Cornell University Library
PS 3519.0376A8 1912
The autobiography of an ex-colored man.

3 1924 022 491 033
olin
DATE DUE
2004
21 dans
LARS 2009
OCT 10.2006
OCT for
GAYLORD
PRINTED IN U.S.A.


-








THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
AN EX-COLORED MAN

LEGE
QUOD
LEGAS
BOSTON
SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY
1912


PREFACE
This vivid and startlingly new picture of con-
ditions brought about by the race question in the
United States makes no special plea for the Ne-
gro, but shows in a dispassionate, though sympa-
thetic, manner conditions as they actually exist
between the whites and blacks to-day. Special
pleas have already been made for and against the
Negro in hundreds of books, but in these books
either his virtues or his vices have been exag-
gerated. This is because writers, in nearly every
instance, have treated the colored American as a
whole; each has taken some one group of the race
to prove his case. Not before has a composite
and proportionate presentation of the entire race,
embracing all of its various groups and elements,
showing their relations with each other and to the
whites, been made.
It is very likely that the Negroes of the United
States have a fairly correct idea of what the white
people of the country think of them, for that
opinion has for a long time been and is still being
constantly stated; but they are themselves more
or less a sphinx to the whites. It is curiously in-
teresting and even vitally important to know what


TESSE
Ų
the motives which prompt me to do it. I feel Ski
CHAPTER I
I know that in writing the following pages I
am divulging the great secret of my life, the se-
cret which for some years I have guarded far
more carefully than any of my earthly posses-
sions; and it is a curious study to me to analyze
that I am led by the same impulse which forces
the unfound-out criminal to take somebody into
his confidence, although he knows that the act is
liable, even almost certain, to lead to his undoing.
I know that I am playing with fire, and I feel the
thrill which accompanies that most_fascinating
pastime; and, back of it all, I think I find a sortDANCER
of savage and diabolical desire to gather up all
the little tragedies of my life, and turn them into Almost
a practical joke on society.write society
And, too, I suffer a vague feeling of un- Criminal
satisfaction, of regret, of almost remorse from
which I am seeking relief, and of which I
shall speak in the last paragraph of this ac-
count.
I was born in a little town of Georgia a few
years after the close of the Civil War. I shall
not mention the name of the town, because there is
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2
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
one;
was
are people still living there who could be con-
nected with this narrative. I have only a faint
recollection of the place of my birth. At times
I can close my eyes, and call up in a dream-like
way things that seem to have happened ages ago
in some other world. I can see in this half vision
a little house, I am quite sure it was not a large
I can remember that flowers grew in the
front yard, and that around each bed of flowers
a hedge of vari-colored glass bottles stuck
in the ground neck down. I remember that once,
while playing around in the sand, I became cu-
rious to know whether or not the bottles grew
as the flowers did, and I proceeded to dig them up
to find out; the investigation brought me a ter-
rific spanking which indelibly fixed the incident in
my mind. I can remember, too, that behind the
house was a shed under which stood two or three
wooden wash-tubs. These tubs were the earliest
aversion of my life, for regularly on certain even-
ings I was plunged into one of them, and scrubbed
until my skin ached.
skin ached. I can remember to this day
the pain caused by the strong, rank soap getting
into my eyes.
Back from the house a vegetable garden ran,
perhaps, seventy-five or one hundred feet; but to
my childish fancy it was an endless territory. I
can still recall the thrill of joy, excitement and
wonder it gave me to go on an exploring expe-
dition through it, to find the blackberries, both
کرے کہ میر سے ابر -
اس کے رد پره د مور در
R
سے مر مر گیا ہے
سر -
-
of Eritre
CHIPCfers


AN EX-COLORED MAN
3
هام ل )
(
La
ripe and green, that grew along the edge of the
fence.
I remember with what pleasure I used to ar-
El
rive at, and stand before, a little enclosure in
which stood a patient cow chewing her cud, how
I would occasionally offer her through the
bars a piece of my bread and molasses, and
how I would jerk back my hand in half doi
fright if she made any motion to accept my
offer.
I have a dim recollection of several people who
moved in and about this little house, but I have
a distinct mental image of only two; one, my
mother, and the other, a tall man with a small,
dark mustache. I remember that his shoes or
boots were always shiny, and that he wore a gold 5min 2014"
chain and a great gold watch with which he was
always willing to let me play. My admiration
was almost equally divided between the watch and
chain and the shoes. He used to come to the
house evenings, perhaps two or three times a
week; and it became my appointed duty when-
ever he came to bring him a pair of slippers, and
to put the shiny shoes in a particular corner; he
often gave me in return for this service a bright
coin which my mother taught me to promptly
drop in a little tin bank. I remember distinctly
the last time this tall man came to the little house
in Georgia; that evening before I went to bed he
took me up in his arms, and squeezed me very
CF


4
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
LUTET AFTER through a ten-dollar gold piece, and then tie the
tightly; my mother stood behind his chair wiping
tears from her eyes. I remember how I sat upon
his knee, and watched him laboriously drill a hole
IS OBVIOUSLY
ist is
MONETARY
coin around my neck with a string. I have worn
that gold piece around my neck the greater part
of
my life, and still possess it, but more than once
I have wished that some other way had been found
of attaching it to me besides putting a hole
? Ithrough it.
On the day after the coin was put around my
neck my mother and I started on what seemed to
me an endless journey. I knelt on the seat and
watched through the train window the corn and
cotton fields pass swiftly by until I fell asleep.
When I fully awoke we were being driven through
the streets of a large city–Savannah. I sat up
and blinked at the bright lights. At Savannah
we boarded a steamer which finally landed us in
New York. From New York we went to a town
in Connecticut, which became the home of my boy-
hood.
My mother and I lived together in a little cot-
tage which seemed to me to be fitted up almost
luxuriously; there were horse-hair covered chairs
in the parlor, and a little square piano; there
was a stairway with red carpet on it leading to a
half second story; there were pictures on the
walls, and a few books in a glass-doored case.
My mother dressed me very neatly, and I devel-


AN EX-COLORED MAN
5
ONCE
AGAIN
ENTRAL
oped that pride which well-dressed boys gener-
ally have. She was careful about my associates,
and I myself was quite particular. As I look
back now I can see that I was a perfect little wordeu
aristocrat. My mother rarely went to anyone's
house, but she did sewing, and there were a great
many ladies coming to our cottage. If I were
around they would generally call me, and ask me
my name and age and tell my mother what a
pretty boy I was. Some of them would pat me
on the head and kiss me.
My mother was kept very busy with her sew-
ing; sometimes she would have another woman
helping her. I think she must have derived a fair
income from her work. I know, too, that at least
once each month she received a letter; I used to
watch for the postman, get the letter, and run to
her with it; whether she was busy or not she
would take it and instantly thrust it into her
bosom. I never saw her read one of them. I
knew later that these letters contained money and,
what was to her, more than money. As busy as
she generally was she, however, found time to
teach me my letters and figures and how to spell
a number of easy words. Always on Sunday
evenings she opened the little square piano, and
picked out hymns. I can recall now that when-
ever she played hymns from the book her tempos
were always decidedly largo. Sometimes on other
evenings when she was not sewing she would play


6
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
How more. No one knew but she. The memory of that pic-
simple accompaniments to some old southern songs
which she sang. In these songs she was freer,
because she played them by ear.
Those even-
ings on which she opened the little piano were
the happiest hours of my childhood. Whenever
she started toward the instrument I used to fol-
low her with all the interest and irrepressible joy
that a pampered pet dog shows when a package
is opened in which he knows there is a sweet bit
for him. I used to stand by her side, and often
interrupt and
annoy her by chiming in with
strange harmonies which I found either on the
high keys of the treble or low keys of the bass.
I remember that I had a particular fondness for
the black keys. Always on such evenings, when
the music was over, my mother would sit with me
in her arms often for a very long time. She
would hold me close, softly crooning some old
melody without words, all the while gently strok-
ing her face against my head; many and many a
night I thus fell asleep. I can see her now, her
great dark eyes looking into the fire, to where?
ture has more than once kept me from straying
too far from the place of purity and safety in
which her arms held me.
At a very early age I began to thump on the
piano alone, and it was not long before I was able
to pick out a few tunes. W en
years old I could play by ear all of the hymns
LONGS
FOR EMBRACE
Mustached
مع رله جرار
was
seven


AN EX-COLORED MAN
ry
--
リ​Aoi's
and songs that my mother knew. I had also
learned the names of the notes in both clefs, but
I preferred not to be hampered by notes. About
this time several ladies for whom my mother,
sewed heard me play, and they persuaded her
that I should at once be put under a teacher; so
arrangements were made for me to study the
piano with a lady who was a fairly good musi-
cian; at the same time arrangements were made
for me to study my books with this lady's daugh-
ter. My music teacher had no small difficulty at
first in pinning me down to the notes. If she
played my lesson over for me I invariably at-
tempted to reproduce the required sounds with-
out the slightest recourse to the written charac- Titt bituin
ters. Her daughter, my other teacher, also had to
her worries. She found that, in reading, when- & Fisani
ever I came to words that were difficult or unfa- , fiskaits
miliar I was prone to bring my imagination to
the rescue and read from the picture. She has
laughingly told me, since then, that I would some-
v
times substitute whole sentences and even para-
graphs from what meaning I thought the illus- ime Grubase i
trations, conveyed. She said she sometimes was
not only amused at the fresh treatment I would
give an author's subject, but that when I
gave
some new and sudden turn to the plot of the story
she often grew interested and even excited in lis-
tening to hear what kind of a denouement I would
bring about. But I am sure this was not due to


8
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
IMAGINATION
AGAIN
dullness, for I made rapid progress in both my
music and
my
books.
And so, for a couple of years my life was di-
vided between my music and my school books.
Music took up the greater part of my time. I
had no playmates, but amused myself with games
-some of them my own invention—which could
be played alone. I knew a few boys whom I had
met at the church which I attended with my
mother, but I had formed no close friendships with
any of them. Then, when I was nine years old,
my mother decided to enter me in the public
school, so all at once I found myself thrown among
a crowd of boys of all sizes and kinds; some of
them seemed to me like savages. I shall never
forget the bewilderment, the pain, the heart-sick-
ness of that first day at school. I seemed to be
the only stranger in the place; every other boy
seemed to know every other boy. I was fortu-
nate enough, however, to be assigned to a teacher
who knew me; my mother made her dresses. She
was one of the ladies who used to pat me on the
head and kiss me. She had the tact to address
a few words directly to me; this gave me a cer-
tain sort of standing in the class, and put me
somewhat at ease.
Within a few days I had made one staunch
friend, and was on fairly good terms with most
of the boys. I was shy of the girls, and remained
so; even now, a word or look from a pretty


STAINCH" ETC
AN EX-COLORED MAN
9
woman sets me all a-tremble. This friend I bound
to me with hooks of steel in a very simple way:
He was a big awkward boy with a face full of
freckles and a head full of very red hair. He
was perhaps fourteen years of age; that is, four
or five years older than any other boy in the class.
This seniority was due to the fact that he had
spent twice the required amount of time in sev-
eral of the preceding classes. I had not been at
school many hours before I felt that "Red Head”
-as I involuntarily called him—and I were to be
friends. I do not doubt that this feeling was
strengthened by the fact that I had been quick
enough to see that a big, strong boy was a friend more of
to be desired at a public school; and, perhaps, in A STRUICE
spite of his dullness, "Red Head” had been able 7. LATION,
to discern that I could be of service to him. At
any rate there was a simultaneous mutual attrac-
tion.
The teacher had strung the class promiscu-
ously round the walls of the room for a sort of
trial heat for places of rank; when the line was
straightened out I found that by skillful maneu-
vering I had placed myself third, and had piloted
"“Red Head” to the place next to me.
The
teacher began by giving us to spell the words
corresponding to our order in the line. “Spell
first.” “Spell second.” “Spell third.”
tled off, “t-h-i-r-d, third,” in a way which said,
“Why don't you give us something hard?” As


10
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
the words went down the line I could see how
lucky I had been to get a good place together
with an easy word. As young as I was I felt im-
pressed with the unfairness of the whole proceed-
ing when I saw the tailenders going down be-
fore "twelfth” and “twentieth," and I felt sorry
for those who had to spell such words in order
to hold a low position. “Spell fourth.” “Red
Head," with his hands clutched tightly behind
his back, began bravely, “f-o-r-t-h.” Like a flash
a score of hands went up, and the teacher began
saying, “No snapping of fingers, no snapping of
fingers." This was the first word missed, and it
seemed to me that some of the scholars were
about to lose their senses; some were dancing up
and down
foot with a hand above
their heads, the fingers working furiously,
and joy beaming all over their faces; others
stood still, their hands raised not so high,
their fingers working less rapidly, and their
faces expressing not quite so much hap-
piness; there were still others who did not move
raise their hands, but stood with great
wrinkles on their foreheads, looking very thought-
nimi
on
one
nor
ful.
The whole thing was new to me, and I did not
raise my hand, but slyly whispered the letter "u”
to "Red Head" several times. “Second chance,"
said the teacher. The hands went down and the
class became quiet. “Red Head,” his face now


AN EX-COLORED MAN
11
red, after looking beseechingly at the ceiling, then
pitiably at the floor, began very haltingly,
“f-u-.” Immediately an impulse to raise hands
went through the class, but the teacher checked
it, and poor “Red Head,” though he knew that
each letter he added only took him farther out of
the way, went doggedly on and finished, “r-t-h.”
The hand raising was now repeated with more
hubbub and excitement than at first. Those who
before had not moved a finger were now waving
their hands above their heads. “Red Head” felt
that he was lost. He looked very big and foolish,
and some of the scholars began to snicker. His
helpless condition went straight to my heart, and
gripped my sympathies. I felt that if he failed
it would in some way be my failure. I raised
my hand, and under cover of the excitement and
the teacher's attempts to regain order, I hur-
riedly shot up into his ear twice, quite distinctly,
“f-o-u-r-t-h," "f-o-u-r-t-h.” The teacher tapped
on her desk and said, “Third and last chance."
The hands came down, the silence became oppres- wic,
sive “Red Head” began, “f”— Since that day
I have waited anxiously for many a turn of the
wheel of fortune, but never under greater ten-
sion than I watched for the order in which those
letters would fall from “Red's" lips—“o-u-r-t-h.”
A sigh of relief and disappointment went upTocy
from the class. Afterwards, through all our
TANT
school days, “Red Head” shared my wit and
SCAFE GAAT


AN EX-COLORED MAN
13
of them as "niggers.” Sometimes
on
the
way
home from school a crowd would walk behind them
repeating:
"Nigger, nigger, never die,
Black face and shiny eye."
On one such afternoon one of the black boys
turned suddenly on his tormentors, and hurled a
slate; it struck one of the white boys in the mouth,
cutting a slight gash in his lip. At sight of the
blood the boy who had thrown the slate ran, and
his companions quickly followed. We ran after Jo
them pelting them with stones until they sepa-FE WORES
rated in several directions. I was very much EJEN
wrought up over the affair, and went home and
THOUGH
told my mother how one of the "niggers” had
Auritird
struck a boy with a slate. I shall never forget
how she turned on me. “Don't
Is Fitan
you ever use that
word again,” she said, “and don't you ever bother
the colored children at school. You ought to be presid's
ashamed of yourself." I did hang my head in View balansee?
shame, but not because she had convinced me ACE LA
that I had done wrong, but because I was hurt
by the first sharp word she had ever given
me.
My school days ran along very pleasantly. I
stood well in my studies, not always so well with
regard to my behavior. I was never guilty of any
serious misconduct, but my love of fun sometimes
got me into trouble. I remember, however, that


14
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
یکم فر
کرد و 77
-1
god
༣༩
my sense of humor was so sly that most of the
trouble usually fell on the head of the other fel-
low. My ability to play on the piano at school
exercises was looked upon as little short of mar-
velous in a boy of my age.
I was not chummy
with many of my mates, but, on the whole, was
about as popular as it is good for a boy to be.
One day near the end of my second term at
school the principal came into our room, and after
talking to the teacher, for some reason said, "I
wish all of the white scholars to stand for a mo-
ment." I rose with the others. The teacher
looked at me, and calling my name said, “You sit
down for the present, and rise with the others."
I did not quite understand her, and questioned,
“Ma'm?” She repeated with a softer tone in her
voice, "You sit down now, and rise with the
others.” I sat down dazed. I saw and heard
nothing. When the others were asked to rise I
did not know it. When school was dismissed I
went out in a kind of stupor. A few of the white
boys jeered me, saying, “Oh, you're a nigger too."
I heard some black children say, “We knew he was
colored.” “Shiny" said to them, “Come along,
don't tease him," and thereby won my undying
gratitude.
I hurried on as fast as I could, and had gone
some distance before I perceived that “Red Head”
was walking by my side. After a while he said
to me, “Le’ me carry your books." I gave
him


CHAPTER II
Since I have grown older I have often gone
back and tried to analyze the change that came
into my life after that fateful day in school.
There did come a radical change, and, young as
I was, I felt fully conscious of it, though I did
not fully comprehend it. Like my first spanking,
it is one of the few incidents in my life that I can
H MAINS,
remember clearly. i In the life of every one there
Very
is a limited number of unhappy experiences which
LITLE IJ are not written upon the memory, but stamped
there with a die; and in long years after they can
" MEMORIES
be called
up
in detail,
and
every
emotion that was
Thought Testirred by them can be lived through anew; these
TETAIL are the tragedies of life. We may grow to in-
NEEDED clude some of them among the trivial incidents of
For histos childhood-a broken toy, a promise made to us
which was not kept, a harsh, heart-piercing word
"ONTRAS
- but these, too, as well as the bitter experiences
TAS
and disappointments of mature years, are the
tragedies of life.
And so I have often lived through that hour,
that day, that week in which was wrought the
miracle of my transition from one world into an-
other; for I did indeed pass into another world.
18
R
in His minsi
، اور کرنے اور


AN EX-COLORED MAN
19
STRANGE How
Title is "Ex-COLORRY
Jins a (tis TEANGITEN
I ultiTE CELOKU
HOKES A
DISTINTON
From that time I looked out through other eyes,
my thoughts were colored, my words dictated, my
actions limited by one dominating, all-pervading
idea which constantly increased in force and
weight until I finally realized in it a great, tan-
gible fact.
And this is the dwarfing, warping, distorting
influence which operates upon each colored man
in the United States. He is forced to take his
outlook on all things, not from the viewpoint of
a citizen, or a man, nor even a human being, but
from the viewpoint of a colored man.
It is won-
derful to me that the race has progressed so
broadly as it has, since most of its thought and
all of its activity must run through the narrow
neck of one funnel.
And it is this, too, which makes the colored peo-
ple of this country, in reality, a mystery to the
whites. It is a difficult thing for a white man to
learn what a colored man really thinks; because,
generally, with the latter an additional and differ-
ent light must be brought to bear on what he
thinks; and his thoughts are often influenced by
considerations so delicate and subtle that it would
be impossible for him to confess or explain them
to one of the opposite race. This gives to every
colored man, in proportion to his intellectuality,
a sort of dual personality; there is one phase of
him which is disclosed only in the freemasonry of
his own race.
I have often watched with interest


