The Freedmen’s Bureau
Federal authorities had a terrific problem to deal with in four millions of slaves suddenly let loose. Military commanders found themselves between the devil and the deep sea.
Varied instructions were given to bring order out of chaos. “Freedmen that will use any disrespectful language to their former masters will be severely punished,” is part of a ukase issued by Captain Nunan, at Milledgeville, in fervent if distracted effort for the general weal. By action if not by order, some others settled the matter this way: “Former masters that will use any disrespectful language to their former slaves will be severely punished”; as witness the case where a venerable lady, bearing in her own and that of her husband two of the proudest names in her State, was marched through the streets to answer before a military tribunal the charge of having used offensive language to her cook.
With hordes of negroes pilfering and pillaging, new rulers had an elephant on their hands. No vagrant laws enacted by Southern Legislatures in 1865-6 surpassed in severity many of the early military mandates with penalties for infraction. The strongest argument in palliation of the reconstruction acts is found in these laws which were construed into an attempt to re-enslave the negro. The South had no vagrant class before the war and was provided with no laws to meet conditions of vagrancy which followed emancipation with overwhelming force.
Comparing these laws with New England’s, we find that in many respects the former were modelled on the latter, from which the words “ball and chain,” “master and mistress” and the apprentice system, which Mr. Blaine declared so heinous, might well have been borrowed, though New England never faced so grave a vagrancy problem as that which confronted the South.
Negroes flocked to cities, thick as blackbirds. Federal commanders issued orders: “Keep negroes from the cities.” “The Government is feeding too many idlers.” “Make them stay on the plantations.” “Impress upon them the necessity of making a crop, or famine is imminent throughout the South.” “Do not let the young and able-bodied desert their children, sick, and aged.” As well call to order the wild things of the woods! In various places something like the old “patter-roller” system of slavery was adopted by the Federals, wandering negroes being required to show passes from employers, saying why they were abroad.
General Schofield’s Code for the Government of Freedmen in North Carolina (May, 1865) says: “Former masters are constituted guardians of minors in the absence of parents or other near relatives capable of supporting them.” The Radicals made great capital out of a similar provision in Southern vagrancy laws.
Accounts of confusion worse confounded wrung this from the “New York Times” (May 17, 1865): “The horse-stealing, lemonade and cake-vending phase of freedom is destined to brief existence. The negro misunderstands the motives which made the most laborious, hard-working people on the face of the globe clamour for his emancipation. You are free, Sambo, but you must work. Be virtuous, too, O Dinah! ‘Whew! Gor Almighty! bress my soul!’”
The “Chicago Times” (July 7, 1865) gives a Western view: “There is chance in this country for philanthropy, a good opening for abolitionists. It is to relieve twenty-eight millions of whites held in cruel bondage by four million blacks, a bondage which retards our growth, distracts our thoughts, absorbs our efforts, drives us to war, ruptures our government, disturbs our tranquillity, and threatens direfully our future. There never was such a race of slaves as we; there never was another people ground so completely in the dust as this nation. Our negro masters crack their whips over our legislators and our religion.”
The Freedmen’s Bureau was created March 3, 1865, for the care and supervision of negroes in Federal lines. Branches were rapidly established throughout the South and invested with almost unlimited powers in matters concerning freedmen. An agency’s efficiency depended upon the agent’s personality. If he were discreet and self-respecting, its influence was wholesome; if he were the reverse, it was a curse. If he were inclined to peculate, the agency gave opportunity; if he were cruel—well, negroes who were hung up by the thumbs, or well annointed with molasses and tied out where flies could find them had opinions.
I recall two stories which show how wide a divergence there might be between the operations of two stations. A planter went to the agent in his vicinity and said: “Captain, I don’t know what to do with the darkeys on my place. They will not work, and are committing depredations on myself and neighbours.” The agent went out and addressed the negroes: “Men, what makes you think you can live without work? The Government is not going to support any people in idleness on account of their complexions. I shall not issue food to another of you. I have charged this planterto bring before me any case of stealing. If you stay on this plantation, you are to work for the owner.”
In a week, the planter reported that they still refused to labour or to leave; property was disappearing, wanton damage was being done; but it was impossible to spot thieves and vandals. The agent, a man of war, went up in a hurry, and his language made the air blue! “If I come again,” was his parting salutation, “I’ll bring my cannon, and if you don’t hoe, plow, or do whatever is required, I’ll blow you all to pieces!” They went to work.
A gentleman of Fauquier tells me: “When I got home from prison, July, 1865, I found good feelings existing between whites and their former slaves; everything was going on as before the war except that negroes were free and received wages. After a while there came down a Bureau Agent who declared all contracts null and void and that no negro should work for a white except under contract written and approved by him. This demoralised the negroes and engendered distrust of whites.”
“If a large planter was making contracts,” I heard Mr. Martin, of the Tennessee Legislature, relate, “the agent would intermeddle. I had to make all mine in the presence of one. These agents had to be bribed to do a white man justice. A negro would not readily get into trouble with a gentleman of means and position when he would make short work of shooting a poor white. Yet the former had owned slaves and the latter had not.”
Planters, making contracts, might have to journey from remote points (sometimes a distance of fifty miles over bad roads), wherever a Bureau was located, whites and blacks suffering expense, and loss of time. Both had to fee the agent. A contract binding on thewhite was not binding on the negro, who was irresponsible. If the Bureau wrought much mischief, it also wrought good, for there were some whites ready to take advantage of the negro’s ignorance in driving hard bargains with him; sorrowfully be it said, if able to tip the agent, they would usually be able to drive the hard bargain.
After examination for the Government into Bureau operations, Generals Fullerton and Steedman reported, May, 1866: “Negroes regard the Bureau as an indication that people of the North look upon the whites here as their natural enemies, which is calculated to excite suspicion and bad feeling. Only the worthless and idle ask interference, the industrious do not apply. The effect produced by a certain class of agents, is bitterness and antagonism between whites and freedmen, a growing prejudice on the part of planters to the Government and expectations on the part of freedmen that can never be realised. Where there has been no such interference or bad advice given, there is a growing feeling of kindness between races and good order and harmony prevail.” They condemned the “arbitrary, unnecessary and offensive interference by the agents with the relations of the Southern planters and their freedmen.”
General Grant had reported (Dec. 18, 1865) to President Johnson, after a Southern tour: “The belief widely spread among freedmen that the lands of former owners will, at least in part, be divided among them, has come through agents of this Bureau. This belief is seriously interfering with the willingness of the freedmen to make contracts.”
Whether agents originated or simply winked at the red, white and blue stick enterprise, I am unable to say. Into a neighborhood would come strangers from the North, seeking private interviews with negroes possessinga little cash or having access to somebody else’s cash; to these would be shown, with pledges of secrecy, packages of red, white and blue sticks, four to each package. “Get up before light on such a date, plant a stick at the four corners of any piece of land not over a mile square, and the land is yours. Be wary, or the rebels will get ahead of you.”
Packages were five dollars each. One gentleman found a set for which he had lent part of the purchase money planted on his land. If a negro had not the whole sum, the seller would “trust” him for the balance till he “should come into possession of the land.”
