A
746,618


PROPERTY OF
The of
University of
Libraries
Michigan
1817
ARTES SCIENTIA VERITAS











THE ORDEAL OF MANSART


BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Suppression of the African Slave Trade to the United States
of America (Harvard Historical Studies, No. 1, 1896)
The Philadelphia Negro (Publication of the University of
Pennsylvania Series on Political Economy and Public Law,
No. 14, 1899)
The Souls of Black Folk (1903)
John Brown (1909)
Quest of the Silver Fleece (a novel, 1911)
The Negro (Home University Library, 1915)
Darkwater: Voices From Within the Vail (1920)
The Gift of Black Folk: The Negro in the Making of Amer-
ica (1924)
Dark Princess (a novel, 1928)
Black Reconstruction in America, 1860-1880 (1935)
Black Folk: Then and Now (1939)
Dusk of Dawn: An Autobiography (1940)
Color and Democracy: Colonies and Peace (1945)
The World and Africa (1947)
In Battle for Peace (1952)


¿ZE
DEind
Coor
Copyright 1957 by
MASSES & MAINSTREAM, INC.
First Printing, March, 1957
209


568590-013
CONTENTS
93
110
131
151
I. Colonel Breckinridge Promises
II. Tom Mansart
III. The Colonel Breaks His Word
IV. Manuel Mansart Is Born
V. The World and Mrs. Breckinridge
VI. The Marriage of Betty Lou
VII. The Education of Manuel Mansart
VIII. John Pierce and Henry Grady
IX. Old Dr. Baldwin and His Family
X. The Vision of Sebastian Doyle
XI. Manuel Graduates
XII. Jerusalem
XIII. Color Caste
XIV. The Atlanta Riot
XV. Atlanta Repents
XVI. Black Capital
XVII. Manuel Mansart Decides
Postscript
162
180
196
214
235
253
278
295
314


To Shirley Graham





Chapter 1
COLONEL BRECKINRIDGE PROMISES
IT WAS OCTOBER, 1876. On the Battery, the wide plaza which fronts
the sea in Charleston, South Carolina, four persons were about to
meet; and in a certain way their meeting was critical for a nation
and a world. The sea was shining in the evening sun which hovered
red above the shadowed city to the west.
On the white-pillared porch of his home, Colonel John Breckin-
ridge was sitting not far from his wife. He was medium in height
and spare, almost handsome in countenance, with a sifting of grey
in his hair. He was disturbed and unhappy and angry at himself
because he was so moved. The reason was simple. He was about to
tell a lie. Colonel Breckinridge was not accustomed to say anything
which did not seem to him true. Partly this was moral conviction;
partly inherited training; and largely the result of economic inde-
pendence which made reliance on other opinions or prejudices
quite unnecessary to his manner of life. Of course, his frank and
arrogant expression of opinion was often curbed by natural kindli-
ness and inbred courtesy. It seemed to him quite excusable to tell
a devastated beauty that she was still as charming as ever; or to
console and assure a sick and elderly friend on his appearance of
health.
But today he had been asked to assure a poor white leader that
if he would withdraw his voting power from control by the up-state
white farmers who were trying to annex and submerge the landed
aristocracy of the rich lowlands, that this group would get the
political and social recognition to which the poor white farmers
now so fiercely aspired. This new group was composed of city arti-
sans and small farmers who had never owned slaves and now hired
little or no labor. They resented the piedmont whites only a little
less than they hated the Negroes; it had been suggested that by
playing on these two motives an alliance might be made which
would save the old landed aristocracy of Carolina.
Ordinarily, Colonel Breckinridge would have been the last one to
be selected for this delicate negotiation. But the most powerful of
11


12
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
promise to post quite as obvie, gentlemen and hand
mpton used cognize artisans or Jaho Breckinridge
the new white labor leaders, Scroggs, had stubbornly insisted on
dealing only with Breckinridge, for Breckinridge was a man of his
word. He would not consider Orr, Butler, Gary or even Hampton.
It was Breckinridge or nobody. This was at once flattering and
annoying. Of course, the Breckinridges were gentlemen and there-
fore men of their word. But quite as obviously, no Breckinridge
was going to promise to recognize artisans or laborers as equals
on any level. Hampton used all his charm to persuade the Colonel
to assent to meeting Scroggs and offering him alliance; but Breck-
inridge refused to tell a lie. Yet he knew that he was going to lie
in spirit if not in actual word. He was within profoundly uneasy
as he awaited Scroggs.
He was expecting his visitor but showed no sign of noticing
the man already approaching; he glanced at the papers in his lap
and smoked. His wife, too, saw the stranger coming and continued
to embroider slowly, occasionally glancing off at Fort Sumter burn-
ing in the sun, and Fort Moultrie beyond.
Mrs. Breckinridge was a Du Bignon of Louisiana. She was not
a beautiful woman; her face was long and her skin sallow, her
mouth and ears large, and her frame tall and almost angular. But
she was evidently well-bred and even sat with an air of quiet distinc-
tion. Her hands were long and exquisite; her hair piled carefully
in a black, shining mass with hardly a silver thread; and her clothes,
although evidently not new and in part home-made, had been
styled in Paris. It had never occurred to Mrs. Breckinridge that
aristocracy was an effort or an ambition. It was simply a fact. Her
forebears had been nobles under the Roi Soliel in the 17th cen-
tury; they had met disaster and even poverty in the 18th, but what
difference? They were still aristocrats, and when their fortunes were
restored in the New World it was but natural, inevitable. She had
been educated partly in Paris and used to visit France almost every
other year until this war came. But nothing could permanently
change the world nor the people in it.
Colonel Breckinridge, on the contrary, was distinctly English
by instinct and descent. His clothes came from London and fitted
perfectly, even when old and slightly frayed. The Breckinridges
had played their part in English history for centuries. He still had
titled cousins on the English countryside. One did not boast of
this nor drag it into conversation, but it was a well-known fact.
Yet the Colonel was troubled; he did not have his wife's compla.
cency of position. The rough experience of war when he was a
youngster in his twenties, and the aftermath, had made him realize


Colonel Breckinridge Promises
13
that without effort and even desperate effort the old regime might
collapse.
As a boy he had been tutored in the classics by an Oxford Mas-
ter of Arts and was graduated at Princeton. When the Civil War
broke out, without hesitation he followed his father and uncle into
the field, emerging in 1864 at the age of 36 orphaned, and with his
hereditary fortune sadly impaired. The only reservation in his re-
spect for the English was inability to conceive why the Empire had
not wholeheartedly supported the South in the Civil War. He was
uneasy at the portents of the future and not so sure of his world as
he had been formerly.
With faint surprise, but careful to give no evidence of it as he
relighted his cigar, he now noticed another person approaching; a
Negro was crossing the Battery from the South and apparently com-
ing to his house.
The colored man, Tom Mansart, was walking along the Battery
toward the Breckinridge house. As he neared the imposing white
pillared Breckinridge mansion he began to feel inner panic. He
walked steadily and firmly on, even straightening his broad shoul-
ders a bit. The panic was first a little thing but it grew and grew.
How should he approach the Colonel? He remembered discussing
this small but great point in his union. Aunt Betsy, who had
walked in uninvited, pooh-poohed the whole thing.
"Crawl,” she said, "if you have to, only git what you want."
"Worms crawl, but they only git squashed,” replied Forbes.
“Right,” answered Jones. "Go to Breckinridge's front door;
stand up and talk like a man and not like a slave.”
So now he hesitated. Should he walk boldly up the front steps,
or should he enter the gate and knock at the side door? Now, so
far as Mansart himself was concerned, he had no objection in the
world to going around to that side door and going through the
traditional ceremony. Yet he was not a slave, he was a member of
the legislature of South Carolina. He wanted to make a tentative
alliance between the black labor and the white landholders; and
back of him stood 10,000 organized workers and voters.
Now the very first step toward this must be not to surrender a
principle. If he should go to the side door he would go in the status
of a laborer, little better than a slave. On the other hand, if he
could face Colonel Breckinridge as a man and talk to him, the first
and major part of the battle would be not, to be sure, won but laid
out. The principle could not be surrendered out of hand if the
battle was to be won. Yet he realized that by some perhaps needless


THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
insistence on his rights he might lose the battle before it was joined.
It was an extraordinarily difficult matter to decide.
Colonel Breckinridge was watching with feigned carelessness.
He was puzzled and a little alarmed. He was expecting this Poor
White; it had all been finally arranged at the club last night. His
was the chosen voice of southern aristocracy to make alliance with a
newly organized group of poor whites. He hated the assignment
but he could not refuse in the face of unanimity. His was, they had
said, the natural voice of his class. Moreover--and this was what
irked him-he needed this alliance. Unless his class regained con-
trol, lowered ruinous taxation, and forced Negroes to work for
nothing beyond the cost of their support, he faced financial ruin.
His crops were ungathered, his lands were almost worthless, and
cotton a dollar a pound! And he a Breckinridge, who never before
this unholy war had ever known the meaning of poverty! Was fear
of poverty making him a liar, or was he acting from high principle?
Who, now, was this Negro approaching his house, and what did
he want, and at this of all times? He was not a servant, as his clothes
and carriage showed. He walked firmly and held his head up. He
was probably one of those half-educated darkies who were mislead-
ing and befuddling the bewildered Negroes. But where was he
going? Not, surely to this house and at this time? He could feel
the white man glowering in his retreat. This was the time to unify
the whites for an end. True, it was also not the time needlessly to
antagonize the Negro nor breed suspicion. Was someone trying to
crowd him into lying simultaneously to both sides? Was he being
forced to bear a double burden of shame? By God, he would never
do it! Let Hampton lie to the Negroes if he must. A Breckinridge
would never treat a Negro as a man or even promise to.
As these measured steps of some faint doom approached, the
Colonel recalled in a flash the fantastic tale of the last decade. The
truth was simply unbelievable. It began in 1865, when black soldiers
actually marched into Charleston, down Meeting Street to the Bat-
tery singing “John Brown's Body." Beginning with 1868, South
Carolina, the leading state of Southern civilization, just beginning
to reorganize its lost power after the war, had suddenly been
handed over to the former black slaves and a rabble of white scala-
wags and carpet-baggers. He and his like at first had simply with-
drawn in proud refusal to cooperate in any way. The civilized
world surely would not let this horror happen. They had simply
to wait until this travesty and caricature exploded in its own filth.
A “convention" elected by the illiterate rabble met. A legisla-


Colonel Breckinridge Promises
15
Herelina alm of his retally begutorward
ture, composed of black ex-slaves, “crackers” and Northern grafters,
actually sat in the seats where Calhoun, Rutledge and Pinckney
once had thundered. He had lived in amazement to see a poor white
governor; Negroes voting; land given away by a Yankee general; a
Supreme Court manned by a Negro, a white Southerner and a
white Northerner. Free schools had begun, taxes were increasing;
one governor, a white Southerner, had sunk to the bottom of graft
and chicanery and another, a Northerner, now led "reform." It was
nauseating.
Here now in all probability was one of these impossible rulers
of Carolina almost at his steps. The astonishing thing that had
driven him out of his retreat was that this caricature and pretense
of government had actually begun to function; not effectively, of
course, but with a reeling rush forward that was, in a way, more
frightening than the awaited collapse. The fools had actually
started schools and given paupers, black and white, the vote. This
was rank bribery of the illiterate mob. They had begun to dis-
tribute charity to the war victims and even to divide up some of the
big plantations. This was sheer socialism and a blasphemy against
the sacred rights of property.
Of course, the Colonel and his people understood the motiva-
tion; the black and white rabble was under guidance of conscience-
less leaders, mostly from the North but partially envious local
nobodies. There was but one remedy and that was for the South-
ern aristocracy to reassert their power and seize leadership before
it was too late. The need became imperative when the wily Cham-
berlain came to power and began to reform the state. Here lay the
deepest danger: a reformed state, honestly conducted but with the
aristocracy despoiled of property, with land distributed among
peasants, with the rabble making attempts to educate their chil-
dren, and above all, with Negroes voting and holding office. Un-
thinkable. Rather begin the war again.
His friends had begun the conspiracy and he had joined. They
had reorganized the pre-war secret societies, encouraged mob vio-
lence and made alliance with men like Wade Hampton of Missis-
sippi. They proposed at any cost to make him governor in 1876.
For this they must get the following and allegiance of the poor
whites. The small up-state farmers had to be admitted to the plan
at the price of curtailing the political rights of property and sharing
some of the power which had formerly been the sole right of the
planters. The upstaters were rough, ill-mannered men, yet they had
social aspirations and a few had been admitted to clubs and organi-


16
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
as he could. Dnel declined. Pcroggs
zations to which they had not dared to aspire before the war.
Indeed, they were not simply admitted to the conspiracy but, led
by the military, they took direction and charge. All this Colonel
Breckinridge had accepted with poor grace but of necessity.
Finally came a further demand at which he gagged. It seemed
that a rift began to appear within the ranks of the poor whites.
Over against the merchants and farmers and the idle mob which
they dominated, the artisans and laborers were organizing. This
fellow, Scroggs, represented this new group. Scroggs had demanded
to talk with him and the Colonel declined. He had already dirtied
his hands as far as he could. But his friends pleaded.
Hampton especially was solicitous. He did not like Hampton
too well; Hampton was too theatrical, and all things to all men.
He was not quite a gentleman. But his arguments were strong. This
new worker group might be so manipulated as to hold in bounds
the white farmers who wanted to be the future aristocrats and rule
the state. White workers might balance white capitalists with land
and trade. Also-and this was important-they might be the best
means of holding black labor in bounds simply because they hated
Negroes so bitterly. Yet if organized they were less dangerous than
the mob of thieves and murderers now forming the new Ku Klux
Klan. So here, today, was Colonel Breckinridge awaiting this emis-
sary of the white artisans, to assure him that the new state in
making would treat the white worker right and that he, Colonel
The core would vouch for this ker right and that he case in
The Colonel came back smartly to the present and realized
that the Negro actually was slowly but purposely mounting his
front steps. Sam Scroggs, lurking yonder in the shadows of sunset,
was watching. If the Colonel received this Negro at his front door
what would the Poor White think? He came to swift conclusion
and arose slowly to his feet. He removed his cigar and looked
straight at the Negro.
Tom Mansart paused halfway up and lifted his hat. He began:
“I beg your pardon, Colonel Breckinridge,” he said, “could I
have a word with you?"
He could see the Colonel stiffen; his chin lifted itself a bit and
then he said with a low, firm voice, “The door is at the side.”
Mansart hesitated; he stood straight and looked at the Colonel.
"Colonel Breckinridge,” he said, "I am a member of the Legis-
lature of South Carolina ..."
But the Colonel spoke with cold courtesy. “So far as I am con-
cerned you are a Negro, and no Negro enters my front door."


Colonel Breckinridge Promises
Tom Mansart turned and again started to speak. “Colonel ..."
The Colonel interrupted. “Go," he said.
Tom Mansart had tried and failed. He turned and slowly
descended the stairs. It was but twenty feet from the front steps
to the side gate; but it seemed a mile and took a year. Tom thought
rapidly and fiercely. He had been deliberately insulted; his race
had been slapped in the face; his state had spit upon him. What
then? Here was opportunity; perhaps a last chance before disaster.
He could walk quietly and silently away but if he did he lost the
chance which after all was perhaps, indeed probably, no chance
at all. But if he swallowed his pride-his poor, lacerated, lateborn
and almost obliterated pride—and turned in here to plead a lost
cause, perhaps. . . . He turned in at the side gate.
For a while there was complete silence on the porch as the echo
ing footsteps of the departing Negro became fainter. Colonel
Breckinridge put down the papers he was reading and looked at his
wife. Slowly Mrs. Breckinridge laid aside her embroidery and
looked after Tom Mansart. Silence reigned a few moments. Then
Mrs. Breckinridge took up her embroidery again in her long,
exquisite hands and inserted a needle. The Colonel regarded her
uneasily and said:
"Well?"
She paused until the gate closed and then said: “I wonder if
that was necessary?”.
“What? His daring to come here?"
“No, your reception."
“Are you ready to receive Negroes on your front porch?".
“No. But are you unwilling even to talk with a Negro?"
“Yes, I am, unless he remembers that he is a Negro and can
ver be anythinger embroiderno desire toest; yet in telp seeing
She stopped her embroidery again and slowly laid it aside. She
turned toward him: "I have no desire to meddle in politics, dear,
and doubtless you know your business best; yet in a sense I have
fought these postwar years by your side. 'I cannot help seeing and
thinking. The South was right, Negroes should still be slaves. But
the South was beaten and the Negroes legally are free and are
voters. In self-defense you are allying yourself with the Poor Whites.
I wonder-I do not pretend to be sure, but I wonder-if a sounder
alliance could not be made with the Negroes? And if with such
alliance we could not face the North with better arms in our
hands?”


18
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
de Breckinpiebeseriede labruptly.
ch toward thing, until bile stoppen noti
"Do you know what that might cost? Black men on your front
porch, if not in your dining rooml"
"A revolting price, I admit-but lately planters have entertained
some curious guests. ..."
“Yes, yes, I know, and this Scroggs – well he at least is white -"
“Of course—but this Mansart has manners, and somehow I
wanted to hear what he had to say. -But here is your Mr. Scroggs.
I am afraid I must go.”
From the other stretch of the Battery, beyond the Naval Club,
Scroggs had walked slowly toward the Breckinridge mansion, where
he saw the Colonel and his wife sitting, until he descried the Negro
crossing the street from the opposite direction. He stopped abruptly,
and glancing furtively at the porch to see if he had been noticed,
stepped back into the shadow of the trees. He was a thin, old-young
man of 40, clay-colored and scrawny. He seemed never to have had
enough to eat. His clothes were new but fitted ill. His nose was
crooked; but his eyes were alive and burning. They seemed to
center a fire that was consuming his soul. He was a mass of nerves
which shook and tore at him. Yet he held himself in fierce control.
Scroggs belonged to the disinherited of the South-the poor, un.
educated, neglected whites. The black slaves were valuable prop-
erty to be protected and preserved. White landholding masters were
the people for whom government and civilization existed. Most of
the white people of the South fell into neither of these classes.
Scroggs not only belonged to the five million or more Southern-
ers who never owned a slave, but also to the lower ranks of this class:
landless, half-educated, but with some skills as carpenters, masons
and metal workers when cheap slave labor did not deprive them of
work. Born in Georgia in 1840, he grew up in bitter competition
with slave labor on farm and in town. Emancipation meant to him
a chance to be a real white man. White planters had always looked
through him; and even black slaves had jeered at him. He had
lived most of his life in hunger, cold and dirt until the war.
Then came his chance, as he firmly believed. Between these
upstart "niggers” and the haughty planters, and despite the middle
class farmers, he was going to find his place as a man. He was going
to be equal to anybody. He was going to have skilled work to do,
land to till and “niggers" to serve him. He was going to climb out
of hell into a heaven like this rich Charleston. Some of his white
fellows tried to ride to wealth and power by trampling roughshod
over him as over the freed Negroes. He sought to join them and
e as he haters, and desp. He was going


Colonel Breckinridge Promises
was only allowed to join the Klan and drink, kill, steal and rape.
But he soon saw that this was getting him nowhere. But he must be
careful – careful.
The darkies had leaders: whites from the North; educated blacks
who talked like whites; the Northern army. Even some Southern
planters courted them. It made him sick and furious. He had none
to turn to for advice. The lower mass of the poor whites were too
lazy and ignorant to stick together. Some were stooping to make
friends with "niggers” and even marrying them. Others were
crawling before the Yankees. The upstate white farmers were going
to replace the planters and become aristocrats and lord it over
him as well as over the "niggers.” But he, Scroggs, was going to
make alliance with the real aristocrats. He was going to become
one of them and not seek to replace them; his grandchildren would
marry theirs. In time they would need him and his folk. He knew
it. But he must be careful-careful.
Most of the poor whites seemed to imagine that they were going
to become part of the ruling class automatically. He knew better.
He knew that the planters would use them to the limit and then
kick them around as they did the darkies. They must organize and
bargain. They must insist on recognition and equality. His group
had grown. While the rabble was killing, drinking and whoring,
his group was bargaining. They were willing to join the Ku Klux
and kill "niggers” for the planters. They would steal and destroy
and wreak vengeance for themselves; but the planters must pay.
It had now come to the showdown. He had demanded the
word of an aristocrat like Breckinridge that the poor white work-
ers were to get recognition; but he must be careful. They'd fool him
and betray him in a minute. He had asked to talk with Colonel
Breckinridge today. He came late on purpose so as not to appear
too eager. He planned to swagger and walk boldly up the front
steps and greet the high and mighty Mrs. Du Bignon-Breckinridge.
By God, he'd show them that he was a man to be reckoned with.
Then the “nigger” appeared. Where was he going? Had Breckin-
ridge invited him, too? Did he think he, a white man, was going to
sit down and bargain with a "nigger?" Or was he being double-
crossed in some way? His suspicion became acute fear. The sweat
started on his face as he lurked back of the tree.
Scroggs had seen the Negro finally turn away, and was mollified.
He paused a moment, straightened his collar and started forward.
He saw Mrs. Breckinridge arise and turn away and he knew she was
deliberately avoiding him. He spit elaborately on the hydrangeas


Colonel Breckinridge Promises
21
vice and nurseskill. Also, it was souls. She hadhar clan ack
Breckincisouls. She with equa the wo
to be sure, a gentleman, and least of all to a gentleman of the
South--but to some Northerner or foreigner. Then the thread of
what he was saying caught her full attention: his first words dis-
armed her.
“You remember, Madam,” he said, "Aunt Betsy?" Certainly
she remembered that black and silent sibyl. Suddenly she glowed
with remembrance of days before the war. Aunt Betsy had not
been a servant in her family but a servitor in her social clan: a
mid-wife, vendor of herbs, and a sort of counselor who had come
and gone among the upper class of white families. Starched and
immaculate she traded bits of news between family and family,
landholders and merchants, the dark world and the white, be-
tween white and white. She seemed to know everything. She gave
advice and nursed the sick. She brought babies into the world
with incredible skill. Also, it was rumored, with equal skill she
had gotten rid of uninvited little souls. She had a sort of dignity
and wisdom which Mrs. Breckinridge and all her clan acknowl.
edged. With the war she disappeared, silently, without a word.
Mrs. Breckinridge feared she was dead. Now here in a curious way
was a message from her.
She started to ask after her but Mansart continued. "I am Tom
Mansart. I am a Virginian. I marched with Sherman to the sea,
farmed in the Sea Islands, worked in the West and came here. Here
I meets Aunt Betsy and soon marries her daughter. Aunt Betsy
feels strongly about things today. Her trust is fastened, as she tells
me time and time again, on the 'quality white folk,' the real aris-
tocrats of the old time. She thinks always of the Breckinridges as
standing for that class. She wants me, because I am a member of the
Legislature and a sort of leader in the Negro labor movement, to
come and offer to Colonel Breckinridge such help as we can give.
We has Negro leaders, some of them men of education and honesty,
some not. We knows that the whites from the North have tried to
lead us—some up, some down. They don't all understand the
Negro."
Mansart continued: “What we wants is work and fair pay. We
wants freedom and justice. We is willing to work hard but we
wants to be sure of enough to live on. Then for our children we
wants a chance to learn. That's what we wants and that's all we
wants. We don't want no offices exceptin' those we can fill well;
we don't want no society. But we don't want no more cheating,
lynching and mobs. Now the point is that we been talking over
pretty careful how to get these things. We knows we can't do it by


22
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
force. We can't depend on soldiers from the North. We can't get
it just by voting; we knows good and well that our own votes ain't
going to force things. We can't get what we wants by strikes; strikes
is war. We tried striking on some of the plantations and with the
longshoremen right here in Charleston. We gained something but
we lost more.
"What we needs is law and order; honesty from employers, and
-What can I call it? Kindness, good-will of all people toward each
other; not hatred, not murder. Now what we have asked ourselves
is where is we going to find all this? And my mother-in-law, Aunt
Betsy, has long declared that we can find this only among people
of 'quality,' among the old class of aristocrat slave-owners. I don't
know, but I want to believe it. My old master back in Virginia
was a good man in his limits. After long thought and talk we
have picked out Colonel Breckinridge. He is a gentleman, a man
of honor; they tell me he will keep his word. Now we offers him
an organized labor movement and our political support for the
ends we has in mind.”...
-Mrs. Breekinridge listened carefully and thought as she listened:
the man is earnest, sincere; his are the manners of the old South,
imitated of course, but the imitation is good. It is real. She remem-
bered again more or less vaguely the colored folk of Louisiana who
had consorted with her family; some were blood-relatives and so
recognized. There was one woman in particular-she wondered
what had become of her and the pretty little baby, blue-eyed and
blond, whom she had played with. Then she pulled herself back
to the present.
She sat down, but did not ask Mansart to sit. He still stood,
naturally and easily, and apparently did not notice the slight. She
leaned forward with something like excitement in her usually cold
demeanor. She said:
“You are right; you are absolutely right. Do not mistake me, I
still believe that Negroes should be slaves; that is their natural
condition. I believe that in slavery most of them were happier and
safer than they will ever be again. Of course, among masters there
were exceptions-beasts and tyrants who abused their power-but
these are everywhere, especially in so-called free countries. I do
not believe that the mass of Negroes will ever rise above their natu-
ral status—at least not in our time, perhaps not in hundreds of years.
Of course, I realize, too, that among them there may be exceptions,
and provision ought to be made for such exceptions. There the
South failed.


Colonel Breckinridge Promises
28
“Also, I am a law-abiding person. By the edict of this country
Negroes are free and they should be treated as free. That does not
necessarily mean voting and holding office; it means that they ought
to be under benevolent guidance and that, as Aunt Betsy knows so
well, can be furnished only by Southern gentlemen. I can promise
you Tom, that if you can induce the Negroes to work whole-
heartedly along with us we will reform this section and lead it to a
new civilization. But of course I shall want to talk to Colonel
Breckinridge about this."
Tom Mansart bowed and said: “I'm glad to hear you talk this
way. Naturally, I don't wholly agree with you. I reckon, Ma'am,
you don't quite understand how it is with us colored folk. We don't
want to be other people, we just want to be ourselves. We don't
want what belongs to you, but we want what belongs to us-our
homes, our wives, our children, our wages. We welcomes your
advice and leadership; but if other workers vote, we must vote or
we'll be helpless. There are some offices, perhaps most, that we
ain't fitted to fill, but a few that we are fit to hold. Wright is a
good judge. Cardozo is a gentleman, and honest. Cain wants to do
right. We ain't proud nor stubborn, we're humble. But we ain't
slaves no more and we never will be again. Things is going bad
in the South. It's all coming to a head and something must be done
and quick. Thank you, Ma'am, kindly for listening. But-I wonder,
could I just have a word with the Colonel? You see my men want
a direct word from him."
She hesitated and then said: "I'm afraid not today. He is en-
gaged just now. But I will give him your message and I promise
you will hear from him soon.” She knew this was not the best time
to approach the Colonel, but she believed she could in time per-
suade him to act. Mansart bowed but did not leave.
"Ma'am,” he said, “this matter is urgent. I know we're late
making our decision. But I hopes not too late. But time presses.
We must have the Colonel's word right from him. I don't mind
waiting, but please Ma'am, I must tell my folks that I saw him.
Will you tell him? I'll just wait here."
Mrs. Breckinridge bowed and left. As she crossed the dining
room she was thinking: “Of course, I could understand all this so
easily if Negroes were folks in the sense that I am; but are they?
Could they possibly be? Perhaps, partiallya little; but in just that
area of lack they must be restrained, guided. And where there is no
real lack nor difference, should they not be free? For who could or
sede hesitate from hind, with thindly for somethings is gone ain't


24
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
with difficultyine had a job to her the total poo
would drive or compel them?” She paused for a moment, puzzled;
then opened the Colonel's study door.
Scroggs had glanced after the disappearing Mrs. Breckinridge
and, scowling, walked after the Colonel. He was acutely uncom-
fortable, sensitive to every slight put upon him. He knew that
the aristocratic hostess had deliberately avoided him. He knew
that this planter of great and well-known family did not want to
shake his hand and did not. He knew that even the "Mr.” before
his name had been omitted deliberately but with a certain effort
concealed with difficulty.
On the other hand, he had a job to do. And he was fiercely
determined to do it. These aristocrats needed the total poor white
vote and the power of white muscles now if they were going to con-
trol Carolina against the arms in the hands of the Northern
Yankees; against the white upstate farmers and city merchants;
and above all against the impudence of Negroes who thought
themselves free.
It was this last matter that festered in Scroggs' mind because
it was nearest to him. He hated Negroes with a deep, blind hatred.
They typified to him all of his unavailing struggle to be a man.
They took the food out of his mouth, they made it impossible for
his children to be educated; they sneered at him and his scrawny,
ill-clad wife and dirty cabin. For all he had suffered at the hands
of the rich white world, he was going to take it out on these
Negroes, and this man Breckinridge and Wade Hampton were
going to make compact with him and keep it, or "by God!”
One thing that secretly bothered Scroggs and weakened his
cause was absence of unified backing. He had a group behind him,
but it was still small. As soon as a poor white got up in the world
-in money, position or learning-he hastened to become an "aristo-
crat”; he referred to slaveowning forefathers; he pretended to have
had a "black Mammy''; he tried to kick other poor whites around
just as he did "niggers.” He fawned on and toadied to the real
aristocrats. That left a heterogeneous mass of festering ignorance
and poverty, bitter and frustrated, but with no centering thought
for a leader to take hold of; no class consciousness, plans nor ideals
except hate, blood and loot. On these, then, he must concentrate,
and this was a shifting, uneasy basis for action. He felt bitterly the
need of wise counsel of experienced educated men. He knew few
that he could trust-no Northern Missionaries; few Poor Whites
who believed in poor whites and had trained themselves as Poor
White leaders.
absencen af. As soon as the hastened the preten


Colonel Breckinridge Promises
But Scroggs would not give in. He would not budge nor admit
his weakness. The inchoate, undisciplined, cruel group behind him
would go forward with him against the “niggers” or he'd turn it
on the whites themselves and strip them of their last pretense.
He distrusted the riots and rifle clubs of Butler and Gary.
They represented the rich planter class, and although they killed
Negroes at Colleton, Beaufort, Hamburg and Ellenton, they rode
as planters and aristocrats with no recognition for other whites.
It was restoration of planter rule that they were seeking, not a new
alliance with working men. To be sure, upstate near Augusta lived
the Tillmans, and one, a young one-eyed radical, seemed to have
ideas. But Scroggs had not yet met him. The Ku Klux Klan was
another matter. Here poor whites rode cheek by jowl with great
planters. He proposed to increase this common action and kill, rape
and rob Negroes so long as the aristocrats stood back of them. In
this way the fight would become a struggle of white against black
and not of rich against the poor, with “niggers” in both groups.
Although he gave no evidence of it, Colonel Breckinridge was
just as uneasy as Mr. Scroggs. It was a horrible duty, not only to
accept alliance with upstate climbers, but to sit down with the
labor riff-raff on terms of equality and beg them for help. But the
alternative of Negro rule was unthinkable, and therefore he steeled
himself for this interview. He put a certain tone of geniality, even
if of condescension, in his voice and passed Mr. Scroggs cigars to
keep him from chewing tobacco. He could not quite bring himself
to share his fine brandy with him and he wished he had thought
to have gin.
“Scroggs,” he said, "we're facing a new world and you and I
have got to stand together. While Negroes were slaves, which was
their proper place and always will be, the necessity for our alliance
with all classes of whites perhaps was not so evident although even
then it might have been wiser; but today we have got to put Ne-
groes back in their places.”
Scroggs lighted his cigar after some difficulty, leaned back in his
chair and eyed the Colonel almost truculently. He said, “We agree
about 'niggers.' They've got to be put in their places even if we
have to kill a few thousand. But that ain't all. Before the war
planters owned nearly all the black labor; whites had some land
to work by themselves; we workers, which means most whites, had
nothing but our hands.
“Now when all this is changed, what we want to know is where
we workers come in? We'll do the work all right, but we won't


THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
or word than his chair it than smokoment sile
slouched he'd rathered and was for le had concel-bred and
work with ‘niggers' or like 'niggers.' We'll help put the darkies in
their place and help kill 'em off; but not just to make little white
farmers and merchants into big whites while we be their slaves
instead of the ‘niggers' or along with ‘niggers.' We want to know
just what's your thinking on this and we want it straight. Also,
we want your word that what's promised will be lived up to.”
Scroggs slouched back in his chair and lacerated his cigar in a
way that showed he'd rather chew it than smoke it.
Breckinridge frankly stared and was for a moment silent. The
proposition was to him quite unexpected. He had conceived Caro-
lina as Aristocracy and White Mass. This Mass was ill-bred and
lazy, but led today by ambitious farmers and merchants who aspired
to be the aristocrats of the future. With these leaders Breckinridge
and his class had been compelled to make alliance in order to
fight the Yankees and their black dupes. Now it seems that the
white mass was divided and their laborers were demanding
a share of the spoils. It would have been ludicrous if it were not so
dangerous. Suppose for a moment both sets of workers, black and
white, should join against Property and Civilization? This would
be the End. He saw one ray of light: the hatred, bitter hatred of
men like Scroggs for the Negroes. Here and here alone lay salva.
tion. He probed carefully:
“Of course you realize, Scroggs, that we want this state to be
white, ruled by whites for whites. But the Negroes are here and we
need their work. ..."
"Sure," broke in Scroggs, “and we can have it. And we'll need
it too as we rise. But work—not votes and offices. We won't need
no educated ‘niggers'; just farmhands, ditch-diggers and servants
at 'nigger' wages or none at all which is what most deserve; while
we whites do the real important work with good wages. We'll build
a new world with ‘niggers' at the bottom to do such work as no
white man should stoop to; with white labor on top and the way
open for all white men who can to rise to the very top.”
Colonel Breckinridge thought aloud: “Of course there are some
Negro workers-” He remembered the black workers who had built
the beautiful homes along the Battery, the tall churches along
Meeting Street. He remembered his yellow overseer-but he stopped
there.
Scroggs sneered, “Yes, and now instead of working they are
sitting yonder in Columbia trying to make laws for white folks and
wasting white folks' money on crazy plans. They got to be stopped
from voting, killed off or sent back to Africa to eat each other up."
a new world with al important which is what me


Colonel Breckinridge Promises
7
He started to add something about yellow bastards who naturally
inherited white ability, but he thought better of that.
Breckinridge groped for areas of understanding. "I agree with
you absolutely that Negroes should not vote nor hold office. This
is for whites alone. Probably, too, the Negro race in America will
eventually disappear, especially if they are free to become lazy and
criminal. You are aware that the planters have long tried to en-
courage Negro migration to Africa. But return to the present.
"We propose to drive the Negroes out of politics by law if
possible; by force if necessary. Then the state will be run by the
whites. We have agreed that the former political power based on
slave property will go and that the vote which the Negroes and
Yankees gave to the poor whites, although done too precipitately,
nevertheless will stand. Schools for whites must spread. What more
can we promise?"
Scroggs was prompt: “We want all the best-paid work kept for
white workers, and wages raised to Northern levels. We want white
labor to control black labor and to replace it in all well-paid jobs.
They must be the machinists in the new industry which will come
rapidly to the South when peace is really restored. As machinery
replaces muscle we white workers want to replace ‘niggers' until
'niggers' disappear."
Breckinridge was aghast. The Colonel bent forward and said:
“Insofar as whites want work they must have it and be paid just
wages according to white living standards. If and when they can
replace Negro labor with better work, they must be allowed to do
so. Until then, naturally, it is to your interest as well as ours to
keep Negroes at work as contented laborers. As new and higher
sorts of skilled labor are introduced, they will naturally go to whites.
In time, of course, Negroes will die out. But until then they must
live decently for your sake and mine as well as their own."
Scroggs considered: “Sounds right,” he said. “ 'Course, meantime
they don't need schools and colleges and they must be kept out of
parks and first class railway and street cars.”
"They certainly need no colleges," answered Breckinridge, "but
they will be better workers if they read and write and some of them
must travel. At any rate, all this will be a matter of law and white
folk will make the lawl"
He sat back with a sigh. Scroggs rose. “All right," he said. "All
right. So then this is the clear understanding, Colonel Breckin-
ridge. We'll help crush and kill the ‘niggers'; you take over the
state with the help of our votes. We get the best jobs and good


28
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
wages. We get schools and land and chances to be as big men as
we can. 'Niggers' will be kept down."
Breckinridge gulped, took a glass of water and lighted another
cigar. He said: “Scroggs, I promise to see to it that white men in
this state get employment according to ability at decent wages;
that Negro workers are not preferred before them; that we who
are the old aristocracy will strive to open every path of progress
to all the white people of South Carolina; and that we look for-
ward with confidence to the day when this state will be an entirely
white and prosperous community. Meantime we will take from the
Negro the vote he is not fit to use and put him in his place as
laborer and servant pursuing such skills as he may have. We will
protect him in his humble station and assure him a decent life and
justice, so long as he is content with the sphere for which God
created him."
Scroggs arose smiling. “Donel" he said, extending his hand.
Breckinridge, ridding his cigar of its long white ash did not see the
hand, but very courteously guided his guest to the door.
"You have,” he said, “my word on this understanding, on the
honor of a gentleman!"


Chapter II
TOM MANSART
Tom Mansart was tall and broad-shouldered, the color of old
mahogany, with crisp hair, straight nose and full lips. He was pass-
ing through an extraordinary period of education in the meaning
of life. Twenty years ago he was an unlettered Virginian slave boy,
destined apparently to grow into a prime field-hand easily worth
$1500 at a sale. He was good-tempered, hard-working, and dreamed
of no destiny beyond possibly becoming an overseer.
Running away from slavery had never entered his head. Some
slaves escaped North, but he heard they had a hard time. His
master was a goodhearted man; he had enough to eat and was not
overworked. Only the year before the war he had been given per-
mission to marry a comely yellow girl and been assigned a small
cabin. Life to Tom seemed good, until suddenly war upset the
world. He was dragged from the plantation as soldiers moved
over it. He lost sight of his young wife and never heard of her
again.
They put a gun in his hand and stood him on guard. He had
used old-fashioned shot guns for hunting now and then, but he
had never seen anything like this machine. He handled it gingerly,
and wondered if he would dare use it, especially against a white
man. Then at dusk one day a white man came along. He knew that
the man had no business here so near the camp. It was his duty
to challenge him, and he called out in an uncertain voice:
"Who goes there?"
The man looked at him insolently, kept walking toward him
and ordered him out of his way.
All his life Tom had obeyed white men without question. He
was in a grave quandary now. He stared at the man approaching.
He was tall and arrogant, well-dressed and confident. It was his
duty as a soldier to stop him. But did he have courage to do this?
Would the sergeant back him up or beat him, or worse? A moment
more he hesitated. He saw the silk braid and shiny buttons on the
coat of the trespasser. Then he threw the gun to his shoulder,
29


Tom Mansart
31
war and now anion, organized as beginning to
merced and gloomre the war she has more than one miling con-
Page: buted anduting himle best pas a sore teller secrets olf alo
merchants were arriving on each boat; and the Black Code which
sought to keep Negroes in slavery had been modified.
Now in the summer of 1867 there was to be a registration of
Negro voters, and it was rumored that Negroes were going to help
govern, to have schools and perhaps to regain the land which
they thought they had down on the Sea Islands. Meantime he
worked as a stevedore on the docks where trade was beginning to
boom. He joined the Stevedore's Union, organized secretly by free
Negroes before the war and now flourishing.
It was at this time that he first met Aunt Betsy, a tall, scrawny
black woman with burning eyes, who seemed to pick him out as a
person to whom she could impart her wisdom. Aunt Betsy was an
institution, a black sibyl, chary of speech, grim, with eyes that
pierced and gloomed. None seemed to know her background or
age; but even before the war she had moved about free and un-
hampered and there were tales that more than one white man
had died disputing her freedom. She was the silent, unsmiling con-
fidante of most of the best planter families, so much so that her
refusal to serve a family was a social stigma difficult to ignore.
She was nurse and midwife; fortune teller and prophet; confessor
and scourge. She knew more of the family secrets of the great clans
of Carolina than any other person. She held herself aloof from the
slaves but knew them, and among them her word, seldom given,
was law. During the war she left her haunts and duties and
flitted between armies; carried messages, information and advice;
but neither side could be sure which she favored or which betrayed.
After emancipation Aunt Betsy did not return to her vocation
as servant and mentor of the rich, but set herself as guide to the
freedmen. But her guidance lay in work and land, in family and
home. She was continually seeking a foundation of labor and wage
to bring independence and rooting to the locality which was want-
ing to the uprooted slave. She became the influence behind the
beneficial societies and trade unions; and by threat and promise, as
well as by ancient remnants of. African lore and culture pattern,
she wheeled church and minister in line.
She early fixed her attention on Tom Mansart and began to
guide his career. He went to board in her cabin in one of the alleys
near the docks. He was now making a fair income as a stevedore.
His union was strong, and he began to think of marriage and a
family, or perhaps Aunt Betsy guided his thought. In all his inter-
course with Aunt Betsy he had paid but slight attention to her
daughter who always stayed in the background and kept the
cabin home spotless and well-ordered. She was a slim black girl,


32
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
ome ear of his new visi
as silent and efficient as her mother. Of her father no one had a
word to say, but neither had any indication of white blood.
He had come home early one Saturday afternoon, tired but satis-
fied, with his pocket full of his wages. The cabin was cool, and no
one there save the silent girl. Few visitors ever entered this home,
and today even Aunt Betsy had not appeared. Tom ate the excellent
dinner heartily and lounged back in his chair. The daughter, gliding
in, was urging him to have more and he raised his eyes to say no,
when his eyes met hers. Usually she avoided his every look, but today
their glances clung; her eyes were large, beautiful and black. In
them lay a startled desire. He laughingly held out his arms and
hesitatingly she glided into them. She lifted her lips to his and then
started back, staring over his shoulder.
Aunt Betsy came in slowly and seated herself. The girl began
to withdraw from his embrace, but he held her close. The old
woman and the young man glared a moment. Then Tom said a
bit thickly, “Mirandy and I is thinking of marrying." Aunt Betsy
looked at the girl but the girl, shivering, hid her face in Tom's
soiled shirt. Aunt Betsy slowly smiled and began deliberately to
eat her supper. So Tom was married. He found plenty of work and
good pay as a stevedore on the busy docks, when ships were hurry-
ing goods into the empty stores of the South. The wife kept house.
Tom Mansart heard of the Labor Convention called by a Rob-
ert Elliott, in 1869, at the state capitol, Columbia. He attended,
walking part of the way. Now for the first time he saw an educated
Negro leader, a man who looked like a field hand, with black skin
and a mat of close-curled hair, but who on the other hand not only
was well-dressed but spoke white people's English and had that
certain air of confidence which he had always associated with
white people. Here was a man who was one of his own race and yet
in whose presence he felt uncertain and strange. He did not know
whether he could trust this black man or not, but listened to
him, and the man spoke what seemed to him excellent sense.
He got no chance to meet Elliott or to talk to him personally
for a long time, but he did conceive the idea of trying to work with
him and of training himself to be the sort of helper that he knew
Elliott needed. The convention demanded a half share of the crop
for laborers and a dollar a day wage. But nothing seemed to come
of their votes and plans.
In 1871 Tom went to the meeting of the Colored National
Labor Union at Columbia. It was presided over by Henry M.
Turner of Georgia, a leader who thrilled Mansart. He now began


Tom Mansart
33
to understand the possibilities of union labor. He worked in his
own union until he became president of its 800 members. From
then on for three years he tried to improve union methods,
strengthened its organization and drew into its influence the car-
penters and masons, the teamsters and other skilled laborers.
In 1874 the battle for reform in South Carolina began. Tom
did not understand the situation. Panic had swept the North.
There were bitter charges of stealing and misgovernment in Caro-
lina. Schools had been opened but there was no money to run
them. Land had been purchased for the farmers and 2,000 little
farms sold, but there was cheating in the transaction. Taxpayers
were meeting and complaining bitterly. Of all this Mansart had
little knowledge and no plans. This talk about taxes, railroads,
public debt-he did not understand it. He paid no taxes for he
owned no property, but the great landholders were not paying even
what they were assessed. Stealing, however, Tom understood. If
theft, graft, and dishonesty caused the lack of funds for what the
state needed to do, this must be stopped. The idea of a wider labor
movement to stop dishonesty as well as to increase wages grew in
his mind and so when at last Aunt Betsy suddenly broke her usual
silence, he listened.
Briefly Aunt Betsy spoke. “The world is going to hell, all
business done gone, Freedman's Bank just bust with my $900;
Northern carpet-baggers like Patterson is stealing all they can git
their hands on. Southern trash like Moses must go. Stop the
stealing. Only one refuge: white quality; git into the Legislature
and vote the quality back. Them and the black worker can save
Carolina."
So Tom ran for the legislature and won, in the same election
that made Chamberlain governor, in a struggle for "reform." He
would never forget the day he walked into the great hall of the
House of Representatives in the capitol of the State of South Caro-
lina. It was in fact a place of decayed grandeur, restored in garish,
flamboyant style. But to this Virginia fieldhand it was magnifi-
cent to a degree that left him breathless: the great domed roof
glinting with gold; the rich panelled walls with paintings of proud
and haughty men; the semi-circles of desks; and in them sitting,
lounging, sprawling men. But not simply men, but over a hundred
men of every color: black, brown, yellow, cream and white. He
stared at the unbelievable scene. Of course, he had heard of this


34
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
ert Eilang? Pite din is was who w
but it had not penetrated his consciousness. All these human beings
were sitting together as one.
On the platform a black man was nodding permission to a white
man to speak. A yellow man interrupted with a question. Black
and white boys scurried across the hall with notes and books.
Yonder a brown man was asleep, near a white man who was writ-
ing. Tom's heart swelled to bursting. This was a new world.
Men were men, despite color, despite difference in clothes and
accent. What were they doing? How could he help?
Here he saw Robert Elliott again, now Speaker of the House;
with his tailored clothes, his clipped English accent; his air of
being and knowing. He was black but looked and carried himself
like a gentleman. Elliott had just resigned from his seat in Con-
gress and everybody was talking of his debate with Alexander
Stephens. Tom listened while Daddy Cain related the occurrence
in the cloak room. Cain was a black Virginian with side whiskers
who left a Brooklyn church to help South Carolina Negroes. He
entered Congress as Elliott left. He said:
"There sat Alexander Stephens, once Vice-President of the Con-
federacy; wizened, slight, cloaked, looking like a skeleton and yet
representing that mighty South which had challenged the nation
for four fearful years. For years he had been kept out of Congress,
but now at last he had won his admittance and took his seat with
all his old defiance of the North and contempt for Negroes. Yet
today he must listen to a black congressman.
“A hush fell on the chamber. Elliott was a fine figure of a
man, polished in manner and clear in word. The Galleries bent
forward. Stephens sat motionless as Elliott levelled his finger at
him and said:
“'Sir, it is scarcely twelve years since that gentleman shocked
the civilized world by announcing the birth of a government which
rested on human slavery as its cornerstone. The progress of events
has swept away that pseudo-government which rested on greed,
pride and tyranny; and the race whom he then ruthlessly spurned
and trampled on are here to meet him in debate, and to demand
that the rights which are enjoyed by their former oppressors,
who vainly sought to overthrow a government which they could
not prostitute to the base uses of slavery-shall be accorded to those
who even in the darkness of slavery kept their allegiance true to
freedom and the Union....!"
Tom began to believe in his black leaders and feel that they
could unite in a successful group. He came to recognize Beverly


Tom Mansart
35
Nash, once a slave: blunt, ungrammatical, honest; Wright of Penn-
sylvania he saw, now black justice of the State Supreme Court;
Cardozo, handsome, free-born and educated at the University of
Glasgow; Ransier, dignified and alert, President of the Senate;
Smalls, self-taught, crude and popular; Richard Cain, preacher
and editor.
The real world as Tom had always seen it was of course that
of the big plantation owners. They were to Tom Mansart a curi-
ous group of people. In common they had manners, poise and
a certain kind of education; but more, they had particularly an
awareness of the greater world. They had travelled; some had
visited Europe; all of them were familiar with Washington, Phila-
delphia and New York. What intrigued Mansart most was their
self-control, the calm way in which they looked at the world and
ordered it about. He was not sure whether this was mannerism
or a real sense of power; he suspected something of both. At any
rate, they had a custom of command, they expected obedience
of everybody, of their families, of the poor whites about, and of
course of their slaves.
Here in this hall were fieldhands like himself; there were also
white gentlemen and poor whites, and there were Negroes—some of
whom presented the same wall of cool courtesy that Mansart found
between himself and the white planter class. In fact, he supposed it
was the same sort of thing—the result of training and contact, of
travel and knowledge, and reading. It rather intrigued him to
wonder if these manners of the aristocrats were after all not a mat-
ter of race but the result of training; perhaps that was true. He
had not had experience enough to know, but he wanted to talk
with these black men. The point was, after all, that these Ne-
groes of all kinds and types, these white men representing all sorts
and grades, were governing South Carolina; they were building
a new world. He ached to work with them, but how? What could
he do?
Then, after days, he got more used to the scene. He saw uproar
cut the quiet; he saw frayed tempers. But business got done. He
followed the talk eagerly. But he wanted to grasp the whole idea.
He soon sensed by the debates, by the newspapers, by the talk
on the streets, that things were not going as they should.
It was a long, hard job. He voted, of course, for dividing the
land among the poor whites and Negroes; for public schools;
for pensions and relief and for better work and higher wages.
But these things were side-issues to most of his fellow-lawmakers
cut the of the talk ba* the debate not going
course, to public sch


36
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
ere's dish said to paid for persons.
who were immersed in taxes, debts, borrowing capital from the
North and electing men to office. Of these matters Tom knew
little, but he saw poverty increasing, cheating in land sales, and
little money for schools. He resented the open bargaining and brib-
ery, and saw a number of shifty persons, Negroes and whites, who
evidently were getting paid for their votes or some illegitimate
service. Mansart said to a brown man beside him:
“There's dishonesty there!”
The man was a small merchant and looked at Mansart coldly.
"Where are you from?" Tom told him. The man hesitated and
at last said as he rose to leave: “Men with $10,000 a year don't have
to steal. They can be honest. But men who only earn $100 a year
either steal or starve. I happen to know that yonder sneaking
darky cleared $97 from his crop last year."
He left Tom thinking. He walked far out into the country
along the inlets of the sea. Rounding a mass of shrubbery he sud-
denly came across a Negro sitting in the shade eating a recently
roasted chicken. The man was black, ragged and relaxed. He was
sitting on a log and looked Tom over speculatively. He had a
pleasant face and laughing eyes.
“Where did I git dis meat? Well, I tells you honest, Bud, I stole
it. Ah took it right from ole man Breck’ridge's home place. Wrong?
Nawsah, ah don'tink it's wrong. Hit's risky, but hit ain't wrong.
White folks been stealin' me all my life. Now I'se takin' some of
it back. Jus takin' it back. Work? Ah done done all the work
I aims to do de balance of mah life. I's gwine to rest wid a little
stealin' on the side. I'se through wid work. l’se free, ain't I? What's
freedom but not doin' what you don't want to? Never did like
work, never will! Workin' for mah people? Ain't got no people;
nevah had none. Nobody evah cared for me; now ah ain't caring
for nobody but me. May git jailed? Sure. Sit still and let white
folks feed me. Beat up? No, oh no. Ain't no white man evah
gwine to beat dis nigger again. Git kilt and go to Hell? Could be.
But see heah, Bud, when I gits up there, know what ah aims to
do?
"Gwine to stan' up and talk to God straight as man to man.
Gwine to say, 'Massa God, maybe you knows yo’ business bettern
1. But as ah sees it you ain't doin' so well. Looks like to me you
done messed up dis world something awful. Starved de good and
fed de bad; made scoundrels happy and made saints sad. Turible
mess. Look at me: born wid nothing, always hungry, beat up and
drove to work. Then you frees me and ah thanks you, jumps


