their mutual relief and
physical betterment. Such societies he formed in Philadelphia and New
York, and then having made ample preparation he sailed in 1811 for
Africa in his brig "The Traveller," reaching Sierra Leone on the West
Coast after a voyage of about two months.
Here he organized the Friendly Society of Sierra Leone and then went to
Liverpool. Even here one of his characteristic traits manifested itself
in taking with him to England for education a native of Sierra Leone.
While in England, Cuffe visited London twice and consulted such friends
of the Negro as Granville Sharp, Thomas Clarkson and William
Wilberforce! These men were all interested in a proposition to promote
the settlement on the West Coast of Africa of the free people of color
in America, many of whom had come into the domains of Great Britain as
an outcome of the Revolutionary War. This opinion was at this period the
prevailing sentiment of England respecting what was best for the Negro.
Sir J. J. Crooks, a former governor of Sierra Leone, in alluding to its
origin, says: "There is no doubt that the influence of their opinion was
felt in America and that it led to emigration thence to Africa before
Liberia was settled. Paul Cuffe, a man of color ... who was much
interested in the promotion of the civil and religious liberty of his
colored brethren in their native land, had been familiar with the ideas
of these philanthropists, as well as with the movement in the same
direction in England."[1]
[1] _History of Sierra Leone_, Dublin, 1903, p. 97
This explains Cuffe's visit to England and to Africa--a daring venture
in those perilous days--and the formation of the Friendly Societies in
Africa and in his own country, the United States.
When his special mission to England was concluded, he took out a cargo
from Liverpool for Sierra Leone, after which he returned to America.
Before he made his next move, Cuffe consulted with the British
Government in London and President Madison at Washington. But the
strained relations between the two nations, as well as the financial
condition of the United States at the time, made governmental
coöperation impracticable if not impossible.
In 1815 he carried out the ideas long in his mind. In this year he
sailed from Boston for Sierra Leone with thirty-eight free Negroes as
settlers on the Black Continent. Only eight of these could pay their own
expenses, but Cuffe, nevertheless, took out the entire party, landed
them safe on the soil of their forefathers after a journey of fifty-five
days and paid the expense for the outfit, transportation and maintenance
of the remaining thirty, amounting to no less than twenty-five thousand
dollars ($25,000), out of his own pocket. The colonists were cordially
welcomed by the people of Sierra Leone, and each family received from
thirty to forty acres from the Crown Government. He remained with the
settlers two months and then returned home with the purpose of taking
out another colony. Before, however, he could do so, and while
preparations were being made for the second colony, he was taken ill.
After a protracted illness he died September 7, 1817, in the fifty-ninth
year of his age. At the time of his death he had no less than two
thousand names of intending emigrants on his list awaiting
transportation to Africa.
As to his personal characteristics: Paul Cuffe was "tall, well-formed
and athletic, his deportment conciliating yet dignified and
prepossessing. He was a member of the Society of Friends (Quakers) and
became a minister among them.... He believed it to be his duty to
sacrifice private interest, rather than engage in any enterprise,
however lawful ... or however profitable, that had the slightest
tendency to injure his fellow man. He would not deal in intoxicating
liquors or in slaves."
THE BLACK FAIRY
FENTON JOHNSON
Little Annabelle was lying on the lawn, a volume of Grimm before her.
Annabelle was nine years of age, the daughter of a colored lawyer, and
the prettiest dark child in the village. She had long played in the
fairyland of knowledge, and was far advanced for one of her years. A
vivid imagination was her chief endowment, and her story creatures often
became real flesh-and-blood creatures.
"I wonder," she said to herself that afternoon, "if there is any such
thing as a colored fairy? Surely there must be, but in this book they're
all white."
Closing the book, her eyes rested upon the landscape that rolled itself
out lazily before her. The stalks in the cornfield bent and swayed,
their tassels bowing to the breeze, until Annabelle could have easily
sworn that those were Indian fairies. And beyond lay the woods, dark
and mossy and cool, and there many a something mysterious could have
sprung into being, for in the recess was a silvery pool where the
children played barefooted. A summer mist like a thin veil hung over the
scene, and the breeze whispered tales of far-away lands.
Hist! Something stirred in the hazel bush near her. Can I describe
little Annabelle's amazement at finding in the bush a palace and a tall
and dark-faced fairy before it?
"I am Amunophis, the Lily of Ethiopia," said the strange creature. "And
I come to the children of the Seventh Veil."
She was black and regal, and her voice was soft and low and gentle like
the Niger on a summer evening. Her dress was the wing of the sacred
beetle, and whenever the wind stirred it played the dreamiest of music.
Her feet were bound with golden sandals, and on her head was a crown of
lotus leaves.
"And you're a fairy?" gasped Annabelle.
"Yes, I am a fairy, just as you wished me to be. I live in the tall
grass many, many miles away, where a beautiful river called the Niger
sleeps." And stretching herself beside Annabelle, on the lawn, the fairy
began to whisper:
[Illustration: The Black Fairy]
"I have lived there for over five thousand years. In the long ago a city
rested there, and from that spot black men and women ruled the world.
Great ships laden with spice and oil and wheat would come to its port,
and would leave with wines and weapons of war and fine linens. Proud and
great were the black kings of this land, their palaces were built of
gold, and I was the Guardian of the City. But one night when I was
visiting an Indian grove the barbarians from the North came down and
destroyed our shrines and palaces and took our people up to Egypt. Oh,
it was desolate, and I shed many tears, for I missed the busy hum of the
market and the merry voices of the children.
"But come with me, little Annabelle, I will show you all this, the rich
past of the Ethiopian."
She bade the little girl take hold of her hand and close her eyes, and
wish herself in the wood behind the cornfield. Annabelle obeyed, and ere
they knew it they were sitting beside the clear water in the pond.
"You should see the Niger," said the fairy. "It is still beautiful, but
not as happy as in the old days. The white man's foot has been cooled by
its water, and the white man's blossom is choking out the native
flower." And she dropped a tear so beautiful the costliest pearl would
seem worthless beside it.
"Ah! I did not come to weep," she continued, "but to show you the past."
So in a voice sweet and sad she sang an old African lullaby and dropped
into the water a lotus leaf. A strange mist formed, and when it had
disappeared she bade the little girl to look into the pool. Creeping up
Annabelle peered into the glassy surface, and beheld a series of vividly
colored pictures.
First she saw dark blacksmiths hammering in the primeval forests and
giving fire and iron to all the world. Then she saw the gold of old
Ghana and the bronzes of Benin. Then the black Ethiopians poured down
upon Egypt and the lands and cities bowed and flamed. Next she saw a
great city with pyramids and stately temples. It was night, and a
crimson moon was in the sky. Red wine was flowing freely, and beautiful
dusky maidens were dancing in a grove of palms. Old and young were
intoxicated with the joy of living, and a sense of superiority could be
easily traced in their faces and attitude. Presently red flame hissed
everywhere, and the magnificence of remote ages soon crumbled into ash
and dust. Persian soldiers ran to and fro conquering the band of
defenders and severing the woman and children. Then came the Mohammedans
and kingdom on kingdom arose, and with the splendor came ever more
slavery.
The next picture was that of a group of fugitive slaves, forming the
nucleus of three tribes, hurrying back to the wilderness of their
fathers.
In houses built as protection against the heat the blacks dwelt,
communing with the beauty of water and sky and open air. It was just
between twilight and evening and their minstrels were chanting impromptu
hymns to their gods of nature. And as she listened closely, Annabelle
thought she caught traces of the sorrow songs in the weird pathetic
strains of the African music mongers. From the East the warriors of the
tribe came, bringing prisoners, whom they sold to white strangers from
the West.
"It is the beginning," whispered the fairy, as a large Dutch vessel
sailed westward. Twenty boys and girls bound with strong ropes were
given to a miserable existence in the hatchway of the boat. Their
captors were strange creatures, pale and yellow haired, who were
destined to sell them as slaves in a country cold and wild, where the
palm trees and the cocoanut never grew and men spoke a language without
music. A light, airy creature, like an ancient goddess, flew before the
craft guiding it in its course.
"That is I," said the fairy. "In that picture I am bringing your
ancestors to America. It was my hope that in the new civilization I
could build a race that would be strong enough to redeem their brothers.
They have gone through great tribulations and trials, and have mingled
with the blood of the fairer race; yet though not entirely Ethiopian
they have not lost their identity. Prejudice is a furnace through which
molten gold is poured. Heaven be merciful unto all races! There is one
more picture--the greatest of all, but--farewell, little one, I am
going."
"Going?" cried Annabelle. "Going? I want to see the last picture--and
when will you return, fairy?"
"When the race has been redeemed. When the brotherhood of man has come
into the world; and there is no longer a white civilization or a black
civilization, but the civilization of all men. I belong to the world
council of the fairies, and we are all colors and kinds. Why should not
men be as charitable unto one another? When that glorious time comes I
shall walk among you and be one of you, performing my deeds of magic and
playing with the children of every nation, race and tribe. Then,
Annabelle, you shall see the last picture--and the best."
Slowly she disappeared like a summer mist, leaving Annabelle amazed.
IT'S A LONG WAY
WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE
It's a long way the sea-winds blow
Over the sea-plains blue,--
But longer far has my heart to go
Before its dreams come true.
It's work we must, and love we must,
And do the best we may,
And take the hope of dreams in trust
To keep us day by day.
It's a long way the sea-winds blow--
But somewhere lies a shore--
Thus down the tide of Time shall flow
My dreams forevermore.
NEGRO MUSIC THAT STIRRED FRANCE
EMMETT J. SCOTT
"You cannot defeat a singing nation," a keen-witted observer has said,
in noting the victory spirit engendered by the martial music, the
patriotic songs and the stirring melodies of hearth and home that have
moved the souls of men to action on all the battlefields of history.
"Send me more singing regiments," cabled General Pershing, and Admiral
Mayo sent frequent requests that a song leader organize singing on every
battleship of the Atlantic Fleet.
Since "the morning stars sang together" in Scriptural narrative, music
has exerted a profound influence upon mankind, be it in peace or in war,
in gladness or in sorrow, or in the tender sentiment that makes for love
of country, affection for kindred or the divine passion for "ye ladye
fair." Music knows no land or clime, no season or circumstance, and no
race, creed or clan. It speaks the language universal, and appeals to
all peoples with a force irresistible and no training in ethics or
science is necessary to reach the common ground that its philosophy
instinctively creates in the human understanding.
The War Department was conscious of this and gave practical application
to its theory that music makes a soldier "fit to fight" when it
instituted, through the Commission on Training Camp Activities, a
systematic program of musical instruction throughout the American Army
at the home cantonments and followed up the work overseas. It was the
belief that every man became a better warrior for freedom when his mind
could be diverted from the dull routine of camp life by arousing his
higher nature by song, and that he fared forth to battle with a stouter
heart when his steps were attuned to the march by bands that drove out
all fear of bodily danger and robbed "grim-visaged war" of its terrors.