Generals Fullerton and Steedman advised discontinuance of the Bureau in Virginia; and some similar recommendation must have accompanied the report for Florida and the Carolinas which contained such revelations as this about the Trent River Settlement, where 4,000 blacks lived in “deplorable condition” under the superintendency of Rev. Mr. Fitz, formerly U. S. A. Chaplain. “Four intelligent Northern ladies,” teaching school in the Settlement, witnessed the harsh treatment of negroes by Mr. Fitz, such as suspension by the thumbs for hours; imprisonment of children for playing on the Sabbath; making negroes pay for huts; taxing them; turning them out on the streets. Interesting statements were given in regard to the “planting officials” who impressed negroes to work lands under such overseers as few Southern masters (outside of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”) would have permitted to drive negroes they owned, the officials reaping profits.
The Bureau had ways of making whites know their place. One could gather a book of stories like this, told me recently by an aged lady, whose name I can give to any one entitled to ask: “Captain B., of the Freedmen’s Bureau, was a very hard man. He took upfarms around and put negroes on them. We had a large place; he held that over a year and everything was destroyed. Saturdays, Captain B. would send many negroes out there—and it was pandemonium! My husband was in prison. My father was eighty; he would not complain, but I would. We went to the Bureau repeatedly about the outrages. Captain B. was obsequious, offered father wine; but he did not stop the outrages. Once he asked: ‘Have you not had any remuneration for your place?’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘and we are not asking it. We only beg you to make the negroes you send out there behave decently.’ He said he would do anything for us, but did nothing; at last, I went direct to General Stoneman, and he helped us.”
Not long after Generals Grant’s, Fullerton’s, and Steedman’s reports, Congress enlarged the powers of the Bureau. Coincident with this, the negro became a voter, the Bureau a political machine, the agent a candidate. The Bureau had been active in securing negro enfranchisement. It was natural that ambitious agents should send hair-raising stories North of the Southerner’s guile, cruelty and injustice, and touching ones of the negro’s heavenly-mindedness in general and of his fitness to be an elector and law-maker in particular; all proving the propriety and necessity of his possession of the ballot for self-protection and defense.
In signal instances, the Bureau became the negro’s protector in crime, as when its officials demanded at one time of Governor Throckmorton, of Texas, pardon and release of two hundred and twenty-seven negroes from the penitentiary, some of whom had been confined for burglary, arson, rape, murder.
The Bureau did not in the end escape condemnation from those for whom it was created, and who, on acquisition of the ballot, became its “spoiled darlings.”“De ossifers eat up all de niggers’ rations, steal all dey money, w’ar all dey Sunday clo’se,” said Hodges, of Princess Anne, in Virginia’s Black and Tan Convention. The failure of the Freedmen’s Savings Bank was a scandal costing pain and humiliation to all honest Northerners connected with the institution, and many a negro his little hoard and his disposition to accumulate.
It is not fair to overlook benefits conferred by the Bureau because it failed to perform the one great and fine task it might have accomplished, as the freedman’s first monitor, in teaching him that freedom enlarges responsibility and brings no exemption from toil. If much harm, great good was also done in distribution of Government rations, in which whites sometimes received share with blacks. In numbers of places, both races found the agent a sturdy friend and wise counsellor.[17]
No one who knows General O. O. Howard, who was Commissioner, can, I think, doubt the sincerity and purity of purpose which animated him and scores of his subordinates. From the start, the Bureau must have been a difficult organization to handle; once the negro entered into count as a possible or actual political factor, the combined wisdom of Solomon and Moses could not have made its administration a success nor fulfilled the Government’s benign intention in creating it.
PRISONER OF FORTRESS MONROE
The Prisoner of Fortress Monroe
An extract from a letter by Mrs. Robert E. Lee to Miss Mason, from Derwent, September 10, 1865, may interest my readers: “I have just received, dear Miss Em, a long letter from Mrs. Davis in reply to one of mine. She was in Augusta, Ga.; says she is confined to that State. She has sent her children to kindred in Canada. Says she knows nothing whatever of her husband, except what she has seen in the papers. Says any letter sent her under care of Mr. Schley will reach her safely. She writes very sadly, as she well may, for I know of no one so much to be pitied.... She represents a most uncomfortable state of affairs in Augusta. No one, white or black, can be out after ten o’clock at night without a pass.... We must wait God’s time to raise us up again. That will be the best time.” In a later letter, Mrs. Lee said: “I cannot help feeling uneasy about Mr. Davis. May God protect him, and grant him deliverance!”
The whole South was anxious about Mr. Davis. Those who had come in close touch with him felt a peculiar sympathy for him inspired by a side of his character not generally recognized, as his manner often conveyed an impression of coldness and sternness. Under his reserve, was an almost feminine tenderness revealed in many stories his close friends tell. Thus: One night, Judge Minor, to see the President on business of state, sat with him in the room of the “White House” where the telegraph wire came in at the window(now, Alabama Room in the Confederate Museum), when in stumbles little Joe, in night-gown, saying: “Papa, I want to say my prayers.” The President, caressing his child, despatched a message, answered Judge Minor’s immediate question, and saying, “Excuse me a moment,” led his little one’s devotions. He was of wide reading and wonderful memory, yet was ignorant of “Mother Goose” until he heard his children babbling the jingles. Mrs. Davis brought “Babes in the Wood” to his notice. He suffered from insomnia after visits to the hospitals; his wife would try to read him to sleep. One night she picked up the “Babes” as the one thing at hand, and was astonished to find the poem unknown to him; at the children’s desertion he rose, exclaiming: “Was there no one to help those poor tender babies? The thought is agonizing!” A part of his childhood was spent in a Kentucky monastery, where the good monks did not bethink themselves to teach him nursery rhymes.
There was the story of the soldier’s widow, to answer whose call the President left his breakfast unfinished. Mrs. Davis found him trying to comfort and to induce her to partake of a tray of delicacies sent in by his order. She was trying to find her husband’s body, and feared that as he was a poor private due aid might not be given her; she had been certain that she would receive scant attention from the Chief Magistrate. But he was telling her that the country’s strength and protection lay in her private soldier. “My father, Madam, was a private in the Revolution, and I am more proud of what he did for his country than if he had been an officer expecting the world’s praise. Tell your sorrows to my wife. She will take you in her carriage wherever you wish to go, and aid you all she can.”
Dr. Craven, Mr. Davis’ Federal physician at Fortress Monroe, testifies in his book to his patient’s unusual depth and quickness of sympathy: “Despite a certain exterior cynicism of manner, no patient ever crossed my path who, suffering so much himself, appeared to feel so warmly and tenderly for others.” In Confederate hospitals, he had not limited pity to wearers of the gray. A “White House” guest told me of his robbing his scant table more than once for a sick Federal who had served with him in Mexico. Another laughingly remarked: “I don’t see how he managed to rob his table of a delicacy. When I sat down to it, it had none to spare. Yet certainly he might have kept a bountiful board, for Government stores were accessible to Government officials, and the President might have had first choice in purchasing blockade goods. But the simplicity of our White House regime was an object-lesson. I recall seeing Mr. Davis in home-spun, home-made clothes at State receptions. That required very positive patriotism if one could do better! ‘Do look at Mr. Davis!’ Mrs. Davis whispered, ‘Hewillwear those clothes, and they look lop-sided!’ Their deficiencies were more noticeable because he was so polished and elegant.”