Tom Mansart
37
an prays an hollers! Den you tells me ah ain't free but gotta
work. Hell, no! I jest ain't gwine to work! Ef you wants to burn
me forevah-well, go ahead. Ah still ain't workin'l Reckon ah'll
last as long as the fire.'”
Tom smiled wryly and then turned silently away. The man
with his mouth half-full of succulent chicken, threw back his mas-
sive head and guffawed.
“Plumb disgusted, ain't you, Buddy? You goin' right on savin’
the worl' an' worryin' yo' fool head crazy. An’ wen yo' done, ole
worlwus off dan evah. But go 'head. Yo' caint hep yosefl Go
’long." Then he straightened up, bent forward and a cruel scowl
leapt across his face. “Only don't git no ideas 'bout de police!”.
"I won't," answered Tom and walked on.
In May, 1876 Tom ordered his agricultural union in Colleton
County to strike for higher wages. The workers threatened crops
and property. They had some success but not great. In August,
just at the time of gathering the crop, his union in Beaufort
County, where once Tom had a farm, struck for a fifty per cent
increase in wages. They were miserably paid and systematically
cheated. They imprisoned the scabs who swarmed to replace them;
overpowered the sheriff and his posse. But at last the ringleaders
were arrested and jailed.
Mansart paused here. His union plan with strikes was not
working. They could not keep from violence for without violence
scabs would break the strike. Scabs were plentiful because of pov-
erty; while the planters and merchants stood ready at the slight-
est excuse to arrest his leaders.
Meanwhile, Mansart followed the routine work of the legisla-
ture, without seeming to accomplish much. He stood back of
Governor Chamberlain and his reforms. But when Elliott op-
posed Chamberlain and the white City Chamber of Commerce
praised him, Tom paused. The black leaders were divided. Some
began to feel that they were being used by a group of bond-
selling bankers and business men, North and South, with little real
care for the working Negro. He faced the election of 1876 com-
pletely bewildered.
What Tom wanted to understand was how income was deter-
mined; why good, hard-working men were poor and others who did
little or no work were rich. He did not question inheritance; that
seemed to him, if not altogether fair, at least logical. But these
new-rich, these idle upstarts whose contribution to production and


38
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
service was so hidden, how did they get rich so quick, while black
and white laborers worked so hard and remained poor? Ignorance
explained much but not all. He pressed for better schools. But
more money was needed. He voted for asylums but there was no
money. He wanted big plantations bought up and divided among
poor farmers, but if money could be found there certainly wasn't
enough honesty and good will available for these purposes.
Tom was still inclined to follow Chamberlain, especially since
Elliott finally gave up his opposition and was running for Attorney-
General on the Chamberlain ticket. Elliott had once been a
labor leader. Where now did Chamberlain himself stand? Against
theft and graft, sure; but that was not the complete answer. He
must talk to Chamberlain who seemed like a reasonable man. It
took some time to get a chance, but it came one afternoon on the
Capitol steps. Tom lifted his hat and apologized.
The tall, bald-headed and well-dressed governor paused with
cordial courtesy, not being sure at the moment which of his black
followers this man was. He sensed Tom's honest groping for in-
formation.
"Governor, I'm all with you for driving out dishonesty and
graft. I'm glad you hit Moses, that low white Southerner, and
Whipper, the colored thief. But what I wants to know is this: after
we stop this stealing, is that going to do away with poverty?"
The governor smiled. “You know what the Good Book says:
'the Poor ye have always with you.'”
“Yes, Sir, I'se read that. It say we got 'em, but it didn't say we
got to keep 'em. And I'm wondering if we Negroes always got to
be as poor, ignorant and sick?"
"Oh no, no; they'll gradually improve. But we'll aways have the
lazy and criminal."
“Yes, Sir, and there's a lot of both among us. But that's what
bothers me. Take us colored folk, by and large. Do you really think
our condition is mostly because of laziness and stealing or more
because of injustice of landowners and police?"
The governor was silent and Tom went on: “And if injustice
is the real cause, what are we going to do about it? We must do
something. Now what I've been busy on is organizing the blacks
to work good and steady and then get together to ask better pay
and more regular--"
"Oh, yes, now I remember. You're the labor union man. Now
see here, Mansart, you're on the wrong track. There's a lot of that
stuff in the North among the foreigners, and it's going to be put
Tomo Policend ste


Tom Mansart
39
down. You can't force people to give you their own property. If
you are not satisfied with what you get, leave and go elsewhere--"
"But Sir, I'm talking about wages we earn and don't get; of
property they take when it ain't theirs; and after all we can't
leave here for there ain't no place to go."
"Exactly. Then why complain? And say, have you by any chance
been reading about the Socialism these foreigners are talking?"
“Socialism? No, Sir: never heard of it. I'm talking about farm
laborers trying to live decent on 500 a day and that sometimes not
paid, and them thrown in jail for complaining. Why, Sir--"
But the governor, glancing at his large silver watch, started to
walk away. “Sorry, Mansart, but I've got an appointment. Been
nice to meet you. But drop that trade union business—this is a
free country. Goodbye!”
Tom stared after him. Chamberlain right there had lost a
sincere follower. There Tom decided to listen to Aunt Betsy and
appeal to the Democrats; or at least to their best leaders.
He remembered Elliott's labor convention of 1869 and his speech
in Congress. Tom determined to consult him on a scheme forming
in his own mind. It was not so much his own scheme as Aunt
Betsy's. In her slow, cool, unhurried way she kept track of Tom
and his efforts in the county and in the legislature. Continually
she recurred to one theme. He must talk with Colonel Breckin-
ridge. He and his wife were "quality.” They talked straight even
if harsh, and they kept their word. She distrusted Elliott; she did
not believe in any of these educated Northern "niggers.” The
"quality" Southern aristocracy could and would lead black folk
if appealed to right. She hated Gary and Butler after the Hamburg
riot. They stood for the white upstate farmers and violence. And
Hampton-well, only if Breckinridge vouched for him. He was
no South Carolinian. He was from Mississippi, and Black Belt
slaveholders were bad.
Tom's chance to talk with colored leaders came when he was.
appointed to the important Committee on Land and Labor. After
several routine meetings he found himself with Elliott, Cain,
DeLarge and a number of the very leaders with whom he wanted
to talk. They did not pay much attention to him, which was not
surprising for he was young, diffident, and had never made a speech.
But just before the committee arose, he ventured a word and was
listened to courteously:
“Gentlemen,” he said hestitatingly, “will you let me say a word?
Like most of you, I'se been trying to support Chamberlain. He's
ppointed to the importas he found himseltvith whom he


40
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
ites everywin't railroaday. Why n
got Northern business in his pocket; he thought he had us, and he
almost got the planters. If he had, l’se afeared we'd a been finished.
But the Devil stepped in and the Democrats, instead of supporting
Chamberlain or not fighting him, followed the 'Straight-Outs' and
named Hampton. We know what happened. Mobs, and murder,
and armed whites everywhere. But ain't there a card here that
we can play? After all, it ain't railroads and taxes so much as work
and wages that's the main thing today. Why not organize black
labor far beyond what we have done, and offer to join the planters?
Not the new strivers but the old quality? My mother-in-law, Aunt
Betsy, is always hammering on this, and specially she names Colonel
Breckinridge.”
A silence ensued and the members looked speculatively at Tom.
The idea was not new. It was one of the first suggestions offered
after the revolution of Abolition; Northern missionaries suggested
it; Northern businessmen emphasized it. But few realized its dif-
ficulties: who could get the ear of the planters, and who now were
the planters? The Negro political leaders, whether educated North-
erners or intelligent freedmen, were anathema to the former slave
owners. Freed slaves who had taken no prominent part in politics
might approach their former masters, but only as suppliants too
ready to yield anything which the masters demanded.
Now here came a new sort of man: a minor politician to be
sure, but a worker-a labor organizer, at a time when efficient
labor spelled the difference between bankruptcy and wealth for
most landholders. Not only that, but this man had an unusual
path of approach to one of the most influential planters. Elliott
had heard of Aunt Betsy, and Cain knew her.
Elliott, however, was skeptical. He was sure that it was already
too late. Already the coalition between planters, merchants and
upstate white farmers had, he was sure, been consummated, and
with the acquiescence of the North, the Negro was doomed. Little
of all this, of course, was voiced. The committee merely paused;
then the chairman thought that the matter "was of interest but
hardly in order just here and now. ..." They adjourned, and
the members filtered slowly out, leaving Mansart disappointed and
affronted, until he realized that several of the members of the
Committee were gathering about him for further talks.
There was Elliott, Cain and Delany. They walked apart, stopped,
and finally sat down together on the Capitol steps, at a point where
listening in by outsiders was impossible. They questioned Tom as
to his life and experience and seemed especially interested in Aunt


Tom Mansart
41
Betsy. They knew of the Breckinridge family. They were among
the great landholders of Carolina and represented the slaveholding
planter aristocracy. They were a proud, incorruptible clan. They
would not see eye to eye with Butler and Gary and the “Straight-
Outs.” But on the other hand, they would face bankruptcy unless
change came, and soon.
“I am afraid,” said Elliott, looking at Mansart thoughtfully,
"that probably it is too late to accomplish much. If the old aristoc-
racy is not already compromised it soon will be. But one thing you
say, Mansart, interests me. And that is your labor organization.
The weak link in the program of the white bourbons is labor. They
can and probably will disfranchise Negroes unless the North inter-
venes, which as matters stand now is unlikely. But the South needs
labor: black, willing hands to reap the harvest for high post-war
prices; the planters are keen for this. Suppose now-and it's im-
probable-but suppose that through men like Breckinridge we
could somehow unite black union labor and the old land-holding
aristocracy? Of course it is impossible, but-by God! It's worth a
trial. Mansart, why don't you talk to Breckinridge?"
Cain interrupted: “It will be useless. I tell you I know it has
all been settled; the Democrats are putting on a campaign this
month which is race war. Murder at Hamburg in July; here and in
Ellenton in September. Chamberlain can't talk at his own cam-
paign meetings, and the whites are arming and parading. Hampton
is going to put the ‘Mississippi plan' through in South Carolina.
The white merchant and upstate farmers are with him, and with a
Democratic president in Washington we'll be beaten.”
“But is Breckinridge with him? Can Hampton swing the plant-
érs? At any rate, will it hurt to ask?” Ellott turned to Mansart. "It's
a last chance, but try it, boy, try it." He shook Mansart's hand.
"When?" asked Tom.
"Now,” said Delany.
Tom arose immediately; but Delany detained him. Delany was
a black man, a former major in the Union army. He was intelligent
and far-seeing. He looked Tom straight in the eye and said, “I'm
voting for Hampton.”
"Why?” asked Tom.
"Because his followers are set to disfranchise and crush my
people; but if they get into office through Negro votes they won't
dare carry out their program. So you see your plan is right along
the line of my thinking. If we fail there is only one path left-
migration out of this accursed land.” He put his hand on Tom's


THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
on us. 1 hörthern ‘nie bed Colon
shoulder, and looking at him quizzically: "Talk for yourself,” he
said, “and do not mention us. I have a feeling that the Colonel
will not appreciate advice from Northern ‘niggers'!"
So it was that Tom Mansart had approached Colonel Breckin-
ridge and been repulsed. He had gone to the side porch and there
had talked to Mrs. Breckinridge. He was now awaiting the Colonel.
a sighe said, “I am as he mad interestin
freeped make th for us to asi never ask
Colonel Breckinridge watched Scroggs descend the porch steps
and shuffle off. Then he turned wearily and sat down. It was just
here that Mrs. Breckinridge entered. The Colonel leaned back with
a sigh, but she did not sit as he indicated.
She said, “I am sorry, my dear, but the colored man is still wait-
ing. No! Listen-” as he made a gesture of impatience, “—just say
a word to him. He really is interesting."
She was about to explain further, but the Colonel did not wait.
Without a word he arose, bowed slightly and walked to the side
porch. He had his mind made up as to just what he was going to
say to this black man. He had already been pushed too far today.
He would say a few clear words. But before he could speak the
black man rose, faced him and spoke clearly and directly:
“Colonel Breckinridge, we black folk needs help and you can
give it to us if you will. We never asked to come to this land and
it was little use for us to ask for freedom after we got here. We'se
helped make this nation rich and powerful. Suddenly we'se set
free. We can't refuse freedom even if we wanted to, and we don't.
We wants to be men; not white men but men. We want work and
decent wages. We want to rise in the world as far as we deserve
and no further. If other working men don't need to vote then we
don't. But if white workers vote we got to, or starve. Most of us
ain't got no business holding public office because we don't know
enough. But some of us has made good, honest officials. There
ain't no reason in keeping a man from holding office just because
he's black. But even that is no matter just now. Today, 999 Negroes
out of every 1000 want work, not office; want victuals more than
votes.
"Now, Colonel, will you and your folks promise us this much
justice? Others promise us, but they lie and we know it. All they
want is to put the black worker back in slavery, and that we won't
stand for. We don't want everything at once. We'se willing to be
judged by what we does. Now, Sir, the 'Straight-Out' Democrats
want our votes and promises that if they win they'll treat the Negro
worker right. You support them and Hampton. Can you tell us he


Tom Mansart
what we wrd of a gentleher word of As had been
own good that on the and with
is honest and will do what he says? It don't seem so just now.
He's play-acting and his followers are killing our folks. On the
other hand, we know Chamberlain. He's talking reform and honest
government. But he's long been working with Northern and South-
ern money-makers. If he wins with white votes what will we do?
What can we do?
"Colonel, we'se in trouble and know it. We'se having a last rally
tomorrow night in Emmanuel Church. It will be a closed union
meeting but it will represent 50,000 votes in city and state. Will
you come and tell us plain just what you stand for and what you
think we should do? We ain't promising to do everything you say.
But we is promising to listen and trust the word of a Breckinridge."
The Colonel sat down and stared out into the yard. This was
about the last line of talk he had expected. He started to speak
and then hesitated.
"When is this meeting?”
“Tomorrow night. We'll expect you at nine."
The Colonel arose and said, "I will come. I will come and I
will tell you honestly what I think you Negroes should do for your
own good, and what we whites will do to see that you get justice.
I promise that on the word of a gentleman."
Then he turned, and without further word or gesture walked
slowly back to the front porch. His wife had left. As had been his
wont for twenty years he stood at sunset and stared out to sea.
Out to that ocean whence the drama of fearful history had rolled in
on this fated land, this Carolina named after that stiff-necked king
who lost his head to Cromwell; an empire larger than the king's
own England. De Ayllon had seen it three hundred and fifty years
ago, and by black fate his own Negroes had driven him away. De
Soto followed, with that grotesque Negro who later opened up the
unknown Southwest. Then followed Spain. But in 1580 Sir Walter
Raleigh, that blood-stained pirate, swept his plumed hat over these
sands and made them English until his settlers were murdered by
Indians or starved to death. It was fifty years later that the first
proprietors wangled from that gay dog, the second Charles, a grant
of this realm where the first Earl of Shaftsbury settled with Locke's
slave constitution in his pocket.
The Colonel knew that from that day the Black race had
haunted Carolina and its ghost remained today. Virginia tried to
become a land of gentry and lordly estates, with trained black
service. But from the first, South Carolina was gripped by com-
mercial slavery, with hordes of driven slaves whose value was in


44
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
the crops they raised-first rice and then King Cotton. They poured
in after that war called "Spanish Succession,” but really fought by
English merchants to gain control of the trade in African slaves.
They came at a rate that frightened the white settlers whom they
soon outnumbered two and three to one.
From the first, slave revolts began: Sebastian in 1711; Goose
Creek in 1715; all around Charleston from 1720 to 1730; in 1739
with Jemmie and Cato at Stono, down to that fearful nightmare of
1822 with Denmark Vesey. The Colonel never forgot this horror
of his cradle, and the sinister figure of the leader defying the gal.
lows: "Die silent as I do!” The Colonel turned away. Was this land,
this beautiful land of his fathers, always to be cursed by black
men?
It was a mad and perverse fate that had made Carolina, created
to be a land of beauty, art and culture, become instead the foun-
dation stone of the Cotton Kingdom. From South Carolina cotton
fields and led by Carolinians this kingdom had spread west to
Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi until it met decadent French
and Spanish empire in Louisiana, and dreamt of a slave empire
from the Mississippi to the Amazon and the Atlantic to the Pacific.
And, too, rolling eastward, this cotton culture had built industrial
revolution in western Europe and colonial imperialism over the
world. To support this fearsome superstructure had come the
philosophy of labor as slavery, and in support of this war and
counter-revolution. Where next, asked the Colonel, whither next?


Chapter III
THE COLONEL BREAKS HIS WORD
ce ove it in tend withromised
Colonel Breckinridge, about to dress for dinner, stood stock-
still before his mirror with his black cravat untied and his hands
hanging. He somehow just realized that he had given his word to
two different men and that both promises could not possibly be
fulfilled. He knew this before, but just now the enormity of it
really struck him. He had promised the poor white leader that
the planters would stand with him to take political power from the
Negroes, place it in the hands of the whites and give white labor
preference over black. A moment later he had promised Tom
Mansart to advise Negroes how best to secure justice for themselves.
Of course, in neither case did he say all that he meant. He knew
this at the time, and the reservations did not then seem unfair
nor unreasonable. After all, the poor whites knew perfectly well
that they were not the equals of the aristocrats in ability, education
or desert. If some did become equal, they must be so treated,
but of course few would or could. And in the case of white laborers
the portion of ability and desert was very small-little beyond that
of Negroes, less than some Negroes. That was clear in his own mind
and must have been even in Scroggs' dull brain. And also to Man-
sart-a really good fellow, with respect for his betters. He had
intended to say, and of course Mansart knew it, that Colonel
Breckinridge and his comrades stood ready to give the Negro every
right and opportunity they deserved, if they stopped trying to be
what God never intended and followed their natural white leaders.
Yet now the Colonel realized that not only was this not exactly
what he had said or implied; it certainly was not what either Scroggs
or Mansart understood. He had let them go with a false interpreta-
tion. With neither interpretation could he himself agree, and most
certainly not with both, for they were contradictory.
The Colonel was puzzled as never before. He could not remem-
ber ever having faced such a moral quandary. Telling the truth,
even the harsh and unpleasant truth, had hitherto cost him noth-
ing important; indeed it had added to his reputation and self-
45


46
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
under kind ost Negroes could not added, as
esteem. The blunt fact was: “I want a world ruled by those born
to rule; that natural supremacy I will share, indeed can share with
no one; not with low-class whites, certainly not with inferior breeds
of half-men. Moreover, if asked, I will tell them both so-openly
and bluntly."
Yet he had not done this. He had told Scroggs-or at least he
had let Scroggs understand-that henceforth the Scroggses would
be allowed to share power with him and his class and be recognized
as equals. He had not said this plainly and simply, but he had
implied it; he had let Scroggs believe it, “on his honor as a gentle-
man!” He had promised Mansart to advise Negroes how to attain
such goals as they were able to reach. He had not added, as he
fervently believed, that the most Negroes could hope for was to be
obedient servants under kind masters, and that was what he would
help to make them and nothing more. But that was not what
Mansart understood, and the Colonel knew it.
Why, why in God's name had he done this? He knew why;
he knew perfectly well. He had lied to Scroggs because the awful-
the unthinkable alternative-was to surrender political power to
men like Gary and Tillman or share it with a Scroggs; if not that,
then to rule with the help of higher apes.
On the heels of this came the monstrous demand that he repeat
this shameless performance and promise Negroes their "rights,"
and for the identical reason: these Negroes and the white scala-
wags had at present the power if united to out-vote the planters
and merchants and rule the State. So someone must lie to them.
But not he, not a Breckinridge; let others do it. And he winced to
realize that he had already done this. To what depths of double-
dealing he had sunk! What a mess life was!
How had he ever come to such a pass? What had induced him
to assent to such promises, unless it was the breaking of his rule
never to argue with an inferior on matters which of necessity
they could not understand? And then deep down within himself he
knew he had another motive, long concealed but growing in press-
ing importance: It was the wraith of poverty. Not perhaps actual
hunger but loss of loved luxuries, wearing shabby clothes, keeping
few servants or even none-gradually sinking to penury and want.
He had felt it creeping on him.
There was the case of the new saddle-horse. His loved friend,
the mare Maggy, was undoubtedly getting old. She had served
nobly and well for long years. But the Colonel postponed replacing
her until one day he caught sight of a beautiful young gelding rid-


The Colonel Breaks His Word
blood-clever since as his he had byellow".
den by a Northern horse-trader. He tried him and was more than
satisfied. Carelessly he ordered the horse sent to his home, as was
his wont, not deigning to haggle over the price. But the horse did
not arrive and his mulatto overseer told him why.
"He wants his money cash-and a lot of it.”
"Then pay him," retorted the Colonel impatiently.
Sanford, the overseer, was a tall, thin, slow man with an expres-
sionless face. His skin was warm yellow and his hair grey. During
the war as a young slave he had been sent to the Colonel from his
uncle's plantation as his body-servant. He had remained with the
Colonel ever since. The Colonel knew that this man was his own
blood cousin, but the fact was never admitted, not even alluded
to. He looked like the Breckinridges and had been called “Breck-
inridge." But after the war he had taken his mother's name, San-
ford. Sanford was thorough, absolutely honest and methodical. He
never wasted words. He answered now briefly:
“No money."
The Colonel froze. “Why not?"
"No crops, no labor."
“Hire labor!"
“What with?"
“Sell land!”
"All right, Sir, but this can't go on much further."
Sanford left. The Colonel knew he was right.
The Colonel's uncle had invested in railroads before the war,
sums he could ill afford. He himself had inherited from him and
his father bundles of miscellaneous railway stocks which he had
eventually converted into the widely touted Texas and Pacific. All
these he had eventually turned over to his steward and forgotten
them. His whole outlook for future income was now apparently
only his land. The income from his land was slowly decreasing.
He had sold much of his former large acreage and there was no
market for what was left, where the proud home of his youth was
beginning to moulder and fall. His few ventures in investment were
futile. Either the past must be restored with faithful black labor
and complacent whites or the landed aristocracy was doomed. This
was the unacknowledged reason, he realized, that he was dickering
with poor whites and Negroes. He was ashamed. But what else
could he do?
He would talk the situation over at the club. But here again,
he mentally paused. Many of his fellow-members were well-bred


THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
gentlemen of the old school. But not all; there were lately increas-
ing numbers of politicians, military men and shop-keepers. Few of
these would have any scruples at what he had done. Many would
laugh and count it good politics. No, he could not bring it up for
general discussion. He was not good at doubletalk and frankness
now would spoil everything.
He went down at last to his own beautiful, oak-panelled dining
room, dressed for the meal. The linen was smooth and white, the
lovely old silver perfectly polished. Of course they missed the old
butler, but Mollie, the maid, really was learning fast. Mrs. Breckin-
ridge looked regal in her white lace. The Colonel asked his usual
question:
“Betty Lou is not with us?”
"She may come in later."
Betty Lou was their only child, and as she grew seemed to fit
less and less into the family pattern. She was twenty-four, having
grown to womanhood in a torn and distracted world. Nothing was
normal nor ever would be so far as she could see. Offers for her
hand, few as they were, had not suited her parents in the least, and
indeed she had no inclination for marriage. She was bored with
conventional life and craved excitement. She wanted something to
“happen,” but just what, beyond more and gayer parties which
again did not satisfy her, she did not know. She was born too late
to be a Southern lady of the old regime, and too early for real
education and a career. The men she met were drab or wild. She
despised or feared them. She wondered what would become of her,
and so did her mother.
So Betty carved out a desultory, indefinite life, which her father
was too distracted to follow and with which her mother was un-
willing to interfere. She had herself seen too much of straight-
jackets for "jeunes filles,” to fashion one for her daughter. After all,
her daughter was both a Du Bignon and a Breckinridge, and could
do no wrong. She therefore waited patiently to be taken into Betty's
confidence. She was at the moment not progressing.
She and the Colonel lingered over their excellent dinner with
appreciation. The dry Sherry and gumbo soup were excellent.
There were shrimps, fried chicken and rice, of which they never
tired. Aunt Jane's hot beaten biscuit could never go untasted, and
today there was ice cream, flavored with mangoes. After the maid
was dismissed the Colonel turned to his fine old port with relish.
“I do wish you'd see that Betty joined us more often," he said,


The Colonel Breaks His Word
49
turning his glass to the light. Mrs. Breckinridge over her coffee
did not answer. Neither mentioned Scroggs. Mrs. Breckinridge
sensed it was a matter of which the Colonel did not like to think.
It occurred to her that the conversation with Mansart might be
both relief and solution.
“The Negro was interesting,” she began. The Colonel did not
encourage her. He simply nodded and crumbled his bread. “And by
the way, he is a son-in-law of Aunt Betsy.'
He looked up. "Is she still alive?”
"So it seems, and she sent him to us."
"Indeed.”
“I really think, dear, that the Negroes, or some of them, are
beginning to see the light.”
"Possibly.”
"It appears that Aunt Betsy still believes in white folk and
especially in us. This Negro who married her daughter is a steve-
dore and wants to lead black labor into our camp.”
“So he said-but will he give up voting and trying to hold
office?"
“No, not entirely. But they offer to be guided by us if we-
and by that he means especially folk like the Breckinridges-will
guarantee justice and good treatment."
“I wonder if any number of Negro leaders are ready to sur-
render their impossible ambitions and return to their places?"
"No, not quite that, but something almost as rational. Mansart
sees clearly that Negroes need leadership and advice; there are not
enough educated and experienced Negroes; he distrusts the North-
erners, black and white. He and his followers want Southern leader-
ship-but not the Ku Klux. They want the guidance of Southern
aristocracy, and they want your word to bind the bargain.”
“What bargain? Do they expect me to promise to let them
vote and hold office? Well, I will never do it. I've promised him
advice. That is all. I've lied to the limit to appease poor white
trash. I'll go no further."
“Others have gone further."
"If Hampton, Gary and Butler want to lie that is their burden.
Perhaps a promise of votes to Negroes is a justifiable deception
which some can bring themselves to mouth. I can't and I won't.
My conception of the word of a gentleman differs from theirs."
He was all the more vehement because again he was not telling the
exact truth.


THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
"But my dear, is the difference so great as you assume? Mansart
and his folk ask only such political power as is absolutely necessary
for just relations between employer and employee. We know that
all employers are not just.”
“Nor are all Northern employers or English factory owners.
Who is to judge between servants and owners? The owners, or a
committee of slaves?”
"What Mansart asks is that men like you guarantee them just
rights. He wants to consult you and he asks that the intelligent
blacks have some voice in decisions."
“There are no Negroes intelligent enough to have voice in gov-
ernment; or such as are intelligent are not honest.”
"Oh, my dear, that is not fair; there are some Negroes both in-
telligent and honest. There might be more if they had a chance,"
she added, musing.
The Colonel made no reply. He could not share this line of
thinking with his wife. He saw between them a certain difference
of attitude. He had sensed it before, but it was clearer now. She
believed in Negroes more than he did, and less in whites as such.
If alliance must come, she leaned toward Negroes rather than poor
whites. It was natural; she had been brought up in Louisiana nearer
to blacks; she had lived close to them in childhood and youth.
In fact-and he started as he remembered-there were even rumors
of Du Bignons whose blood was not untainted.
Then he pulled his thought sharply back. It was only that
because of knowing Negroes more intimately and poor whites
hardly at all, that his wife conceived alliance with Negroes possible
-at least with some Negroes, having no idea of the horrible and
unavoidable results. Or had she? He remembered suddenly that
dark, hawk-nosed harridan, old Mère Du Bignon, head of the
rich and haughty clan. She had drawn him apart during his last
visit in 1856.
"Damn it,” she growled. “John, look yonder."
He saw a beautiful brunette with flashing eyes and strong limbs
go swiftly by.
“See that bitch? She's determined to go 'nigger,' when I could
easily pass her for white. She's got our blood-plenty of it. What
can I do?"
The outraged young Breckinridge had stammered and with-
drawn awkwardly. The blasphemy had cut his visit to New Orleans
short. He hurried back with his bride to Carolina. Of course this
en unely The name as the con la to New Orleans


The Colonel Breaks His Word
51
lie
contamination was far from her and the incident had passed from
his mind. Now he remembered. The thought, the tolerance, had
lingered unconsciously in her mind. She would forget it in time;
now he must not affront her. He must agree with the necessity of
placating as many Negroes as possible, especially of the Mansart
type of worker. But he would not-he could not stoop to another
and more revolting lie.
He spoke slowly: “This is interesting–very interesting. I will
lay it before the committee and we will act upon it."
"Only remember, dear, these men want your assurance-none
other. It is in a way a great honor."
"Too great, I fear. But do not worry; I will do my duty."
She glanced at him quickly and uncertainly, but at this point
Betty Lou entered and the subject was dropped. Later, as they
were getting ready for bed, he spoke slowly and earnestly:
“This is, of course, an important overture. It may forestall any
union of white and black labor with Northern radicals. It may help
checkmate the grafting whites; it may bring into alliance the landed
aristocracy and the backbone of black labor. We must grasp this
extended hand; but we must act with care and thought or every-
thing will be spoiled. We must not affront the whites. We must
not raise too high any hopes of Negro equality.”
“I am sure there'll be no danger of that. I stressed it in my talk
to Mansart. I told him frankly that I did not believe in Negro
equality with whites."
"How did he answer you?"
“He repudiated any desire for equality. He wanted a chance to
work at decent wages; education for his children and–oh yes, he
said workers must have the right to vote as a matter of self-defense!"
"Nonsense! But after all, what is voting? A gesture and a futile
one in most so-called democracies. Power is the real question,
power and control. But of course I'm in honor bound to consult
with the Committee. We will work it out, I'm sure."
The next morning, as she helped him into his light overcoat
she said: “Because of the meeting will you be late to dinner or
dine at the club?”
"At the club. Do not wait for me.”
She said, half hesitating, “I'd half hoped you'd come home-and
let me go with you.”
He stared at her in astonishment. “To a Negro political meet-
ing? Certainly not! I shall go from the club. And my dear, let me


52
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
warn you about keeping off the streets at night, even here in this
neighborhood. These are-uncertain times.”
He kissed her and hurried away. He walked slowly. He did not
want to go to that meeting. The whole sordid mess revolted him.
Why not fight all this in the open? No, there was the law; there was
still the ache of defeat in war. Very well, then cajole, cheat, but
don't lie. Gentlemen don't lie. And where in God's name are the
gentlemen these days? And–very well, he wouldn't go!
Quite instinctively Colonel Breckinridge dropped in for tea
with his old friend, Dr. Baldwin, who was visiting in town and stop-
ping at the boarding house where he usually stayed.
Sophocles Thrasymachus Baldwin had always seemed old, even
when men first became aware of him and he was forty. He had
seemed too old and frail for war duty, having been born in 1820.
He was not unwilling to seem old, because he was opposed to war.
He was a teacher and philosopher, the son of an overseer, trained
at a "private academy" in Georgia-little more than a poor high
school. He had come to the old city of Augusta just before the
Civil War to teach. When the war broke out he continued with
his difficult teaching. After the war he kept on teaching. His own
education had been the so-called classical training. He knew a great
deal about Greece and Rome; less about Egypt and practically
nothing about Asia. He had a stereotyped conception of England
and New England. He deliberately forgot France.
He was, however, interested in matters of the mind. He believed
in the training of the mind as the only worthwhile salvation. In
Augusta he developed the local “Academy" into a growing institu-
tion. He became a center and an institution in himself. He was an
optimistic man. He believed in Progress. There were interruptions
to be sure, and setbacks, but the world was going forward. That
much he knew. He believed in democracy among the chosen few;
a democracy like the Athenian, which included slaves and foreign-
ers, but neither as voters nor rulers.
He was eager for the discovery of talent, for freedom of self-ex-
pression among those who had something to express. There were
plenty who had not. He was not sure about the mass of poor whites,
but some of them had talent as was proven by the fact, he twinkled,
that he himself was born one and that many very aristocratic plant-
ers were descended from them. He had many questions about
women. Certainly a well-ordered world should primarily put their
women to the fine business of recreating the species.


54
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
y acted plain accidencial movemendividual. Bere in-
but without common cause or vision. The actual deeds were in-
dividual; often the directing thought was individual. But the
coherency which made the vast social movement was more often
mere coincidence or plain accident. The mass moved; the mass
acted; but they acted through those men who represented at the
moment the thought and desire of most of them. Conversely in-
dividual thought and desire influenced and directed the trends of
the mass.
It was all complicated and difficult to explain, but none the
less it was true, and fifteen million Southern people, white and
black, reeled drunkenly on toward goals which they tried desperately
to envision with clarity but failed. First of all, the white
aristocrats wanted restoration of the former social organization;
and the social situations to which they were used seemed absolutely
essential to any life at all. Those who thought this impossible lay
down and died, or went North and joined the Copperheads, or left
for other lands like South America.
To most, such uprooting was unthinkable. Work must go on
as before; the giving of services, homes and help. Land must be
cultivated, crops raised and sold, goods brought in for sale. Men
must live as men had lived in the South for centuries; nothing else
was conceivable. Therefore slavery must be restored in all but
name, with perhaps disappearance of human sale, which after all
had nothing to do with the essence of the system. So thought the
sons of Southern planters almost to a man.
But nine-tenths of the white Southerners were not planters or
landholders and neither they nor their fathers ever had been. The
world did not understand this. The United States did not realize
it. They pictured the old South as slaveholders and slaves. It was
poor whites and Negroes to an overwhelming degree. Emancipa-
tion opened doors to the whites long before the slave lost his
chains. The whites lurched forward-the gifted, the lucky, the un-
scrupulous. They became traders, shop-keepers; they seized cheap
land; they formed alliance with the Northern government and
commerce. They began to rule the South and the more successful
and unscrupulous rode roughshod over white and black workers.
But the South saw in the Negroes an uprooted, ignorant, pov-
erty-stricken and sick mass of workers, with crazy ideas of possible
change. This nonsense must be stopped and stopped peremptorily
in sheer self-defense, to protect civilization. Negroes must think
of themselves always as workers and never as thinkers or owners;


The Colonel Breaks His Word
55
as peasants had got educationted to, and they the time
nor as men in the sense that whites were men.
Shot across this obvious fact came a system of Negro schools,
lugged in by the white Northern Carpet-baggers, who ignorantly
insisted that Negroes were men. They should have seen, said the
Southerners, that their own popular education in the North was
leading only to crime, poverty and a travesty on democracy. This
might work out in time, since the laborers were, after all, white.
But it was worse than stupid to think the African could be edu-
cated. It was criminal misleading of a simple people born to be
servants of men. The first effort, then, of the South for reconstruc-
tion of agriculture and normal life, was to stop the ruin of the
working class. This was the well-nigh universal public opinion of
those who had hitherto always expressed the opinion of the South.
But there was another class who must be counted now, the mass
of the poorer whites, laborers owning none or little land and hav-
ing few skills. Hitherto poor whites had hung on the fringe of the
slave system as peasants living drably on marginal land; a few
became overseers; some had got education or capital and escaped
into the ruling aristocracy. More now wanted to, and they pictured
progress as sharing rule and wealth with planters, at just the time
when the planters themselves were bankrupt and deprived of rule.
Colonel Breckinridge reported his interview with Scroggs to a
few men in the smoking-room. It was six o'clock and there was
general satisfaction. The price demanded was high, but thanks to
Colonel Breckinridge this need not be as high as they had feared.
There must be legal caste for the blacks, and preferential status for
white labor.
Then at last Colonel Breckinridge mentioned the unexpected
visit and offer of Mansart. Excitement increased.
"Why, that Mansart is the best labor leader in the state. His
stevedores have 10,000 members, welded like a rock. They are
reaching into the carpenters and masons. This is marvellous. If we
can get control of this union labor we can build a dual, mutually
self-effacing labor class, which will eliminate strikes, keep down
wages and set the South on the road to an unrivaled prosperity.
Breckinridge, follow this up, you must! Talk to them, promise
them anything-everything,"
"No," answered the Colonel, “I won't.”
There was silence, and then some of the members, realizing they
had gone too far for the stomach of this straight-laced aristocrat,
began to take a milder line. Their argument was strong; no omelet


56
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
another handful ored the father-in-law. Odo for the Negroes
without broken eggs. We have stooped low in the last 30 years;
another handful of grime and we may be free.
“Moreover," argued the father-in-law of a banker with Northern
affiliation, "perhaps this is our chance to do for the Negroes what
we long have promised: give them an opportunity; make them a
real working class, with skill and decent life and broad guidance
to real progress without the mirage of mob rule.”
"But will they give up the ballot? Will any Negro leader dare
to promise that?"
“Perhaps-sometime; but now can't we skirt that issue and prom-
ise good wages, justice in the courts and even schools suited to their
capacities?"
“We can sure promise, but will the white labor vote allow ful-
fillment even of this?"
“Maybe not immediately or ever; but now at least we can
promise. ..."
“That, gentlemen, is a lie I cannot tell,” rejoined the Colonel.
"We all know that Scroggs and his gang with whom we have made
alliance hate Negroes worse than starvation. If I talk to the
Negroes tonight I will tell them to vote for Hampton; that natu-
rally Hampton must promise lip-service to the law, but that never-
theless his object, like ours, is to take the vote away from Negroes.
They can have schools for such as can learn to read and write, but
no office-holding, no social equality. On the other hand, we'll
protect them in the right to work at fair wages, justice in the courts
and no mob violence."
Then suddenly the Colonel burst out with something he had
never before said but which had long festered in his soul. “And too,
gentlemen, I'll tell them that I'll do all in my power to stop turn-
ing our courts into tools to restore slavery and machinery for manu-
facturing crime for money-grabbers to fatten on.”
Most of his fellow-members listened in consternation.
"This will drive the most intelligent and best organized Negro
workers out of our party and it will convince the Scroggs gang that
we have double-crossed them. It might unite black and white work-
ers against white property."
Breckinridge knew this was logic. “What would you have me
say?” he asked. There was an awkward pause, but the inevitable
mal-a-prop blurted out:
“Stall them. Lead them along. Promise them. ..."
"I am not skilled in lying," answered Colonel Breckinridge
lence" colonel long festin my porihinery


The Colonel Breaks His Word
sight. Theock. They fiversation in
coldly as he arose and started out. It was seven o'clock. Hampton
followed and they went to the dining room. Hampton saw that it
would be a calamity for Breckinridge not to keep his word to Man-
sart, and he hoped during dinner to effect some sort of com-
promise. He ordered carefully, carrying on a light conversation in
his most charming manner. It was eight o'clock. They finished, and
before any compromise was in sight. The Colonel was nervous
and wretched. Others joined them in the coffee room. It was past
nine o'clock.
Wade Hampton insisted: “This is important, very important.
We are going to carry this election at any cost. But afterward we
are going to need satisfied Negro labor. Colonel, you must go and
promise everything-you must!"
“Pardon me," someone interrupted, “but Colonel Breckinridge
is not the man; he is too straight-forward and forthright; in fact,
too much of a gentleman." Breckinridge writhed within to think
that anyone could be blamed for being “too much of a gentleman!"
Hampton continued: “It must be Breckinridge. These men
picked him. They trust him. Breckinridge, what you have got to
do is to keep their faith. Remember, this is war-race war. Post-
pone action as late as possible but offer them something now; not
everything. Use your influence, try to offer them enough to keep
them under our control. Meanwhile things are going to happen
which will alarm them; but reassure them and in the end promise
them anything-anything. Then after I am governor we will act!”
It was eleven o'clock. Just as the clock struck, a white man
hurriedly entered the Club and was finally ushered to the room
where Colonel Breckinridge was in conference. He came around
and whispered in the Colonel's ear.
"Pardon, Sir, but they say that the Negroes have seized your wife
and ridden out toward the Isles. We called at your home to check.
Your daughter said she was not there but had left on foot some
two hours ago."
The Colonel went grey and staggered to his feet. All the fears
of all the years of slavery fell suddenly upon him. That had hap
pened which every Southern white man always secretly dreaded
but never believed could happen to his own family. He whispered
to Hampton and others and they talked low in turn. Then to a
man they arose, grim-faced and silent and hurried out of the room
and building. Just as they reached the door, a masked and foaming
horseman rode up.
1 anything-any-clock. Just as was finally ushered came around


58
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
“We caught him trying to escape,” he gasped. “We've driven
him back this way-comel” A dozen horses were offered and mount-
ing, the Colonel and his friends dashed toward King Street just
as a buggy, lurching crazily, wheeled into view pursued by masked
riders.
Mrs. Breckinridge, sitting beside a colored man, descried her
husband in front on a great black gelding. She leaped up and cried:
"John! John!" Suddenly she fainted without a word. All that
the riders saw was a dishevelled white woman screaming in the
grasp of a Negro. The Colonel gathered her in his arms and rode
madly home.


Chapter IV
MANUEL MANSART IS BORN
In a close-curtained room in the basement of the Emmanuel
A.M.E. Church, Mansart and his friends sat waiting. An open meet-
ing might have brought down on them the Democratic riders who
were breaking up the Chamberlain campaign. Breckinridge had
not come and it was well past the hour. They had received warning
that trouble was brewing in the streets and strangers from outside
the city were gradually increasing. They shook their heads doubt-
fully. Nevertheless they all agreed that it was worthwhile to wait
and listen to Breckinridge and then act accordingly. There was
nothing to lose and perhaps something to gain.
Of course the chances were that it would come to nothing.
Reluctantly Tom realized that there could be no doubt that the
planters, the small farmers and the merchants, the people who had
for generations ruled and those who planned to rule in the future,
had been in close consultation. Secret organizations had been
flourishing; no one knew this better than Mansart. He knew even
some of the things they talked about and decided, and he was
pretty sure that they had come to a definite decision as to the
Negroes. The decision could hardly be final; for after all, did they
understand what the Negroes were thinking about? Were they not
taking their reports from stoolpigeons and wishful thinkers?
But not Mansart nor Breckinridge, Scroggs nor Hampton, un-
derstood the enormous significance of the drama in which they
were called to act. Right and wrong were terms that scarcely could
be applied to this situation. A mass of men and women, varying
from conventional aristocrats to ignorant slaves, through masses
of stolid farmers, narrow artisans and crafty tradesmen, were asked
to have and act on opinions of the deepest human interest, which
it was physically difficult and psychologically impossible for them
to do intelligently and honestly. First came the aftermath of war
with hate between Confederate and Yankee, with most Negroes
ranged with the Yankees and the mass of white workers with no
allegiance but bitter race prejudice.
Then hurriedly followed the contrast of property and poverty
59


60
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
ally conduct of thing, and only exploitatio
ocs aprospect telligend spread of wspoor
which follows all war. Property was faced with poverty and Poverty
was looking at starvation. The first charge against the Reconstruc-
tion legislatures was that they were filled with poor men, when
before the War they represented the Rich. This seemed against
nature. But the poor must have land and relief, and increasingly
conscious of their ignorance, wanted schools.
Property complained of over-taxation, refused to pay the taxes
assessed, and tax-payers' conventions spread. But they got nowhere
because the poor and needy were untaxed and yet must insist that
there was wealth and whosoever owned it must share it for the
common need. This was Socialism. It frightened North as well as
South, and it alarmed such poor whites and Negroes as knew no
path to become rich except by exploitation of the poor. Thereupon
arose a new, strong, and only too true cry of waste and theft in
the conduct of the state. It rose and spread. Chamberlain eventu-
ally led it. Honest and intelligent Negroes joined, and whites
joined. There was a prospect of clean government with wide social
objects for Negroes and whites, conducted by whites and Negroes
for the benefit of all who were strong enough to reap the profit.
? When the Democrats, led by Hampton, Gary and Butler and
later by Tillman, saw this, they realized that from such a state
Negroes could not be excluded. Men like Elliott, Cardozo and
Cain could only be eliminated by force. They suddenly whirled
in 1876 and made the rift along the Color Line. They determined
to split Carolina into races regardless of ability or character, and
in defiance of American democracy and the Christian religion.
They used work rivalry, social hates and finally Hampton drama-
tized Sex. The die was cast and, with murder, lynching and legal
caste, division by race and color gripped the South for a century
and spread to the wide world.
Mansart saw the grim drama beginning in October, 1876. White
supremacy, naked and unashamed, started. Three hundred rifle
clubs of armed whites covered the state. Chamberlain's campaign
was practically stopped by armed men invading his meetings and
taking charge. Riot and even murder followed refusal.
Hampton's campaign became a crusade. He was a Southern
gentleman, born and bred; a veteran of the war and personally a
big and powerful figure weighing over 200 pounds, handsome and
suave, beautifully whiskered, with flowery speech and fulsome
compliments for “the Ladies, God bless them," who thronged to
his rallies. Colonel Breckinridge and his wife had attended the


Manuel Mansart Is Born
61
Fort Moultrie centennial. Thousands of mounted and armed Con-
federate veterans marched in a procession a mile long. Troops
crossed over from Georgia, insulting and spitting in the faces of
the Negro policemen.
The Hampton campaign became a triumphal procession, greeted
by increasing crowds. People came scores of miles, marching amid
music and roar of cannon. There were torchlight processions and
all the memories of the past were aroused to pray for the redemp-
tion of the “Grand Old State.” Women had special seats; Hampton
rode in a flower-bedecked chariot and the crowds became hysterical
as here on a stand a young white woman sat bowed, draped in
black and chained. Hampton approached with acclaim and martial
music. The woman arose, young, white and beautiful, and throw-
ing aside her black mourning, stood radiant and free!
Back of this theatre came grimmer coercion. The white state
was armed, the colored militia disarmed. Prominent Republicans,
white and black were spotted and followed, quarrels were picked
and “duels” arranged. White Republicans were subjected to intol-
erable pressure, social and economic, until scores of them hurried
to newspapers to insert cards professing conversion to Democracy.
Tom Mansart soon saw attacks on his workers' unions. Despite
his efforts they were being infiltrated and undermined. In a news-
paper advertisement, “The Workingmen's Democratic Association"
offered to furnish 100 to 200 able-bodied men for any kind of work.
A Broad Street merchant was prepared to furnish “Democratic"
labor at reasonable cost to any extent at a moment's notice. On the
plantations, laborers who declared for Hampton got better con-
tracts, higher wages and debts wiped away; Republicans were driven
off. Mansart worked continuously and held the mass of city artisans
firm within the unions, but his country following began to dwindle.
Then prominent Negroes began to come out for Hampton;
some honestly convinced of his sincerity toward Negroes; some still
distrusting Chamberlain; some bribed and intimidated. Hampton
made public overtures:
“Talk about putting the colored man back into slavery or
qualifying their suffrages. . . . It is against our interest to do
either of these things, if we could. In the first place, the labor of the
colored man is more valuable to us as he is than if he were a slave,
because he was then perishable property and as soon as he passed
away, it was so much loss to the general wealth of the country.”
It was an extraordinary argument for unlimited and irresponsi-


62
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
ble exploitation of free labor; but it came at an extraordinary time
and fell on itching ears far from South Carolina. It was followed
by a statement that sent a wave of fear into the hearts of even
thinking Negroes:
"If ... the white people of South Carolina were to give you the
State, and give you everything, land, houses, churches, banks,
you could not live without whites. The only way to bring about
prosperity in this State is to bring the two races in friendly rela-
tion together."
“True," replied Mansart and his workers. “True,” cried Elliott
and Cardozo and Cain, “but who will arrange these relations and
just what will the relations be?" Chamberlain, the Governor,
thought he had the answer. He was relying on the North to back a
fair election by military force if necessary. He issued a proclama-
tion and told the nation:
"Upon my full official and personal responsibility, lawlessness,
terrorism and violence far exceed in extent and atrocity any state-
ments yet made public.”
Grant responded with a proclamation ordering the disband-
ment of the rifle clubs within three days. All available federal
military force was ordered to Columbia. But the Democrats re-
sponded quickly. The rifle clubs became “baseball clubs," "church
sewing circles," "mother's little helpers" or "Hampton and Tilden
Musical clubs”; military display and exercises stopped but the
organizations remained. Sixteen companies of federal troops ap-
peared and the whites received them and overwhelmed them with
ovations. They thanked them for coming to protect them from
corrupt Negro rule which they were striving to overthrow. They
set aside October 26 as a “Day of Prayer."
Against these tactics the Negroes and the dwindling number
of their white friends had no adequate means of reply. The social
ties which subtly drew the army officers and the Southern whites
into sympathetic contact were missing in the case of the Negroes.
The nation to which Chamberlain tried to appeal was hopelessly
torn in two; on the one hand the eyes which saw “the coming of
the Lord” were closed by the “orgy of theft and graft" which was
sweeping the whole nation. On the other hand high tariffs, low
wages and rich profit were the goal of industry in politics.
Graft and political control burst up from the swarming im-
migrants at Ellis Island under Boss Tweed, out to the thieving
landgrabbers of the Pacific railroads. The liquor trade, increasing


Manuel Mansart Is Born
68
from 30 to 300 millions a year, was caught bribing the President's
cabinet. A flamboyant centennial celebration of 100 years of vain
attempt at democracy which could not pass the color line, saw an
Emperor talking into the first telephone while far to the west an
Indian, bitter and deceived, was eating General Custer's heart.
Depression had fallen on the nation like a blight, with crime,
hunger and unemployment. Blind revolt spread among farmers in
the new Grange; among workers in the demand for cheaper money.
A Liberal Republican revolt sweeping from the West had for the
first time since the war put the Democrats in control of the House
of Representatives; 23 of the 35 states, led by Tilden in New York,
had gone Democratic. President Grant, discredited, did not dare
run for a third term.
Here was the chance of the white South, if they played their
cards with care. They must reorganize their strategy: the Negroes
must not be fought as ex-slaves but as grafters like Tweed and the
Whiskey Ring. The alliance of Chamberlain with Northern busi-
ness must be disrupted and the white South must enter as the new
business partner of the North, with cheap Negro labor as the bait.
Only disfranchisement could keep labor cheap—this the North must
be led to see.
So now Mansart was waiting, and the group was watching him
doubtfully. It was getting late, not only in the day but in the year
and in the culmination of the Campaign of 1876. The meeting
began to get turbulent and out of hand.
“Where is Breckinridge?” they growled, louder and louder.
The door opened softly and a man glided in. He spoke to Mansart
low and long and then went out. Mansart sat in startled silence and
then arose heavily.
“Gentlemen," he said, "we have been ignored-or betrayed.
Breckinridge is sitting at his club. He has not started here; perhaps
he never planned to come. The Klan is riding the countryside;
they are gathering here quietly in the streets. We must. ..."
There was a slight movement at the door. It opened slowly and
framed in it against the night was the figure of Mrs. Du Bignon
Breckinridge, tall and slim, with the carriage and simply gowned
grace of a born aristocrat. She was a white woman in a world of
black men. Silence was complete.
It had come about quite by accident. Colonel Breckinridge, she
was sure, had gone to address the Mansart meeting. She was, of
course, disappointed because she had hoped he would let her


64
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
have delay the Colonel Wasurned quick!
accompany him. Yet she half-expected that he would not think this
proper; and even if he did he was advising with Southern gentle-
men like Wade Hampton-darling old man that he was, with his
courtly bow and smile and his facile “The Ladies, God Bless
them”-and keep them out of politics and business. No, she would
not be expected; and she wandered out into the never palling
beauty of night on the Battery, when a little black figure slipped
up the front steps, handed her a note and was gone. She smiled.
Negroes so loved secrecy!
The note was from Mansart. He said the Colonel had not yet
arrived; could she say if he was coming to the meeting and when?
She glanced back at the clock in surprise. The meeting had been
set for nine. It was well past ten. What could have happened?
What could have delayed him? Many things, of course, but Man-
sart must be reassured, the Colonel was sure to come. He was
doubtless already on the way. Then she turned quickly-of course
that was the thing to do-she herself would take the message. She
would meet the Colonel there-he might not like it, but he would
understand. She threw a mantilla over her black dinner gown.
Betty Lou came out on the porch: “You're not going out,
Mother?”
“Just a moment."
"The Streets didn't look quite safe as I came in.”
“Nonsense. I'm not going far.” And she went out. The Battery
was beautiful; always she had loved to saunter along it at night,
revelling in the beauty of the harbor beyond. She walked slowly
since she might meet the Colonel on his way to the meeting or
even possibly already returning; but perhaps it had been easier
to approach the Negro church from the club by way of other streets.
She paused to recall that labyrinth of alleys that branched east
from the docks. She used to know the nearer ones well in the days
of Aunt Betsy, when she went to call on her or fetch her. Of course
she could find that house, and the church was not far. Anyone
would tell her. It was now quite dark, and she hastened her step.
As she started to turn into an alley which she recognized, sud-
denly a white man loomed in front of her.
"Where do you think you're going?” he asked unsteadily.
She realized with quick revulsion that he was quite drunk.
Disgusted, she made no reply but walked on without quickening
her step. Never before had she even thought of insult on these
streets, despite war and evil. But as she stepped into the darker


Manuel Mansart Is Born
65
alley she heard behind her men snarl and curse, and without look-
ing back she knew they were white men.
She walked calmly on toward the flickering gas light on the
next corner and descried a crowd of Negroes. The crowd had some-
thing unusual in its aspect. It made no effort to shuffle out of her
way but remained stolid, silent, except for another voice beside
her which said, "Better go back where you belong, lady.”
She stepped off the sidewalk. Suddenly she was startled; sud-
denly she realized that she had blundered into something of which
she had not dreamed: hate, fear, hurt and revenge swirled silently
round about her.
But she only knew a part of what was happening. The whole
situation in the state was coming to a head, with attempts at final
and fatal understanding. Everyone was suspicious; the hoodlum who
accosted her at the head of the alley suspected the worst. He
lurched to find Scroggs. Scroggs, who not far away in conference,
was telling doubtful men what Breckinridge had proposed to him,
was startled. Was he being double-crossed as he always suspected
he might be? Perhaps the aristocrats were playing a shrewd game.
This mysterious white woman at night in the Negro district might
be a messenger or spy; might be a lady or a bitch. In any case
she was up to no good and must be caught. Or better, killed and
her death laid to the “niggers.” What would quicker unite the
whites and seal the bargain? He sent armed spies gliding silently
under the cover of night in the unlit alleys of the Negro quarter. In
bitter rage he brooded.
The crowd of Negroes gathering in the alley and seeing a white
woman approaching, began to wonder if some Negro was not sell-
ing out to the whites and that here was evidence of negotiations
through which their freedom and rights were to be sold away.
When they saw the whites moving at the head of the alley they let
out a growl of distaste and hate. Mrs. Breckinridge paused and
looked either way. Something hard and cruel was afoot and she
did not quite know what to do. Then she saw a man approaching.
He was well-dressed and walked erect. Instinctively she turned
quickly toward him, assuming that he was white, and started to
speak, when she saw to her surprise that he was black. She hesitated
but a second however, and then said:
“I beg your pardon, but could you direct me to Emmanuel
Church?”