Skilled song leaders were detailed to the various camps and cantonments
here and abroad, and bands galore were brought into service for
inspiration and cheer.
The emotional nature of the Negro fitted him for this musical program.
The colored American was a "close up" in every picture from the start to
the finish and was a conspicuous figure in every scenario, playing with
credit and distinction alike in melody or with the musket.
No instrumentality was more potent than music in off-setting the
propaganda of the wily German agents, who sought to break down the
loyalty of the Negro. The music he knew was intensely American--in
sentiment and rhythm. It saturated his being--and all the blandishments
of the enemy were powerless to sway him from the flag he loved. His
grievances were overshadowed by the realization that the welfare of the
nation was menaced and that his help was needed. American music
harmonized with the innate patriotism of the race, and the majestic
sweep of "The Star-Spangled Banner" or the sympathetic appeal of "My
Country, 'Tis of Thee," were sufficient to counteract the sinister
efforts of the missionaries of the Hohenzollerns to move him from his
moorings.
No labor is ever so onerous that it can bar music from the soul of black
folk. This race sings at work, at play and in every mood. Visitors to
any army camp found the Negro doing musical "stunts" of some kind from
reveille to taps--every hour, every minute of the day. All the time the
trumpeters were not blowing out actual routine bugle calls, they were
somewhere practicing them. Mouth-organs were going, concertinas were
being drawn back and forth, and guitars, banjos, mandolins and whatnot
were in use--playing all varieties of music, from the classic, like
"Lucia," "Poet and Peasant," and "Il Trovatore" to the folksongs and the
rollicking "Jazz." Music is indeed the chiefest outlet of the Negro's
emotions, and the state of his soul can best be determined by the type
of melody he pours forth.
Some writer has said that a handful of pipers at the head of a Scotch
regiment could lead that regiment down the mouth of a cannon. It is not
doubted that a Negro regiment could be made to duplicate the "Charge of
the Light Brigade" at Balaklava--"into the mouth of hell," as Tennyson
puts it--if one of their regimental bands should play--as none but a
colored band can play--the vivacious strains of "There'll Be a Hot Time
in the Old Town Tonight."
The Negro's love of home is an integral part of his nature, and is
exemplified in the themes he plaintively crooned in camp on both sides
of the ocean. Such melodies as "Carry Me Back to Old Virginia," "My Old
Kentucky Home," "In the Evening by de Moonlight," and "Swanee River"
recalled memories of the "old folks at home," and kept his patriotism
alive, for he hoped to return to them some day and swell their hearts
with pride by reason of the glorious record he made at the front.
The Negro is essentially religious, and his deep spiritual temperament
is vividly illustrated by the joy he finds in "harmonizing" such ballads
of ancient days as "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," "Steal Away to Jesus,"
"Standin' in the Need of Prayer," "Every Time I Feel the Spirit," "I
Wan' to be Ready," and "Roll, Jordan, Roll." The Negro is also an
optimist, whether he styles himself by that high-sounding title or not,
and the sincerity of his "make the best of it" disposition is noted in
the fervor he puts into those uplifting gems, "Pack Up Your Troubles in
Your Old Kit Bag and Smile, Smile, Smile," "There's a Long, Long Trail,"
"Keep the Home Fires Burning," and "Good-bye Broadway, Hello France."
Just as the Negro folk-songs--or songs of war, interpreted with the
characteristic Negro flavor--stirred all France and gave poilu and
populace a taste of the real American music, the marvelous "jazz bands"
kept their feet patting and their shoulders "eagle-rocking" to its
infectious motion. High officials are said to have been literally
"carried away" with the "jazz" music furnished by the colored bands
"over there" during the war. General Petain is said to have paid a
visit, at the height of the hostilities, to a sector in which there were
American troops and had "the time of his life" listening to a colored
band playing the entrancing "jazz" music, with some Negro dance stunts
in keeping with the spirit of the melodies. He warmly congratulated the
colored leader upon the excellence of the work of his organization, and
thanked him for the enjoyable entertainment that had been given him.
The stolid Briton is scarcely less susceptible to the "jazz" than his
volatile French brother, for when another colored band from "The States"
went to London to head a parade of American and English soldiers, and
halted at Buckingham Palace, it is said that King George V and Queen
Mary heard the lively airs with undisguised enthusiasm and were loath to
have the players depart for the park where they were scheduled for a
concert, with a dance engagement, under British military control, to
follow. The colored bands scored heavily with the three great Allied
Powers of Europe by rendering with a brilliant touch and matchless
finish their national anthems, "God Save the Queen," "La Marseillaise"
and the "Marcia Reale."
NOVEMBER 11, 1918
(This letter was written by a young first lieutenant (colored) in the
366th Infantry, Company L, 92nd Division, Cleveland, Ohio.)
November 11th.
My dearest Mother and Dad:
Well, folks, it's all over but the flowers. Yesterday it was war,
hard, gruelling, hideous. Today it is peace.
This morning I formed my platoon in line in the woods behind the
line. They didn't know why. They were just a bunch of tired,
hard-bitten, mud-spattered, rough-and-tumble soldiers standing
stoically at attention, equally ready to go over the top, rebuild a
shell-torn road, or march to a rest billet. At 10:45 I gave the
command: "Unload rifles!" They didn't know why and didn't
particularly care. Then--"Unload pistols." And while they still
stood rigid and motionless as graven images, I read the order
declaring armistice and cessation of hostilities effective at 11
o'clock. The perfect discipline of these veteran soldiers held them
still motionless, but I could see their eyes begin to shine and
their muscles to quiver as the import of this miraculous message
began to dawn on them.
The tension was fast straining their nerves to the breaking-point,
so I dismissed them. You should have seen them! They yelled till
they were hoarse. Some sang. Others, war-hardened veterans, who had
faced the death hail of a machine-gun with a laugh, men who had
gone through the horrors of artillery bombardments and had seen
their fellows mangled and torn without a flinch, broke down and
cried like babies.
Tonight something is wrong. The silence is almost uncanny. Not a
shot--not even a single shell. Very faintly we can hear the mellow
tones of the church bell in the little French town on the hill far
to our rear. All day long it has been singing its song of joy and
thanksgiving. It seems symbolical of the heart of France, which,
today, is ringing.
I don't know when I'm coming home, but when I do, I want a big
roast turkey, golden brown, new spuds swimming in butter and
cranberry sauce.
Love,
JESSE.
SEA LYRIC
WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE
Over the seas to-night, love,
Over the darksome deeps,
Over the seas to-night, love,
Slowly my vessel creeps.
Over the seas to-night, love,
Waking the sleeping foam--
Sailing away from thee, love,
Sailing from thee and home.
Over the seas to-night, love,
Dreaming beneath the spars--
Till in my dreams you shine, love,
Bright as the listening stars.
A NEGRO WOMAN'S HOSPITALITY
LEILA A. PENDLETON
Mungo Park, a native of Scotland, was one of the first of noble, brave
men who devoted the best years of their lives to Africa. In 1795, when
he was only twenty-four years old, he went to West Africa to find the
source of the River Niger. One of the drawbacks of the west coast is its
deadly climate, and shortly after arriving at Kano young Park fell ill
of fever and remained an invalid for five months. While recovering, he
learned the language of the Mandingoes, a native tribe, and this was a
great help to him.
He finally started with only six natives on his journey. Had he been
older and wiser he would have taken a larger company. At one time they
were captured by Moors and a wild boar was turned loose upon them, but
instead of attacking Park the beast turned upon its owners, and this
aroused their superstitious fears. The king then ordered him to be put
into a hut where the boar was tied while he and his chief officers
discussed whether Park should lose his right hand, his eyes or his life.
But he escaped from them, and after nearly two years of wandering in
search of the Niger's source, during which time he suffered many
hardships and had many narrow escapes, he returned to Kano, the place
where he had been ill.
At one time during his journey Mr. Park arrived in the neighborhood of
Sego, and as a white man had never been seen in that region before, the
natives looked upon him with fear and astonishment. He asked to see the
king, but no one would take him across the river, and the king sent word
that he would by no means receive the strange traveler until he knew
what the latter wanted.
Park was tired, hungry, and discouraged and was preparing to spend the
night in the branches of a tree when a native woman pitied him. She
invited him into her hut, and with the hospitality for which the natives
are noted, shared with him her food. By signs she made him understand
that he might occupy the sleeping mat and as she and her daughter sat
spinning they sang their native songs, among them the following, which
was impromptu and composed in honor of the stranger:
The wind roared and the rain fell.
The poor white man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree.
He has no mother to bring him milk; no wife to grind his corn.
CHORUS
Let us pity the white man;
No mother has he to bring him milk;
No wife to grind his corn.
Speaking of this incident, Park says: "Trifling as this recital may
appear to the reader, to a person in my situation the circumstance was
affecting in the highest degree. I was oppressed by such unexpected
kindness and sleep fled from my eyes." And another writer says: "The
name of the woman and the alabaster box of precious ointment, the
nameless widow, who, giving only two mites, had given more than all the
rich, and this nameless woman of Sego, form a trio of feminine beauty
and grandeur of which the sex in all ages may be proud."
RECORD OF "THE OLD FIFTEENTH" IN FRANCE
EMMETT J. SCOTT
Early in September, 1918, the men of the 369th Infantry were transferred
from the 15th French Division, in which they had been serving, and made
an integral part of the 161st French Division. And then, on the morning
of September 26th, they joined with the Moroccans on the left and native
French on the right in the offensive which won for the entire regiment
the French _Croix de Guerre_ and the citation of 171 individual officers
and enlisted men for the _Croix de Guerre_ and the Legion of Honor,
for exceptional gallantry in action. The action began at
Maisons-en-Champagne; it finished seven kilometers northward and
eastward, and over the intervening territory the Germans had retreated
before the ferocious attacks of the Fifteenth and its French comrades.
A month later a new honor came to the regiment--the honor of being the
first unit of all the Allied armies to reach the River Rhine. The
regiment had left its trenches at Thann, Sunday, November 17, and,
marching as the advance guard of the 161st Division, Second French Army,
reached the left bank of the Rhine, Monday, November 18. The 369th is
proud of this achievement. It believes also that it was under fire for a
greater number of days than any other American regiment. Its historian
will record:
That the regiment never lost a man captured, a trench, or a foot of
ground; that it was the only unit in the American Expeditionary Force
which bore a State name and carried a State flag; that it was never in
an American brigade or division; that it saw the first and the longest
service of any American regiment as part of a foreign army; and that it
had less training than any American unit before going into action.