One of the faithful shows me in her scrap-book a dispatch, of May 25, 1865, in the “Philadelphia Inquirer”: “Jeff does not pine in solitude. An officer and two soldiers remain continually in the cell with him.” And then points to these words from the pen of Hugh McCulloch, Mr. Davis’ visitor from Washington: “He had the bearing of a brave and high-born gentleman, who, knowing he would have been highly honoured if the Southern States had achieved their independence, would not and could not demean himself as a criminal because they had not.” She tells how menwho had served under Mr. Davis in Mexico were among his guards at Fortress Monroe and showed him respect and kindness; and how almost everybody there grew to like him, he was so kind and courteous, and to the common soldier as to the strapped and starred officer.
Our ladies sent articles for his comfort to Mr. Davis, but knew not if he received them. Dr. Minnegerode’s efforts to see him were for a weary while without success. It seemed that his pastor, at least, might have had this privilege without question, especially such as Dr. Minnegerode, a man of signal peace and piety who had carried the consolations of religion and such comforts as he could collect in an almost famine-stricken city to Federals in prison. His first endeavour, a letter of request to President Johnson, met no response. Finally, appeal was made through Rev. Dr. Hall, Mr. Stanton’s pastor; to the committee of ladies waiting on him, Dr. Hall said he did not wish to read the petition, wished to have nothing to do with the matter; they besought, he read, and secured privilege of intercourse between pastor and prisoner.
For months, Mr. Davis was not allowed to correspond with his wife; was allowed no book but the Bible; June 8, 1865, Stanton reproved General Miles for permitting the prison chaplain to visit him. He was unprepared for his pastor’s coming, when Dr. Minnegerode, conducted by General Miles, entered his cell. In a sermon in St. Paul’s after Mr. Davis’ death, Dr. Minnegerode described this meeting. Mr. Davis had been removed (on medical insistence) from the casemate, and was “in an end room on the second floor of Carroll Hall, with a passage and windows on each side of the room, and an anteroom in front, separated by an open grated door—a sentinel on each passage and before the grated door of the anteroom; six eyes alwaysupon him, day and night.” With these eyes looking on, the long-parted friends, the pastor and the prisoner, met.
A VIEW OF FORTRESS MONROE
Showing section of casemates overlooking the moat. In a casemate of this fort Mr. Davis was confined.
Photographed in 1890
When the question of Holy Communion was broached, Mr. Davis hesitated. “He was a pure and pious man, and felt the need and value of the means of grace. But could he take the Sacrament in the proper spirit—in a forgiving mind? He was too upright and conscientious to eat and drink unworthily—that is, not at peace with God and man, as far as in him lay.” In the afternoon, General Miles took the pastor to the prisoner again. Mr. Davis was ready to pray, “Father, forgive them!” “Then came the Communion. It was night. The fortress was so still that you could hear a pin fall. General Miles, with his back to us, leaned against the fire-place in the anteroom, his head on his hands—not moving; sentinels stood like statues.”
Of Mr. Davis’ treatment, Dr. Minnegerode said: “The officers were polite and sympathetic; the common soldiers—not one adopted the practice of high dignitaries who spoke sneeringly of him as ‘Jeff.’ Not one but spoke of him in a subdued and kindly tone as ‘Mr. Davis.’ I went whenever I could,” he adds, “to see my friend, and precious were the hours spent with that lowly, patient, God-fearing soul. It was in these private interviews that I learned to appreciate his noble, Christian character—‘pure in heart,’ unselfish, without guile, and loyal unto death to his conscience and convictions.” The prisoner’s health failed fast. Officers thought it would be wise and humane to allow him more liberty; they knew that he not only had no desire to escape, but could not be induced to do so. He was begging for trial. The pastor, encouraged by Dr. Hall, called on Mr. Stanton. He had hoped to find the man of iron softened by sorrow; Mr. Stanton had lost ason; his remaining child was on his knees. His greeting was like ice—a bow and nothing more. The pastor expressed thanks for permit to visit the prisoner, and respectfully broaching the subject of Mr. Davis’ health, suggested that, as he neither would nor could escape, he be allowed the liberty of the fort. Mr. Stanton broke his silence: “It makes no difference what the state of Jeff Davis’ health is. His trial will come on, no doubt. Time enough till that settles it.” “It settled it in my leaving the presence of that man,” said the pastor. “I realise,” Dr. Craven protested, “the painful responsibilities of my position. If Mr. Davis were to die in prison, without trial, subject to such indignities as have been visited upon his attenuated frame, the world would form unjust conclusions, but conclusions with enough colour to pass them into history.” Arguments breathing similar appreciation of the situation began to appear in the Northern press, while men of prominence, advocating the application of the great principles of justice and humanity to his case, called for his release or trial; such lawyers as William B. Reed, of Philadelphia, and Charles O’Conor, of New York, tendered him free services. Strong friends were gathering around his wife. The Northern heart was waking. General Grant was one of those who used his influence to mitigate the severity of Mr. Davis’ imprisonment.
Again and again Mrs. Davis had implored permission to go to him. “I will take any parole—do anything, if you will only let me see him! For the love of God and His merciful Son, do not refuse me!” was her cry to the War Department, January, 1866. No reply. Then, this telegram to Andrew Johnson from Montreal, April 25, 1866: “I hear my husband’s health is failing rapidly. Can I come to see him?Can you refuse me? Varina Davis.” Stanton acquiesced in Johnson’s consent. And the husband and wife were reunited.
Official reports to Washington, changing their tone, referred to him as “State Prisoner Davis” instead of merely “Jeff Davis.” The “National Republican,” a Government organ, declared: “Something ought in justice to be done about his case. By every principle of justice as guaranteed by the Constitution, he ought to be released or brought to trial.” It would have simplified matters had he asked pardon of the National Government. But this he never did, though friends, grieving over his sufferings, urged him. He did not hold that the South had committed treason or that he, in being her Chief Magistrate, was Arch-Traitor. Questions of difference between the States had been tried in the court of arms; the South had lost, had accepted conditions of defeat, would abide by them; that was all there was to it. Northern men were coming to see the question in the same light.
Through indignities visited upon him who had been our Chief Magistrate was the South most deeply aggrieved and humiliated; through the action of Horace Greeley and other Northern men coming to his rescue was the first real balm of healing laid upon the wound that gaped between the sections. That wound would have healed quickly, had not the most profound humiliation of all, the negro ballot and white disfranchisement, been forced upon us.
