Читать книгу The American Missionary. Volume 44, No. 02, February, 1890 - Various - Страница 3

By Secretary A.F. Beard.

The "sleeper" had been transformed into a parlor car, which was used that day chiefly by the colored porter and myself. The "paper-boy" came through and offered me a New York Illustrated Weekly, adorned on the first page with the portrait of Jefferson Davis, for whom the South was then mourning with great abundance of white and black cotton cloth.

After I had declined with thanks to invest in this picture, I turned to the colored porter who was travelling in the white man's car in apparent "social equality" and casually remarked, "Your people should feel very grateful to Jefferson Davis for what he did for you. You ought to have that picture." With a surprise that he could not conceal, he intimated that he did not understand me. He "didn't care for it," and "didn't know what Jeff Davis had done for his people."

Time being at some discount, I undertook to tell him that "Jefferson Davis did more than any other person to take the South out of the Union. He was chief among the secessionists. Then, as President, he made so many mistakes, he did more than any other man to prevent the success of the Confederacy. He did more to bring about the freedom of the slave than any other man. Since the emancipation of your race came on as a consequence of secession, why should you not be grateful to Jefferson Davis and cherish his memory?"

The black man by this time had gathered himself up for his reply to my Q.E.D. Not knowing what my sympathies might be, he replied in a slow and careful way, "Well, sir, I can't see it as you do. The way it looks to me is this, you know. In these days there are a good many people who don't believe in God—not much—but I reckon it was God who set my people free. You see, he didn't want that condition of things any longer. It was God who did it, sir, that's what I think, and I don't believe it was Jeff Davis. That's my view."

I did not argue the question further. When one gets down solid upon the decrees, then I stop. But as the car rolled along with the speed usual on Southern railways, I pondered the text, "The wrath of man shall praise Him, and the remainder thereof shall he restrain."

He was a colored porter, and I may have transgressed the laws of "social equality" in asking him aught other than to make up the berth, and to call me early. With the judgment resting upon Geo. W. Cable—who is never to be forgotten or forgiven because he had conference with some colored people in Nashville, and did not insult them—one should be very careful of his social equality. Nevertheless, I ventured to talk with this colored porter. I asked him what he knew about his race, and what he thought of his people and their prospects.

He said, "I was raised in North Carolina, never had much chance myself, had only a country school to go to—kept by a colored man—not very good teacher—pretty good—better than none. But there's good many good schools now, and good many smart colored people by this time, sir. There's a good many risin' all the time. Old Fred. Douglass is a right smart man, you know; but then he sort o' left his race when he married a white woman. We don't think so much of him as a leader as we used to."

The car rolled on. It was two hours late at my station. The bus man who stood in the stage door and collected the fares was conversational. He was unaware that by my ride and conversation in the car, I had forfeited my "social equality" with him. Hence he did not ostracise me; but smiling, said, "Train very late to-day, sir." "Isn't it usually as late as this?" I asked. "Invariably, sir, except when it's later."