NEGRO SOLDIERS
ROSCOE C. JAMISON
These truly are the Brave
These men who cast aside
Old memories, to walk the blood-stained pave
Of Sacrifice, joining the solemn tide
That moves away, to suffer and to die
For Freedom--when their own is yet denied!
O Pride! O Prejudice! When they pass by,
Hail them, the Brave, for you now crucified!
These truly are the Free,
These souls that grandly rise
Above base dreams of vengeance for their wrongs,
Who march to war with visions in their eyes
Of Peace through Brotherhood, lifting glad songs
Aforetime, while they front the firing-line.
Stand and behold! They take the field today,
Shedding their blood like Him now held divine,
That those who mock might find a better way!
THE "DEVIL BUSH" AND THE "GREEGREE BUSH"
GEORGE W. ELLIS
The "Devil Bush" is one of the most important social institutions of the
Vais,--in fact, of most of the tribes in Liberia. It is a secret
organization, and its operations are carried on in an unknown place. The
penalty for divulging its secrets is said to be death. I know that it is
very difficult to ascertain much information regarding it.
The aim of this society is to train young boys for African life. The
boys are taught the industrial trades, native warfare, religious duties,
tribal laws and customs, and the social arts.
[Illustration]
The bow and arrow may be called the Vai alphabet. Every morning the
small boys are taught first to use skilfully this weapon. In addition
they are taught to throw the spear and to wield the sword. In the
afternoon they are taken on a hunt for small game, and later are given
practice in target shooting and throwing the spear. After supper the
boys take up singing and dancing. At this period they are taught also
their duties to the gods, to whom a certain portion of their meals is
said to be offered. Each boy is taught the sacrificial ceremony; they
all clap, dance, and sing their song of praise.
When the boys have attained a certain advancement among other things
they have sham battles, with 200 or 150 boys on a side. A district is
given to one side to be captured by the other. Each side has a captain,
and at this stage of their development emphasis is placed upon the
display of bravery. And sometimes the contests assume aspects of
reality. When one side repulses another six times it is said to be
victorious.
[Illustration]
In addition to being taught the methods of warfare, the boys are taught
the civil and military laws governing the Vai people. Every Vai man must
know the law. And as the penalties for violating the laws covering
military expeditions are so severe, the customs and laws relating
thereto are of paramount importance to every Vai man.
The members of the "Devil Bush" are not only taught everything
pertaining to practical war, but they are taught hunting as well. They
are first taught to capture small game and later the larger and
dangerous animals like the leopard, elephant, and buffalo. What the
Africans call a real hunt requires about a month's work in preparation.
The boys dig a large pit and surround the ends and sides with the trunks
of large trees. With the pit of the apex, in triangular form, two fences
are built about a mile long, and with a mile between the two
extremities. The surrounding country is encircled by the hunters and the
animals are driven into the pit. The smaller animals are eaten and the
larger ones are sent to the king. As the valuable skins are preserved,
the boys are taught to skin animals neatly. The ivories belong to the
king, and various small horns are kept for amulets, and so on. These
hunts are usually accompanied with much singing and dancing, after the
cooking and eating of the game.
[Illustration]
The "Greegree Bush" is a society for the training of girls for future
life, just as the "Devil Bush" is for boys. It is death for a man to be
found within the limits of the "Greegree Bush," no matter what his
purpose may be. The sessions of the society are held near some town, yet
few in that town know the exact place. No one is permitted to approach
the scene.
Usually girls are admitted at seven or eight years of age, although
women may be admitted.
The "Greegree Bush" has both an industrial and an educational purpose.
The girls are taught to embroider with gold and silver thread the tunics
and togas of kings and chiefs. Some of them become very artistic in
working palm-trees, golden elephants, moons, half-moons, running vines,
and other objects and scenes of nature in various articles of apparel.
[Illustration]
The girls are taught hair-dressing in order that they may plait, beside
their own, the hair of the richer Vais, some of whom have their hair
oiled and plaited two or three times a week.
Instruction is given in cutting inscriptions on shields, breastplates,
and the like, and in housekeeping, singing, dancing, farming, sewing,
weaving cotton, dyeing, making nets and mats and many other articles of
domestic utility, decoration, and dress. I have seen Vai women making
some of the most beautiful fancy baskets of various kinds to be found
along the coast.
[Illustration]
EVENING PRAYER
H. CORDELIA RAY
Father of Love!
We leave our souls with Thee!
Oh! may Thy Holy Spirit to us be
A peaceful Dove!
Now when day's strife
And bitterness are o'er,
Oh! in our hearts all bruisèd gently pour
The dew of life.
So as the rose--
Though fading on the stem--
Awakes to blush when morning's lustrous gem
Upon it glows;--
May we awake,
Soothed by Thy priceless balm,
To chant with grateful hearts our morning psalm,
And blessings take.
Or let it be,
That where the palm trees rise,
And crystal streams flow, we uplift our eyes
To Thee!--to Thee!
THE STRENUOUS LIFE
SILAS X. FLOYD
They were having a rough-and-tumble time of it and Pansy was getting
some pretty hard blows. She took them all good-naturedly, nevertheless,
and tried to give as good as she received, much to the delight of her
little boy friends. A lady who was standing near, afraid for the little
girl, chided the boys and said:
"You shouldn't handle Pansy so roughly--you might hurt her."
And then Pansy looked up in sweet surprise and said with amusing
seriousness:
"No; they won't hurt me. I don't break easy."
It was a thoroughly childlike expression, but it had more wisdom in it
than Pansy knew. She spoke of a little girl's experience with dolls,
some of which, as she had learned, broke very easily. Pansy knew how
delightful it was to have a doll that didn't break so easily. Though she
was not a homely girl by any means, yet she wanted it understood that
she was not like a piece of china. That was why the other children liked
her so much--because she knew how to rough it without crying or
complaining at every turn. Pansy was not a cry-baby.
There is all the time, my dear boys and girls, a great demand everywhere
all through life for people who don't break easily--people who know how
to take hard knocks without going all to pieces. The game of life is
sometimes rough, even among those who mean to play fair. It is very
trying when we have to deal with people who break easily, and are always
getting hurt and spoiling the game with their tears and complaints. It
is so much better when we have to deal with people who, like little
Pansy, do not break easily. Some of them will laugh off the hardest
words without wincing at all. You can jostle them as you will, but they
don't fall down every time you shove them, and they don't cry every time
they are pushed aside. You can't but like them, they take life so
heartily and so sensibly. You don't have to hold yourself in with them
all the time. You can let yourself out freely without being on pins as
to the result. Young people of this class make good playmates or good
work-fellows, as the case may be.
So, boys and girls, you must learn to _rough_ it a little. Don't be a
china doll, going to smash at every hard knock. If you get hard blows
take them cheerily and as easily as you can. Even if some blow comes
when you least expect it, and knocks you off your feet for a minute,
don't let it _floor_ you long. Everybody likes the fellow who can get up
when he is knocked down and blink the tears away and pitch in again.
Learning to get yourself accustomed to a little hard treatment will be
good for you. Hard words and hard fortune often make us--if we don't let
them break us. Stand up to your work or play courageously, and when you
hear words that hurt, when you are hit hard with the blunders or
misdeeds of others, when life goes roughly with you, keep right on in a
happy, companionable, courageous, helpful spirit, and let the world know
that you don't break easily.
O LITTLE DAVID, PLAY ON YOUR HARP
JOSEPH S. COTTER, JR.
O Little David, play on your harp,
That ivory harp with the golden strings;
And sing as you did in Jewry land,
Of the Prince of Peace and the God of Love
And the Coming Christ Immanuel.
O Little David, play on your harp.
O Little David, play on your harp,
That ivory harp with the golden strings;
And psalm anew your songs of Peace,
Of the soothing calm of a Brotherly Love,
And the saving grace of a Mighty God.
O Little David, play on your harp.
A DAY AT KALK BAY, SOUTH AFRICA
L. J. COPPIN
Summer in Cape Town begins with November and lasts until March. This may
seem strange to those living in North America, but a moment's reflection
will suffice to remind them that during these months the sun is south of
the equator, hence this natural result. The strong southeast winds,
which are prevalent during the summer months, often make it very
unpleasant in Cape Town on account of the dust, and one finds it most
desirable occasionally to run out to one of the suburbs where "Cape
Doctor" does not make such frequent and violent visits.
Of the chain of beautiful and pleasant suburban towns following the
railway north, the most important as a summer resort, is Kalk Bay. One
who has visited the beach at Newport, R. I., in the United States, will,
upon visiting Kalk Bay, see a resemblance. Unlike the long sweep of
ocean at Atlantic City, the beach is narrow, being rather a bay than an
open ocean front. Instead of the cliffs as at Newport, we have the
massive mountains standing almost perpendicularly on the east side, at
the foot of which the town is situated.
The principal vocation among the laboring men there is fishing. In this
respect it is very much like Bermuda. They go to sea and return
according to the tide. Some days they are out by two and three o'clock
in the morning. When they go this early they may be expected to return
by noon or even before noon.
I was told that of the sixty-five fishing boats on the Bay fifty-six are
owned by colored men. There are six men to a crew, five beside the
captain, who is the owner of the boat. They sail out to sea, drop
anchor, and fish with hook and line. Half of what is caught belongs to
the captain, and the other half is equally divided among the other five
men. They can scarcely supply the market, so great is the demand for
fish at the Bay and in Cape Town. We were informed that a captain has
been known to make as much as eight pounds in a single day; that is
nearly forty dollars. Of course, there are days when they have poorer
luck. Some days the wind blows such a gale that they are unable to go to
sea at all.
It is a beautiful sight to see the little fleet return. Hundreds of
people will gather about the landing and await their coming.
Farther up the bay, a drag net is used. On the day of our visit we were
fortunate in being just in time to see a net land "full of great
fishes." As the net is hauled near the shore, the fishermen all get
around it, holding the lower portion of it down to keep the fish from
escaping under it and holding the upper portion above the water to keep
them from jumping over it. As the fish are drawn into shallow water
they become very active, and notwithstanding the vigilance of the crew,
some will make their escape. The captain would shout impulsively to the
men; I could not understand him as he expressed himself in "Cape Dutch,"
but from the contortions of his face and the frightened look of the men,
I guess he must have been using language that would not have been
suitable in a church service. "A good haul," some one remarked when the
net was finally landed.
BISHOP ATTICUS G. HAYGOOD
W. H. CROGMAN
It is indeed the peculiar glory of the truly great man, that he cannot
be restricted within the State lines or race lines. Wide as the sweep of
his sympathies is the empire of hearts over which he rules. To those of
us, therefore, whose good fortune it was to be personally acquainted
with Bishop Haygood, it was never a surprise that his influence in both
sections of country and among all classes of people was so large and so
commanding. He was a man of large sympathy, that royal quality in the
human breast which invariably distinguishes the generous person from the
mean, that divine quality which, despite our prejudices and
antipathies, "makes the whole world kin," and is at the bottom of all
Christian and philanthropic endeavor.