66
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
He started to brush past unceremoniously. Then he stopped,
peered into her face, hesitated and without a word turned abruptly.
“This way,” he said and hurriedly led her across the alley,
around a corner into a wider thoroughfare and toward a large dark
building. She was surprised, thinking to see a crowded, lighted
edifice. She turned to ask but her guide had gone. There was a
shadowed basement door before her. She groped her way to it and
knocked. The door opened and a lantern was thrust into her face.
There was a gasp and hurried whispering. An inner door opened
and she stood before five hundred colored men, with Tom Mansart
on the rostrum.
It was by no means the first time Mrs. Breckinridge had faced
a colored audience. She had talked to Sunday schools and churches;
to picnics and gatherings of servants. She knew their giggling,
fidgeting and soft laughter; their hearty “Yaas ma'am" and "Thank
you!” But this was different. Here was silence-cold, exploring
silence. There was no laughter, no expectancy; rather she sensed
surprise, doubt, antagonism, distrust. The silence became oppres-
sive. She looked at Mansart uncertainly and stepped toward him.
She spoke low and clear.
“I represent Colonel Breckinridge,” she began; "he has been
detained, but I expect him any minute. He has, meantime, author-
ized me to say—".
She got no further. From without two shots in quick succession
rang out. Suddenly the lights of the room went out. She was un-
ceremoniously seized and propelled along to a dark closet-like
room. She turned on her captor in outraged repulsion. He was
Tom Mansart.
Lighting a small candle he looked at her. “Why did you come
here?” he asked. He was in deadly earnest and the sweat poured
from his face.
She choked back her indignation and answered: “Colonel Breck-
inridge was coming to this meeting tonight, to give you his word
of honor to guard your rights if you will give us your cooperation
and support. I cannot imagine why he has not come-or perhaps
he has come and. ..." She paused and stared at Mansart in sudden
fear-had they kidnapped her husband-or killed him?
Mansart looked at her long and hard. Then he answered slowly:
“Madam, you acted very wrong. Colonel Breckinridge ain't been
here. Why, I don't know. But I do know that unbeknownst you
have put yourself unprotected into the middle of a race riot-


Manuel Mansart Is Born
r. With = said. His der, then boum
perhaps of a long death struggle. You have put a terrible weight on
us. If anything should happen to you here in the Negro quarter
tonight my whole race and all its friends would be held guilty.
We must get you home to your friends-quick, if we can!”
“What difficulty will there be,” she began. But Mansart in-
terrupted brusquely: “Plenty.”
She bridled: "I will be judge of that.”
“You will not. You'll do as I say or I'll gag, bind and carry
you. Listen,” he said, speaking roughly but still low-voiced, "what
I'm doing is not for you, I am acting for my people. If you get
hurt here tonight we would get the blame no matter who was
guilty. I am going to try to save you. I don't know whether I can
or not; it's a risk, a great risk. I wonder your husband didn't tell
you to stay homel Hell will be loose in this city tonight. Come,
and for God's sake don't act like a damned fooll"
She stared at him a long moment and then bowed her head.
"I will do as you say,” she said. His dead earnestness impressed
and frightened her. With a body guard of two or three persons
staying close, they went out into the darkness and sneaked along
the alleys, turning here and there. They walked far and fast and at
last in a little narrow alley came to a house, neat and alone; and
after knocking and low whispers they entered the door.
Immediately she remembered the room. It was the home of
Aunt Betsy which she had often visited years ago. Little had
changed; there was the wide fireplace with its crimson and yellow
flame; there was the old carved table and the black framed picture
of Christ above. Opposite was the cavernous four-poster bed. On
it lay a moaning woman and beside-yes, beside it stood the grim,
silent figure of Aunt Betsy. She started toward her but the woman,
giving her a grave curtsy which was both greeting and warning,
waved her back. She drew back and saw Mansart and his com-
panions listening at the door. Save the low moans of the woman,
the house and street were very still. Then there came a loud and
peremptory knocking at the door. .
Everyone stood still and held his breath. Even the woman in
the bed sighed after a paroxysm and lay exhausted as Aunt Betsy
fanned her. Again the knocking, and finally Tom Mansart threw
wide the door. Two white men stood there, armed with rifles. One
looked straight at Mrs. Breckinridge and bowed.
"Colonel Breckinridge sent us to bring you home, Madam; he
was afeared the streets might be rough.”
hooked the door.gain the paroxys


68
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
Mrs. Breckinridge stepped forward and then stopped. “Why
didn't the Colonel come himself?” she asked.
The man shifted his gun-, “He's mighty busy, Ma'am. ..."
"That's a liel" The heavy voice of Aunt Betsy came from the
shadows. The men swore and both started to raise their guns. Tom
Mansart struck one full in the face, and black arms from behind
throttled the other. There was a scuffle, a rush, and three shots rang
out. One man fell groaning, the other disappeared.
Mrs. Breckinridge found herself lifted, almost carried, rapidly
in the darkness out through the back door, until they came to a
shadowy barnlike building, and Mansart's voice whispered in her
ear: “Madam, that was a trick. You must trust me. I must get you
away from here and safe back to your husband. That may prove
our faith in him."
He opened the door of the stable and went quickly about har-
nessing a horse to a light buggy. She waited, feeling soiled and dis-
arranged. Mansart helped her into the vehicle and began driving
slowly through the alleys until they approached the harbor. He
paused and pointed to the left. Yonder ran the river, and beyond
was her home. She started but he held her back, still pointing: “The
Klan," he whispered. She saw the shadowy bedecked horsemen
moving in groups and mustering in columns.
Without another word, he wheeled the horse out into the street
and lashed him. They turned north instead of south toward her
home, and involuntarily she gave a low cry. He drove even more
swiftly, whispering, “If we went to your home we'd meet the mob.
My life would be as worthless as your honor!"
She stared at him. Was this the truth or was this black man
taking her out to the massed Negroes of the islands, to prison or
worse? She went stiff and cold as she heard him still whispering,
“I am trying to reach Race Street and then come in through King
to the full-lighted center of the city. Likely there'll be no riders
there and I may be able to drop you near the Court House. That's
our best chance."
The horse dashed through the night. She sat back in the seat
and began to recover from her panic. She said slowly but dis-
tinctly: “You must believe me when I say that the Colonel fully
intended to meet you and give you the assurances you asked;
neither he nor I pretend that we regard Negroes as men fit to take
part in government; but we do want you to have justice, a chance
to earn a decent living; and an opportunity for your children,


Manuel Mansart Is Born
69
especially for the gifted and deft.”
Peering anxiously ahead and guiding the horse carefully by
railroad tracks and unpaved roads he replied: “Slavery was worse,
much worse than you think. I knows; I was a slave, with a master
called 'good.' Negroes has more brains and can learn more easily
than you think. I'm a Negro; I knows. If you and I had our way
freedom would have come not by blood but by prayer. We wasn't
asked. Now freedom is come; it's going to stay. What now can we
do to see this happen in peace? I thought out a way and tried to
get you and the Colonel to back me. He failed me. He sits tonight
· with the Klan.”
"I do not believe it," she cried, "he meant to come; he believes
as I believe!”
They had reached Race Street. He turned left cautiously and
drove west more slowly. They were out in the country now and the
roads were rough but they met few travellers. At long last they
turned South into King Street and began to approach the city.
"There is still time," she argued, “what proof have you that all
is lost?"
"The whites are set to steal the election and drive the blacks
back to slavery. The blacks could fight but they got few arms, and
are divided up in leadership. But they'll fight if they must. The
poor whites, who ought to be with us, hate us worse than they
hate the planters. And we are just as stupid and hate them. The
North, torn up with panic and graft is turning back to the planter.
Everything then, rests with the planters or with their leaders-the
quality. If they could see straight they could meet the money-grab-
bers in the North with a mass of good labor, black and white. But
no! They are massing the poor whites to kill the ‘niggers'!"
She started to speak, then paused in perplexity. He slowed the
horse to a walk. Finally, nearing the sidewalk he stopped, glanced
about. No one was visible on foot and only now and then a car-
riage and horse passed.
“You are safe here,” he said finally. "Yonder is the junction,
beyond you can see the Court House. Your husband will be two
blocks further.”
“You want me to walk?" she asked, astonished.
“Certainly not; I wants you to take the horse and buggy and
drive on. I will send for the rig tomorrow."
She stared at him. “You mean to say that you are sending me
home alone in this dangerous night?"


70
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
"A white woman is safer alone than with a Negro."
She spoke angrily. “And he himself is certainly safer; but don't
come if you are afraid.” She reached for the reins.
He hesitated. “Naturally I am afraid,” he said slowly, but he
was thinking fast. The woman was without doubt straight-forward
and trustworthy. If he got her safely to her husband she might
yet persuade him and the planters to balk the plans of the ex-
tremists. If he deserted her she would turn against him and his
plans and her husband would certainly be his enemy. She might
even be killed deliberately-even here in the city,-and her murder
placed at his door. On the other hand, it was dangerous to drive
openly into the very center of the city tonight with a planter's
wife, and into the very midst of a gathering of the Klan. Everything
depended on how far he could penetrate before discovery, and how
much time would elapse between discovery and actually meeting
with Colonel Breckinridge.
If without mishap he could deliver Mrs. Breckinridge safe into
her husband's keeping, he might even become a hero to the whites.
But if his plan was intercepted and made to look like a frustrated
kidnapping, he would be a corpse before his child was born; and
the South would be lost to democracy. He silently took the reins
again, glanced about, listened, and began to drive. Mrs. Breckin-
ridge smiled grimly and settled back in the seat. Her panic now
had fled and she was thinking clearly. It had all been a mistake.
She would get Tom Mansart and her husband together and talk
it all out; but she must not let Mansart leave her; it would not
be safe for him.
They drove silently and at a not too rapid rate until they were
opposite Market Street. Suddenly without warning two masked
horsemen, with white gowns and pointed hoods, came out of the
street at full gallop. They swept up, one at either side, and stared
at the couple. Mansart slowed down a bit but said nothing, and
Mrs. Breckinridge, lifting her chin, stared back calmly. Without
a word both horsemen turned, one racing back northward, the
other galloping full-tilt south. Mansart saw his one chance.
"Hold on tight,” he cried, and bending forward he whipped the
mare. She leaped forward and they lurched, swaying, toward St.
David's Church. The horseman in front far outdistanced them and
soon they were aware of the pounding hoofs of a cavalcade in the
rear.
Tom lashed the horse into a gallop. Mrs. Breckinridge was
uld be lost tened, and began.he seat. Her parmistake


72
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
The Bishop started to speak but another voice pealed and hearts
stood still. The old woman came in, naked from neck to loin,
marching with one thin arm aloft. In her vast hand lay a blood-
stained child. Slowly she swayed and danced through the church.
The Bishop, standing still behind the altar, saw a thousand years
of the African Dance of Death gliding out of the past. Snake-wise,
the throng followed the dancer, moaning to her cries:
“Curse God! Ride, Devils of Hell, with the blood-bought baby!
Burn! Killl Burnl Crawl with the Snake! Creep and Crawl! Behold
the Black Flame!"
Shriek rose on shriek, with tossing hands and spitting mouths.
Slower the sibyl moved, almost whispering: "His name is Manuel,”
she cried. “He is called!” She disappeared into the night.
The throng sat, stood and lay prone, exhausted. The Bishop
stepped before the Altar, sank slowly to his knees and said,
“Let us pray."


Chapter V
THE WORLD AND MRS. BRECKINRIDGE
For weeks Mrs. Breckinridge was severely ill. She lay almost
motionless and the physician gave but faint hope. Then gradually
she rallied. She began to recognize the Colonel as he came in, and
to press his hand faintly. She was pleased to have Betty Lou come
now and then and sit beside her. Now as the bright winter sun
poured through the windows she began to be more fully aware of
herself and the world. She was weak, but her mind was clearing.
She was beginning to be able to separate fact and dream, to remem-
ber something of the fancies and something of the scenes that had
occurred.
Today she lay quite at peace, watching the great white clouds
with their mauve edges hover in the sky. The Colonel would be
in soon to talk with her; and then the nurse and her daughter. With
a certain reluctance she turned her mind resolutely back again
toward that night-that terrible night. She was not sure just how
she had gotten home, and yet she dimly remembered the wild ride
on horseback. It took her back to those rides that she and the
Colonel used to have in Louisiana and out toward Lake Pontchar-
train, in the beautiful days of the past. Resolutely she brought
her mind back and tried for some time to recall just when it was
she had told the Colonel the story of Tom Mansart, and how much
she had told. She must say more about it to him and be sure that
he knew the whole tale.
Then her mind wandered to that old woman bringing a baby
to birth-ushering him into a new world. How many babies had
she brought into the world? And again she began to think of her
own daughter, brought by those same black hands-of her daugh-
ter's cool and careless demeanor and her own continual wonder
at just what the girl was thinking and what she was going to do.
Betty Lou was 24; singular it was that she had grown so fast.
Mrs. Breckinridge's mind wandered again. She liked Mansart-
that curious, tall black man who had shared with her a frightful
that curious, kinridge's mind wars that she had growas going to do.
78


74
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
it might belegro blood-Wi of the legends
incident in her life. In a way, and she almost smiled as she thought
it, he was a great gentleman, so simple and direct, and so utterly
self-sacrificing. She had been mad to drive him on in her panic and
confidence. Yes, and his people were hers; they were nearer, much
nearer, than most of the whites of Carolina.
She thought again of her old Louisiana home and the great
family of the Du Bignons: of the legend-at which she could smile
-of their Negro blood-which of course was ridiculous. And yet,
it might be. She remembered that dark, angular woman who was
often about her home, and her beautiful, imperious little baby,
evidently a white man's child whom she brought with her. Yes,
the colored people were near to her; the slaves were part of the
South and could never be separated. Arrangements must be made,
now that they were free. She would talk to the Colonel. And just
then he came in.
He came in quietly and looked at her and was pleased when
he saw the calm light of full consciousness in her eyes. She did
not start to talk as she had planned but said, as she held his hands:
“Have I lain here long?"
“Six weeks,” he answered.
“And the election?"
“Is over-now, now, no politics; all will be well.”
"Was the General elected?”
“Yes,” he said slowly. He patted her hand soothingly. “Wade
Hampton is Governor of South Carolina,” he asserted almost dog-
matically. Then he spoke of the weather and crops, and after a few
minutes started to rise. A vague unrest came into her face. She
stirred a bit on the bed and gripped his hand, saying,
“Dear, I can't quite remember how much I told you that night.”
He glanced at her quickly. “There, there, dear, don't talk about
that."
“I know, but I must-I am sure I told you what a splendid
thing, what a noble act Mansart did for me."
The Colonel arose, turned to the window and looked at his
watch but he did not answer. She pulled herself a bit straighter
in the bed and talked to his half-turned shoulder.
"I had no business to walk down there that night. I was upset
and thought that you had been detained. I wanted to reassure the
men. Then I found myself between mobs; and this black man at
the risk of his own life took me through the alleys and through
his own house and around-I* taunted him to drive on until we
came into that racing mass of men. I told you about it and gave


The World and Mrs. Breckinridge
75
Tahing eyes. Was ids the ghost bit she did not saya
Mansart into your protection-I did tell you about it, didn't I?
You did take him into your care?"
But just then the nurse entered with the daintily prepared
lunch, and the Colonel without a further word kissed her and left
the room. It was then that Clarice Breckinridge suddenly felt the
shadow of so great a tragedy that she lay back upon her bed and
closed her eyes.
Next morning the Colonel came in hurriedly and looked at her
with searching eyes. Was it imagination that she thought she saw
through her half-closed lids the ghost of fear and almost con-
sternation in those eyes? Perhaps not; but she did not say any-
thing. If there was anything to be said he would say it. He did talk,
rapidly; unconsciously he was seeking sympathy and justification.
He had not realized how much he had missed talking with her.
As he talked on he almost forgot how ill she had been and still was.
It was as though he were the one returning from a far country to
tell her of the strange and baffling things which had happened
and which had left his soul in curious indecision.
"We are in revolution," he said as he walked to and fro ner-
vously. She was glad of his perturbation for it gave him no time to
notice the despair on her face. “There are two governments in
Carolina and two legislatures. No president of the United States
has been elected. The election here was a nightmare; a farce; all
elections are farces but this outranked them all. Charleston County
never cast more than 20,000 votes; yet although three or four
thousand black voters had been scared by the whites into refusing
to vote and another thousand bribed to vote for Hampton, the
total vote was 24,000 and the county went Republican by unprece-
dented majority.
“In the white counties the whites voted time and time again,
and hundreds of North Carolinians and Georgians crossed the
border and voted with them. In Edgefield County where there were
7,000 voters and a large black population, 9,000 votes were cast
and the Democrats won by 3,000! When the returns were in, the
State went Democratic because of fraud, and the electoral vote
went Republican because of the Republican majority on the State
Board of Canvassers. The Board was put in jail. The Republicans
organized one House of Representatives, the Democrats another,
and the two bodies began a wild fight for control until the United
States army interfered.
"Chamberlain was inaugurated Governor December 4th, but
ten days later the Supreme Court of the State, with one black jus-
States amberlain Wapreme Court


76
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
tice, recognized the Democratic legislature as legal. Hampton was
declared Governor; he demanded the Great Seal of the State from
Chamberlain and enjoined the mulatto State Treasurer, Cardozo.
The whole mess was referred to Washington and now I am urged
by Hampton to go to the hearing before Congress.”
He paused. She knew he half expected her to speak. She did not.
She could not. There was one matter on which both knew neither
could speak; both waited nervously. He began again. He wanted to
tell her how the Mansart incident had changed his whole attitude
and led him to acquiesce in murder and cheating without protest,
but he could not do this because if what she had said about Man-
sart was true (and it could not, it must not be true), then he had
and more on
h
o w
no excuse and had been doubly wrong. He must get away-he
the men ne na
must think. He found himself saying: .
"I do not know why Hampton is so set on my going. I am no
diplomat. I am disgusted at the present situation. It amazes me.
Just because, as Hampton insists, I am a ~” he gulped, “gentle-
man of the Old South, - yet I cannot see – I cannot see _"
She managed to keep the tremor out of her voice and said, as
she knew he longed for her to say, “You must go; of course you
must go." She knew they were both fighting for time and adjust-
ment. Both wanted time for thought. Neither could think nor act
normally now. Perhaps in time—but not now. In her heart she said
hurry, hurry, go now! With her voice she asked:
"When will you go?”.
He glanced at her and was stricken by her pallor and thinness.
“But you ?"
"I shall be quite all right. I shall sit here and grow strong.
When you return and all is well, we'll talk it all out." She was
very, very sorry for him. He was both glad to go and reluctant. All
his natural impulses were at war with each other within. He looked
old, drawn, and distraught. But he must go and go now. She
wanted to say this and scream it. But she only stroked his hand and
closed her eyes.
The Colonel left next day, after solicitous arrangements for his
wife's care. She lay a long week, husbanding her strength, dozing
and fighting back her urge to think. She walked a little each day;
first staggering from bed to chaise-longue; then crossing the room,
then standing by the window and staring at the unseen sea.
Today she turned and went back and lay on her chaise-longue,
facing and seeing the sea. Then resolutely she put her mind to the
past. What had she told her husband that night? Had she told him


The World and Mrs. Breckinridge
77
anything? She remembered seeing him there as she rose and
screamed, and then-nothing more. Suppose – and it was possible
– that she had told him nothing; that she had had no time to talk
before she fainted? In that case, how would he and the others know
what her situation had been; what had happened? She and her
husband had flown home in the night, where lying senseless she
had known nothing. What had become of Tom Mansart? Why was
her husband silent? Because of accomplishment or tragedy?
Two more long days she waited, getting stronger in body and
weaker and more utterly despairing in spirit. She asked nothing
of anyone, but gradually without information she knew. She knew
that some way in that night of disaster she had not said to her hus-
band what she had meant to say; she had not told him or anyone
just what had occurred. She did not dare to think what had hap-
pened; yet she must know. Today as she heard the door opening
she composed herself and lay back quietly with her eyes closed.
Betty Lou came in, tip-toed toward her, humming a little tune.
As her mother's eyes were closed, she sampled the cosmetics on the
bureau. Mrs. Breckinridge gripped herself and spoke:
"Oh, Betty Lou," she said casually. “You remember that man,
Mansart, you know, the black man?”
Betty glanced at her with surprise, but went on with her put-
tering. “Yes?" she answered.
"What became of him?" asked Mrs. Breckinridge.
Betty Lou whirled and looked at her in surprise. “Why mother!"
she said. “What could have become of him?-they lynched him on
his own doorstep, of coursel”
Mrs. Breckinridge said nothing; she closed her eyes and fainted.
But she did it so quietly that Betty Lou thought she had dropped
to sleep again, and tip-toed out of the door.
As that great black wave of faintness engulfed Mrs. Breckin-
ridge, she hoped it might be death itself. She welcomed it. She felt
that she could not just faint and wake again. So she lay half-dead,
with fluttering heart. When she opened her eyes the nurse was
standing over her with a puzzled look on her face.
“Are you feeling badly?” she asked.
"A little faint,” Mrs. Breckinridge gasped. "No, no lunch – let
me rest a while longer.” And the nurse went out.
Colonel Breckinridge, riding north on the ramshackle train,
brooded long. He had not wanted to go to Washington and had


78
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
told Wade Hampton so repeatedly. But Hampton continued to
plead:
“We are going to rule the South. Mississippi, Georgia and Ala-
bama are safe. Louisiana and Florida will follow. Nothing can keep
South Carolina out of our hands. Then our problem will be how
to handle the poor whites and the Negroes. We'll bribe the poor
whites with votes, a few offices and as much social equality as we
must. The Negroes we'll disfranchise, and draw a legal color line
which will keep them in their places. This will take some time and
more killing and cheating, but finally, with the help of the North,
we can settle down to civilized life again.
"If the North keeps alliance with the Negroes as it did in the
war and since, we will be crushed. But we have good reason to
know that already this has been stopped. The real North never
liked Negroes and was not willing to attack slavery. Now that it
is gone they are glad and so are we; but they no more than we
want to make Negroes their equals. They want good, cheap, profit-
able labor and so do we.
"Our first job is to secure control of this state. I want you to
go to Washington. I want the Northerners to meet and talk to a
Southern gentleman. Show them that we have already regained the
state. Show them how the Negroes stole and raised taxes. Get the
sympathy of the reformers. Rejoice that slavery is gone forever.
We propose to govern justly and within the law. We will stop high
taxes and stealing. We will encourage business and agriculture.
We will put the Negroes to work.”
Colonel Breckinridge felt vividly his distaste for Hampton's talk.
He was disgusted with the campaign. They had gained victory by
lying, cheating and murder. What excuse was it that their slaves
had cheated and killed in turn? What race superiority of white over
black did that show? And stealing-my God, who had stolen more
or gotten as much as white men whom they both knew? No! He
wanted nothing more of it. He was going back to his plantation to
hide and think. This had cost too much in blood and violence.
It had cost much more in the honor of gentlemen.
He had left abruptly and gone home. He had gone to his wife's
bedside and received the crushing blow of her story of Mansart. He
was struck dumb with astonishment and horror. He had always
shrunk from that grim lynching, but had never questioned its inevi-
tability, its absolute justice. What else in God's name could he
have thought?
He had wanted to come to some understanding with Mansart,
but what could he think when in the night there came rushing to


80
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
“The problem of the South is not Southern, it is national. Since
the war I have travelled all over the country. I think I am familiar
with what most Americans think. Nobody in this country, except
a few fanatics, likes Negroes or regards them as equals. Nobody
wants them to vote except as a step to compel reunion. After that
they expect them to be disfranchised under some form of law. What
Americans want is a great united country organized so as to make
this people rich and comfortable and give it leisure to broaden
and cultivate the graces of higher social life.”
"Indeed," retorted the Colonel, “I am glad; but they have
very successfully concealed their wishes in the last twenty years."
"I do not think so. We made the mistake of war and war kills
reason. But war was a mistake and we all know it. Now we are
sane again and ready anew to start on a greater and wider path.”
"I hope so," answered the Colonel shortly. They continued the
conversation until they reached Washington and, alighting at the
dirty Sixth Street station, sought their hotel. The Colonel's distaste
for Washington was greater than his disappointment at Richmond.
He had known it when it was a Southern City. He came back to
a Northern camp filled with Yankees and Negroes. He reflected
that since he was here 17 Negroes had actually sat in the halls of
Congress which Jefferson Davis, John C. Calhoun and Daniel Web
ster had once graced. What possibly could be rebuilt upon this mire
of civilization? There had been stealing in South Carolina and
misrule; but here in this Den of Thieves graft, plunder and bare-
faced robbery had climbed up to the very presidential chair.
As the Colonel sat in the Senate gallery and saw John B. Gor-
don of Georgia champion the case of Wade Hampton on December
29th, and from then to January 16 when Patterson of Pennsylvania
defended Chamberlain, the Colonel began to sense in the attitude
of the Senate and the talk of his neighbors the change which had
come to the nation. The panic of 1873, which in the South seemed
but part of the war, had loomed as a revolution in the North.
Here money was Power. A Democratic majority had replaced the
Republican rule of Reconstruction. Twenty-three states out of
thirty-five, led by New York and Tilden, now had gone Democratic.
Reform was in the saddle. Grant did not dare run for a third term.
Everyone said that Hayes was ready to placate the South.
Breckinridge began to see hope for the South and the nation.
He wrote his wife daily and the nightmare of Mansart began to
recede in importance. It was unfortunate, but it was part of world
disaster. Perhaps he could make it up some way. If Mansart left
been stealeves graft Lential


The World and Mrs. Breckinridge
81
ton red of efused 8reater that,
children he would see that they got training as good laborers.
Meantime, the greater world and a Southern future beckoned.
Congress refused to interfere, and it became certain that Hayes,
assured of the presidency, had given his word to recognize Hamp-
ton and withdraw troops from the South. The Colonel wrote the
news to his wife and told her the day of his return. Then he went
to his hotel to pack.
As he entered his private hotel suite he was surprised to find
sitting there a stranger, tall and broad-shouldered, white-haired
and handsome.
"Colonel,” the stranger said, rising and bowing, “I humbly beg
your pardon. I had to be sure of seeing you in private before you
returned South. I therefore prevailed on the hotel manager to let
me await you here. Permit me to introduce myself: I am Aurelius
Beauregard, from the Louisiana family which you know. I have
the honor of bearing a letter of introduction from your mother-in-
law, Mère Du Bignon."
The Colonel, taken aback and ruffled at this intrusion on his
privacy, motioned the gentleman to a seat, read the letter, and a
bit stiffly shook hands. This gentleman would seem to be a person
of high birth, vouched for by no less authority than Mère Du
Bignon, head of the Du Bignon clan. He remembered her vividly:
hook-nosed, white-haired, with an inbred air of domination. She
was an aristocrat to her finger tips and a born ruler of men.
But Mr. Beauregard was speaking: “And now, Sir, may I explain
the reason for this unpardonable intrusion. I am a Mason"-and
he gave the Colonel the grip of one of the highest Degrees—"but
more to the point now, Sir, I have the honor to be General Presi-
dent of the Knights of the Golden Circle.” He disclosed a maltese
cross surmounted by a star on the reverse of his lapel.
The Colonel stared. He remembered joining this order a decade
before the war, when the "Southern Rights Club” of Charleston,
to which he belonged, joined in a body. "But," he started to say,
“I thought,"
“I know, Sir, what you are thinking: that the organization had
been discredited and disbanded. Discredited, it is true, by Bickley
and border state folk who meant well but were common people
with no idea of our high mission. Vallandingham disgraced us
and made us look like a conspiracy formed to encourage deserters
and saboteurs."
The Colonel said, “The organization which I joined planned to
extend the South and its culture and institutions south of the


82
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
Rio Grande into Mexico and Central America and throughout the
Caribbean, perhaps even to South America; and to face the traders
and shopkeepers of the United States with a great civilized nation
of real culture based on black slavery.".
"Exactly, Sir. Our efforts, save in Texas and California, failed;
we lost our forays into Central America, Cuba and San Domingo.
We lost a war in this land. But we still survive, re-organized and
set toward a wider, more glorious destiny than was ever dreamed
of in 1855."
“But surely you do not plan to revive the mummery of secrecy
and tinsel which cloaked our aims then? Slavery is gone. What is
left of it to be restored, even if we had the power?”
“Sir, the deathless duty of leading to survival and power those
high-born elements in the white race whose domination of world
culture is the hope, and only hope, of civilization! This, Sir, is
worth even a bit of ancient ceremony and – mummery, as you
call it, is it not?"
"I presume so – but in my state the Ku Klux Klan and other
efforts at 'white supremacy' have not impressed me. Rather the
contrary.”
“Precisely. That represents a degradation of our aims, or at
most a passing expediency for handling ignorant and debased allies
against Negroes and carpet-baggers. Believe me, all that is past or
at worst will linger only as long as it takes to restore law and order
and white supremacy. After that, our principles will rule the world.
- But Sir, I argue too much. I am authorized to show the rescript
to you for the new World Grand Castle, summoned by the Knights’
Marshall, to meet beginning tomorrow and to invite and urge you
to sit with us. I am humbly to ask your pardon for the unavoidable
lateness of this invitation.”
He unrolled and handed Colonel Breckinridge a great sheet of
thick parchment, engrossed, heavy with gold and color, and adorned
with seals and ribbons. The Colonel began to read, at first with
doubt and suspicion, then interest and at last with amazement.
If this document was genuine and its signature authentic it marked
an epoch-making movement. He stared at Beauregard. “But this is
unbelievable – it is astounding. How _"
"Certain gentlemen, most of whom you know personally or by
reputation, will call on you today or tomorrow morning to con-
firm what I have said. If finally you are convinced, a carriage will


The World and Mrs. Breckinridge
88
be sent for you at this hotel tomorrow night. I have the honor,
Sir, to be your obliged and obedient servant. Good day.”
So it happened that the next day in the late afternoon Colonel
Breckinridge, after telegraphing his wife, was whisked down the
sweep of Pennsylvania Avenue, from the grey unfinished dome of
the capitol toward the tall, thin monument of Washington; past
the White House where the conqueror of Appomattox was pre-
paring to leave the Potomac. They crossed into Virginia. It was
clear and cold and a light veil of snow lay across the hills. At
twilight they were at the docks of Alexandria. Silently they trans-
ferred to a dispatch boat which, making hurried departure, rushed
them a hundred winding miles to the broad waters of Chesapeake
Bay. They swept up beside a stately yacht in the darkness and
climbed aboard.
It was a beautifully designed and lavishly furnished vessel
which started on its voyage soon after the Colonel and his com-
panions stepped aboard. They were received with quiet courtesy
and the perfect punctilio that satisfied the Colonel's best traditions.
A late, simple and well-appointed supper was served in his cabin
with an exquisite bottle of Sauterne and hot black coffee. He slept
heavily in the cold night and noted, as breakfast was brought to
his bunk, that the servants were not Negroes, as he was used to,
but white foreigners speaking English with an accent but perfectly
trained to service.
On ascending to the salon he saw a few gentlemen, none of
whom he recognized. Having his overcoat proffered by a ready ser-
vant, he went out on deck and fell in with a tall gentleman, evi-
dently from his manner and speech an Englishman. It occurred to
him that this gathering must be international, which gave him food
for thought. This invitation, although couched in secrecy and all
the paraphernalia of oath and grip, had attracted him because
he was assured of the deep purpose and planning back of this front
of pageantry and theater. They fell in step and walked in the
fresh air.
“I am glad you came, Colonel Breckinridge,” said the stranger,
to the Colonel's surprise.
"I am afraid I do not recall-” he began, hesitating and then
extending his hand.
"Of course not, Sir; we have not met. But you are well-known.
My name is — " He paused a moment, – “Leicester," and then added
diffidently, “Lord Leicester, if you will forgive the anachronism of


84
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
a title in your free America."
The Colonel concealed his astonishment, but said courteously,
“I'm afraid, my lord, that we have just had an overdose of free-
dom.”
' "Much of the world is suffering from the same malady,” an-
swered the nobleman drily. “If I mistake not, Sir, there is some
kinship between our families."
The Colonel almost flushed beneath his tan, and bowed gravely.
“I have heard some such legend."
“Well, Sir," continued the Englishman as they fell in step and
sauntered along looking at the dark, heaving waters of the At-
lantic, “I presume you agree that in this crisis of the world we
need to prolong this parade and mumbo-jumbo to keep and main-
tain leadership. We have not yet named this culminating secret
organization, but we maintain its ancient appeal as you will see.
I often revolt, but when I saw Little Victoria-God save her-and
the Parliament which just named her Empress of India with crown,
robe and orb, — well by Jove, I said, there's something to ceremony
as an arm of government. And, Sir, it is World Government that
we begin to erect this week."
The Colonel was silent a moment and then spoke slowly. “I
was not fully cognizant of your plans," he said, “before I came.
But certainly if ever there was a time for the leadership of the
forces of blood and breeding, it is now. This world is on the road
to hell!”
The nobleman smiled and said, "There is no reason to despair;
we are entering a new world.” And he excused himself.
The Colonel looked about and saw a number of friends, persons
of breeding from the old days. He talked with one who said:
“I don't understand the Yankees. I never believed before the
war that the better part of them really opposed Negro slavery,
and I don't believe it now. I believe they were caught in a cur-
rent of fanaticism and greed they could not stem. But if once they
would be sure of firm alliance with Southern gentlemen and the
aristocracy of Europe, they would be as happy as we to chain the
darkies to the soil like the European peasants, and erect a laboring
class of whites held in the hand of a firmly rooted aristocracy like
England's.”
The Colonel looked up with interest. "But that would take
money and power,” he said.
“Good," was the answer. “They have the money and we can
hem real they were But if onced the
cy of Europle the European peanaly rooted a


The World and Mrs. Breckinridge
85
have the power. We can vote the black millions even when they
are free, if the North consents, and we have climate and resources.”
“Yes, but which North? The small nucleus of gentlemen or the
mill-owners and railway owners, the bankers? And what about the
masses of white laboring riff-raff who fought and won this war?"
"This about them: They fought slavery, but they despise
darkies and are as eager as we are to disfranchise them. If while
they and the Southern whites are fighting ‘niggers,' we are con-
solidating our power in the world so as to hold all labor in its
tracks, we can own the world!”
A Northern merchant got into the conversation next and
pointed out that the Southern poor whites would probably exact
heavy toll for any alliance with the planters. The Northern whites
had the whip hand, but after all, they were men, and white men.
So too, the poor whites had been the real victims of slavery. Give
them a chance, give them education; they could be raised.
Colonel Breckinridge made no answer to this argument, but he
did not believe it. On the whole it was his opinion that no persons
with fantastic beliefs concerning the uplift of the lower classes, even
if they were white, could be gentlemen born. There were differ-
ences, and radical differences, even among white men. Granted that
alliance must come between classes so far removed as the planters
and poor whites, the differences would remain.
One man, whom he could not quite place, (he sounded like a
Northerner)-spoke to him vehemently and half secretly:
“I tell you, Colonel, this world is on the brink of vast change.
England is going to try to be another Rome and is making America
play along. If we are not careful we will all be submerged and in
the end find ourselves facing Asia in the East, under Japan and
China, and Africa right here in our bosom. There is no use
estranging these Africans; we are going to need them.”
Another broke in: "Nonsense. 'Niggers' can never amount to
much.”
But the first man insisted: “Don't be a fool. Darkies with educa-
tion and leadership can do anything. Diamonds have been discov-
ered in South Africa, and gold. Black fanatics are holding England
today in the Sudan. Nightmares? All right. But our task is plain:
treat these 'niggers' well, build up leaders among them who are
our allies and will join exploiting all labor, white, yellow and
black!"
Colonel Breckinridge turned away in disgust and sat down beside


86
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
a calm, clean-cut New York banker, who began conversation first
about his railway investments and then rather suddenly pointed
out the path to follow in the North to bring Anglo-Saxon rulership
of the world in the Americas, in Europe, Asia and Africa. The
laborers in the United States must be controlled; the power of the
corporations must be expanded.
“Disfranchisement must be enforced in the South with regard
to the Negroes, but we must not try to keep them in ignorance. No
such mass determination to know can be permanently dammed. But
the course ought not to be Greek and Latin but guidance to intelli-
gent workmanship. In time they may die out or they may become
a good, profitable laboring class.
“But above all we must keep our eyes set on the white workers.
They are uneasy, and coming under the leadership of demagogues
and fanatics, might join the Negroes. There are the Irish, the
Italians, the riff-raff from East Europe whom we crazily called in
to do our work after the war. Naturally our democracy is not work-
ing in the North. It can't work. Our industry is in the hands of
freebooters and Europe is on the edge of revolution. We have had
one depression, we are going to have others. It's time for real lead-
ership to take hold, and that leadership ought to come out of the
South.”
The Colonel listened, when another objected that this disfran-
chisement of the Negroes was not going to be so easy with the War
Amendments in force. A man from New Orleans answered.
“The Supreme Court will attend to that."
“But,” said the Colonel, “surely the Supreme Court is unbrib-
able?”
“Of course," was the answer, “but all men have their price. Al-
ready we know the court stands 5 to 4 against the radical interpreta-
tion of the war amendments. Of the four, one has an ambitious son;
one is a Southerner who is willing to listen; and the third would
like to be president of the United States.
“Right down in New Orleans we have already rigged up cases
by which, with proper decisions, the fourteenth amendment can
become a bulwark of property, permitting disfranchising the Ne-
groes and reducing them to a caste. Difficult? Of course it will be.
It calls for patience, finesse, money; but it can be done. Once done
and the United States will be the most powerful nation on earth.
And England? Well, England will be our handmaiden-or we hers.”
The morning passed in conversations like these. The Colonel


88
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
e persons was sure the Frenthe
cence surpassed anything the Colonel had ever seen. There was
marble and gold, silk and velvet. The persons present were re-
splendent in uniform and order. The Colonel was sure he recog-
nized not only the insignia of the British Garter and the French
Grand Cross of the Legion, but the Spanish Golden Fleece, the
German Black Eagle and a score of other orders and decorations.
His own grey colonel's uniform was duplicated by a half dozen
other Confederate officers' and at least two Generals' uniforms in
blue. Many were in civilian evening dress.
There was opening ceremony and fanfare of trumpets, and then
almost suddenly a cold, business simplicity took charge and a con-
ference began which Colonel Breckinridge never forgot to his dying
day. He did not remember nor try to remember speakers nor se-
quence, but the clear thread of argument, fact and conclusion he
never forgot:
We face a world crisis. Unexpectedly in the Southern United
States there has come the violent overthrow of a social system and
half-barbarous blacks are being put in control of white civilization.
Property has been destroyed and confiscated and re-distributed. If
this succeeds the world is upside down. In England the half-edu.
cated laboring class led by demagogues is getting votes and seeking
control of government. This gang stopped England from saving
the South, and if uncurbed will break up the British Empire.
In France, a second peasant parvenu has run amok, but has
been overthrown by Germany, leaving France facing social revolu-
tion. In Germany, a strong hereditary aristocracy has arisen to
rule but faces socialism, disguised as democracy. Open and under-
ground anarchy threatens ancient Imperial Russia, while new
Italian monarchy reels and staggers before radicalism and religious
feud.
Yet at just this time a mighty Europe, under guidance of its
inborn superior talent, is arming itself for world conquest; it has
unparalleled technique for manufacture and commerce. It has con-
quered and held the hundred millions of Asia. It had just bared
and marked for division the undreamed of riches of Africa.
The critical year was 1870. France was defeated at Sedan; the
Suez Canal was near-completed. Europe was looking toward the
tropics for raw materials for her factories. International finance
was beginning and the corporation had begun its fateful role. Gold
and diamonds had been discovered in South Africa. Paul Kruger
was 45.
been over Germany, a strong uised as democracy Russia, while new
alism, disguisereditary aristocacing social revohas


The World and Mrs. Breckinridge
89
Europe had been depending on the Southern states of America
to complete the conquest of the Caribbean, where half-free and
bloody-minded Negroes had ruined the Sugar Empire; and South
America where Latins, Indians and Negroes were trying to imitate
European civilization. Here it was that the Northern United States,
misled by fanatics, overthrew Southern economy, freed the con-
tented slaves and started Hell on earth. What to do? To your Tents,
O Israell The battle is not lost. It cannot be lost as long as white
Nordics live.
This is our Program:
1. Show Northern leaders the truth about the world.
2. Beat the Negroes back to their kennels.
3. Cajole and control white labor.
4. Consolidate capital into imperial control of the world; guide
world trade and monopolize gold and credit.
At the closing session a youngish man, blonde, slim and straight,
in a uniform resplendent with orders, arose to nominate a World
Commander of the new international order. All bent forward to
hear some exalted name, perhaps even that of the German Em-
peror who had just risen amid the smoke of Sedan to triumph over
France. Or his mighty Chancellor, Prince Bismarck. But the name
presented was unknown to the Colonel: Cecil Rhodes.
Others too, were mystified and a wave of whispers circled. But
the Prussian major spoke impressively in his clipped Oxford En-
glish:
"Gentlemen! My cousin, the Princess Radziwill, has just arrived
in America bearing the consent of Cecil Rhodes to accept for him
the honor which I trust we are about to confer. My cousin, perhaps
the most beautiful woman in Europe, certainly the wisest, has
known this man some time. To some of you his name is still
strange. He is a young Englishman of but twenty-three years of
age but already a millionaire and coming master of Africa. I met
him first at Oxford three years ago. Together we heard Ruskin
point out the destiny of England. I can see the high gothic curving
of that ancient hall, aspiring upward, and the figure of the Prophet,
austere and inspired:
“ 'You youth of England can make your country again a royal
throne of kings; a sceptered isle for all the world, a source of light,
a center of peace.'
"Rhodes was tremendously moved as were all of us, even a
foreign visitor like myself. We talked much thereafter. Rhodes


go
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
wants a giant super-government under England and America, with
a federal parliament, recruited from the elite of the world; a man-
agerial revolution guided by a giant secret society of financiers.
He thinks of Loyola's jesuits as a type to follow. His consent to
head us is of tremendous significance. We must make the offer!
“If only he lives to realize his dream! You know he has been
tuberculous for years-that was the reason which sent him to the
high plateau of South Africa; but my cousin will nurse him back
to health once they are married. England is behind him. Her con-
trol of Egypt approaches completion. We Germans have entrusted
little Belgium with the vast valley of the Congo to hold for us in
trust for a season. Gentlemen! The Star of the White Race rises,
never to set!”
The election of Rhodes was rushed forward almost too precipi.
tously for Colonel Breckinridge and many others. It smacked of
deliberate prearrangement. But of course the Colonel knew that
all this had to be planned ahead. So the vote went through.
All these matters had taken long hours of debate, fact-finding,
comparison and decision. But the meeting was admirably organized.
Experts were there. Colonel Breckinridge especially remembered
that dark, keen-faced explorer just back from a death-facing trip
across Africa-his picture of resources, methods and plans already
afoot. The calm, cool grip of British aristocracy on the world was
succinctly shown; and methods of combating socialism and anarch-
ism and the communism of Marx; and ways of appeasing Italy in
Africa and Germany in South America. General Hampton himself
had sent a written outline of how the Negroes had been put in their
places in the southern South.
Thus Cecil Rhodes became Grand Commander, although many,
like the Colonel, were in doubt over the choice. But most of his
confreres seemed wildly delighted. One young officer, evidently a
little intoxicated with champagne, took the Colonel's arm as
they ascended to bed.
"You should see him, Sir! Just picture him-high on a throne
of royal state, which far outshines the wealth of Ormus or of India
-or where the gorgeous East with richest hand showers on her kings
barbaric pearl and gold-,'” He hiccoughed and paused. The
Colonel added thoughtfully: "Satan, exalted sat!"
The young man straightened, scowled and smiled. “Ha, ha,”
he laughed, "so Kruger says. What matter, God or Devil! We are
no longer children; we're done with fairy tales. All is well so long


The World and Mrs. Breckinridge
91
as the White Man rules.” Curiously, the Colonel did not wholly
agree.
After three days they all sailed away at night so that none or
few knew where they had been. Colonel Breckinridge could almost
have persuaded himself that he had passed through some fantastic
dream, had not the clear program and results been burned so
vividly on his mind. He telegraphed his wife again, naming the
day of his arrival. He hurried South by every means of conveyance,
missing much of his mail on the way. He landed in Charleston late
at night and rushed home by rickety, rolling cab.
Clarice Breckinridge had read his letters in mounting consterna-
tion. By now, through old newspapers and chance words, she knew
the whole story of Manuel Mansart. She was still weak, but better
in body and sicker in soul. After long, long days of brooding she
had taken to pacing her room more and more restlessly. She kept
whispering to herself—“There is blood upon my hands. I am guilty
of murder of a good man who gave his life for me.” She could not
bear it. She did not for a moment blame her husband. “He did
what he did for me; he was a Knight of derring-do for his lady, the
greatest deed a man can perform for his woman. Yet I cannot face
him again.”
At last came the letter announcing his home-coming, then the
telegram like a reprieve; finally the last telegram setting day and
hour. She drew her cloak of silk and fur about her and stepped
quietly into the hall. A moment she listened, moving slowly to the
balcony and looking down on the carriages and prancing horses
amid the foliage. The whole house was sunk in the stillness of mid-
afternoon siesta. She began climbing slowly to the third story, above
the great carved pillars of the porch with their white Doric capitals.
She rested a moment and then climbed more slowly for she was
desperately weak, until at last she stood upon the topmost balcony
and the city lay before her.
Yonder was King Street, the beginning of her world, her lost
world. They who had much to lose had nearly lost all; but what
of them who had nothing to lose-of a man like Mansart? A man
who owned scarcely himself and then lost all he hoped to have;
how can one measure such emptiness, such death of all hope; and
then Death itself-cruel, terrible, bloody? She could almost see
yonder the old slave mart in Chalmers Street, off Meeting-House,
hiding like a foul wraith. Everywhere the ghosts of Africa greeted


92
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
her. Yonder behind, the cupola of St. Michaels reared defiantly its
pale and four-tiered head. She remembered how the buggy swerved
on two wheels to fly by it and never succeeded.
She repeated: “And the slave that saved St. Michaels. ..."
Slowly she turned and faced the eternal sea, the old and ever-lasting
sea. In front, frowning over the bay, gloomed the long, low bastion
of Fort Sumter with its ten holes of death. It seemed now ages ago
that she had prayed and sobbed, bowed in grief, before this dark
symbol of the beginning of war. Out beyond Fort Sumter lay
Moultrie; and then there to the right lay Nothing, not even the
hill which Fort Wagner once crowned. But ghosts still paraded
above it, and beneath the ghosts lay a pale young Yankee, “buried
beneath his ‘niggers.'”
She lifted her hands and saluted heaven and all its forts. She
threw aside her costly cloak and leaned far out over the balustrade.
There was level ground about the basement, covered with hard
Belgian blocks and embroidered with foliage and flowers. The
early lilies leaned pale faces toward her; the brilliance of the
azaleas floated up like a veil. The great black earth, like a waiting
mother lifted its loving arms. And Clarice Du Bignon leaned far
out and dropped into the areaway sixty feet below.


Chapter VI
and the placed, some winutiful Big Hout there were
THE MARRIAGE OF BETTY LOU
Colonel Breckinridge was playing solitaire, sitting in the parlor
of his dilapidated plantation home on the banks of the Savannah,
half-way between Augusta and the sea. The plantation whither he
had fled was old and neglected although there were still remains
of a sturdy and even beautiful Big House. But it was run down;
its floors sagged, some windows were broken, there was no furnace
and the plumbing was all out of gear. He huddled there and
thought of the world. With his hands he was leading the cards
slowly; but with his mind he was laying his life before him and
trying to scrutinize its trends and meaning. The two activities
merged queerly.
He played the king of clubs and stared at it. Clubs-force, power,
murder! That was it; that was the way he and his friends had tried
to right the world. What had they gained or lost? He laid the six
other cards face down and then turned the ten of hearts. Yes-that
was it-hearts, love, had been reddened by war and were gone-
dead.
He had failed in almost everything, but how and why? What
had been wrong with him? Surely he had meant well, he had tried
to hold high the ideals of his nation and his clan. The world said,
and he was silent, that his wife had accidentally fallen from that
roof. But he knew better; she had left him a letter and told him
simply and lovingly why she had taken her own life. She laid
no blame upon him. She put it all upon herself. But he knew that
that was not true.
Their life together as man and wife had not been romantic and
exciting, but in some way it had been more than that. There was
no great sexual attraction for either of them. There was little of
embracing and kissing, but there was friendship: a calm, thorough,
basic friendship and understanding which had seldom been dis-
turbed. She knew what he was thinking and what his fundamental
principles of life were. She knew, indeed, often better than he did.
And he understood her, her passive enjoyment of life, her love of
flowers, her friendships and reticences.
Perhaps their greatest lack of understanding was in the case
93


94
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
of Betty Lou. Of course, he had wanted a son, and perhaps she,
too. But in the case of this daughter he, without conscious thought,
simply abandoned her whole training to her mother and at times
almost forgot her existence. The mother, on the other hand, was
timid in the presence of her daughter. She realized vividly that
this was another soul, another personage; she did not want to
command and rule her, she wanted gradually to gain her friend-
ship. Perhaps, if everything had gone normally, this would have
happened, but in the upturn and revolution of war and Recon-
struction, mother and daughter seemed to fare even further apart
than before.
He fingered his cards and turned the queen of diamonds; he
thought of his impending bankruptcy lurking in the ruins of Re-
construction; he must look into his planting and see what he could
retrieve. Then came the ace of spades, and he shrank from the
thought of black folk digging, toiling, loafing and laughing,
crying and dying. Was it really his fault that Mansart was mur-
dered horribly? How could he have acted differently, knowing what
little he did? What sort of world was this that sends its puppets
blind and groping for a light which does not exist? What was the
place of Negroes in the world and what was his relation to them?
Clubs again-a nine, and hearts—the little deuce, fading away;
and the king of diamonds. His mind moved superstitiously. Sup-
pose by some miracle he became rich in the phantasmagoria of
national revolution-what good, what end? He laid the queen on
the king, the nine on the ten; he drew three cards and placed a
knave, as was always true in this mad world; and then the black
ace loomed alone above the whole array. He scattered the cards
angrily. That was it—that was the Fate.
All this Colonel Breckinridge was thinking out as he sat in the
old plantation home. He had abandoned the town house to a
couple of servants and expected that Betty Lou would return there
from New Orleans. They had both gone to New Orleans to the
funeral. It was, to the Colonel, a terrible ordeal. Many people liked
New Orleans, but he hated it. It was to his mind dirty and coarse.
Naturally, back of the iron grilled homes were interesting and
well-bred people; there was delicious cooking, there was a certain
fineness to life, together with meanness and vulgarity.
But this trip to his wife's funeral tore his entrails—there were
long Catholic services for his wife, who had never given up her
religion although it did not fill much of her life. They buried her
in the great family mausoleum, standing high above the swampy


The Marriage of Betty Lou
95
grounds of the cemetery alone, superb and terrible. He had turned
immediately toward the home trip.
Mère Du Bignon had of course talked to him on every occasion
about property, a subject about which he never knew anything.
Then she brought up again the matter which seemed to him in-
delicate, of certain black Du Bignons, branches of the family with
colored blood, whom he would have certainly preferred to forget.
Colonel Breckinridge said flatly that he was not interested. This
brought coolness between them, and after a last ceremonious din-
ner he slipped away with a promise to visit New Orleans again
soon, a promise which purposely he never kept. Betty Lou wanted
to stay on, and indifferently he consented.
Week after week, month after month, he sat and brooded until
Winter burst into Spring and Spring bloomed into mid-Summer.
He received no visitors. He read no papers. He did not even open
his mail. Only briefly and brusquely he spoke to Sanford, his
colored foreman, and signed now and then checks and papers; but
he allowed no explanations and answered few questions. When his
bankers called and almost peremptorily demanded audience, he
would not receive them. It was, he knew, the old question of debt.
Well then, let them foreclose, what did he care!
He knew where, tripping through the woods in mud, rain or
shine, followed by his two dogs, there could be found a great bluff
above the brown river where someday, when he had courage, he
was going to drop into nothingness. Meantime he shuffled, again
and again, the cards of his life. He remembered the astonishing
meeting in the Atlantic Ocean, but he began to question it. Was
it so certain that the white world was going to rule everything?
Might it not happen that they would meet increasingly bitter
opposition? Or was it not possible that falling out among them-
selves, (for after all, what did they have in common but greed and
delusions of grandeur?)—suppose that falling out among themselves
they should commit suicide and leave the world to black, yellow
and brown? He did not know! He did not care.
It all seemed curiously petty, but he could not drag himself
away from this thought of the colored people, of Mansart, of the
fight in South Carolina. What was going to be the end? Was he so
sure as he used to be that Negroes were all fools and apes? There
again, perhaps they were the real men of the world. Perhaps they
had grasped something that he in his aristocratic assumptions
had missed. And too, how far was there anything real to all this
pretense at aristocracy?