20
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
و در هر و
and sometimes with amazement even ignorant col-
ored men under cover of broad grins and minstrel
antics maintain this dualism in the presence of
white men.
I believe it to be a fact that the colored people
of this country know and understand the white
people better than the white people know and un-
derstand them.
I now think that this change which came into
my life was at first more subjective than objective.
I do not think my friends at school changed so
much toward me as I did toward them. I grew
reserved, I might say suspicious. I grew con-
stantly more and more afraid of laying myself
open to some injury to my feelings or my pride.
I frequently saw or fancied some slight where, I
am sure, none was intended. On the other hand,
my friends and teachers were, if anything differ-
ent, more considerate of me; but I can remember
that it was against this very attitude in particu-
lar that my sensitiveness revolted. "Red" was
the only one who did not so wound me; up to this
day I recall with a swelling heart his clumsy ef-
forts to make me understand that nothing could
change his love for me. J
I am sure that at this time the majority of my
white schoolmates did not understand or appre-
ciate any differences between me and themselves ;
but there were a few who had evidently received in-
structions at home on the matter, and more than
DIDN'T WANT
BETETA
DIFFERENDU


AN EX-COLORED MAN
21
>
once they displayed their knowledge in word and
action. As the years passed I noticed that the
most innocent and ignorant among the others
grew in wisdom.
I, myself, would not have so clearly understood
this difference had it not been for the presence
of the other colored children at school; I had
learned what their status was, and now I learned
that theirs was mine. I had had no particular
like or dislike for these black and brown boys and
girls; in fact, with the exception of “Shiny,” they
had occupied very little of my thought, but I do
44.77
know that when the blow fell I had a very strong whommiAL:TV
aversion to being classed with them. So I be-
came something of a solitary. "Red" and I re-
mained inseparable, and there was between
“Shiny” and me a sort of sympathetic bond, but
my intercourse with the others was never entirely
free from a feeling of constraint. But I must
add thať this feeling was confined almost entirely
to my intercourse with boys and girls of about
my own age; I did not experience it with my sen-
iors. And when I grew to manhood I found my- AS
self freer with elderly white people than with
those near my own age.
Troisir
I was now about eleven years old, but these
emotions and impressions which I have just de-
scribed could not have been stronger or more dis-
tinct at an older age. There were two immediate
results of my forced loneliness; I began to find
USED TO
TREATMENT


22
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
Ons
مرد تو و می دم
company in books, and greater pleasure in music.
I made the former discovery through a big, gilt-
bound, illustrated copy of the Bible, which used
to lie in splendid neglect on the center table in
our little parlor. On top of the Bible lay a pho-
tograph album. I had often looked at the pic-
tures in the album, and one day after taking the
larger book down, and opening it on the floor, I
was overjoyed to find that it contained what
seemed to be an inexhaustible supply of pictures.
I looked at these pictures many times; in fact,
so often that I knew the story of each one with-
out having to read the subject, and then, some-
how, I picked up the thread of history on which
is strung the trials and tribulations of the He-
brew children; this I followed with feverish in-
terest and excitement. For a long time King
David, with Samson a close second, stood at the
head of my list of heroes; he was not displaced
until I came to know Robert the Bruce. I read
a good portion of the Old Testament, all that part
treating of wars and rumors of wars, and then
started in on the New. I became interested in the
life of Christ, but became impatient and disap-
pointed when I found that, notwithstanding the
great power he possessed, he did not make use of
it when, in my judgment, he most needed to do so..
And so my first general impression of the
Bible
my later impression has been
of a number of modern books, that the au-
INTERNAL
Power
STRUGGLE
was what


AN EX-COLORED MAN
23
وارد ایران مرته
cation, I think it was called “The Mirror,” a lit. Hoveorto
thors put their best work in the first part, and
grew either exhausted or careless toward the
end.
After reading the Bible, or those parts which
held my attention, I began to explore the glass-
doored book-case which I have already men-
tioned. I found
I found there "Pilgrim's Progress,
“Peter Parley's History of the United States,"
Grimm's “Household Stories,” “Tales of a Grand-
father,” a bound volume of an old English publi-
tle volume called "Familiar Science," and some-
body's “Natural Theology," which latter, of
course, I could not read, but which, nevertheless,
I tackled, with the result of gaining a permanent
dislike for all kinds of theology. There were
several other books of no particular name or
merit, such as agents sell to people who know
nothing of buying books. How my mother came
by this little library which, considering all things,
was so well suited to me, I never sought to know. * Tartu
But she was far from being an ignorant woman,
and had herself, very likely, read the majority of
these books, though I do not remember ever hav-
ing seen her with a book in her hand, with the
exception of the Episcopal Prayer-book. At any
rate she encouraged in me the habit of reading,
and when I had about exhausted those books in
the little library which interested me, she began
to buy books for me She also regularly gave
ALDET


24 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
ہے ہم ان
from stres
trore
CHANGE
TRANSITIONS
PARRAL
WWW.10.15 Very popular for boys.
ARE ALWAUS He was so skillful in his instruction, and filled me
me money to buy a weekly paper which was then
At this time I went in for music with an ear-
nestness worthy of maturer years; a change of
teachers was largely responsible for this. I be-
gan now to take lessons of the organist of the
church which I attended with my mother; he was
a good teacher and quite a thorough musician.
with such enthusiasm that my progress—these
are his words—was marvelous. I remember that
when I was barely twelve years old I appeared on
a program with a number of adults at an enter-
tainment given for some charitable purpose, and
carried off the honors. I did more, I brought
upon myself through the local newspapers the
handicapping title of “Infant prodigy."
I can believe that I did astonish my audience,
for I never played the piano like a child, that is,
in the "one-two-three" style with accelerated mo-
tion. Neither did I depend upon mere brilliancy
of technic, a trick by which children often sur-
prise their listeners, but I always tried to inter-
pret a piece of music; I always played with feel-
king. Very early I acquired that knack of using
the pedals which makes the piano a sympathetic,
singing instrument; quite a different thing from
the source of hard or blurred sounds it so gen-
erally is. I think this was due not entirely to
natural artistic temperament, but largely to the


AN EX-COLORED MAN
27
SO-
IVYO,
Į did not enjoy; later this feeling grew into pos- vós,
to have our first rehearsal. At that time play-
ing accompaniments was the only thing in music
itive dislike. I have never been a really good
accompanist because my ideas of interpretation TuS
were always too strongly individual. I constantly Lise
forced my accelerandos and rubatos upon the
loist, often throwing the duet entirely out of gear.
Perhaps the reader has already guessed why I
was so willing and anxious to play the accompani-
ment to this violin solo; if not,—the violinist was
a girl of seventeen or eighteen whom I had first
heard play a short time before on a Sunday after-
noon at a special service of some kind, and who
had moved me to a degree which now I can hardly
think of as possible. At present I do not think it
was due to her wonderful playing, though I judge
she must have been a very fair performer, but there
was just the proper setting to produce the effect
upon a boy such as I was; the half dim church,
the air of devotion on the part of the listeners,
the heaving tremor of the organ under the clear
wail of the violin, and she, her eyes almost clos- Srint who
ing, the escaping strands of her dark hair wildly Namions
framing her pale face, and her slender body sway-
ing to the tones she called forth, all combined to
fire my imagination and my heart with a passion
though boyish, yet strong and, somehow, lasting.
I have tried to describe the scene; if I have suc-
ceeded it is only half success, for words can only


28
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
partially express what I would wish to convey.
Always in recalling that Sunday afternoon I am
subconscious of a faint but distinct fragrance
which, like some old memory-awakening perfume,
rises and suffuses my whole imagination, inducing
a state of reverie so airy as to just evade the
powers of expression.
She was my first love, and I loved her as only
a boy loves. I dreamed of her, I built air castles
for her, she was the incarnation of each beautiful
heroine I knew; when I played the piano it was
to her, not even did music furnish an adequate
outlet for my passion; I bought a new note-book,
and, to sing her praises, made my first and last
attempts at poetry. I remember one day at
school, after having given in our note-books to
have some exercises corrected, the teacher called
me to her desk and said, “I couldn't correct your
exercises because I found nothing in your book
but a rhapsody on somebody's brown eyes.” I
had passed in the wrong note-book. I don't
think I have felt greater embarrassment in my
whole life than I did at that moment. I was not
only ashamed that my teacher should see this na-
kedness of my heart, but that she should find out
that I had any knowledge of such affairs. It
did not then occur to me to be ashamed of the
kind of poetry I had written.
Of course, the reader must know that all of
this adoration was in secret; next to my great


AN EX-COLORED MAN
29
INAY NG
Aur Uron
?
12
love for this young lady was the dread that in
some way she would find it out. I did not know
what some men never find out, that the woman
who cannot discern when she is loved has never
lived. It makes me laugh to think how success-
ful I was in concealing it all; within a short time
after our duet all of the friends of my dear one
were referring to me as her "little sweetheart,” or
her "little beau,” and she laughingly encouraged
it. This did not entirely satisfy me; I wanted ...!!,,
to be taken seriously. I had definitely made up Zut
my
mind that I should never love another woman, current
and that if she deceived me I should do something HER10
desperate the great difficulty was to think of AppITE API
something sufficiently desperate—and the heart-
less jade, how she led me on!
So I hurried home that afternoon, humming
snatches of the violin part of the duet, my heart
beating with pleasurable excitement over the fact
that I was going to be near her, to have her at-
tention placed directly upon me; that I was going
to be of service to her, and in a way in which I
could show myself to advantage this last consid-
eration has much to do with cheerful service. The
anticipation produced in me a sensation some-
what between bliss and fear. I rushed through
the gate, took the three steps to the house at one
bound, threw open the door, and was about to
hang my cap on its accustomed peg of the hall
rack when I noticed that that particular peg was


30
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
occupied by a black derby hat. I stopped sud-
denly, and gazed at this hat as though I had
never seen an object of its description. I was
still looking at it in open-eyed wonder when my
mother, coming out of the parlor into the hallway,
called me, and said there was someone inside who
wanted to see me. Feeling that I was being made
a party to some kind of mystery I went in with
her, and there I saw a man standing leaning with
one elbow on the mantel, his back partly turned
toward the door. As I entered he turned, and I
saw a tall, handsome, well dressed gentleman of
perhaps thirty-five; he advanced a step toward
me with a smile on his face. I stopped and
looked at him with the same feelings with which
I had looked at the derby hat, except that they
were greatly magnified. I looked at him from
head to foot, but he was an absolute blank to me
until my eyes rested on his slender, elegant, pol-
ished shoes; then it seemed that indistinct and
partly obliterated films of memory began at first
slowly then rapidly to unroll, forming a vague
panorama of my childhood days in Georgia.
My mother broke the spell by calling me by
name, and saying, “This is your father."
"Father, Father,” that was the word which
had been to me a source of doubt and perplexity
ever since the interview with my mother on the
subject. How often I had wondered about my
father, who he was, what he was like, whether


AN EX-COLORED MAN
39
my father.
tain that for that moment he was proud to be
He sat and held me standing be-
tween his knees while he talked to my mother. I,
in the meantime, examined him with more curios-
ity, perhaps, than politeness. I interrupted the
conversation by asking, "Mother, is he going to
stay with us now?” I found it impossible to
frame the word “father”; it was too new to me;
so I asked the question through my mother.
Without waiting for her to speak, my father an-
swered, "I've got to go back to New York this
afternoon, but I'm coming to see you again.” I
turned abruptly and went over to my mother,
and almost in a whisper reminded her that I had
an appointment which I should not miss; to my
pleasant surprise she said that she would give me
something to eat at once so that I might go.
She went out of the room, and I began to gather
from off the piano the music I needed. When I
had finished, my father, who had been watching
me, asked, “Are you going?” I replied, “Yes,
sir, I've got to go to practice for a concert."
He spoke some words of advice to me about being
a good boy and taking care of my mother when
I grew up, and added that he was going to send
me something nice from New York. My mother
called, and I said good-by to him, and went out.
I saw him only once after that.
I quickly swallowed down what my mother had
put on the table for me, seized my cap and mu-


34
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
sic, and hurried off to my teacher's house. On
the way I could think of nothing but this new
father, where he came from, where he had been,
why he was here, and why he would not stay.
In
my
mind I ran over the whole list of fathers
I had become acquainted with in my reading, but
I could not classify him. The thought did not
cross my mind that he was different from me, and
even if it had the mystery would not thereby
have been explained; for notwithstanding my
changed relations with most of my schoolmates,
I had only a faint knowledge of prejudice and no
idea at all how it ramified and affected the entire
social organism. I felt, however, that there was
something about the whole affair which had to be
hid.
When I arrived I found that she of the brown
eyes had been rehearsing with my teacher, and
was on the point of leaving. My teacher with
some expressions of surprise asked why I was
late, and I stammered out the first deliberate lie
of which I have any recollection. I told him
that when I reached home from school I found
my mother quite sick, and that I had stayed with
her a while before coming. Then unnecessarily
and gratuitously, to give my words force of con-
viction, I suppose, I added, "I don't think she'll
be with us very long." In speaking these words
I must have been comical; for I noticed that my
teacher, instead of showing signs of anxiety or
Lyuwaherer
مندر کے
اره مال من
DIE


AN EX-COLORED MAN
35
sorrow, half hid a smile. But how little did I
know that in that lie I was speaking a prophecy.
She of the brown eyes unpacked her violin, and
we went through the duet several times. I was
soon lost to all other thoughts in the delights of
music and love. I say delights of love without
reservation; for at no time of life is love so pure,
so delicious, so poetic, so romantic, as it is in
boyhood. A great deal has been said about the
heart of a girl when she stands "where the brook
and river meet,” but what she feels is negative;
more interesting is the heart of a boy when just
at the budding dawn of manhood he stands look-
ing wide-eyed into the long vistas opening before
him; when he first becomes conscious of the awak-
ening and quickening of strange desires and un-
known powers; when what he sees and feels is
still shadowy and mystical enough to be intangi-
ble, and, so, more beautiful; when his imagina-
tion is unsullied, and his faith new and whole
then it is that love wears a halo—the man who
has not loved before he was fourteen has missed
a fore-taste of Elysium.
When I reached home it was quite dark, and I
found my mother without a light, sitting rocking
in a chair as she so often used to do in
my
child-
hood days, looking into the fire and singing
softly to herself. I nestled close to her, and with
her arms around me she haltingly told me who my
father was,-a great man, a fine gentleman,-he


36
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
loved me and loved her very much; he was going
to make a great man of me.
All she said was
so limited by reserve and so colored by her feel-
ings that it was but half truth; and so, I did not
yet fully understand.


CHAPTER III
Perhaps I ought not pass on this narrative
without mentioning that the duet was a great
success; so great that we were obliged to respond
with two encores. It seemed to me that life
could hold no greater joy than it contained when
I took her hand and we stepped down to the
front of the stage bowing to our enthusiastic
audience. When we reached the little dress
room, where the other performers were applaud-
ing as wildly as the audience, she impulsively
threw both her arms around me, and kissed me,
while I struggled to get away.
One day a couple of weeks after my father had
been to see us, a wagon drove up to our cottage
loaded with a big box. I was about to tell the
man on the wagon that they had made a mistake,
when my mother, acting darkly wise, told them to
bring their load in; she had them to unpack
the box, and quickly there was evolved from
the boards, paper and other packing mate-
rial, a beautiful, brand new, upright piano.
Then she informed me that it was a present to me
from my father.
father. I at once sat down and ran my
fingers over the keys; the full, mellow tone of the
37


38
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
instrument was ravishing. I thought, almost re-
morsefully, of how I had left my father; but,
even so, there momentarily crossed my mind a
feeling of disappointment that the piano was not
a grand. The new instrument greatly increased
the pleasure of my hours of study and practice
at home.
Shortly after this I was made a member of the
boys' choir, it being found that I possessed a
clear, strong soprano voice. I enjoyed the sing-
ing very much. About a year later I began the
study of the pipe organ and the theory of mu-
sic; and before I finished the grammar school I
had written out several simple preludes for orgar
which won the admiration of my teacher, and
which he did me the honor to play at services.
The older I grew the more thought I gave to
the question of my and my mother's position, and
what was our exact relation to the world in gen-
eral. My idea of the whole matter was rather
hazy. My study of United States history had
been confined to those periods which were desig-
nated in my book as “Discovery,” “Colonial,"
“Revolutionary,” and “Constitutional.” I now
began to study about the Civil War, but the story
was told in such a condensed and skipping style
that I gained from it very little real information.
It is a marvel how children ever learn any his-
tory out of books of that sort. And, too, I be-
gan now to read the newspapers; I often saw ar-


AN EX-COLORED MAN
39
ticles which aroused my curiosity, but did not en-
lighten me. But, one day, I drew from the cir-
culating library a book that cleared the whole
mystery, a book that I read with the same fever-
ish intensity with which I had read the old Bible
stories, a book that gave me my first perspective
of the life I was entering; that book was “Uncle
Tom's Cabin.”
This work of Harriet Beecher Stowe has been
the object of much unfavorable criticism. It has
been assailed, not only as fiction of the most im-
aginative sort, but as being a direct misrepresen-
tation. Several successful attempts have lately
been made to displace the book from northern
school libraries. Its critics would brush it aside
with the remark that there never was, a Negro as
good as Uncle Tom, nor a slave-holder as bad as
Lagree. For my part, I was never an admirer of
Uncle Tom, nor of his type of goodness; but I
believe that there were lots of old Negroes as fool-
ishly good as he; the proof of which is that they
knowingly stayed and worked the plantations that
furnished sinews for the
army
which was fighting
to keep them enslaved. But, in these later years,
several cases have come to my personal knowledge
in which old Negroes have died and left what was
a considerable fortune to the descendants of their
former masters. I do not think it takes any great
stretch of the imagination to believe there was a
fairly large class of slave holders typified in La-


AN EX-COLORED MAN
43
were
been chosen as class orators in our leading uni-
versities, of others who have played on the 'Varsity
foot-ball and base-ball teams, of colored speakers
who have addressed great white audiences. In
each of these instances I believe the men
stirred by the same emotions which actuated
“Shiny” on the day of his graduation; and, too,
in each case where the efforts have reached any
high standard of excellence they have been fol-
lowed by the same phenomenon of enthusiasm. I'
think the explanation of the latter lies in what is
a basic, though often dormant, principle of the
Anglo-Saxon heart, love of fair play. “Shiny,"
it is true, was what is so common in his race, a
natural orator; but I doubt that any white boy
of equal talent could have wrought the same effect.
The sight of that boy gallantly waging with puny,
black arms, so unequal a battle, touched the deep
springs in the hearts of his audience, and they
were swept by a wave of sympathy and admira-
tion.
But the effect upon me of "Shiny's” speech was
double; I not only shared the enthusiasm of his
audience, but he imparted to me some of his own
enthusiasm. I felt leap within me pride that I
was colored; and I began to form wild dreams of
bringing glory and honor to the Negro race. Fx
For days I could talk of nothing else with my
mother except my ambitions to be a great man, a
great colored man, to reflect credit on the race,
î