A thousand instances of kindness on the part of the good bishop to
persons of all sorts and colors might, I suppose, be cited here in
support of the statement made with reference to his sympathetic
disposition. Many of these little acts of pure benevolence, never
intended for the light, are fast coming to light under the shadow cast
by his death. For as dark nights best reveal the stars, so the gloom
that at times envelopes a human life discovers to us its hidden virtues.
This much, however, the world knows in common of Bishop Haygood: He was
not a man who passed through life inquiring, "Who is my neighbor?" His
neighbor was the ignorant that needed to be instructed, the vicious that
needed to be reclaimed, the despondent that needed to be encouraged.
Wherever honest effort was being made for a noble purpose, there he
found his neighbor, and his neighbor found a helper. Like "The Man of
Galilee," he was abroad in the land, studying the needs of the people
and striving to reach and influence individual lives.
HOW TWO COLORED CAPTAINS FELL
RALPH W. TYLER
A colored unit was ordered to charge, and take, if possible, a very
difficult objective held by the Germans. Captains Fairfax and Green, two
colored officers, were in command of the detachments. They made the
charge, running into several miles of barb-wire entanglements, and
hampered by a murderous fire from nests of German machine guns which
were camouflaged.
Just before charging, one of the colored sergeants, running up to
Captain Fairfax, said: "Do you know there is a nest of German machine
guns ahead?"
The Captain replied: "I only know we have been ordered to go forward,
and we are going."
Those were the last words he said, before giving the command to charge,
"into the jaws of death." The colored troops followed their intrepid
leader with all the enthusiasm and dash characteristic of patriots and
courageous fighters. They went forward, they obeyed the order, and as a
result sixty-two men and two officers were listed in the casualties
reported.
Captain Fairfax's last words, "I only know we have been ordered to go
forward, and we are going," are words that will forever live in the
memory of his race; they are words that match those of Sergeant Carney,
the color sergeant of the 54th Massachusetts during the Civil War, who,
although badly wounded, held the tattered, shot-pierced Stars and
Stripes aloft and exclaimed, "The old flag never touched the ground!"
Men who have served under Captains Fairfax and Green say two braver
officers never fought and fell.
THE YOUNG WARRIOR
JAMES WELDON JOHNSON
Mother, shed no mournful tears,
But gird me on my sword;
And give no utterance to thy fears,
But bless me with thy word.
The lines are drawn! The fight is on!
A cause is to be won!
Mother, look not so white and wan;
Give Godspeed to thy son.
Now let thine eyes my way pursue
Where'er my footsteps fare;
And when they lead beyond thy view,
Send after me a prayer.
But pray not to defend from harm,
Nor danger to dispel;
Pray, rather that with steadfast arm
I fight the battle well.
Pray, mother of mine, that I always keep
My heart and purpose strong,
My sword unsullied and ready to leap
Unsheathed against the wrong.
WHOLE REGIMENTS DECORATED
EMMETT J. SCOTT
Four Negro regiments won the signal honor of being awarded the _Croix de
Guerre_ as a regiment. These were the 365th, the 369th, the 371st and
the 372d. The 369th (old 15th New York National Guard) was especially
honored for its record of 191 days on the firing line, exceeding by five
days the term of service at the front of any other American regiment.
ON PLANTING ARTICHOKES
FROM THE LIFE OF SCOTT BOND
DANIEL A. RUDD AND THEODORE BOND
I was living at one time on a farm, which I had bought near Forrest
City, known as the Neely farm. It was also known as a fine fruit farm.
The land being upland was of a poor nature. I bought the farm mainly on
account of the health of my wife and children. I paid old man Neely $900
for 120 acres. This farm was two and a half miles from my main bottom
farm. After moving on the Neely place and getting straight, I looked
over the farm and finding that the land was far from fertile, I decided
to sow the whole farm in peas, knowing peas were a legume and hence fine
to put life into the soil. I excepted several small spots that I planted
in corn.
I got a fine stand of peas, and looked as if I would make worlds of pea
hay. When the peas were ripe I took my mower and rake to harvest my hay
crop. This was the first time I had undertaken to cultivate this class
of land. I prepared to house the hay and after the hay was cut and
raked, I only got one-tenth of the amount of hay I counted on. I
prepared the land that fall and sowed it down in clover. I got a fine
stand. The clover grew and did well. The next year I took two
four-horse wagons and hauled from the Allen farm large loads of
defective cotton seed. I turned all this under and planted the land the
next year in corn. I made and gathered a large corn crop that year.
I was at that time taking a farm paper and I would usually sit at night
and entertain my wife, while she was sewing. I read an article, where a
party in Illinois had claimed that he had gathered 900 bushels of
artichokes from one acre of land. That did not look reasonable to me at
that time. I said to my wife: "Listen to what a mistake this fellow has
made. He claims to have gathered 900 bushels of artichokes from one acre
of land." This seemed impossible to me.
In the next issue of this paper I read where another man claimed to have
raised 1,100 bushels to the acre. This put me at a further wonder as to
the artichoke crop. I decided to try a crop of artichokes. I had a very
nice spot of land that I thought would suit me for this purpose. I
prepared it as I would prepare land for Irish potatoes, knowing that
artichokes were, like the Irish potato, a tuber. I took a four-horse
wagon and hauled one and a half tons of rotten cotton seed, and of this
I put a double handful every 18 inches apart in the drill; I then
dropped the artichokes between the hills. I cultivated first as I would
Irish potatoes. The plants grew luxuriantly and were all the way from 8
to 12 feet tall.
About the 10th of August I noticed the plants were blooming and it
occurred to me that there must be artichokes on the roots. I got my
spade and began to dig. I could not find a single artichoke. I took my
spade back home and decided within myself that both parties were
mistaken when they claimed to have grown so many hundreds of bushels to
the acre. After a few days I went to my lower farm and started picking
cotton, and was as busy as busy could be all that fall gathering and
housing my cotton crop as usual.
Just before Christmas I promised my wife that I would be at home on
Christmas Eve in order to accompany her to our church conference. I was
on time according to my promise, helped her to get her household affairs
straight and the children settled. I had bought my wife a beautiful
cape. She took the cape, I took my overcoat and off we went. In order to
take a near route we decided to climb the fence and go through the
artichoke patch. As we had none of the children along I, helping her
over the fence, recalled our old days when we were courting. I remarked
to her:
"Gee whiz, wife, you certainly look good under that cape!"
She said, "Do you think so?"
"Yes, I have always thought that you looked good."
By this time we had gotten to the middle of the artichoke patch. I
grabbed an artichoke stalk and tried to pull it up. I made one or two
surges and it failed to come, but in bending it over I found a great
number of artichokes attached to the tap root. I asked my wife to wait a
few minutes. She asked me what I was going to do. I told her I would run
back and get the grubbing hoe and see what is under these artichokes.
She said, "Doesn't this beat the band? Stop on your way to church to go
to digging artichokes."
"All right, I will be back in a few minutes."
I came with my grubbing hoe and went to work. I dug on all sides of the
stalk, then raised it up. I believe I am safe in saying there was a half
bushel of artichokes on the roots of this stalk. I then noticed that the
dirt in the drills, the sides of the rows, and the middles were all
puffed up. One could not stick the end of his finger in the ground
without touching an artichoke. I found that the whole earth was matted
with artichokes. I really believe that had I had a full acre in and
could have gathered all the artichokes, I would have gotten at least
1,500 bushels.
I told my wife that now I could see that those people had told the truth
when they said they had gathered 900 bushels and 1,100 bushels to the
acre.
When I returned from church, I at once turned my hogs into the artichoke
patch. I then climbed up on the fence and took a seat to watch the hogs
root and crush artichokes. I looked around and saw my clover had made a
success, the little artichoke patch had turned out wonderfully. I said
to myself: "Just think of millions and millions of dollars deposited in
all these lands, both rich and poor soils. And just to think how easy
this money could be obtained if one would think right and hustle."
A SONG OF THANKS
EDWARD SMYTH JONES
For the sun that shone at the dawn of spring,
For the flowers which bloom and the birds that sing,
For the verdant robe of the grey old earth,
For her coffers filled with their countless worth,
For the flocks which feed on a thousand hills,
For the rippling streams which turn the mills,
For the lowing herds in the lovely vale,
For the songs of gladness on the gale,--
From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,--
Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!
For the farmer reaping his whitened fields,
For the bounty which the rich soil yields,
For the cooling dews and refreshing rains,
For the sun which ripens the golden grains,
For the bearded wheat and the fattened swine,
For the stallèd ox and the fruitful vine,
For the tubers large and cotton white,
For the kid and the lambkin, frisk and blithe,
For the swan which floats near the river-banks,--
Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!
For the pumpkin sweet and the yellow yam,
For the corn and beans and the sugared ham,
For the plum and the peach and the apple red,
For the clustering nut trees overhead.
For the cock which crows at the breaking dawn,
And the proud old "turk" of the farmer's barn,
For the fish which swim in the babbling brooks,
For the game which hides in the shady nooks,--
From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,--
Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!
For the sturdy oaks and the stately pines,
For the lead and the coal from the deep, dark mines,
For the silver ores of a thousand fold,
For the diamond bright and the yellow gold,
For the river boat and the flying train,
For the fleecy sail of the rolling main,
For the velvet sponge and the glossy pearl,
For the flag of peace which we now unfurl,--
From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' Banks,--
Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!
For the lowly cot and the mansion fair,
For the peace and plenty together share,
For the Hand which guides us from above,
For Thy tender mercies, abiding love,
For the blessed home with its children gay,
For returnings of Thanksgiving Day,
For the bearing toils and the sharing cares,
We lift up our hearts in our songs and our prayers,--
From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,--
Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!
OUR DUMB ANIMALS
SILAS X. FLOYD
Domestic animals--like horses, cats and dogs--seem to be almost as
dependent upon kind treatment and affection as human beings. Horses and
dogs especially are the most keenly intelligent of our dumb friends, and
are alike sensitive to cruelty in any form. They are influenced to an
equal degree by kind and affectionate treatment.
If there is any form of cruelty that is more blameworthy than another,
it is abuse of a faithful horse who gives his life to the service of the
owner. When a horse is pulling a heavy load with all his might, doing
the best he can to move under it, to strike him, spur him, or swear at
him is barbarous. To kick a dog around or strike him with sticks just
for the fun of hearing him yelp or seeing him run, is equally barbarous.
No high-minded man, no high-minded boy or girl, would do such a thing.