96
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
There was a curious old uncle, usually drunk, whom his father
hated with perfect hatred because he represented the family as well
as anybody else. His foreman was this man's son, as everybody
knew and nobody mentioned. What was all this pretense of descent
from English nobility except payment to impudent Northern
shysters who manufactured coats of arms? And so far as that was
concerned, might there not be mulattoes in Carolina descended as
directly from Charlemagne as any Breckinridge? Of course, he re-
peated to himself, this was all nonsense, this was all mixed up.
But the point was, was there any chance of straightening the thing
out? Was there any line of thought and action that was going to
lead somewhere?
He could not forget what a generation of lying, stealing and
cheating had done to the gentlemen of South Carolina; had done
to him. It had left an ineffaceable scar. He saw it; he felt it. And
more: out of the state had been driven by death and migration
thousands of Negroes and mulattoes. Had this been gain or irrep-
arable loss? How much had black blood and black ways and black
music contributed to this state and its civilization? Perhaps only
a little, perhaps the major part of all that made the state. At
any rate this source of human development had left in immense
numbers, and behind its going lay a void. He knew it. He could
not forget it.
At first he could not sleep; he tossed and worried and muttered
all night. He was sure he was going insane. And then at last, in the
dull deep quiet of the woods of the plantation, with the voice of
birds and the talking of his dogs, at last he began to sleep-long,
heavy, dreamless drafts of perfect unconsciousness. He ate regu-
larly, probably because the simple meals with plenty of good meat
and fresh vegetables were regularly prepared by his quiet house-
keeper. He began gradually to feel himself alive again, his brain
functioning and stronger; and one day coming downstairs he turned
toward the library, dusted off the papers and looked at the mail.
It was by sheer accident that he took up that letter first. That
astonishing letter dated ten days ago from old Dr. Baldwin. He
opened it and read it; sat down and stared for a long space un-
comprehendingly. He had forgotten, he had completely forgotten
his daughter. It was not unnatural. He was not used to seeing her
around. His wife had always attended to her and her wants. Even
at home he saw her comparatively seldom. She did not come regu-
larly to meals,-never to breakfast, and only now and then to din-
ner. He paid her bills without question and her mother gave her
use the site arly preself alive


The Marriage of Betty Lou
97
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such money as she needed. There was really no nexus between
father and daughter. And after leaving her there in New Orleans,
it was true that in the overwhelming impact of his grief and de-
spair he had completely forgotten that she existed.
Against this background the letter before him came like a
thunderclap, announcing simply that old Dr. Baldwin had mar-
ried Betty Lou. He wanted to come and explain about it and have
announcements sent out. The Colonel was first astounded and then
furious. He had never thought that Baldwin knew there were such
things as women in the world; he had never evidenced interest in
them; naturally there were none in his school.
As for Betty Lou, her father knew nothing about her. He let
her go the usual way-that of well-bred young white women of
the pre-war South. She ought to have been presented to society
some time ago; it had been delayed by post-war turmoil. He re-
membered with a start that Betty Lou was nearly 25. She should
have been married long before this. He should have thought of it.
His wife had probably thought of it. But she had not mentioned it,
-or had she? He had assumed that Betty Lou was back in Charles-
ton and that her short and sketchy letters lay in his unread mail.
Money she could always get from Sanford. How on earth did she
make up her mind to marry this old man, who was at least twice
her age, had no property, and did not really belong in aristocratic
society? What had happened?
ng 2
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bet popular, and he salary offenced that a new
il.
As a matter of fact, old Dr. Baldwin was as surprised at his
marriage as Colonel Breckinridge. He was sitting rather late one
rainy night, considering a proposal that he should head the Uni-
versity of Georgia, which he had once attended and where for a
time he had taught. It was not in itself a very attractive offer; the
school was old but not popular, and poorly supported by the state.
Its buildings were falling down; the salary offered was hardly
enough to live on. And yet Dr. Baldwin was convinced that a new
era was coming to the South and the nation. Here might be the
place, then, for his leadership toward a New South. And then the
doorbell rang.
His housekeeper had gone for the night to her cottage at the
rear. He went to the door himself and there stood Betty Lou
Breckinridge-bedraggled, drawn, ill. He had not seen her for a
long time; they used to be rather pals in the past when he visited
her father's house. He always had a joke for her as a child, and a
book. He told her stories, and their friendship, although a bit
en


The Marriage of Betty Lou
"Honey child, let's take the boat for St. Louis,” he said, “I
have cabins for tonight.”
She stared at him, but knew immediately that she would go.
She could not resist. After all, this was a break in the boredom,
the utter monotony of life. She was going to see the world, she
was going to know, perhaps, what this thing called Love meant.
And so with faint hesitation and almost no baggage, she tossed her
old life lightly away and found herself on that great boat filled with
crowding, crying, laughing people, on the broad waters of what
seemed a little ocean, “Old Man River,” called the Mississippi.
He was to marry her, of course, but he didn't. He didn't even
mention it once they were aboard; he simply possessed her. Some-
times he made romantic love, but mostly he raped her in drunken
frenzy. He disarranged her clothes at any hour, laughed and sneered
at her modesty, and told her dirty stories. He read nothing, did
nothing, and thought of nothing but women, horses and gambling.
Gambling was his life's real occupation. He loved it with per-
fect fascination. It began every night after dinner and lasted until
early morning. Sometimes he came down to the cabin and threw
thousands of dollars on the floor, the bed and the table. Sometimes
he came, drawn and angry, apparently without a single cent. They
disembarked in St. Louis and went to a flamboyant hotel, occupy-
ing a regal suite. There his luck at the gaming table seemed to
flourish. He bought her jewels and dressed her in magnificent but
gaudy clothes.
On the one hand he exhibited her; and on the other hand he
guarded her like an ogre, as though he was suspicious of her every
glance and movement. She waited, in proud fury and hesitation,
for him to mention again the marriage ceremony. She even felt
the first stirring of a baby within her, and then it happened. He
came home one night with a knife hole in his breast; he lingered
white and still, gasped at last and whispered:
"Bring a priest. We must be married; I am going."
The priest came, but before he entered the door the man was
dead. What else should she do? She was in panic. She searched his
pockets and found nothing. She went out and sold her jewels. She
did not stop to pay her hotel bill or get her clothes, but boarded
a train to Memphis; changed trains, and without sleep or bath
hurried on toward Charleston. Then she became frightened, stopped
at Augusta and took refuge with old Dr. Baldwin. She looked to
the old man like a scared, sick and bewildered child.
“I came to you. I did not know what else to do, I did not know
ing. She
or get her ithout sleep, stopped


100
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
where to go. I could not return to New Orleans and that awful
grandmother. She would have blasted me with disdainful words.
I could not go to my father; I do not know how to talk to him, he
was always a stranger to me. I could not bear the thought of his
utter inability to comprehend what I had done; that a Breckin-
ridge, and a Southern lady, should have stooped and for a moment
been tempted by so sordid a situation. I came to you, then, to ask
advice, to tell me where I can hide; and how in some way-any
way,–I can work and make a living for myself and for-anyone
else that I may have to support.”
Dr. Baldwin had been thinking far ahead while she was talking.
The problem before him was pretty difficult, but nevertheless he
never hesitated. He said, with an air as near lightness as he could
assume:
“I am afraid there is only one thing for you to do, my dear, and
that is to marry me."
She stared at him in utter astonishment. Such an idea had never
entered her head. She could not for a moment comprehend it.
Marry this old man, this companion of her father's! How could he
even think of such a thing? Then-there darted into her head the
hard logic of the thought. With him she would be safe; she would
be at peace. Then her fears started again: But the child-Good
Heavens!-the child! The same thought was in his mind: How
could he hold his position if he married a girl half of his age and
became father of a child a few months later? They would send him
packing from Augusta with a sneer and a growl.
And how could he after that make a living? If he accepted the
call to the University of Georgia he might outrun and outlive
evil gossip and start again. Well, he must try it. He could teach,
he might write; he was physically strong and if compelled, could
farm. After all, there was no question, he had to do this. It was
the kind of call that a gentleman responded to. He thought of the
words rather cynically. He had never called himself a “gentleman,”
and certainly no one had regarded him as belonging to the upper
class. His people had been poor and insignificant so far as he knew
anything about them, and he knew very little. But he had certain
ideas of life and obligation and here was a case where he must be
Knight-Errant.
"We will get married,” he said. “That settles it. Of course I
must let your father know, but not everything; only as much as is
necessary. We will say nothing about a child. We will meet that
bridge when we come to it.”


The Marriage of Betty Lou
101
ccepted weapied here to as thought Dr. Bald woroad rivers
Betty Lou said nothing more. There was nothing to be said.
She simply accepted what was offered, and after the short private
marriage ceremony, occupied her room upstairs where she lay and
slept and slept. It seemed to her as though she would never get
enough sleep. And one afternoon in early Fall Dr. Baldwin got into
his buggy and rode 40 miles away. He crossed the broad river,
turned north and slowly came to the plantation of his life-long
friend, Colonel Breckinridge. He hated to meet him; it was a
hard job. He climbed rather clumsily down from the buggy and
rang the doorbell.
iend, Carth and slowl, miles away. Hy Fall Dr. Baluld never get
Distraught and bewildered, Colonel Breckinridge had mechan-
ically laid aside this astonishing letter and began to open the rest
of his mail. There were a number of letters from his bankers. He
might as well face the truth-ruin was probably staring at him
from all sides. He opened letter after letter, and read with mount-
ing astonishment. His plantations, save this home place which he
had not allowed to be touched, were unusually successful. His crops
had been selling at high prices. Instead of debt and deficit he had
a large cash balance in the bank. In addition to that, his railway
investments which he had long since written off as absolute loss,
had become of great and increasing value. Sanford, his colored fore-
man, with the written consent which the Colonel had not realized
he was giving nor paid any attention to, had sold most of the stock
at a high price, and as a result Colonel Breckinridge was a rich
man, worth at least a hundred thousand dollars.
He stared at the letters in utter astonishment, and read only
half comprehendingly the strong advice of his bankers that he get
rid of his colored foreman and stop placing so much confidence
and discretion in his hands. The mulatto was bound to steal at
last, and more than that, it made a bad example to have this
fellow with so much power over so great a fortune. Colonel Breck-
inridge threw this letter on the floor and snapped:
"I'll be damned if I'll dismiss him. He'll stay as long as he
wants to.”
Just here the doorbell rang, and looking out he descried old
Dr. Baldwin climbing heavily out of his buggy. He felt affronted.
Then he remembered that all of ten days had passed since Baldwin
had written, and he had not read his letter until today, much less
answered it. After all, courtesy among gentlemen demanded some-
thing. He arose and, waving the maid aside, opened the door.
Old Dr. Baldwin stood there. They looked at each other with


102
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
embarrassment, concealed with courteous bows. Neither knew just
how to begin; both the weather and the crops as topics were not
available. The Colonel thought he was looking upon a lecherous
old man who in his age had succumbed to the temptation of sex
and deserved a thrashing if not worse. He simply could not realize
how it was possible that a scholar and a philospher could act in
such a manner. Nevertheless he fell back into his armor of meticu-
lous courtesy. He waved his guest in and to a seat. He should at
least be heard.
Dr. Baldwin looked upon a man who had been through the
fires of hell; who had lost a wife by suicide and a daughter by
abduction; although this latter he did not yet know and Dr.
Baldwin could not tell him. He could not explain what had hap-
pened. He must let the Colonel go on believing what he evidently
was believing, that in his old age Dr. Baldwin had become a fool
or something worse. In the end, common sense prevailed. They
were old friends and shared a mutual cultural pattern.
The meeting and explanation proved easier than either antici-
pated. First of all, the Colonel was acutely conscious that he was
rich and Betty Lou need not suffer from want or live on Baldwin's
meager income. Crazy as the situation seemed, perhaps after all
she would be safer with this solid old scoundrel than with some
harum-scarum youngster. How the liaison came about he was not
interested in asking, and Dr. Baldwin was not telling the whole
story. The old man was so relieved at being even admitted that he
had to repress a feeling almost of exultation at the way in which
this tragedy was dissolving into the possibility of something like
understandnig.
Then the thought of the child dropped on him like a thud. If
it were born in the next few months the Colonel would know that
Dr. Baldwin could not be its father. How in God's name could
this be explained to the Colonel? The Colonel knew perfectly well
that Betty Lou and Dr. Baldwin had never been closely associated.
His suspicions would be aroused and the whole sordid story would
have to be told bluntly or the matter left as a festering sore. Or
worse, the Colonel might suspect him of planned seduction. But,
thought Dr. Baldwin philosophically, “Sufficient unto the day is
the evil thereof!"
He leaned back and began to talk. They talked at length on
various topics and then on what the world was doing and whither
it was going. Dr. Baldwin was astonished at what the Colonel did
not know, and the Colonel began to open his eyes on the world


The Marriage of Betty Lou
109
again. They parted in recovered, even if slightly stilted friendship.
The Colonel would send out wedding announcement cards.
Then, to Dr. Baldwin's utter surprise, his housekeeper an-
nounced on his arrival home that she was leaving. The woman had
been with him now about a year and given unprecedented satisfac-
tion. He noticed little about her personally. Her name was
Mirandy-he never asked her last name. She brought with her a
little baby, probably, he complacently assumed, a stray brat, after
the fashion of Negroes. She occupied the little cabin in his back
Mirandy-he oriced little as year and give heaving. Thesekeeper an-
yard.
Tom Mansart's wife had left Charleston after the lynching and
had come to Augusta, where she found work as housekeeper for old
Dr. Baldwin. She proved a very excellent housekeeper, quiet and
methodical. At first he had objected to the baby, but it was either
the baby or another housekeeper; so the baby was installed and to
his satisfaction proved quiet and well-behaved.
The important fact was that the house took on new efficiency.
It was clean and quiet; the food was, so far as the Doctor noticed,
excellent and well-cooked, and his favorite dishes appeared in per-
fect flavor. The woman moved about the house like a quiet ghost.
The few callers and guests were so well served and attended to
that they noticed nothing at first and then later inquired whence
he had obtained this paragon, and tried to hire her themselves.
She seldom spoke, never gossiped. The baby was black, beautiful
and shy. He cried very little and was never in the way.
It was a perfect household for a teacher, and Dr. Baldwin sighed
with relief as he remembered the slatternly, dirty cooks and maids
of the past, some of whom he had "owned.” Now, transient washer-
women never intruded. The white, clean clothes emerged magically
out of that cabin in the yard. Men cut and raked the lawn when
it was needed; even white tradesmen acquired new promptness
and care.
But when his new wife appeared Dr. Baldwin was immediately
aware that his housekeeper did not like Betty Lou. She stared at
her and said nothing. Later she announced that she was leaving
“next month." Dr. Baldwin was aghast. He offered her more money.
She refused flatly. He begged her to stay. She simply walked to her
cabin.
Then Betty Lou, aroused from her resting and her listless in-
difference at the mere thought of taking charge of a house and of
having someone new in her rooms to stare at her, hurried to the
cabin and faced the woman with tears in her eyes.


The Marriage of Betty Lou
105
University of Georgia at Athens, he half feared another revolt of
his housekeeper. But after careful inquiry about the colored schools
near there, and especially about the school in nearby Atlanta im-
pudently called "Atlanta University,” she quietly consented to go,
and Dr. Baldwin realized that she was thinking of the education of
that black child, which struck him as funny. How much better the
lower classes would be if they were educated for their place in life!
Atlanta, too, was in Dr. Baldwin's mind when he consented to
go to the University of Georgia at Athens. The university was in a
bad way; its buildings were old and falling to pieces; its students
were dwindling in number; the alumni were indifferent, and many
of them insisted that the institution should be moved to the young,
growing city of Atlanta where it might get from private sources
money which the state did not and insisted it could not furnish.
Dr. Baldwin was not at all convinced that Atlanta was the place
for a real university. He loved the old exclusiveness of Athens and
was intrigued by a vision of scholarship and culture hidden away
among old trees and green fields, without the money-grubbing of
Atlanta. Nevertheless he promised the alumni to look into a move
to Atlanta, to get acquainted with some of its influential people,
and in fact carefully to give consideration to an eventual removal.
Then, too-although he naturally dropped no hint of this-he
wanted to see at first hand one of these Negro colleges of which
he had heard, and judge how far they were real institutions of
learning, with pupils capable of even the beginnings of scholar-
ship. In his own mind much depended on the answer to this ques-
tion as to whether he would consent to remove his college to this
field.
Under other circumstances Colonel Breckinridge would have
resented the removal of his daughter from Augusta. Athens and
Atlanta looked toward the Wild West; Atlanta was on that ridge
of hills that separated the culture of the Coast from the western
wilderness of the Mississippi. But finally he concluded that under
the circumstances it was just as well. It removed his daughter from
the gossip of Charleston, and perhaps near this crude, new, bustling
town she would find some comfort and even satisfaction.
He had planned to go and see her in Augusta, but put it off
because of reluctance at facing her and also because of new plans
for himself. He had not yet got used to his new wealth and the
freedom of no longer having to worry about debts or expenses.


106
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
He sent his daughter and old Dr. Baldwin a check for ten thousand
dollars and drew his will so as to make them secure. It would have
been so different if Betty Lou had married a young man and he
could have expected grandchildren!
He thought of rebuilding the plantation mansion to something
like his old and stately home. But he was continually worried by
the attitude of the people in Charleston and round about. They
not only gossiped about Betty Lou but they more and more re-
sented his colored steward. They kept advising that a white man be
put in general control. They began to visit him and tried to make
him suspicious of the colored man's honesty; and they went even
further to threaten Sanford! They seemed to forget or never to
have known that before the war colored stewards often ran estates.
The Colonel declared that he would choose his own servants! But
at last there came a note from the steward himself which could not
be ignored.
"Tell Sanford to come here," he ordered.
Sanford came. He was a tall, thin, slow man with an expression-
less face. His skin was warm yellow and his hair grey. The Colonel
looked at him curiously, as though seeing him for the first time,
which was not far from true. Here was an honest man. Had he
wished he could have stolen thousands and disappeared. The bank-
ers had been frantic with fear and voluble with warning. Sanford
had said nothing. Yet he must have suffered in many ways. Whites
must have tempted, threatened, cajoled him. Blacks must have
laughed at him and jeered. To the Colonel he had said little.
Every week he had appeared with reports, bank statements and
such cash as the Colonel asked. Briefly he had asked for signatures
on checks and receipts. Now and then he had drawled a bit of
advice: “Better sell off the cotton quick; prices are still high." "Bet-
ter plant wheat instead of corn on them plantations.” “We need
mules; several have died.” “That railroad stock is too high to
en frana ve stolerue. Here seeino
keep'esterday cam poday.com
Yesterday 'came a note: "Sir, I have decided to quit work here
and go north.” Today came Sanford. The Colonel stared at him.
Why had he served him well? There was no friendship between
them. They hardly knew each other. What did this man think?
What did he want? Why did he live?
Then Sanford spoke. “I'm thinking of going north.”
“What?” almost snarled the Colonel. “You'll do nothing of the
sort! You'll stay here. If you want more pay, take it!"
"I don't want more pay. I get enough. I want to live like a man


The Marriage of Betty Lou
107
began.banker drew,
--and I don't want to have to kill nobody.”
At this point Colonel Breckinridge, in an old dressing gown,
unshaven and hair long unshorn, turned impatiently to say his
accustomed “No” to the housekeeper announcing, “Gentlemen to
see you, Sir!” But he was too late. Three men entered: two bankers
and a well-known physician. The Colonel straightened and grew
red.
“How dare you," he began. But his steward interrupted.
"Colonel Breckinridge, these bankers have insulted me and re-
fused to honor your last draft which I drew, transferring the bulk
of your funds to Atlanta. They have brought a doctor to begin
efforts to have you committed for incompetency."
The president of the bank, choleric and insulted, tried to speak
but Colonel Breckinridge drew his steward aside and, turning his
back on the white men, talked with him a few minutes. Then
deliberately, he signed another draft and gave it to his steward
and accompanied him to the door. Turning, he held the door open
and said to the white men: “Go!"
The president of the bank protested. “Colonel Breckinridge,
this sudden withdrawal of so large a sum may ruin us. I wanted
to be sure this was your signature and that you were well—"
“Gol” repeated the Colonel.
Sanford returned late in the day. His face was deeply seamed
and he no longer held his usual impassive control. He stood flushed,
and his eyes wide and angry. His resemblance to Colonel Breckin-
ridge was the more plain and startling. He did not wait to be
addressed but burst into speech.
“Here, Colonel, is the draft on Atlanta. Outside are all the
books covering the ten years of my service. I'm leaving you tonight.
That bank president called me a yellow bastard. I knocked him
down and smashed his nose with my heel. Soon a mob will be after
me, but I'll cross the river within the hour and they'll never find
me."
The Colonel looked his steward in the eye for the first time in
his life and started to protest, but the man drew back to the door,
stood straight against it and continued.
"John Breckinridge, I'm your first cousin by blood, as you know
damned well. I promised my father, your uncle, to look after you
as long as you needed me. He said it was my duty as a Breckinridge.
I have been honest, hard-working and faithful to my trust as your
records will prove. You've treated me like you treated your horses.
You took no notice of me as a man and your closest living relative.


108
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
You pretended to forget my existence because you knew well how
close I was to you and how like you I looked. All Charleston knew
it and laughed. My job is done now. My daughters are educated
and are now both safe in the North, married, and have good homes.
You are rich. I am going to leave now this hell on earth, this South
Carolina which strutted and boasted and led this nation to the
devil.
“When the whole country was fawning on this state and the
South, fearing to oppose your disgraceful arrogance, you could
have had anything in reason. You chose war and destruction. Then
your ‘niggers' came to your rescue. Never in history has an humble
peasantry furnished such faithful service to rescue fools. They toiled
for you, they gave you schools and votes; they divided your land,
they tried to make you human and decent. In return you mobbed
and murdered them, stole from their poverty, lied about them over
earth and time, and then fronted them, helpless and unarmed, with
armed hoodlums masked as leaders of civilization.
"You won. You crucified their leaders. Gone is Elliott, ruined is
Cardozo, disgraced is poor Beverly Nash. You have swept all knowl-
edge of these great leaders of American democracy from the record
so that today, unled, the masses of my people crawl in abject servi.
tude while you bow to the circus performing of Wade Hampton
and the coarse brutality of a Tillman.
“But, John Breckinridge, you have not won. You'll never win.
The black leadership of the South has not been killed. It is not
lost. It has spread to the nation, and the nation is heir to what this
blind state has lost. They still live and lead in the West and North
-in Illinois and Ohio, in New York and Pennsylvania; in Massa-
chusetts. White Carolina has nothing left; not a statesman, not a
poet, not an artist, not a writer.”
Sanford closed his eyes and swayed a bit. Seldom if ever in all
his life had he so let loose his deepest, most passionate feelings.
His seething brain searched the dark future. Perhaps he saw, per-
haps he dreamed how the granddaughter of Cardozo, treasurer of
the state, married Paul Robeson; perhaps he saw that young
black teacher who escaped from Charleston slavery to become the
greatest bishop of the greatest black church in the world. The
first Negro graduate of Harvard was professor at the University
of South Carolina in 1876 and, driven out by Hampton, became
builder of Grant's Tomb in New York. The law partner of Elliott
was professor in this same university and left to become federal
judge in Hawaii. The Grimke brothers, blood relatives of a great


The Marriage of Betty Lou
109
Carolina family, escaped north to become leaders of democracy
and give birth to a poet. Kelly Miller, black fugitive of Recon-
struction, became one of America's keenest minds. When, after
fifty years, white Carolina began to write literature their subjects
came from the alley where Aunt Betsy lived.
Sanford opened his eyes and glared at the silent Colonel. Then
he turned and disappeared into the night.
The Colonel felt curiously alone. He had lost his last real friend.
He had long since lost touch with his former associates. He increas-
ingly hated what was going on about him. He prepared to sell this
plantation and the home on the Battery. It hurt him to do this,
but what point was there in keeping them? He gathered courage
at last for the long delayed visit to his daughter.
He wrote Dr. Baldwin telling of his proposed visit, and as he
wrote outlined a plan for travel abroad to see again after long
years the Europe of his dreams and hopes. But even as he wrote he
knew that he was not a well man; that the toll of strain and dis-
appointment was beginning to show. Still he would not consult a
physician, partly from fear, partly because in fact he did not greatly
care to live.


CHAPTER VII
THE EDUCATION OF MANUEL MANSART
tion, the Free Nepite the efforts of
the farm cea
For the Negroes, as physical resistance became impractical with-
out aid of the Northern troops and as the power of the Ku Klux
Klan and caste legislation increased, one recourse remained: migra-
tion, the Free Negro's version of the slave's escape to the North
and freedom. Despite the efforts of Negro farmers and laborers to
adjust themselves to the rural economy, the farm ceased to be at-
tractive. The return of ex-Confederates to power, intermittent
agricultural depressions, unfair and often cruel treatment by
landlords and merchants, and rumors of rich opportunities in the
cities and in other parts of the country, stimulated an exodus of
Negroes from the rural South that began as early as 1879. Thou-
sands of Negroes left Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama, and Georgia.
The movement chiefly was west, to free soil and money wage.
This escape lay unconsciously in the minds of Manuel's mother and
grandmother: west to the hills of Atlanta; first for education such
as the low-lying slave-East did not offer; then later-who knows?
Further west or north to real emancipation? The logic was plain
and often expressed by Negroes and their white friends. This was
at last a Free Country. If a worker did not like his work or his pay
he could and would seek better work and higher pay.
The Negroes stood awhile bewildered by the new "freedom"
conferred upon them. Most of them in the South were on the same
plantations, with the same “rations" instead of wages, and still
with few rights which a white man was bound to respect. But was
there not hope? Perhaps not in South Carolina nor in Louisiana
nor in Arkansas nor in western Tennessee. But Kansas! Fabulous
Kansas! Land of the free, land of John Brown's free men!
Aunt Betsy knew of this black movement west; not distinctly nor
in detail but in that curiously broad way in which she knew so
much of the surrounding world. She had actually seen and heard
black soldiers marching down Meeting Street in old Charleston
on the great day of surrender, to the tune of “John Brown's body
lies a'mouldering in the grave but his soul goes marching on!"
She remembered the day when this fabled John Brown had been
110


The Education of Manuel Mansart
111
crucified and nailed to a bloody cross, with five black men. More
dimly, before this, she had heard of his bloody crusade in Kansas.
Kansas thereupon became a great word in her ears. It was that
Golden West whither men of all sorts were streaming to seek for
the Promised Land; and Atlanta was on the way westward and
held out schools for her grandson.
Then came other rumors of movements among the Negro masses.
There was the weird old man, Pappy Singleton, the Moses of Ten-
nessee, who with his own hard-earned cash, his white hair, strong
voice and outstretched hand, led ten thousand black folk to Kan-
sas. Later there was the younger, stronger Henry Adams of Louisi-
ana who actually signed up a hundred thousand dissatisfied black
workers for migration.
The Southern planters were furious and alarmed. They called
a meeting in Nashville in 1879. Colonel Breckinridge was invited
but never answered the letter, if he ever read it. The planters made
fair promises, but this proved hardly called for. The forty thousand
penniless, ragged Negroes who crept to Kansas found cold welcome.
The sturdy western pioneers wanted nothing like this; boats refused
them passage; trains passed them by, and mobs threatened them.
Some died, some turned back; seven thousand stayed and struggled;
but the net loss to the Southern planters was small; they still had
millions of cheap black labor.
Negro leaders were divided in council. The first colored gradu-
ate of Harvard College and his kind encouraged the migration:
“Come north,” they said, "leave the slave South and be freel” But
Frederick Douglass, the intrepid leader, now in ripe manhood, and
others, contradicted these leaders. “Stay South,” he pleaded, “pos-
sess the land where you have labored for 250 years. Let no one run
you away. Fight it out.” To the great rank and file there was doubt
and hesitancy, but most Negroes stayed and worked on the same
plantations where once they were bond slaves. Aunt Betsy, who
watched this struggle but knew the details only vaguely, held to
the movement westward at least as far as Atlanta where her grand-
son must get an education. He must escape slavery not perhaps
physically so much as in his mind.
The little black boy born in his father's blood in Charleston,
1876, lived in Augusta and Athens during his first ten years of life.
He was a beautiful child; physically perfect, with dark velvet skin,
black and ivory eyes, white teeth and short, black, delicately crin-
kled hair. He was always spotlessly clean and well-fed, but the
black women always near him did not encourage outside intima-
where these Teepid lege slave
son must get auch as in his mo his father's bloodten
physically dle black boy bolAthens during his with dark


112
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
cies. He laughed and played in a narrow but well-protected world.
He had hardly begun to walk when his mother left the alleys
of Charleston and went to Augusta, where they lived in the rear
of Dr. Baldwin's house, in a little cottage which seemed to the
child the loveliest home one could wish for. Dr. Baldwin's Acad.
emy was on the outskirts of the city, an old and rambling group
of buildings where Manuel, peeping eagerly through the fence,
could see groups of very elegant young men walking to and fro.
This was, he was told, an old and famous school, and Dr. Baldwin
had always been its head.
There, after a year, his grandmother joined them-thinner than
he remembered and more grim of face, but always kind and
thoughtful to him. At her coming there began that talk of school
for him which continued for a long time. He asked why he could not
go to Dr. Baldwin's school. But his mother said he was too young;
and Dr. Baldwin himself when approached on the subject by this
black baby hesitated a moment and said,
"Well, well! Perhaps! Who can tell? -Stranger things have
happened!”
Still his mother did not seem to think much of the idea. She
kept talking of Atlanta, where it seemed a very fine school was
ready for him, young as he was.
Naturally, for five or six years, up to the time he first saw
Colonel Breckinridge, Manuel was blissfully ignorant of being a
problem in the midst of problems. He was a happy little boy,
living in a lovely world, surrounded by nice people who looked at
his beautiful face and sturdy body and smiled. To some that dark
color somewhat clouded their sense of beauty. He was to their
minds, black “but” beautiful. But to most he was just a lovely boy,
with dancing eyes, soft, smooth skin and bubbling spirits. He
whistled and sang and went skipping happily to school; came home
to delicious meals of cornbread, molasses, and collards, with now
and then a bit of pork. Then there were interesting chores to do
for Mammy, like splitting kindling, fetching water or running
errands. And last there was delicious sleep long and deep, with
sometimes magnificent dreams, when he was a king giving his
mother and playmates pearls and gold and large pork-chops.
He noticed, of course, but with no particular interest at first,
that people were of different height, dress and color of skin. To
him these differences were of no significance. Some persons had
more things than he, and different; but everything considered, the
things he had were more satisfactory and were those which he


The Education of Manuel Mansart
113
preferred. It was much nicer he was sure, to eat in the little kitchen
near delectable odors, than in that vast dining room of the Big
House which he had inspected and which smelled flat and was
otherwise uninviting. A horse and carriage to ride in was certainly
desirable at times, but not usually near as much fun as hopping
and running with freedom to stop, turn aside and climb; all of
which horses could not do.
As between white people and black, he had no generalizations
which were fixed. Old Pop. Jenkins, black as night, was nasty to
everybody and said mean things. Mrs. Baldwin was "sometimey"';
he did not pay her any particular attention. He liked Old Man
Baldwin and the attraction was mutual. White folk had things to
give away and gave him pennies, candy and sometimes dimes. That
was nice of them as they did not seem to need these things them-
selves.
Dr. Baldwin eventually accepted the call to the University
of Georgia. He was not made Chancellor, as the titular head was
called. This place was left vacant. He was called “Dean" with the
essential powers of a president. This arrangement satisfied many
conflicting elements, and he moved to Athens.
This moving proved a most exciting event to Manuel. He was
six when it happened and had just started going to school in
Augusta. Mr. Porter, a yellow colored man, had run a school before
the war, where the Free Negroes educated their children. After the
war this school became a Public School and here Manuel's mother
had promised him that he should go. He had looked forward to
this with great impatience, and had only just begun school when
his mother announced that they were going to give up their lovely
little cottage and move to a strange city. Was it Atlanta? No, but
it was near Atlanta.
“But why, Mammy? I like it here and this has always been our
home."
"We are going where there are better schools and nicer people."
“But our people are as nice as they can be. And I don't want to
leave, I ..."
"Hush, boy! You'll do as you're told. You don't know nothing
about people yet. You're going to get an education. Not by 'nig-
gers' but by good white folks. You're going to make something of
yourself, or I'll beat the daylights out of you. Now, march and help
me pack!”
So everything was packed except a number of his prized pos-
sessions, for which there was no room. The dog, who was his dear-


The Education of Manuel Mansart
115
"No, Sir, I am going to be a lawyer."
“A lawyer? Well, well; where did you get that idea?”
“My mammy says that she wants me to be a lawyer.”
“Well, if I were you, I would tell your mammy that there are
better things to do in the world than following the law.” Then the
Colonel smiled, and putting his hand slowly in his pocket, took
out a bill.
"What is your name?"
“Manuel Mansart.”
Colonel Breckinridge stared, but slowly handed the bill to the
boy. Just as the boy reached to take it the Colonel sensed that a
woman, slim, dark, had come out of the gate and approached them
silently. She stopped and stared at him, and then reached down
and took the bill before the child could touch it.
"We do not want your money, Colonel Breckinridge,” she said.
“There is blood on it.” And taking the boy by the hand she walked
swiftly away, almost dragging the surprised child.
The Colonel walked slowly on; it was as though on this bright
morning a fatal cord had snapped in his mind. He remembered his
dead wife. He remembered the Battery; he remembered Meeting
House Street. He remembered that dark and fateful gathering far
off from the haunts of man, on the lonely ocean isle at midnight.
And he knew that in some way a dark fate was still following him.
He went on to the house. He was greeted with joy and a warm
welcome.
Dinner was not altogether a successful meal, because it seemed
that the servants had suddenly left. Dr. Baldwin was mystified
and annoyed; but Betty was philosophical.
“Father,” she said, “Did you meet any of the servants as you
came in?"
He was silent a while and then told of meeting the little boy.
“Oh yes, and there was a woman, too.”
“Did you know who that woman was?"
"No."
“It was Tom Mansart's widow. I suppose she has run away be-
cause she does not like your presence here."
The Colonel apologized. But Betty Lou shrugged it off; she
was disgusted, of course.
"You just cannot depend upon Negroes; here this woman has
been with Dr. Baldwin over four years, and now for nothing she
picks up and leaves. They are utterly unreliable! All of them
ought to be back in slavery where they belong!"


116
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
But silently Colonel Breckinridge had made a vow. In his will
he would leave a sum of money for the education of this child.
The doorbell rang and Dr. Baldwin himself answered. It was
the sheriff. He said that he had held up two wenches and a child,
with a lot of house plunder. They were at the depot trying to get
passage to Atlanta. He was told they were Dr. Baldwin's folk and
probably making off with his property. If the President said so,
he'd put a lien on the stuff and bring them back here or lodge them
in jail. Dr. Baldwin with some difficulty convinced him that the
women and their goods were free to go.
So little Manuel was torn again from his roots. There was one
consolation. It turned out that the nice colored teacher was return-
ing to Atlanta and might meet him again in the Mitchell Street
School which he would probably attend, near Atlanta University.
But nearly all the rest of this moving was tragedy. They sat in the
dirty "Jim-Crow” part of the depot for hours, until the sheriff
returned and sullenly let them board the train. The conductor
shunted them to the little half of a coach next to the engine. Then
he spied the little dog which Manuel was concealing beneath his
coat. He seized the terrified little animal and tossed him off the
platform just as the train started.
“No dogs in here!” he growled.
Mansart screamed, but his grandmother grabbed him and cud.
dled him in her lap. Struggling, he stuck his head out of the
· window and called. The bewildered dog heard him and with a
yelp of joy started down the platform and leaped to the track. He
stopped barking, but ran with every ounce of his strength and more.
He ran until he staggered blindly and his heart broke and he died.
Manuel gasped and crawled back into his grandmother's arms. It
was the greatest tragedy of his long and tragic life.
They travelled long into the night. Then in the clear morning
the great railway shrieked and flew to a city so large that Manuel
stared and gasped. They landed half underground, pushed their
way through what seemed millions of people, rode and rode, until
past vast red buildings and wide lawns they came to a street, a
little lane, and a house. And this again was home.
At first he did not like his new home in the least. It was strange
and unfamiliar; he did not know a single soul; there were no real
big trees nor grass. But over, around and above all this stood
the school, a plain wooden New England building not far from
the campus of Atlanta University, whose grass and ivy and beautiful


The Education of Manuel Mansart
117
red buildings loomed to the west. This was the Mitchell Street
Public School, a regular grade school for children. The teachers
were young men and women, students or graduates of the university.
The children were mostly dirty and stupid; but some, like
Manuel, soon made the work interesting. He was a dear; so bright
and eager; so good-tempered and delighted with school and life.
His former Athens teacher soon appeared. His advancement was
phenomenal, his application amazing, and his happiness and con-
tentment complete until an incident with the poor whites, which
awakened him to new aspects of the world.
The case of that dollar which his mother had made him return
to Colonel Breckinridge excited his curiosity; first because it was
more money then had ever before been offered him; and secondly
because his mother had acted so funny. He began to suspect there
might be white people who were in some way dangerous and must
be inspected carefully before their friendship was accepted. This of
course applied to only a few.
Manuel was too good-tempered to easily take offense or seek
always to have his own way. He gradually evolved a philosophy
of action. If a white boy blocked his path he walked around him
and smiled. If he saw a crowd of whites approaching he waited until
they passed or crossed the street. But sometimes the whites were
truculent and sought trouble. Manuel had always avoided any
difficulties. He was a child of sunny disposition. He very seldom
lost his temper; but when a hulking white boy much larger than
he (the name he found out afterwards was Scroggs), slapped him
for no reason whatever and then seized his new geography recently
purchased by his mother at great cost, Manuel lost his poise. Sud-
denly the little fellow saw red; he fought like a demon; he tore
the clothes off the older boy and brought blood. The white chil-
dren, screaming, leaped upon him and when the policeman ap-
peared upon the scene running, it was to extract a bedraggled,
torn and bloody black child from beneath a heap of bitter, cursing
whites.
Manuel was pulled and held while the outraged whites began
to beat him. Just then Manuel's mother appeared as it seemed to
him, right out of heaven. She seized him and began to plead with
the officer. This astonished and enraged Manuel. He started to
explain, only to receive a blow across his bruised face from his own
mother that made him scream in pain. Then in a daze he heard his
mother's voice:
"Please, Mr. Officer, don't arrest him; he's such a little boy. He


118
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
don't mean no harm. You just leave him to me and I'll whale him
so he won't never touch no white child again. And I'll pay his fine
and work for you if you want me, or do anything-please, Mr.
Officer, just let him go this time.”
The officer reluctantly released him, and the white children
gradually slipped away.
Slowly mother and boy descended the little hill toward home;
they entered and without a word his mother stripped him and beat
him until he was faint with pain. He stared up at her through wild
tears, and saw to his terror the tears that were streaming down her
face. He stopped crying and struggling; suddenly she stopped beat-
ing him and said brokenly:
"Manuel, don't you never dast strike a white boy. Take what
they give, bow, run away. Don't hit 'em. Don't fight. You can't.
They’se got the power. We got to wait.”
She turned and went out. He crept to his bed and lay very still.
- In after life Manuel always dated his understanding of white
folks and the Negro problem to this incident. He concluded that
white folks were dangerous and unreliable people; that they hated
Negroes and were determined to injure them. There were, of course,
exceptions. But the rule was avoid white folk and never trust them.
Of course they must be met and met pleasantly so as to avoid
retaliation and to keep their good-will. They had the power; they
had the wealth; they owned the earth. From their wrath his mother
was trying to save him at the sacrifice of her own love. He resolved
to thwart them. He would carefully avoid offense. He would always
be polite, smile pleasantly and give a good word to those who
spoke. To those like the poor whites who were rude or cruel he
would avoid all contact whenever possible, or get back at them
surreptitiously so as to avoid the law.
That law he concluded was to protect white people and annoy
and hurt colored people. The police were its agents and were at
all costs to be avoided. They must be treated with great personal
respect but never trusted, never given any information or help if
possible. This extreme position, as he grew older, he modified in
particular cases and situations. But its basic principles he never
entirely forgot even to the day of his death.
Putting these principles into practice, he received both cor-
roboration and correction. He saw the chain-gangs on the streets
and realized that this was what his mother had feared for him.
He knew that neither tender age nor innocence kept Negroes from
its clutches; for this was a way of restoring the old slavery and
stopping the education of Negroes.


The Education of Manuel Mansart
121
What was happening all around Manuel Mansart was a vast
social revolution of which he was only a partly-conscious part and
groping for solutions and personal adjustments where much of
the essential elements were quite unknown to him.
Normally Mansart was a good-natured, frank and affectionate
person. He liked people and he was neither selfish nor envious.
His mother had made him a simple, homely, but neat little home.
He enjoyed it. It was down a lane from the University-a lane of
either dust or mud and of course unpaved and untended by the
city. Then up a red clay bank one entered a closely fenced and
hedged yard, tiny, but full of roses, honeysuckle and bougainvillea
in season. One stumbled right up to a tiny porch with an easy chair
and a bench. Then came the “parlor," a bit stiff; and the larger,
delectable kitchen crowded with table, stove, tubs, coalbin, chairs
and an ancient couch. Here he, his mother and grandmother lived;
the mother washing and cooking; he eating and talking and study-
ing; the grandmother sitting very still on the porch.
To young Manuel Mansart at the age of twelve came change
guised as Death, and almost unrecognizable for what it really
meant. His grandmother died. Nobody ever knew much of Aunt
Betsy. She was black, tall and gaunt. On her once handsome face,
beneath its mane of coarse black hair now faded to gray, Time and
Pain had carved deep and angry grooves of bitterness. Yet over it
lay and ruled an iron will and a clear head. Of the past she said
not a word. How or where Love had touched that magnificent body
she never said. Where she was born and where she travelled no
one knew. She bowed regally to her slavery and yet bent its masters
to her own designs. She knew nursing. She knew cures. She knew
the human body. She used her knowledge as power. Once and
only once had a white man whipped her. He died soon and silence
marked his memory.
Her plan was to stay in Carolina-in Charleston, and make its
black folk rule, together with white aristocrats. Both parties failed
her: the white aristocrats lowered themselves to compromise with
the riff-raff and to midnight murder; the Negroes ran and hid. She
followed her daughter and grandson to Augusta for money paid in
memory of Clarice Du Bignon. She stopped in Athens until on her
very threshold appeared that Colonel Breckinridge, once her ideal,
who had descended into Hell.
Her march from the sea to Atlanta was the beginning of death.
She said nothing but began to sit all day on the front porch and
stare at the setting sun, growing frail and silent. To Manuel, she


122
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
waviney to supped at o
never seemed to die. She just sat still and ceased to speak. Then one
day they buried her in a Negro cemetery amid bare sand and little
boards with waving strings. Life went on. His mother worked hard.
Just how the money to support even this simple home came, Manuel
seldom inquired. He worked at odd jobs-bellboy and waiter in
hotels during vacations and on emergency. His mother took in
washing and went out to day's work. When he needed clothes or
books there was anxiety; and when the time to pay taxes rolled
around disaster repeatedly faced them frankly.
Compared to the lovely homes in the white part of town this
cottage was assessed at ten times its value. In no sense was it worth
the $2000 it was valued at by the white officials, who always were
ready to sell it to white landlords and let black tenants rent it
forever. But the mother by hard work, pinching and saving at every
crevice; and at last by borrowing of unregulated loan sharks at
exorbitant interest, managed to keep it until Manuel entered col-
lege. Then she, too, lay wearily down one night and never awoke.
The loan sharks seized everything greedily and Manuel went into
the Dormitory to finish his course.
Thus at the age of 14 Manuel entered the “University," as the
High School and embryonic college of Negro school was called.
Here he came into contact with a new kind of white folks;
Northerners, both men and women, as teachers. It was both aston-
ishing and disconcerting. They were different-in speech and man-
ners. They did not have the haughty and overbearing manners
which he had always associated with "quality" white folks; nor on
the other hand the slovenliness, cruelty and dirt which he asso-
ciated with “poor whites.” These whites dressed rather plainly but
were painfully neat; terribly, and as he thought, quite unnecessarily
punctual and strict in little things. He began to make a new cate-
gory of whites. This made the racial problem less a matter of color
and more a question of sort. He began to emerge from his racial
world.
But it was in his studies that he approached emancipation.
Emerging from "dead" languages which began to show signs of life,
they began to read literature and stress what it said, instead of how
it said it; they read history of the current world; mathematics be-
came more tangible and less theoretic. There was the morning news
bulletin and the discussions of a geography which was real and
not a dumb map. The world began to be a fascinating place where
one wanted to live, travel and act, and not merely eat.
What Manuel did not realize until many years later was that


The Education of Manuel Mansart
128
this school was curiously different from most schools of its day.
It had poor equipment-how poor Manuel never knew; but it had
sincerity, it had object and high ideal; it was quite uninfluenced
by wealth or renown; no professor was using this low pedestal for
a stepping-stone to high places; no degree taken here would be
recognized in the world of letters. But out of this simple fellowship
of souls, this close acquaintanceship and deep sympathy, came some-
thing like that which once blossomed in the groves of Academus.
Viewing thus the worlds about him, the larger and more power-
ful and the smaller and closer, Manuel's attitude hardened. From
the white South he withdrew into his own world. He began to
think black; white people had less and less place in his dreams.
He was building a separate world for himself and his. As he saw
the whites in hotels, on the streets, in stores, they seemed a narrow,
sordid, often vicious lot. They stole from Negroes without a
thought, cheating them of their earnings, of their hard-earned
property, of their good name. It was often difficult for a decent,
hardworking Negro to keep from arrest and even jail. The word
of any white man was sufficient to convict him summarily. The
only thing that could save him was the counter-testimony of some
influential white. One must have white friends. Also, for whites
it was advantageous to have Negro clients willing to serve, work
cheaply and do as told.
This Southern world, however, now came to face a new world
where Manuel felt at home and under deep obligation: this was
the contact with his white teachers. Their friendship, and especially
their unselfish encouragement and advice, made him avoid seeing
the white world as wholly a hateful thing. On the contrary, he
began to think that this Northern world might be the normal world
of real people, while the white South was the abnormal fungus.
Nevertheless he must not ignore nor under-rate the power of the
South. At present it represented and really was the World, so far
as he was concerned.
This made the advent of Miss Freiburg in 1890 so momentous.
His other teachers were mostly people born before the war, and not
well acquainted with the newly dawning world of the late 19th
century. Miss Freiburg was intensely modern. She was a tall,
scrawny, keen-eyed woman from Minnesota who came to teach
history and economics and knew what she was teaching. She un-
derstood what was going on in the world and for that reason had
lost her instructorship at Wellesley and took the only thing that
was offered. The President of Wellesley said frankly that Miss Frei-
ng woorn Sheame. She
and knew Minnesota ern, She Walate 19th


124
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
burg's evident animus against Great Britain must arise from her
German descent, and while understandable it was of course impos-
sible for the college to allow such a picture of the British Empire
to be drawn on the campus. The harried President of Atlanta Uni-
versity was too glad to get a good teacher for little or nothing to
pay much attention to the criticism.
This was a God-send for Manuel Mansart. Miss Freiburg had
been educated in Germany, had studied in France and England,
and had actually been to Africa and the West Indies. Like all the
Atlanta University teachers most of her students were in the high
school rather than college grades. She brought them a sort of world
view of race, which she applied to Georgia. Under her tuition
Manuel began to learn what was going on in the last decade of the
19th century, which was of interest to him as a black man. The
Black Mahdi had arisen and driven the British Empire out of the
Sudan. In South Africa a consumptive who had listened to Rus-
kin's appeal at Oxford for young Englishmen to go out and rule
the world, had become a millionaire by grace of black labor and
gold, and now controlled the diamonds of the world.
He read of the Rand, with its ramshackle, corrugated iron
houses, a few brick hotels and saloons, and wide open brothels;
mines with wired-in compounds for the black laborers. Second-rate
magnates were drinking champagne, and bewildered Boers, who
had sold their farms for next to nothing, were coming in with their
ox-drawn produce and watching a city spring up. Bewildered Kaf-
firs shot up and down in cages to work in the bowels of the earth.
London bar-maids and prostitutes auctioned themselves off to the
highest bidder and sometimes found themselves married ladies.
Manuel read of Lobengula, chief of the Matabele, cheated out
of the richest mineral hoard in the world by young Rhodes,-
Rhodes, who set the British Empire on the path from Cape to
Cairo. Kitchener-with the newly invented machine gun, then
recaptured Khartoun and desecrated the ashes of the great Mahdi.
Ethiopia and France, about to meet on the headwaters of the Nile,
were warned off, and now Britain ruled half Africa.
Then his indefatigable and hard-driving teacher brought her
classes back home. She pointed out the wave of strikes in the North
beginning with 1877. She read from the newspapers of the Home-
stead strike of 1892 and the rise of Populism.
The students talked frankly about white people in the sur-
rounding world; they did not like them; they did not trust them.
There were always exceptions, and favorite white teachers like
Then his home. She pointed from the newspa


The Education of Manuel Mansart
125
Spence and Freiburg were in some subtle, unexplained way incor-
porated into their own black race-a method all the easier since they
too, suffered under the Southern white world's ostracism and per-
secution. Among Southern whites they had few friends and ac-
knowledged these cautiously. These Southern whites, therefore, in
all student conversations almost invariably figured as born ene-
mies. Students talked over ways of getting even with the whites
and over-reaching them. They weighed future conspiracies and
what they were going to do when once they were out in the world.
They had no doubt but that in the long run they were going to get
the best of the white folk of the world, who always figured in their
imaginations as conspiring to thwart the colored groups.
Some, like Mansart, expected to come into their own by ex-
celling white people in all lines of endeavor. They were convinced
that given freedom of opportunity they would prove to have as
much brains, energy and determination as the whites. Others
ridiculed and scoffed at this. Negroes did not have more brains and
did not need them; they did not want hard work. No! They pro-
posed to get the best of the whites by fooling them; by taking
advantage of their mistakes; by undercover conspiracy and hidden
deeds. The whites were not so smart at that. This group of students
were always laughing at the whites; at their pretense and strutting.
They laughed in their faces with solemn mien, innocent looks and
sanctified air. When pretentious white visitors appeared and espe-
cially important Southern city and state officials, they would
ridicule and mock them with perfectly straight faces and then
when they stalked off, go into reels of hysterical laughter.
Mansart did not follow this line of thought. He saw it based
really on self-distrust; on a complex of deep-felt inferiority, at least
in many essential respects. He rejected this. Negroes had brains, but
they lacked decent primary schools; sanitary homes; parents. They
had small chance to learn English even from Southern whites. If,
with this handicap of poverty, ignorance and disease, the blacks
were forging forward, as they certainly were, it needed no admission
of inferiority and no subterfuge of deceit to gain a place in the
world. Their half-trained teachers in the elementary schools knew
no English nor even elementary mathematics. Their training had
been piece-meal and incidental. Negroes had as much ability as
whites. Not for a moment could white folk stand what Negroes
daily must endure.
When Mansart in 1890 was entering his second year of High
School, the Populist movement started in Georgia and Tom Wat-


126
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
son was swept into Congress. It was not the policy in the Southern
mission schools for Negroes to say much about politics. But Miss
Freiburg, from her own keen interest in this Southern situation,
talked freely with her brighter students. She told them about Tom
Watson; how he had come to the legislature in 1880 by advocating
free schools for all and attacking the Convict Lease system. She
stressed the rise of the Farmers Alliance in the West and South
and its cooperatives.
Mansart was particularly attracted by her explanation of the
basic reasons for the current uprising of the farmers. It was not as
he assumed, simply a race problem; white farmers were facing the
same sort of oppression that Negroes faced. The same remedies ap-
plied to both. Indeed, it began to dawn on Manuel that more often
than not what he called "problems” of his race were in essence
problems of all men in similar positions.
Miss Freiburg, sitting primly and yet speaking so clearly and
concisely, talked nearly an hour after class to a group of students
in the beginning of the campaign of 1891.
“There is Want, Hurt and Fear among masses of Americans,
black and white today. The cause is not easy to explain and we have
no scientific social leadership in this country. But we do know
certain facts. Not all know all the facts, but various facts are known
by all, each in his own narrow experience. Farmers need land and
land is owned in great unused quantities by people who never
earned the right to own it and do not need it nor use it now. The
prices of goods raised by farmers have been falling for thirty years.
Laborers, North and South, black and white are not in many cases
paid enough to feed, clothe and house their families well. Some are
mistreated, beaten and shot when they protest; especially in the
South and among the new immigrants in the coal and iron mines.
Some actually fear starvation.
“On the other hand, prices of goods in general are going up.
Why? For many reasons, some of which are clear, some only guessed
at. For instance, more gold and silver are being mined. Gold espe-
cially, silver sometimes, are measures of value. When they increase
their value falls and the prices of all other goods compared with
them rise. Again, new ways of making goods may raise their prices,
and new supplies of workers may lower wages.
"But no matter what the cause, farm products drop in price,
and goods which farmers want rise in price. At the same time
owners of land and valuable goods grow rich. Millionaires have
multiplied. The masses, led by various sorts of men, have sug-


The Education of Manuel Mansart
127
gested remedies; they saw rich men buy a dollar's worth of goods
for 33c, but later when they themselves spent their hard-earned
dollars they got only 33 cents worth of goods. They said that the
government should remedy this by printing cheap greenback
money. This Greenback movement arose in the seventies and lasted
until 1884. Then the farmers took hold: in the Grange movement
against railroad rates and then in the Farmers Alliance. Last came
the Populist Party.”
During the campaign of 1892, when Mansart was 16, he followed
the work of Sebastian Doyle. Doyle was then a preacher in south-
east Georgia, near where the radical Congressman, Tom Watson
lived. Doyle had advised and influenced Watson, and was speaking
all over the state in the campaign of 1892 for the Populist ticket.
The tall, cream-colored mulatto, with flying black hair, tre-
mendously impressed Manuel. He attended his rallies whenever
they took place in or near Atlanta, and several times they talked
together. Doyle found this boy both intelligent and inspiring. Both
believed that political power must be restored to the Negro if he
was to survive, but Doyle insisted that this must come from alliance
with the poor whites-the small farmers and city mill-hands. He
told how he had forced this idea on Tom Watson, the new leader
of the poor whites and had made him see the truth. Mansart
strongly disagreed here. He believed with his dead grandmother
that the salvation of the Negro rested in the hands of the “Qual.
ity,” the heirs, spiritual and temporal of the planters.
Later, in Mansart's freshman year Doyle was again in Atlanta,
stumping for the Populists. Miss Freiburg heard Doyle speak. She
pointed out:
“Doyle represents the application of Democracy to politics.
Negroes are suffering under present conditions. They should have
opportunity to state and explain just where the shoe pinches in
their case. Then when remedies are proposed, these remedies must
include the righting of Negroes' wrongs.”
She distinctly sniffed in class when Mansart expressed his doubt
about the use of bringing the wrongs of Negroes to the attention
of the poor whites.
“They want Negroes to suffer," he maintained.
She retorted, “Until they learn that they are in the same boat
with Negroes.”
It looked for a while as though the stars in their courses were
fighting for Democracy in the South. But facing the stars, the forces
of reaction and status quo rallied. They held the political State;
Then whe of Negroes' When Mansartroes to the


128
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
sprich Nors that? ed of c
they ruled the Church; they had the Press; they had the money and
credit and held the mortgages; they had long controlled and
manipulated the elections, and they counted the ballots.
Young Negroes like Mansart were convinced that in the South
at least, Honesty did not pay and that "poor whites” could never
be trusted by blacks. Miss Freiburg clung to her belief in the
ultimate triumph of Democracy. In 1895 she particularly called
his attention to the new Negro leader who was to speak at the
Cotton States Exposition. She hoped a new prophet would rein-
force Doyle.
Mansart sat in that great auditorium on Negro night. His heart
swelled with pride. The leading men of the North were there
sitting beside the best blood of the South. Never before had so
many whites and Negroes sat together since 1876. It was, he firmly
believed, an omen of world significance. One could, of course, see
the Color Line as whites filled the auditorium and blacks a part
of the gallery; but what of that? One must see things in per-
spective, and while he had become used to sitting side by side
with Northern whites at table and in class, after all, he argued,
what was that? Peace, Work, Good-will-that was first. So they were
separately seated of course, but they were there—the Old South,
the New South, the North-liberal and conservative, with here
and there a radical and a reactionary.
The list of colored speakers was impressive; he knew of many
of them. He did not know nor had he ever heard of Booker T.
Washington who was given prominence probably because he repre-
sented rural education. He was principal of an Alabama school
called Tuskegee. He spoke well, very well indeed; but to Mansart's
mind not better than two or three other colored leaders. Then too,
he felt some uneasiness because he feared that Washington's phil-
osophy of seizing opportunities at hand, avoiding politics and mak-
ing friends with the white folks was yielding too much; was stating
plainly his own belief but a belief which he did not want pro-
claimed too publicly or put too clearly into words.
He still never wanted to forget, or let any children he might
have forget that they were men and had rights, and that those
rights were being trampled on. Nevertheless he was impressed by
the applause and enthusiasm of the whites. They gave Washington
a tremendous ovation. They applauded his advice to the Negroes
to work and save; but they loved his words on social equality:
“Separate as the five fingers." Ladies stood on their chairs and
waved their handkerchiefs, while men threw up their hats, danced
and gave the Rebel yell.