Among relics in the Confederate Museum is a mask which Mr. Davis wore at Fortress Monroe. His wife sent it to him when she heard that the everlasting light in his eyes and the everlasting eyes of guards upon him were robbing him of sleep and threatening his eyesight and his reason. Over a mantel is Jefferson Davis’ bondin a frame; under his name are those of his sureties, Horace Greeley’s leading the signatures of Cornelius Vanderbilt, Gerrit Smith, Benjamin Wood, and Augustus Schell, all of New York; A. Welsh and D. K. Jackson, of Philadelphia; and Southern sureties, W. H. McFarland, Richard Barton Haxall, Isaac Davenport, Abraham Warwick, Gustavus A. Myers, W. Crump, James Lyons, John A. Meredith, W. H. Lyons, John Minor Botts, Thomas W. Boswell, James Thomas. Thousands of Southerners would have rejoiced to sign that bond; but it must be pleasing now to visitors of both sections to see Northern and Southern names upon it. The mask and the bond tell the story.
RECONSTRUCTION ORATORY
Reconstruction Oratory
Northern visitors, drawn to Richmond in the Spring of 1867, to the Davis trial, came upon the heels of a riot if not squarely into the midst of one. Friday, May 10, began with a mass-meeting at one of the old Chimborazo buildings, where negroes of both sexes, various ages, and in all kinds of rags and raiment, congregated. Nothing could exceed the cheerfulness with which their initiation fees and monthly dues were received by the white Treasurer of the National Political Aid Society, while their names were called by the white Secretary—the one officer a carpet-bagger, the other a scalawag. Initiation fee was a quarter, monthly dues a dime; the Treasurer’s table was piled with a hillock of small change. The Secretary added 400 names to a roll of 2,000.
A negro leader, asked by a Northern reporter, “What’s this money to be used for?” replied: “We gwi sen’ speakers all ’roun’ de country, boss; gwi open de eyes er de cullud folks, an’ show ’em how dee gotter vote. Some niggers out in de country don’ know whe’er dee free er not—hoein’ an’ plowin’ fuh white folks jes lak dee always been doin’. An’ dee gwi vote lak white folks tell ’em ef dar ain’ suppin’ did. De country’s gwi go tuh obstruction ef us whar knows don’ molighten dem whar don’ know. Dat huccum you sees what you does see.” When collection had been taken up, a young carpet-bagger led in speech-making:
“Dear friends: I rejoice to find myself in this noblecompany of patriots. I see before me men and women who are bulwarks of the nation; ready to give their money, to work, to die, if need be, for freedom. Freedom, my friends, is another name for the great Republican Party. (“Hise yo’ mouf tellin’ dat truf!” “Dat’s so!” “Halleluia!” “Glory be tuh Gawd!”) The Republican Party gave you freedom and will preserve it inviolate! (Applause; whispers: “What dat he spoken ’bout?” “Sho use big words!” “Dat man got sense. He know what he talkin’ ’bout ef we don’t!”) That party was unknown in this grand old State until a few months ago. It has been rotten-egged!—(“Now ain’t dat a shame!”) although its speakers have only advocated the teachings of the Holy Bible. (“Glory Halleluia!” “Glory to de Lamb!” “Jesus, my Marster!”) The Republican Party is your friend that has led you out of the Wilderness into the Promised Land!” Glories and halleluias reached climax in which two sisters were carried out shouting. “Disshere gitten’ too much lak er ’ligious meetin’ tuh suit me,” a sinner observed.
“You do not need for me to tell you never to vote for one of these white traitors and rebels who held you as slaves. (“Dat we ain’t!” “We’ll see ’em in h— fust!”) We have fought for you on the field of battle. Now you must organize and fight for yourselves. (“We gwi do it, too! Dat we is! We gwi fight!”) We have given you freedom. We intend to give you property. We, the Republican Party, propose to confiscate the land of these white rebels and traitors and give it to you, to whom it justly belongs—forty acres and a mule and $100 to every one of you! (The Chairman exhausted himself seeking to subdue enthusiasm.) The Republican Party cannot do this unless you give it your support. All that it asks is your voteand your influence. If the white men of the South carry the elections, they will put you back into slavery.”
A scalawag delivered the gem of the occasion: “Ladies and gentlemen: I am happy to embrace this privilege of speaking to you. I desire to address first and very especially a few words to these ladies, for they wield an influence of which they are little aware. Whether poor or rich, however humble they may be, women exert a powerful influence over the hearts of men. I have been gratified to see you bringing your mites to the cause of truth. Emulate, my fair friends, the example of your ancestors who came over in the Mayflower, emulate your ancestors, the patriotic women of ’76. Give your whole hearts, and all your influence to this noble work. And in benefits that will come to you, you shall be repaid an hundred-fold for every quarter and dime you here deposit!” The meeting closed with race-hatred stirred up to white heat in black breasts.
Later in the day, Richmond firemen were entertaining visiting Delaware firemen with water-throwing. A policeman requested a negro, standing within reserved space, to move; Sambo would not budge; the officer pushed him back; Sambo struck the officer; there was a hubbub. A white bystander was struck, and struck back; a barber on the corner jerked up his pole and ran, waving it and yelling: “Come on, freedmen! Now’s de time to save yo’ nation!” Negroes of all sizes, sexes and ages, some half-clad, many drunk, poured into the street; brickbats flew; the officer was knocked down, his prisoner liberated. Screams of “Dem p’licemens shan’t ’res’ nobody, dat dee shan’t!” “Time done come fuh us tuh stan’ up fuh our rights!” were heard on all sides. The police, under orders not to fire, tried to disperse or hold them at bay, exercisingmarvellous patience when blacks shook fists in their faces, saying: “I dar you tuh shoot! I jes dar you tuh shoot!”
Mayor Mayo addressed the crowd: “I command you in the name of the Commonwealth to go to your homes, every one, white and black; I give you my word every case shall be looked into and justice done.” They moved a square, muttering: “Give us our rights, now—de cullud man’s rights!” An ambulance rumbled up. Negroes broke into cheers. In it sat General Schofield, Federal Commandant, and General Brown, of the Freedmen’s Bureau. “Speech! speech!” they called. “I want you to go to your homes and remain there,” said General Schofield. They made no motion to obey, but called for a speech. “I did not come here to make a speech. I command you to disperse.” They did not budge. The war lord was not there to trifle. In double-quick time, Company H of the Twenty-Ninth was on the ground and sent the crowd about its business. That night six companies were marched in from Camp Grant and disposed about the city at Mayor Mayo’s discretion.
High carnival in the Old African Church wound up the day. An educated coloured man from Boston presided, and Carpet-Bagger-Philanthropist Hayward (who, having had the cold shoulder turned on him in Massachusetts, had come to Virginia) held forth: “The papers have made conspicuous my remarks that the negro is better than the white man. Why, I had no idea anybody was so stupid as to doubt it. When I contemplate such a noble race, and look upon you as you appear to me tonight, I could wish my own face were black!” “Ne’m min’, boss!” sang out a sympathetic auditor, “Yo’ heart’s black! Dat’s good enough!” The speaker was nonplussed for a second.