We should never forget how helpless, in a large sense, dumb animals
are--and how absolutely dependent upon the humanity and kindness of
their owners. They are really the slaves of man, having no language by
which to express their feelings or needs.
The poet Cowper said:
"I would not enter on my list of friends,
Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility, the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm."
Boys and girls should be willing to pledge themselves to be kind to all
harmless living creatures, and every boy and girl should strive to
protect such creatures from cruel usage on the part of others. It is
noble, boys and girls, for us to speak for those that cannot speak for
themselves, and it is noble, also, for us to protect those that cannot
protect themselves.
A LEGEND OF THE BLUE JAY
RUTH ANNA FISHER
It was a hot, sultry day in May and the children in the little school in
Virginia were wearily waiting for the gong to free them from lessons for
the day. Furtive glances were directed towards the clock. The call of
the birds and fields was becoming more and more insistent. Would the
hour never strike!
"The Planting of the Apple-tree" had no interest for them. Little
attention was given the boy as he read in a sing-song, spiritless
manner:
"What plant we in this apple-tree?
Buds, which the breath of summer days
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;
Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast,
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest."
The teacher, who had long since stopped trying to make the lesson
interesting, found herself saying mechanically, "What other birds have
their nests in the apple-tree?"
The boy shifted lazily from one foot to the other as he began, "The
sparrow, the robin, and wrens, and--the snow-birds and blue-jays--"
"No, they don't, blue-jays don't have nests," came the excited outburst
from some of the children, much to the surprise of the teacher.
When order was restored some of these brown-skinned children, who came
from the heart of the Virginian mountains, told this legend of the
blue-jay.
Long, long years ago, the devil came to buy the blue-jay's soul, for
which he first offered a beautiful golden ear of corn. This the blue-jay
liked and wanted badly, but said, "No, I cannot take it in exchange for
my soul." Then the devil came again, this time with a bright red ear of
corn which was even more lovely than the golden one.
This, too, the blue-jay refused. At last the devil came to offer him a
wonderful blue ear. This one the blue-jay liked best of all, but still
was unwilling to part with his soul. Then the devil hung it up in the
nest, and the blue-jay found that it exactly matched his own brilliant
feathers, and knew at once that he must have it. The bargain was quickly
made. And now in payment for that one blue ear of corn each Friday the
blue-jay must carry one grain of sand to the devil, and sometimes he
gets back on Sunday, but oftener not until Monday.
Very seriously the children added, "And all the bad people are going to
burn until the blue-jays have carried all the grains of sand in the
ocean to the devil."
The teacher must have smiled a little at the legend, for the children
cried out again, "It is so. 'Deed it is, for doesn't the black spot on
the blue-jay come because he gets his wings scorched, and he doesn't
have a nest like other birds."
Then, to dispel any further doubts the teacher might have, they asked
triumphantly, "You never saw a blue-jay on Friday, did you?"
There was no need to answer, for just then the gong sounded and the
children trooped happily out to play.
DAVID LIVINGSTONE
BENJAMIN BRAWLEY
When Livingstone began his work of exploration in 1849, practically all
of Africa between the Sahara and the Dutch settlements in the extreme
South was unknown territory. By the time of his death in 1873 he had
brought this entire region within the view of civilization. On his first
journey, or series of journeys (1849-1856,) starting from Cape Town, he
made his way northward for a thousand miles to Lake Ngami; then pushing
on to Linyanti, he undertook one of the most perilous excursions of his
entire career, his objective for more than a thousand miles being Loanda
on the West Coast, which point he reached after six months in the
wilderness.
Coming back to Linyanti, he turned his face eastward, discovered
Victoria Falls on the Zambesi, and finally arrived at Cuilimane on the
coast. On his second series of journeys (1858-1864) he explored the
Zambesi, the Shire, and the Rovuma rivers in the East, and discovered
Lake Nyasa. On his final expedition (1866-1873), in hunting for the
upper courses of the Nile, he discovered Lakes Tanganyika, Mweru, and
Bangweolo, and the Lualaba River. His achievement as an explorer was as
distinct as it was unparalleled. His work as a missionary and his worth
as a man it is not quite so easy to express concretely; but in these
capacities he was no less distinguished and his accomplishment no less
signal.
There had been missionaries, and great ones, in Africa before
Livingstone. The difference between Livingstone and consecrated men was
not so much in devotion as in the conception of the task. He himself
felt that a missionary in the Africa of his day was to be more than a
mere preacher of the word--that he would have also to be a Christian
statesman, and even a director of exploration and commerce if need be.
This was his title to greatness; to him "the end of the geographical
feat was only the beginning of the enterprise." Knowing, however, that
many honest persons did not sympathize with him in this conception of
his mission, after 1856 he declined longer to accept salary from the
missionary society that originally sent him out, working afterwards
under the patronage of the British Government and the Royal
Geographical Society.
His sympathy and his courtesy were unfailing, even when he himself was
placed in the greatest danger. Said Henry Drummond of him: "Wherever
David Livingstone's footsteps are crossed in Africa the fragrance of his
memory seems to remain." On one occasion a hunter was impaled on the
horn of a rhinoceros, and a messenger ran eight miles for the physician.
Although he himself had been wounded for life by a lion and his friends
insisted that he should not ride at night through a wood infested with
wild beasts, Livingstone insisted on his Christian duty to go, only to
find that the man had died and to have to retrace his footsteps.
Again and again his party would have been destroyed by some savage
chieftain if it had not been for his own unbounded tact and courage. To
the devoted men who helped him he gave the assurance that he would die
before he would permit them to be taken; and after his death at
Chitambo's village Susi and Chuma journeyed for nine months and over
eight hundred miles of dangerous country to take his body to the coast.
Livingstone was a man of tremendous faith, in his mission, in his
country, in humanity, in God. He wrote on one occasion: "This age
presents one great fact in the Providence of God; missions are sent
forth to all quarters of the world,--missions not of one section of the
Church, but from all sections, and from nearly all Christian nations. It
seems very unfair to judge of the success of these by the number of the
conversions that have followed. These are rather proofs of the missions
being of the right sort. The fact which ought to stimulate us above all
others is, not that we have contributed to the conversion of a few
souls, however valuable these may be, but that we are diffusing a
knowledge of Christianity throughout the world. Future missionaries will
see conversions follow every sermon. We prepare the way for them. We
work for a glorious future which we are not destined to see--the golden
age which has not been, but will yet be. We are only morning-stars
shining in the dark, but the glorious morn will break, the good time
coming yet. For this time we work; may God accept our imperfect
service."
Of such quality was David Livingstone--Missionary, Explorer,
Philanthropist. "For thirty years his life was spent in an unwearied
effort to evangelize the native races, to explore the undiscovered
secrets, and abolish the desolating slave trade of Central Africa." To
what extent after sixty years have we advanced toward his ideals? With
what justice are we the inheritors of his renown?
IRA ALDRIDGE
WILLIAM J. SIMMONS
The name of Aldridge has always been placed at the head of the list of
Negro actors. He has indeed become the most noted of them, and his name
is cited as standing first in his calling among all colored persons who
have ever appeared on the stage. He was born at Belaire, near Baltimore,
in 1804. In complexion he was dark brown, and with heavy whiskers;
standing six feet in height, with heavy frame, African features, and yet
with due proportions; he was graceful in his attitudes, highly polished
in manners.
In his early days he was apprenticed to a ship carpenter, and had his
association with the Germans on the western shores of Maryland. Here he
became familiar with the German language and spoke it not only with ease
but with fluency. He was brought in contact with Edmund Kean, the great
actor, in 1826, whom he accompanied in his trip through Europe. His
ambition to become an actor was encouraged by Kean, and receiving his
assistance in the preparation, he made his appearance first at the
Royalty Theatre in London, in the character of Othello. Public applause
greeted him of such an extraordinary nature, that he was billed to
appear at the Covent Garden Theatre April 10, 1839, in the same
character.
After many years' successful appearances in many of the metropolitan
cities, he appeared in the Provinces with still greater success. In
Ireland he performed Othello, with Edmund Kean as Iago. In 1852 he
appeared in Germany in Shakespearean characters. He was pronounced
excellent, and though a stranger and a foreigner, he undertook the very
difficult task of playing in English, while his whole support was
rendered in the language of the country. It is said that until this
time, such an experiment was not considered susceptible of a successful
end, but nevertheless, with his impersonations he succeeded admirably.
It is said that the King of Prussia was so deeply moved with his
appearance in the character of Othello, at Berlin, that he spent him a
congratulatory letter, and conferred upon him the title of chevalier, in
recognition of his dramatic genius, and informed him that the lady who
took the part of Desdemona was so much affected at the manner in which
he played his part that she was made ill from fright on account of the
reality with which he acted his part.
Some idea of the character of his acting might be gained from the fact
that the lady who played Desdemona in St. Petersburg, became very much
alarmed at what appeared real passion on his part, in acting Othello;
though he was never rough or indelicate in any of his acting with
ladies, yet she was so frightened that she used to scream with real
fear.
It is said that on another occasion in St. Petersburg, that in the midst
of his acting in scene two, act five, when he was quoting these words,
"It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul;
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood,
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then--put out the light!
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me: But once put out thy light,
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature;
I know not where is that Promethean heat,
That can thy light relume. When I have plucked thy rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again;
It needs must wither:--I'll smell it on the tree--
(_kissing her_)
O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
Justice to break her sword:--One more, one more:--
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after:--One more--and this the last:
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep.
But they are cruel tears:
This sorrow's heavenly:
It strikes where it doth love."
the house was so carried away with the manner in which he rendered it,
that a young man stood up and exclaimed with the greatest earnestness:
"She is innocent, Othello, she is innocent," and yet so interested was
he in the acting himself that he never moved a muscle but continued as
if nothing had been said to embarrass him. The next day he learned,
while dining with a Russian prince, that a young man who had been
present had been so affected by the play that he had been seized with a
sudden illness and died the next day.
Mr. Aldridge was a welcome guest in the ranks of the cultured and
wealthy, and was often in the "salons" of the haughty aristocrats of St.
Petersburg and Moscow. Titled ladies wove, knitted and stitched their
pleasing emotions into various memorials of friendship. In his palatial
residence at Sydenham, near London, were collected many presents of
intrinsic value, rendered almost sacred by association. Prominent among
these tokens of regard was an autographic letter from the King of
Prussia, transmitting the first medal of art and sciences; the Cross of
Leopold, from the Emperor of Russia, and a Maltese cross received at
Berne.
In all his triumphs he never lost interest in the condition of his race.
He always took an interest in everything touching their welfare, and
though exalted to the companionship of those who ranked high in every
department of life, yet he never in any way forgot the humble race with
which he was identified, and was always solicitous for their welfare and
promotion. He was an associate of the most prominent men of Paris, among
whom was Alexander Dumas. When the great tragedian and great writer met
they always kissed each other, and Dumas always greeted Aldridge with
the words Mon Confrère. He died at Lodes, in Poland, August 7, 1867.