132
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
sent to Rhode Island to see how the curious system worked. Several
mass meetings were held, but at the last one, held during the Octo-
ber Fair, the forces against this Northern innovation got control
and killed the scheme.
As the war scare increased, Atlanta was not interested. It was
the commercial center of a territory extending down toward the
cotton belt, out toward the West and up toward Yankee notions.
The railroads brought in goods, wagons distributed them, and
trade was brisk. Nevertheless, a thriving Southern city had to notice
current events and in March, 1858, a "Kansas Meeting” was held
and resolutions adopted opposing the admission of Kansas as a free
state.
“The safety of our Southern institutions, and the peace and
quiet of our truly patriotic, liberty-loving and law-abiding citizens
are in danger ... by the interfering and aggressive policy of aboli-
tion fanatics."
None of the mass of people, however, contemplated secession.
That would have been fatal to trade. But when secession actually
took place and war was imminent, Atlanta began to take notice.
In February, 1861, Jefferson Davis found that Atlanta was his
shortest route from Washington to Montgomery. He stopped off
and said a word. Later Alexander Stephens dropped by. He had
fought a duel here in 1848 but now was a cripple on crutches and
was on his way to Savannah. At Savannah he made his celebrated
declaration on slavery as the “cornerstone” of the new South.
As the war neared, Atlanta, far from the front and centrally
located, with means of communication, experienced a wartime
boom. It became a military center and supply depot for the Con-
federate Army. Arms and ammunition were manufactured ex-
tensively, and in 1861 the city became the headquarters of the
Confederate quartermaster and commissaries, as well as a chief
hospital point.
During the year 1863 Atlanta became a base for Federal prison-
ers. In 1864 it was announced that Federal generals were preparing
to attack Atlanta as the last connecting link between the East and
the Mississippi Valley. If the Confederates lost Atlanta they would
lose their food supply. At first it was feared that General Grant
would stop and attack on his way to Richmond. Characteristically
during this time of anxiety great religious revivals took place. By
June it was evident that Sherman was preparing to march south-
ward to the city. And Sherman came.
In July there were two battles: in August the city was bom-


John Pierce and Henry Grady
133
barded, and was three-fourths destroyed in September when Sher-
man's army entered the city. The citizens were ordered to leave
and 12,000 of them walked and rode away, laden with furniture
and household goods. Most of the Negroes remained and two
regiments of Negro soldiers were immediately organized. Then
Sherman marched to the sea, followed by a vast crowd of Negroes,
including Tom Mansart, and cutting a path straight through the
Confederacy wide in miles and wider in significance.
Slowly the people of Atlanta, after the surrender, came troop-
ing back. Out of 4,000 buildings, only 400 were left. But Atlanta had
lost little else by the war. Her charred ruins after Sherman's bom-
bardment were picturesque and good talking points; after all, the
destruction of a few thousand old wooden buildings only gave
opportunity for brick, steel and concrete, on land still intact and
rapidly increasing in value to almost fantastic heights. Moreover,
Atlanta had had none of the spiritual losses and psychoses that
paralyzed the southern South. Atlantans had lost no picturesque
plantation mansions, having never owned any; they had lost no
faithful “retainers," having owned few slaves and hating the sacred
"institution” because it took bread from the mouths and work
from the hands of most Atlanta settlers. Atlanta had no old family
bonds of blood, nor aristocratic traditions. Instead of nourishing
insane hate of the North and bewailing a lost civilization, this busy,
energetic and ruthless town began a new culture designed to bring
North and South together in profitable partnership
First of all Atlanta, to the disgust of the old and aristocratic
cities of Macon and Savannah, became capital of Georgia, remov-
ing it from the inaccessible compromise town of Milledgeville where
local rivalry had hidden it since before the war. Atlanta had every
advantage at the time which a capital of Georgia needed; accessi-
bility, nearness to West and North, established trade and industry,
wide-awake citizens not averse to hard work, and close alliance with
Northern capital.
Her Negro population was small and there were none of the
ties of blood and association which made Negroes an integral part
of Charleston and Augusta. The transition from United States con-
trol was accomplished so precipitously that it had to be done twice.
It ended both times in the same way: Southern whites and repre-
sentatives of Northern capital in complete political and economic
control of the state; Negroes almost completely disfranchised; lit-
tle disorder, and business “as usual,” before the rest of the South
realized what was doing.


134
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
00:0led its value since shrewdness from artists were suckele Georgia
Thus Atlanta in 1881 was a rapidly developing city. It had
60,000 inhabitants, ten lines of railway, and real estate which had
tripled its value since Mansart was born. It was attracting men
of ability, push and shrewdness from the plantations South and
the business North. Even writers and artists were sucked into the
Atlanta maelstrom. A little modest man, born in middle Georgia
and driven out by Sherman, wandered about, worked in Savannah
and finally came to Atlanta in 1876. Seven years later his folk tales
of "Uncle Remus” began to appear in the Atlanta Constitution.
Henry Grady, grandchild of Irish peasants got his education in
Virginia, worked on papers in New York, and then bought part of
the leading Atlanta daily.
Atlanta in 1880 was handling a hundred thousand bales of
high-priced cotton a year. The coal, iron and steel possibilities of
the Birmingham district had been tapped. The labor problem had
been quietly and legally settled by deliberately planned and wide-
spread arrest of Negro offenders, together with a few white vagrants,
and leasing their services to private corporations. These corpora-
tions became in 1889 the “Georgia Penitentiary" and the state
received an income of nearly a million dollars a year from this
new slave trade.
The panic of 1873 which rocked the country did not greatly dis-
turb Atlanta. No banks failed and business continued to flourish.
Three large new churches were built by the Episcopalians, the
Presbyterians and Lutherans. This prosperity called the nation's
attention to the Southerner's industrial paradise and to Atlanta as
its center.
Fired by the example of the Great Centennial Exposition at
Philadelphia in 1876, Atlanta began a series of shows to advertise
Atlanta to the North and to bolster and encourage the spirit of
the South which was still sulky and reminiscent. In 1879 came the
visit of President Hayes to the city. There followed in 1881 the
"International Cotton Exposition" to celebrate the beginning of the
transfer of cotton spinning from New England to the South, the
opening of the Atlanta Cotton Mills, and the completion of the
railroad which linked Atlanta to the West. Alfred Colquit, clad in
his shining cotton suit, told the world of the “untarnished and
untarnishable glory” of the “Imperishable Cotton Kingdom!"
Young John Pierce, a New York merchant, investor and banker,
was especially interested when he arrived in Atlanta in 1881.
There was a town in northwest Massachusetts where for many
decades the leading store had borne the sign, "John Pierce and


John Pierce and Henry Grady
135
l-groomed by son were now hice build-
Son.” By 1880 not only the leading store but most of the factories
and other industries of the growing city and indeed many of those
of New England and the whole country might have had the same
legend flung across them, so far as control was concerned. At this
time the firm consisted of Old John, a tough industrial warrior of
77, and Young John, a well-groomed business man of 30.
The main offices of John Pierce and Son were now in New York
City, in what was then "uptown" in one of the newer office build-
ings. And there in 1880 sat the head of the firm, angry and bitter.
The world appeared going to the Devil, with no real reason. There
was money, plenty of money in the North, accumulated from war
activities, investments, speculating. Recovering from the recent
Crisis, it sought new investment for future power and security. The
conquered South with boundless opportunities lay at last open
for development. Then difficulties began to appear. The Rebels
set a stiff price on cooperation with Northern business-namely,
restoration of slavery in all but name, and a Poor White president
who tried to push this through. To stop this plan Negroes were
given the vote to outvote their former masters. Silly thing to do,
said Pierce, but it wasn't intended to last long.
Ignorant black labor in the South, instead of doing as they
were told, tried to use political power to control industry and spend
the money of employers. These laborers had to be put in their
places by force and violence as John Pierce agreed; but just as that
method was succeeding here came in 1873 one of the worst of those
breakdowns of the whole industrial system, which are so frequent
in the growth of modern capitalism that some scientists have sought
to plot their ten-year cycles and measure the inevitable mathemat-
ical course, or even to link them to sunspots.
But, as in all social phenomena, here were clear causes rising
from human thought and desire and expressed in human action.
The panic of 1873 was caused by a bloody, cruel and costly war
which ruined lives and plans, destroyed and misused hard-earned
property, interfered with education, lowered morals and dealt civil.
ization mortal blows. It was useless to seek to ignore all this and
place blame on a mechanical money system, or to try to go forward
with old plans and methods just as though nothing had happened.
Something had happened and more was happening of tremen-
dous and 'lasting import. John Pierce did not understand it. He
tried to interpret it by applying old moral judgments on whole-
sale cheating-as when the Whiskey Ring came to light; railway
building graft which besmirched Blaine; a cabinet official hastily


136
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
as of
erce did was in
resigning to prevent sordid scandal from actually reaching the
presidential chair.
Meantime those who owned and controlled capital arranged for
a new and rising stream of cheap labor. Immigration, which
stopped during the Civil War, now rushed up to a flood, attracted
by pictures of new freedom and free land. A half million im.
migrants in 1880 became in two years 750,000 and for two decades
remained at flood tide; and there was work shrieking to be done.
Then came other unawaited complications. White Northern
laborers, pressed to the wall by low paid immigrants, began a
desperate fight to keep up their income until the strikes and riots
from 1876 to 1880 became, as one said, “a rising against society
itself.” Revolution was in the air, and John Pierce did not like it.
John Pierce did not like Negroes and the reason was in its
beginning small but in the end momentous. There were, before the
Civil War, less than 300,000 black folk in the North and West and
only 23,000 among the 270,000 whites of New England. They
formed a rather lonely group, attached as old house servants to
some well-to-do families, or hidden away in small, segregated groups
where they lived by small farming or as servants and laborers.
One such family lived near the farm of John Pierce's father
and were annoying. Three brothers owned three small adjoining
farms which they had inherited from their father who had been
brought to New York by Dutch traders. They had in some way
become recognized as "free" and here they were at the Pierce's
doorstep. They were quiet and kept to themselves, but they were
outsiders and in the way of progress.
The Pierces wanted their bit of good bottom land around a
tiny lake, and they wouldn't sell even for a good price. John re-
membered his father's last offer.
"Jack," he said as he stood glowering at the Negro, “I want
this land and I'm tired of dickering for it. How much do you want
for it?"
The old man was black and tall. He wore earrings, which vastly
intrigued little John. He answered briefly, for himself and brothers.
“Won't sell!” Then they stalked away.
Old Pierce was furious. He called this mere "nigger stubborn-
ness.”
It was more. If the Negroes sold their land where would they
go? What would they do for a living? But little John grew up
despising Negroes as stubborn and thriftless. They did not send
their children to school and the whites were glad they didn't. They


John Pierce and Henry Grady
137
labor was scarce.pread John Pierheir land, dis-
with businessman he and tried been a cadquarter
did not attend town meetings nor vote, and the whites did not ask
them to. They just let them alone or sometimes hired them at
trifling wage when labor was scarce.
When the slavery controversy spread John Pierce, grown to
manhood, saw that this Negro clan had lost most of their land, dis-
integrated and scattered. Some went South with the 54th colored
volunteers.
Then the Pierce interests moved its headquarters to New York.
John Pierce during the war had been a "copperhead.” He did not
believe in abolition and tried desperately to prevent Civil War.
As a businessman he considered such a war suicide. It interfered
with business. He himself had avoided participation in the war by
buying himself a substitute; and one of young John's first experi-
ences at the age of 12 was a brief view of the draft riot in New York,
with blood running, and dying Negroes, and some hanging to
lamp posts.
When in 1877 strikes broke out over his far-flung railway
properties, Old John dismissed his employees, hired private police
to shoot them, and appealed to the Government, which responded
with alacrity; until suddenly the country faced another Civil War.
Farmers in the West forced laws through actually giving states the
right to fix railway rates; the despicable Supreme Court upheld
these Granger laws, and they spread. The laborers formed unions
and actually demanded a voice in settling the rate of wages. Al-
though the reliable Democratic Party, shorn of its slavery heritage,
came into power again in both House and Senate in 1878, yet
beside them sat 15 Independent members elected by farmers and
laborers.
Pierce was, by his own lights, an honest and deserving citizen.
He was a typical, hard-bitten New England business man, and sit-
ting in his simple but costly New York office this spring morning
of 1880 he was a very angry man. He was talking to his close friend
and business associate, Cyrus Field, who had just rebuilt the New
York elevated railway system.
"By God, Cyrus, I've done as much for this country as the next
man. I bought bonds, and loads of them, when they were down to
83. I supported the war; sent substitutes to the front and ran my
enterprises at a loss. My money helped the Centennial in '76, and
now just as business is picking up and things getting normal and
profits beginning to appear, the damned workers on my railroads
go on strike and try to start a revolution. I tell you, Cyrus, my
business belongs to me and I'll run it as I damned please. I'll


138
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
pay such wages as I think right and if anybody don't like them they
can get out and let others who want to work take their places.
If this God damned government won't protect the right of a laborer
to work, then I want to know it.”
Pierce had been an exporter before the War; then had turned
to manufacturing for the tariff-protected domestic market; then to
transportation and railroads, especially the new Pennsylvania sys-
tem which had just suffered from the strike of 1877. Just now he
had entered the banking field to finance his own and other ven-
tures.
"No lazy labor leader, nor dirty foreigner, nor slimy Catholic
is going to tell me what wages to pay, what hours to work, or
pry into my private income and ask how I earn or spend it.”
Field called attention, as he had often before, to the South and
especially Atlanta. “I was talking only yesterday to a bright young
Southerner. The name was Grady-yes, Henry Grady, an impudent,
hustling, self-confident Irishman "
"Irishman!” growled old John Pierce.
“Oh, by descent only, second or third generation; but a fierce
American and Southerner with new ideas. John must meet him.”
"Meet whom?" asked John, the son, entering the office.
"Henry Grady of Atlanta-".
“Grady? Oh, I know him. He represents the Herald in the
South. I'll have him in to dinner next time he's in town.”
Young John had met Henry Grady on his first visit to Atlanta-
a chunky, ebullient newspaper reporter who literally worshipped
Northern Big Business and saw salvation in its advent into the
postwar South. At 30, he was boyish-looking, with a round, kewpie-
like head, and near-sighted. He had graduated from the University
of Georgia in 1866 and then gone to the University of Virginia.
College to Grady meant two things: oratory and writing. Nothing
else mattered. His time was spent in effort and intrigue to gain
some envied chance for an "Oration"; and a year after graduation
he was writing for the Atlanta Constitution and editing a paper in
a neighboring town. With true Southern gallantry he married his
boyhood sweetheart and they lived together contentedly with sev-
eral children until he died.
He investigated election frauds in Florida and was mixed up
with the Ku Klux Klan in Georgia. He gave popular lectures.
Writing and talking were his life, and it always seemed that he
regarded events as things to write and talk about rather than as the
real life of real people. He was positively thrilled when he saw


John Pierce and Henry Grady
139
interest in thely approached CyruernesGordon Ben
the New York Stock Exchange. “Railroads as cards and millions
for stakes," he sang.
He worshipped Industry as he saw it in action. He got a position
as Southern correspondent on James Gordon Bennett's Herald,
and then boldly approached Cyrus Field for a loan to buy a third
interest in the Atlanta Constitution, the most thriving daily in the
South. This loan he repaid from a "fier" on the stock exchange,
and he began a fabulous career as prophet of the “New South.” By
his sheer drive and enthusiasm he burned himself out before he
was fifty.
Grady first sharpened young Pierce's conception of the South
and induced him to consider settling in Atlanta. For a long time
the situation in Georgia had Pierce baffled and repelled. He saw
the most astonishing gang rule of which he had ever known. It
surpassed in many ways Tammany in New York.
He heard of the Triumvirate which had ruled Georgia before
the War-straightforward men but hopelessly antediluvian in
thought and outlook; the huge pro-consul, Cobb, who owned a
thousand slaves and actually believed slavery was the ideal indus-
trial system. He died with the war. Then Toombs, a robber baron
of Falstaffian proportions who, ranting in Boston, threatened to
auction his slaves on Bunker Hill. He was never reconstructed and
fought Northern capital as he fought abolition. He was now a vast
and tottering wreck of a drunkard, and Grady acted as his proud
secretary, along with his newspaper work. Finally there was Alex-
ander Stephens, a high hat, a vast black coat and a thin white face
between, hiding a brain far too keen to be consistent. These had
ruled Georgia until after the war.
As these leaders stepped off the stage, there came the most awful
gang of which Pierce ever dreamed: shrewd, slick, courtly, who
played the game of popular control to the limit. There was Joe
Brown, the unctuous, conscienceless Puritan from Carolina; a stern,
God-fearing Presbyterian who neither smoked nor drank and was
successively unionist, secessionist, carpet-bagger, scalawag and pro-
fessional Southerner. He served as governor, chief justice, railroad
manipulator, lessee of state convicts, and United States Senator.
He was rich and ostentatiously charitable.
His buddy Alfred Colquit, played the Southern planter; a
Princeton graduate who raised 1000 bales of cotton on his ancestral
Macon plantation; governor, railroad speculator, United States
Senator, and courtly gentleman of the old school, whose fellow
travellers, no more guilty than he, went to jail for bond frauds.


140
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
he triumphant discussed with young for him to
And finally, General John B. Gordon, the magnificent figure
who played the Old Soldier game as it never has been played be-
fore or since. He had fought with Lee and surrendered with him
at Appomattox; he was governor of Georgia and fellow-grafter
with Huntington and old John Pierce in the Southern Pacific deal.
By parading with the aged Jefferson Davis at the Confederate re-
union at Montgomery, and later exhibiting his tottering guest at
Atlanta, he secured for himself the United States Senatorship from
the very hands of the triumphant Populists.
All this the enthusiastic Grady discussed with young Pierce and
tried to convince him that the South was the place for him to
settle. Grady represented the poorer white element of the South
rather than the planters; but not the farming peasant, rather the
emerging bourgeoisie, the trader, middleman and industrialist. He
stood for the new Southern entrepreneur, needing capital, furnish-
ing cheap labor and promising large returns with no squeamishness
as to method.
- Grady was a “natural” for this job because he believed in
capitalist exploitation as he believed in God. He declared that “the
self-made business man had sunk the cornerstone of the only aris-
tocracy that America should know.” He saw salvation in unham-
pered business development in the South. He knew but laughed
off the present political gang rule. To be sure, the Triumvirate
ruled the state, when one is governor, the other is chief justice, and
the third United States senator; then the senator becomes gov-
ernor and the governor, senator, and so on they toss the ball of
power back and forth until the state, that is the mass of poor farm-
ers and workers, are rising in arms,
But Grady brushed this off. They could be controlled by influx
of Northern capital and Northern business ideas. He ignored the
fact that under Northern capital a quarter of the Georgia white
mill-hands were under 17. Naturally the Farmers Alliance was
growing in the state and now Populism. It had been growing for a
decade.
"And it had reason. The basis of the Georgia farmer's life is
cotton. Cotton has been falling continuously from 20 cents a pound
in 1870 to 6 cents today. Not only that, land bears the brunt of
taxation while stocks and bonds pay nothing. We must head off
radicalism by increasing business. We must interest the North in a
New South.”
John from time to time let out some doubts which had arisen in
be sure is chief decomes of


John Pierce and Henry Grady
141
his college days and had been emphasized by his travels South:
“Of one thing, Grady, I cannot feel as sure as you Southerners,
and that is the future of Africa and Africans. I wonder if they can
be written off as easily as you assume. Have you been watching
Africa? I tell you the black world is stirring. Three big six-foot
men are fighting. One is European and dead white from tubercu-
losis. He is rushing from the death which pursues him. The other
is thick, stolid and red from the South African sun. He is fighting
modern capital. The third is a black king calling his warriors and
his witch gods to hold back the white flood.” .
Grady was impatient. “The blacks have no chance in the world.
They lack brains. The Boers will be crushed by the invincible
British Empire."
"I fear for that Empire," said Pierce. "I fear for White Su-
premacy. Of course, Rhodes firmly believes that the British are 'the
first race in the world and the more of the world we inhabit the
better it is for humanity.' He believes this, and shrinks at nothing
to make it come true. He will crush Kruger and plant his own
tomb on the heights of the royal Matoppos beside the murdered
Lobengula—"
Grady laughed. “Stop ranting. Darkies will never rule; they
can't. They can work and make the South rich. Come and help.”
“How are you going to handle the Negroes in the South today?"
"All we got to do with them is to make them go to work, and
get in enough capital to employ them and the whites. But the
present triumvirate in Georgia is ruining the chances of our getting
capital. They are manipulating the railroads for gain; exploiting
the mines with convict labor and squeezing the farmers. Hell will
be to pay unless we can pry them from their grip on the state
and its resources and get an honest regime in power.”
“Will that be easy?"
"Yes and no. Easy to dislodge them but difficult to replace
them with honest men who know commerce and industry and
what they require. If we replace them by radicals and anarchists
we'll only get rid of thieves to welcome fools."
"I still don't see just where the Negroes come in.”
"So far as the political picture is concerned they don't count.
They've neither the brains nor morals. But as laborers they come
in as the best, most docile and if well treated, the most willing
labor force in America. Now see the danger: if they are brought
back into politics you spoil your best workers and drive away
capital. On the other hand, if we can ease out the white grafters,


142
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
attract capital and placate and guide the farmers, a New South
is born.”
So Grady dined with the Pierces the next time he came to
New York. Several Southerners sat down with them.
"Mr. Pierce," began a Charlestonian, "you think you got
troubles; just look at us. Your laborers at least want to work. Ours
don't. Ours want to go to college and learn Greek. And you North-
erners are furnishing them with colleges. They want to vote and
control our money and get themselves good-paying public offices.
They want to sit at our tables and marry our daughters. And by
God, Sir, we won't have it! I'll tell you the truth, we've stopped
them voting; we've made them work or go to jail. We are going
to force them to keep to themselves; live together, marry each
other, have their own churches and schools. They can be as free
as they want to be with themselves, but they can't force their
company on us.
“We are glad to be rid of slavery. I used to support more lazy
old ‘niggers' than I could afford. Made and kept me poor. Now
I'm tickled to death to have them take care of themselves. But
they got to work. They can't loaf at other people's expense. If
they'll work half as hard as the old 'niggers' used to work, I tell
you Sir, we'll have a rich and prosperous South, and there won't
be no strikes neither, and no trade unions."
Old John nodded complete agreement.
“And,” added a Congressman from North Carolina, “there'll
be the best opportunity for Northern investment on this continent,
if not in the world.”
“Let me add another idea," said young John Pierce. “I have
spent considerable time in the South in the last two or three years.
First of all, industry has begun a rush forward in the South. Your
railroads have twice the mileage they had in 1860; industry like
cotton spinning is increasing by leaps; other industries are rising.
Prosperity faces you if you can get capital. Northern capital, afraid
of labor unions here, will come to you if your labor conditions get
better.
“What I see there is the responsibility not only of building up
a satisfied Negro laboring class, but one which could be trained to
keep white workers, North and South, from making unreasonable
demands. We could say to the white labor leaders in the North:
'There are Negroes who can take your place and who ask less
wage than you demand.' We could say to the Southern white
artisan: 'There are Negroes right here ready to work for less than


John Pierce and Henry Grady
143
u'll have you worring young
we pay you, therefore it would be wise if you refused to listen to
revolutionary Northern union organizers.' Finally, we could say to
the blacks: 'We are offering you work and wages which whites
want; as long as you work faithfully and avoid unreasonable de-
mands you'll have good jobs.'”
The South Carolinian gave enthusiastic assent. The other
Congressmen were a bit disturbed. Said one: “I wouldn't favor
threatening white labor with black competition.”
"I'll threaten the damned Socialists with any weapon I can get
before I'll let them interfere with my property,” said old John
tersely.
But young John added a further suggestion. “The blacks could
never really compete," he said, “if they were disfranchised.”
“Of course not,” retorted a North Carolinian, “but ain't Negro
suffrage a main demand of the North?”.
John spoke slowly in answer. He was really searching his own
mind for his conclusions as to Democracy. “We Northerners of
course believe in Democracy. But Democracy is not suited to all
people at all times. There must be a period of apprenticeship.
It would have been better if this trial period in the case of the
Negroes had been longer, much longer. But as it is, we are not
helpless. The courts can interpret the unseemly haste of Con-
gress. I think you see how this will work. Already, in the Slaughter-
house cases in 1873, the extreme interpretation of the 14th Amend-
ment has been tempered. In fact, it will now protect our invest-
ments better than the rights of Negroes.”
“The Supreme Court is a set of fools," retorted Old John, think-
ing of the Railway Commissions.
“Yet,” answered one of his directors, “they are usually on the
right side. When they are not, we can get better appointments."
"Certainly,” Young John agreed. “Just yesterday I had assur-
ances that the outrageous Civil Rights Legislation will soon be
annulled by the Supreme Court. I think I do not exaggerate when
I say that the North, led by business interests which have suffered
grievously from extreme democracy at home, will acquiesce in this
new interpretation of Negro rights."
The Southerners looked gratified; but John added, “Of course
a main prerequisite will be a satisfied mass of black labor. They
must not feel abused, as they undoubtedly do at present. We must
yield to their laudable desire for education, but temper it with
common sense, giving a reasonable amount and kind. We must
above all see that they get proper leadership within their own
ranks."
laborce, ali se neiving a resise, for ediu


144
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
Old John was gratified at his son's words. It showed a ripening:
of judgment and a sureness of decision which had hitherto been
lacking. Young John himself was a bit surprised. His mind had
been half-consciously coming to conclusions over which he had
long hesitated. He was going to cast his lot in the South. His friend-
ship with Henry Grady helped his decision.
Young John was a contrast to his father. Old John was tall
and thin, scraggly, carelessly dressed, with an abrupt if not gruff
manner. Young John was dressed well in tailored clothes. He looked
prosperous without being showy, and he gave one a certain feeling
of confidence in his judgments. He had been trained at Andover
and Princeton and sent South after graduation to look over this new
territory for industrial expansion. Old John Pierce believed in
early marriage and half hoped young John would marry one of
those pretty and aristocratic Southern girls whom he himself so
admired. But to his disgust John had married Kate Gibbons, an
Irish girl.
New England was liberal and anti-slavery, but it disliked the
Irish and the Catholic church intensely. Had it not been for the
railroad strikes and the adaptability of young John's wife, he and
his father might have seriously quarrelled. But the old man needed
his son's experience and help and Kate helped by promptly drop-
ping her religion and joining the Congregational Church. The ap-
pearance of a healthy boy in 1881 halted hostilities, although old
John was never quite reconciled. Nor were the young couple satis-
fied. New York society ignored the Irish wife even of a rich Pierce,
and John for some time was not decided whether to settle down
here or in the South. His decision came after that dinner in New
York to which he invited Grady.
“We'll have the Democrats in the White House in a few years,"
Field assured them, “but we must keep them from fighting the
war over again.”
“Yes,” said old John Pierce, “but what about labor? We've got
good laborers rushing to us by the hundreds of thousands and be-
ing ruined and turned into anarchists by these damned unions.
You've got millions of Negroes-can they work and will they?".
Grady became earnest: “They can work and they must if they
want to eat. But they must be kept out of politics. Just as you
Northerners must and will control the Labor vote, so we Southern-
ers must control Negroes in politics."
After dinner, with the older man gone, young John Pierce and
Grady, with Kate and the awakened baby, sat long and talked.


John Pierce and Henry Grady
145
Kate was fed up on New York. “I'll never get a chance here and
I'll keep John back. The Dutch will never recognize the Irish. I
want John to go South. How would I be received in the South?”
"Well,” said Grady, "both of you must remember one thing.
If you go South you must conform. It will be difficult but it is
inevitable. The South has been hurt to its guts. It has been fed
for a century on tales of its bravery, beauty and culture. Then in a
war where victory was certain, it was whipped not simply by Yan-
kees but actually by help of armed ‘niggers.
“As a spiritual upset this was simply unendurable. Now comes
the Cult and Creed: ‘The South was right; the Negro is fit only
for slavery and must not vote; the South was never conquered and
never will be.' If you grant these propositions you can help build
a new South with docile black labor, Northern capital and white
brains. But you must grant the propositions; you must conform;
you must talk and make speeches in support of this. Otherwise
you're a 'Damnyankee' and a ‘nigger' lover and can never belong."
Kate laughed. “I might get my daddy's Confederate Commis-
sion and his forage cap and pose as an honest-to-goodness Seces-
sionist-"
“What!” exclaimed Grady, and John scowled. The frank Kate
explained:
"It's all a joke. You see, my Dad, Pat Gibbons, a little down at
the heels in 1860, was representing a loan-shark outfit in Georgia
when the war broke. He tried desperately to get away but was
caught in the draft, and making a virtue of necessity joined the
company, became its captain, and was ‘missing' after the first fray."
Kate and her frail little mother had been hard put. The mother
went into house service until 1864 when Pat Gibbons, after an in-
credible series of adventures, made his way through the army lines
and turned up in New York with a small bank roll derived from
illegal trade. There, with irrepressible energy and impudence he
became a member of Tammany and got hold of a profitable street
contract.
In ten years he had made a modest fortune by methods not to be
inquired into; had installed his weary wife and little daughter into
a west-side brownstone front, and then died of drink just before
Tammany Tweed burst into infamy. His sad little Irish wife
obediently followed him, leaving Kate lonely but fairly well-
todo in cruel postwar New York. Kate met John in one of the
innumerable bazaars which swarmed in the city for relief of the
soldiers, the South and the Freedmen. The Vandeventer debu-


146
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
tante whom John was escorting looked down her thin, straight nose
at Kate's pert snubbiness when the Irish girl inveigled herself into
their company uninvited. The Vandeventer girl soon found excuse
to withdraw.
This was a tactical error, for John was fed up with her cold,
high breeding, and fell willing victim to the good-looking, healthy
and terribly frank Kate. They were soon laughing at the deserter,
the whole company, and the world in general. Kate threw herself
at the young banker without reserve. He was the only gentleman of
the new order she had met after the dubious politicians of the
East Side, and she wanted terribly to be a lady with such a husband.
While John, just past the wilder and unsatisfactory indulgences
of early youth was drawn to this honest, red-blooded, even if slightly
over-dressed and vulgar girl. He found himself gradually forsaking
prim and snobbish society for Kate's welcome warmth and joy in
life; until one night they ran over to Connecticut, married, and
spent a delirious week's honeymoon.
Old John was furious. He glared at the returned couple in grim
anger. “My God! My son hitched to an Irish paddy and a damned
Catholic!” But old John was no fool. After all, the boy was married,
the girl was no drab nor mere fortune-hunter, and this was his only
son. The boy had ability and John Pierce and Son needed all the
ability and hard work they could muster.
This miserable escapade gave the old man a handle to put the
screws on the young one, to taunt him with dilettante indifference
to real energy and interest in the affairs of the firm. In this he
found he had a firm and intelligent ally in Kate. Moreover, Kate
could cook. So an offensive and defensive alliance was achieved
quietly in the Fifth Avenue mansion of the Pierces. Society bowed
unenthusiastically and slowly to wealth, and business began to
boom. It was, old John decided, not so bad after all.
It was the outline of this story which Kate, at first to John's
discomfort and then to his inevitable enjoyment, insisted on telling
to young Henry Grady. Grady shouted with laughter.
"Listen," he said as he left, "bring that Commission and the
forage cap along when you come to Atlanta. As a Daughter of the
Confederacy you'll go further than your banker husband.”
Thus young John and Kate settled in Atlanta the year that
Cleveland became the first Democratic president since the war.
John entered the largest bank in this city as an official and in charge
of his father's railroad and investment interests. He came South
with an increasingly clear program: control labor in the South


John Pierce and Henry Grady
147
without disorder; make the Negroes a satisfied working class with
good paying jobs and education limited to their needs; develop
Southern industry, trade and commerce and tie it in with Northern
investment. The South was the critical area of the modern world.
He gradually forgot Africa. He had few actual contacts with Ne-
groes. He was in close touch with Grady.
“I tell you, Grady, how to begin. I'll get the New England
Society of New York to invite you as speaker at their next dinner.
We'll get the biggest capitalists of the country to be present. You
lay the 'New South' on the line thick. Treat the planters and the
carpet-baggers as dead, and the Negro Problem as settled. Grady,
we'll start a new eral”
“Good, I'll try it. But there's one hitch. There is a man here
in Georgia who may upset the apple cart. He's a little red-headed
shrimp named Watson. He's a curious mixture: son of an Augusta
cotton mill hand and a small south Georgia farmer. He's served
one term in the Legislature and put up a fierce fight against Col-
quit, the gang governor. Then he got discouraged and sulked ten
years. Now he's hobnobbing with the Farmers Alliance and the
western malcontents who are causing you and your father so much
uneasiness. They are piling into the crazy farmers' cooperative
movement.
"If some combination including these elements should gain
control of Georgia and the South it would repel instead of attract
Northern capital and sound industrial organization. We've got to
watch this. Right now there's a deal on foot between Gordon and
Colquit which, if it goes through, may raise such a stink as to put
the radicals in power before we can head them off. Populism is
growing fast in Georgia."
Pierce and Grady kept in close conference as soon as young
John was permanently settled in Atlanta. Pierce decided:
“As a long range project we must rush legal disfranchisement
of Negroes. Otherwise we'll have a labor revolt in the South to
join the wild west. Mississippi has started. Tillman is at work in
South Carolina. We must push it in Louisiana and Georgia and
Alabama. The Republicans are pushing a Force Bill to give the
Federal government charge of national elections. This is so un-
popular it should help us disfranchise Negroes.
“Remember, we've got all the money back of us that the situa-
tion calls for. And now to this other business: I'm going to settle
down here as a full-fledged Atlantan. I want to buy or build a
house and get to know the proper people, clubs, etc.”


148
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
"I'll help; but be careful. Even I am a social outsider. Just be-
cause Atlanta has no society like Augusta or Macon, it's sensitive
and snooty, especially in the case of Yankees. You'll have to go
whole hog with them for success.
“Now it happens I have a good starting point. There is a
woman in town with money to invest. She is a Breckinridge of
Charleston, married to the old fogy who's at the University of
Georgia. She wants financial advice and came to Clark Howell,
my boss, who runs with quality. He told her of you as a new official
at what will soon be our biggest bank, and since I know you, I'm
to bring her to your office tomorrow afternoon. You give her inside
financial advice in return for a social steer. Of course, you'll do
this with care."
Thus Betty Lou Breckinridge Baldwin came to know John
Pierce and they liked each other. Betty Lou left a check for over
$100,000 for investment; also, she gave John sound social advice.
“Of course, as you doubtless know, Atlanta has no real society.
It is a poor-white town, energetic and commendable but unknown
in the best Southern circles. But I have some friends to whom I
shall be glad to present you and especially your wife who, I under-
stand, is a Daughter of the Confederacy. That's good! You must,
of course, build far out on Peachtree among the more select folk.
I and my son live out there. But where is Dr. Baldwin? He's getting
so old and forgetful.
“I brought some papers of settlement which I want signed and
put in a safe-deposit box. You understand that the money in our
family is mine, but I want to make suitable arrangements for my
elderly husband, a precious soul-a close friend of my dear father
--but a scholarly fogy and always late. You'll smile when I tell you
that this minute he is visiting the colored college near here and I
fear has quite forgotten me and the Board meeting.”
Meantime the double plan of Pierce and Grady for North and
South both matured and lost ground. In the South the groundwork
of race division on which Grady depended as immovable began to
give way under Watson's drive. While on the other hand, Grady's
influence in the North flourished and spread. The orator was a
Southern institution. He was more emotional and less reasoning
than the Greek who was his prototype. Before the war he adopted
the great voice, majestic mien and broad gestures. He was strongly
emotional but carefully tempered this with disciplined culture.
After the Civil War came orators from nearer the masses who had
been deeply imbued with the methods of the Negro preacher. The


150
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
responsible. That year the American Federation of Labor was
formed, less radical and for the most part excluding Negroes.
But despite labor revolt Capital was riding high. One great
industrialist said, “The public be damned!” Another added, “If
a workman sticks up his head, hit itl” Another: “Law? What do I
care for the law?" And the King of Bankers declared, “I owe the
public nothing. Men owning property should do what they like
with it."
By 1880 Standard Oil was in control of the whole industry. In
two decades the railroads tripled in mileage, quadrupled in capital
and shrunk in number of owners. Trusts controlled sugar, whiskey,
tobacco, salt, tinplate and steel; and by 1890, 157 of them had three
billions of capital. There were 4000 millionaires. But revolution
loomed and in the South Tom Watson was becoming its embodi-
ment.
Grady, although alarmed at the Populist movement in Georgia,
was not discouraged. He rushed wildly on with his writing, travel
and speaking. He had kept close touch with the Farmers Alliance
in Georgia, addressing them annually and devoting a column of the
Constitution to them.
But Grady was tired. He had been speaking to vast audiences
over the nation for years. To him speaking was great physical effort
and nervous tension. A speech was always preceded by endless con-
versation with all kinds of persons; and with eating elaborate din-
ners. Then there were the long trips almost invariably at night;
and he never got real rest in a Pullman.
He was worried. His wife had had a miscarriage and he had lost
$8,000 gambling in cotton futures. In 1889 he had spoken in Georgia
in March, in New York in April, in Virginia in June, in South
Carolina in July, and in Georgia in August. Then at the Piedmont
Second Exposition in October, just before the primary vote, he
spoke on Farmers Alliance day in Atlanta and made his supreme
appeal not to economics nor politics but to race prejudice. He
warned against union of blacks and whites in Georgia politics.
"Whom God has separated, let no man bring together!"
nce day in Atla but to race porgia politics


Chapter IX
OLD DR. BALDWIN AND HIS FAMILY
marriage, using al contabe olderin, and
For Dr. Baldwin a new life had begun. The State University
was an old institution; but had for years been poorly supported,
with tumbledown buildings and yet with certain tradition. Dr.
Baldwin loved the institution where he first studied; it was some-
thing to build on and he liked to dream of what it could become
for guiding the South to a new destiny.
Quite characteristically his mind had worked on, with little
interruption because of the marriage. They had rebuilt and refur-
nished the old presidential mansion, using some of the funds which
the Colonel had given them. They had social contacts with members
of the faculty and the community and a few of the older students.
On the whole, life had renewed interest for Dr. Baldwin, and as
for Betty Lou it was more livable than anything she had expected.
She did not pretend that she was exactly happy, but she was at
peace and safe.
Colonel Breckinridge too, liked the old rambling neglected
place which had a niche in the hearts of a large number of alumni.
He liked to talk again with Dr. Baldwin about the world. He sat
in some of his classes. He heard with distress about the Mahdi in
the Sudan, and his driving out of the British. He was astonished
at the efforts of Italy to annex Ethiopia. But he was not sure that
the world was going right even when by accident a gentleman like
Arthur became president and the Democratic party for the first
time since the Civil War might in a few years return to power.
World commerce was increasing, railroads were pushing all over
the country; life insurance had doubled and telephones were com-
ing into use.
But gradually the Colonel became uneasy. He could not forget
that Mansart boy. He began to have the shadow of a headache,
which was not quite a headache yet would not go away. He was
not as aware of the world about him as he had been. He became
forgetful in annoying and inexplicable ways. Then he began to
have startling dreams, when he could sleep at all. He began to see
things which others apparently did not see. He had visions. It
151


152
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
.
was not sudden or startling, but people began to ask after his health
solicitously, which annoyed him more than it should have. Once or
twice he lost his bearings in broad daylight.
Once he found himself almost raving at a stranger because of
a blood stain which was not there. Once he shouted and shrieked
at a band of mounted murderers, who were but white hunters
returning from the country. Once he found his wife lying bloody
and dead among the lilacs of a public park. The doctors who were
called in advised rest and later, travel, perhaps abroad. But Betty
Lou revealed another remedy.
At dinner one night, after the maid had withdrawn, she an-
nounced to her father and husband that she was expecting to have
a baby in a couple of months. Then she kissed them and went up
stairs. Both men were astounded, but neither so astonished as Betty
Lou herself. Betty was thirty and her husband sixty-five. She had
never been promiscuous; never but once had she forgotten her
birth and blood. But especially here in Athens she had close and
personal friends. Her husband's caresses had been rare and she had
endured them with composure if not enthusiasm.
Dr. Baldwin himself knew that the prospective child might be
his. He also did not try to hide from himself the fact that it might
not be. In that case he did not care. There was always gossip in
a university town. Betty Lou was young and loved company. This
child would be company to her. After all, physical paternity was
unimportant. It was education that counted and he would have
the privilege of training this child.
The Colonel was at first shocked and then uplifted. For a mo
ment black suspicion engulfed him; but the complacency of the
father and his own firm faith in the women of his family drove this
instantly away. There followed a flood of exaltation. The Breckin-
ridge family would live again. His name was redeemed. He had
become used to thinking of his family as dying out with him; of
then himself escaping from settling the problems of the world. And
now miraculously he was to live again. His health became better
and he began to plan.
He could not help but think of that healthy little black boy
and to wonder how his and his own grandchild's lives were going
to meet and intertwine in the world. He altered his will both for
the benefit of his grandchild who would get the bulk of his for-
tune, and to insert a sum of $2500 for Mirandy Mansart and her
child.
The long days and months went slowly by, with exaltation and


Old Dr. Baldwin and His Family
153
disgust for Betty Lou. She soon made up her mind that she would
never live permanently in Athens. It was a stodgy little university
town, full of gossip and envy. Betty Lou knew that she, especially,
was the subject of slighting remarks and unpleasant glances, along
with perfect courtesy for the Dean, as Dr. Baldwin was designated.
There had even been some cases of social ostracism, which Dr.
Baldwin never noticed but which she would never forget.
The question of the future of the university dragged on, but
Betty Lou was thrilled by the activities of a group of alumni who
insisted that the place of the old university was in the new city
of Atlanta which had no institution of higher learning, unless one
counted the Negro college, which one did not. A committee on this
matter met several times at the University and Betty Lou saw to it
that they were pleasantly entertained; and the legislature in At-
lanta helped things on by refusing decent and necessary appropria-
tions for the University. It was openly whispered that the legisla-
ture might be more generous to an Atlanta institution.
Then at last the strain of waiting was over. In an Atlanta hos-
pital Betty Lou in blood, pain and filth gave birth to a little boy in
the summer of 1881. A few days later, in the beautiful suite of a
new Peachtree Street hotel, Colonel John Breckinridge held in his
arms at a baptismal font, John Breckinridge Du Bignon Baldwin;
while old Dr. Baldwin stood smiling by. The Colonel gave his
grandson to the arms of radiant Betty Lou, turned slowly to sit
down, and died of a cerebral hemorrhage.
Betty Lou was sincerely grieved. In the last months she had
come to know and sympathize with her father as never before in
their lives. She wanted him to travel and meet more men of his
kind. But the baby intervened and now he was dead.
But of another plan Betty Lou was now certain. She was going
to live in Atlanta, this developing giant of a city; her boy was
going to grow up there. The social advantage of Breckrinridge and
Du Bignon aristocratic blood in a poor white city could not be
ignored. To this Betty Lou insisted on adding a rumored relation-
ship of her husband to Abraham Baldwin, founder of the Uni-
versity of Georgia. Next, Betty Lou helped the alumni committee
to finance offices of the University in Atlanta where her husband
could spend part of his time, meet business men and legislators, and
prepare for the final transformation.
To this Betty Lou added a calculation and re-investment of her
new wealth. She was rich and sole executive, and did business with
an old banking house which had just taken into partnership young


154
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
John Pierce of the well-known firm of John Pierce and Son of
nationwide fame. With this young man about her own age, who
had a son also just born, she consulted. She was affronted to learn
that her father had left $2,500 to the Mansart boy. Of course, her
father never knew that old Aunt Betsy had bilked her out of five
hundred dollars for a nursing job some years ago; and Betty Lou
had never forgiven this pair for daring to leave her employ at such
short notice when her father came to visit. She arranged without
difficulty for the Mansart bequest to be reduced to five hundred
dollars. With the other two thousand she bought a fur coat which
she had glimpsed at Rich's department store. What, after all, did
Negroes need of all that money?
Dr. Baldwin meantime was seeking to build a real university
with headquarters at Athens or possibly later at Atlanta. He really
did not care which, if the plans were right. What he was trying to
do was readjust his thinking and teaching to a new situation.
He had seen the Carolina experiment fail; the attempt to build a
new agriculture with free, educated, enfranchised black laborers.
He saw it die a bloody death in 1876.
In its wake came a harvest of lawlessness, lynching and misuse
of the courts to reestablish slavery, which he knew must eventually
fail, or establish a new, modern caste system which he doubted
could succeed. And it was all so unnecessary. He still stuck to his
thesis that nothing was to be feared from a little education given
to a few Negroes of moderate ability.
This new city of Atlanta was situated between the old aris-
tocracy of Carolina and the newer cotton kingdom of the Mississippi
valley. And it was the natural highway for the incoming Northern
industrial invasion. This prospective change vastly interested Dr.
Baldwin.
Dr. Baldwin had not finally been confirmed as head of the
University of Georgia. That functionary was called the “Chancel-
lor" and had long been a figurehead for advertising purposes. Re-
cently it had even been proposed to make the aging Jefferson
Davis chancellor. But there was need of a real head and director of
education at the university, which the former students of Dr.
Baldwin knew he was fitted to fill. He therefore became “Dean"
at a fair salary, and was in charge of educational policy and teach-
ing while money-raising and speech-making remained with the un-
filled office of Chancellor.
Matters moved very slowly from 1880 to 1890. Industry and
capital rolled into Atlanta and politics grew grim. Old Man Bald-


Old Dr. Baldwin and His Family
155
win was repelled. He had seen politicians try to settle human
problems and the mess they had made of it. Of Economics he knew
nothing. Work was natural, wage was necessary; but this rising cry
of the farmers could not be a matter of politics. It was a matter of
work. He regarded Watson as a demagogue and was attracted by
the young Grady. In 1889, during one of his visits to Atlanta to
see his young son now eight years of age, and to consult with the
University committee, he slipped out to Piedmont Exposition Park
one golden October afternoon and listened to Henry Grady.
Grady was standing before the 10,000 farmers and their wives,
a bulky, beaming cherub, exuding good nature.
"Hello, folks!” He told two rattling good stories and had them
yelling with laughter. Then he roared; he raised himself on his
toes and flailed with his arms. He thundered; his hair flew and
the sweat poured down his face. Blood suffused his fat cheeks.
There came a sudden calm as the audience bent forward in
tense expectation. With tremolo in his voice he turned to God and
religion. His finger pointed to heaven, he raised himself on his toes.
His deep voice swelled again with emotion and tears were in his
eyes as he shrieked.
“Whom God has separated, let no man bring together!"
Baldwin was repelled. He did not like emotional appeal in
political speeches. It was to his mind too negroid, a white imita-
tion of Negro methods.
Grady's speech was the studied histrionics of an experienced
actor who believed in his role. Every gesture, every cadence was
calculated, and the real man was hidden watchfully behind the
act to weigh its effect on his audience. And that effect was not
satisfactory.
Baldwin noted the considerable number of Negroes present,
mostly segregated in groups by themselves, but not entirely. Down
in front he saw the handsome Negro Doyle, Watson's confederate,
looking at Grady with concentrated unwinking attention. Grady
himself must have felt that his climactic final appeal to race sepa-
ration did not go over so well as usual and the applause, while
heavy, was not tumultuous.
Baldwin could see that Grady was exhausted. He must have
known that he was ill and perhaps feared that he and his party
would be beaten in the next election. He saw black and white labor
hand in hand marching to victory. They would not win. With the
Gang in control of elections they could not win no matter how
Det over so well asmactic final appealention. Grady