“When I go to Massachusetts, shall I tell the people there that you are determined to ride in the same cars on which white men and women ride?” “Yes! Yes!” “Shall I tell them you intend to go in and take your seats in any church where the Gospel is preached?” “Yes! Yes! Dat we is!” “Shall I tell them you intend to occupy any boxes in the theatre you pay your money for?” “You sho kin, boss!” “Yes, yes!” “Shall I tell them you intend to enjoy,in whatever manner you see fit, any rights and privileges which the citizens of Massachusetts enjoy?” “Dat you kin!” “Tell ’em we gwi have our rights!”
“If you cannot get them for yourselves, the young men of the Bay State will come down and help you. We have made you free. We will give you what you want.” The coloured gentleman from Boston had to employ all his parliamentary skill before applause could be subdued for the speaker to continue. “You are brave. I am astonished at evidences of your bravery. To any who might be reckless, I give warning. You would not endanger the life of the illustrious Underwood, would you?” (Judge Underwood, boss of the black ring, was in town to try Mr. Davis.) “Dat we wouldn’!” “Well, then, as soon as he leaves, you may have a high carnival in whatever way you please. It is not for me to advise you what to do, for great masses do generally what they have a mind to.”
Wrought up to frenzy, the negroes fairly shook the house; the chairman made sincere efforts to bring the meeting to order. The young white Secretary of the National Political Aid Society arose and said: “Mr. Speaker, you may tell the people of Massachusetts that the coloured people of Richmond are determined to go into any bar-room, theatre, hotel, or car they wish to enter.” “Yes, you tell ’em dat! We will! We will!”
Next morning, our war lord brought Hayward up in short order. The meeting had come to his notice through Cowardin’s report in the “Dispatch.” The hearing was rich, a cluster of bright newspaper men being present, among them the “New York Herald” reporter, who endorsed Mr. Cowardin’s account, and declared Hayward’s speech inflammatory. It developed that negroes had been petitioning to Washington for General Schofield’s removal, a compliment paid all his predecessors.
The idle and excitable negroes must not be accepted as fully representative of their race. Those not heard from were the worthy ones, remaining at the houses of their white employers or in their own homes, and performing faithfully their regular duties. They were in the minority, but I believe the race would prefer now that these humble toilers should be considered representative rather than the other class. Lending neither aid nor encouragement to insurrectionary methods, they yet dared not openly oppose the incendiary spirit which, had it been carried far enough, might have swept them, too, off their feet as their kindred became involved. Negroes stick together and conceal each other’s defections; this does not proceed altogether from race loyalty; they fear each other; dread covert acts of vengeance and being “conjured.” Mysterious afflictions overtake the “conjured” or bewitched.
THE PRISONER FREE
The Prisoner Free
On a beautiful May afternoon, two years after Mr. Davis’ capture, the “John Sylvester” swung to the wharf at Rocketts and the prisoner walked forth, smiling quietly upon the people who, on the other side of the blue cordon of sentinels, watched the gangway, crying, “It is he! it is he!” Always slender, he was shadowy now, worn and thin to emaciation. He did not carry himself like a martyr. Only his attenuation, the sharpness of his features, the care-worn, haggard appearance of the face, the hair nearly all gray, the general indications of having aged ten years in two, made any appeal for sympathy. With him were his wife, Judge Ould, and Mr. James Lyons, Dr. Cooper, Mr. Burton Harrison, and General Burton, General Miles’ successor, whose prisoner he yet was, but whose attitude was more that of friend than custodian.
A reserved and dignified city is the Capital on the James, taking joys sedately; but that day she wore her heart on her sleeve; she cheered and wept. The green hills, streets, sidewalks, were alive with people; porches, windows, balconies, roofs, were thronged; Main Street was a lane of uncovered heads as two carriages rolled swiftly towards the Spotswood, one holding Mr. Davis, General Burton, Dr. Cooper and Mr. Harrison; the other, Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Lyons, Mr. Lyons and Judge Ould; an escort of Federal cavalry bringing up the rear with clattering hoofs and clanging sabres. It was more like a victor’s home-returningthan the bringing of a prisoner to trial. Yet through popular joy there throbbed the tragic note that marks the difference between the huzzas of a conquering people for their leader, and the welcoming “God bless you!” of a people subdued.
This difference was noticeable at the Spotswood, which famous hostelry entertained many Northern guests. A double line of policemen, dividing the crowd, formed an avenue from sidewalk to ladies’ entrance. This crowd, it seems, had its hat on. Among our own people may have been some who thought it not wise in their own or the prisoner’s interests to show him too much honour. But as the emaciated, careworn man with the lofty bearing, stepped from the carriage, a voice, quiet but distinct, broke the impressive stillness: “Hats off, Virginians!” Instantly every man stood uncovered.
Monday he went to trial. The Court Room in the old Custom House was packed. In the persons of representative men, North and South were there for his vindication of the charge of high treason. Were he guilty, then were we all of the South, and should be sentenced with him.
Reporters for Northern papers were present with their Southern brethren of scratch-pad and pencil. The jury-box was a novelty to Northerners. In it sat a motley crew of negroes and whites. For portrait in part of the presiding judge, I refer to the case of McVeigh vs. Underwood, as reported in Twenty-third Grattan, decided in favour of McVeigh. When the Federal Army occupied Alexandria, John C. Underwood used his position as United States District Judge to acquire the homestead, fully furnished, of Dr. McVeigh, then in Richmond. He confiscated it to the United States, denied McVeigh a hearing, sold it,bought it in his wife’s name for $2,850 when it was worth not less than $20,000, and had her deed it to himself. The first time thereafter that Dr. McVeigh met the able jurist face to face on a street in Richmond, the good doctor, one of the most amiable of men, before he knew what he was doing, slapped the able jurist over and went about his business; whereupon, the Honourable the United States Circuit Court picked himself up and went about his, which was sitting in judgment on cases in equity. In 1873, Dr. McVeigh’s home was restored to him by law, the United States Supreme Court pronouncing Underwood’s course “a blot upon our jurisprudence and civilisation.” Underwood was in possession when he presided at the trial of Jefferson Davis.
AN HISTORICAL PETIT JURY
This is the Petit Jury impaneled to try President Jefferson Davis, being the first mixed Petit Juryever impaneled in the United States. Judge Underwood, not Chief Justice Chase, presided.
His personal appearance has been described as “repellant; his head drooping; his hair long; his eyes shifty and unpleasing, and like a basilisk’s; his clothes ill-fitting;” he “came into court, fawning, creeping, shuffling; ascended the bench in a manner awkward and ungainly; lifted his head like a turtle.” “Hear ye! hear ye! Silence is commanded while the Honourable the United States Circuit Court is in session!” calls the crier on this May morning.
General Burton, with soldierly simplicity, transfers the prisoner from the military to the civil power; Underwood embarrasses the officer and shames every lawyer present by a fatuous response abasing the bench before the bayonet. Erect, serene, undefiant, surrounded by mighty men of the Northern and Southern bar—O’Conor, Reed, Shea, Randolph Tucker, Ould—Jefferson Davis faces his judge, his own clear, fearless glance meeting squarely the “basilisk eye.”