44 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
va boy to lead. I dwelt in a world of imagination,
and gain fame for myself. It was not until years
after that I formulated a definite and feasible
plan for realizing my dreams.
I entered the high school with my class, and
still continued my study of the piano, the pipe
organ and the theory of music. I had to drop
out of the boys' choir on account of a changing
voice; this I regretted very much. As I grew
older my love for reading grew stronger. I read
with studious interest everything I could find re-
lating to colored men who had gained prominence.
My heroes had been King David, then Robert the
Bruce; now Frederick Douglass was enshrined in
Ithe place of honor. When I learned that Alex-
ander Dumas was a colored man, I re-read "Monte
Cristo” and “The Three Guardsmen” with magni-
fied pleasure. I lived between my music and
books, on the whole a rather unwholesome life for
of dreams and air castles,—the kind of atmosphere
that sometimes nourishes a genius, more often men
unfitted for the practical struggles of life. I
never played a game of ball, never went fishing or
learned to swim; in fact, the only outdoor exer-
cise in which I took any interest was skating.
Nevertheless, though slender, I grew well-formed
and in perfect health. After I entered the high
school I began to notice the change in my mother's
health, which I suppose had been going on for
some years.
She began to complain a little and


AN EX-COLORED MAN
45
to cough a great deal; she tried several remedies,
and finally went to see a doctor; but though she
was failing in health she kept her spirits up. She
still did a great deal of sewing, and in the busy
seasons hired two women to help her. The pur-
pose she had formed of having me go through
college without financial worries kept her at work
when she was not fit for it. I was so fortunate
as to be able to organize a class of eight or ten
beginners on the piano, and so start a separate
little fund of my own.
As the time for my gradu-
ation from the high school grew nearer, the plans
for my college career became the chief subject of
our talks. I sent for catalogues of all the promi-
nent schools in the East, and eagerly gathered
all the information could concerning them from
different sources. My mother told me that my
father wanted me to go to Harvard or Yale; she
herself had a half desire for me to go to Atlanta
University, and even had me write for a catalogue
of that school. There were two reasons, how-
ever, that inclined her to my father's choice: the
first, that at Harvard or Yale I should be near
her; the second, that my father had promised to
pay a part of my college education.
Both "Shiny” and “Red” came to my house
quite often of evenings, and we used to talk over
our plans and prospects for the future. Sometimes
I would play for them, and they seemed to enjoy
the music very much. My mother often prepared
Accedi
زر با ما
Itnu "Au Coentins


AN EX-COLORED MAN
47
been watching beside her for some hours, I went
into the parlor, and throwing myself into the big
arm chair dozed off into a fitful sleep. I was
suddenly aroused by one of the neighbors, who had
come in to sit with her that night. She said,
“Come to your mother at once.” I hurried up-
stairs, and at the bedroom door met the woman
who was acting as nurse.
I noted with a dissolv-
ing heart the strange look of awe on her face.
From my first glance at my mother, I discerned
the light of death upon her countenance. I fell
upon my knees beside the bed, and burying my
face in the sheets sobbed convulsively. She died
with the fingers of her left hand entwined in my
hair.
I will not rake over this, one of the two sacred
sorrows-of my life; nor could I describe the feeling
of unutterable loneliness that fell upon me. After
the funeral I went to the house of my music
teacher; he had kindly offered me the hospitality
of his home for so long as I might need it. A few
days later I moved my trunk, piano, my music and
most of my books to his home; the rest of my
books I divided between “Shiny” and “Red.”
Some of the household effects I gave to “Shiny's"
mother and to two or three of the neighbors who
had been kind to us during my mother's illness;
the others I sold. After settling up my
little estate I found that besides a good sup-
ply of clothes, a piano, some books and other


48
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
trinkets, I had about two hundred dollars in
cash.
The question of what I was to do now con-
fronted me. My teacher suggested a
tour; but both of us realized that I was too old to
be exploited as an infant prodigy and too young
and inexperienced to go before the public as a
finished artist. He, however, insisted that the
people of the town would generously patronize a
benefit concert, so took up the matter, and made
arrangements for such an entertainment. A more
than sufficient number of people with musical and
elocutionary talent volunteered their services to
make a programme. Among these was my brown-
eyed violinist. But our relations were not the
same as they were when we had played our first
duet together. A year or so after that time she
had dealt me a crushing blow by getting married.
I was partially avenged, however, by the fact that,
though she was growing more beautiful, she was
losing her ability to play the violin. .
I was down on the programme for one number.
My selection might have appeared at that par-
ticular time as a bit of affectation, but I consid-
ered it deeply appropriate; I played Beethoven's
"Sonata Pathétique.” When I sat down at the
piano, and glanced into the faces of the several
hundreds of people who were there solely on ac-
count of love or sympathy for me, emotions
swelled in my heart which enabled me to play the


AN EX-COLORED MAN
49
-“Pathétique" as I could never again play it.
When the last tone died away the few who began
to applaud were hushed by the silence of the
others; and for once I played without receiving
an encore.
The benefit yielded me a little more than two
hundred dollars, thus raising my cash capital to
about four hundred dollars. I still held to my?
determination of going to college; so it was now
a question of trying to squeeze through a year at
Harvard or going to Atlanta where the money I
had would pay my actual expenses for at least two
years. The peculiar fascination which the South
held over my imagination and
my
limited capital
decided me in favor of Atlanta University; so
about the last of September I bade farewell to the
friends and scenes of my boyhood, and boarded a
train for the South.
2


CHAPTER IV
The farther I got below Washington the more
disappointed I became in the appearance of the
country. I peered through the car windows, look-
ing in vain for the luxuriant semi-tropical scenery
which I had pictured in my mind. I did not find
the grass so green, nor the woods so beautiful, nor
the flowers so plentiful, as they were in Connecti-
cut. Instead, the red earth partly covered by
tough, scrawny grass, the muddy straggling
roads, the cottages of unpainted pine boards, and
the clay daubed huts imparted a “burnt up” im-
pression. Occasionally we ran through a little
white and green village that was like an oasis in a
desert.
When I reached Atlanta my steadily increasing
disappointment was not lessened. I found it a
big, dull, red town. This dull red color of that
part of the South I was then seeing had much, I
think, to do with the extreme depression of my
$pirits—no public squares, no fountains, dingy
street-cars and, with the exception of three or
four principal thoroughfares, unpaved streets. It
was raining when I arrived and some of these un-
paved streets were absolutely impassable. Wheels
Crvene
50


AN EX-COLORED MAN
51
sank to the hubs in red mire, and I actually stood
for an hour and watched four or five men work to
save a mule, which had stepped into a deep sink,
from drowning, or, rather, suffocating in the mud.
The Atlanta of to-day is a new city.
On the train I had talked with one of the Pull-
man car porters, a bright young fellow who was
himself a student, and told him that I was going
to Atlanta to attend school. I had also asked
him to tell me where I might stop for a day or two
until the University opened. He said I might go
with him to the place where he stopped during his
"layovers” in Atlanta. I gladly accepted his of-
fer, and went with him along one of those muddy
streets until we came to a rather rickety looking
frame house, which we entered. The proprietor
of the house was a big, fat, greasy looking brown-
skinned man.
When I asked him if he could give
me accommodation he wanted to know how long I
would stay. I told him perhaps two days, not
more than three. In reply he said, “Oh, dat's all
right den," at the same time leading the way up a
pair of creaky stairs. I followed him and the
porter to a room, the door of which the proprietor
opened while continuing, it seemed, his remark,
“Oh, dat's all right den," by adding, “You kin
sleep in dat cot in de corner der. Fifty cents
please.” The porter interrupted by saying, “You
needn't collect from him now, he's got a trunk.”
This seemed to satisfy the man, and he went down


54
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
them awoke a feeling of interest; that was their
dialect. I had read some Negro dialect and had
heard snatches of it on my journey down from
Washington; but here I heard it in all of its full-
ness and freedom.
I was particularly struck by
the way in which it was punctuated by such ex-
clamatory phrases as “Lawd a mussy!” “G’wan
man!” “Bless ma soul!" “Look heah chile!"
These people talked and laughed without restraint.
In fact, they talked straight from their lungs,
and laughed from the pits of their stomachs.
And this hearty laughter was often justified by
the droll humor of some remark. I paused long
enough to hear one man say to another, “W'at's
de mattah wid you an' yo' fr’en? Sam?" and the
other came back like a flash, "Ma fr'en? He ma
frien? Man! I'd go to his funeral jes de same
as I'd go to a minstrel show.” I have since
learned that this ability to laugh heartily is, in
part, the salvation of the American Negre; it does
much to keep him- from going the way of the
Indian.
The business places of the street along which
we were passing consisted chiefly of low bars,
cheap dry-goods and notion stores, barber shops,
and fish and bread restaurants. We, at length,
turned down a pair of stairs that led to a base-
ment, and I found myself in an eating-house some-
what better than those I had seen in passing; but
that did not mean much for its excellence. The
+


AN EX-COLORED MAN
55
place was smoky, the tables were covered with oil-
cloth, the floor covered with sawdust, and from
the kitchen came a rancid odor of fish fried over
several times, which almost nauseated me. I asked
my companion if this were the place where we were
to eat. He informed me that it was the best
place in town where a colored man could get a
meal. I then wanted to know why somebody didn't
open a place where respectable colored people who
had money could be accommodated. He answered,
“It wouldn't pay; all the respectable colored peo-
ple eat at home, and the few who travel generally
have friends in the towns to which they go, who
entertain them.” He added, “Of course, you
could go in any place in the city; they wouldn't
know you from white."
I sat down with the porter at one of the tables,
but was not hungry enough to eat with any relish
what was put before me. The food was not badly
cooked; but the iron knives and forks needed to
be scrubbed, the plates and dishes and glasses
needed to be washed and well dried. I minced
over what I took on my plate while my companion
ate. When we finished we paid the waiter twenty
cents each and went out. We walked around un-
til the lights of the city were lit. Then the porter
said that he must get to bed and have some rest,
as he had not had six hours' sleep since he left
Jersey City. I went back to our lodging-house
with him.


58
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
1
from home; here the red hills had been terraced
ap? and covered with green grass; clean gravel walks,
well shaded, lead up to the buildings; indeed, it
was a bit of New England transplanted. At the
gate my companion said he would bid me good-by,
because it was likely that he would not see me
again before his car went out. He told me that
he would make two more trips to Atlanta, and that
he would come out and see me; that after his sec-
ond trip he would leave the Pullman service for
the winter and return to school in Nashville., We
shook hands, I thanked him for all his kindness,
and we said good-by.
I walked up to a group of students and made
some inquiries. They directed me to the presi-
dent's office in the main building. The president
gave me
a cordial welcome; it was
more than
cordial; he talked to me, not as the official head of
a college, but as though he were adopting me into
what was his large family, to personally look
after my general welfare as well as my education.
He seemed especially pleased with the fact that I
had come to them all the way from the North.
He told me that I could have come to the school as
soon as I had reached the city, and that I had
better move my trunk out at once. I gladly
promised him that I would do so. He then called
a boy and directed him to take me to the matron,
and to show me around afterwards. I found the
matron even more motherly than the president was


AN EX-COLORED MAN
59
fatherly. She had me to register, which was in
effect to sign a pledge to abstain from the use of
intoxicating beverages, tobacco, and profane lan-
guage, while I was a student in the school. This
act caused me no sacrifice; as, up to that time, I
was free from either habit. The boy who was
with me then showed me about the grounds. I
was especially interested in the industrial building.
The sounding of a bell, he told me, was the sig-
nal for the students to gather in the general as-
sembly hall, and he asked me if I would go. Of
course I would. There were between three and
four hundred students and perhaps all of the
teachers gathered in the room.
I noticed that sev-
eral of the latter were colored. The president
gave a talk addressed principally to new comers;
but I scarcely heard what he said, I was so much
occupied in looking at those around me. They
were of all types and colors, the more intelligent
types predominating. The colors ranged from
jet black to pure white, with light hair and eyes.
Among the girls especially there were many so
fair that it was difficult to believe that they had
Negro blood in them. And, too, I could not help
but notice that many of the girls, particularly
those of the delicate brown shades, with black eyes
and wavy dark hair, were decidedly pretty.
Among the boys, many of the blackest were fine
specimens of young manhood, tall, straight, and
muscular, with magnificent heads; these were the


60
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
kind of boys who developed into the patriarchal
“uncles” of the old slave régime.
When I left the University it was with the de-
termination to get my trunk, and move out to the
school before night. I walked back across the city
with a light step and a light heart. I felt per-
fectly satisfied with life for the first time since my
mother's death.
In passing the railroad station
I hired a wagon and rode with the driver as far as
my stopping place. I settled with my landlord
and went upstairs to put away several articles I
had left out. As soon as I opened my trunk a
dart of suspicion shot through my heart; the ar-
rangement of things did not look familiar. I be-
gan to dig down excitedly to the bottom till I
reached the coat in which I had concealed my
treasure. My money was gone! Every single
bill of it. I knew it was useless to do so, but I
searched through every other coat, every pair of
trousers, every vest, and even into each pair of
socks. When I had finished my fruitless search
I sat down dazed and heartsick. I called the
landlord
up,
and informed him of
my
he com-
forted me by saying that I ought to have better
sense than to keep money in a trunk, and that he
was not responsible for his lodgers' personal ef-
fects. His cooling words brought me enough to
my senses to cause me to look and see if anything
else was missing. Several small articles were
gone, among them a black and gray necktie of
loss;


AN EX-COLORED MAN
61
odd design upon
which
my heart was set; almost
as much as the loss of my money, I felt the loss of
my
tie.
After thinking for awhile as best I could, I
wisely decided to go at once back to the University
and lay my troubles before the president. I
rushed breathlessly back to the school. As I
neared the grounds the thought came across me,
would not my story sound fishy? Would it not
place me in the position of an impostor or beggar?
What right had I to worry these busy people with
the results of my carelessness? If the money
could not be recovered, and I doubted that it
could, what good would it do to tell them about it.
The shame and embarrassment which the whole
situation gave me caused me to stop at the gate.
I paused, undecided, for a moment; then turned
and slowly retraced my steps, and so changed the
whole course of
my
life.
If the reader has never been in a strange city
without money or friends, it is useless to try to
describe what my feelings were; he could not un-
derstand. If he has been, it is equally useless, for
he understands more than words could convey.
When I reached my lodgings I found in the room
one of the porters who had slept there the night
before. When he heard what misfortune had be-
fallen me he offered many words of sympathy and
advice. He asked me how much money I had left,
I told him that I had ten or twelve dollars in my


62
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
pocket. He said, “That won't last you very long
here, and you will hardly be able to find anything
to do in Atlanta. I'll tell you what you do, go
down to Jacksonville and you won't have any
trouble to get a job in one of the big hotels there,
or in St. Augustine.” I thanked him, but in-
timated my doubts of being able to get to Jack-
sonville on the money I had. He reassured me by
saying, “Oh, that's all right. You express your
trunk on through, and I'll take you down in my
closet.” I thanked him again, not knowing then,
what it was to travel in a Pullman porter's closet.
He put me under a deeper debt of gratitude by
lending me fifteen dollars, which he said I could
pay back after I had secured work. His gener-
osity brought tears to my eyes, and I concluded
that, after all, there were some kind hearts in the
world.
I now forgot my troubles in the hurry and ex-
citement of getting my trunk off in time to catch
the train, which went out at seven o'clock. I
even forgot that I hadn't eaten anything since
morning. We got a wagon—the porter went with
me--and took my trunk to the express office. My
new friend then told me to come to the station at
about a quarter of seven, and walk straight to the
car where I should see him standing, and not to
lose my nerve.
I found
my
rôle not so difficult to
play as I thought it would be, because the train
did not leave from the central station, but from a


AN EX-COLORED MAN
63
to pass.
smaller one, where there were no gates and guards
I followed directions, and the porter
took me on his car, and locked me in his closet.
In a few minutes the train pulled out for Jackson-
ville.
I may live to be a hundred years old, but I
shall never forget the agonies I suffered that
night. I spent twelve hours doubled up in the
porter's basket for soiled linen, not being able to
straighten up on account of the shelves for clean
linen just over my head. The air was hot and
suffocating and the smell of damp towels and used
linen was sickening. At each lurch of the car
over the none too smooth track, I was bumped and
bruised against the narrow walls of my narrow
compartment. I became acutely conscious of the
fact that I had not eaten for hours. Then nausea
took possession of me, and at one time I had grave
doubts about reaching my destination alive. If I
had the trip to make again, I should prefer to
walk.