Old Dr. Baldwin and His Family
157
and intelligent. You must understand the tragedy, especially the
tragedy of the few Negroes, the very few, who are above the mass;
they must have a chance. You don't need to segregate them or to
crucify they. They would not go very far, or if a few of them did,
what of it? It was rather to their credit and to the advantage of the
world. Let them have their little chance. All this turmoil and fear
and fighting was ridiculous. The great mass of Negroes would
always stay in their places.
“If some persons try to lift themselves by their bootstraps, it is
not necessary to argue with them or seek to stop them. The effort
would stop itself in time and in a comparatively short time. The
capacity of Negroes is small. I have known them all my life. They
were funny, bizarre, faithful, imitative; but they did not have
brains.”
Of course, Dr. Baldwin admitted there were some exceptions; a
few here and there. He admitted that as a matter of fact he really
knew very few Negroes intimately. His contacts had been narrow,
and contacts of opinions and beliefs rather than of persons. He was
rather interested in seeking to learn how far these new Northern
teachers agreed with his conclusions. He did not wait to be intro
duced; he sought out one or two teachers in Augusta and talked
with them. Some of them he concluded were frustrated old maids, :
teaching more or less mechanically what they had learned in the
North; sincere and honest, but having indifferent results.
He had once visited one or two colored schools in Carolina and
South Georgia and laughed at what they were doing. A few pupils
were learning to read and write. Most of them were floundering
helplessly. Negro colleges were entirely unnecessary, and probably
high school education for the great mass would be unsuccessful.
He didn't think much of the people who were educating the Ne-
groes. Some of them he met and recognized as good-hearted folk
without very sound classical training. He was quite willing to coop-
erate with them, and he liked to talk about their Negro students.
There was, of course, some capacity there, certain exceptions,
but the exceptions were few. Some of the white Northern teachers
agreed with him; others seemed to him fanatical and wanted to
establish colleges. He saw their argument, so far as it was valid.
You must have teachers for these Negro schools and that implied
some education but not a regular college course; a normal school
of some sort, yes, that certainly should be established.
For some time after coming to his new work he lost touch with
Negro education. But today he was in town on business for the


158
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
University of Georgia and incidentally to visit with his wife and
infant son in the new house they had built far out on Peachtree.
He was received casually and hurried off so as not to be late for a
University Board meeting which was to convene at three. He found
he had plenty of time and it occurred to him to drop out Mitchell
Street and visit the Negro campus, with its high green lawn. Just
as he was about to mount the stone steps he met a young man
and stopped him to ask directions. The young man was Manuel
Mansart.
Dr. Baldwin was quite evidently out of place on the campus
of Atlanta University. He looked the Southern gentleman of the
old school; rather more carelessly dressed than was customary,
and peering about nearsightedly and undecidedly. He saw Manuel
and hailed him in his high, shrill voice.
"Hey, Boy!"
This was, of course, the wrong beginning and stamped him as a
white Southerner. College students at Atlanta University were not
“boys.” They were men. Then Manuel recognized Dr. Baldwin,
but of course the old man did not know him after ten years. He
looked the "boy” over and was favorably impressed. He forgot his
original query and began to talk.
"You a student here?"
“Yes, Sir."
"Like it?"
"Very much, Sir."
"What are you going to be when you finish?”
“I don't know, Sir. Grandmother wanted me to be a preacher;
Mammy wanted me to be a lawyer. I think I'll probably teach."
"Because you want to tell what you know, or because it's the
easiest job to get?".
"Because I want to learn."
Dr. Baldwin stopped and stared. “Well, young man (no more
'boy'), you are on the right track. But, (remembering his color
again), there are other things to do: carpentry, cooking," He
peered at the boy.
Manuel stiffened and started to say, “But I don't want to work
for white folk.” But he caught himself and remembered that Dr.
Baldwin was white as well as Southern. He ended by saying, "I'd
prefer teaching, Sir."
“Hm!” said Dr. Baldwin. "I was just looking about"
"Wouldn't you like to meet our professor of Greek?” Of course
Manuel knew that Greek was Dr. Baldwin's hobby.
Very mure you gol. Grandmowyer. I t


Old Dr. Baldwin and His Family
159
"Greek?” said the old man. “Do you have Greek here?"
“Oh, yes Sir.” And then Manuel reeled off the learning of
Professor Spence. "He was, Sir, a pupil of the great D'Ooge.”
Baldwin stared, then said eagerly, “Take me to him. I'd like to
see him.” And to himself, "What on earth can a pupil of D'Ooge
find to do here?"
Then he had an experience which he always remembered. He
met Professor Spence, and Professor Spence was a man from the
University of Michigan who knew Greek. He knew an extraordi-
nary amount of Greek. He was a great Greek scholarl Dr. Baldwin
thrilled to converse with him and almost forgot the real reason for
which he had scraped his acquaintance. He said finally, as he turned
back to it, “But Spence, why on earth did you leave your profes-
sorship to come down here and teach Negroes?"
Professor Spence was a little man, and kindly. He smiled and
said, “I like Negroes and enjoy teaching."
“But teaching them what?" asked Dr. Baldwin.
“Stay over for my class this afternoon."
So Dr. Baldwin stayed; he found himself to his dismay eating
lunch in a basement dining room with Professor Spence and his
frail wife, his little daughter and six Negro students. The students
did not eat with their knives, and talked frankly to him, to the
Spences and to each other. They used good English. Dr. Baldwin
smiled at this situation and wondered what his students would say;
and his wife? Then he accompanied the sprightly Spence to his
rather bare classroom and sat down with the professor, three young
men and a young woman. They were all colors from white to black,
and indifferently dressed; but old Dr. Baldwin being a scholar at
heart and knowing Greek, forgot all about who they were.
To Dr. Baldwin that was an unforgettable afternoon meeting
with a great student of the matchless Greek tongue; marching once
more and in dark companionship with Xenophon down to the sea.
But with it went the scholarship of Spence, -the exact knowledge,
the broad background, the human sympathy-it was not often one
could know such an afternoon.
As he thought the matter over later, he honestly concluded that
his experience there was about the same thing as his experience
in his own classes. Except there were two masters of Greek and one
black boy who-well, if he hadn't been black would have made
a third master of Greek! Yes, he certainly would! Baldwin mused.
There might be a great many more exceptional Negroes than he
nad thought formerly was in any way possible. In fact, he began


160
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
tour o'clauestion, batus than
carefully to examine the idea of the possibility that the mass of
Negroes were much more susceptible to training and capable of
attaining higher status than he had ever dreamed. He wanted to
talk, to question, but, He happened to glance at his watch. It was
four o'clock. Good lord! His wifel He was to have met her at three.
-He telephoned immediately.
John Pierce and Betty Lou drove up to Atlanta University to
summon Dr. Baldwin from Professor Spence's Greek class. He was
was all apologies for his tardiness and started to explain. Betty Lou
was a bit short but hastened to introduce Mr. Pierce of New York,
the well-known member of the staff of the First National Bank.
Dr. Baldwin then turned to introduce Professor Spence; but Spence
had discreetly slipped away and President Sheldon of Atlanta Uni-
versity stepped up to take his place. Betty Lou acknowledged the
introduction stiffly and was evidently in a hurry to depart. John
Pierce was glad to meet Sheldon and see this Negro school to which
his father had contributed, but evidently this was not the time to
linger. He shook Sheldon's hand cordially and they drove rapidly
away. Sheldon was glad of this opportunity to meet one of the
rich Northern donors to his poor school.
Dr. Baldwin climbed awkwardly into the carriage and enter-
tained him and his wife with a dissertation on the possibilities of
the Negro brain and indeed, any brain, under a man like Spence.
Betty Lou was speechless and Pierce monosyllabic. The colored
coachman seemed curiously pleased.
he case. He had compromise. Thiwas ready g
Dr. Baldwin had listened to Booker Washington. He thought
him shrewd and tactful, but wise only if the South was ready gen-
erously to respond to his proffered compromise. This, Dr. Baldwin
feared, was not the case. He had learned much since his visits to
Atlanta had brought him in touch with current events in the South.
He saw proposals being made which argued ill for any real educa-
tion for Negroes. He could not forget that class in Greek at Atlanta
University. What would happen to a disfranchised, servile caste,
deprived of having any of its genius free to soar? He was afraid.
His theories on race and progress came to be seriously at odds
with those of his trustees and many of the alumni. He could not be
summarily dismissed from his position; he had become an institu-
tion and a legend. It was better to leave him alone, while narrowing
his power and limiting his salary. Meantime, to his family he was
an increasing annoyance. The young mother and son lived in
Negroes. He commade which arguedent events in the
trustees and progress carries to soare


Old Dr. Baldwin and His Family
161
the Atlanta, where their own fortune and his increasing income enabled
i capai them to live in simple elegance. They referred to the father with a
e want shrug; a difficult person, not quite normal. In fact, the boy at
vatch I 14 had been brought up always to regard his father as queer and
her ate negligible.
One thing alone made the family and friends of Dr. Baldwin
Inivers patient. He was 75 years old and while still in apparent good
265 H health, it would be necessary to retire him soon if he did not die.
Betts Meantime, he was becoming difficult because of his outspoken
Nerf words and theories. It was reported that at one of the Board meet-
onal kings Baldwin had actually suggested that the new university in-
but Seclude the Negro Atlanta University as an integral part. As every:
Hantal body was too astonished to open his mouth, the heretical remark
Tedged went by without comment. Later the Doctor in class commented
is on the rising Populist Movement as "perhaps the voice of the
People conscious of a new democracy, including the Poor and
ne time Black.”
color ing
This set off a bitter discussion which reverberated over the
State. The resignation or dismissal of the Dean was seriously con-
sidered. But wiser counsels prevailed.
ery However, hearing of this, it occurred to young Mansart that in
livie some way he ought to arrange for Dr. Baldwin to meet and talk
man with Sebastian Doyle. This took some manipulation, for the meet-
ing of black and white in the South on any level above that of race
subordination, was difficult. However, Manuel finally wrote to Dr.
Baldwin inviting him to attend a conference at Atlanta University,
w the Negro college, to meet and talk with Dr. Crogman, Miss Frei-
dy gere
burg and Sebastian Doyle. Dr. Baldwin was delighted and came,
telling his wife frankly where he was going.
Betty Lou was beside herself with rage, but the old man took
no notice of it. When he returned after lunch he reported a very
interesting time. Betty fumed, “Why in God's name doesn't the old
fossil die?"
Betty
visits &
: Souti no
· Cast:
afraid
t odds
not be
nstitu
owing
e was
d in


Chapter X
THE VISION OF SEBASTIAN DOYLE
he got hit a colored ained undef! modulated pa
Young Sebastian Doyle was a handsome man. He was one of those
dark blonds of Negro and white blood which sometimes makes
the most beautiful beings on earth. He was physically perfect, with
erect carriage and resonant, well-modulated musical voice. He had
a brilliant mind, trained under wise old Dr. Crogman at Clark
University, a colored Methodist school in South Atlanta. Here too,
he got his ideal of moral integrity.
He was in college at Ohio Wesleyan with the son of Governor
Foraker and other young westerners who received him as friend
and equal. Here he got his vision of life and his knight-errantry
for real sacrifice and hard work. He went out into rural Georgia
in 1890 at the age of 23 as a teacher, and in 1892 took his first
charge as a Methodist preacher in Waynesboro, not far from Thom-
son where Tom Watson lived.
Doyle had not only studied the Negro problem, he embodied the
Negro Problem. It was bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. It
made his world and filled his thought. He knew something of
modern history and followed current events. He had especially read
economics and social reform; he knew about Owens' consumers'
cooperation and Fourier's communities. He had read the “Wealth
of Nations” and the “Communist Manifesto," and dipped into
Ricardo and Malthus. He had read “Progress and Poverty." He
was not a profound scholar but he was an intelligent reader and an
earnest thinker. All he read or thought went to the solution of the
question of how American Negroes were going to find place as
men in this country and the world.
On many matters he was still at sea and knew that he needed
more reading and experience. But on one point he was sure he had
reached the rock-bottom of truth and that was that the only salva-
tion for the Negro in the United States was the right to vote. On
this foundation stone all else must be built. His religion was a
rather vague philosophy built on real life and work. He had small
belief in dogma, doubted miracles and smiled at theological phrases.
But he believed in honesty, he hated lying; he did not drink liquor
162


The Vision of Sebastian Doyle
163
young lisa youngster courage. Wed to the mer
and he respected women. His sermons avoided doctrine and were
aimed at good conduct, courage and search for truth. One of his
young listeners wrote:
“As a youngster I was greatly impressed by his learning, his
eloquence and his courage. While his sermons were shot through
with emotion, he never stooped to the methods of some ministers
who played upon the emotions of the people in order to get their
support.
“He was the one minister who had the courage to challenge
racial discrimination, even though he knew that his statements
might be used against him by the so-called 'Uncle Tom' Negro
type of leadership so prevalent at the time. Not only had he the
courage to challenge jim-crowism, he also had the courage to chal-
lenge the effectiveness of the dominant political parties.”
He became excited as he followed the career of Tom Watson.
While still in school in middle Georgia and at Clark University
in south Atlanta, at the age of 15, he watched him.
Tom Watson was a scrawny poor white from south Georgia,
son of a woman who worked in the cotton mills of Augusta and of
a small farmer. Near him lived Alexander Stephens and the great
Bob Toombs. He worshipped them in his youth and even later their
spell gripped him.
He got his sketchy education by toil and study at the University
of Georgia during its war difficulties, and then "read" law. He
became a flamboyant orator but for years remained at heart honest
and sincere. He sensed the revolt of farmers and laborers against
capital and industry and began a fight in Georgia when he was
elected to the Legislature in 1880.
He faced an unholy mess. The state was in the firm grip of a
triumvirate of politicians unrivalled in finesse and power. Watson
could do little against the open rule of wealth in the Legislature.
Corporations ruled the state. Combinations increased. The rural
districts were discriminated against in favor of the large cities in
railway rates. The landholder paid the taxes and the bondholder
went free. A tenant could give a mortgage to a merchant on a non-
existent crop raised on land which he did not own. In vain Watson
attacked the Convict Lease system. He finally resigned from the
Legislature, disillusioned and discouraged.
Ten years went by in which Grady's “New South” rose and
flourished. Capital was invited to come and reign. A picture of
fabulous future for the South was painted and for a while even
y rates. The landhted against in favor increased. The sture,


164
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
Watson was attracted. But soon he began to hesitate in his devotion
to the “New South.” He knew that he himself had been a plow-boy
and his brother was still a helpless tenant. He began to talk.
“Here is a tenant-I do not know or care whether he is white
or black, I know his story. He starts in and pays $25 for a mule,
1000 pounds of cotton for rent, and two bales for supplies. By the
time he pays for that mule, and the store account, and the guano,
he has not enough money left to buy a bottle of laudanum, and
not enough cotton to stuff his old lady's ear.”
Then he began to appeal: “To you who grounded your muskets
twenty-five years ago I make my appeal. The fight 'is upon you-
not bloody as then-but as bitter; not with men who come to free
your slaves, but who come to make slaves of you.”
Money and capital continued to rule the Georgia legislature
and nothing was done to stop corporate combinations, discrimina-
tions by railroads against small way stations in favor of the great
cities, and especially the mortgage and crop lien situation and the
tax structure were not touched.
money left to the store accs for sup
gh cotton
At Atlanta University Miss Freiburg, who had just then begun
teaching there, was frankly puzzled at the two figures: Tom Wat-
son and Henry Grady. She was not satisfied with the current pic-
tures of both. The North saw Watson as a crazy socialist; the South
saw him as a popular leader who was valuable but must be guided.
The North saw Grady as a prophet of Triumphant Capitalism;
the South knew him as a brilliant editor and orator. These pic-
tures were not contradictory, but they were not complete nor sup-
plementary.
She was eager to get the impression these men had on Negroes.
She heard Doyle speak and, learning that he was teaching not far
from the city, invited him to come to the university for a confer-
ence. He usually stayed with his favorite teacher, Dr. Crogman,
when in town, so she asked Crogman also. He, as one of the first
graduates of Atlanta University, gladly accepted. Miss Freiburg
arranged for high tea and invited the Dean and a few college
students. She included Manuel Mansart, who although only in high
school, was intelligent and especially interested in Doyle. She was
a bit startled when Mansart proposed to invite also the President
of the University of Georgia, Old Dr. Baldwin. After consultation
with the president, she asked Dr. Baldwin to step in "after lunch.”
He accepted.
Dr. Crogman was easily drawn out. “You must remember, Miss


The Vision of Sebastian Doyle
165
ride reason. He seeks Beauty or Clarity distinct politi
especially poet seeks Beauty or Clarinventional poet
Freiburg," he said, “that Watson and Grady are both Southern
orators. In the South for reasons I will not stop to examine now,
the orator is a species of poet. He seeks on a basis of fact to build
a picture of Life which is satisfying, even beautiful. His method is
the orotund voice, the forceful presence, wide gestures and flashing
eye. He differs from the Greek orator because he lets emotion over-
ride reason. He differs from the conventional poet in his object.
While the poet seeks Beauty or Clarity for its own sake, the orator,
especially in the South, has always a distinct political or social
object. He wants folk to believe his interpretation of fact so that
they will do as he directs. His basis of fact may be incomplete or
even distorted; but his belief in his cure-all is complete. Remember
the flood of pro-slavery orations, with their pictures of happy slaves
and philanthropic masters?”
Doyle added: “Grady knew nothing of Negroes. Brought up
beside them, he has never seen them or realized they are human.
To him they are always lay figures-Labor; Service; The Black
Race. When he lauds the 'Black Mammy,' he is talking of a fanciful
picture of his imagination. But worse than that, he doesn't even
know the mass of whites. He idealizes or fails to see them.
“For instance, he once discovered a white girl in the chain-gang
along with Negro prisoners. He was incensed. He wrote a senti-
mental plea to the public and had her released forthwith. He wept
over this 'poor and lovely girl,' and the white state wept with him.
“Now, if Grady had really known the South he would have
realized that no white woman would even have been arrested,
much less jailed, unless she was degraded beyond hope; while
blacks, male or female, young or old, are jailed on the slightest
pretense. This poor white girl, debased, freed, publicized and
promptly forgotten, fell back into the depths and was soon on the
streets as a public prostitute, living by the only profession she
ever knew.
"Grady was outraged and discouraged. He protested to heaven
the ingratitude of human beings. He never knew or utterly ignored
the innocent Negroes in chain gangs at whom none even looked.
In the same way, while Grady was ranting of the new wealth and
happiness of the South, the same South was festering in poverty,
ignorance, violence and disease."
"Watson's knowledge of ugly facts,” added Crogman, “was
deeper and better than that of Grady. He knew poverty and bitter
toil on the plantations. He had labored there long, hot days.
Despite his later boasting of a rich grandfather with droves of


166
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
despise if not hand always would of said it was not problem was
slaves, he and his family were poverty-stricken, half-starved tenants
and laborers.
"On the other hand, in his long and difficult quest for knowl-
edge he learned what the world was trying to do to abolish
poverty and ignorance. He became therefore the champion of equal
taxation, just control of money, rural mail delivery and cooperative
buying. But he did not realize that knowing and doing are not
the same. He had not experienced the slowness and difficulty of the
democratic process. When with loud voice, winged words and
furious gesture he had driven home the truth to cheering thousands,
he thought that the battle was won. If reform did not quickly fol.
low, fools and scoundrels were to blame, and Watson went into
angry hiding and sulked.”
"With both these men,” said Doyle, “the Negro problem was
an impasse. Grady simply ignored it or said it was not there. Watson
knew it was there and always would be. His inherited reaction was
to despise if not hate Negroes. But knowing too well what poverty
and ignorance had done to the white world, he had the courage to
ask earnestly if the Negro was not only suffering from the same
oppression, which re-inforced white degradation. I'm going to talk
to him. I'm going to see if Tom Watson cannot be led to try
solving the Negro Problem."
“Remember one thing,” said Dr. Crogman, “Watson is sick. He
was starved as a child. He has a bad digestion. He suffers from
migraine. His nerves are on edge, which explains his fighting, his
crazy hyperbole, his hiding for rest and recovery."
"So you know him personally?” asked Miss Freiburg.
"No. Few Negroes who are not servants get to know white peo
ple in the South. But I've seen him and read accounts of his
behavior. He's sick. Some day he'll go crazy."
Old Dr. Baldwin came in before luncheon was over. He sat with
them and listened to every word. He made almost no comment
of his own, but several times injected a question or asked further
explanation. In fact this was the most illuminating contact and
conversation this Southern white man had ever had. He sat con-
tinually saying to himself, "What race problem-what human
problem would be left if all Southerners, white and black, could
now and then meet and talk like this!"
No. Few Negroes ut. I've seen him crazy."
It came to be more and more openly declared in Georgia that a
labor party must be formed in opposition to capital, and there was
open discussion of the necessity of a Third Party. Throughout the


The Vision of Sebastian Doyle
167
South the Farmers Alliance grew. Over forty congressmen and sev-
eral senators from the South were committed to the Alliance pro-
gram. In a national meeting held in Florida in 1890 a Third
People's Party was openly advocated.
Tom Watson joined the Alliance. He was a pronounced free
trader and campaigned for Cleveland in 1888, but afterward
thought the money question most important and became a candi-
date for Congress on the regular Democratic ticket, but with a
straight Farmers Alliance platform.
The Farmers Alliance was formed by cattle men in Texas in
1879. It merged ten years later with state groups to form the Na-
tional Farmers Alliance, limited to whites. The Alliance entered
Georgia in 1887 and set up cooperatives. The next year the Jute
Bag Trust was formed in St. Louis and a meeting of 800 farmers in
Tom Watson's town, Thomson, started a boycott.
This national Alliance and certain northern Alliance bodies
which admitted Negroes, met in St. Louis in 1889. That year
Watson entered the race for Congress against the rich Major Barnes,
nearly two years before the primaries of the oth Congressional
district were to take place.
Grady's death this very year determined Doyle in 1890, at the
beginning of the Congressional campaign, to seek personal confer-
ence with Tom Watson. If the approach of a self-respecting Negro
to a planter aristocrat had its difficulties, so too the attempt of an
educated Negro to approach a Poor White who had ambitions was
equally hazardous. Fortunately for Doyle, Watson was sitting out
of doors in his front yard so that the question of approach by
front or back door did not arise. Doyle was purposely bareheaded
so that the matter of lifting his hat was eliminated. He simply
entered the gate and said:
"Mr. Watson, may I have a word with you?"
Watson was sitting in an old rocker, surrounded by books.
One large volume was in his hands. He glanced up from it slowly,
noting the blacked boots with a film of road dust; then the well-
fitting trousers; the vest, coat and tie. He was about to rise and
welcome some well-to-do constituent when he saw the golden face
and curly hair. He paused and sat still; his face hardened and he
said curtly, "Well?”
“Mr. Watson, I want to sell you some votes."
“I ain't got no money to buy 'niggers.'”
“In this case the price is low; in fact the deal will pay you as
much or more than it brings us.”
o sell you some
will pay you


168
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
"Comcatson once I walce. My na
“And what do you expect it to bring you?”
"Schools, homes, no convict lease, decent wages and land."
Watson stared and rose to his feet. “That's a hell of a lot, fel.
low. Who are you, anyway?”
“I'm from upstate. My name is Doyle and I've followed your
campaigns since I was a boy.”
Watson glanced about and then led the way to the backyard.
“Come with me,” he said. He walked around back of the house
to the garden, where they would not be conspicuous to chance
passersby. He seated himself on a pile of wood and indicated an
old chair. “Sit down," he said. “Doyle, you're too young to know
Georgia.”
“I was born and educated in Georgia and my fathers before me.
I'm teaching upstate and expect to preach in Waynesboro. I've
travelled over much of the state.”
"Well, you're in for a jolt. You've got ideas, but ‘niggers' won't
follow you. They ain't got sense enough. I know 'em. I can buy a
thousand ‘nigger' votes at a dollar apiece.”
"Of course you can, because a dollar is as much as they have
ever been offered, and they must strive hard to get a dollar by
honest work. Try offering more and not in cash but in rights."
They talked a couple of hours. Watson told of his disappointing
experience with Negro voters in Augusta, but was astonished to
learn of the growth of the Farmers Alliance in other parts of the
state and in the South.
Doyle strove to bring to Watson's attention the extent to which
the Alliance owed its increasing triumph to Negro support. He
pointed out that as far back as 1875 the Negro head of a Virginia
tobacco union had attended the convention of the Greenback
Labor Party in Cleveland; that three years later, in Texas, there
were ten Negroes among the forty delegates to the first state con-
vention of the Greenback clubs; and that at a convention of the
Greenback Labor Party that same year 70 Negro clubs were
among the 482 clubs represented.
"But," asked Watson, "does the Northern Farmers Alliance
admit Negroes?"
“Yes,” said Doyle, “although of course there are comparatively
few Negro farmers in the North. But the Southern Alliance early
became interested in the organization of Negro farmers, and in
1886 the Colored Farmers National Alliance was formed in Hous-
ton, Texas. A white Baptist missionary became its secretary, but
its other officials were Negroes."


The Vision of Sebastian Doyle
169
a senat one fly;
and er wanted
“How many members are there today in the Colored Farmers
Alliance?” asked Watson. He was astonished to know that the
membership was nearly a million and a quarter and that already
cooperative exchanges had been started in five southern cities.
Moreover, at the Ocala meeting two Negroes, representing the
Colored Alliance, had been made members of a Standing Commit-
tee in the Southern Alliance, and a column of news about the
Colored Alliance was published weekly in their regular organ.
In the election of 1890 Watson was swept back to Congress by
the triumphant Farmers Alliance; the Alliance won six out of the
ten congressional districts of the state, controlled the state conven-
tion, chose the governor, and elected three-fourths of the members
of the legislature. There was, however, one fly in the ointment. It
was necessary that year to elect a senator to succeed the notorious
Joe Brown. Gordon wanted to go back to the Senate; Grady
groomed him, and even Watson finally gave him his support to
avoid supporting the grandson of John C. Calhoun who was a
railway attorney.
That year the meeting of the Farmers Alliance at Ocala, Florida,
turned decisively away from the Democrats toward a Third Party
movement; and the following year the Third Party was launched
at a Cincinnati meeting. All over the south and west the Farmers
Alliance and the Populist movement was victorious. It looked as
though they might sweep the country in 1892.
The Colored Alliance began to establish schools and academies,
but as Doyle was free to acknowledge, there were some differences
cropping out between whites and blacks. The Colored Alliance, for
instance, backed the Force Bill, which the white Southern Alliance
opposed. But at the same time it advocated votes for Negroes. The
Colored Alliance in 1891 proposed a strike of cotton pickers which
the Southern Alliance, representing many employing farmers, na-
turally opposed. The strike was not called.
During the meeting in Ocala of both the white Southern Al-
liance and the Colored Alliance, committees for mutual greeting
were appointed; and in Louisiana in 1891 the address for a Third
Party conference went to both colored and white groups; and local
organizations fraternized.
In May, 1891, there was a Third Party convention at which the
Southern Alliance, the Colored Alliance and other alliances, to-
gether with the Knights of Labor and others met. Color segregation
was defeated overwhelmingly, and when Confederate and Union
veterans clasped hands a Negro delegate stood with them.


170
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
In Congress Watson bolted the Democratic party and openly
sided with the Populists and the leaders of the St. Louis conven-
tion. Doyle pointed out to Watson this growth of understanding
between white and black. He emphasized the growth of Negroes
in education and general intelligence. He offered his own services
in Watson's campaign. Watson was attracted. He had never been
thrown with a Negro who was his intellectual equal if not his su-
perior, with ideals that were essentially the same. They sought the
company of each other and Doyle threw himself into the campaign.
His help, however, was with advice, and he seldom appeared
as a speaker. Watson had thought it was not yet time openly to
ask for the Negro vote in 1890, although at Doyle's suggestion his
statements became increasingly bold and clear. Watson's triumph
in the campaign of 1890 had been complete, not only in his district
but in the state. Doyle now counselled open effort to attract the
Negro vote in the future, and complete union with the labor vote
of the nation.
Doyle knew that laborers in other lands were getting leadership.
It had been long incubating among the thinkers of Europe. Plans,
elaborate, sometimes utopian but often practical, had developed.
Gabon meinem "coprinted in Prachua vauha ido per
Revolution had been attempted, and in many ways the idea of
independent, self-defending workers emancipated from grinding
poverty, had spread. In America came the growth of the Green-
back and the People's Party, now strengthened by the sending of
Tom Watson to Congress from a state where the Farmers Alliance
had triumphed. This and Watson's career in Congress brought the
critical fight between labor control and reaction into the open.
Doyle's advice was for Watson to make an out and out bid for the
Negro vote. If the rest of the South followed his lead and they
undoubtedly would, a tremendous victory would be gained. The
Negro would gain an undisputed place in the political picture as
partner in the labor upsurge.
Watson took a stand in 1891: “Now the People's Party says to
the white man and the black, 'You are kept apart that you may
be separately fleeced of your earnings. You are made to hate each
other because upon that hatred is rested the keystone of the arch of
financial despotism which enslaves you both. You are deceived and
blinded that you may not see how this race antagonism perpetuates
a monetary system which beggars both!'”.
There were undoubtedly difficulties which Doyle and Watson
both realized. The Negro vote, being the vote of workers earning


The Vision of Sebastian Doyle
171
vas inevitableru and wide appeace poor N
here. Biking and te and
hope tess law
low wages, with some semi-paupers, was in part purchasable. Ne-
groes would be herded to the polls in droves and voted by the
reactionaries. Other Negroes would be driven away by force and
fear. This was inevitable but Doyle argued that reliance on Right
and Courage, full publicity and wide appeal would offset this largely.
Watson not only feared that the average poor Negro would sell
his vote, but that force and deliberate fraud to suppress any vote
would be undertaken. But the die was cast, and Watson was now
leading the Third Party movement in the South. His confederate,
Doyle, was seeking to unite the white and black workers against
the industrialists; to give the black worker the vote and political
office; to give him protection against lynching and the chain gang.
There was double difficulty here. Big Business itself in the
South would suffer unless law and order prevailed. The white
South could not hope to continue to win elections by force and
fraud. But now the crisis was on them. Unless the Negro vote was
legally disfranchised, the united white and black vote might be
victorious over Big Business. This was a real danger.
Even the die-hard Rebels were out of line and attacking the
North. “The Great Barbecue invited a second generation of Car-
pet-baggers as Northern business men invading the South in search
of profits.”
Watson started with furious energy to organize the white farm-
ers and show them how the cheating and false promise of the '80's
had brought them only increased subjection of labor to corporate
wealth. Doyle supplemented this by cooperating with the Colored
Farmers Alliance. Watson and Doyle both attacked lynching; they
denounced the Ku Klux; they demanded the abolition of the con-
vict lease system which was the modern slave trade.
Negroes, led by Doyle, became prominent organizers of the new
Third Party. He demanded Negro education and praised the black
King Lobengula then fighting Cecil Rhodes and the British grip
on Africa. The few Negro members of the legislature exposed the
abuse of Negroes in the newly developing coal mines in the Bir-
mingham district. The white workers pledged themselves to protect
Negro rights.
Doyle risked his life in the campaign of 1892, beginning late in
1891. He offered his own services, and against the advice of his
bishop practically gave up his church work for three months to
take part in the campaign. He made 63 speeches for Watson. Fifteen
Negroes were killed, but increasing numbers of them worshipped
Watson.


The Vision of Sebastian Doyle
173
political meeting arose and made a hat Negroes had
Scroggs stared at him in surprise. “But they're ‘niggers,'” he
said.
“Doesn't make any difference what they are; put that stuff
back and get out of here."
From that time Scroggs realized that certain whites were still
teaming up with the Negroes as they had in slavery times. He could
not understand. Scroggs, living near Tom Watson's home town of
Thomson, soon was attracted by him. He seemed a fellow-sufferer
of the right sort, and Scroggs began to attend meetings of the
Farmers Alliance, especially when the price of jute bagging went
up on account of the St. Louis combine. He wildly applauded the
proposal of a boycott.
In quest for a job he had once crossed the Carolina border and
attended a political meeting presided over by a big, middle-
aged, one-eyed man. Someone arose and made a plea for inviting
Negroes into the Alliance. He tried to point out that Negroes had
to work for low wages or starve; that if black and white labor stood
together in union-. He got no further, for Ben Tillman, presid-
ing, suddenly became a profane monster who almost leaped down
the speaker's throat.
“We want nothing to do with 'niggers,' ” he yelled. “We don't
recognize them as men. We are going to keep them on the farms
where they belong at the wages they are worth. We are going to
kill and lynch them if they dare to look at our women. We want
union, yes, but union among white men, not with black. There
can be no union between white and black. Negroes must be dis-
franchised; they must be kept in their places. They are the servants
of the whites, the Bible says so!”
This was but one of his bitter tirades, and they greatly im-
pressed Scroggs. With his meeting with Tillman Scroggs' outlook
upon life began to change. He talked with the rough upstate leader
and Tillman warned him. He told Tillman how disappointed he
was with his own poor white friends and associates.
"The mistake you fools are making," growled Tillman, "is in
trying to destroy the aristocracy. That ain't what you've got to do.
You've got to take its place; and that means that everybody can't
rule, everybody can't become an aristocrat; they ain't fit; only a
few. You and me can break a way into this closed circle and let the
others take their chances. Some of the whites will never get up;
but above all, ‘niggers' must have no chance; they must be kept
down under the feet of all whites."
Scroggs mentioned Watson but Tillman scoffed. “Watson is a


174
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
going aristocrats, now what yight and": That ain and shuts him
sulky coward; he gets beat and then runs home and shuts himself
up to spin theories and write poetry. That ain't no way to lick
this game. You've got to fight and then fight some more; and
you've got to know what you are fighting for. I am going to lick
these aristocrats, but I am not going to drive them out. I am just
going to take my place beside them. I am going to be elected
governor of the state.”
Scroggs almost laughed but didn't dare because Tillman was
glaring at him with his one eye. "Remember," Tillman admonished
him, "some of us are going to climb to the top, but we ain't going
to tear away that top. We want it for ourselves!”
Tillman was cool toward organizing farmers' alliances. He said
it was an idea from the North and thus suspect.
When the election of 1890 swept Watson into Congress Scroggs
attended a rally to celebrate the triumph of Watson and the small
white farmer. In the crowd he was astonished to recognize Tillman,
governor-elect of South Carolina, but evidently unknown to most
of the crowd. Scroggs had jostled the big, rough, one-eyed farmer
and both bristled, ready for a fight, when Tillman grinned and held
out his hand, at the same time warning Scroggs not to disclose his
identity.
Then he growled: “What the hell are you celebrating?"
"The victory of Watson and the people," answered Scroggs
truculently, remembering that Tillman was a big landholder and
not sympathetic with Watson.
"You mean Watson and his ‘niggers.'”
"He might as well buy up the ‘nigger' vote as the landholders."
"Hell, he ain't buying-he's selling us to the darkies. Treating
'em equal. First thing you know if this goes on your sister will be
marrying a 'nigger.''
Scroggs was impressed by the “us” and alarmed by the unthink-
able prospect. “Don't believe it,” he asserted vehemently.
“Look,” said Tillman, pointing to the platform where a young
Negro was starting to address the throng. Scroggs was appalled;
he turned away.
"If that there 'nigger stays about here," he muttered, “he'll get
lynched.”
Tillman smiled. "What's your name? Scroggs? Oh yes. Well,
Scroggs, listen. I'm a poor white like you. One of these days I'm
going to take the vote away from ‘niggers” 'legal'; Mississippi will
lead off and the South will follow. Then I'm going to the United
States Senate and see that Southern whites rule this nation from


The Vision of Sebastian Doyle
175
nathe Negro C. his hate be white; tlord it on
now on. Already we've made the Supreme Court say that 'niggers'
ain't got no rights! Stick around! Get your buddies; lynch that
'nigger, Doyle!"
Scroggs stared at him. “I don't believe you," he gasped. But from
this moment Scroggs began to waver from Watson and Populism
toward Tillman. Especially was he incensed at the phenomenon
which Doyle, the Negro companion of Watson, represented. If he
hated Negroes in general, his hate of educated Negroes was em-
phasized by fear. They wanted to be white; they talked white.
Once they got a chance they would be white, lord it over poor
whites and marry their sisters. It must never happen. This Doyle
must be lynched!
It was Scroggs who led the mob to lynch Doyle late in October,
1891. It was a night never to be forgotten. The moon was full, the
magnolias scented the world, and the slow, sullen river ran like
blood to the sea. On the platform in the center of a vast throng
stood the tall, handsome mulatto, on whose winged words a host
of armed whites and Negroes listened breathlessly. Beside him
stood little Tom Watson, red-haired and scrawny.
Scroggs marshalled his mob of a thousand armed men silently
back in the shadow of the moss-dripped trees. Suddenly his men
let out the shrill Rebel yell and started forward cursing, with guns
waving. Just as suddenly an answering yell shrieked up from the
listening throng; guns glistened and clicked and horsemen whirled
and then stopped. Then came a dead silence; an awful silence that
held death in a breath. One heard a nightingale singing.
Scroggs was appalled. This crowd was ready to fight for a "nig-
ger"; they were ready to kill. Slowly, slowly, Scroggs paused and
lowered his gun, glanced at his followers and began to move back-
ward. Then, without a sound they all turned, disappeared and
rode wildly homeward.
Scroggs that night saw an awful vision: black and white labor
united and black equal to white. It must never happen. He would
starve first. He would surrender to landlord or Yankee rather
than see a Negro considered his equal. Two nights the crowd
remained on guard. Nothing like this had ever happened in the
South. It was revolution. It was culmination of what Abraham
Lincoln started.
Labor, North and South, was out of hand and even revolu-
tionary. Its radicalism was at the point of ignoring and forgetting
race hate, one of the strongest of human motives. Men talked in
club and family circle; in Church and in the secret societies which
nd then stoppen guns glistened swering yell shriekesing, with guns
Scroges in a breath. Came a dead sileed and horser


176
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
south rose " white propa io a Thira, ous way to
in the South rose from solemn mummery to become carefully cal-
culated centers of white propaganda and action.
The South said: The trend to a Third Party must be stopped
by splitting the labor movement. The obvious way to do this was
by using the “natural and doubtless God-given difference of race"
in the laboring class to keep them separated. Race difference must
be emphasized and enforced by law. This, pleaded Science, was in
the long run legitimate and would lead to the best human stock;
this, argued Religion, is not hate and suppression but recognition
of the “divine purpose” in history.
In 1890 Populism had swept the South. In Georgia, Alabama,
Mississippi, Louisiana and Texas it had received the majority of
votes. But only in Georgia had the Populists gained actual control.
In other states they were counted out by cheating, violence and
fraud. But the situation was now ominous and the South girded
itself for the next election. The West watched.
Reaction and race hate in Georgia wheeled into line. Watson's
congressional district 'in the campaign of 1891 preliminary to the
1892 election was quietly gerrymandered by cutting off a strong Ne-
gro district. Campaign funds poured in even from corporations in
New York. Voters were threatened, intimidated, assaulted and at
least fifteen Negroes were killed outright. At the polls votes were
openly bought, forced and stolen. Watson said, “It was almost a
miracle that I was not killed.” The governor of the state added that
he ought to have been killed. The newspapers cried, “Watson has
gone mad.” “The South is threatened with anarchy and Com-
munism."
Thus the Georgia election of 1892 proved a farce, with terror,
fraud, corruption and trickery. Federal supervisors under United
States marshals attended the election in Augusta but could not
prevent repeatings, bribery, ballot-box stuffing, voting of minors
and intimidation. Negro plantation hands and laborers were hauled
to town in wagon loads that were brought across from South Caro-
lina and voted. They were paid 'in whiskey and cash. The total
vote in Augusta was double the number of legal voters.
· Watson and Doyle had campaigned in 37 counties and addressed
hundreds of thousands of people. His “People's Party Paper" stood
in circulation second only to the Atlanta Constitution. Still, offi-
cially he was declared defeated, on the face of the returns. A delega-
tion marched 35 miles from Augusta to Watson's home and raised
money to finance a contest in the House of Representatives. Watson
announced that he would carry on the Third Party fight. "I am
Watson and Dusands of peoplene Atlanta Constireturns. A delegad


The Vision of Sebastian Doyle
177
determined never to give it up as long as I livel"
His contest of the election, however, was not allowed to come
up until the second session of Congress and then, for the first time
in history he, as contestant, was not allowed to speak in his own
behalf. The report was a complete whitewash and declared that the
committee in charge of the election "were the very first citizens of
Georgia and were representing every business and profession, and
were all men of the highest character, none higher.”
In 1893 came Panic. Banks failed, money disappeared, factories
closed, unemployment spread. The prices of farm produce con-
tinued to fall and hunger and misery were more widespread in
the South than even in 1873. Yet there was a Democratic president
in the White House. The next year was called the “Terrible Year
of American History." The Depression persisted, with strikes, bru-
tality and distress. Coxey's Army of the Hopeless marched on Wash-
ington. Men were reading “Looking Backward” and “Wealth vs.
Commonwealth.” The President sent troops to break a Chicago
strike and put Eugene Debs in jail.
Revolt was in the air and nothing but stern counter-revolution-
ary measures could prevent the triumph of the Populist Party
throughout the nation in the fall of 1894. Again the Populists
won. They doubled their vote in Georgia; they increased it 40% in
the nation. They carried the whole southern South. Yet they lost.
They lost again by fraud and force; by deliberate overthrow of the
democratic process, by giving to the minority nominees offices
which they did not win.
Watson had run in the ioth District of Georgia. But he faced a
new “registration law.” Watson carried nine counties and his op-
ponent carried two. But in those two was the city of Augusta. There,
with only 11,000 voters, Black, who ran against Watson, got a
majority of 14,000. Black was declared elected. The cry of fraud
was so loud that he resigned there months later and a special elec-
tion was staged. When it came in 1895 Black, now for "Free Silver"
and helped by an outrageous primary registration law, won again.
For a third time Watson was officially defeated. But he cried:
“Discouraged? Boshl Let the fight of 1896 begin now!” Watson
gave up the hopeless struggle in Georgia and looked toward na-
tional recognition. The Populist Party stood for government own-
ership of railroads and other national utilities; for an income tax;
against Federal suppression of strikes; against imperial expansion
in Hawaii and Venezuela and for cheap money not dependent on
the Gold Monopoly.
ponent Caistration law.", the 10th Distric


178
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
The silver barons in Western rotten boroughs bought control of
the Democratic party and sought to stop Populist socialism by ad-
vocating “Free Silver.” They nominated Bryan, a political orator
who ranted over Free Silver but about little else among the mea-
sures which the Populists favored. With him they named a rich
railroad man from Maine. The Republicans, with the help of Mark
Hanna, nominated a smooth-faced politician ready to take orders,
and they poured money into a campaign aimed at warning the
rich, the comfortable and the respectable.
The Populists, meeting last, were asked and subtly cajoled into
accepting Bryan. The forces of Populism rallied for a final effort,
and 1400 delegates met in St. Louis. Watson acted coy; he not
only did not attend the convention but kept out of all direct touch.
Yet the leaderless crowd first nominated him unanimously as Vice-
President, and then accepted Bryan on condition that the Demo
crats accept Watson and Populist Socialism. This the Democrats
dared not do and thus lost nine-tenths of the Populist two million
votes.
Too late Watson tried to retrieve his ill-advised absence and re-
gain support in the West. He demanded government ownership of
railroads and other public interests; control of trusts; an entirely
new system of money and credit; and finally remembering Doyle:
“A ballot free from corruption, and political rights for Negroes.”
He added that there "was never a greater unrest than that which
stirs the masses today,” and that "free silver" was too easy an
answer.
But South and West could not mix. There were fundamental
differences that made this impossible and they stemmed from Negro
slavery. Even with slavery partially abolished, slave labor in the
South with low wage or none at all persisted; no Democracy could
thrive on ignorance, and the South, black and white, had few and
poor schools; and post-war lawlessness, built on "white" supremacy,
had become endemic.
In the West, on the contrary, there had developed a democracy
based on landowning farmers of essentially equal social status, with
good schools. Industry, organized and becoming monopolized,
united its efforts and descended on South and West. In the South
it was opposed by the attempt to unite labor and small farmers.
But labor was split by the Color Line and the small farmer was
dominated by the big planter. There was no real union there. In
the West united farmers beat the banks and railroads but the
mining corporations tempted them with “cheap money."
vith low"ich slavery mpossible and there were fur


The Vision of Sebastian Doyle
179
Watson was beaten, Bryan was beaten, Socialism was buried,
and triumphant organized private industry won the election and
rushed into Colonial Imperialism through the Spanish-American
War. So Revolution failed. So Tom Watson went mad. After 1896
he said:
“Politically I was ruined. Financially I was flat on my back.
How near I came to loss of mind only God knows. I was as near
distraction as any mortal could safely be."
Ten years he hid, scribbled and brooded. Then he roared,
raving, into the Atlanta Riot and the fury and flame of the San
Francisco Earthquake.
Sebastian Doyle faded into silence after the campaign of 1892.
He had planted the seed. He had given all his strength and risked
his life career. His own people distrusted his breach with the Re-
publican Party and his alliance with Democrats and poor whites.
He faced his church conference, deficient in his report on dollar
money on which the church lived. His Bishop scowled and growled.
"Son, this is a bad report, and our church in Augusta still
needs a new building. I ought to send you to the woods. But
you're a good preacher and mean well. So see here: drop politics.
Preach Christ crucified and raise money. I'm sending you to
Alabama.”
Doyle could not rebel. He had a young family. He knew no
other work. He bowed his head and went west. Ten years he aroused
growing congregations to fervent prayer for the Grace of God and
new church buildings. Then a tubercle bacillus crept into his golden
voice. Ten more laggard years he fought back its ravages in ever
failing effort; until discouraged and forgotten, he died in Texas
where the Farmers Alliance had been born.


Chapter XI
MANUEL GRADUATES
Manuel missed his mother more than he thought he would.
She was not talkative nor widely informed. But she took care of
him, gave him much from her store of experience, and above all
listened to him. After her death he missed the intimacy of a home
and began to dream of one of his own. Life in the men's dormitory
was pleasant but not satisfying. He began in his sophomore year
to talk of his plans and dreams to Susan Sanders, a student in the
Normal School, as the large high school conducted by the Uni-
versity was called. Just why he chose Susan it was hard to say.
In some unconscious memory of his mother's attitude, he avoided
the prettier girls with tawny skins and flowing hair. He feared they
might not care for a man so dark as he. For the students' ideals not
only of dress and behavior but of beauty were based on the judge-
ment of the white world. To them a light skin and straight hair
must be beautiful because whites thought so. In unconscious sub-
mission to this judgment, both Manuel and the student body
thought Manuel ugly.
Susan was a small brown girl from Savannah. She was timid and
retiring and it was easy to find her sitting apart and alone at the
social gatherings. By chance more than choice they found them-
selves often talking together and finding common ground in crit-
icism of erratic and unpleasant conduct on the part of fellow
students and teachers. They were among the first to note the at-
traction of President Sheldon's daughter to the brilliant and
rather nice young Tommy Hendricks, whose colored blood had
not reached his sandy hair. They saw how her brother John resented
this, for they resented it, too.
But the interest of Manuel in Susan was not confined to atti-
tudes toward others. He noticed how smooth and unblemished
was her dark skin; how her hair crinkled prettily on her neck
and how she listened to what he said and dreamed. Manuel felt
very grown and manly to see her depend on him for company and
advice.
180


Manuel Graduates
181
Since the average age of these colored college students was rather
higher than among northern white students, engagements were
more common as graduation approached. So during his junior
year, almost without conscious decision on their own part, the
student body regarded Manuel and Susan as engaged and they
accepted public opinion. They became formally engaged in the
Spring by means of an engagement ring which left Manuel almost
penniless, and worried him because of his debt to the University
for unpaid board and tuition.
Just before Commencement in 1897, President Sheldon asked
Manuel to go north for the summer in charge of the College Quar-
tet. The former manager had got a job and married. Manuel was
to arrange concerts and make the collection speeches as was the
custom. This was one of the many ways to which the college turned
to make ends meet. It yielded something in cash but more in
publicity; for summer vacationists loved the Negro folk songs and
were willing in turn to hear about conditions in the South.
For Manuel, also, this was a path to the future. He would work
this summer, pay his debts and then during his senior year look
for a job teaching. Susan expected that her family would main-
tain her in school until her graduation in 1898. Then they would
both get jobs and as soon as possible get married. Manuel went
north with high hopes. He had never before been out of the South.
He now had double incentive.
The white president of Atlanta University was in serious trouble
about funds to keep the school running. Poverty for an individual
is understandable. There is, however, something mystic and pecu-
liarly appalling in the poverty of an institution; it is more than
the poverty of an individual or even of a large family. It is a huge
and perpetually recurring burden which can be shifted only by
miracle and that miracle usually assumes the guise of a very rich
and benevolent man.
President Sheldon, tall, white-bearded, anemic and devoted to
great causes, came South during the War. He was unwilling to
enlist as a soldier but eager to work and he found in educating
Negroes an ideal task. He gathered them in old and drafty army
barracks, in rickety church basements; at last in a fine new build-
ing which the Freedmen's Bureau furnished out of unclaimed
bounty money due dead or missing Negro soldiers. Finally, after
the death of the founder, he came to Atlanta University.
His dream was of schools supported by the new state, in which
whites and Negroes shared in government. He was not bothered by
all,


182
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
what seemed to him the purely academic question as to whether
the schools would be open to all or separated by race. In time, of
course, the schools must be biracial, because anything else would
be fatally costly.
Then his plans were changed by the necessity of having more
and more and better trained teachers. For a while war enthusiasm,
adventure, “The coming of the Lord,” furnished a flow of fairly
good Northern teachers, mostly women forced to celibacy by the
bloody toil of war and the waste of savings and property in organ-
ized destruction. But as this stream began to dry up because of
postwar prosperity, so too, simultaneously, the demand for teach-
ers in Negro schools increased enormously. Such teachers must be
trained, and well-trained. The need of teachers of highest and
most careful training was greater in the South and among Negroes
than in the North among whites, where social environment fur-
nished much that the school need not attempt. Thus Sheldon's
school became a “University' in ideal and forced purpose before
there was any provision for its rapidly increasing costs.
The disfranchisement of the Negro, therefore, which to the
Southern whites seemed absolutely necessary to quick reconstruc-
tion of their disrupted economy, and to the charitable North an
unimportant, postponed ideal of some far-off democracy, was to
President Sheldon the destruction of the foundation of Negro
Education. So long as the blacks had the power to make the state
support schools for them, charity was temporary. But if Negroes
lost all control over public moneys, became a disfranchised working
class with starvation wages, whence was support for their schools
to come? Not only for public elementary schools but even more,
support for the higher schools on which the lower must depend?
Therefore, between the Southern devil of disfranchisement and
the deep Northern sea of profitable investment, the cause of Negro
education began to suffer grievously. Not only did the new South-
ern masters begin a campaign to curtail and starve Negro schools,
but the Northern supply of Missionary funds for higher Negro
education also began to fail. Once the thrill of war had passed and
the victory won in the Southern United States, the lure of mis-
sionary effort in Asia, Africa and the South Seas began to make
larger drafts on imagination and charity. Wealthy church officials
of the North who were also investors in Southern industries could
not see why the South should not now support its own schools, and
were disposed to argue that the white South knew better how to


Manuel Graduates
183
d liked him peess and bidding lang John to
educate its workers than the white North.
Men like President Sheldon of Atlanta University were there-
fore in an increasingly difficult position. He had to spend more and
more of his time begging funds in the North. Student singers, carry-
ing on the fame of the earlier celebrated Fisk singers who spread
Negro music across the world, were used to help this begging
campaign.
Sheldon too, in this work, was compelled to assume an attitude
antagonistic to the new Southern leadership which increasingly
had the ears of the rich and powerful. After Henry Grady spoke
in New York in 1886 the reception given President Sheldon, as he
wearily passed the hat in Northern churches and especially among
business men, became distinctly chilly. Was it not time that "free
and equal" Negroes supported themselves and their institutions?
Old John Pierce was especially annoyed when his secretary
brought in President Sheldon's card in 1895. Here it was again!
“University' for lazy Negroes to toast their heels in. He knew
Sheldon and liked him personally. But Negro education, so-called,
was encroaching on business and bidding fair to get in the way of
sectional understanding. He must ask Young John to talk frankly
to Sheldon and either pound sense into his head or withdraw his
support. So he put Sheldon off with a smaller contribution than
usual and referred him to Young John who now lived in Atlanta
and was better situated to judge of his southern charities.
It was not until after the election of 1896 that Young John
Pierce, now quite at home in Atlanta, was approached by
President Sheldon and reminded of the talk on Negro education
which Old John Pierce wanted him to hold. He got hold of some
general data concerning Atlanta University and had another talk
with Old Doctor Baldwin. Baldwin was now 76 but still hearty
and intellectually alert. He spent much of his time with his wife
and son in Atlanta, rather to their annoyance.
John Pierce and his wife were often guests of Betty Lou and it
was easy-indeed hard to avoid-having talks with the old presi-
dent. He strongly advised conference with President Sheldon. He
thought the colored school promising, in the sense that Negro
students could be found capable of the highest training; but natu-
rally it would be silly to develop two systems of universities, one
for whites and one for Negroes. Eventually there must be one sys-
tem open to all.
Eventually-perhaps; but what now?