FIFTY YEARS
1863-1913
JAMES WELDON JOHNSON
O brothers mine, to-day we stand
Where half a century sweeps our ken,
Since God, through Lincoln's ready hand,
Struck off our bonds and made us men.
Just fifty years--a winter's day--
As runs the history of a race;
Yet, as we look back o'er the way,
How distant seems our starting place!
Look farther back! Three centuries!
To where a naked, shivering score,
Snatched from their haunts across the seas,
Stood wild-eyed, on Virginia's shore.
Far, far the way that we have trod,
From heathen kraals and jungle dens,
To freedmen, freemen, sons of God,
Americans and Citizens.
A part of His unknown design,
We've lived within a mighty age;
And we have helped to write a line
On history's most wondrous page.
A few black bondmen strewn along
The borders of our eastern coast,
Now grown a race, ten million strong,
An upward, onward marching host.
Then let us here erect a stone,
To mark the place, to mark the time;
A witness to God's mercies shown,
A pledge to hold this day sublime.
And let that stone an altar be,
Whereon thanksgivings we may lay,
Where we, in deep humility,
For faith and strength renewed may pray.
With open hearts ask from above
New zeal, new courage and new pow'rs,
That we may grow more worthy of
This country and this land of ours.
For never let the thought arise
That we are here on sufferance bare;
Outcasts, asylumed 'neath these skies
And aliens without part or share.
This land is ours by right of birth,
This land is ours by right of toil;
We helped to turn its virgin earth,
Our sweat is in its fruitful soil.
Where once the tangled forest stood,--
Where flourished once rank weed and thorn,--
Behold the path-traced, peaceful wood,
The cotton white, the yellow corn.
To gain these fruits that have been earned,
To hold these fields that have been won,
Our arms have strained, our backs have burned,
Bent bare beneath a ruthless sun.
That Banner which is now the type
Of victory on field and flood--
Remember, its first crimson stripe
Was dyed by Attucks' willing blood.
And never yet has come the cry--
When that fair flag has been assailed--
For men to do, for men to die,
That have we faltered or have failed.
We've helped to bear it, rent and torn,
Through many a hot-breath'd battle breeze;
Held in our hands, it has been borne
And planted far across the seas.
And never yet--O haughty Land,
Let us, at least, for this be praised--
Has one black, treason-guided hand
Ever against that flag been raised.
Then should we speak but servile words,
Or shall we hang our heads in shame?
Stand back of new-come foreign hordes,
And fear our heritage to claim?
No! stand erect and without fear,
And for our foes let this suffice--
We've bought a rightful sonship here,
And we have more than paid the price.
And yet, my brothers, well I know
The tethered feet, the pinioned wings,
The spirit bowed beneath the blow,
The heart grown faint from wounds and stings;
The staggering force of brutish might,
That strikes and leaves us stunned and dazed;
The long, vain waiting through the night
To hear some voice for justice raised.
Full well I know the hour when hope
Sinks dead, and 'round us everywhere
Hangs stifling darkness, and we grope
With hands uplifted in despair.
Courage! Look out, beyond, and see
The far horizon's beckoning span!
Faith in your God-known destiny!
We are a part of some great plan.
Because the tongues of Garrison
And Phillips now are cold in death,
Think you their work can be undone?
Or quenched the fires lit by their breath?
Think you that John Brown's spirit stops?
That Lovejoy was but idly slain?
Or do you think those precious drops
From Lincoln's heart were shed in vain?
That for which millions prayed and sighed,
That for which tens of thousands fought,
For which so many freely died,
God cannot let it come to naught.
A GREAT KINGDOM IN THE CONGO
WILLIAM HENRY SHEPPARD
I had studied the new dialect of the Bakuba and had made every
preparation for our expedition into the "Forbidden Land" of King
Lukenga. I had met their people, a far interior tribe, and was
interested in their apparent superiority in physique, manners, dress and
dialect. I asked to be allowed to accompany them to their country and
king, but they said it was impossible, their king would never allow a
foreigner to come into the interior. Nevertheless I determined to seek
them out and after some weeks had elapsed, I called our station natives
together and laid plainly before them the perils of the journey. I told
them, from the information which I had, that the trails which had been
made by elephant, buffalo, antelope and Bakuba natives were many and
they led over long, hot, sandy plains through deep dark forests, across
streams without bridges, and through swamps infested with wild animals
and poisonous serpents. And above all, the king had sent word throughout
the land that we could not enter his country. Not a man's muscle moved,
and there was not a dissenting voice.
I had picked up the Bakuba dialect from some of the king's traders and
tax collectors who journeyed our way. I received from them much
information of the general direction leading north toward the capital,
the names of large towns on the way, of the market towns, the
approximate distances apart, the streams to be crossed, and their names;
of the leopard, buffalo and elephant zones, and the names of some of the
chiefs of the market towns, etc.
Two days later, when all was in readiness, tents loaded, cooking
utensils, a bag of money (cowrie shells), some salt, etc., we left
Luebo, led by the Master's hand.
The trail lay northeast by north with a gradual ascent. The country was
well wooded and watered. No stones could be seen anywhere, and the soil
was sandy. There were many extensive plains with magnificent palm trees,
hundreds and thousands of them ranging from a foot high, which the
elephants fed upon, to those fifty and sixty feet high. The forest
everywhere was ever green. Trees blossomed and bloomed, sending out upon
the gentle breeze their fragrance, so acceptable to the traveler.
Festoons of moss and running vines made the forest look like a
beautifully painted theatre or an enormous swinging garden.
In the meantime word had come to the king of Lukenga of our presence
and, as we neared his kingdom, we were met by a party of fighting men.
My caravan had been resting in the village of a chief named Kueta, who
had repeatedly urged me to turn back, and, as the righting men of King
Lukenga appeared, the chief's men fled to the forest. I sat quietly,
however, in my seat in front of my tent and my people began to gather
around my chair, the youngest of the caravan nestling on his knees very
close to me. The king's people drew near and the leading man, spear in
hand, called to Chief Kueta in a voice that rang through the village:
"Now hear the words of King Lukenga: Because you have entertained a
foreigner in your village, we have come to take you to the capital for
trial."
I knew things were now serious, so rising from my seat I called to the
head man to meet me half way. He paid no attention. I called a second
time and walked up to him and began to plead for Chief Kueta.
"I understand you are sent by your king to arrest these people."
"It is the word of the king," said he.
I continued, "The chief of this village is not guilty; he gave me
warning and told me to go away, to return the way I had come, and I did
not. It is my fault and not Kueta's."
The leader, leaning on his spear, replied,
"You speak our language?"
"I do," was my quick answer.
"That is strange," said he.
The leader and his men moved off some distance and talked between
themselves. In a little while he came back to me saying, "I will return
to the capital and report these things to the king."
I said to him, "Tell your king I am not a bad man; I do not steal or
kill; I have a message for him. Wait a moment," said I. Taking from one
of my boxes a very large cowrie shell, near the size of one's fist, and
holding it up, I said, "This we call the father of cowries; present it
to the king as a token of friendship."
The men were soon off for the capital and we settled down, hoping and
praying for the best. Kueta told me that the head man was King Lukenga's
son and his name was N'Toinzide.
N'Toinzide stood more than six feet, of bronze color, blind in one eye,
determined set lips, and seemed a man fearless of any foe--man or beast.
The villagers told me many things of the king's son, both good and bad.
After some days the messengers reached the capital and reported to King
Lukenga. "We saw the foreigner; he speaks our language, he knows all the
trails of the country."
The king was astonished and called a council and laid the matter before
them. They deliberated over the affair and finally told the king that
they knew who I was.
"The foreigner who is at Bixibing," said they, "who has come these long
trails and who speaks our language is a Makuba, one of the early
settlers who died, and whose spirit went to a foreign country and now he
has returned."
The messengers hastened to return and accompany me to the capital.
We had been longing and praying for days for the best. With the king's
special envoy were many more men who had come through mere curiosity, as
was their custom.
N'Toinzide stood in the center of the town and called with his loud
voice saying who I was and giving briefly my history.
The villagers were indeed happy. They flocked around as the king's son
drew near and extended their hands to me.
I arose from my chair and made these remarks: "I have heard distinctly
all that you have said, but I am not a Makuba; I have never been here
before."
N'Toinzide insisted that they were right, and said that his father, the
king, wanted me to come on at once to the capital. The people were
mighty happy, Kueta, our host, the townspeople, and my people, too.
Their appetites came back, and so did mine.
With a hasty good-bye, "Gala hola," to Kueta, we were off.
On the last morning our trail grew larger, the country more open, and
the ascent greater, until we stood upon an extensive plain and had a
beautiful view in every direction of all the land as far as we could
see.
We could see in the distance thousands and thousands of banana and palm
trees and our escort of Bakuba cried out, "Muxenge! muxenge!" (meaning
capital! capital!). Just before entering the great town we were halted
at a small guard post consisting of a few houses and some men who were
the king's watchmen. They told me that on each of the four entrances to
the capital these sentries were stationed. A man was dispatched to
notify the king that we were near. In a short while the people came out
of the town to meet and greet us, hundreds of them, and many little
children, too. Some of my caravan were frightened and would run away,
but I told them that the oncoming crowd meant no harm.
N'Toinzide, the king's son, with spear in hand, took the lead and the
interested and excited crowd after getting a peep at me fell in behind.
We marched down a broad, clean street, lined on both sides by interested
spectators jostling, gesticulating, talking aloud and laughing. The
young boys and girls struck up a song which sounded to me like a band of
sweet music and we all kept step to it. N'Toinzide called a halt at a
house which I presume was 15 x 25 feet in size. You could enter the
doors front and back almost without stooping. The house was made like
all the others of bamboo and had two rooms. There were a number of clay
pots of various sizes for cooking and six large gourds for water. My
caravan was comfortably housed. I did not put up my tent, but took my
seat in a reclining chair under a large palm tree in front of my door.
The crowd was immense, but we had them sit down on the ground so we
could get a breath of air.
In the afternoon the king sent greetings, and fourteen goats, six sheep,
a number of chickens, corn, pumpkins, large dried fish, bushels of
peanuts, bunches of bananas and plantains and a calabash of palm oil and
other food.
The prime minister, N'Dola, who brought the greetings, mentioned that
the king would see me next day; also that the king's servants would take
out of the village all goats and chickens which I did not want for
immediate use.
For, said N'Dola, no sheep, goats, hogs, dogs, ducks or chickens are
allowed in the king's town.