AN EX-COLORED MAN
67
I modestly mentioned my ability to teach music
and asked if there was any likelihood of
my being
able to get some scholars. My landlady sug-
gested that I speak to the preacher who had shown
me her house; she felt sure that through his in-
fluence I should be able to get up a class in piano.
She added, however, that the colored people were
poor, and that the general price for music lessons
was only twenty-five cents. I noticed that the
thought of my teaching white pupils did not even
remotely enter her mind. None of this informa-
tion made my prospects look much brighter.
The husband, who up to this time had allowed
the woman to do most of the talking, gave me the
first bit of tangible hope; he said that he could get
me a job as a “stripper" in the factory where he
worked, and that if I succeeded in getting some
music pupils I could teach a couple of them every ,
night, and so make a living until something better
He went on to say that it would not?
be a bad thing for me to stay at the factory and
learn my trade as a cigar maker, and impressed
ion me that, for a young man knocking about the
country, a trade was a handy thing to have. I
determined to accept his offer and thanked him
heartily. In fact, I became enthusiastic, not
only because I saw a way out of my financial
troubles, but also because I was eager and curious
over the new experience I was about to enter.
wanted to know all about the cigar making busi-
Hurned up
2


68
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
care.
ness. This narrowed the conversation down to the
husband and myself, so the wife went in and left
us talking
He was what is called a regalia workman, and
earned from thirty-five to forty dollars a week.
He generally worked a sixty dollar job; that is,
he made cigars for which he was paid at the rate
of sixty dollars per thousand. It was impossible
for him to make a thousand in a week because he
had to work very carefully and slowly. Each
cigar was made entirely by hand. Each piece of
filler and each wrapper had to be selected with
He was able to make a bundle of one hun-
dred cigars in a day, not one of which could be
told from the others by any difference in size or
shape, or even by any appreciable difference in
weight. This was the acme of artistic skill in
cigar making. Workmen of this class were rare,
never more than three or four of them in one
factory, and it was never necessary for them to
remain out of work. There were men who made
two, three, and four hundred cigars of the cheaper
grades in a day; they had to be very fast in order
to make decent week's wages. Cigar making was
a rather independent trade; the men went to work
when they pleased and knocked off when they felt
like doing so.
As a class the workmen were care-
less and improvident; some very rapid makers
would not work more than three or four days out
of the week, and there were others who never
--


AN EX-COLORED MAN
69
showed up at the factory on Mondays. “Strip-
pers” were the boys who pulled the long stems from
the tobacco leaves. After they had served at that
work for a certain time they were given tables as
apprentices.
All of this was interesting to me; and we drifted
along in conversation until my companion struck
the subject nearest his heart, the independence of
Cuba. He was an exile from the island, and a
prominent member of the Jacksonville Junta.
Every week sums of money were collected from
juntas all over the country. This money went to
buy arms and ammunition for the insurgents. As
the man sat there nervously smoking his long,
“green” cigar, and telling me of the Gomezes, both
the white one and the black one, of Maceo and
Bandera, he grew positively eloquent. He also
showed that he was a man of considerable educa-
tion and reading. He spoke English excellently,
and frequently surprised me by using words one
would hardly expect from a foreigner. The first
one of this class of words he employed almost
shocked me, and I never forgot it, 'twas "ramify.”
We sat on the piazza until after ten o'clock. When
we arose to go in to bed it was with the under-
standing that I should start in the factory on the
next day.
I began work the next morning seated at a bar-
rel with another boy, who showed me how to strip
the stems from the leaves, to smooth out each half


AN EX-COLORED MAN
71
was able in less than a year to speak like a native.
In fact, it was my pride that I spoke better Span-
ish than many of the Cuban workmen at the fac-
tory.
After I had been in the factory a little over a
year, I was repaid for all the effort I had put forth
to learn Spanish by being selected as “reader.”
The “reader” is quite an institution in all cigar?
factories which employ Spanish-speaking workmen.
He sits in the center of the large room in which the
cigar makers work and reads to them for a cer-
tain number of hours each day all the important
news from the papers and whatever else he may
consider would be interesting. He often selects
an exciting novel, and reads it in daily installments.
He must, of course, have a good voice, but he
must also have a reputation among the men for
intelligence, for being well posted and having in
his head a stock of varied information. He is
generally the final authority on all arguments
which arise; and, in a cigar factory, these argu-
ments are many and frequent, ranging from dis-
cussions on the respective and relative merits of
rival baseball clubs to the duration of the sun's
light and energy-cigar-making is a trade in which
talk does not interfere with work. My position
as "reader" not only released me from the rather
monotonous work of rolling cigars, and gave me
something more in accord with my tastes, but also
added considerably to my income. I was now earn-


72
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
the race.
ing about twenty-five dollars a week, and was able
to give up my peripatetic method of giving music
lessons. I hired a piano and taught only those
who could arrange to take their lessons where I
lived. I finally gave up teaching entirely; as what
I made scarcely paid for my time and trouble. I
kept the piano, however, in order to keep up my
own studies, and occasionally I played at some
church concert or other charitable entertainment.
Through my music teaching and my not abso-
lutely irregular attendance at church I became ac-
quainted with the best class of colored people in
Jacksonville. This was really my entrance into
It was my initiation into what I have
termed the freemasonry of the race. I had formu-
lated a theory of what it was to be colored, now
I was getting the practice. The novelty of my po-
sition caused me to observe and consider things
which, I think, entirely escaped the young men I
associated with; or, at least, were so
place to them as not to attract their attention.
And of many of the impressions which came to me
then I have realized the full import only within
the past few years, since I have had a broader
knowledge of men and history, and a fuller com-
prehension of the tremendous struggle which is
going on between the races in the South,
It is a struggle; for though the black man fights
passively he nevertheless fights; and his passive
resistance is more effective at present than active
common-


AN EX-COLORED MAN
73
resistance could possibly be. He bears the fury of
the storm as does the willow tree.
It is a struggle; for though the white man of
the South may be too proud to admit it, he is,
nevertheless, using in the contest his best energies ;
he is devoting to it the greater part of his thought,
and much of his endeavor. The South to-day
stands panting and almost breathless from its ex-
ertions.
And how the scene of the struggle has shifted!
The battle was first waged over the right of the
Negro to be classed as a human being with a soul;
later, as to whether he had sufficient intellect to
master even the rudiments of learning; and to-day
it is being fought out over his social recognition.
I said somewhere in the early part of this nar-
rative that because the colored man looked at every-:
thing through the prisń of his relationship to
society as a colored man, and because most of his
mental efforts ran through the narrow channel
bounded by his rights and his wrongs, it was to
be wondered at that he has progressed so broadly
as he has. The same thing may be said of the
white man of the South; most of his mental ef-
forts run through one narrow channel; his life
as a man and a citizen, many of his financial ac-
tivities and all of his political activities are im-
passably limited by the ever present “Negro ques-
tion.” I am sure it would be safe to
wager
tha
no group of Southern white men could get to-


AN EX-COLORED MAN
75
numbers it is but a small proportion of the colored
people, but it often dominates public opinion con-
cerning the whole race. Happily, this class rep-
resents the black people of the South far below
their normal physical and moral condition, but in
its increase lies the possibility of grave dangers.
I am sure there is no more urgent work before the
white South, not only for its present happiness,
but its future safety, than the decreasing of this
class of blacks. And it is not at all a hopeless 7
class; for these men are but the creatures of con-
ditions, as much so as the slum and criminal ele-
ments of all the great cities of the world are
creatures of conditions. Decreasing their number?
by shooting and burning them off will not be suc-
cessful; for these men are truly desperate, and
thoughts of death, however terrible, have little ef-
fect in deterring them from acts the result of ha-
tred or degeneracy. This class of blacks hate
everything covered by a white skin, and in return
they are loathed by the whites. The whites regard
them just about as a man would a vicious mule, a
thing to be worked, driven and beaten, and killed
for kicking
The second class, as regards the relation be-
tween blacks and whites, comprises the servants,
If the washer-women, the waiters, the cooks, the
coachmen, and all who are connected with the
whites by domestic service. These may be gen-
erally characterized as simple, kindhearted and


76
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
faithful; not over fine in their moral deductions,
but intensely religious, and relatively,—such mat-
ters can be judged only relatively,—about as hon-
est and wholesome in their lives as any other grade
of society. Any white person is “good” who treats
them kindly, and they love them for that kindness.
In return, the white people with whom they have to
do regard them with indulgent affection. They
come into close daily contact with the whites, and
may be called the connecting link between whites
and blacks; in fact, it is through them that the
iwhites know the rest of their colored neighbors.
Between this class of the blacks and the whites
there is little or no frietion.y
The third class is composed of the independent
workmen and tradesmen, and of the well-to-do-and
educated colored people; and, strange to say, for
a directly opposite reason they are as far removed
from the whites as the members of the first class
I mentioned. These people live in a little world
of their own; in fact, I concluded that if a colored
man wanted to separate himself from his white
neighbors he had but to acquire some money, edu-
cation and culture, and to live in accordance. For
example, the proudest and fairest lady in the South
could with propriety—and it is what she would
most likely do-go to the cabin of Aunt Mary, her
cook, if Aunt Mary were sick, and minister to her
comfort with her own hands; but if Mary's daugh-
ter, Eliza, a girl who used to run around my lady's


AN EX-COLORED MAN
77
kitchen, but who has received an education and
married a prosperous young colored man, were at
death's door, my lady would no more think of
crossing the threshold of Eliza's cottage than she
would of going into a bar-room for a drink.
I was walking down the street one day with a
young man who was born in Jacksonville, but had
been away to prepare himself for a professional
life. We passed a young white man, and my com-
panion said to me, “You see that young man?
We grew up together, we have played, hunted, and
fished together, we have even eaten and slept to-
gether, and now since I have come back home he
barely speaks to me." The fact that the whites ?
of the South despise and ill-treat the desperate
class of blacks is not only explainable according
to the ancient laws of human nature, but it is
not nearly so serious or important as the fact that
as the progressive colored people advance they con-
stantly widen the gulf between themselves and their
white neighbors. I think that the white people
somehow feel that colored people who have educa-
tion and money, who wear good clothes and live in
comfortable houses, are “putting on airs," that
they do these things for the sole purpose of “spit- i
ing the white folks,” or āre, at best, going through
a sort of monkey-like imitation. Of course, such?
feelings can only cause irritation or breed disgust.
It seems that the whites have not yet been able to
realize and understand that these people in striv-


78
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
ing to better their physical and social surround-
ings in accordance with their financial and intel-
lectual progress are simply obeying an impulse
which is common to human nature the world over.
I am in grave doubt as to whether the greater part
of the friction in the South is caused by the whites
having a natural antipathy to Negroes as a race,
or an acquired antipathy to Negroes in certain re-
lations to themselves. However that may be, there
is to my mind no more pathetic side of this many
sided question than the isolated position into which
are forced the very colored people who-most need
and who could best appreciate sympathetic coöp-
eration; and their position grows tragic when the
effort is made to couple them, whether or no,
with the Negroes of the first class I mentioned.
This latter class of colored people are well dis-
posed towards the whites, and always willing to
meet them more than half way. They, however,
feel keenly any injustice or gross discrimination,
and generally show their resentment. The effort is
sometimes made to convey the impression that the
better class of colored people fight against riding
in “jim crow” cars because they want to ride with
white people or object to being with humbler mem-
bers of their own race. The truth is they object
to the humiliation of being forced to ride in a
particular car, aside from the fact that that car is
distinctly inferior, and that they are required to
pay full first-class fare. To say that the whites


AN EX-COLORED MAN
79
are forced to ride in the superior car is less than a
joke. And, too, odd as it may sound, refined col-
Pored people get no more pleasure out of riding with
offensive Negroes than anybody else would get.
I can realize more fully than I could years ago
that the position of the advanced element of the
colored race is often very trying. They are the
ones among the blacks who carry the entire weight
of the race question it worries the others very
little, and I believe the only thing which at times
sustains them is that they know that they are in
the right.
On the other hand, this class of colored
people get a good deal of pleasure out of life;
their existence is far from being one long groan
about their condition. Out of a chaos of ignorance
and poverty they have evolved a social life of which
they need not be ashamed. In cities where the
professional and well-to-do class is large, they have
formed society,—society as discriminating as the
actual conditions will allow it to be; I should say,
perhaps, society possessing discriminating tenden-
cies which become rules as fast as actual conditions
allow. This statement will, I know, sound pre-
posterous, even ridiculous, to some persons; but as
this class of colored people is the least known of
the race it is not surprising. These social circles
are connected throughout the country, and a per-
son in good standing in one city is readily ac-
cepted in another. One who is on the outside will
often find it a difficult matter to get in. I know


80
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
pof one case personally in which money to the ex-
tent of thirty or forty thousand dollars and a fine
house, not backed up by a good reputation, after
several years of repeated effort, failed to gain en-
try for the possessor. These people have their
dances and dinners and card parties, their musicals
and their literary societies. The women attend
social affairs dressed in good taste, and the men
in evening dress-suits which they own; and the
reader will make a mistake to confound these en-
tertainments with the “Bellman's Balls” and
“Whitewashers' Picnics” and “Lime Kiln Clubs"
with which the humorous press of the country il-
lustrates “Cullud Sassiety."
Jacksonville, when I was there, was a small town,
and the number of educated and well-to-do col-
ored people was few; so this society phase of life
did not equal what I have since seen in Boston,
Washington, Richmond, and Nashville; and it is
upon what I have more recently seen in these cities
that I have made the observations just above.
However, there were many comfortable and pleas-
ant homes in Jacksonville to which I was often in-
vited. I belonged to the literary society-at
which we generally discussed the race question-
and attended all of the church festivals and other
charitable entertainments. In this way I passed
three years which were not at all the least enjoy-
able of my life. In fact, my joy took such an ex-
uberant turn that I fell in love with a young school


AN EX-COLORED MAN
81
teacher and began to have dreams of matrimonial
bliss; but another turn in the course of my
life
brought these dreams to an end.
I do not wish to mislead my readers into think-
ing that I led a life in Jacksonville which would
make copy as the hero of a Sunday School library
book. I was a hale fellow well met with all of the
workmen at the factory, most of whom knew little
and cared less about social distinctions. From
their example I learned to be careless about money;
and for that reason I constantly postponed and
finally abandoned returning to Atlanta University.
It seemed impossible for me to save as much as
two hundred dollars. Several of the men at the
factory were my intimate friends, and I frequently
joined them in their pleasures. During the sum-
mer months we went almost every Monday on an
excursion to a seaside resort called Pablo Beach.
These excursions were always crowded. There was
a dancing pavilion, a great deal of drinking and
generally a fight or two to add to the excitement.
I also contracted the cigar-maker's habit of rid-
ing around in a hack on Sunday afternoons. I
sometimes went with my cigar-maker friends to
public balls that were given at a large hall on
one of the main streets. I learned to take a drink
occasionally and paid for quite a number that my
friends took; but strong liquors never appealed to
my appetite. I drank them only when the com-
pany I was in required it, and suffered for it


82
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
afterwards. On the whole, though I was a bit
wild, I can't remember that I ever did anything dis-
graceful, or, as the usual standard for young men
goes, anything to forfeit my claim to respectabil-
ity.
At one of the first public balls I attended I saw
the Pullman car porter who had so kindly assisted
me in getting to Jacksonville. I went immediately
to one of my factory friends and borrowed fifteen
dollars with which to repay the loan my benefactor
had made me. After I had given him the money,
and was thanking him, I noticed that he wore what
was, at least, an exact duplicate of my lamented
black and gray tie. It was somewhat worn,
but
distinct enough for me to trace the same odd de-
sign which had first attracted my eye. This was
enough to arouse my strongest suspicions, but
whether it was sufficient for the law to take cog-
nizance of I did not consider. My astonishment
and the ironical humor of the situation drove every-
thing else out of my mind.
These balls were attended by a great variety of
people. They were generally given by the wait-
ers of some one of the big hotels, and were often
patronized by a number of hotel guests who came
to "see the sights." The crowd was always noisy,
but good-natured; there was much quadrille danc-
ing, and a strong-lunged man called figures in a
voice which did not confine itself to the limits of
the hall. It is not worth the while for me to de-


AN EX-COLORED MAN
83
scribe in detail how these people acted; they con-
ducted themselves in about the same manner as I
have seen other people at similar balls conduct
themselves. When one has seen something of the
world and human nature he must conclude, after
all, that between people in like stations of life there
is very little difference the world over.
However, it was at one of these balls that I first
saw the cake-walk. There was a contest for a
gold watch, to be awarded to the hotel head-waiter
receiving the greatest number of votes. There was
some dancing while the votes were being counted.
Then the floor was cleared for the cake-walk. A
half-dozen guests from some of the hotels took
seats on the stage to act as judges, and twelve or
fourteen couples began to walk for a "sure
enough” highly decorated cake, which was in plain
evidence. The spectators crowded about the space
reserved for the contestants and watched them with
interest and excitement. The couples did not walk
around in a circle, but in a square, with the
men on the inside. The fine points to be consid-
ered were the bearing of the men, the precision
with which they turned the corners, the grace of
the women, and the ease with which they swung
around the pivots. The men walked with stately
and soldierly step, and the women with consider-
The judges arrived at their decision
by a process of elimination. The music and the
walk continued for some minutes; then both were
able grace.


AN EX-COLORED MAN
85
tion the world-conquering influence of ragtime; and
I do not think it would be an exaggeration to say
that in Europe the United States is popularly
known better by ragtime than by anything else it
has produced in a generation. In Paris they call
it American music. The newspapers have already
told how the practice of intricate cake walk steps
has taken up the time of European royalty and
nobility. These are lower forms of art, but they
give evidence of a power that will some day be ap-
plied to the higher forms. In this measure, at
least, and aside from the number of prominent in-
dividuals the colored people of the United States
have produced, the race has been a world influence;
and all of the Indians between Alaska and Pata-
gonia haven't done as much.
Just when I was beginning to look upon Jack-
sonville as my permanent home, and was beginning
to plan about marrying the young
school teacher,
raising a family, and working in a cigar factory
the rest of my life, for some reason, which I do
not now remember, the factory at which I worked
was indefinitely shut down. Some of the men got
work in other factories in town, some decided to
go to Key West and Tampa, others made up their
minds to go to New York for work. All at once
a desire like a fever seized me to see the North
again, and I cast my lot with those bound for
New York.


CHAPTER VI
We steamed up into New York harbor late one
afternoon in spring. The last efforts of the sun
were being put forth in turning the waters of the
bay to glistening gold; the green islands on either
side, in spite of their warlike mountings, looked
calm and peaceful; the buildings of the town shone
out in a reflected light which gave the city an air
of enchantment; and, truly, it is an enchanted spot.
New York City is the most fatally fascinating
thing in America. She sits like a great witch at
the gate of the country, showing her alluring
white face, and hiding her crooked hands and feet
under the folds of her wide garments,-constantly
enticing thousands from far within, and tempting
those who come from across the seas to go no
farther. And all these become the victims of her
caprice. Some she at once crushes beneath her
cruel feet; others she condemns to a fate like that
of galley slaves; a few she favors and fondles, rid-
ing them high on the bubbles of fortune; then with
a sudden breath she blows the bubbles out and
laughs mockingly as she watches them fall.
Twice I had passed through it; but this was
really my first visit to New York; and as I walked
86


AN EX-COLORED MAN
87
about that evening I began to feel the dread power
of the city; the crowds, the lights, the excitement,
the gayety and all its subtler stimulating influences
began to take effect upon me. My blood ran
quicker, and I felt that I was just beginning to
live. To some natures this stimulant of life in a
great city becomes a thing as binding and neces-
sary as opium is to one addicted to the habit. It
becomes their breath of life; they cannot exist out-
side of it; rather than be deprived of it they are
content to suffer hunger, want, pain and misery;
they would not exchange even a ragged and
wretched condition among the great crowd for any
degree of comfort away from it.
As soon as we landed, four of us went directly
to a lodging-house in 27th Street, just west of
Sixth Avenue. The house was run by a short,
stout mulatto man, who was exceedingly talkative
and inquisitive. In fifteen minutes he not only
knew the history of the past life of each one of us,
but had a clearer idea of what we intended to do
in the future than we ourselves. He sought this
information so much with an air of being very
particular as to whom he admitted into his house
that we tremblingly answered every question that
he asked. When we had become located we went
out and got supper; then walked around until
about ten o'clock. At that hour we met a couple
of
young fellows who lived in New York and were
known to one of the members of our party. It


88
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
was suggested we go to a certain place which was
known by the proprietor's name. We turned into
one of the cross streets and mounted the stoop of
a house in about the middle of a block between
Sixth and Seventh Avenues. One of the young
men whom we had met rang a bell, and a man on
the inside cracked the door a couple of inches;
then opened it and let us in. We found ourselves
in the hallway of what had once been a residence.
The front parlor had been converted into a bar,
and a half dozen or so of well dressed men were in
the room. We went in, and after a general intro-
duction had several rounds of beer. In the back
parlor a crowd was sitting and standing around
the walls of the room watching an exciting and
noisy game of pool. I walked back and joined
this crowd to watch the game, and principally to
get away from the drinking party. The game
was really interesting, the players being quite ex-
pert, and the excitement was heightened by the
bets which were being made on the result. At
times the antics and remarks of both players and
spectators were amusing. When, at a critical
point, a player missed a shot he was deluged
by those financially interested in his making it with
a flood of epithets synonymous to "chump"; while
from the others he would be jeered by such re-
marks as "Nigger, dat cue ain't no hoe-handle."
I noticed that among this class of colored men the
word "nigger" was freely used in about the same