184
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
Dr. Baldwin had no ready answer, and so John Pierce went out
and talked with President Sheldon. His own feeling was that the
urgency for providing university training was not pressing. He
put this before President Sheldon. The result of the interview
was unpleasant for both men. Pierce's arguments were not so over-
whelming as they had appeared to him before the talk.
"You can't begin with colleges," he said. “Primary schools, work-
shops,-even kitchens and backyards is where children must begin,
and Negroes are children.”
"And who will teach even children? The ignorant cannot be
entirely self-taught," retorted Sheldon.
"Of course not. There must be some teachers, of course; but
they don't need to be Ph.D's.”
"Except to teach the teachers. That is a high calling and needs
the best preparation."
Pierce referred to the great Northern universities, but realized
as he was speaking that their white graduates could not be tempted
South either by salaries or social conditions. No, there must be a
few Negro colleges,
Sheldon then asked: “Mr. Pierce, have you visited a Negro col-
lege and examined its work? Why not join our Board of Trustees
and come to understand and help direct our program?"
That seemed reasonable; yes, it was a good idea. He glanced at
the catalog and noticed the names of several well-known Northern
business men among the Atlanta University trustees. Why not add
to these some prominent Southerners? Well, he was a Southerner
now. He could persuade others.
“Very well, President Sheldon, I'll join and I'll bring in others."
His check was smaller than President Sheldon had hoped for,
and his allusion to "others” was ominous. But the President was
encouraged. Pierce took his trusteeship seriously, since he proposed
to make it fit in with larger and pressing plans of his own. He
unexpectedly appeared at Atlanta University at the Trustee Meet-
ing called at Commencement in 1897. He found himself almost the
only trustee present from out of town. Northern trustees usually
did not bother to attend these meetings.
He gave the University a thorough inspection and the President
gladly gave him every facility. Secretly, behind his detached gravity,
he was hanging breathlessly on this inspection. He hoped that this
might be the turning point and that from this visit the long awaited
endowment might come.
Ver check was to oth his try
I'll join
Pierce to other than


Manuel Graduates
185
hall bintution oth gror
Pierce was both gratified and astonished at his inspection.
The institution was honestly and efficiently run on a surprisingly
small budget. The college students were of good quality, few in
number and probably with much less background of training than
similar Northern students; and older in years and experience,
which had advantages and disadvantages. But their future looked
to Pierce uncertain. They ought to be trained to become good
artisans, small merchants and intelligent farmers. They were, on
the contrary, aiming to be teachers, preachers, physicians and law-
yers. The reason was obvious: teaching and the professions offered
immediate jobs in their own group. But for the South as a whole
this was crazy. This was building for a divided world, with a
Black World organized with few producers, and a dominant White
World with unlimited demand for consumption and yet not using
its chief mass of producers. It was fantastic. This must be changed
forthwith.
But one other thing which astonished and affronted Pierce was
to see a white boy among these colored students. He was the son
of the President and he was a very unhappy boy. John Sheldon,
then 16, had grown to dislike Negroes because they hung like a
weight around his neck. He had been thrown with them all his life,
having been born on the campus. At first he had his friends and
playmates among them in a perfectly normal way. Then he became
conscious of the surrounding white world and understood what
it thought of Negroes and of those who associated with them.
For a short time he and his younger sister, Henrietta, had been
sent to the white public elementary school. As soon as teachers
and pupils learned who they were the persecution and personal
mistreatment became unendurable. It was in vain that President
Sheldon intervened, argued and pleaded; the children simply had
to be withdrawn. They were entered in the grade school attached
to the Negro university.
This the President thought was the best thing to do; he had
only tried the public schools on account of the principle involved.
Henrietta got on well in the colored school. She liked the colored
children and after a period of stiffness they liked her. Indeed, as
the age of puberty approached, the President's wife noticed with
something like horror that Henrietta was in serious danger of fall-
ing in love with a classmate, a beautiful, sandy-haired boy, Tommy
Hendrick; white, but “colored” in southern phrase, but as un-
conscious of race as Henrietta.


186
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
If the parents could have looked at the matter impartially they
would have seen only the natural result of youthful contact. But
even the President was frightened when he realized what a love
episode between a colored student and his own daughter might do,
not only to Negro education but to the whole race problem. It had
been a stock belief in the South that racial coeducation meant mis-
cegenation. So quietly the next term Henrietta was left in Massa-
chusetts and the Atlanta home was broken.
The lonesome brother bitterly resented this. He put the blame
on the Negroes and picked quarrels with the innocent and unsus-
pecting Tommy, who liked John as he had liked Henrietta. For a
time he avoided John or yielded to his surly treatment; then he
got tired, thrashed John thoroughly and got himself expelled from
school. This increased rather than diminished John's bitter distaste
for his situation.
The poor President was at his wit's end. Not only was Henrietta
exiled from home, but although he wanted to send John away to
college he simply could not afford to. He welcomed Pierce's crit-
icism and met it frankly. But he would not yield the principle:
"I maintain that a white child can be educated alongside a black
with mutual advantage.”
"Do you advocate mixed schools in the South?”
“Yes, in the South and in the North; in all the world; humanity
is one and should in its earliest years be made to realize this.”
"You know it would lead to intermixture of race-I hear that
you feared this in the case of your daughter."
“That is true. Possibly-probably, I was unduly alarmed, and
I was not free to take any chances of a happening which would
ruin my work here and hurt the Negro race. I still maintain that
occasional intermarriage, probably rare in the present feeling about
race difference, would be better and wiser than cultivation of race
hate as necessary and God-given.”
“So you are keeping your boy here to prove your theories?”
“No, I'm keeping him here because I cannot help myself. I do
not earn enough to send him away to college, and I'm afraid to
turn him into the world without education. He is not at fault. In
his environment he was almost compelled to breathe in race hate.
He feels himself a victim. I am almost in despair.”
John Pierce regarded him with mingled contempt and sym-
pathy. “I'll send him to college,” he said briefly.
President Sheldon would have given a fortune to have been able
1 intermere and hurt Chances of a Was unduly ala


Manuel Graduates
187
to refuse this offer. But he thanked the philanthropist humbly.
John Pierce now had a brilliant idea due to an encounter he
made just as he was leaving the President's office. Manuel Mansart
was about to enter for a last interview before departing with the
quartet. Manuel courteously stood aside, but the President saw
him.
“Oh, Manuel, I want you to meet one of our new trustees. Mr.
Pierce, this is Manuel Mansart who is now a junior. He is going
north this summer to take charge of our quartet."
“Glad to meet you, Mansart. Walk with me to the gate.”
They sauntered together across the green lawn, with ivy-covered
Livingstone Hall behind; past the boulder over the grave of the
Founder. Pierce paused.
"- that we, our children and our children's children might be
blessed," read Pierce thoughtfully, as Manuel watched him. This
was to him a new specimen. He knew Southern whites and North-
ern missionaries. But Northern business men? He cloaked his soul
in caution.
"That's an idea," said Pierce. “We seem all to be in this to-
gether.” An idea sprouted in his mind. He was going to Princeton
for a class reunion and taking along his boy of sixteen, John Pierce
III. John would enter Princeton in the Fall. He was a rather un-
certain, erratic young man. His father wanted to guide him. John
Sheldon, the President's son, could also come with them and try
to enter Princeton next year. He had just been talking to Betty
Lou whose son, John Breckinridge Du Bignon Baldwin, was al-
ready at the Hun School near Princeton. How would it do->
“Say, Mansart, could you bring your quartet to Princeton?"
"Why, yes, Sir, I think so."
"You see, the Princeton commencement will not take place for
nearly a month in late June.”
"Oh yes Sir, we'd be glad to come.”
They talked further. Pierce liked Mansart. Manuel was puzzled
at Pierce. Pierce thought it would be both interesting to him and
enlightening to the three young men to meet Manuel Mansart. He
put the matter before his own son as they rode north. The boy was
enthusiastic.
“By Jovel That'll be capital. Three Johns and Feirefiz!”
"Who?"
John did not enlighten him but rushed to find young Baldwin.
"Say, I got another Georgia boy, Sheldon, coming. And with


188
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
him, a darky! My father is a trustee of his school and has sent him
here in my care. He's got a quartet or something and is raising
money for the school. Let's give him a lift. What do you say? I'm
having him in my diggings after his concert. He is older than we
are and a college senior, but let's give him a good time.”
Baldwin evinced no great enthusiasm but promised to come.
When Sheldon arrived Pierce invited him, but assumed that since
he was from Atlanta University he knew of Mansart. He therefore
only asked him over after the concert and forgot to add that Man-
sart would be there too.
Thus it was that Manuel Mansart in the Spring of 1897, just
after the May commencement at Atlanta and just before the June
exercises at Princeton, came to town with the Quartet. Princeton is
in many ways an ideal college town. When the noisy, dirty Penn-
sylvania railroad proposed to run its tracks through this nest of
decorous muses, the College rose in its dignity and made it pass
the institution three miles to the east, leaving the village to its quiet
and dreams.
It had long had a famous Theological School where the Pres-
byterians ruled in stiff dignity, but did not hesitate to admit a
colored student now and then. That black John Chavis, teacher of
famous white Carolinians, was trained here in the early 19th cen-
tury, but of course granted no degree. Later, as the slavery con-
troversy waxed, Southerners, avoiding the abolitionism of Uni-
tarian Harvard and the latitudinarian tendencies of Congrega-
tional Yale, began to send their sons to orthodox and reactionary
Presbyterian Princeton which became after the war, in a sense, a
Southern University. No Negro student gained admittance here
for a hundred years after 1840, and Southern gentlemen sent their
sons here with confidence, to sit largely under Southern teachers,
until well into the 20th century.
Manuel steered his quartet along the Jersey shore to Cape May,
Long Branch and Atlantic City. There were the usual difficulties
of finding places for colored boys to stay, and suitable food to eat.
Manuel talked frankly and clearly about the University and the
Negro. He had to answer the usual questions about social equality
and intermarriage. He began to learn to parry pleasantly, without
too much offense, and to accumulate a stock of funny stories,
which were not too funny and went over with only fair success.
The collections were small and Manuel was not altogether happy
when he reached Princeton late in June. He was astonished at the


Manuel Graduates
189
antics of class day. His boys, however, were comfortably housed.
They sang well to a large and generous audience. Then he went
to find Pierce. He suddenly confronted the Three Johns.
They were sitting about relaxed, sipping coffee, when the door
opened and Manuel was ushered in. A stillness fell on the group.
Manuel paused a step within the door, and then stood quite still.
He sensed the tension and knew it was their move. One or two
of the elder Pierce's classmates were present. One whispered: “A
'nigger' from Georgia? What the hell” Others were amused. After
all, Pierce had not infringed etiquette by inviting the fellow to
dinner. What was Mansart going to do? Sing or dance?
But it was the boys that the elder Pierce was watching. Young
Pierce arose quickly.
"Hello,” he said, extending his hand. “You're from Georgia.
Glad to meet you. You know my father. These are some of his
classmates."
Young Baldwin came forward. “I'm from Georgia, too. Glad to
welcome you."
The third John, John Sheldon, sat frozen in his seat as Manuel
appeared. He knew him, of course. They had been in school to-
gether for years,-in a Negro school. Manuel glanced at him but
made no sign of recognition, but Sheldon quickly recovered.
“We know each other," he said.
"You two know each other? But of course, you're from Atlanta."
“And were in school together,” said Sheldon, watching Baldwin.
Baldwin looked puzzled and then realized that Sheldon must have
attended a Negro school. Probably his father was one of those Car-
pet-baggers who taught Negroes. He was startled, but not too
antagonized. He remembered what his father used to say about
these schools and how his mother angrily disputed him and was
sure these schools were spoiling Negroes, while their teachers were
fleecing them and the North. He had never had opportunity to test
these judgments. He was rather glad to talk to a young man of
education who happened to be black.
Pierce was quite delighted and noticed nothing. He shook
cocktails, which Mansart refused and Sheldon touched sparingly.
Pierce started talking.
"Well, how do you like Princeton? Where are you staying?"
"It's a beautiful town; and we got lodging with a nice colored
family."
Pierce realized that no hotel would take him, and had to twist


190
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
his next the differ the concesing:
his next query as to how it felt to be in the North. He saw that
probably the difference was not as great as he was ready to assume.
But he turned to the concert.
"Your fellows certainly sing."
Here Baldwin could chime in: “There is nothing like Negro
music:"wonder," sainere: musica cture fo
"I wonder,” said young Pierce, “if the solution of the race prob-
lem does not lie here: music, art and drama for black folk; gov-
ernment, business and manufacture for whites?"
"I doubt if the South would settle for that,” said Mansart.
“They need labor."
"By George," said Baldwin, "that's just what my mother is
always harping on.”
"It isn't easy to work out. Labor means wages, security, political
power."
"But," said Baldwin, "isn't it better for the upper classes to de-
cide the rate of wage and conditions of work until the workers
are ready and intelligent enough to take responsibility?"
"I don't know about that ‘upper class' business," rejoined the
elder Pierce, touched on a sore point. “I think the owners of in-
dustry should direct it, that's natural,"
There was a pause as heritage and power silently clashed.
Mansart was too discreet to talk further. After all, his task was to
get Pierce to help Atlanta University. Sheldon was silent because
he knew too well what he wanted: money, and he cared not how
it came. If driving Negro workers was the way, he'd drive. But he
devoutly hoped he'd never see another Negro so long as he lived.
But young Pierce was inspired by a new line of thought.
“By God! Mansart,” he said. “You're lucky.” Mansart looked at
him. “See, you've got a job! You've got something you must do
and want to do. Your life work is laid out and it's splendid. I've
never been interested in anything more than a week at a stretch
except liquor and girls. A good football match can get me momen-
tarily wild. But you, Mansart, don't have to play games. You've
got the real thing. Fellows, I wonder if we couldn't join in and help
him. The Three Musketeers to settle the Negro Problem-Boys, is
it a deal?"
But the others discounted Pierce's enthusiasm and laid it par-
tially to liquor. On the other hand, Pierce the father wanted fur-
ther to explore these young minds and especially to draw out the
reluctant Mansart.


Manuel Graduates
191
at Sheldon talks with Bere
She you like to by birth. Not
He said, “It's a big game-worldwide, with the South today in
the center.” He leaned back, lighted a cigar and began to probe:
“Talking about careers for you boys," he began, “Baldwin, I'm
wondering if you wouldn't like to go into politics and help govern
this land, especially the South?”
Baldwin looked interested. “Well, I don't know, Sir. Mother
has been stressing that idea. I think I might like it.”
Pierce smiled and remembered the many talks with Betty Lou
on this matter. Then he glanced at Sheldon. “Sheldon, you're a
Southerner, at least by birth. Now the New South is Industry. How
would you like to go into business?"
Sheldon reddened and answered quickly, “I certainly should
if I could, and by any route.”
Then John turned to his chief worry, his son. But the young
man grinned engagingly and raised a deprecating hand. “Now,
Dad, no tricks;-'never shake thy gory locks at me. We've been
over all that. You've got your politician and Captain of Industry.
Now, I know, you're looking for a banker. No, thank you. Not
interested. Couldn't stick it! But how about a little Literature and
Art?"
"Well, perhaps, if we've got a young Shakespeare about,"
“Never can tell-could be. But you're not going to forget Man-
sart; why not see where he's going to fit in."
The father was a little peeved. He wanted, of course, to bring
in Mansart's role, but as it was in his own mind fairly humble,
he had not decided just how to approach the subject diplomatically.
Then young Baldwin had to blurt it out quite innocently:
“Mansart, doesn't it seem to you that your people might train
yourselves to furnish the South the faithful, skilled labor force
which it will need as it rises to leadership in national and world
industry?"
This, of course, was just what the elder Pierce had wanted to
ask, and he listened eagerly. His son stared and Sheldon closed his
eyes. Mansart glanced at the elder Pierce and saw distinctly above
his head a shadow that resembled Miss Freiburg. Then he looked
directly at Baldwin and said slowly, as if thinking:
"Labor, hard labor, and skilled, is sure going to be needed.
But I'm wondering just what kind of labor I would be allowed to
do, and for whom,” he paused imperceptibly, “and why?"
Young Baldwin looked puzzled; the elder Pierce scowled; but
young Pierce whooped: “Got you, John; what can you say to that?"
ked puzzled; theeptibly, “and wh allowed to


192
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
But John Baldwin made no rejoinder.
They talked again about the concert, and Mansart sang one of
the songs, with Baldwin at the piano: "Walk together, children,
don't you get weary!”
Then he cordially thanked them all and pleading an early
train, left for his lodging. Here a telegram awaited him: Susan
Sanders announced that she was about to marry another man!
It was quite logical. Susan's father had died and there was no
money to pay her way next year in school. She was not so promising
a student as to warrant keeping her without pay. Her depression
had brought on a recurrence of the malaria which she had brought
endemic from the coast of Georgia, and Dr. Henry Jones, a hearty,
big and well-to-do colored physician who successfully attended her,
had persuaded her that she would make an excellent successor to
his wife now dead ten years. The dead wife had seen him through
his early struggles and paid for it with galloping tuberculosis.
He became fatter and more prosperous. He had learned his job.
He wasn't a very good student and his medical art came from the
bedside and not from books, hospitals or journals. He was a super-
nurse, an unconscious psychoanalyst, and an inspiring and jolly
companion; and he got on with the white folks. Especially he got
on with the white folks. Once when he had driven through a busy
intersection with his showy horse and carriage a policeman yelled
at him angrily: "Hey, ‘nigger,' where do you think you're going?"
"Ah'm goin' right back t'other side of that street, Sah, and sit
there twel you tells me to start again,” answered Dr. Jones with
purposefully exaggerated accent and a broad smile.
The policeman guffawed and Jones escaped arrest and fine.
He treated laborers, maids and porters and had them quickly
back to work; he helped in the colored annex to the white hospital
without asking status or recognition as a physician. He elaborately
minded his own business and had, so far as whites were concerned,
no opinions on the race problem. He never dabbled in politics.
Thus he was one of the best liked Negroes in Atlanta, and one of
the richest. He could offer Sarah security, a lovely home and nice
clothes. Of course she did not love him; he was too old and rough
in his ways. But after all, one must live.
There was too another reason which Sarah never voiced even
to herself, but which one of her girl friends blurted out: “Old Jones
is a fool and Mansart is a dear! Pity that Manuel is black and
Jones nearly white. Girl you just can't bring black kids into this


Manuel Graduates
193
world and see them crucified. Yellow kids have a better chance."
Sarah shrank. But the shaft went home and she made up her mind.
She wired and wrote, returning Manuel's modest ring. He could
not desert the quartet and rush right South as he wanted to, but
he wrote daily, making desperate appeals. He was in the depths of
despair, and the President had to advise him not to paint too
pessimistic a picture of the Negro problem to audiences who
wanted at least the possibility of some return for their contribu-
tions.
At last in late September Mansart reached Atlanta and sought
out Susan. She, usually rather phlegmatic, was for her, really exu-
berantly glad to see him. She was working in the dormitory of her
school as maid during the vacation, and sewing rather half-heart-
edly on her trousseau for the October wedding. She wore a dazzling
diamond of which she was, despite circumstances, quite proud. She
had never owned anything half so beautiful. Manuel burst the
rather prim barriers of etiquette in school discipline even in vaca-
tion time, and called on Susan daily. Dr. Jones saw and knew it.
But he discreetly kept absent and for the most part silent. Now
and then he sent flowers and delicious candy. But he did not at-
tempt to argue. He waited.
Mansart talked to Susan. No, of course she did not love Jones.
Ye-es, she had long loved Manuel. But after all, what could she
do? She must live and she did not want to be a servant. She wanted
a pretty home and clothes and good food. Did he blame her? He
did not. And all that she should have. But how? He'd get a job now;
he'd teach school; he'd go North.
Of course poor Susan's defenses were easily beaten down as she
was only too willing they should be. It was at last arranged. Manuel
would finish his senior year, meantime looking for a job. Susan
would return to her home in Savannah, helping her mother and
younger sisters wash clothes for white folk if she could find no bet-
ter employment. Next Commencement they would get married.
So Susan went home, with no opposition from Dr. Jones who
even insisted that she should keep the engagement ring. The year
went slowly. Manuel tried to study; read as widely as time allowed,
but what worried him more than all the clouded writhing of na-
tions was the fact that he had up until April secured no job, no
school to teach, no clerkship, not even an offer in domestic service
that promised a living for two. And Susan's letters were filled with
disappointment bordering on despair.


194
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
The President had tried especially to secure a teaching position
for one of his best students. The public school authorities were get-
ting chary of Atlanta University and her teaching. The city schools
were filled with as many teachers as the city would pay for. The
country schools did not want college graduates and paid little or
nothing at that. Then, late in April there came a chance, due to
young John Baldwin. As he returned from Princeton a year after
the meeting of the three Johns he met Mansart on Mitchell Street
as he emerged from the railway station and was waiting for a cab.
“Hello, Mansart,” called John. His handing his luggage to a
redcap made an offer to shake hands unnecessary, and he was a
little ashamed to be glad of it. But he paused. “How are things?”
“Rather bad;-about to graduate and hunting for a school!”
"Say! We are to have a town school superintendent at dinner
tonight. He wants a teacher. Here, let me talk to him. He lives in
Jerusalem, in the southeast part of the state."
John gave Manuel a good recommendation. He was genuinely
glad to be able to do something. His effort was successful and
Manuel received a letter from the superintendent offering him the
colored school for ten months beginning in July.
Manuel was overjoyed. He wrote Susan immediately asking her
to arrange the wedding in June. He very much wanted her to come
to his graduation in May, but she could not afford it.
Susan was not enthusiastic. She knew the poverty and struggle
ahead. But she was fond of Manuel, and life with love in a cottage,
even a leaky one, had attractions even to her rather prosaic mind.
Moreover, Dr. Jones rather overplayed his hand during Manuel's
absence, and her ingrained stubbornness came to reinforce her in-
clinations. Jones paid several visits to Savannah. But after all, she
was not for sale. The doctor, however, did not press her too far.
He gave her the diamond engagement ring for her own, to her
great joy, and planned to send her a wedding present so as not to
suffer any loss of prestige in the community.
Meantime on April 24th war was declared with Spain over
Cuba. There had already been much discussion in Miss Freiburg's
class over Cuba. In February she called attention to the revolu-
tion in Cuba; she reminded the class of the efforts of the Slave
Power to annex Cuba and its slaves in the fifties; of the Ten Years
War waged by Negroes and Cuban whites against Spain 1868-78,
helped by American filibustering expeditions. Then the Americans


Manuel Graduates
195
invested 50 millions in Cuban sugar and when Cubans under Marti
and the Mulatto, Maceo, revolted in 1895 the United States was
ready to interfere.
Now Manuel proposed to take the Spanish American War as
the subject of his commencement oration. He wrote his essay,
climaxing the heroism of Maceo with the philanthropy of America
the Emancipator.
Miss Freiburg sniffed. “The Sugar Trust,” she said, "does not
deal in philanthropy. And McKinley forgot to tell the Senate that
Spain had surrendered before he demanded war."
Manuel modified his essay but he did not change it much. He
lauded the American army and navy.
Miss Freibun nopy. And McKinsmanded war."
it much. He


Chapter XII
JERUSALEM
It would have been wiser if Manuel had first gone to his new
school, acquainted himself with the situation and then gone back to
marry and bring his bride. But funds were too scarce and Susan
might see reason again to change her mind. So Manuel hurried to
Savannah and went through a breathless marriage ceremony. They
then boarded the dirty "jim-crow” car of the slow local train to
Jerusalem. They arrived in the early afternoon at a small, drear
depot which had almost no accommodations for colored passengers.
Manuel had to leave Susan sitting on a bench of the platform while
he hurried to the office of the Superintendent of Schools.
The Superintendent was in and had several white visitors. He
caught a glimpse of Manuel and swore under his breath. It would
be just like this fool ‘nigger' to burst in on him just as he was
busy with white folk, and to come all dressed in city clothes. God!
But he'd have to learn a lesson if he expected to stay here. He glared
at Mansart as he entered. He looked at the letter Manuel brought
and dropped his eyes. Of course this city darky would be on time
and rush about like a white man. He must be taught his place.
"Wait,” he said curtly, and then began to consult successively
with several white visitors. One complained of a poor teacher; an-
other of the delayed repairs on the white high school building; a
third was impatient at the delay at finding a job for her daughter.
“ 'Niggers' seem to be getting most of the school funds anyway,”
she flung back as she left.
Just as the last white person left and the Superintendent was
shuffling his papers and trying to think just how to phrase the un-
pleasant things he must say to this new colored teacher who was
better dressed and more upstanding than he had hoped, a white
man entered, grasped hands with the superintendent warmly, and
they both laughed, sat down, leaned back and smoked leisurely.
They conversed a half hour until Manuel, who had been standing,
ventured:
"Perhaps, Sir, I'd better return when you have more time?”
en begana of a poobl buildir
196


Jerusalem
197
The Superintendent scowled and growled, “Wait!"
The visitor started to arise. “Don't let me keep you, I had noth-
ing to do”
"Sit down, sit down; got plenty of time. When can we go on
that fishing trip we planned?” Another quarter hour went by. Then
the visitor went and the Superintendent turned and looked Manuel
over. “Manuel,” he said, "never interrupt me when I have a white
visitor! Get this: You are in a Southern town and remember that
here a black man, no matter what he is, occupies an inferior place
and obeys his betters!”
He looked at Mansart and Manuel without a word looked him
straight in the eye. The Superintendent hung his head. "Hell,
Manuel, I don't like this no more than you will; but you and I
got to bow to white public opinion in Jerusalem, or we'll both lose
our jobs. I had to waste time talking about nothing while you
stood, because my visitor is very influential in this town. I was
ashamed and you were mad. But that's the way it is. Work with
me and I'll do my best. Fight back and I'll kick you out. I'll have
to. For God's sake, understand if you can.”
Manuel said nothing. He would have given his soul's salvation
to have walked out and taken the next train. But his new young
wife, tired and frightened, was waiting for him on the dirty depot
platform. They had yet to find a home. He and the Superintendent
talked a half hour as Manuel took his orders and learned “his
place.” The Superintendent offered Manuel $40 a month for a ten-
month term, which was ten dollars more than his predecessor re-
ceived. She had used $10 of this to bribe two of the white trustees to
keep her place. They both would deplore the new extravagance in
wage and set themselves to find fault.
Jerusalem was a typical small Georgia town. That meant it was
a square, set at the meeting point of four country roads. Around
the square was the “City Hall,” containing Court House and Jail;
the post office, a saloon and pool room, several general stores, with
a drug store and bank. Opposite the Court House was the First
Methodist Church, an expensive, rococo monstrosity. Down the
West Side, leading toward the country, was the colored quarter with
a few shops, pool rooms, and churches. Up the other side was the
large white Baptist Church, a new white high school, and a hospital.
From the Square three other streets radiated to the country:
one with new and elaborate homes of the white town aristocracy;
two with more or less drab, old and new homes for humbler whites.
A new white elementary schoolhouse had been built near the


198
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
ately. The onlook.efirst and foremost wadulgence in liquo
square. The Negro school was carried on in a rambling Negro
church on the outskirts to the west, near a factory and a fertilizer
plant.
To understand this community one must remember that it was
a group upset and dislocated by war. It was humanity in flux with
all its old culture patterns curiously changing and yet clung to
desperately. The onlooker might have described seven matters which
engaged this little town: first and foremost was money, then race and
social standing; third came sex, and then indulgence in liquor and
gambling; fifth the courts and police, sixth murder, and seventh re-
ligion. There was no question about it: money and earning a liv-
ing dominated the situation. It had to, because poverty lurked
over the land.
Before the War the landed aristocracy lived scattered in the
country, usually with city homes which later grew in relative
importance as urban life developed. After the war the poorer whites
gathered in the small villages and towns like Jerusalem where they
could achieve a local importance paralleling the city, as merchants
standing between owner and worker; as professional men prac-
ticing law and medicine; as artisans and laborers, and as loafers
and semi-criminals; all this centered in a sea of black folk.
The merchants drove hard bargains or cheated deliberately;
the landed aristocracy neglected its debts from carelessness or ne-
cessity; the white and black laborers fought for employment; and
the new "democracy” began to function with the Negroes intimi-
dated or forcibly disfranchised or given "friendly" advice by em-
ployers.
The square was nearly always well filled with folk, white and
black, mingling in good-natured fellowship but with clearly de-
fined lines of cleavage: Negroes lined the curbs and hitching posts;
whites occupied the walls and steps. In the stores whites were waited
on first and treated with elaborate attention. Negroes were treated
more brusquely but with enough condescending comradery to keep
them from going to any rival store. There was always a certain
tenseness in the air which at times, especially on drunken Satur-
days, brought one or two quick police to rush some black man to
jail. Whites were seldom arrested.
Here were the white secret orders and the white militia with its
well-stocked armory. Horses, mules, dogs and vehicles, with num-
bers of Negroes were common on the square; while white men of
leisure, with strutting and roisterous young blades occupied the
porches and ogled the young white girls who paraded by frequently


200
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
were light brown, yellow or almost white; in the country the num-
ber of mixed bloods was smaller.
The fierce fight to keep land and to get land was foremost in the
minds and acts of men. Some estates like that of Colonel Breckin-
ridge which lay across the river, were going down in ruins. Parts
had been sold at prices far below the real value even in post-slavery
times. Other parts were lying fallow; some were ruined by white
and black tenants who could hardly make food and shelter out of
long hours of work without machinery or fertilizer.
There were whites who had struggled up through overseerships
and storekeeping and were beginning to buy up such land. One
method was to sell it to Negroes who were desperately hungry for
land and who wanted to become landholders and farmers. Through
mortgages with high interest, and through faked debts and fore-
closure and even by brute force, most Negroes simply succeeded
eventually in losing their land and paying the middlemen fabu-
lous prices. Then came the storekeepers with their systems of
credit; with their “furnishing" the tenants and laborers, white and
black, with goods before their crops were in or their wages paid;
and then charging them exorbitant prices so that they remained al-
ways in debt.
Beyond race and landholding, education was a sign of status,
and here the Negroes were fierce in their desire to learn to read and
write. They could not be entirely deprived of this chance. Yankees
demanded it and sent money and missionaries whom the Southern
whites believed were sneaking hypocrites; but they had influence
in the North, so that Negro schools were carried on although not
very effectively outside the cities.
The Jerusalem Negro school was housed in a half-ruined old
wooden church. It had no desks nor proper chairs and its teacher
had always been one selected by the local whites for his subserviency
and ignorance. After two or three months of school in the middle
of winter, when the children learned little but reading by rote,
sketchy writing and almost no arithmetic, they were dragged out
of school to pull weeds and pick cotton on the country farms and
to help in the homes of white housewives. Most of the white chil-
dren went to school six months and learned to read and write. Few
went further.
Above all, next to race, land and education came house service
to prove and maintain status. Every white woman who had any
claim to standing or even decency must have at least one black
servant: someone to cook, wash dishes, clean house and care for


Jerusalem
201
The em competition or inferior" demanded "s were alw
the babies. In some cases, where there was money to pay them,
servants were efficient but dissatisfied because service was still near
slavery. Many of them got away to the cities as quickly as possible.
Most of the whites could not afford to pay decent wages and have
well-serviced homes. Nevertheless, few Negro women dared refuse
to work at service; if they did they were liable to be arrested and
jailed as "vagrants.” They worked therefore, and subsisted by
pilfering of food, wearing cast-off clothes, and malingering on the
jobs as much as they could.
Male Negro workers and their families were mostly serfs on
the farms around about at nominal wages and under conditions of
work inherited from slavery. Black laborers were always in fierce
dispute with white labor which demanded and usually got prefer-
ential return even for inferior performance. This made always a
state of competition where low Negro wage lowered white wage.
The employers gained accordingly. In house service, where no
whites competed, wages touched bottom.
Next to money and status in Jerusalem was Sex: the thought,
the planning, the dreaming of Sex. It was not so much the fact
that in this town sexual acts were more common than in other
towns, north and west; but thought and talk about it was much
more common. Above all in thought, talk and imagination loomed
the sex rivalry of race. Every white man of any pretension was
expected to have a white wife and at least one colored concubine.
Each colored man could have a colored wife but he might be asked
to share her with a white man. On the other hand, he must not
dare even think of touching a white woman even accidentally;
actual sexual commerce between black men and white women
called for riot and murder even if the woman was a known pros-
titute. This theory, of course, varied in practice but its very un-
certainty lent a perpetual nervousness to the life of the town.
Sex was looked upon as a matter of privilege, as escape from the
deadly boredom of the town. Life presented itself vividly as Sex,
and the owning of women was characteristic of the men's dreams.
Conversation centered on it in bar and parlor.
Especially colored women had the most difficult time. If they
were pretty and comely they must marry early and even then their
husbands had a hard time protecting them from white men. If
they did not marry they were fair prey for both white and colored
men. If they went into house service they were fairly certain to be-
come concubines, and in a few cases colored women were sup-
ported openly in the town and everyone knew what white man


202
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
was their master. Sometimes the colored women fought furiously
to ward off white men even to maiming and murder. In other cases
they flaunted their sex attraction for white men in the very faces
of white women, who could but helplessly hate, and hate they did.
On the other hand, white women were guarded fiercely in
physical and mental harems; they must avoid not only the evil of
sexual life outside of marriage but the very suspicion or implica-
tion of it. They must pose as “pure” and absolutely unsophisticated.
They therefore indulged themselves increasingly in gossip and
imagination. For they talked Sex, they thought Sex, they dreamed
Sex. Always they were shrinking from white aggressors and running
wildly from black rapists. Always white men were making advances,
and often they were affronted when a bold-eyed black man even
looked squarely at them.
Among the black youth there was not only the natural sex atten-
tion to his own dark girls but beyond that the lure and temptation
of the unattainable, of the ivory colored limbs and scented bodies
of women whom they could not own but might force. Such rape
was the greatest conceivable crime on earth in the eyes of white
men. Now and then a white woman willingly had a black para-
mour, but if the truth ever became known or even suspected she
must cry "rape" and he would be lynched without having a chance
to open his mouth.
About a situation so unreal and false as this must come forms
of indulgence in appetites and excess; and in Jerusalem it took the
path of drunkenness, gambling and fighting. One only had to visit
the Square of a Saturday night, when the meager wages had been
paid or money been borrowed and the liquor cheap. The air was
tense; brawls and fights broke out, usually within the race groups
but sometimes between the races. Then it meant riot, if not
murder.
The Courts were curiously handicapped. They could do very
little with regard to crime because their first business was to protect
status; to give the white man, even the poor whites, a preferred
position in the community which under no circumstances could be
questioned or invaded by blacks. So that Negroes were arrested
because they were Negroes, and whites allowed to do almost as
they pleased because they were whites. The demand for forced
labor made arrests and summary imprisonment absolutely necessary
for the economic progress of the community. The chain gangs
were filled because official orders were sent down for such and such
a number of Negro laborers.


204
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
guesses, slanders, lies and nasty truth. The gossiping habit was a
festering sore. It poisoned the air and frightened everybody. It
gripped and held the decent, normal core of honest white people,
the simple lives of people who tried to be good and honest, who
dressed, cooked, ate, washed and ironed or toiled with one or two
black servants to make a home, and went to church to serve God.
But fear gripped them, and especially fear of the Negro; espe-
cially the black ghost of a past they did not dare forget-why, they
could not say. But the Problem was there like a vast, dark hand.
They were always conscious of it; their lives were efforts at pretend-
ing to escape its grip, but they never could, they never dared.
And fear gripped the Negroes: whether they were humble
drudges, striving desperately to please their masters; or bitter, hating
serfs driven by hunger or blows or threat of the chain gang; or hard-
working laborers, glimpsing a far-off freedom for their children.
All these feared white folk, good as well as bad-feared them as
they feared God and often more.
Over all this hung two veils which blurred all true views of life:
over the whites a pretense and desperate assumption of superority,
of natural inborn privilege, to be shown in strutting walk, loud
talk and swagger. This pretense in solitude or among cronies might
fall away, but it especially soared and swelled in the presence of
Negroes, even when these Negroes were most elaborately ignored.
The white always felt a Negro was watching him and he acted his
assumed part accordingly.
And Negroes did watch them from behind another veil. This
was a veil of amusement or feigned, impudent humility. Through
gay laughter ran a vein of cynical contempt and “shaden-freude”;
of cutting, jeering mockery. Thus happy, careless guffaws hid bit-
ter hate and even despair with impenetrable good humor.
The Superintendent of City Schools in Jerusalem, elected by the
white people of the city, was in the summer of 1898 at his wit's ends.
He wanted desperately to get a better job and to escape from this
God-forgotten town. This depended on his local popularity and on
his superior, the State Superintendent. That official was putting
pressure on him to build up the colored school, which had never
been more than a farce. It had been taught last year in an old
Baptist church by a decrepit old woman who had inconsiderately
died of chronic starvation just at the end of the school term.
The Superintendent was a well-intentioned man, but he knew
that his real bosses and the source of his bread and butter was the


Jerusalem
205
local white electorate. He also knew that his chances for promotion
and escape from this dead community rested in the good will of the
state educational officials. For some reason, he did not quite know
what, the state was putting pressure on officials to improve the
Negro elementary school system.
He did not believe it was pure philanthropy. More probably it
was Business and not unconnected with the new playing up to the
North. Whatever it was, why should they pick on him? They knew
his predicament; he did not have nearly enough funds for his
wretched white school system. How was he to get funds for a new
Negro schoolhouse and equipment and salaries for at least three
teachers needed to teach 300 children?
He laid his troubles before old Dr. Baldwin as he dined with
his old teacher and his charming wife and growing son in Atlanta.
They had no real solution, but when Young Baldwin recom-
mended Manuel Mansart to his mother's astonishment, the Super-
intendent was glad. Here at least was a well-trained Negro, vouched
for by good white folks and not disposed to haggle over wages. This
certainly would be put down in Atlanta to his credit. He hoped
Mansart would have sense enough to realize that he as white super-
intendent had as great difficulties as the colored teacher. If the
Negro had sense and would play along they might accomplish
something-not much but enough to bring escape for both.
Manuel had to beg a half month's advance of his salary, and
then began to hunt for a house. For a couple of weeks they
boarded in discomfort with a colored family who did all they
could to accommodate them. The home finally found was poor.
It was drab in appearance, with two rooms and a barren, half-
fenced yard. The roof leaked and windows did not fit or glass
was missing. The running water was in the back yard not far from
the primitive outdoor toilet. Of course there were no set tubs nor
clothes closets.
So in this town of Jerusalem, Manuel Mansart began his active
life. It soon revealed certain geographical connections of which
Mansart had not at first been aware. It was not far from Thomson
where Tom Watson lived. He had begun to wonder at Watson's
silence and to inquire after Doyle. Caste and disfranchisement were
rapidly spreading over the South and Mansart began to realize one
of its causes when he learned that Jerusalem was the home of the
Scroggs family. They were followers of Tillman. He had heard of
them through his mother who knew of Sam Scroggs and the part
he had tried to play in South Carolina in 1876. He had been killed,


206
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
but his widow and children still lived in the country near Jeru-
salem. Other parts of the family lived in Atlanta. Abe Scroggs,
now 26, had for a while been active in the Farmers Alliance.
He was now in Cuba as a volunteer in the Spanish-American war.
Abe Scroggs was born in Jerusalem and thus grew up in the
hard pattern of its racial culture. He hated Negroes with a dark,
unreasoning passion. Had he tried to explain his hatred he would
have traced it to an incident of his life when a small child. But
he did not try. He was not conscious of any beginning or reason for
his hate. It was just there.
This one incident, however, young Scroggs always remembered.
He would never forget it although he was at the time only six. It
patterned his life. They were a large family, ten children and many
dead. A scrawny, ugly, half-starved mother; a father, usually drunk,
who died when Abe was five. There was simply nothing to eat one
day, but the Negroes next door were slaughtering a hog-a fat hog,
carefully brought up and nurtured and looked forward to as sup-
port, indulgence and well-being.
The black father had had a hard time making ends meet, pay-
ing his rent after the piece of land which he had tried to buy had
been taken away from him by open fraud against which he could
do nothing. But now the Fall looked promising to him. They had
this hog, they had plenty of vegetables and garden stuff stored away.
The man had a job as porter and the woman worked most of her
time up at a white folks' mansion on the Square. The children
were in school, when there was a school. And now they were con-
gregated about celebrating the hog-killing. The father had gone
to work; mother and children were cleaning up.
It was dusk when Mrs. Scroggs, distraught with apprehension
and yet trying to keep herself conscious that she was a white woman,
went over into the Negroes' yard. The customary race code was
observed: she was called "Mis' Scroggs," by the hard-eyed black
woman whom in turn she addressed as “Nancy.” Mrs. Scroggs won-
dered if Nancy would sell her a bit of "meat”? She had been late in
getting to the store before it closed. They would, of course, pay
her "soon."
Nancy was sorry, very sorry, but she "reely didn't have a bit of
meat to spare." Her own six children needed every single scrap.
Mrs. Scroggs sidled up to the table where Nancy moved the meat
that was being cut up just beyond her reach. But there were some
of the guts and entrails there, and the tail; and on these Mrs.
Scroggs laid her scrawny hand before Nancy could remove them.
Poroesi SCTOS
Nalors she
of COUL


Jerusalem
207
So Mrs. Scrogguts and started.ce exploded as
“Just this little bit, what would you charge?” Nancy looked at
her with venom in her face. She knew that without a fight she could
not keep Mrs. Scroggs from getting this bit of chitterlings. If there
was a fight Nancy or her husband would go to jail without any
question. She would have no standing in court against Mrs. Scroggs.
So Mrs. Scroggs gathered up the tail and a couple of handfuls of
manure and guts and started away immediately.
Then from behind the fence exploded a shout of derisive laugh-
ter and mocking from the black children: “Crackers stealin' hog-
guts!" Young Scroggs, who was hidden behind his mother's skirt,
was hurt to the heart. From that day he hated Negroes with perfect
hatred. He could kill them. He would do anything to hurt them.
They had laughed at and derided his poor old mother who was
trying to get a bit of food for herself and her half-starved children.
With tragedy like this, the sixth year of young Scroggs had begun
in Jerusalem.
At 14 Scroggs had stopped school. He had learned to read and
write and figure fairly well. He was not interested in the other
studies offered. Grammar eluded him. He could not understand
what "algebra” was up to, and he did not care about the doings
of foreigners, especially in the past. Moreover, he felt that he must
have a job in town and help his mother and the family. He worked
at first in the fertilizer factory, but the labor was hard and unin-
teresting and his wage only a little above that of Negroes. He tried
to oversee a farm and direct Negro and white tenants, but both the
merchants and the tenants cheated him. He tried other jobs and
loafed in the Square between times.
He joined the Ku Klux Klan. It was fun to ride masked and
gowned on a good horse. Moreover, he could steal from the Negro
cabins which were often invaded, and that was helpful support to
his family. Then came the mad lust of the man hunt. He had
hunted squirrels, rabbits and a few bigger animals, but there was
nothing like hunting a man. In his first adventure a Negro had
been found lying with a white girl. She was a bitch, as everyone
knew. But the cry of rape roused all the wildest passions of the
town and countryside. They rode at night, and Scroggs was among
the first to grab the terrified boy and split his head open with an
axe. Then they dismembered his genitals, burned him, and danced
about the body, mad with hard liquor.
When he came home that night Scroggs went to bed
trembling. He was frightened at what he had done. He could see
the face of that boy and could not forget it. He rushed to the


208
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
church next night and for a week thereafter. On Sunday he was
"saved” by a passing Evangelist. He gradually began to persuade
himself that he was doing God's appointed work in helping re-
strain or exterminate black criminals. His attitude toward black
folk now changed. He had disliked them before but now he
despised them because they were not really human. He learned
something of this in school, more of it in the newspapers, and read
one or two frightening books. Manifestly it was his duty to make
it impossible for this vermin to live like other men.
But it was to live like other men and the better kind of men
that Manuel Mansart was striving. And his beginnings in this town
were not favorable. In fact his life was from the first discouraging.
He lacked the equipment for the kind of teaching he wished to do.
On the other hand, here was a chance to do work at the ground
level. He was impressed by Booker Washington's criticism of young
Negroes leaving the rural districts where they were needed and
rushing to the cities. Perhaps right here in Jerusalem he could start
building and laying foundations for a real life. Perhaps the tenu-
ous bond between him and the three Johns-his nexus with the
great Northern forces building a New South-might become
stronger and more real.
As a physical and spiritual partnership the marriage of Manuel
and Susan was perhaps average. It was certainly not made in
Heaven, nor was it a failure. It lasted without thought of termina-
tion for 37 years and brought four children into the world. Yet
the union was not ideal and encountered from the first storms
and obstacles. First, neither party had been prepared for marriage
either in theory or practice. Both had been raised in an era and in
a group of sexual laxity and loose family ties; yet neither was
physically tainted nor mentally twisted.
Susan had had a hard-working father who paid her no attention
whatever. Her mother worked hard also to help support a large
family. They lived in poor surroundings. But the mother was strict.
Susan was the youngest and from babyhood had learned that there
was something evil about sex and its organs. She must not even
think of them, and being obedient she almost never did. What she
saw and heard about rape, bastard children, and sordid indulgence
she seldom understood. She gathered that what was largely evil and
even nasty became in some curious way right, or at least permissible
after marriage. Being but moderately sexed herself her curiosity
carried her no further.


Jerusalem
209
Manuel saw sex about him and had a certain understanding
but little actual experience. His few experiences were so frustrated
and incomplete that he was never tempted to looseness and promis-
cuity, but rather spurred toward early marriage. Thus the experi-
ences of their marriage at first frightened Susan and then brought
her to shamefaced submission and enjoyment. They thrilled and
uplifted Manuel and then disappointed him in some not easily
understood way, as if they had opened up Heaven and revealed that
there was no Heaven there or at least none yet discoverable.
All this was natural and rested on the fact that the couple had
to earn a hard living under difficult circumstances. They had little
time or space for adjustment. If their path had been easier and
more immediately rewarding the results might have been different.
As it was there came the fact that the tasks before them could not
be shared nor mutually understood.
Manuel had no conception of the difficulties of housework,
especially in the situation of Susan. Susan's own home was primitive
in many respects, but as the youngest child she was always the
helper and never the responsible doer. Four years at school had
familiarized her with running water, hot and cold; indoor toilets
and garbage which disappeared. Even in her last year at home
there were older brothers and sisters to fetch and carry and do the
drudgery. To her, then, a home had long spelled not the luxury
which Dr. Jones had dangled before her, but at least a certain cozy
comfort with a mate to talk to and to whom she could run for
help and advice. But she knew little about marketing or buying,
and her cooking was a blend of custom, with okra, and rice, red
pepper, and what she had tried to learn in the "science" of cooking
at the university.
Manuel had been used to a home where what he wanted ap-
peared forthwith. Of course his wants were few, and as they grew
there grew too his own ingenuity for satisfying them, along with
quick cooperation and understanding. Thus his meals had always
been ready on time and consisted of just what he liked because he
had always been used to it. When he wanted to have a place to
study, the "front” room became his without to do. The whole
house was regulated with regard to his work and study. Dormitory
life changed this and yet even there, he and his work were first
except as his roommate must share. Eating, bathing and play were
relegated to other places.
Add to this that Manuel had an impossible job before him. The
position of teacher of a Negro public school in the rural South was
druge were oldehich disapping water,


210
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
verythinople did the ton
not an easy one. The teacher was not welcomed nor encouraged;
he was endured. He must get on with four separate entities: the
colored parents, the white town, the white school board and su-
perintendent, the colored pupils in the school. The children were
wretchedly untrained-most of them in the lowest grades. They
had had little or no training in the surrounding country schools
on account of forced work and parental helplessness or carelessness.
They came irregularly to this school. Even in the upper grades
most of them could not really read nor write.
The school was practically unequipped-no desks, planks to
sit on, one grey blackboard, no maps, few textbooks. Manuel had
to make desperate effort to raise equipment which the town did
not furnish; and the town did not furnish equipment because the
white people did not want a colored school. They were jealous of
everything done for the school. It was not only direct loss but
greater indirect loss since it trained colored boys and girls away
from house service and labor, made them want more wages, and
often made them “impudent." They ran away to the big cities in
a steady stream. There were continual incidents on the street and
in homes, trivial in themselves but liable to become desperate in
result. Manuel found much of his time taken in interracial peace-
making.
The superintendent seldom called upon him and did not want
Manuel to come to his office. His answer to everything was prac-
tically no. It was not because he did not want a Negro school, it
was because his own job depended upon his spending as much on
the white schools as possible and as little on the colored school;
otherwise in the next election, with no Negroes voting, he would
lose his job.
Faced by grim necessity Manuel began at once to learn the
etiquette of living and surviving in the rural South. He did not
enjoy it but he had no choice. He must conform or go. He had
nowhere to go. He became careful of his superiors, particularly of
the white superintendent. When the superintendent expressed an
idea Mansart tried to agree. Afterward, Mansart might suggest some
modification, some difference and improvement. He found, to his
surprise, that his suggestions were often received and carried
through, especially if they involved little or no expense. Sometimes
he was allowed to carry them through himself. He sensed gradu-
ally that the Superintendent himself was also in chains which
rattled ominously.
With those colored folk who had some authority because of


Jerusalem
211
their long red he did not feel. In he wanted or cid had they tl
their long residence and relation to the whites he did not get on so
well, because he did not feel the necessity for hypocrisy. He talked
out and told the things which he wanted or criticized; and they
told him not exactly what they might have said had they them-
selves been free, but what they knew they must say if they wanted
to retain their own jobs and influence.
In the midst of this growing effort at adjustment toward the
world and its people there came an earthquake. It was in the shape
of a small baby. Of course Mansart had always expected to have a
child sometime, but to have it appear within ten short months after
his marriage was astonishing; but not nearly so surprising and
revolutionary as the difference which it made in his home.
As he looked back he could see that with the birth of Douglass
Mansart in 1899, his home never again was the same thing. He
ceased to be the center of it. His wife began to lose her health and
looks; especially as Douglass was followed in 1901 by Revels.
It did not occur to Manuel that anything could be done about
this; in fact he probably wouldn't have done anything if he had
known what to do. Children were among the natural phenomena
of the world. But their coming did make a tremendous economic
problem and almost broke up the home. Of course no one would
have said so, least of all the over-worked mother, and not even
Manuel. But he did not return now after a hard day's work to a
quiet, neat little nook where he could make love to a pretty girl
and dream about the future. He came to an over-crowded house
with a poor yard, and a squalling baby who seemed to attract every
disease of infancy, as was natural with contaminated water, flies
and insects. Meals were never on time and Manuel was expected to
help in the housework. To the problems of his day at school were
added the most startling problems of mother and child, food and
fire, clothes and neighbors, and the fearful threat of an unknown
future.
This became clearer when Abe Scroggs returned to Jerusalem as
a veteran of the Spanish-American War. His racial antipathies had
been accentuated, his hatred of Yankees increased, and he was
incensed to find the Negro school using money belonging of right
only to whites and taught by a well-dressed and college-bred Negro.
Manuel Mansart was made vividly aware of this one November
morning in 1898. The work in the cotton fields was finished and
nearly all the children were in school. The rickety benches were
crowded and there was a subdued hum of little voices with a few
deep ones from the overgrown boys.