In the evening we started our song service and I delivered to them our
King's message. The crowd was great. The order was good. I went to rest
with the burden of these people upon my heart, and thanking God that He
had led, protected and brought us through close places safely to the
"Forbidden Land."
Early in the morning we heard the blast of ivory horns calling the
attention of the people to put on their best robes and be in readiness
for the big parade. I saw there was great activity in the town, men and
women hurrying to and fro. Soon two stalwart Bakuba, with their red
kilts on and feathers in their hats appeared before my house and
announced their readiness to accompany me before King Lukenga.
They noticed an old brass button tied by a string around the neck of one
of my men. Very politely they removed it, saying, "Only the king can
wear brass or copper."
I was dressed in what had once been white linen. Coat, trousers, white
canvas shoes and pith helmet. The officials on either side took me by
the arm; we walked a block up the broad street, turned to the right and
walked three blocks till we came to the big town square. Thousands of
the villagers had already taken their position and were seated on the
green grass. King Lukenga, his high officials and about 300 of his wives
occupied the eastern section of the square. The players of stringed
instruments and drummers were in the center, and as we appeared a great
shout went up from the people. The king's servants ran and spread
leopard skins along the ground leading to his majesty. I approached with
some timidity. The king arose from his throne of ivory, stretched forth
his hand and greeted me with these words, "Wyni" (You have come). I
bowed low, clapped my hands in front of me, and answered, "Ndini, Nyimi"
(I have come, king).
As the drums beat and the harps played the king's sons entered the
square and danced one after the other single handed, brandishing their
big knives in the air. The king's great chair, or throne, was made of
carved tusks of ivory, and his feet rested upon lion skins. I judged him
to have been a little more than six feet high and with his crown, which
was made of eagle feathers, he towered over all. The king's dress
consisted of a red loin cloth, draped neatly about his waist in many
folds. He wore a broad belt decorated with cowrie shells and beads. His
armlets and anklets were made of polished cowrie shells reaching quite
above the wrists and ankles. These decorations were beautifully white.
His feet were painted with powdered canwood, resembling morocco boots.
The king weighed about 200 pounds. He wore a pleasant smile. He looked
to be eighty years old, but he was as active as a middle-aged man.
* * * * *
As the sun was setting in the west the king stood up, made a slight bow
to his people and to me. His slaves were ready with his cowrie-studded
hammock to take him to his place, for his feet must never touch the
ground. His hammock was like the body of a buggy carried on two long
poles upon the shoulders of many men. Through the shouts of the people I
was accompanied back to my resting place. It was the most brilliant
affair I had seen in Africa, but my! I was so glad when it was all over.
The town was laid off east and west. The broad streets ran at right
angles, and there were blocks just as in any town. Those in a block were
always related in some way. Around each house is a court and a high
fence made of heavy matting of palm leaves, and around each block there
is also a high fence, so you enter these homes by the many gates. Each
block has a chief called Mbambi, and he is responsible to King Lukenga
for his block. When the king will deliver a message to the whole village
or part of it, these chiefs are sent for and during the early evenings
they ring their iron hand bells and call out in a loud voice the message
in five minutes. The king desired of his own heart to give me peanuts
for my people. I heard the messengers delivering the word and the next
morning we had more peanuts than we could manage.
There was not a visible light anywhere in the whole town. "A chunk or
two" is always kept smouldering in the center of the house on the clay
floor. The housewife is always careful to have a handful of split dry
bamboo near, and when anyone is stung by a scorpion or snake (which
often happens) they start up a blaze and hunt for the intruder and
medicine.
When there is neither moon nor stars it is truly a land of awful
darkness, and is made more dismal by the yelping of the jackal on the
plain. The moon shines more brightly and beautifully than on Lukenga's
plain. And the beauty is enhanced by the thousands of majestic palms,
and the singing of birds with voices like the mocking bird and the
nightingale. I have sat in front of my house moonlight nights until 12
and 1 o'clock.
Every morning the "courts" and streets were swept. Men who had committed
some offense were compelled to pull weeds and sweep the streets clean.
There is a rule in all Bakuba villages that every man every day sweep
before his own door. The only littered places I observed were at the
four public entrances of the town where markets were held daily at 6
A.M., 12 noon and 5 P.M.--sugar cane, pulp, banana and plantain
peelings, and peanut shells.
When the king's drum taps the signal about 9 P.M. at the conclusion of
the sleep song there is not a sound again in the whole village.
All the natives we have met in the Kasal are, on the whole, honest. Our
private dwellings have never been locked day or night. Your pocketbook
is a sack of cowries or salt tied at the mouth with a string. But now
and then something happens. N'susa, one of the boys of my caravan,
misappropriated some cowries. I called him (in the presence of two
witnesses) in question about the matter. He acknowledged removing the
shells and innocently remarked, "You are the same as my father, and what
is his is mine."
From the great Lukenga plateau as far as the eye can look you see
villages dotted everywhere. You never find a family living alone
isolated from the village. The people live together for mutual
protection from enemies and animals. And usually everybody in a village
is related in some near or distant way; but it does not keep them from
fighting occasionally.
The Bakuba are monogamists. A young man sees a girl whom he likes; he
has met her in his own town or at some other, or perhaps at a market
place or a dance. He sends her tokens of love, bananas, plantains,
peanuts, dried fish or grasshoppers. She in turn sends him similar
presents.
They often meet, sit down on the green, laugh and talk together. I have
seen the girls often blush and really put on airs. He asks her to have
him, if she has no one else on her heart, and tells her that he wants no
one to eat the crop that is in the field but her. The girl and the
parents both agree.
On a set day when the market is in full blast, with hundreds of people
from everywhere, the young man and girl, with their young friends, all
dressed in their best robes, meet and march Indian file through the open
market and receive congratulations from everybody.
The new bride and groom continue their march to the already prepared
house of the young man. A feast of goat, sheep, monkey, chicken or fish,
with plenty of palm wine is served and all is ended with a big dance.
The women of the king's household select their own husbands, and no man
dare decline; and no man would ever be so rude or presumptuous as to ask
for the hand and heart of royalty.
The husband knows that he must cut down the forest and assist in
planting corn, millet, beans, pease, sweet potatoes and tobacco, hunt
for game, bring the palm wine, palm nuts, make his wife's garments and
repair the house. He is never to be out after 8 o'clock at night unless
sitting up at a wake or taking part in a public town dance.
The young man before marriage sends a certain number of well-woven mats
and so many thousands of cowries to the parents of the girl as a dowry.
If they cease to love and must part, even twenty rainy seasons from
marriage, the dowry or its equivalent is returned to the man.
The wife is expected to shave and anoint the husband's body with palm
oil, keep his toenails and fingernails manicured, bring water and wood,
help in the field, cook his food, and take care of the children.
I have had many a man come and ask to buy love medicine. They think
charms and medicine can do anything. I always told them, of course, that
it was a matter of the girl's heart, and charms or medicine could not
help out in their "love affairs."
The Bakuba are morally a splendid people. I have asked a number of
Bakuba what was their real ideal of life, and they invariably answered
to have a big corn field, marry a good wife, and have many children.
We were astounded when we saw the first new-born baby. It was so very
light. But in a few weeks the youngster rallied to his colors and we
were assured that he would never change again.
No baby is born in the regularly occupied house. A small house is built
in the back yard and is surrounded by a fence of palm fronds. No one is
admitted into the enclosure but a few women. The new youngster receives
a bath of palm oil, then the notice is given and all the friends of the
family with jugs of cold water vie with each other in giving mother and
baby a shower bath. The drums beat and the dance in water and mud
continues for hours.
Until you get accustomed to it you would be horrified to see the mothers
stuff their young babies. The mother nurses the baby just as any mother,
but she doesn't think that sufficient. So she has by her side a small
pot of soft corn pone and a pot of water or palm oil. She makes a large
pill from the pone, dips it in the water or oil, and while the baby is
lying on his back in her lap these pills are dropped in its mouth. Then
the mother uses the forefinger to force the collection of pills down its
throat. As the baby resists and kicks, water is poured down its throat
to facilitate the process. If the baby strangles, the mother will shake
him up and down a few times. When the feeding is over, he certainly
looks "stuffed."
The Bakuba children have many games and but few toys. The girls have
wooden dolls made by their fathers, and the boys make from bamboo bows
and arrows. They shoot mice, lizards, grasshoppers, crickets,
caterpillars, butterflies, lightning bugs, etc.
They make mud pies and play market, and tie the legs of May and June
bugs to see them fly around and buzz. They love to play housekeeping.
They are also trained to do some work, as bringing wood, sweeping or
looking after the younger ones. There are no knives, forks or dishes to
wash.
"Baby talk" is not used and the parents speak to the babies just as
though they were speaking to grown-ups.
I have seen the children in the streets drawing with a pointed stick or
their finger on the smooth sand, men, leopards, monkeys, crocodiles,
birds, snakes and other animals.
The boys make a heap of clay and sod it, and with great speed run upon
it and turn a somersault, lighting on their feet. A string of them
together will play "leap frog," and hide-and-seek is great sport with
them. In all these amusements they keep up a song.
There is one thing you will certainly see them doing, both boys and
girls, and that is beating their clenched fists into the hard clay just
as hard as they can drive. A year later you will see them driving their
knuckles against a log or a tree. In this way they become hardened and
are used as a weapon in fights when they are grown. And, too, they can
butt like a goat, so in their family fights they not only use their
fists but their heads.
I spent hours at King Lukenga's and other villages playing with the
little folks and trying to find out what they were thinking about. They
had a name for the sun and moon, names for very brilliant and prominent
stars and ordinary ones. The sun was the father of the heavens, the moon
was his wife, and the stars were their children. The sun after going
down was paddled around in a very large canoe on the great water by men
who were more than human and started in the skies again. They knew that
a year was divided into two general seasons, the rainy (eight moons),
the dry (four moons); though even in the rainy season it doesn't rain
every day and very seldom all day at any time; and in the dry season
there is an occasional refreshing shower.
They knew the names of all the lakes, rivers and small streams. Roots
that were good for medicine or to eat they knew. Flowers and ferns were
called by name. The names of all the many varieties of trees, birds and
animals they knew.
I was surprised to know from Maxamalinge, the king's son, that every
month the king had all the little children of the town before him and he
in turn would talk to them, as a great and good father to his own
children.
The king would have his servants give to each boy and girl a handful of
peanuts. When they were out of the king's quarters there was many a
scrap over these peanuts.
I grew very fond of Bakuba and it was reciprocated. They were the finest
looking race I had seen in Africa, dignified, graceful, courageous,
honest, with an open, smiling countenance and really hospitable. Their
knowledge of weaving, embroidering, wood carving and smelting was the
highest in equatorial Africa.
PILLARS OF THE STATE
WILLIAM C. JASON
Young people are the life-blood of the nation, the pillars of the state.