AN EX-COLORED MAN
89
sense as the word "fellow," and sometimes as a
term of almost endearment; but I soon learned that
its use was positively and absolutely prohibited to
white men.
I stood watching this pool game until I was
called by my friends, who were still in the bar-
room, to go upstairs. On the second floor there
were two large rooms. From the hall I looked into
the one on the front. There was a large, round
table in the center, at which five or six men were
seated playing poker. The air and conduct here
were greatly in contrast to what I had just seen in
the pool-room; these men were evidently the aris-
tocrats of the place; they were well, perhaps a bit
flashily, dressed and spoke in low modulated voices,
frequently using the word “gentlemen”; in fact,
they seemed to be practicing a sort of Chester-
fieldian politeness towards each other. I was
watching these men with a great deal of interest
and some degree of admiration, when I was again
called by the members of our party, and I followed
them on to the back room. There was a door-
keeper at this room, and we were admitted only
after inspection. When we got inside I saw a
crowd of men of all ages and kinds grouped about
an old billiard table, regarding some of whom, in
supposing them to be white, I made no mistake.
At first I did not know what these men were doing;
they were using terms that were strange to me.
I could hear only a confusion of voịces exclaiming,


90
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
“Shoot the two!" "Shoot the four!"
“Shoot the four!” “Fate me!"
“Fate me!" "I've got you fated!” “Twenty-
five cents he don't turn !" This was the ancient
and terribly fascinating game of dice, popularly
known as "craps.” I, myself, had played pool in
Jacksonville; it is a favorite game among cigar-
makers, and I had seen others play cards; but here
was something new. I edged my way in to the
table and stood between one of my new-found New
York friends and a tall, slender, black fellow, who
was making side bets while the dice were at the
other end of the table. My companion explained
to me the principles of the game; and they are so
simple that they hardly need to be explained twice.
The dice came around the table until they reached
the man on the other side of the tall, black fellow.
He lost, and the latter said, “Gimme the bones.”
He threw a dollar on the table and said, "Shoot
the dollar.” His style of play was so strenuous
that he had to be allowed plenty of room.
He
shook the dice high above his head, and each time
he threw them on the table he emitted a grunt such
as men give when they are putting forth physical
exertion with a rhythmic regularity. He fre-
quently whirled completely around on his heels,
throwing the dice the entire length of the table,
and talking to them as though they were trained
animals. He appealed to them in short singsong
phrases. “Come dice," he would say. “Little
Phoebe," "Little Joe,” “Way down yonder in the


AN EX-COLORED MAN
91
cornfield.” Whether these mystic incantations
were efficacious or not I could not say, but, at any
rate, his luck was great, and he had what gamblers
term "nerve.” “Shoot the dollar!” “Shoot the
two!” “Shoot the four!” “Shoot the eight!" came
from his lips as quickly as the dice turned to his
advantage. My companion asked me if I had
ever played. I told him no. He said that I
ought to try my luck; that everybody won at first.
The tall man at my side was waving his arms in
the air exclaiming "Shoot the sixteen!” “Shoot the
sixteen !” “Fate me!" Whether it was my com-
panion's suggestion or some latent dare-devil
strain in my blood which suddenly sprang into
activity I do not know; but with a thrill of excite-
ment which went through my whole body I threw
a twenty dollar bill on the table and said in a
trembling voice, “I fate you.”
I could feel that I had gained the attention and
respect of everybody in the room, every eye was
fixed on me, and the widespread question, “Who is
he?” went around. This was gratifying to a cer-
tain sense of vanity of which I have never been
able to rid myself, and I felt that it was worth
the
money even
if I lost. The tall man with a
whirl on his heels and a double grunt threw the
dice; four was the number which turned up. This
is considered as a hard "point" to make.
doubled his contortions and his grunts and his
pleadings to the dice; but on his third or fourth
He re-


92
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
won.
throw the fateful seven turned up, and I had won.
My companion and all my friends shouted to me
to follow up my luck. The fever was on me. I
seized the dice. My hands were so hot that the
bits of bone felt like pieces of ice. I shouted as
loudly as I could, "Shoot it all!" but the blood was
tingling so about my ears that I could not hear
my own voice.
I was soon “fated.” I threw the
dice -seven-I had won. “Shoot it all!” I cried
again. There was a pause; the stake was more
than one man cared to or could cover.
I was
finally “fated” by several men taking "a part” of
it. I then threw the dice again. Seven. I had
“Shoot it all!" I shouted excitedly. After
a short delay I was “fated.” Again I rolled the
dice. Eleven. Again I had won. My friends
now surrounded me and, much against my inclina-
tion, forced me to take down all of the money ex-
cept five dollars. I tried my luck once more, and
threw some small “Point” which I failed to make,
and the dice passed on to the next man.
In less than three minutes I had won more than
two hundred dollars, a sum which afterwards cost
me dearly. I was the hero of the moment, and
was soon surrounded by a group of men who ex-
pressed admiration for my "nerve” and predicted
for me a brilliant future as a gambler. Although
at the time I had no thought of becoming a gam-
bler I felt proud of my success. I felt a bit
ashamed, too, that I had allowed my friends to


AN EX-COLORED MAN
99
persuade me to take down my money so soon.
Another set of men also got around me, and
begged me for twenty-five or fifty cents to put
them back into the game.
I gave each of them
something. I saw that several of them had on
linen dusters, and as I looked about I noticed that
there were perhaps a dozen men in the room simi-
larly clad. I asked the fellow who had been my
prompter at the dice table why they dressed in
such a manner. He told me that men who had
lost all the money and jewelry they possessed, fre-
quently, in an effort to recoup their losses, would
gamble away all their outer clothing and even
their shoes; and that the proprietor kept on hand
a supply of linen dusters for all who were so un-
fortunate. My informant went on to say that
sometimes a fellow would become almost com-
pletely dressed and then, by a turn of the dice,
would be thrown back into a state of semi-naked-
Some of them were virtually prisoners and
unable to get into the streets for days at a time.
They ate at the lunch counter, where their credit
was good so long as they were fair gamblers and
did not attempt to jump their debts, and they
slept around in chairs. They importuned friends
and winners to put them back in the game, and
kept at it until fortune again smiled on them. I
laughed heartily at this, not thinking the day was
coming which would find me in the same ludicrous
predicament.
ness.


AN EX-COLORED MAN
95
that were brought into evidence when drinks were
paid for, and the air of gayety that pervaded, all
completely dazzled and dazed me. I felt posi-
tively giddy, and it was several minutes before I
was able to make any clear and definite observa-
tions.
We at length secured places at a table in a cor-
ner of the room, and as soon as we could attract
the attention of one of the busy waiters ordered
a round of drinks. When I had somewhat col-
lected my senses I realized that in a large back
room into which the main room opened, there was
a young fellow singing a song, accompanied on
the piano by a short, thick-set, dark man. Be-
tween each verse he did some dance steps, which
brought forth great applause and a shower of
small coins at his feet. After the singer had re-
sponded to a rousing encore, the stout man at the
piano began to run his fingers up and down the
keyboard. This he did in a manner which indi-
cated that he was master of a good deal of tech-
nic. Then he began to play; and such playing!
I stopped talking to listen. It was music of a
kind I had never heard before. It was music that
demanded physical response, patting of the feet,
drumming of the fingers, or nodding of the head
in time with the beat. The barbaric harmonies,
the audacious resolutions often consisting of an
abrupt jump from one key to another, the intri-
cate rhythms in which the accents fell in the most


96
1
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
unexpected places, but in which the beat was never
lost, produced a most curious effect. And, too,
the player,—the dexterity of his left hand in mak-
ing rapid octave runs and jumps was little short
of marvelous; and, with his right hand, he fre-
quently swept half the keyboard with clean cut
chromatics which he fitted in so nicely as never to
fail to arouse in his listeners a sort of pleasant
surprise at the accomplishment of the feat.
This was ragtime music, then a novelty in New
York, and just growing to be a rage which has
not yet subsided. It was originated in the ques-
tionable resorts about Memphis and St. Louis by
Negro piano players, who knew no more of the
theory of music than they did of the theory of the
universe, but were guided by natural musical in-
stinct and talent. It made its way to Chicago,
where it was popular some time before it reached
New York. These players often improvised crude
and, at times, vulgar words to fit the melodies.
This was the beginning of the ragtime song.
Several of these improvisations were taken down
by white men, the words slightly altered, and pub-
lished under the names of the arrangers. They.
sprang into immediate popularity and earned
small fortunes, of which the Negro originators got
only a few dollars. But I have learned that since
that time a number of colored men, of not only
musical talent, but training, are writing out their
own melodies and words and reaping the reward


98
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
lieve that it has its place as well as the music
which draws from us sighs and tears.
I became so interested in both the music and
the player that I left the table where I was sit-
ting, and made my way through the hall into the
back room, where I could see as well as hear. I
talked to the piano player between the musical
numbers, and found out that he was just a nat-
ural musician, never having taken a lesson in his
life. Not only could he play almost anything he
heard, but could accompany singers in songs he
had never heard. He had by ear alone, composed
some pieces, several of which he played over for
me; each of them was properly proportioned and
balanced. I began to wonder what this man with
such a lavish natural endowment would have done
had he been trained. Perhaps he wouldn't have
done anything at all; he might have become, at
best, a mediocre imitator of the great masters in
what they have already done to a finish, or one
of the modern innovators who strive after orig-
inality by seeing how cleverly they can dodge
about through the rules of harmony, and at the
same time avoid melody. It is certain that he
would not have been so delightful as he was in
ragtime.
I sat by watching and listening to this man un-
til I was dragged away by my friends. The
place was now almost deserted; only a few strag-
glers hung on, and they were all the worse for


AN EX-COLORED MAN
99
drink. My friends were well up in this class.
We passed into the street; the lamps were pale
against the sky; day was just breaking. We
went home and got into bed. I fell into a fitful
sort of sleep with ragtime music ringing continu-
ally in my ears.


CHAPTER VII
I shall take advantage of this pause in my nar-
rative to more closely describe the “Club” spoken
of in the latter part of the preceding chapter,-
to describe it, as I afterwards came to know it, as
an habitue. I shall do this, not only because of
the direct influence it had on my life, but also be-
cause it was at that time the most famous place
of its kind in New York, and was well known
to both white and colored people of certain
classes.
I have already stated that in the basement of
the house there was a Chinese restaurant. The
Chinaman who kept it did an exceptionally good
business; for chop-suey was a favorite dish among
the frequenters of the place. It is a food that,
somehow, has the power of absorbing alcoholic
liquors that have been taken into the stomach. I
have heard men claim that they could sober up on
chop-suey. Perhaps that accounted, in some de-
gree, for its popularity. On the main floor there
were two large rooms, a parlor about thirty feet
in length and a large square back room into which
the parlor opened. The floor of the parlor was
carpeted; small tables and chairs were arranged
100


AN EX-COLOREDY MAN
101
a
about the room; the windows were draped with
lace curtains, and the walls were literally covered
with photographs or lithographs of every colored
man in America who had ever “done anything.
There were pictures of Frederick Douglass and of
Peter Jackson, of all the lesser lights of the prize-
fighting ring, of all the famous jockeys and the
stage celebrities, down to the newest song and
dance team. The most of these photographs were
autographed and, in a sense, made a really valu-
able collection. In the back room there was
piano; and tables were placed around the wall.
The floor was bare and the center was left at
for singers, dancers and others who entertained
the patrons. In a closet in this room which jut-
ted out into the hall the proprietor kept his buf-
fet. There was no open bar, because the place
had no liquor license. In this back room the ta-
bles were sometimes pushed aside, and the floor
given over to general dancing. The front room
on the next floor was a sort of private party room;
a back room on the same floor contained no fur-
niture, and was devoted to the use of new and
ambitions performers. In this room song and
dance teams practiced their steps, acrobatic teams
practiced their tumbles, and many other kinds of
“acts” rehearsed their "turns.” The other rooms
of the house were used as sleeping apartments.
No gambling was allowed, and the conduct of
the place was surprisingly orderly. It was, in


AN EX-COLORED MAN
103
mouth, while he carried in his heart a burning
ambition to be a tragedian; and so after all he
did play a part in a tragedy.
These notables of the ring, the turf and the
stage, drew to the place crowds of admirers, both
white and colored. Whenever one of them came
in there were awe-inspired whispers from those
who knew him by sight, in which they enlightened
those around them as to his identity, and hinted
darkly at their great intimacy with the noted one.
Those who were on terms of approach immedi-
ately showed their privilege over others less fortu-
nate by gathering around their divinity. I was,
at first, among those who dwelt in darkness.
Most of these celebrities I had never heard of.
This made me an object of pity among many of
my new associates. I, however, soon learned to
fake a knowledge for the benefit of those who were
greener than I; and, finally, I became personally
acquainted with the majority of the famous per-
sonages who came to the “Club."
A great deal of money was spent here; so many
of the patrons were men who earned large sums.
I remember one night a dapper little brown-
skinned fellow was pointed out to me, and I was
told that he was the most popular jockey of the
day, and that he earned $12,000 a year.
This
latter statement I couldn't doubt, for with my own
eyes I saw him spending at about that rate. For
his friends and those who were introduced to him


104
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
he bought nothing but wine ;-in the sporting
circle, “wine” means champagne-and paid for it
at five dollars a quart. He sent a quart to every
table in the place with his compliments; and on
the table at which he and his party were seated
there were more than a dozen bottles. It was the
custom at the "Club" for the waiter not to re-
move the bottles when champagne was being drunk
until the party had finished. There were reasons
for this; it advertised the brand of wine, it ad-
vertised that the party was drinking wine, and
advertised how much they had bought. This
jockey had won a great race that day, and he was
rewarding his admirers for the homage they paid
him, all of which he accepted with a fine air of
condescension.
Besides the people I have just been describing
there was at the place almost every night one or
two parties of white people, men and women, who
were out sight-seeing, or slumming. They gen-
erally came in cabs; some of them would stay only
for a few minutes, while others sometimes stayed
until morning. There was also another set of
white people who came frequently; it was made up
of variety performers and others who delineated
darky characters; they came to get their imita-
tations first hand from the Negro entertainers they
saw there.
There was still another set of white patrons,
composed of women ; these were not occasional


106
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
rich widow. She went by a very aristocratic
sounding name, which corresponded to her appear-
ance. I shall never forget how hard it was for
me to get over my feelings of surprise, perhaps
more than surprise, at seeing her with her black
companion; somehow I never exactly enjoyed the
sight. I have devoted so much time to this pair,
the "widow" and her companion, because it was
through them that another decided turn was
brought about in my life.


CHAPTER VIII
On the day following our night at the “Club”
we slept until late in the afternoon; so late that
beginning of search for work was entirely out of
the question. This did not cause me much worry,
for I had more than three hundred dollars, and
New York had impressed me as a place where there
was lots of money and not much difficulty in get-
ting it. It is needless to inform my readers that
I did not long hold this opinion. We got out of
the house about dark, went round to a restaurant
on Sixth Avenue and ate something, then walked
around for a couple of hours. I finally suggested
that we visit the same places we had been in
the night before. Following my suggestion we
started first to the gambling house. The man on
the door let us in without any question; I accred-
ited this to my success of the night before. We
went straight to the "crap” room, and I at once
made my way to a table, where I was rather flat-
tered by the murmur of recognition which went
around. I played in up and down luck for three
or four hours; then, worn with nervous excite-
ment, quit, having lost about fifty dollars. But
I was so strongly possessed with the thought that
107


108
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
I would make up my losses the next time I played
that I left the place with a light heart.
When we got into the street our party was di-
vided against itself; two were for going home at
once and getting to bed. They gave as a reason
that we were to get up early and look for jobs.
I think the real reason was that they had each
lost several dollars in the game. I lived to learn
that in the world of sport all men win alike but
lose differently; and so gamblers are rated, not
by the way in which they win, but by the way in
which they lose. Some men lose with a careless
smile, recognizing that losing is a part of the
game; others curse their luck and rail at fortune;
and others, still, lose sadly; after each such experi-
ence they are swept by a wave of reform; they re-
solve to stop gambling and be good. When in this
frame of mind it would take very little persuasion
to lead them into a prayer-meeting. Those in the
first class are looked upon with admiration; those
in the second class are merely commonplace; while
those in the third are regarded with contempt. I
believe these distinctions hold good in all the ven-
tures of life. After some minutes one of my
friends and I succeeded in convincing the other
two that a while at the “Club” would put us all
in better spirits; and they consented to go on our
promise not to stay longer than an hour. We
found the place crowded, and the same sort of


AN EX-COLORED MAN
109
thing going on which we had seen the night be-
fore. I took a seat at once by the side of the
piano player, and was soon lost to everything else
except the novel charm of the music. I watched
the performer with the idea of catching the trick;
and, during one of his intermissions, I took his
place at the piano and made an attempt to imitate
him, but even my quick ear and ready fingers
were unequal to the task on first trial.
We did not stay at the “Club” very long, but
went home to bed in order to be up early the next
day. We had no difficulty in finding work, and
my third morning in New York found me at a ta-
ble rolling cigars. I worked steadily for some
weeks, at the same time spending my earnings be-
tween the "crap" game and the “Club.” Making
cigars became more and more irksome to me; per-
haps my more congenial work as a "reader” had
unfitted me for work at the table. And, too, the
late hours I was keeping made such a sedentary
occupation almost beyond the powers of will and
endurance. I often found it hard to keep my
eyes open and sometimes had to get up and move
around to keep from falling asleep. I began to
miss whole days from the factory, days on which
I was compelled to stay at home and sleep.
My luck at the gambling table was varied;
sometimes I was fifty to a hundred dollars ahead,
and at other times I had to borrow money from
my fellow workmen to settle my room rent and


110
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
pay for my meals. Each night after leaving the
dice game I went to the “Club” to hear the music
and watch the gayety. If I had won, this was
in accord with my mood; if I had lost, it made me
forget. I at last realized that making cigars for
a living and gambling for a living could not both
be carried on at the same time, and I resolved to
give up the cigar-making. This resolution led
me into a life which held me bound more than a
year. During that period my regular time for
going to bed was somewhere between four and six
o'clock in the mornings. I got up late in the af-
ternoons, walked about a little, then went to the
gambling house or the “Club.” My New York
was limited to ten blocks; the boundaries were
Sixth Avenue from Twenty-third to Thirty-third
Streets, with the cross streets one block to the
west. Central Park was a distant forest, and the
lower part of the city a foreign land. I look
back upon the life I then led with a shudder when
I think what would have been had I not escaped
it. But had I not escaped it, I would have been
no more unfortunate than are many young
col-
ored men who come to New York. During that
dark period I became acquainted with a score of
bright, intelligent young fellows who had come
up to the great city with high hopes and ambi-
tions, and who had fallen under the spell of this
under life, a spell they could not throw off.
There was one popularly known as “the doctor”;


AN EX-COLORED MAN
111
he had had two years in the Harvard Medical
School; but here he was, living this gas-light life,
his will and moral sense so enervated and dead-
ened that it was impossible for him to break away.
I do not doubt that the same thing is going on
now, but I have rather sympathy than censure for
these victims, for I know how easy it is to slip
into a slough from which it takes a herculean ef-
fort to leap.
I regret that I cannot contrast my views of life
among colored people of New York; but the truth
is, during my entire stay in this city I did not
become acquainted with a single respectable fam-
ily. I knew that there were several colored men
worth a hundred or so thousand dollars each, and
some families who proudly dated their free an-
cestry back a half-dozen generations. I also
learned that in Brooklyn there lived quite a large
colony in comfortable homes, most of which they
owned; but at no point did my life come in con-
tact with theirs.
In my gambling experiences I passed through
all the states and conditions that a gambler is
heir to. Some days found me able to peel ten
and twenty dollar bills from a roll, and others
found me clad in a linen duster and carpet slip-
pers. I finally caught up another method of
earning money, and so did not have to depend en-
tirely upon the caprices of fortune at the gaming
table. Through continually listening to the mu-


112
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
sic at the “Club,” and through my own previous
training, my natural talent and perseverance, I
developed into a remarkable player of ragtime;
indeed, I had the name at that time of being the
best ragtime player in New York. I brought all
my knowledge of classic music to bear and, in so
doing, achieved some novelties which pleased and
even astonished my listeners. It was I who first
made ragtime transcriptions of familiar classic
selections. I used to play Mendelssohn's “Wed-
ding March" in a manner that never failed to
arouse enthusiasm among the patrons of the
“Club." Very few nights passed during which I
was not asked to play it. It was no secret that
the great increase in slumming visitors was due
to my playing. By mastering ragtime I gained
several things; first of all, I gained the title of
professor. I was known as the “professor" as
long as I remained in that world. Then, too, I
gained the means of earning a rather fair liveli-
hood. This work took up much of my time and
kept me almost entirely away from the gambling
table. Through it I also gained a friend who
was the means by which I escaped from this lower
world. And, finally, I secured a wedge which has
opened to me more doors and made me a welcome
guest than my playing of Beethoven and Chopin
could ever have done.
The greater part of the money I now began to
earn came through the friend to whom I alluded


AN EX-COLORED MAN
115
as
quiet and appreciative attention, and when I had
finished I was given a round of generous applause.
After that the talk and the laughter began to grow
until the music was only an accompaniment to the
chatter. This, however, did not disconcert me as
it once would have done, for I had become accus-
tomed to playing in the midst of uproarious
noise. As the guests began to pay less attention
to me I was enabled to pay more to them. There
were about a dozen of them. The men ranged in
appearance from a girlish looking youth to a big
grizzled man whom everybody addressed
"Judge.” None of the women appeared to be un-
der thirty, but each of them struck me as being
handsome. I was not long in finding out that
they were all decidedly blasé. Several of the
women smoked cigarettes, and with a careless
grace which showed they were used to the habit.
Occasionally a "damn it!" escaped from the lips of
some one of them, but in such a charming way as to
rob it of all vulgarity. The most notable thing
which I observed was that the reserve of the host
increased in direct proportion with the hilarity of
his guests. I thought that there was something
going wrong which displeased him.
which displeased him. I afterwards
learned that it was his habitual manner on such
occasions. He seemed to take cynical delight in
watching and studying others indulging in ex-
His guests were evidently accustomed to
his rather non-participating attitude, for it did
cess.