The like of Underwood’s charge to the jury was never heard before in this land. It caused one longblush from Maine to Texas, Massachusetts to California; and resembled the Spanish War that came years after in that it gave Americans a common grievance. This poor, political bigot thought to please his Northern hearers by describing Richmond as “comely and spacious as a goodly apple on a gilded sepulchre where bloody treason flourished its whips of scorpions” and a “place where licentiousness has ruled until a majority of the births are illegitimate,” and “the pulpit prostituted by full-fed gay Lotharios.” But the thing is too loathsome to quote! Northern reporters said it was not a charge, took no cognisance of the matter before the Court, was a “vulgar, inflammatory stump speech.” The “New York Herald” pronounced it “The strangest mixture of drivel and nonsense that ever disgraced a bench,” and “without a parallel, with its foul-mouthed abuse of Richmond.” “A disgrace to the American bench,” declared the “New York World.” “He has brought shame upon the entire bench of the country, for to the people of other countries he is a representative of American judges.”
There was no trial. Motion was made and granted for a continuance of the case to November, and bail given in bond for $100,000, which Horace Greeley signed first, the crowd cheering him as he went up to write his name, which was followed by signatures of other well-known men of both sections. “The Marshal will discharge the prisoner!” a noble sentence in the judge’s mouth at last! Applause shakes the Court Room. Men surge forward; Mr. Davis is surrounded; his friends, his lawyers, his sureties, crowd about him; the North and the South are shaking hands; a love-feast is on. Human nature is at its best. The prisoner is free. When he appears on the portico the crowd grows wild with joy. Somebody wrote Norththat they heard the old “Rebel yell” once more, and that something or other unpleasant ought to be done to us because we would “holler” like that whenever we got excited.
It looks as if his carriage will never get back to the Spotswood, people press about him so, laughing, crying, congratulating, cheering. Negroes climb upon the carriage steps, shaking his hand, kissing it, shouting: “God bless Mars Davis!” No man was ever more beloved by negroes he owned or knew.
The South was unchained. The South was set free. No! That fall the first election at which negroes voted and whites—the majority disqualified by test-oath provision—did not vote, was held to send delegates to a convention presided over by John C. Underwood. This convention—the Black and Tan—made a new Constitution for the Old Dominion.
“If black men will riot, I will fear that emancipation is a failure.” So spoke the great abolitionist, Gerrit Smith, from the pulpit of the Old African Church Tuesday night after the Davis trial. “Riots in Richmond, Charleston, and New Orleans have made me sick at heart.” On the platform with him were Horace Greeley, Governor Pierpont, Colonel Lewis and Judge Underwood. His audience consisted of negroes, prominent white citizens of Richmond, Federal officers and their wives. The negroes, as ready to be swayed by good advice as bad, listened attentively to the wisest, most conservative addresses they had heard from civilians of the North, or than they were again to hear for a long time. Gerrit Smith, who was pouring out his money like water for their education, told them:
“I do not consider the white people of the South traitors. The South is not alone responsible for slavery.Northern as well as Southern ships brought negroes to this shore. When Northern States passed laws abolishing slavery in their borders, Northern people brought their negroes down here and sold them before those laws could take effect. I have been chased in the North by a pro-slavery mob—never in the South.” Referring to the South’s impoverished condition, he said he wished the Federal Government would give the section six years’ exemption from the Federal tax to make rapid rehabilitation possible. He plead for harmony between races; urged whites to encourage blacks by selling lands to them cheap; urged blacks to frugality, industry, sobriety; plead with them not to drink. “Why cannot you love the whites among whom you have been born and raised?” he asked. “We do! we do!” cried the poor darkeys who had yelled, “We will! we will!” when Hayward was inciting them to mischief.
Horace Greeley said: “I have heard in Richmond that coloured people would not buy homes or lands because they are expecting these through confiscation. Believe me, friends, you can much sooner earn a home. Confiscation is a slow, legal process. (Underwood had not found it so.) Thaddeus Stevens, the great man who leads the movement—and perhaps one of the greatest men who ever sat in Congress—is the only advocate of such a course, among all our representatives and senators. If it has not taken place in the two years since the war, we may not hope for it now. Famine, disaster, and deadly feuds would follow confiscation.” His voice, too, was raised against calling Southern whites “traitors.” “This seems to me,” he said, “to brand with the crime of treason—of felony—millions of our fellow-countrymen.”
It is to be said in reference to one part of Gerrit Smith’s advice, that Southerners were only too readyto sell their lands at any price or on any terms to whoever would buy. Had the negroes applied the industrial education which they then possessed they might have become owners of half the territory of the South. Politicians and theorists who diverted negroid energies into other channels were unconsciously serving Nature’s purpose, the preservation of the Anglo-Saxon race. Upon every measure that might thwart that purpose, Nature seems to smile serenely, turning it to reverse account.
········
A lively account of the seating of the first negro in the Congress of the United States was contained in a letter of February, 1870, from my friend, Miss Winfield, stopping in Washington. “Revels,” she wrote, “occupies the seat of Jefferson Davis. The Republicans made as much of the ceremony as possible. To me it was infinitely sad, and infinitely absurd. We run everything in the ground in America. Here, away from the South, where the tragedy of it all is not so oppressively before me and where I see only the political clap-trap of the whole African business, I am prone to lose sight of the graver side and find things simply funny.”
A lively discussion preceded the seating. Senator Wilson said something very handsome about the “Swan Song of Slavery” and God’s hand in the present state of affairs; as he was soaring above the impious Democrats, Mr. Casserly, one of the last-named sinners, bounced up and asked: “I would like to know when and where the Senator from Massachusetts obtained a commission to represent the Almighty in the Senate? I have not heard of such authorisation, and if such person has been selected for that office, it is only another illustration of the truism that the ways of Providenceare mysterious and past finding out.” Laughter put the “Swan Song” off key; Casserly said something about senators being made now, not by the voice of God and the people, but by the power of the bayonet, when somebody flung back at him, “You use the shelalah in New York!”
“But the ceremony!” Miss Winfield wrote. “Nothing has so impressed me since the ball to Prince Arthur, nor has anything so amused me unless it be the pipe-stem pantaloons our gentlemen wear in imitation of His Royal Highness. Senator Wilson conducted Revels to the Speaker’s desk with a fine air that said: ‘Massachusetts has done it all!’ Vice-President Colfax administered the oath with such unction as you never saw, then shook hands with great warmth with Revels—nobody ever before saw him greet a novitiate so cordially! But then, those others were only white men! With pomp and circumstance the sergeant-at-arms led the hero of the hour to his exalted position. ‘Some day,’ said my companion, ‘history will record this as showing how far the race-madness of a people can go under political spurs.’ Republican Senators fell over each other to shake Revels’ hand and congratulate him. Poor Mississippi! And Revels is not even a native. General Ames, of Maine, is her other senator. Poor Mississippi!”
A LITTLE PLAIN HISTORY
A Little Plain History
For clearness in what has gone before and what follows, I must write a little plain history.
Many who ought to have known Mr. Lincoln’s mind, among these General Sherman, with whom Mr. Lincoln had conversed freely, believed it his purpose to recognise existing State Governments in the South upon their compliance with certain conditions. These governments were given no option; governors calling legislatures for the purpose of expressing submission, were clapped into prison. Thus, these States were without civil State Governments, and under martial law. Some local governments and courts continued in operation subject to military power; military tribunals and Freedmen’s Bureaus were established.