The future of the world is wrapped up in the lives of its youth. As
these unfold, the pages of history will tell the story of deeds noble
and base. Characters resplendent with jewels and ornaments of virtue
will be held up for the admiration of the world and the emulation of
generations not yet born. Others, thoughtlessly or wilfully ignoring the
plain path of duty, dwarfed, blighted, rejected of God and man, will be
the sign-posts marking the road to ruin.
OATH OF AFRO-AMERICAN YOUTH
KELLY MILLER
I will never bring disgrace upon my race by any unworthy deed or
dishonorable act. I will live a clean, decent, manly life; and will ever
respect and defend the virtue and honor of womanhood; I will uphold and
obey the just laws of my country and of the community in which I live,
and will encourage others to do likewise; I will not allow prejudice,
injustice, insult or outrage to cower my spirit or sour my soul; but
will ever preserve the inner freedom of heart and conscience; I will not
allow myself to be overcome of evil, but will strive to overcome evil
with good; I will endeavor to develop and exert the best powers within
me for my own personal improvement, and will strive unceasingly to
quicken the sense of racial duty and responsibility; I will in all these
ways aim to uplift my race so that, to everyone bound to it by ties of
blood, it shall become a bond of ennoblement and not a byword of
reproach.
THE END
NOTES
BIRD, AUGUSTA--Born in Tennessee. On the clerical force of the National
Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Contributor to the
Brownies Book.
BOND, SCOTT--Born in slavery in Mississippi. Now a wealthy farmer in
Madison, Arkansas.
BRAITHWAITE, WILLIAM BEAUMONT STANLEY (1878-)--Author and critic; born
in Boston. Editor of "Anthology of Magazine Verse," published annually,
"The Book of Georgian Verse," "The Book of Restoration Verse,"
contributor of literary criticisms to the Boston Transcript and
magazines.
BRAWLEY, BENJAMIN GRIFFITH (1882-)--Born at Columbia, S.C. A.B., Atlanta
Baptist College, 1901; A.B., University of Chicago, 1906; A.M., Harvard,
1908. Member American Historical Association, American Geographical
Society; author, "Negro in Literature and Art," "Short History of
American Negro" and booklets of verse. Dean of Morehouse College,
Atlanta, Ga.
BROWN, WILLIAM WELLS (1816-?)--Born in slavery in Kentucky. Escaped in
youth to the North. Prominent lecturer in America and England. Author of
"The Black Man," "Clotelle," "The Negro in the Rebellion," "The Rising
Sun," etc.
BURLEIGH, ALSTON W., son of H. T. Burleigh, the well-known composer of
music.
CHESNUTT, CHARLES W. (1858-)--Born in Cleveland, Ohio. Admitted to the
Ohio Bar, 1887. One of the foremost American novelists. Author of "The
House behind the Cedars," "The Wife of his Youth," "The Marrow of
Tradition," etc. Contributor to the Atlantic Monthly and Century
Magazine.
COPPIN, LEVI J. (1848-)--Born at Frederickstown, Md. Bishop of African
Methodist Episcopal Church. In South Africa 1900-1904. Author of
"Observations of Persons and Things in South Africa" and a number of
religious books. D. D., Wilberforce University, 1889. Ordained to
ministry, 1877.
COTTER, JOSEPH S. (1861-).--Educator, author of "Negro Tales," etc.
COTTER, JOSEPH S., JR. (1897-1920)--A youth of great promise who wrote
on a sick bed. Author of "The Band of Gideon," "The White Folks'
Nigger," "Out of the Shadows."
CROGMAN, WILLIAM H. (1841-)--Born on St. Martin Island, West Indies,
A.B., A.M., Atlanta University, 1876, 1879; Litt. D., LL.D., Clark
University, 1901. For many years associated with Clark University,
Atlanta, Ga., as president and professor. Member of the American
Philosophical Association.
CROMWELL, JAMES W. (1846-)--Born Portsmouth, Va. LL.B., Harvard 1874;
hon. A.M. Wilberforce University, 1914. Admitted to Bar, District of
Columbia, 1874. First colored lawyer to appear before Interstate
Commerce Commission. Principal Crummell School, Washington, D.C.;
Secretary, American Negro Academy. Author of "The Negro in American
History," etc.
DOUGLASS, FREDERICK (1817-1895)--Escaped from Maryland as a slave when a
young man. Lectured on abolition in England and America. A noble orator,
a clear thinker, and an untiring advocate of the rights of man.
Published an autobiography in many editions.
DU BOIS, W. E. BURGHARDT (1868-)--Born in Great Barrington, Mass. A.B.,
Fisk University; A.B. and Ph.D., Harvard. Scholar; editor of "The
Crisis"; author of "The Suppression of the Slave Trade," "The Souls of
Black Folk," "Darkwater," etc.
DUNBAR, PAUL LAURENCE (1872-1906)--Born in Dayton, Ohio. Poet; author of
"Oak and Ivy," "Majors and Minors," "Lyrics of Lowly Life," "The
Uncalled," "The Sport of the Gods," etc. Dunbar stands in the forefront
among American poets.
EDWARDS, WILLIAM J.--A Tuskegee graduate who founded the Snow Hill
School, one of most important industrial schools of the country. Author
of "Twenty-Five Years in the Black Belt," etc.
ELLIS, GEORGE W. (1875-1920)--Lawyer and author. While serving on the
American Legation to Liberia, he studied the languages and customs of
the tribes of West Africa, and wrote his books on this subject.
FAUSET, JESSIE R.--A. B., Cornell, A.M., Pennsylvania. Associate editor
of "The Crisis" and the "Brownies' Book." Author of short stories and
verses.
FISHER, RUTH ANNA--A. B., Oberlin College. Has engaged in teaching and
social service work.
FLIPPER, HENRY OSSIAN--Served as lieutenant in American Army. Student
and translator of Spanish.
FLOYD, SILAS X. (1869--)--A.B., A.M., Atlanta University, 1891, 1894;
D.D. Morris Brown College, 1903. Principal of a school in Augusta, Ga.
Author of "Floyd's Flowers," etc. Member, American Association Political
and Social Science and American Historical Association.
GRIMKE, ANGELINA--Teacher in the public schools of Washington, D.C.;
author of "Rachel," etc.
HACKLEY, AZALIA--Musician, pupil of Jean de Reszke. Very successful
teacher and conductor of choruses.
HENSON, MATTHEW A.--Began life as a cabin boy. Twenty-three years
Peary's companion. He was with him at the North Pole. Thoroughly
acquainted with life customs and languages of the Eskimos.
HOLTZCLAW, WILLIAM H.--A Tuskegee graduate who founded the Utica Normal
and Industrial Institute in Mississippi; author of "The Black Man's
Burden," etc.
JAMIESON, R. C. (1888-1918)--Born, Winchester, Tenn. Educated at Fisk
University. Author, contributor to "The Crisis."
JOHNSON, JAMES WELDON--Poet and diplomat. At one time American Consul at
Puerto Cabello, Venezuela and Nicaragua. Author of "Fifty Years and
Other Poems," "An Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man." Field Secretary
of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.
JONES, E. S.--Author of "The Sylvan Cabin and Other Poems."
MILLER, KELLY (1863--)--Born at Winnsboro, S.C. A.M., LL.D., Howard
University, 1901, 1903. Dean, College of Arts and Sciences, Howard
University. Lecturer on race problem. Member Academy Political and
Social Science, American Social Science Association, American
Association for the Advancement of Science. Author "Race Adjustment,"
"Out of the House of Bondage"; wrote chapter on "Education of the Negro"
in report of U.S. Bureau of Education, 1901. Contributor to magazines
and newspapers.
PENDELTON, LEILA A.--Teacher in Washington Public Schools for many
years. Author of "A Narrative of the Negro," "An Alphabet for Negro
Children," etc.
PICKENS, WILLIAM (1881-)--Born in Anderson Co., S.C. A.B., Talledaga
College, 1902; A.B., Yale, 1904; A.M., Fisk, 1908. Won the Ten Eyck
prize for oratory, Yale, 1913. Educator and lecturer. Formerly Dean of
Morgan College, Baltimore. Associate Field Secretary for the National
Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Author of "The New
Negro," "The Spirit of Freedom," etc.
SCOTT, EMMETT J. (1873-)--Born at Houston, Texas. Wiley University,
1905. Secretary of Howard University. Appointed a member of American
Commission to Liberia, 1919, by President Taft. Assistant to Secretary
of War, 1914-18. Author, "The American Negro in the World War," etc.
SHEPARD, JAMES E. (1875-)--Born, Lehigh, N.C. Author, lecturer, founder
of Religious Training School at Durham, N.C. Has traveled in Europe,
Africa and Asia.
SHEPPARD, WILLIAM HENRY (1865-)--Born at Waynesboro, Va. Sent by
Southern Presbyterian church as missionary to Africa, 1890. Exposed to
the Congo atrocities. Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society.
SIMMONS, WILLIAM J. (1849-?)--Born in Charleston, S.C. Boyhood of severe
poverty. AB., Howard University, 1873. Educator, editor, minister,
author "His Men of Mark" which contains biographies of 177 colored men.
STAFFORD, O. O.--Principal of Lincoln Public School, Washington, D.C.
Author of "Animal Fables."
WASHINGTON, BOOKER T. (1858-1915)--Born in slavery. Graduated at Hampton
Institute. Founded Tuskegee Institute. One of the foremost educators
America has produced. Author of "Up from Slavery," "Working with the
Hands," etc.
WHEATLEY, PHYLLIS (1753-1784)--Brought to Boston as a slave in her
childhood. Kindly treated and educated; became one of America's well
known poets of the early period.
WHITE, WALTER, F.--Graduate of Atlanta University. Assistant Secretary
of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.
WITTEN, LILLIAN B.--Graduate Smith College. Teacher in the St. Louis
High School.
* * * * *
[Transcriber's Notes:
The transcriber made these changes to the text to correct obvious
errors:
1. p. 63 H CORDELIA RAY --> H. CORDELIA RAY
2. p. 76 Tousaint --> Toussaint
3. p. 143 correspondingly --> correspondingly:
4. p. 197 Greegee --> Greegree
5. p. 206 on all sorts --> of all sorts
End of Transcriber's Notes]
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Upward Path, by Various
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UPWARD PATH ***
***** This file should be named 31456-8.txt or 31456-8.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/4/5/31456/
Produced by David Edwards, Richard J. Shiffer and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.
Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.
*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
https://gutenberg.org/license).
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that
- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is
owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments
must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License. You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.
- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
of receipt of the work.
- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
[email protected]. Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at https://pglaf.org
For additional contact information:
Dr. Gregory B. Newby
Chief Executive and Director
[email protected]
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit https://pglaf.org
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
https://www.gutenberg.org
This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