116
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
not seem in any degree to dampen their spirits.
When dinner was served the piano was moved
and the door left open, so that the company might
hear the music while eating. At a word from the
host I struck up one of my liveliest ragtime
pieces. The effect was perhaps surprising, even
to the host; the ragtime music came very near
spoiling the party so far as eating the dinner was
concerned. As soon as I began the conversation
stopped suddenly. It was a pleasure to me to
watch the expression of astonishment and delight
that grew on the faces of everybody. These were
people,—and they represented a large class,—who
were ever expecting to find happiness in novelty,
each day restlessly exploring and exhausting
every resource of this great city that might pos-
sibly furnish a new sensation or awaken a fresh
emotion, and who were always grateful to any-
one who aided them in their quest. Several of
the women left the table and gathered about the
piano. They watched my fingers, asked what
kind of music it was that I was playing, where I
had learned it and a host of other questions. It
was only by being repeatedly called back to the
table that they were induced to finish their din-
When the guests arose I struck up my rag-
time transcription of Mendelssohn's “Wedding
March," playing it with terrific chromatic octave
runs in the base. This raised everybody's spir-
its to the highest point of gayety, and the whole
ner.


AN EX-COLORED MAN
117
company involuntarily and unconsciously did an
impromptu cake-walk. From that time on until
the time of leaving they kept me so busy that my
arms ached. I obtained a little respite when the
girlish looking youth and one or two of the la-
dies sang several songs, but after each of these
it was, “back to ragtime.”
In leaving, the guests were enthusiastic in tell-
ing the host that he had furnished them the most
unique entertainment they had "ever" enjoyed.
When they had gone, my millionaire friend, for
he was reported to be a millionaire,—said to me
with a smile, “Well, I have given them something
they've never had before." After I had put on
my coat and was ready to leave he made me take
a glass of wine; he then gave me a cigar and
twenty dollars in bills. He told me that he would
give me lots of work, his only stipulation being
that I should not play any engagements such as
I had just filled for him, except by his instruc-
tions. I readily accepted the proposition, for I
was sure that I could not be the loser by such a
contract.
I afterwards played for him at many dinners
and parties of one kind or another. Occasionally
he "loaned” me to some of his friends. And, too,
I often played for him alone at his apartments.
At such times he was quite a puzzle to me until
I became accustomed to his manners. He would
sometimes sit for three or four hours hearing me


AN EX-COLORED MAN
119
when I was not playing for my good patron I was
generally to be found there. However, I no
longer depended on playing at the “Club” to
earn my living; I rather took rank with the vis-
iting celebrities and, occasionally, after being suf-
ficiently urged, would favor my old and new ad-
mirers with a number or two. I say, without any
egotistic pride, that among my admirers were sev-
eral of the best looking women who frequented the
place, and who made no secret of the fact that
they admired me as much as they did my playing.
Among these was the "widow”; indeed, her atten-
tions became so marked that one of
my
friends
warned me to beware of her black companion, who
was generally known as a "bad man.” He said
there was much more reason to be careful because
the pair had lately quarreled, and had not been
together at the “Club” for some nights. This
warning greatly impressed me and I resolved to
stop the affair before it should go any further;
but the woman was so beautiful that my native
gallantry and delicacy would not allow me to re-
pulse her; my finer feelings entirely overcame my
judgment. The warning also opened my eyes
sufficiently to see that though my artistic tem-
perament and skill made me interesting and at-
tractive to the woman, she was, after all, using me
only to excite the jealousy of her companion and.
revenge
herself upon him. It was this surly black
despot who held sway over her deepest emotions.


AN EX-COLORED MAN
121
many I do not know; for the first knowledge I had
of my surroundings and actions was that I was
rushing through the chop-suey restaurant into the
street. Just which streets I followed when I got
outside I do not know, but I think I must have
gone towards Eighth Avenue, then down towards
Twenty-third Street and across towards Fifth
Avenue. I traveled not by sight, but instinc-
tively. I felt like one fleeing in a horrible night-
mare.
How long and far I walked I cannot tell; but
on Fifth Avenue, under a light, I passed a cab
containing a solitary occupant, who called to me,
and I recognized the voice and face of my million-
aire friend. He stopped the cab and asked,
“What on earth are you doing strolling in this
part of the town?” For answer I got into the
cab and related to him all that had happened.
He reassured me by saying that no charge of any
kind could be brought against me; then added,
"But, of course, you don't want to be mixed up in
such an affair.' He directed the driver to turn
around and go into the park, and then went on
to say, “I decided last night that I'd go to Eu-
rope to-morrow. I think I'll take you along in-
stead of Walter." Walter was his valet. It was
settled that I should go to his apartments for
the rest of the night and sail with him in the
morning.
We drove around through the park, exchanging


124
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
shining full upon it, and it glistened like a mam-
moth diamond, cut with a million facets. As we
passed it constantly changed its shape; at each
different angle of vision it assumed new and as-
tonishing forms of beauty. I watched it through
a pair of glasses, seeking to verify my early con-
ception of an iceberg—in the geographies of my
grammar-school days the pictures of icebergs al-
ways included a stranded polar bear, standing
desolately upon one of the snowy crags. I looked
for the bear, but if he was there he refused to put
himself on exhibition.
It was not, however, until the morning that we
entered the harbor of Havre that I was able to
shake off my gloom. Then the strange sights,
the chatter in an unfamiliar tongue and the ex-
citement of landing and passing the customs of-
ficials caused me to forget completely the events
of a few days before. Indeed, I grew so light-
hearted that when I caught my first sight of the
train which was to take us to Paris, I enjoyed a
hearty laugh. The toy-looking engine, the stuffy
little compartment cars with tiny, old-fashioned
wheels, struck me as being extremely funny. But
before we reached Paris my respect for our train
rose considerably. I found that the "tiny" en-
gine made remarkably fast time, and that the old-
fashioned wheels ran very smoothly. I even be-
gan to appreciate the "stuffy” cars for their pri-


AN EX-COLORED MAN
125
vacy. As I watched the passing scenery from the
car window it seemed too beautiful to be real.
The bright-colored houses against the green back-
ground impressed me as the work of some ideal-
istic painter. Before we arrived in Paris there
was awakened in my heart a love for France
which continued to grow stronger, a love which to-
day makes that country for me the one above all
others to be desired.
We rolled into the station Saint Lazare about
four o'clock in the afternoon, and drove immedi-
ately to the Hotel Continental. My benefactor,
humoring my curiosity and enthusiasm, which
seemed to please him very much, suggested that
we take a short walk before dinner.
We stepped
out of the hotel and turned to the right into the
Rue de Rivoli. When the vista of the Place de
la Concorde and the Champs Elysées suddenly
burst on me I could hardly credit my own eyes.
I shall attempt no such superogatory task as a
description of Paris. I wish only to give briefly
the impressions which that wonderful city made
upon me.
It impressed me as the perfect and
perfectly beautiful city; and even after I had been
there for some time, and seen not only its avenues
and palaces, but its most squalid alleys and hov-
els, this impression was not weakened. Paris be-
came for me a charmed spot, and whenever I have
returned there I have fallen under the spell, a


126
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
spell which compels admiration for all of its man-
ners and customs and justification of even its fol-
lies and sins.
We walked a short distance up the Champs
Elysées and sat for a while in chairs along the
sidewalk, watching the passing crowds on foot and
in carriages. It was with reluctance that I went
back to the hotel for dinner. After dinner we
went to one of the summer theaters, and after the
performance my friend took me to a large café
on one of the grand boulevards. Here it was that
I had my first glimpse of the French life of popu-
lar literature, so different from real French life.
There were several hundred people, men and
women, in the place drinking, smoking, talking,
and listening to the music. My millionaire friend
and I took seats at a table where we sat smoking
and watching the crowd. It was not long before
We were joined by two or three good-looking, well-
dressed young women. My friend talked to them
in French and bought drinks for the whole party.
I tried to recall my high school French, but the
effort availed me little. I could stammer out a
few phrases, but, very naturally, could not un-
derstand a word that was said to me.
We stayed
at the café a couple of hours, then went back to
the hotel. The next day we spent several hours
in the shops and at the tailors. I had no clothes
except what I had been able to gather together
at my benefactor's apartments the night before


128
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
tition to the reader. I played not only for the
guests, but continued, as I used to do in New
York, to play often for the host when he was
alone. This man of the world, who grew weary
of everything, and was always searching for
something new, appeared never to grow tired of
my music; he seemed to take it as a drug. He fell
into a habit which caused me no little annoyance;
sometimes he would come in during the early
hours of the morning, and finding me in bed
asleep, would wake me up and ask me to play
something. This, so far as I can remember, was
my only hardship during my whole stay with him
in Europe.
After the first few weeks spent in sight-seeing,
I had a great deal of time left to myself; my
friend was often I did not know where. When
not with him I spent the day nosing about all the
curious nooks and corners of Paris ; of this I never
grew tired. At night I usually went to some
theater, but always ended up at the big café on the
Grand Boulevards. I wish the reader to know
that it was not alone the gayety which drew me
there; aside from that I had a laudable purpose.
I had purchased an English-French conversa-
tional dictionary, and I went there every night to
take a language lesson. I used to get three or
four of the young women who frequented the place
at a table and buy beer and cigarettes for them.
In return I received my lesson. I got more than


132
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
but I did not hear the music. Slowly the deso-
late loneliness of my position became clear to me.
I knew that I could not speak, but I would have
given a part of my life to touch her hand with
mine and call her sister. I sat through the opera
until I could stand it no longer. I felt that I was
suffocating. Valentine's love seemed like mock-
ery, and I felt an almost uncontrollable impulse
to rise up and scream to the audience, “Here,
here in your very midst, is a tragedy, a real trag-
edy!” This impulse grew so strong that I be-
came afraid of myself, and in the darkness of one
of the scenes I stumbled out of the theater. I
walked aimlessly about for an hour or so, my feel-
ings divided between a desire to weep and a de-
sire to curse.
I finally took a cab and went from
café to café, and for one of the very few times in
my life drank myself into a stupor.
It was unwelcome news for me when my bene-
factor-I could not think of him as employer-
informed me that he was at last tired of Paris.
This news gave me, I think, a passing doubt as to
his sanity. I had enjoyed life in Paris, and, tak-
ing all things into consideration, enjoyed it whole-
somely. One thing which greatly contributed to
my enjoyment was the fact that I was an Ameri-
Americans are immensely popular in Paris;
and this is not due solely to the fact that they
spend lots of money there; for they spend just as
much or more in London, and in the latter city
can.


AN EX-COLORED MAN
133
they are merely tolerated because they do spend.
The Londoner seems to think that Americans are
people whose only claim to be classed as civilized
is that they have money, and the regrettable thing
about that is that the money is not English. But
the French are more logical and freer from preju-
dices than the British; so the difference of atti-
tude is easily explained. Only once in Paris did
I have cause to blush for my American citizen-
ship. I had become quite friendly with a young
man from Luxembourg whom I had met at the big
café. He was a stolid, slow-witted fellow, but, as
we say, with a heart of gold. He and I grew at-
tached to each other and were together fre-
quently. He was a great admirer of the United
States and never grew tired of talking to me
about the country and asking for information.
It was his intention to try his fortune there some
day. One night he asked me in a tone of voice
which indicated that he expected an authoritative
denial of an ugly rumor, “Did they really burn
a man alive in the United States ?" I never knew
what I stammered out to him as an answer.
I
should have felt relieved if I could even have said
to him, “Well, only one."
When we arrived in London my sadness at leav-
ing Paris was turned into despair. After my
long stay in the French capital, huge, ponderous,
massive London seemed to me as ugly a thing as
man could contrive to make. I thought of Paris


134
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
as a beauty spot on the face of the earth, and of
London as a big freckle. But soon London's
massiveness, I might say its very ugliness, began
to impress me. I began to experience that sense
of grandeur which one feels when he looks at a
great mountain or a mighty river. Beside Lon-
don Paris becomes a toy, a pretty plaything.
And I must own that before I left the world's
metropolis I discovered much there that was beau-
tiful. The beauty in and about London is en-
tirely different from that in and about Paris; and
I could not but admit that the beauty of the
French city seemed hand-made, artificial, as
though set up for the photographer's camera, ev-
erything nicely adjusted so as not to spoil the
picture; while that of the English city was rug-
ged, natural and fresh.
How these two cities typify the two peoples
who built them! Even the sound of their names
express a certain racial difference. Paris is the
concrete expression of the gayety, regard for
symmetry, love of art and, I might well add, of
the morality of the French people. London
stands for the conservatism, the solidarity, the
utilitarianism and, I might well add, the hypocrisy
of the Anglo-Saxon. It
may
sound odd to speak
of the morality of the French, if not of the hypoc-
risy of the English; but this seeming paradox im-
pressed me as a deep truth. I saw many things
in Paris which were immoral according to English


AN EX-COLORED MAN
135
standards, but the absence of hypocrisy, the ab-
sence of the spirit to do the thing if it might only
be done in secret, robbed these very immoralities
of the damning influence of the same evils in Lon-
don. I have walked along the terrace cafés of
Paris and seen hundreds of men and women sip-
ping their wine and beer, without observing a sign
of drunkenness. As they drank, they chatted and
laughed and watched the passing crowds; the
drinking seemed to be a secondary thing. This I
have witnessed, not only in the cafés along the
Grand Boulevards, but in the out-of-way places
patronized by the working classes. In London I
have seen in the “Pubs” men and women crowded
in stuffy little compartments, drinking seemingly
only for the pleasure of swallowing as much as
they could hold. I have seen there women from
eighteen to eighty, some in tatters, and some
clutching babes in their arms, drinking the heavy
English ales and whiskies served to them by
In the whole
scene,
not one ray
of
brightness, not one flash of gayety, only maudlin
joviality or grim despair. And I have thought,
if some men and women will drink-and it is cer-
tain that some will—is it not better that they do
so under the open sky, in the fresh air, than hud-
dled together in some close, smoky room? There
is a sort of frankness about the evils of Paris
which robs them of much of the seductiveness of
things forbidden, and with that frankness goes a
women.