Beginning May 29, 1865, with North Carolina, President Johnson reconstructed the South on the plan Mr. Lincoln had approved, appointing for each State a Provisional Governor empowered to call a convention to make a new State Constitution or remodel the old to meet new conditions. His policy was to appoint a citizen known for anti-Secession or Union sentiments, yet holding the faith and respect of his State, as Perry, of South Carolina; Sharkey, of Mississippi; Hamilton, of Texas. The conventions abolished slavery, annulled the secession ordinance, repudiated the Confederate debt, acknowledged the authority of the United States. An election was held for State officers and membersof the legislature, voters qualifying as previous to 1861, and by taking the amnesty oath of May 29. Legislatures reënacted the convention’s work of annulling secession, abolishing slavery, repudiating debt; and passed civil rights bills giving the negro status as a citizen, but without the franchise, though some leaders advised conferring it in a qualified form; they passed vagrancy laws which the North interpreted as an effort at reënslavement.
Congress met December, 1865; President Johnson announced that all but two of the Southern States had reorganised their governments under the conditions required. Their representatives were in Washington to take their seats. With bitter, angry, contemptuous words, Congress refused to seat them. April 2, 1866, President Johnson proclaimed that in the South “the laws can be sustained by proper civil authority, State and Federal; the people are well and loyally disposed;” military occupation, martial law, military tribunals and the suspension of the writ ofhabeas corpus“are in time of peace, dangerous to public liberty,” “incompatible with the rights of the citizen,” etc., “and ought not to be sanctioned or allowed; ... people who have revolted and been overcome and subdued, must either be dealt with so as to induce them voluntarily to become friends or else they must be held by the absolute military power and devastated ... which last-named policy is abhorrent to humanity and freedom.”
March 2, 1867, Congress passed an act that “Whereas, no legal State Governments exist ... in the rebel States ... said rebel States shall be divided into five military districts.” Over each a Federal General was appointed; existing local governments were subject to him; he could reverse their decisions,remove their officials and install substitutes; some commanders made radical use of power; others, wiser and kindlier, interfered with existing governments only as their position compelled. Upon the commanders Congress imposed the task of reconstructing these already once reconstructed States. Delegates to another convention to frame another Constitution were to be elected, the negroes voting. Of voters the test-oath was required, a provision practically disfranchising Southern whites and disqualifying them for office. Thaddeus Stevens, leader of the party forcing these measures, said of negro suffrage: “If it be a punishment to rebels, they deserve it.”
AUGUSTA J. EVANS WILSONOCTAVIA WALTON LE VERT
The South’s two most prominent literary women at the close of the war;one a novelist and the other a writer of translations and books of travel.
Black and Tan Conventions met in long and costly sessions. That of Mississippi sat over a month before beginning the task for which convened, having passed the time in fixing per diems, mileages, proposing a bonus for negroes dismissed by employers, imposing taxes on anything and everything to meet the expenses of the convention; and badgering General Gillem, Commander of the District. The Black and Tan Conventions framed constitutions which, with tickets for State and National officers, were submitted to popular vote, negroes, dominated by a few corrupt whites, determining elections. With these constitutions and officials, “carpet-bag rule” came into full power and States were plundered. The sins of these governments have been specified by Northern and Southern authorities in figures of dollars and cents. At first, Southern Unionists and Northern settlers joined issues with the Republican Party. Oppressive taxation, spoliation, and other evils drove all respectable citizens into coalitions opposing this party; these coalitions broke up Radical rule in the Southern States,the last conquest being in Louisiana and South Carolina in 1876. No words can present any adequate picture of the “mongrel” conventions and legislatures, but in the following chapter I try to give some idea of the absurdities of one, which may be taken as type of all.[18]
THE BLACK AND TAN CONVENTION
The Black and Tan Convention: The “Midnight Constitution”
The Black and Tan Convention met December 3, 1867, in our venerable and historic Capitol to frame a new constitution for the Old Dominion. In this body were members from New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Maine, Vermont, Connecticut, Maryland, District of Columbia, Ireland, Scotland, Nova Scotia, Canada, England; scalawags, or turn-coats, by Southerners most hated of all; twenty-four negroes; and in the total of 105, thirty-five white Virginians, from counties of excess white population, who might be considered representative of the State’s culture and intelligence. It was officered by foreigners and negroes; John C. Underwood, of New York, being President.
Capitol Square was garlanded with tables and stands; and the season was one of joy to black and yellow vendors of ginger-cakes, goobers, lemonade, and cheap whiskey. Early ornaments of the Capitol steps were ebony law-makers sporting tall silk hats, gold-headed canes, broadcloth suits, the coat always Prince Albert. Throughout the South this was the uniform of sable dignitaries as soon as emoluments permitted. The funny sayings and doings of negroes, sitting for the first time in legislative halls, were rehearsed in conversation and reported in papers; visitors went to the Capitol as to a monkey or minstrel show. Most of these darkeys, fresh from tobacco lots and corn and cotton fields, were as innocent as babes of any knowledge of reading and writing.
They were equally guileless in other directions. Before the body was organised, an enthusiastic delegate bounced up to say something, but the Chair nipped him untimely in the bud: “No motion is in order until roll is called. Gentlemen will please remember parliamentary usage.” The member sank limp into his seat, asking in awed whisper of his neighbour: “Whut in de worl’ is dat?” Perplexity was great when a member rose to “make an inquiry.” “Whut’s dat?” “Whut dat he gwi make?” was whispered round, the question being settled summarily: “Well, it don’ make no diffunce. We ain’ gwi let him do it nohow case he ain’ no Radicule.” White constituents soon tried to muzzle black orators. Word was passed that white “Radicules” would talk and black members keep silent and vote as they were bid. “Shew! She-ew!” “Set down!” “Shut the door!” were household words, the last ejaculation coming into request when scraps seemed imminent and members wanted the sergeant-at-arms to take each other, yet preferred that the public should not be witness to these little family jars.
Black, white, and yellow pages flew around, waiting on members; the blacker the dignitary, the whiter the page he summoned to bring pens, ink, paper, apples, ginger-cakes, goober-peas. And newspapers. No sooner did darkeys observe that whites sent out and got newspapers than they did likewise; and sat there reading them upside down.
The gallery of coloured men and women come to see the show were almost as diverting as the law-makers. Great were the flutterings over the seating of John Morrissey, the “Wild Irishman,” mistaken for his namesake, the New York pugilist. “Dat ain’t de man dat fit Tom Higher?” “I tell you it am!” “Sho got muscle!” “He come tuh fit dem Preservativesover dar.” According to the happy darkey knack of saying the wrong thing in the right place, a significant version of “Conservative” was thus applied to the little handful of representative white Virginians. Great, too, were the flutterings when Governor “Plowpint” (so darkeys pronounced Pierpont) paid his visit of ceremony; and when General Schofield and aide marched in in war-paint and feathers: the Chair waved the gavel and the convention rose to its feet to receive the distinguished guests. The war lord was to pay another and less welcome visit. The piety of neither gallery nor convention could be questioned if the fervor and frequency of “Amens!” interrupting the petitions of the Chaplain (from Illinois) were an indication; Dr. Bayne, of Norfolk, so raised his voice above the rest that his colleagues became concerned lest that seaport were claiming for herself more than just proportion of religious zeal.