136 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
certain cleanliness of thought belonging to things
not hidden. London will do whatever Paris does,
provided exterior morals are not shocked. As a
result, Paris has the appearance only of being
the more immoral city. The difference may be
summed up in this : Paris practices its sins as
lightly as it does its religion, while London prac-
tices both very seriously.
I should not neglect to mention what impressed
me most forcibly during my stay in London. It
was not St. Paul's nor the British Museum nor
Westminster Abbey. It was nothing more or less
than the simple phrase "Thank you," or some-
times more elaborated, “Thank you very kindly,
sir.” I was continually surprised by the varied
uses to which it was put; and, strange to say, its
use as an expression of politeness seemed more
limited than any other. One night I was in a
cheap music hall and accidentally bumped into a
waiter who was carrying a tray-load of beer, al-
most bringing him to several shillings' worth of
grief. To my amazement he righted himself and
said, “Thank ye, sir,” and left me wondering
whether he meant that he thanked me for not com-
pletely spilling his beer, or that he would thank
me for keeping out of his way.
I also found cause to wonder upon what ground
the English accuse Americans of corrupting the
language by introducing slang words. I think I
heard more and more different kinds of slang dur-


AN EX-COLORED MAN
197
ing my few weeks' stay in London than in my
whole “tenderloin” life in New York. But I sup-
pose the English feel that the language is theirs,
and that they may do with it as they please with-
out at the same time allowing that privilege to
others.
My “millionaire” was not so long in growing
tired of London as of Paris. After a stay of six
or eight weeks we went across into Holland. Am-
sterdam was a great surprise to me.
I had al-
ways thought of Venice as the city of canals; but
it had never entered my mind that I should find
similar conditions in a Dutch town. I don't sup-
pose
the comparison goes far beyond the fact that
there are canals in both cities—I have never seen
Venice—but Amsterdam struck me as being ex-
tremely picturesque. From Holland we went to
Germany, where we spent five or six months, most
of the time in Berlin. I found Berlin more to
my taste than London, and occasionally I had to
admit that in some things it was superior to
Paris.
In Berlin I especially enjoyed the orchestral
concerts, and I attended a large number of them.
I formed the acquaintance of a good many musi-
cians, several of whom spoke of my playing in
high terms. It was in Berlin that my inspiration
was renewed. One night my “millionaire” enter-
tained a party of men composed of artists, musi-
cians, writers and, for aught I know, a count or


AN EX-COLORED MAN
141
still think that the only spot on earth? Wait
until you see Cairo and Tokio, you may change
your mind.” “No,” I stammered, “it is not be-
cause I want to go back to Paris.
I want to go
back to the United States." He wished to know
my reason, and I told him, as best I could, my
dreams, my ambition, and my decision. While I
was talking he watched me with a curious, almost
cynical, smile growing on his lips. When I had
finished he put his hand on my shoulder.—This
was the first physical expression of tender regard
he had ever shown me—and looking at me in a
big-brotherly way, said, “My boy, you are by
blood, by appearance, by education and by tastes,
a white man. Now why do you want to throw
your life away amidst the poverty and ignorance,
in the hopeless struggle of the black people of
the United States ? Then look at the terrible
handicap you are placing on yourself by going
home and working as a Negro composer; you can
never be able to get the hearing for your work
which it might deserve. I doubt that even a white
musician of recognized ability could succeed there
by working on the theory that American music
should be based on Negro themes. Music is a
universal art; anybody's music belongs to every-
body; you can't limit it to race or country. Now,
if you want to become a composer, why not stay
right here in Europe? I will put you under the
best teachers on the continent. Then if you want


AN EX-COLORED MAN
143
0
forces, we cannot annihilate it; we may only change
its form. We light upon one evil and hit it with
all the might of our civilization, but only succeed
in scattering it into a dozen of other forms. We
hit slavery through a great civil war. Did we
destroy it? No, we only changed it into hatred
between sections of the country: in the South, into
political corruption and chicanery, the degrada-
tion of the blacks through peonage, unjust laws,
unfair and cruel treatment; and the degradation
of the whites by their resorting to these practices;
the paralyzation of the public conscience, and the
ever overhanging dread of what the future may
bring. Modern civilization hit ignorance of the
masses through the means of popular education.
What has it done but turn ignorance into anarchy,
socialism, strikes, hatred between poor and rich,
and universal discontent. In like manner, modern
philanthropy hit at suffering and disease through
asylums and hospitals; it prolongs the sufferers'
lives, it is true; but is, at the same time, sending
down strains of insanity and weakness into future
generations. My philosophy of life is this: make
yourself as happy as possible, and try to make
those happy whose lives come into touch with
yours; but to attempt to right the wrongs and
ease the sufferings of the world in general, is a
waste of effort. You had just as well try to
bale the Atlantic by pouring the water into the
Pacific.”


CHAPTER X
Among the first of my fellow passengers of
whom I took any particular notice, was a tall,
broad-shouldered, almost gigantic, colored man.
His dark-brown face was clean shaven; he was
well dressed and bore a decidedly distinguished air.
In fact, if he was not handsome, he at least com-
pelled admiration for his fine physical proportions.
He attracted general attention as he strode the
deck in a sort of majestic loneliness. I became
curious to know who he was and determined to
strike up an acquaintance with him at the first
opportune moment. The chance came a day or
two later. He was sitting in the smoking-room,
with a cigar in his mouth which had gone out,
reading a novel. I sat down beside him and, of-
fering him a fresh cigar, said, “You don't mind
my telling you something unpleasant, do you?”
He looked at me with a smile, accepted the prof-
fered cigar, and replied in a voice which com-
ported perfectly with his size and appearance, “I
think my curiosity overcomes any objections I
might have.” “Well,” I said, "have you noticed
that the man who sat at your right in the saloon
during the first meal has not sat there since?”
146


AN EX-COLORED MAN
147
He frowned slightly without answering my ques-
tion. “Well," I continued, “he asked the steward
to remove him; and not only that, he attempted
to persuade a number of the passengers to pro-
test against your presence in the dining-saloon.”
The big man at my side took a long draw from
his cigar, threw his head back and slowly blew a
great cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. Then
turning to me he said, “Do you know, I don't
object to anyone having prejudices so long as
those prejudices don't interfere with my personal
liberty. Now, the man you are speaking of had
a perfect right to change his seat if I in any way
interfered with his appetite or his digestion. I
would have no reason to complain if he removed
to the farthest corner of the saloon, or even if he
got off the ship; but when his prejudice attempts
to move me one foot, one inch, out of the place
where I am comfortably located, then I object.”
On the word "object” he brought his great fist
down on the table in front of us with such a crash
that everyone in the room turned to look. We
both covered up the slight embarrassment with a
laugh, and strolled out on the deck.
We walked the deck for an hour or more, dis-
cussing different phases of the Negro question. I,
in referring to the race, used the personal pro-
noun “we”; my companion made no comment about
it, nor evinced any surprise, except to slightly
raise his eyebrows the first time he caught the sig-


AN EX-COLORED MAN
149
merciful but justice-loving God in heaven, and
I believe that there is, we shall win; for we have
right on our side; while those who oppose us can
defend themselves by nothing in the moral law,
nor even by anything in the enlightened thought
of the present age.'
For several days, together with other topics, we
discussed the race problem, not only of the United
States, but the race problem as it affected native
Africans and Jews. Finally, before we reached
Boston, our conversation had grown familiar and
personal. I had told him something of my past
and much about my intentions for the future. I
learned that he was a physician, a graduate of
Howard University, Washington, and had done
post-graduate work in Philadelphia ; and this was
his second trip abroad to attend professional
He had practiced for some years in the
city of Washington, and though he did not say
so, I gathered that his practice was a lucrative
Before we left the ship he had made me
promise that I would stop two or three days in
Washington before going on South.
We put up at a hotel in Boston for a couple of
days, and visited several of my new friend's ac-
quaintances; they were all people of education and
culture and, apparently, of means. I could not but
help being struck by the great difference between
them and the same class of colored people in the
South. In speech and thought they were genuine
courses.
one.


152
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
To paraphrase, “Have a white skin, and all things
else may be added unto you." I have seen ad-
vertisements in newspapers for waiters, bell boys
or elevator men, which read, “Light colored man
wanted.” It is this tremendous pressure which
the sentiment of the country exerts that is operat-
ing on the race. There is involved not only the
question of higher opportunity, but often the ques-
tion of earning a livelihood; and so I say it is not
strange, but a natural tendency. Nor is it any
more a sacrifice of self respect that a black man
should give to his children every advantage he can
which complexion of the skin carries, than that the
new or vulgar rich should purchase for their chil-
dren the advantages which ancestry, aristocracy,
and social position carry.
I once heard a colored
man sum it up in these words, “It's no disgrace to
be black, but it's often very inconvenient.”
Washington shows the Negro not only at his
best, but also at his worst. As I drove around with
the doctor, he commented rather harshly on those
of the latter class which we saw. He remarked :
“You see those lazy, loafing, good-for-nothing
darkies, they're not worth digging graves for;
yet they are the ones who create impressions of
the race for the casual observer. It's because they
are always in evidence on the street corners, while
the rest of us are hard at work, and
you
know a
dozen loafing darkies make a bigger crowd and a
worse impression in this country than fifty white


AN EX-COLORED MAN
153
thee
men of the same class. But they ought not to
represent the race. We are the race, and the race
ought to be judged by us, not by them. Every
race and every nation is judged by the best it has
been able to produce, not by the worst."
The recollection of my stay in Washington is a
pleasure to me now. In company with the doctor
I visited Howard University, the public schools,
the excellent colored hospital, with which he was in
some way connected, if I remember correctly, and
many comfortable and even elegant homes. It was
with some reluctance that I continued my journey
south. The doctor was very kind in giving me
letters to people in Richmond and Nashville when
I told him that I intended to stop in both of these
cities. In Richmond a man who was then editing
a very creditable colored newspaper, gave me a
great deal of his time, and made my stay there of
three or four days very pleasant. In Nashville I
spent a whole day at Fisk University, the home of
the "Jubilee Singers,” and was more than repaid
for my time.
time. Among my letters of introduction
was one to a very prosperous physician. He drove
me about the city and introduced me to a number
of people. From Nashville I went to Atlanta,
where I stayed long enough to gratify an old de-
sire to see Atlanta University again. I then con-
tinued my journey to Macon.
During the trip from Nashville to Atlanta I
went into the smoking compartment of the car to


154
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
smoke a cigar. I was traveling in a Pullman,
not because of an abundance of funds, but be-
cause through my experience with my “million-
aire," a certain amount of comfort and luxury
had become a necessity to me whenever it was
obtainable. When I entered the car I found only
a couple of men there; but in a half hour there
were half a dozen or more. From the general
conversation I learned that a fat Jewish looking
man was a cigar manufacturer, and was experi-
menting in growing Havana tobacco in Florida;
that a slender be-spectacled young man was from
Ohio and a professor in some State institution in
Alabama; that a white-mustached, well dressed
man was an old Union soldier who had fought
through the Civil War; and that a tall, raw-
boned, red-faced man, who seemed bent on leaving
nobody in ignorance of the fact that he was from
Texas, was a cotton planter.
In the North men may ride together for hours
in a “smoker” and unless they are acquainted
with each other never exchange a word; in the
South, men thrown together in such manner are
friends in fifteen minutes. There is always pres-
ent a warm-hearted cordiality which will melt
down the most frigid reserve.
It may be because
Southerners are very much like Frenchmen in that
they must talk; and not only must they talk, but
they must express their opinions.
The talk in the car was for a while miscel-
2


156
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
turned very red and had very little more to say.
The Texan was fierce, eloquent and profane in
his argument and, in a lower sense, there was a
direct logic in what he said, which was convincing;
it was only by taking higher ground, by dealing
in what Southerners call “theories" that he could
be combatted. Occasionally some one of the sev-
eral other men in the “smoker” would throw in a
remark to reinforce what he said, but he really
didn't need any help; he was sufficient in himself.
In the course of a short time the controversy
narrowed itself down to an argument between the
old soldier and the Texan. The latter maintained
hotly that the Civil War was a criminal mistake
on the part of the North, and that the humilia-
tion which the South suffered during Reconstruc-
tion could never be forgotten. The Union man
retorted just as hotly that the South was respon-
sible for the war, and that the spirit of unforget-
fulness on its part was the greatest cause of
present friction; that it seemed to be the one great
aim of the South to convince the North that the
latter made a mistake in fighting to preserve the
Union and liberate the slaves. “Can you im-
agine,” he went on to say, “what would have been
the condition of things eventually if there had
been no war, and the South had been allowed to
follow its course? Instead of one great, pros-
perous country with nothing before it but the con-
quests of peace, a score of petty republics, as in


AN EX-COLORED MAN
157
Central and South America, wasting their ener-
gies in war with each other or in revolutions."
“Well,” replied the Texan, "anything-no
country at all is better than having niggers over
you. But anyhow, the war was fought and the
niggers were freed; for it's no use beating around
the bush, the niggers, and not the Union, was the
cause of it; and now do you believe that all the
niggers on earth are worth the good white blood
that was spilt? You freed the nigger and you
gave him the ballot, but you couldn't make a citi-
zen out of him. He don't know what he's voting
for, and we buy 'em like so many hogs. You're
giving 'em education, but that only makes slick
rascals out of 'em."
“Don't fancy for a moment,” said the Northern
man, “that
you
have any monopoly in buying ig-
norant votes. The same thing is done on a larger
scale in New York and Boston, and in Chicago
and San Francisco; and they are not black votes
either. As to education making the Negro worse,
you had just as well tell me that religion does the
same thing. And, by the way, how many edu-
cated colored men do
you
know personally?”
The Texan admitted that he knew only one, and
added that he was in the penitentiary. “But,'
he said, "do you mean to claim, ballot or no ballot,
education or no education, that niggers are the
equals of white men ?”
“That's not the question,” answered the other,


158 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
"but if the Negro is so distinctly inferior, it is a
strange thing to me that it takes such tremendous
effort on the part of the white man to make him
realize it, and to keep him in the same place into
which inferior men naturally fall. However, let
us grant for sake of argument that the Negro is
inferior in every respect to the white man; that
fact only increases our moral responsibility in re-
gard to our actions toward him. Inequalities of
numbers, wealth and power, even of intelligence
and morals, should make no difference in the es-
sential rights of men.”
“If he's inferior and weaker, and is shoved to
the wall, that's his own look out," said the Texan.
“That's the law of nature; and he's bound to go
to the wall; for no race in the world has ever been
able to stand competition with the Anglo-Saxon.
The Anglo-Saxon race has always been and al-D
ways will be the masters of the world, and the
niggers in the South ain't going to change all
the records of history.”
"My friend," said the old soldier slowly, "if
you have studied history, will you tell me, as con-
fidentially between white men, what the Anglo-
Saxon has ever done?”
The Texan was too much astonished by the
question to venture any reply.
His opponent continued, "Can you name
single one of the great fundamental and original
intellectual achievements which have raised man
а


160
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
The Texan was somewhat disconcerted, for the
argument had passed a little beyond his limits,
but he swung it back to where he was sure of his
ground by saying, “All that may be true, but it
hasn't got much to do with us and the niggers
here in the South. We've got 'em here, and we've
got 'em to live with, and it's a question of white
man or nigger, no middle ground. You want us
to treat niggers as equals. Do you want to see
'em sitting around in our parlors? Do you want
to see a mulatto South? To bring it right home
to you, would you let your daughter marry a
nigger?”
“No, I wouldn't consent to my daughter's mar-
rying a nigger, but that doesn't prevent my treat-
ing a black man fairly. And I don't see what
fair treatment has to do with niggers sitting
around in your parlors; they can't come there un-
less they're invited. Out of all the white men I
know, only a hundred or so have the privilege of
sitting around in my parlor. As to the mulatto
South, if you Southerners have one boast that is
stronger than another, it is your women; you put
them on a pinnacle of purity and virtue and bow
down in a chivalric worship before them; yet you
talk and act as though, should you treat the Negro
fairly and take the anti-intermarriage laws off
your statute books, these same women would rush
into the arms of black lovers and husbands. It's


AN EX-COLORED MAN
163
argument, I can see it in a different light. The
Texan's position does not render things so hope-
less, for it indicates that the main difficulty of
the race question does not lie so much in the actual
condition of the blacks as it does in the mental
attitude of the whites; and a mental attitude, es-
pecially one not based on truth, can be changed
more easily than actual conditions. That is to
say, the burden of the question is not that the
whites are struggling to save ten million despond-
ent and moribund people from sinking into a hope-
less slough of ignorance, poverty and barbarity
in their very midst, but that they are unwilling
to open certain doors of opportunity and to ac-
cord certain treatment to ten million aspiring,
education-and-property-acquiring people. In a
word, the difficulty of the problem is not so much
due to the facts presented, as to the hypothesis
assumed for its solution. In this it is similar to
the problem of the Solar System. By a complex,
confusing and almost contradictory mathematical
process, by the use of zigzags instead of straight
lines, the earth can be proven to be the center of
things celestial; but by an operation so simple
that it can be comprehended by a schoolboy, its
position can be verified among the other worlds
which revolve about the sun, and its movements
harmonized with the laws of the universe. So, when
the white race assumes as a hypothesis that it is the
main object of creation, and that all things else


AN EX-COLORED MAN
165
happy-go-lucky, laughing, shuffling, banjo-pick-
ing being, and the reading public has not yet
been prevailed upon to take him seriously. His
efforts to elevate himself socially are looked upon
as a sort of absurd caricature of “white civiliza-
tion.” A novel dealing with colored people who
lived in respectable homes and amidst a fair de-
gree of culture and who naturally acted “just
like white folks” would be taken in a comic opera
sense. In this respect the Negro is much in the
position of a great comedian who gives up the
lighter rôles to play tragedy. No matter how
well he may portray the deeper passions, the pub-
lic is loth to give him up in his old character; they
even conspire to make him a failure in serious
work, in order to force him back into comedy.
In the same respect, the public is not too much
to be blamed, for great comedians are far more
scarce than mediocre tragedians; every amateur
actor is a tragedian. However, this very fact con-
stitutes the opportunity of the future Negro nov-
elist and poet to give the country something new
and unknown, in depicting the life, the ambitions,
the struggles and the passions of those of their
race who are striving to break the narrow limits
of traditions. A beginning has already been
made in that remarkable book by Dr. Du Bois,
"The Souls of Black Folk."
Much, too, that I saw while on this trip, in
spite of my enthusiasm,
enthusiasm, was disheartening.
CK Ething


168 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
dividuals of the race. Southern white people de-
spise the Negro as a race, and will do nothing to
aid in his elevation as such; but for certain in-
dividuals they have a strong affection, and are
helpful to them in many ways. With these in-
dividual members of the race they live on terms of
the greatest intimacy; they intrust to them their
children, their family treasures and their family
secrets; in trouble they often go to them for com-
fort and counsel ; in sickness they often rely upon
their care. This affectionate relation between
the Southern whites and those blacks who come
into close touch with them has not been overdrawn
even in fiction.
This perplexity of Southern character extends
even to the mixture of the races. That is spoken
of as though it were dreaded worse than smallpox,
leprosy or the plague. Yet, when I was in Jack-
sonville I knew several prominent families there
with large colored branches, which went by the
same name and were known and acknowledged as
blood relatives. And what is more, there seemed
to exist between these black brothers and sisters
and uncles and aunts a decided friendly feeling.
I said above that Southern whites would do
nothing for the Negro as a race. I know the
South claims that it has spent millions for the
education of the blacks, and that it has of its own
free will shouldered this awful burden. It seems
to be forgetful of the fact that these millions


AN EX-COLORED MAN
171
those two Southern luxuries, fried chicken and
roast pork, is plentiful, and no one need go
hungry. On the opening Sunday the women are
immaculate in starched stiff white dresses adorned
with ribbons either red or blue. Even a great
many of the men wear streamers of vari-colored
ribbons in the button-holes of their coats. A few
of them carefully cultivate a fore lock of hair by
wrapping it in twine, and on such festive occa-
sions decorate it with a narrow ribbon streamer.
Big meetings afford a fine opportunity to the
younger people to meet each other dressed in their
Sunday clothes, and much rustic courting,
which is as enjoyable as any other kind, is in-
dulged in.
This big meeting which I was lucky enough to
catch was particularly well attended; the extra
large attendance was due principally to two at-
tractions, a man by name of John Brown, who
was renowned as the most powerful preacher for
miles around; and a wonderful leader of singing,
who was known as “Singing Johnson.” These
two men were a study and a revelation to me.
They caused me to reflect upon how great an in-
fluence their types have been in the development of
the Negro in America. Both these types are now
looked upon generally with condescension or con-
tempt by the progressive element among the col-
ored people; but it should never be forgotten that
it was they who led the race from paganism, and


172
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
kept it steadfast to Christianity through all the
long, dark years of slavery.
John Brown was a jet black man of medium
size, with a strikingly intelligent head and face,
and a voice like an organ peal. He preached
each night after several lesser lights successively
held the pulpit during an hour or so.
As far as
subject matter is concerned, all of the sermons
were alike; each began with the fall of man, ran
through various trials and tribulations of the
Hebrew children, on to the redemption by Christ,
and ended with a fervid picture of the judgment
day and the fate of the damned. But John
Brown possessed magnetism and an imagination
so free and daring that he was able to carry
through what the other preachers would not at-
tempt. He knew all the arts and tricks of ora-
tory, the modulation of the voice to almost a whis-
per, the pause for effect, the rise through light,
rapid fire sentences to the terrific, thundering out-
burst of an electrifying climax. In addition, he
had the intuition of a born theatrical manager.
Night after night this man held me fascinated.
He convinced me that, after all, eloquence con-
sists more in the manner of saying than in what is
said. It is largely a matter of tone pictures.
The most striking example of John Brown's
magnetism and imagination was his “heavenly
march"; I shall never forget how it impressed me
when I heard it. He opened his sermon in the


174
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
reader this may sound ridiculous, but listened to
under the circumstances, it was highly and ef-
fectively dramatic. I was a more or less sophis-
ticated and non-religious man of the world, but
the torrent of the preacher's words, moving with
the rhythm and glowing with the eloquence of
primitive poetry swept me along, and I, too, felt
like joining in the shouts of "Amen! Hallelu-
jah!"
John Brown's powers in describing the delights
of heaven were no greater than those in depicting
the horrors of hell. I saw great, strapping fel-
lows, trembling and weeping like children at the
“mourners' bench.” His warnings to sinners were
truly terrible. I shall never forget one expression
that he used, which for originality and aptness
could not be excelled. In my opinion, it is more
graphic and, for us, far more expressive than St.
Paul's "It is hard to kick against the pricks."
He struck the attitude of a pugilist and thundered
out, “Young man, yo' arm's too short to box wid
God!"
As interesting as was John Brown to me, the
other man, "Singing Johnson,” was more so. He
was a small, dark-brown, one-eyed man, with a
clear, strong, high-pitched voice, a leader of sing-
ing, a maker of songs, a man who could improvise
at the moment lines to fit the occasion. Not so
striking a figure as John Brown, but, at “big
meetings,” equally important. It is indispensable


176
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
is answered by a sound like the roll of the sea,
producing a most curious effect.
In only a few of these songs do the leader and
the congregation start off together. Such a song
is the well known “Steal away to Jesus.”
The leader and the congregation begin:
“Steal away,
steal
away,
Steal away to Jesus;
Steal away, steal away home,
I ain't got long to stay here."
Then the leader alone:
"My Lord he calls me,
He calls me by the thunder,
The trumpet sounds within-a my soul.”
Then all together:
"I ain't got long to stay here."
The leader and the congregation again take up
the opening refrain ; then the leader sings three
more leading lines alone, and so on almost ad
infinitum. It will be seen that even here most of
the work falls upon the leader, for the congrega-
tion sings the same lines over and over, while his
memory and ingenuity are taxed to keep the
songs going
Generally, the parts taken up by the congrega-
tion are sung in a three-part harmony, the women


178
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
counted for; they are mostly taken from the
Bible; but the melodies, where did they come from?
Some of them so weirdly sweet, and others so won-
derfully strong. Take, for instance, “Go down
Moses." I doubt that there is a stronger theme
in the whole musical literature of the world. And
so many of these songs contain more than mere
melody; there is sounded in them that elusive un-
dertone, the note in music which is not heard
with the ears. I sat often with the tears rolling
down
my
cheeks and
my
heart melted within me.
Any musical
person
who has never heard a Negro
congregation under the spell of religious fervor
sing these old songs, has missed one of the most
thrilling emotions which the human heart may ex-
perience. Anyone who can listen to Negroes sing,
“Nobody knows de trouble I see, Nobody knows
but Jesus," without shedding tears, must indeed
have a heart of stone.
As yet, the Negroes themselves do not fully ap-
preciate these old slave songs. The educated
classes are rather ashamed of them, and prefer to
sing hymns from books. This feeling is natural;
they are still too close to the conditions under
which the songs were produced; but the day will
come when this slave music will be the most treas-
ured heritage of the American Negro.
At the close of the “big meeting" I left the
settlement where it was being held, full of en-
thusiasm. I was in that frame of mind which, in


AN EX-COLORED MAN
179
the artistic temperament, amounts to inspiration.
I was now ready and anxious to get to some place
where I might settle down to work, and give ex-
pression the ideas which were teeming in my
head;
but I strayed into another deviation from my path
of life as I had it marked out, which led me into
an entirely different road. Instead of going to
the nearest and most convenient railroad station,
I accepted the invitation of a young man who
had been present the closing Sunday at the meet-
ing, to drive with him some miles farther to the
town in which he taught school, and there take
the train. My conversation with this young man
as we drove along through the country was ex-
tremely interesting. He had been a student in
one of the Negro colleges,-strange coincidence,
in the very college, as I learned through him, in
which “Shiny” was now a professor. I was, of
course, curious to hear about my boyhood friend;
and had it not been vacation time, and that I was
not sure that I would find hi
I should have gone
out of my way to pay him a visit; but I deter-
mined to write to him as soon as the school opened.
My companion talked to me about his work among
the people, of his hopes and his discouragements.
He was tremendously in earnest; I might say, too
In fact, it may be said that the ma-
jority of intelligent colored people are, in some
degree, too much in earnest over the race question.
They assume and carry so much that their prog-
much so.


180
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
ress is at times impeded, and they are unable to
see things in their proper proportions. In many
instances, a slight exercise of the sense of humor
would save much anxiety of soul. Anyone who
marks the general tone of editorials in colored
newspapers is apt to be impressed with this idea.
If the mass of Negroes took their present and fu-
ture as seriously as do the most of their leaders,
the race would be in no mental condition to sustain
the terrible pressure which it undergoes; it would
sink of its own weight. Yet, it must be acknowl-
edged that in the making of a race over-serious-
ness is a far lesser failing than its reverse, and
even the faults resulting from it lean toward the
right.
We drove into the town just before dark. As
we passed a large, unpainted church, my compan-
ion pointed it out as the place where he held his
school. I promised that I would go
there with
him the next morning and stay a while. The
town was of that kind which hardly requires or
deserves description; a straggling line of brick
and wooden stores on one side of the railroad track
and some cottages of various sizes on the other
side constituted about the whole of it. The young
school teacher boarded at the best house in the
place owned by a colored man. It was painted,
had glass windows, contained "store bought” fur-
niture, an organ, and lamps with chimneys. The
owner held a job of some kind on the railroad.


AN EX-COLORED MAN
183
His hands were tied behind him, and ropes around
his body were fastened to the saddle horns of his
double guard. The men who at midnight had
been stern and silent were now emitting that terror
instilling sound known as the “rebel yell.” A
space was quickly cleared in the crowd, and a rope
placed about his neck; when from somewhere came
the suggestion, “Burn him!” It ran like an elec-
tric current. Have you ever witnessed the trans-
formation of human beings into savage beasts?
Nothing can be more terrible. A railroad tie
was sunk into the ground, the rope was removed
and a chain brought and securely coiled around
the victim and the stake. There he stood, a man
only in form and stature, every sign of degeneracy
stamped upon his countenance.
His eyes were
dull and vacant, indicating not a single ray of
thought. Evidently the realization of his fearful
fate had robbed him of whatever reasoning power
he had ever possessed. He was too stunned and
stupefied even to tremble. Fuel was brought from
everywhere, oil, the torch; the flames crouched for
an instant as though to gather strength, then
leaped up as high as their victim's head. He
squirmed, he writhed, strained at his chains,
then gave out cries and groans that I shall always
hear. The cries and groans were choked off by
the fire and smoke; but his eyes bulging from their
sockets, rolled from side to side, appealing in vain
for help. Some of the crowd yelled and cheered,


184
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
others seemed appalled at what they had done,
and there were those who turned away sickened
at the sight. I was fixed to the spot where I
stood, powerless to take my eyes from what I did
not want to see.
It was over before I realized that time had
elapsed. Before I could make myself believe that
what I saw was really happening, I was looking
at a scorched post, a smoldering fire, blackened
bones, charred fragments sifting down through
coils of chain, and the smell of burnt flesh-human
flesh-was in my nostrils.
I walked a short distance away, and sat down
in order to clear my dazed mind. A great wave
of humiliation and shame swept over me.
Shame
that I belonged to a race that could be so dealt
with; and shame for my country, that it, the
great example of democracy to the world, should
be the only civilized, if not the only state on earth,
where a human being would be burned alive. My
heart turned bitter within me. I could under-
stand why Negroes are led to sympathize with even
their worst criminals, and to protect them when
possible. By all the impulses of normal human
nature they can and should do nothing less.
Whenever I hear protests from the South that
it should be left alone to deal with the Negro ques-
tion, my thoughts go back to that scene of bru-
tality and savagery. I do not see how a people
that can find in its conscience any excuse what-


186
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
go to the theater and applaud the impossible hero,
who with his single sword slays everybody in the
play except the equally impossible heroine. So
can an ordinary peace-loving citizen sit by a com-
fortable fire and read with enjoyment of the
bloody deeds of pirates and the fierce brutality of
Vikings. This is the way in which we gratify
the old, underlying animal instincts and passions ;
but we should shudder with horror at the mere
idea of such practices being realities in this day
of enlightened and humanitarianized thought.
The Southern whites are not yet living quite in
the present age; many of their general ideas hark
back to a former century, some of them to the
Dark Ages. In the light of other days, they are
sometimes magnificent. To-day they are often
ludicrous and cruel.
How long I sat with bitter thoughts running
through my mind, I do not know; perhaps an hour
When I decided to get up
and
go
back
to the house I found that I could hardly stand on
my feet. I was as weak as a man who had lost
blood. However, I dragged myself along, with
the central idea of a general plan well fixed in my
mind. I did not find my school teacher friend at
home, so did not see him again. I swallowed a
few mouthfuls of food, packed my bag, and caught
the afternoon train.
When I reached Macon, I stopped only long
enough to get the main part of my luggage, and
or more.


AN EX-COLORED MAN
187
to buy a ticket for New York. All along the
journey I was occupied in debating with myself
the step which I had decided to take. I argued
that to forsake one's race to better one's condi-
tion was no less worthy an action than to forsake i
one's country for the same purpose. I finally
made up my mind that I would neither disclaim the
black race nor claim the white race; but that I
would change my name, raise a mustache, and let
the world take me for what it would; that it was
not necessary
for me to
go
about with a label of
inferiority pasted across my forehead. All the
while, I understood that it was not discourage-
ment, or fear, or search for a larger field of ac-
tion and opportunity, that was driving me out of
the Negro race.
I knew that it was shame, un-
bearable shame. Shame at being identified with
a people that could with impunity be treated worse
than animals. For certainly the law would re-
strain and punish the malicious burning alive of
animals.
So once again, I found myself gazing at the
towers of New York, and wondering what future
that city held in store for me.


190 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
several dollars for “ads” which brought me no
replies. In this way I came to know the hopes
and disappointments of a large and pitiable class
of humanity in this great city, the people who
look for work through the newspapers. After
some days of this sort of experience, I concluded
that the main difficulty with me was that I was
not prepared for what I wanted to do. I then
decided upon a course which, for an artist, showed
an uncommon amount of practical sense and
judgment. I made up my mind to enter a busi-
ness college. I took a small room, ate at lunch
counters, in order to economize, and pursued my
studies with the zeal that I have always been able
to put into any work upon which I set my heart.
Yet, in spite of all my economy, when I had been
at the school for several months, my funds gave
out completely. I reached the point where I could
not afford sufficient food for each day. In this
plight, I was glad to get, through one of the
teachers, a job as an ordinary clerk in a down-
town wholesale house. I did my work faithfully,
and received a raise of salary before I expected
it. I even managed to save a little money out of
my modest earnings. In fact, I began then to
contract the money fever, which later took strong
possession of me. I kept my eyes open, watching
for a chance to better my condition. It finally
came in the form of a position with a house which
was at the time establishing a South American de-


AN EX-COLORED MAN
191
with me.
partment. My knowledge of Spanish was, of
course, the principal cause of my good luck; and
it did more for me; it placed me where the other
clerks were practically put out of competition
I was not slow in taking advantage of
the opportunity to make myself indispensable to
the firm.
What an interesting and absorbing game is
money making! After each deposit at my sav-
ings-bank, I used to sit and figure out, all over
again, my principal and interest, and make calcu-
lations on what the increase would be in such and
such time. Out of this I derived a great deal of
pleasure. I denied myself as much as possible in
order to swell my savings. Even so much as I
enjoyed smoking, I limited myself to an occasional
cigar, and that was generally of a variety which
in my old days at the “Club” was known as a
“Henry Mud.” Drinking I cut out altogether,
but that was no great sacrifice.
The day on which I was able to figure up
$1,000.00 marked an epoch in my life. And this
was not because I had never before had money.
In my gambling days and while I was with my
“millionaire" I handled sums running high up into
the hundreds; but they had come to me like fairy
god-mother's gifts, and at a time when my con-
ception of money was that it was made only to
spend. Here, on the other hand, was a thousand
dollars which I had earned by days of honest and


194
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
so blue as to appear almost black. She was as
white as a lily, and she was dressed in white. In-
deed, she seemed to me the most dazzlingly white
thing I had ever seen. But it was not her deli-
cate beauty which attracted me most; it was her
voice, a voice which made one wonder how tones
of such passionate color could come from so frag-
ile a body.
I determined that when the programme was over
I would seek an introduction to her; but at the
moment, instead of being the easy man of the
world, I became again the bashful boy of four-
teen, and my courage failed me. I contented my-
self with hovering as near her as politeness would
permit; near enough to hear her voice, which in
conversation was low, yet thrilling, like the deeper
middle tones of a flute. I watched the men gather
around her talking and laughing in an easy man-
ner, and wondered how it was possible for them
to do it. But destiny, my special destiny, was at
work. I was standing near, talking with affected
gayety to several young ladies, who, however, must
have remarked my preoccupation; for my second
sense of hearing was alert to what was being said
by the group of which the girl in white was the
center, when I heard her say, "I think his playing
of Chopin is exquisite." And one of my friends
in the group replied, "You haven't met him? Al-
low me” then turning to me, "Old man,
when you have a moment I wish you to meet


AN EX-COLORED MAN
197
played the accompaniment for her. Over these
songs we were like two innocent children with new
toys. She had never been anything but inno-
cent; but my innocence was a transformation
wrought by my love for her, love which melted
away my cynicism and whitened my sullied soul
and gave me back the wholesome dreams of my
boyhood. There is nothing better in all the world
that a man can do for his moral welfare than to
love a good woman.
My artistic temperament also underwent an
awakening. I spent many hours at my piano,
playing over old and new composers. I also
wrote several little pieces in a more or less Chopin-
esque style, which I dedicated to her. And so the
weeks and months went by. Often words of love
trembled on my lips, but I dared not utter them,
because I knew they would have to be followed
by other words which I had not the courage to
frame. There might have been some other woman
in my set with whom I could have fallen in love
and asked to marry me without a word of ex-
planation; but the more I knew this girl, the less
could I find it in my heart to deceive her. And
yet, in spite of this specter that was constantly
looming up before me, I could never have believed
that life held such happiness as was contained in
those dream days of love.
One Saturday afternoon, in early June, I was
coming up Fifth Avenue, and at the corner of


AN EX-COLORED MAN
201
to console her, and blurted out incoherent words
of love; but this seemed only to increase her dis-
tress, and when I left her she was still weeping.
When I got into the street I felt very much as
I did the night after meeting my father and sister
at the opera in Paris, even a similar desperate in-
clination to get drunk; but my self-control was
stronger. This was the only time in my life that
I ever felt absolute regret at being colored, that I
cursed the drops of African blood in my veins, and
wished that I were really white. When I reached
my rooms I sat and smoked several cigars while I
tried to think out the significance of what had oc-
curred. I reviewed the whole history of our ac-
quaintance, recalled each smile she had given me,
each word she had said to me that nourished my
hope. I went over the scene we had just gone
through, trying to draw from it what was in my
favor and what was against me.
I was rewarded
by feeling confident that she loved me, but I could
not estimate what was the effect upon her of my
confession. At last, nervous and unhappy, I
wrote her a letter, which I dropped into the mail-
box before going to bed, in which I said:
more
"I understand, understand even better than you,
and so I suffer even
than you. But why
should either of us suffer for what neither of us is
to blame? If there is any blame, it belongs to me,
and I can only make the old, yet strongest plea that


AN EX-COLORED MAN
203
not remain with me long. I waited one, two,
three weeks, nervously examining my mail every
day, looking for some word from her. All of the
letters received by me seemed so insignificant, so
worthless, because there was none from her. The
slight buoyancy of spirit which I had felt grad-
ually dissolved into gloomy heartsickness. I be-
came preoccupied, I lost appetite, lost sleep, and
lost ambition. Several of my friends intimated
to me that perhaps I was working too hard.
She stayed away the whole summer. I did not
go to the house, but saw her father at various
times, and he was as friendly as ever. Even after
I knew that she was back in town I did not go to
see her. I determined to wait for some word or
sign. I had finally taken refuge and comfort in
my pride, pride which, I suppose, I came by nat-
urally enough.
The first time I saw her after her return was
one night at the theater. She and her mother sat
in company with a young man whom I knew
slightly, not many seats away from me. Never
did she appear more beautiful; and yet, it may
have been my fancy, she seemed a trifle paler and
there was a suggestion of haggardness in her
countenance. But that only heightened her
beauty; the very delicacy of her charm melted
down the strength of my pride. My situation
made me feel weak and powerless, like a man try-
ing with his bare hands to break the iron bars of


206
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
which she would unconsciously attribute to my
blood rather than to a failing of human nature.
But no cloud ever came to mar our life together;
her loss to me is irreparable. My children need
a mother's care, but I shall never marry again.
It is to my children that I have devoted my life.
I no longer have the same fear for myself of my
secret being found out; for since my wife's death
I have gradually dropped out of social life; but
there is nothing I would not suffer to keep the
“brand” from being placed upon them.
It is difficult for me to analyze my feelings con-
cerning my present position in the world. Some-
times it seems to me that I have never really been
a Negro, that I have been only a privileged spec-
tator of their inner life; at other times I feel that
I have been a coward, a deserter, and I am pos-
sessed by a strange longing for my mother's peo-
ple.
Several years ago I attended a great meeting
in the interest of Hampton Institute at Carnegie
Hall. The Hampton students sang the old songs
and awoke memories that left me sad. Among the
speakers were R. C. Ogden, Ex-Ambassador
Choate, and Mark Twain; but the greatest inter-
est of the audience was centered in Booker T.
Washington; and not because he so much sur-
passed the others in eloquence, but because of
what he represented with so much earnestness and
faith. And
And it is this that all of that small but


AN EX-COLORED MAN
207
gallant band of colored men who are publicly
fighting the cause of their race have behind them.
Even those who oppose them know that these men
have the eternal principles of right on their side,
and they will be victors even though they should
go down in defeat. Beside them I feel small and
selfish. I am an ordinarily successful white man
who has made a little money. They are men who
are making history and a race. I, too, might
have taken part in a work so glorious.
My love for my children makes me glad that I
am what I am, and keeps me from desiring to be
otherwise; and yet, when I sometimes open a lit-
tle box in which I still keep my fast yellowing
manuscripts, the only tangible remnants of a van-
ished dream, a dead ambition, a sacrificed talent,
I cannot repress the thought, that, after all, I
have chosen the lesser part, that I have sold my
birthright for a mess of pottage.
economic