Curiosity was on tip-toe when motion was made that a stenographer be appointed. “‘Snographer?’ What’s dat?” “Maybe it’s de pusson whut takes down de speeches befo’ dee’s spoken,” explains a wise one. The riddle was partly solved when a spruce, foreign individual of white complexion rose and walked to the desk, vacated in his favour by a gentleman of colour. “Dar he! dat’s him!” “War’s good close, anyhow!” was pronounced of the new official; then the retired claimed sympathy: “Whut he done?” “Whut dee tu’n him out fuh?” “Ain’t dee gwi give niggers nothin’?” “Muzzling” was not yet begun; this occasion for eloquence was not to be ignored by the Honourable Lewis Lindsay, representing Richmond: “Mistah Presidet, I hopes in dis late hour dat Ole Fuhginny am imperilated, dat no free-thinkin’ man kin suppose fuh one minute dat we ’sires tuh misrippersint de ideedat we ain’ qualify de sability uh de sternogphy uh dis convention. I hopes, suh, dat we kin den be able tuh superhen’ de principles uh de supposition.”
Lindsay would always rise to an occasion if his coat-tails were not pulled too hard. Fortunately, his matchless oration on the mixed school question was not among gems lost to the world: “Mistah Presidet, de real flatform, suh. I’ll sw’ar tuh high Heaven. Yes, I’ll sw’ar higher dan dat. I’ll go down an’ de uth shall crumble intuh dus’ befo’ dee shall amalgamise my rights. ’Bout dis question uh cyarpet-bags. Ef you cyarpet-baggers does go back on us, woes be unto you! You better take yo’ cyarpet-bags an’ quit, an’ de quicker you git up an’ git de better. I do not abdicate de supperstition tuh dese strange frien’s, lately so-called citizens uh Fuhginny. Ef dee don’ gimme my rights, I’ll suffer dis country tuh be lak Sarah. I’ll suffer desterlation fus! When I blows my horn dee’ll hear it! When de big cannons was thund’in, an’ de missions uh death was flyin’ thu de a’r, dee hollered: ‘Come, Mr. Nigguh, come!’ an’ he done come! I’se here tuh qualify my constituents. I’ll sing tuh Rome an’ tuh Englan’ an’ tuh de uttermos’ parts uh de uth—” “You must address yourself to the Chair,” said that functionary, ready to faint. “All right, suh. I’ll not ’sire tuh maintain de House any longer.”
That clause against mixed schools was a rock upon which the Radical party split, white members with children voting for separate education of races; most darkeys “didn’ want no sech claw in de law”; yet one declared he didn’t want his “chillun tuh soshate wid rebels an’ traitors nohow”; they were “as high above rebels an’ traitors ez Heaven ’bove hell!” Lindsay took occasion to wither white “Radicules” with criticism on colour distribution in the gallery. “Whar isde white Radicule members’ wives an’ chillun?” he asked, waving his hand towards the white section. “When dee comes here dee mos’ly set dar se’ves on dat side de House, whilst I brings mine on dis side,” waving towards the black, “irregardless uh how white she is!”
Hodges, of Princess Anne, was an interesting member; wore large, iron-rimmed spectacles and had a solemn, owl-like way of staring through them. One day, he gave the convention the creeps: “Dar’s a boy in dis House,” he said with awful gravity, “whar better be outen do’s. He’s done seconded a motion.” The House, following his accusing spectacles and finger, fixed its eye upon a shrivelling mulatto youth who had slipped into a member’s chair. A coloured brother took the intruder’s part. Lindsay threw himself into the breach: “Mistah Presidet, I hears de correspondence dat have passed an’ de gemmun obsarves it have been spoken.” “I seen him open his mouf an’ I seen de words come outen it!” cried Hodges. The usurper, seizing the first instant Hodges turned his head another way, fled for his life, while somebody was making motion “to bring him before the bar.”
The convention’s thorn in the side was Eustace Gibson, white member from Giles and Pulaski, who had a knack for making the convention see how ridiculous it was. Negroes were famous for rising to “pints of order”; they laughed at themselves one day when two eloquent members became entangled and fell down in a heap in the aisle and Mr. Gibson, gravely rising to a point of order, moved that it was “not parliamentary for two persons to occupy the floor at one time.” When questions of per diem arose, sable eloquence flowed like a cataract and Gibson’s wit played like lightning over the torrents. Muzzling was difficult. “MistahChurman, ef I may be allowed tuh state de perquisition—” a member would begin and get no further before a persuasive hand on his coat-tails would reduce him to silence. Dr. Bayne’s coat-tails resisted force and appeal.
“I wants $9, I does,” he said. “But den I ain’ gwi be dissatisfied wid $8.50. Cose, I kin live widout dat half a dollar ef I choose tuh. But ef I don’ choose tuh? Anybody got anything tuh say ’gins dat? Hey? Here we is sleepin’ ’way f’om home, leavin’ our wives an’ our expenses uh bode an’ washin’. Why, whut you gwi do wid de po’ delegate dat ain’ got no expenses uh bode an’ washin’? Tell me dat? Why, you fo’ce ’em tuh steal, an’ make dar constituen’s look upon ’em as po’ narrer-minded fellers.” One member murmured plaintively: “I ain’ had no money paid me sence ’lection—” “Shew! She-ew! Shew!” his coat-tails were almost jerked off. “You gwi tell suppin you ain’ got no business!” “Mr. Churman, I adject. De line whar’s his line, an’ dat’s de line I contain fuh—” “Shew! She-ew! Set down!” “What de Bible say ’bout it?” demanded a pious brother. “De Bible it say: ‘Pay de labour’ de higher.’ Who gwi ’spute de Book?” “This debate has already cost the State $400,” Mr. Gibson interposed wearily.
They finally agreed to worry along upon $8 a day—a lower per diem than was claimed, I believe, in any other State. When the per diem question bobbed up again, State funds were running low, but motion for adjournment died when it was learned that of the $100,000 in the treasury when the convention began to sit, $30,000 remained. Retrenchment was in order, however, and the “Snographer’s” head fell. He was impeached for charging $3.33 a page for spider-legs, which he was not translating into English. Mr.Gibson showed that he had been drawing $200 a day in advance for ten days; had drawn $2,000 for the month of February, yet had not submitted work for January. The convention began to negotiate a $90,000 loan on its own note to pay itself to sit longer, when our war lord came to the front and gave opinion that it had sat long enough to do what it had been called to do, and that after ten days per diems must cease. Another hurrying process was said to be at work. Reports were abroad that the Ku Klux, having reached conclusion that Richmond had been neglected, was on the way. Solid reason for adjournment was death of the per diem; but for which the convention might have been sitting yet.