212
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
coulager
hoJect for, was hallansart what they
Suddenly the schoolhouse door flew open and in it stood Abe
Scroggs. He had just come from the town Square where he and his
buddies had been celebrating his return. Someone told how his
black cook that morning had related some information from the
colored school. It seemed that in a talk about the Spanish-Ameri-
can War and Teddy Roosevelt the new teacher, Mansart, had told
the pupils that black soldiers had saved Roosevelt and his Rough
Riders from annihilation at El Caney last July; and that a South-
ern white officer had testified to this.
"It's a damn liel" Scroggs roared in anger. In fact he knew
nothing of the incident but "niggers” couldn't fight! "Everybody
knew that!” He proposed that they all go right down to the Negro
school and make Mansart retract.
Scroggs was half drunk and was easily dissuaded from this
project for the moment. But as he took another whiskey and started
home he caught a glimpse of the Negro schoolhouse and with a
fresh burst of anger turned toward it alone. He walked down
through the Negro quarter elbowing loitering Negroes aside and
entered the schoolhouse through the back door. Standing right
beside Mansart Scroggs yelled:
"I hear your ‘nigger' teacher here has been telling you lies about
black troops in Cuba. No 'niggers' ever rescued Roosevelt there,
and you damn well better not say so. Do you hear?”
He swung about and glared at Mansart. Mansart started to his
feet and then slowly sat down. He saw the eyes of a hundred black
children fastened on him. He knew what they were thinking. He
was The Teacher. He knew all things. He could tell colored folk
what to do when white people stepped on their faces. Well, now
let him talk! Let him do something! He did nothing. He sat mo-
tionless and silent. What could he do? He had no weapon. Should
he knock Scroggs down? He doubted if he was strong enough or
knew how to fight. He had not struck a human being, much less a
white man, since he was a child. But suppose he could and did
fight? He would be lynched before night, his people homeless, his
family helpless and his school in ashes.
To this end he had come! He was hardly earning a living. He
saw small prospects of betterment. Who knew of his efforts or would
know? What was his future or for that matter the future of his
people in America? The world stood shut and fast before him. Any
low, dirty, ignorant white hoodlum could publicly insult the most
respectable Negro in Jerusalem and go free and exulting. How long
could a black man live in a world like this?


Jerusalem
213
Slowly the clock ticked. A wave of unrest fluttered over the
silent children. Scroggs wavered. Should he slam his fist into this
black ape's face? But if he did, what would this mad mass of black
children do to him? He faltered and then a step was heard. Every-
body heard it and started. Somebody came crunching up the path.
And then the Superintendent of Schools loomed in the doorway/
in front of Scroggs.
Mansart arose. The Superintendent paused a moment and took
in the scene. He knew a crisis was at hand but he ignored it.
“How do you you, Mr. Scroggs,” he said. “I have been waiting
to welcome you back.”
Scroggs straightened up and shook hands. He stuttered, “I've
been telling-these little darkies-a thing or two," he muttered
awkwardly and lurched out.
The Superintendent turned to Mansart and said, “You may dis-
miss the pupils. It's a bit early, but I've got news for you.”
“Dismissed,” said Mansart, mechanically.
The children swarmed out quietly until they reached the border
of the school grounds. Then a roar mounted. Scroggs heard it and
looked back. That God-damned Superintendent had set this passel
of "niggers" on him. He walked fast and then started to run as he
approached the corner where he could descry the Square. He was
almost too late. A shower of stones overtook him and one knocked
off his broad-brimmed service hat and brought blood streaming
down his temple. He ran for his life.
The Superintendent took no notice of this: he was staring at
Mansart's face and saw how the ashen pallor had killed the rich
deep brown. He asked no questions but hastened to say, “Mansart,
I've got news for you. The Atlanta city schools want you. I've of-
fered to release you. I reckon you'll be willing. The salary is twice
this."
He paused; then waited for no answer but turning, left quickly.
He furnbled at his tobacco pouch, but his hands trembled and he
could not light a match. He glimpsed Mansart as he turned. Man-
sart was standing very still and the tears were streaming down his
cheeks.


Chapter XIII
COLOR CASTE
ich the
things hing b
A new century dawned, the century which would crown the
power and the glory of the great Nineteenth. It was October 1901
and in the capital of the nation an unexpected president was at
dinner in the White House. Theodore Roosevelt had been in office
a month. He was exuberant. He was strong and healthy and eager
for this immense task of governing the United States. His family
was at the table-his wife, his daughter, Alice, and one of the boys.
Two members of the cabinet were there also, and a special guest.
This guest was Booker T. Washington.
The subject of discussion was one which the president would
have called minor and time-consuming but it was pressing. He was
in a hurry for he had other things to do. This talk had been con-
tinued from a morning interview and postponed until dinner. It
was the question of appointments to political office in the South.
Appointments over the country were difficult enough to face, but
more so in the South because there, due to the pressure of Negroes,
demucratic government was not being allowed to function.
1 his brought forward many considerations which people out-
side wwlitical life and unconnected with the question of Mr. Wash-
ington's philosophy had to consider. Was the United States to be a
democracy and if so, how could the democratic process be carried
out? It must not be thought that this question arose solely from the
Negio problem. It was exacerbated in that case because of long
controversy and the Civil War; and because it had become in-
volveà with the whole world problem of races.
In centers like New York City where Theodore Roosevelt, at
the time Booker T. Washington was making his Atlanta speech,
began service as head of the Police Department, there was in prac-
tice a method of government which was not democratic and yet
which people spoke of as a method of democratic government. It
consisted of manipulation and control, particularly of the votes of
the foreign-born, so that certain political parties gained and kept
their power through bribery by money, jobs and public dole.
of the police was making chore Roosev
214


Color Caste
215
ed in Civid then by 1.0 The Southby Booker
ing the Negihe Atlanta Comprpe to go out of polars. This
Reform in the method of government was beginning in New
York. In the South reform probably would have grown and gone
forward had it not been for the memory of the disrupting slavery
controversy which resulted in Civil War; Civil War resulted in the
enfranchisement of the Negro, and then by more or less secret un-
derstanding the Negroes were disfranchised. The South and the
North agreed upon the Atlanta Compromise proposed by Booker
T. Washington; that is, the Negroes were to go out of politics and
confine themselves to becoming honest and skilled workers. This
would keep white union labor within reasonable demands; it
would enable the South to recover and develop; it would help the
already developing North, and no harm would be done to anyone
because certainly the mass of Negro voters were not yet ready for
participation in a Democracy.
Would it be possible to get a Negro leader to agree to this?
It had long seemed improbable. Many candidates for the money,
publicity and power of this kind of leadership were tried out, but
failed to live up to the unalterable conditions. Then Booker
Washington came to Hampton and from there went to Alabama,
the heart of the Black Belt. As he developed he seemed made to
order. So Roosevelt was going to ask his advice.
. They had finished the first courses and the President was sharp-
ening the carving knife for the roast. He always insisted on carving
himself when the family party was small.
“Now, Mr. Washington," he said, “I want you to tell Mrs.
Roosevelt and our friends, as you told me this morning, just what
you think of my proposals for Southern appointments.”
Up to this point Booker Washington had said almost nothing.
He was a shrewd and careful man. He had come from the depths
of poverty, hard toil and ignorance. He realized that the whites
had the power. He saw no use arguing about that. There was also
no, use trying to force the whites. There was no chance that the
white North would long side with the Negro against the increas-
ing power of the white South. Therefore the case was clear; seek
the best terms which the Southern whites would offer and accept
them. This was sense.
But back of this in his mind also was Right. Washington be-
lieved that the present power of the white race was natural. He
believed that work made wealth and wealth was the sign of virtue.
The whites were rich because they worked. The Negroes were
poor because they did not work hard and did not know how to
the power of Would lonac. whites. The


218
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
increasingly by actual law. Yet they were residents of the South
and on their numbers in the population representation in Con-
gress was based. Not only that, but they were members of the Re-
publican Party and almost the only persons who cast a vote for
that party in the South.
Now in appointments to Federal office and in accord with demo-
cratic tradition this population could not be absolutely ignored.
On the other hand the white people of the South did not want
Negroes appointed to office, and they expected now as never before
to have this affront to White Supremacy met by the new president
of the United States. Here was a quandary which could not be
evaded. Ordinarily appointments to federal office in a state were
made in pursuance of advice from residents. Republican residents
in the South were almost entirely Negroes.
Gradually but firmly the Republican Party had been dropping
the Negro from notice in its national conventions and campaigns.
Since the Republican National Convention of 1868, Negro dele-
gates attended the Republican nominating conventions. In the
convention of 1884 a former Congressman, the black John R.
Lynch from Mississippi, was chosen as temporary chairman. Yet
from 122 words in the platform of 1888, the Negro sank to no men-
tion at all in the platform in 1916.
Should Negroes continue to hold the balance of power in the
Republican organization? No, said some, because they do not vote
in the South. Very well, but they live in the South, and work.
Nevertheless, they should be disfranchised so far as possible in the
Republican National Convention. But they still existed and their
political power remained and the South based its representation
in Congress on it. This meant that Southern Congressmen needed
but a quarter to a tenth the number of votes which a Northern
Congressman needed, and by seniority the Southerners got the
powerful chairmanships. Then came Booker Washington and his
message was interpreted as saying:
“Negroes should not vote; they should not join unions; they
should not strike."
This was not just what he said, but this was the interpretation
put on his words, and this interpretation he did not deny. It
resulted that the better class of Negroes got out of politics; they did
not join unions often when they couid; and they scabbed on strik-
ers. Yet a fifth of the working class of the nation were Negroes.
Where did this leave the labor movement?
Nationalould be disthey live in


Color Caste
219
place osed to take were the
Toes as nor abilituise to apia
Thus Ton, but could hability. Rooseves: T
Then there were the “Lily Whites,” white Southerners who
proposed to take over Republican patronage in the South and dis-
place the Negroes as advisers or appointees. They were usually men
of neither character nor ability. Roosevelt recoiled from recogni-
tion of them, but could he refuse to appoint any Negroes?
Thus Teddy Roosevelt stood at the edge of an era which sought
to eliminate the black man from undue power in the Republican
Party. But this could not be done suddenly. The Negro vote in the
North was growing. The President did not want to affront the
white South. He had many Southern friends and sympathized
with the problem of the white south. On the other hand, certainly
it would be bad politics to affront Negro voters.
Washington also was in a difficult position. Of course he had not
meant to advise Negroes to give up political rights entirely. He
had meant to advise them to stop insisting on political rights as the
first thing needed. He expected that the South in turn would offer
the right to vote to deserving, hard-working and thrifty Negroes.
He believed this was about to come true. He was overwhelmed with
invitations to speak, especially in the North but frequently to
whites in the South. When now he found himself called in as con-
sultant on appointments by a President he saw a chance to make a
subtle deal. He would recommend a white Southern Democrat on
the one hand and a first-class Negro on the other. He would thus
appease the white South and satisfy the uneasy Negroes.
He paused and then answered the President's last question:
"Mr. President, I don't see how you can avoid appointing some
Negroes to office. Former Republican Presidents have always ap-
pointed Negroes to office. President Hayes, President Garfield and
President Arthur; President McKinley and President Harrison;
also Democratic President Cleveland appointed Negroes. Negroes
have thus occupied positions as U. S. Marshal, Collectors of Cus-
toms and Treasury officials. I venture therefore to suggest that you
select a Negro of ability and irreproachable character and appoint
him to an important position.”
Roosevelt looked thoughtful. He had half-hoped for different
advice. But he saw the inevitable logic. “Do you know such a man,
and what office do you suggest?"
"Well, Sir, there is J. C. Napier of Nashville; a banker of
recognized character and ability.”
“And what office?”
“Treasurer of the United States."
sury officiajons as U. S appointed N


220
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
Roosevelt scowled and drummed on the table. This was ridicu-
lous. The nation would not stand for it. Moreover his Secretary of
the Treasury would never accept a colored subordinate in so high
a position. Then another excuse occurred:
"But that would not be a Southern appointment. The capital
does not like to be considered South.”
Washington sensed that he had bid too high. He assented to the
objection and looked thoughtful. At last he said: “I think I have it.
South Carolina has a Negro majority. Why not appoint a Negro
Collector of the Port of Charleston? There have been Negro Col-
lectors in New Orleans and Galveston and there is one in Atlanta
now.”
“Do you know a good man?"
“Yes. Dr. William D. Crum is a fine man and well-liked by all.
He is a physician and a man of property.”
"You vouch for him?"
“Absolutely."
“Good. I'll appoint him.”
Washington added: “Dr. Crum is a fine specimen of my race.
His appointment will satisfy the Negroes and I cannot think that
the whites will be opposed."
There ensued other questions pertaining to appointments of
whites and Negroes, of political activity, and of education. It was
a most interesting dinner and everybody felt that much had been
accomplished.
More had been done, however, than either the astute president
or the careful Mr. Washington had anticipated. Roosevelt had
quite unwittingly transgressed one of the major racial taboos of
the South, and that is, that white gentlemen and ladies did not eat
with Negroes. Of course this custom was often violated. White mis-
tresses ate with their cooks; white farmers ate with their hands. But
always care was taken about this and either the incident was not
mentioned or the eating together was so conducted that the im-
plied equality was not manifest. Something resembling medieval
“eating below the salt" was the custom between white and black
in the South.
For a week nothing was said of the Washington dinner al-
though as usual it had been noted in the daily press. Meantime,
in the office of John Sharp Williams, Democratic majority leader
of the House of Representatives, several Southern members of Con-
h, and the transgressed on had antider


Color Caste
221
gress were in conference. They were worried.
"That appointment of Jones is shrewd and dangerous. Jones
ought to be horsewhipped for accepting a judgeship on the recom-
mendation of a Negro.”
"Sure, but he's a good judge and if this policy continues it will
build up a Republican Party in the South. What?”
Williams' secretary had hurried in with a whispered message.
“Very well, send him in. A reporter, whom I trust, has an idea,
Gentlemen.”
A young man came in and outlined a plan.
"It may work. Try it. And you gentlemen write and wire home.”
So it started. So a reporter spread the news throughout the
South and the underground Southern white leadership sensed
something to offset Roosevelt's two excellent appointments. The
South was reminded that Roosevelt had crossed the color line and
eaten with a Negro.
The white South erupted. The South quite literally foamed at
the mouth. It yelled and shrieked. The secretly fed upheaval, and
it could be called nothing less, was astonishing. From the Mason
and Dixon line to the Gulf, from the Atlantic to California, the
Southern papers were filled with vituperation against Theodore
Roosevelt. A Mississippi politician publicly called Roosevelt a dog
and apologized to the dog. The South scored Booker Washington
harshly. There were threats of personal violence to both Roosevelt
and Washington which literally filled baskets. One man who was
arrested at Tuskegee confessed (whether with truth or not) that
he had been sent from Louisiana to kill Booker Washington. Judge
Jones of Alabama was forced to do some elaborate explaining.
This clamor eventually died down but neither Roosevelt nor
Booker Washington ever forgot it. Evidently it was a concerted
action based upon a determination completely to exclude Negroes
from political life in the South, and to establish them as a social
caste by law and custom.
Roosevelt now did some fast foot-work along the color line.
He elaborately ignored the clamor of the South on the Washington
dinner. He appointed the Southern white Democrat as Federal
judge in Alabama. On the other hand he intervened in Panama
and established in Panama a dependent territory, with all the
Southern paraphernalia of “Jim-Crow” from separate schools to
separate currency and lower wages for Negroes. Then turning
ilinner. Healy ignored theme fast foot-


222
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
wanted ared. Vard.h Caroli
swiftly, that same year he appointed Washington's nominee, Dr.
Crum, as Collector of the Port of Charleston, South Carolina, and
announced the reappointment of a colored postmistress to a minor
Post Office in Mississippi.
Clamor arose again. He ignored it in South Carolina. But in
Mississippi a new complication appeared. Vardaman, a Poor White
demagogue from the hills, wanted to be governor of Mississippi
and then senator in Washington. He chose the Negro as his stalking
horse, and having started a vitriolic newspaper in Indianola, the
Commonwealth, he hit on Minnie Cox, the colored postmistress as
his victim, and the Washington dinner as his text. Dressed in
white, with long flowing hair, he paraded the state as the "White
Chief,” drawn by big white oxen and haranguing the people. He
out-Tillmanned Tillman, and roared against the infamy of having
a “nigger wench” handle white folks' mail.
A valiant white officer, commanding the “First Squadron of
Cavalry,” of Arkansas, sent a telegram to Vardaman: "Subject to
your order, I tender my services with one hundred and fifty cavalry
to the good people of Indianola for their protection against Negro
domination.” After a bitter and nation-wide struggle with the stub-
born President, Vardaman won and Minnie Cox lost her post office
in 1903.
Booker Washington was shaken and deeply disappointed by the
incident of the White House dinner. He saw clearly that the
South had not responded to his offered compromise in 1895 nearly
as readily as he had assumed or as his popularity seemed to indicate.
He witnessed with apprehension the rising influence of Ben Till-
man.
Ten years older than Washington, and his bitterest white op
ponent, was Ben Tillman. Tom Watson, nearly Washington's own
age and better known than Tillman at the time of the Washington
speech, was rapidly overshadowed by Tillman as spokesman of
the New South from the time Tillman became governor of South
Carolina in 1890 and United States Senator in 1895 until after the
First World War. The Boston Transcript described him in a phrase
from Virgil—“Monstrum, horrendum, ingens, infandum cui lumen
ademptum" - "hideous, profane monster, with one eye!"
Tillman became leader of the movement toward legal and
permanent color caste in the United States. He demanded openly


Color Caste
223
and enland poin any men cous man pa
and unequivocably the disfranchisement of every Negro no matter
what his education or fortune. He demanded the enfranchisement
of every white man no matter what his status, education, fortune
or work. He declared that Negroes were congenitally so inferior
to whites that the races could live together only as master and man.
He wanted these differences written into state and national law
and enforced by penalties. He would admit Negroes to the body
social and politic only as servants or low-wage labor occupying no
position which any white man wanted. He wanted no education for
Negroes because they could not be educated and never in all his-
tory, he said, had a black man proven himself human in the same
sense as whites.
Tillman demanded this program in the halls of Congress and
from the seats of wealth and power where he was invited and
listened to. He offered cooperation on no other terms. How far
he really believed all that he preached on the huskings and lecture
platforms over the land, it is hard to say. He had Negro friends
and liked Negroes "in their place.” But there is no shadow of doubt
as to his reiterated demands. Under his bulldog impulse, legal dis-
franchisement of Negroes was made law in the South between 1890
and 1910. Caste legislation providing separate travel, no racial in-
termarriage, and segregation in school and state, followed from the
Washington speech in 1895 to the Atlanta riot in 1906.
The depths to which American civilization sank in race hate
is almost unbelievable. Tillman raged openly on the floor of Con-
gress:
“Yes, we have stuffed ballot-boxes, and will stuff them again; we
have cheated ‘niggers' in elections and will cheat them again; we
have disfranchised 'niggers, and will disfranchise all we want to;
we have killed and lynched ‘niggers' and will kill and lynch others;
we have burned 'niggers' at the stake and will burn others; a ‘nig-
ger' has no right to live anyhow, unless a white man wants him to
live. If you don't like it you can lump it!”
Vardaman, leader of white Mississippi, shouted: “I am opposed
to Negro voting; it matters not what his advertised moral and
mental qualifications may be. I am just as much opposed to Booker
Washington as a voter, with all his Anglo-Saxon reinforcements,
as I am to the coconut-headed chocolate-colored, typical little
'coon,' Andy Dotson, who blacks my shoes every morning."
The presiding officer of the Louisiana Constitutional Conven-
tion said in his closing speech: "What care I whether the new Con-


Color Caste
227
"It can't be true.”
“Yes, it can and is.”
“My God! What can we do about it?"
“Dine-and soon.”
It was in the North, then, that the real battle was fought, and
lost only after sincere struggle. There were a few persons there who
pretended to themselves that this disfranchisement in the South
was normal and only a consequence of the general democratic move-
ment to protect the ballot from illiterate and lazy folk; and that
the caste legislation was a yielding to the timid and would wear
away in time. These folk knew they were deceiving themselves;
that Negro disfranchisement was not simply a matter of illiteracy,
and that caste was deeper than whim. The majority of Northern-
ers knew that they were assenting to a dirty deal which was a flat
denial of democracy, a slap in the faces of those who signed the
Declaration of Independence, and base ingratitude to the black
soldiers and laborers who helped win the Civil War. It affronted a
race whose emancipation they had loudly proclaimed to the world
was the cause and excuse for civil war-“the glory of the coming of
the Lord!” They knew lynching was the crowning disgrace of Ameri-
can civilization.
Such persons excused their souls and their country by remind-
ing themselves that the ruling white race, entrusted by God with
the care of this muddled world, was sometimes compelled by the
sinful and incompetent mass of the world's peoples to take harsh
and unpleasant measures for the good of mankind as a whole. The
glory of God and the salvation of the world must be pursued even
while a few suffered temporarily. They therefore redoubled their
missionary efforts in Africa, China, India and other lands, while
cutting down their contributions to Negro schools in the South.
They received the assurances of good business men that disfran-
chisement would restore normal life and wholesome economic con-
ditions and that profitable business was civilization. Moreover, con-
tributions to Hampton and Tuskegee would encourage the right
sort of training for American Negroes.
There were other Northerners who took refuge in stubborn
silence. They neither talked, wrote nor preached on this subject,
pleading that it was either insoluble or at least that they did not
understand it and would leave its settlement to those who did.
But there were a few who recited the Golden Rule and the Declara-


Color Caste
233
“Perhaps, but dangerous. It needs scientific guidance. The
whites have strongly advised that Washington acquire my services.”
"For what?"
"That's just it. For what? I went to talk to him in order to
find out what he wanted me to do."
"What did he say?"
“Nothing. Literally nothing. I talked my head off: about my
plans and methods. About my ideals. He just let me talk until I
realized that he had made me no real or definite offer. I saw that
he did not trust me, that he was probing to learn just what my
'game' was. I had no game. But now I know what his white advisers'
game is. They want to place me in a position where they can guide
and curb my thought. Well, I don't like it. I am going to refuse
his offer of employment at Tuskegee, which he never made definite.
I am going to publish this year a criticism of Washington and his
philosophy.”
"You'll attack him?"
"No, I'll advise him and show him where he is wrong."
Mansart pondered and then ventured to say: "White people
won't likart pondered and show him whe
This was true. Pierce was back of the effort to remove Burghardt
from Atlanta University to Tuskegee. Burghardt had brains and
ability and worked hard, but he must be kept under disciplined
restraint. It was first proposed to settle him at Hampton to edit
a magazine for Negroes, but he immediately told Dr. Frissel, the
Bishop of Rhode Island, and John Pierce, who formed the commit-
tee to test him out, that he would accept only if he had full charge
of the policy of the magazine. In the face of this presumptuousness
the plan was quietly but quickly dropped. Then the Tuskegee
offer was made, and Burghardt's widely read book was the result of
that.
This was too much and this man must leave Atlanta University
and be silenced. But there were obstacles, first of which were his
undoubtedly scientific and widely acclaimed “Studies of the Negro
Problem.” Nowhere else in the world was such a set of studies being
made. They were not good but they were the best being done and
might be the foundation of a new science of sociology.
Then in 1905, as color caste hardened, this firebrand formed the
“Niagara Movement.” It was a band of only a dozen Negroes, none
of whom were rich or famous, but their Manifesto rang over the
nation like a scream of defiance. And in 1906, this group, grown


234
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
to over a hundred, met again at the Harpers Ferry of John Brown
and issued what Burghardt had written:
In the past year the work of the Negro hater has flour-
ished in the land. Step by step the defenders of the rights of
American citizens have retreated. The work of stealing the
black man's ballot has progressed and the fifty and more
representatives of stolen votes still sit in the nation's capital.
... Never before in the modern age has a great and civilized
folk threatened to adopt so cowardly a creed in the treatment
of its fellow-citizens, born and bred on its soil. Stripped of
verbose subterfuge and in its naked nastiness, the new
American creed says: fear to let black men even try to rise
lest they become the equals of the white. And this in the land
that professes to follow Jesus Christ. The blasphemy of such
a course is only matched by its cowardice.


Chapter XIV
THE ATLANTA RIOT
oy in New Y., just 20 yearsil, 1906 camerty after
Disfranchisement, caste and lynching brought hatred, riot and
murder. The year 1906 was in a sense the year of Doom. Japan
had just won a war against Russia; India was struggling toward
freedom. Blind Tom, a musical prodigy, was dying in poverty after
making his white owners rich. Then in April, 1906 came the San
Francisco earthquake and fire, just 20 years after Charleston. In
June a rich playboy in New York murdered the leading American
architect and went unpunished. In July the new Niagara Movement
for American Negro freedom met at Harpers Ferry. In August,
Theodore Roosevelt punished the Negro 25th Cavalry for resenting
color discrimination in Texas. In September came the Atlanta race
riot, and in October Manuel Mansart was thirty years old.
Mansart's five years in Atlanta had not been without success.
He had made a good principal and had been promoted; but his
financial position remained difficult and he came to see that much
of his time must go to family problems and not to the Negro
Question or even to his public schools. His salary was, to be sure,
now more than twice its former size, but it appeared soon that his
expenses would be at least three times their former amount. There
was the house: it was not new nor really good, but the rent was
fantastic and the only remedy seemed to be to buy a home, as all
the teachers were trying to do. The white real estate dealers were
eager to arrange this, but the results resembled life slavery to
mortgages, interest and taxes.
He must remain at present satisfied with a rented house of five
rooms, but not fewer because the two-year old baby whom they
had brought from Jerusalem was joined by another boy the very
year they arrived, and by a third in 1903. The house became pretty
crowded, the wife driven by housework, and new furniture, new
clothes and shoes and growing quantities of food were in constant
demand. With the best effort Manuel found himself running into
debt and patronizing the loan sharks who fattened on Negro teach-
ers and artisans.
The organization of the Atlanta Negro schools followed that of
Jerusalem in avoiding as much as possible the wasting of the
235


236
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
time of the superintendent on them. He did not want colored
teachers complaining to him or even visiting him. There was little
he could do about their complaints even if he wanted to and he
did not much want to. So the colored schools were put in nominal
charge of a colored "supervisor” who had neither initiative nor
power. John James had served in this position since 1890, and he
was tired and old. Manuel Mansart had deliberately ignored him.
His object was eventually to head the Negro schools of Atlanta.
For this he knew he needed better preparation; also he knew that
he must make friends with the white school authorities. The Wash-
ington doctrine had been criticized, but it had taken deep root.
He proposed to put down his buckets”right in Atlanta.
consolidated th white city prolent jealousy amon. were stirring, ana
The general labor conditions in the city were not good. The
very fact that there was an abundance of labor made for trouble.
There was white labor and black labor, and they had to be care-
fully balanced against each other. The Negroes were stirring, and
the stirring of the Negroes meant jealousy among the poor whites.
In 1899 the white city proletariat began to move forward. They
consolidated the various white unions and formed the Georgia
Federation of Labor. Then they began to fight the attempt of
Negroes further to enter the ranks of skilled labor and the by
no means negligible efforts of Negro capital. Whenever Negroes
were hired in a mill or at any work not recognized as their usual
work, the white unions struck and usually secured the dismissal
of the person. This happened in machine works and in cotton
mills several times. When, however, the white workers struck to
better their own working conditions they usually lost, and always
met the threat of Negroes being hired to replace them. This in-
creased race hate, until at last in 1901, the Federation of Labor
came out flatly in favor of disfranchising Negroes, thus deliberately
cutting the labor vote in two. This was easily accomplished, be-
cause it tied white labor to the same race superiority as the own-
ers of property and in a way foreshadowed the day when all whites
would be rich and all blacks their servants.
In 1902, came the Georgia Industrial Association of Millown-
ers, a powerful body of white employers, with propaganda and
political influence. Already millowners had been cooperating; they
had combined in 1896 and defeated the first law against child
labor. It was forty years before child labor was even partially abol-
ished and in 1900 one-fourth of the eighteen thousand mill work-
ers in Georgia were under seventeen. The new organization was


The Atlanta Riot
237
had assimcome to live ind controlled, ed." He said
wise in its day and generation. It brought pressure on members of
the legislature; it spent money on "welfare” work; it began to move
the mills out from the cities toward country towns where the em-
ployers owned the homes, school houses and churches and paid for
the teachers and preachers. Political power drifted almost entirely
into the hands of the employers and the next step was to induce
the powerful white Baptist Church in its State Convention to take
a stand against trades unions. That same year the legislature made
the Age of Consent for girls 10 years; graft and bribery ruled the
state; and the leasing of convicts to private employers was still one
of the most profitable enterprises in the state.
In this environment John Pierce as the years passed became
more and more Southern in his thought and reactions. He did not,
like his father, say bluntly "the public be damned!” He said the
public must be cajoled, bought and controlled. He had learned
much since he had come to live in the South in 1885. Gradually
the South had assimilated and molded him. He lived in an en-
vironment which talked of the “drivel” about "democracy” and the
"popular will.” It said: Look at England and the Empire "on which
the sun never sets!" It was the greatest government in the world
and the most benevolent. Did anybody hear of East or West In-
dians voting? Did the Fiji cannibals or the Chinese coolies elect
members of Parliament to make laws for the British aristocracy to
live under? Yet here we were with what would yet be the greatest
colonial dominion on earth right in our hands, and we were belly-
aching because a lot of lazy Negroes wanted to vote instead of
work. .
They should be thankful for the chance to live in this great
land and work for its wealth instead of yelling bloody murder
because they could not go to Congress or marry white women.
Business was King. The white race ruled the world and always
would. “We ruling whites have made our mistakes and blunders.
But we have built the greatest civilization the world ever saw and
by God! we are going to keep it pure, and profitable.”
Great applause greeted this speech before the New York Cham-
ber of Commerce in 1900. Big sums of money had been contributed
to elect McKinley and defeat Bryan. The Free Silver craze and
Populism were beaten in America; just as the "Little Englanders"
were beaten in England. The impudent Boxers-haters of white
people-were overthrown in China. Life insurance in America
touched $400 millions. Movies, radios and autos became common;
and world commerce reached $20 billions. The triumphant rule


The Atlanta Riot
239
and industry across lines of race and poverty. Bryan was not the
man, for he utterly misunderstood or deliberately ignored the rące
problem and the labor problem of which it was a part. Teddy
Roosevelt began his career of trust-busting; that is, of complaint
against understandings between great industrial organizations in
1902 which enabled them to control the markets. He worked against
them through anti-trust legislation; reclamation of resources; pure-
food laws; and the Interstate Commerce Commission. Wealth
fought him through the courts, which practically overthrew his
anti-trust legislation and opposed his conservation program.
This illustrated a tendency in the whole nation to surrender
Democracy; and the increasing rule of wealth in the government
of the country was soon realized by Theodore Roosevelt himself.
His affiliations were naturally with the owning and employing
class, but he soon saw the danger in the power of wealth in Ameri-
can politics and he spoke out. At the John Brown celebration at
Osawatomie in 1910 he said:
"We grudge no man a fortune if it is honorably attained and
well used. But it is not enough that it should have been gained
without doing damage. We should permit it to be gained only so
long as the gaining represents benefits to the community."
Then from the great fight before him to release Democracy
from organized wealth Roosevelt was unfortunately drawn into
imperialism. He used the Big Stick in Panama; he fought for the
“open-door” for Big Business in China.
The political dichotomy in Georgia in 1905 was extraordinary.
Capital from the North was plentiful as John Pierce, one of its
chief representatives, knew. The pall of the Crisis of 1893 was
passing. But Capital wanted security-wanted assurance. Strikes
were still raging in the North: the bitter anthracite strike was hardly
settled; the typographers had been striking for two years; there
had been this very year 2,500 different strikes as compared with
750 twenty years ago. Railroads all over were under fierce attack;
trusts were growing and merging; and the popular demand for
cheaper money was frightening.
The dominant Democratic Party of Georgia was torn in two.
One faction was led by Clark Howell of the powerful Atlanta
Constitution, representing the Press, Wealth, Capital, the Rail-
roads, banks and factories. Behind him stood, naturally, John
Pierce and his Northern interests. On the other side stood Hoke
Smith, a member of Cleveland's Cabinet, who saw the radical trend
in the North and yielded to it. Like Roosevelt he began to attack
fitinal dichotomy in Georgia In ayuu
.


242
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
white South that he was not unduly favoring Negroes. When a black
army regiment was placed in a small Texas city and given treatment
reserved for black folk, it stood all it could and then one night it
shot up the town. The damage was small. Only one white man was
killed. But Roosevelt remembered this black regiment and how it
once saved his neck at San Juan hill, Cuba. He reacted savagely to
show the South that he, too, was "white.” He dismissed a whole
battalion in dishonor. The black world protested. In Texas Sebas-
tian Doyle, dying from tuberculosis, wrote to young Foraker, his
classmate in Ohio. Foraker aroused his father, the United States
Senator, who fought ten years before he secured partial redress.
In September came the Atlanta riot.
The real cause of the disaster was not, however, just the Smith
campaign. It lay ten years back in the tirades by Tillman of South
Carolina, Vardaman of Mississippi, and Tom Dixon of North Caro-
lina. They painted the Negro as an enemy of the nation and threat
to civilization. The North, in newspaper and club, listened sym-
pathetically. Through the long, fetid years the pus of race hate fes-
tered and swelled in the putrid boil.
The labor situation in Georgia was in turmoil. Negroes were
fleeing the country to escape slavery and congregating in villages
and cities. Then came the Crisis of 1903; especially in Atlanta they
were arrested wholesale. There was a mass of unhappy resentful
people, black and white. 16,000 were arrested in 1903; 6,000 white
and 10,000 Negroes and among them 3,000 women. All were jailed
for disorderly conduct and drunkenness, idling, loitering and vague
suspicion. In 1904, 18,000 were arrested. Atlanta in 1905 had three
times as many arrests as cities three times its size, and the over-
whelming majority of the prisoners were Negroes, despite the fact
that Negroes formed less than forty per-cent of the city population.
The State was aroused as never before. Race bitterness seethed,
and white labor took the bit into its teeth. It demanded economic
disfranchisement of the Negro to follow political. The Negro
must be kept from buying land, his education must be curtailed,
his occupations limited.
"The minds of the mob must be turned again and turned from
political and economic thought to pure race hatred. Immediately
the sex motif arose to leadership. All subconsciously, sex hovers
about race in Georgia. Every Negro question at times becomes a
matter of sex. Voting? They want social equality. Schools? They
are after our daughters. Land? They'll rape our wives. Continually
the secrecy, the veiled suggestion, the open warning pivots on sex;
try to ese Crisis of 1993 mass of unge
r took used as never per-cent of ones, despi


The Atlanta Riot
243
particularly owned by Howell, was fanned to fury
gossip rages and horrible stories are spread. The ignorant, the su-
perstitious, feed on such flame and go mad with anger and hate.
There is something horrible in the air that swells at times and
bursts. The world goes stark mad.”
The entire state of Georgia was fanned to fury. The newspapers
of Atlanta, owned by Howell, Smith and John Temple Graves,
particularly vied in lurid tales of assault. Denunciation of the
Negro race followed; cooked up stories of rape and murder filled
the press; Negro schools were denounced. Negro leaders were vili-
fied. And all at once it seemed that not capitalistic exploitation but
the presence of the Negro race was the chief cause of Georgia's
poverty and ignorance. The campaign of betrayal and lies climaxed
three decades of deception. And above the shrill chorus of Negro
hate rose the shriller yell of Tom Watson. He shrieked and raved
like a maniac. Nothing was too low, too revolting for him to pile
on the prostrate Negro, once his friend, ally and guide.
Manuel Mansart was terrified. At first in accord with his Wash-
ington philosophy, he had “kept out of politics.” The campaign
was not mentioned officially in his school. He even refrained from
talking about it among his friends. Then he went to hear Watson.
He could not believe all the newspapers were saying about his
message. As he stood far in the rear listening, he again could not
believe his eyes and ears. Was this the man who had defended
Doyle from lynchers? Was this the champion of the laborer and
small farmer? If so he must be insane. He must have gone mad.
In 1906 Hoke Smith was elected governor of Georgia with the
support of Tom Watson and John Pierce, and on an anti-Negro
platform. And that year the nation went mad. In San Francisco
in April, earthquake, fire and flood engulfed the city, killed thou-
sands of men, women and children. The world wept at a disaster
so frightfully beyond human effort, so remindful of man's puny
civilization. But few connected in thought this disaster with an-
other, six months later, the riot in Atlanta the same year.
It was Saturday afternoon, September 22, 1906. Atlanta was
filled with country people, idle workers, casual loafers. On this hot
half-holiday the saloons were wide open; drunkards were reeling
and petty politicians yelling loudly, while newsboys screeched
"rape" extras. All the Atlanta newspapers threw "extras” on the
street-the News alone had five of them with headlines five inches
high announcing four "assaults” on white women in succession.
Then suddenly it broke out: an oath, a scuffle and the mob was


244
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
were richored servants to ignored the repeaceion. All nig
loose. Like most mobs, the core of this rabble was hoodlums, drunk-
ards and half-grown boys. They started to chase and beat lone Ne-
groes, those huddled in the rear of street cars or hurrying along
the crowded streets. They chased black boys and beat old men.
Some they shot dead.
But this lawless core of whites was not the real cause. There
were rich and respectable whites who the day before had warned
their colored servants to avoid the streets this particular afternoon.
There were officials who ignored the repeated plea of quiet Negro
well-to-do communities to send police protection. All night the mob
raged through the city until Negroes were cleared from the streets
or dead in the gutter. But they did not go to Darktown where crime
and degradation festered amid hardworking laborers, churches and
saloons. Here the massed black folk gathered silently. Here were
thousands to be killed while in the main city only stragglers re-
mained. The black mob yelled along Decatur Street: “Come on
down, Crackers, we're waiting for you!” But the white mob rested
until next day.
On Sunday they muttered and drank and went to church. Then
early Monday, behind the police, circling defiant Darktown they
moved on south Atlanta beyond the city limits. Here was a Negro
college where Crogman taught and Sebastian Doyle once studied;
here were well-to-do colored homes of teachers, craftsmen and shop
keepers. Here were the Negroes who trusted white folk and followed
Booker Washington. The police came “looking for guns," and
behind them surged the white mob looking for loot. The mob
broke open homes, killed the unarmed, and stole everything they
could lay hands on. The police with guns and clubs subdued all
Negroes who tried to resist.
Four days in all this drunken, sadistic orgy of murder, theft
and maiming swept on, in and about the city. Then at last the
city began to come to its senses. Those intelligent reapers of At-
lanta's wealth, the merchants, the top politicians, the preachers and
professional men, realized that this lawless surrender to the mob
was getting out of hand. A captain of industry characteristically
wailed: “Saturday evening the credit of Atlanta was good for any
number of millions in New York. Today, Monday, we couldn't
borrow fifty cents."
This thoroughly awakened the city. Wealth, Power and Re-
spectability took firm hold, and Religion preached. They counted
the damage. So far as could be ascertained, a hundred human be-
ings, nearly all black, had been killed and wounded; hundreds had


The Atlanta Riot
245
been scattered, without work; and widows and orphans were home-
less, helpless and alone. And property-not of the white rich but
essas med tacone warni amanwertown and on
the hard savings of the black poor-had been stolen or destroyed.
But not a single known criminal nor vagrant, white or black, had
been found or arrested.
It is not often today that men see the fabric of civilization loos-
en, dissolve and give way. John Pierce saw it from his office window
on Marietta Street, and he did not soon forget it. And too, one
little black boy saw it and never forgot. He was Douglass, the eldest
of Mansart's children. Himself seven years old, he had his five-year-
old brother by the hand. They were hurrying home from the
city. A man came running toward them. He was black. He ran
crazily in zig-zag leaps; the blood was streaming down his face,
and in his arms was a baby. Behind him was a crowd of shouting,
yelling, cursing white men and boys. They were shooting and throw-
ing stones and clods of dirt, and swinging clubs. Their cries rose
like a cloud of sound; the fury of their rush swept over the children
like a breath of hell.
Wildly Douglass scrambled to his feet only to see the mob strike
another crowd like a great crash of soft and hard masses. The on-
coming mass was black; they, too, were bloody. They, too, yelled
with fury, and then all writhed together until suddenly all were
gone; all save the few stark, dirty, reddened forms that never stirred
again. Douglass staggered home long, long steps, to find it bare and
open. He and his brother crept upstairs. Late that night he heard
his parents enter with the other boy and creep upstairs to look for
him and his brother. He lay very still with closed eyes. They came
and looked, then shut the door and went back downstairs. All night
he heard them moving about. All night he heard the far off cries of
angry and dying men. This was the Atlanta Riot.
Dr. Carter of Friendship Baptist, who had once advised the
boy Manuel Mansart on race relations, sat in his darkened study.
The Atlanta Riot had terribly discouraged him, for his belief in
God and Ultimate Right was profound. He had preached this
Sunday after the riot and ended with that low monotone of the
Negro folk song. The audience joined in the solemn voice of the
Negro dirge: "God's gonna shake this wicked world!”
He could raise little fervor and did not try, but plodded monot-
onously through his conventional phrases. During the following
weekdays he attended inter-racial meetings. The whole world
seemed reeling.
Later with some hesitation Dr. Carter prepared for the annual
şahad terribly disofound. He hmonotone of the


246
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
"revival” in his church. For some years now the larger Negro
churches had farmed out this chore to hired evangelists who were
trained to arouse and frighten “sinners” to join the church and
help pay its expenses. Dr. Carter had long resisted this because he
saw it was artificial and unsound. But now after this awful riot,
he simply did not have the heart to summon hard working people
to come to a God who had failed them in their helpless distress.
He hired a popular colored evangelist and stayed home.
The evangelist was a shrewd and intelligent man and did this
sort of thing for a living. His knowledge of the psychology of
crowds, and particularly of Negro crowds, was profound, and
preachers were willing to pay him a goodly sum to relieve them
in this annual recruiting of their congregations. Carter did not
think much of his methods, but he knew his power and technique,
and he had to acknowledge that in "conversations” he was a fin-
ished artist.
This year his opportunity was unusual because the nerves of
the people had been set on edge by the riot. They had seen Death in
its ugliest form and they were prepared to learn about God and what
he had done and what he proposed to do. But the evangelist did
not quite strike the right note. These people were not disposed to
think about submission and Heaven; they had been through Hell
and they wanted to talk about the vengeance of the Lord right
here on earth. The stranger who had not lived through the riot
did not understand their attitude. His usual vocabulary and stock
of antics left his audience curiously cold and he realized it. Into
this fervor, which was usually so productive of loud "amens” and
even screams of approval, crept a doubt. He confessed to himself
that this was the hardest and dumbest crowd that he had met for
a long time. While he was shouting and gesticulating he began
seriously calculating whether he was going to be as successful in
this church as he had expected and if he would be able to raise a
large enough sum to pay his expenses and to justify himself before
the Reverend Dr. Carter; and be able to get further engagements
on Carter's valuable recommendation. He had already been here
a week and if things did not pick up, he did not propose to fool
away another week.
He raised his voice to a great shout: "Come to Jesus!" pausing
dramatically. And then the break came. He was used to it; if he
could work his audience up to a certain point the floodgates
would give way and a wave of emotion would seize them and toss


The Atlanta Riot
247
ed even there. He thought Then he grippe in the
them up and on. Usually there were premonitions of such an event,
increasing centers of excitement here and there, murmurs and sobs;
but tonight in an audience cold and still, suddenly a scream rent
the air. It startled even the evangelist. For a moment he did not
connect it with his preaching. He thought perhaps somebody had
been hurt, or vaguely pictured a white mob. Then he gripped him-
self and realized. A woman had arisen and was standing in the
audience. Tears were streaming down her face and she had beside
her a little boy fiercely clasped by the hand.
The evangelist paused and then bent forward. He was himself
again: he knew the symptoms. Here was the call, the demoniac
possession, the frenzy of religious madness. It was typified by a
woman who evidently did not easily let herself go; who was strug-
gling even now to keep back the emotion that surged within her.
The evangelist stretched his arms; he was a big man and standing
high in the pulpit loomed tall over the audience. His vast voice
rolled: “Come to Jesus,” he said, looking straight at the woman,
and she came with a swift rush, dragging the little boy beside her,
frightened but unresisting. She came up the aisle and the intensity
of her emotion, the trembling of her hands and the swelling of her
hard-held sobs gripped the audience because they knew her. She
represented all that they had been through; these awful days; the
police; the chain gang; murder, rape, mobs and fire; the horror of
everything that was called "the race problem.” And she represented
too the hard hand which had held out against God all these years
and now had been miraculously touched.
A great moaning swelled over the audience. It rose to a mur-
mur and broke into a prayer with low obbligato of strophe and
antistrophe:
O Lord (Hear her, Jesus-bless His name)
Receive this soul (Bow down our knees-and bow our hearts
beneath our knees)
That comes a-weeping to your breast.
(Make a way, God-in the Sin Wilderness)
Open your great arms, God (O Crucified One-open your
arms)
And take her in, give her Peace, God! Give her Peace.
(Wash her sin away-save her soul)
And wash her sins away in your own blood-your own blood,
O Lord our God and Savior of Men.


250
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
she looked apery of he
preached fundamental belief in every word of scripture; who held
God as a personal friend as real as the people to whom he preached;
who went to him daily in prayer and praise, now wondered how
he had ever believed in anyone or anything who could permit or
ignore this Atlanta horror. Did He ever exist? Did anything good
exist? Why, what, where?
There came after a time a timid knock on his office door. He
did not answer. After a pause it came again, low but imperative.
He emitted a half impatient, “Come in!”
The door opened gently and in it stood an elderly white woman,
gray-haired and dressed in gray. He arose. She hesitated and said
in a well-modulated voice:
cu Voice: .
"Dr. Carter? Please sit. I am so sorry to disturb you. I know
how weary you must be, but I will take but a ininute of your time.
I just had to come.”
He could not talk, but silently motioned her to a seat. She sat
down, arranging the expensive drapery of her gown and removing
her gray gloves. Then she looked at him with an apologetic smile.
“Thank you for your service, dear Dr. Carter. I have two
thoughts to add. First, dare I say that you must not blame God
too much in these awful days? We know that God would not permit
Evil if He could help himself. God did not shake this wicked
world; the wicked world shook God.”
Dr. Carter murmured, "Men are evill”
“They are largely incorrigible devils. Therefore we must pity
the poor dear God. He is doing his best. And now, one other thing:
the earthquake did not cause the riot-it was the other way around.
The riot brought the earthquake and fire in San Francisco, just
as it did the destruction of Lisbon 150 years before. You see at
times the dear God tremble in helpless wrath."
Dr. Carter sat up.
“But the riot was five months later!"
"What difference? Time is but our habit of thought. Reason
is more than Time, and Deed embodies Reason. You see, I have
just come from San Francisco. I had to go and see for myself. I
know now that the riot caused the earthquake. The earthquake
was far more disastrous: 500 died and 350 millions of wealth were
destroyed. That murder and flame came from the hate and horror
of Atlanta.”
Dr. Carter protested. “But one was the act of God, the other
the evil of Man."
thoughtsnk you for


The Atlanta Riot
251
The woman smiled placidly: "Exactly; but first came the evil,
then five months before came the punishment."
“Oh, no, no, no! Why punish California for the sin of Georgia?"
The woman said, “We must rely on God's sense of justice. San
Francisco suffered not only for Georgia but also for itself. For
fifty years it has poisoned the world with Gold. It made this nation
greedy and sordid; a mass of thieves and murderers, until finally
it burst into shivering flame. But that fire was ignited by the baser
instincts of Atlanta. Atlanta financed Slavery, it cajoled gentlemen
gentlemer.
and made them bandits. How well I remember dear General Gor-
don, that brave knight, before Huntington made him a thief; and
Hoke Smith, the liar, was once a gentle boy; while little Tom
Watson was starved and went crazy.
“But no more of that. This last word, dear Dr. Carter: don't
blame this on God. Lay the sin on the people. Preach Christ cruci-
fied and tell how much more crucifixion is asked of each of us here,
and now, or God himself will die. I'm sorry to go on so. Forgive
me. Here is a contribution for your good work. And now, may I
use your phone? I know my folk will be anxious about me."
Dr. Carter arose a little bewildered to point out the phone,
when a peremptory knocking came on his door. He opened it. A
grouphr weid hissedewhites are he
group of well-dressed whites and two policemen entered hastily.
“Oh,” said his guest. "You're here. I'm so glad. I was expecting
you. I was about to call."
She bowed graciously, shook hands with Dr. Carter, and left
on the arm of an anxious-looking man.
One of the policemen, who knew Dr. Carter, winked as he left
and significantly pointed to his forehead. “Plum crazy," he whis-
pered. “Been giving her family the slip. Where do you think she
has been?-San Francisco!"
Dr. Carter sat down and rested in darkness and silence for a
long season. Then his hands began to grope among his books and
papers until he found it-that copy of the New York Independent
which came last week and which already he had thumbed to shreds.
He held it before him, but did not read; he recited from memory,
from bitter memory:
Wherefore do we pray? Is not God of the fathers dead?
Have not seers seen in Heaven's halls? Thine hearsed and
lifeless form stark amidst the black and rolling smoke of sin,
where all along bow bitter forms of endless dead?


Chapter XV
ATLANTA REPENTS
On the morning after the riot, white Atlanta rose like a
drunkard after a spree, or a careworn sleeper after a nightmare.
Those tolerant citizens who had allowed the storm to gather and
burst without protest or real action, now suddenly became aware
of their civil responsibilities. The natural recoil of men of good
will was mightily reinforced by businessmen and capitalists who
feared for Atlanta's credit as a safe haven for investment and the
financial center of the New South. The nation must be reassured.
Especially this race problem must be attacked vigorously and
frankly. Interracial committees of prominent whites and Negroes
sprang into being, and numberless conferences were held.
The most immediate reaction however was haunting fear; the
urge to see if there were any elements in town deliberately stirring
up trouble or thinking of revenge. And this meant of course not
white folk but Negroes who were dissatisfied and who might be
thinking of public agitation or even of reprisal. The editor of a
little colored magazine, “The Voice of the Negro," a frank, intel-
ligent young man who had the impudence to write a complaining
letter to the New York World, was forthwith warned to leave
town.
The Atlanta Riot scared John Pierce. There was no other word
for it; scared him. He was, in 1906, fifty-six years old. His father
had left him not only a millionaire, but with almost uncounted
other millions in his control and under his influence.
His wife, Kate, had not been a success in Southern society.
Everybody liked her frank manners, but she was a little too frank
for a group where sophistication was the ideal and feelings were
deliberately disguised and hidden. Atlanta society pretended to live
in the vivid memory of a war which was the center of Southern
history. To Kate the war had only been hunger and hard work.
Bull Run, Manassas and the Merrimac evoked no memories in her,
and now and then she made some fatal faux pas, like mentioning
Sherman or humming “Marching through Georgia,” or professing
never to have heard of Stonewall Jackson!
253


254
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
CU.
Gradually society leaders like Betty Lou dropped her from her
more intimate acquaintances. But of course Kate moved among the
best when she moved at all, for her husband was rich. Mostly she
stayed at home and made it a most comfortable place for her hus-
band. Her occasional receptions served delicious food and were
well-attended, even if return invitations sometimes failed to arrive.
The very excellence of his home arrangements led John Pierce
gradually to forget his wife. Of course he was not aware of this
and would have denied it. He was fond of Kate, but his busi-
ness interests grew and did not include her; she knew less and
less about them and more and more they did not discuss them. His
social life also gradually proceeded without her because of her
home duties. Often when she was snubbed Pierce did not realize
it, because Kate never complained.
With her son, Kate had never had much contact. He from birth
was an institution. After a lovely infancy he had been whisked off
to local schools and then north to high school and college. As it
appeared to Kate he had never returned to live at home. He only
boarded there. He kissed her good morning daily and then disap-
peared.
A baby girl came in 1892, but after two delirious years of sturdy
happiness, it died suddenly of the children's dysentery so common
in Atlanta at the time, and closely connected with a partially open
sewer system. With this death Kate's interest in life waned. She
could not keep from connecting this catastrophe with her religious
apostasy. She had not dared even to appear to know anything of
Catholicism in Atlanta, much less to attend a Catholic Church.
She took the little corpse to New York and buried it in consecrated
ground beside her father and mother. After this more and more
her life became separate from that of her husband, although char-
acteristically he still did not notice it.
In 1901 the European demand for capital to finance growing
colonial imperialism in Africa, Asia and the Balkans made it ad-
visable that John Pierce go abroad. He remembered that his son
would be graduating from Princeton that Spring and a trip to
Europe would be for his further education. Also, it would cut off
his rather too frequent meetings with Henrietta Sheldon; her
father was dead and she had spent summers with the Pierces dur-
ing the last two years. But as Pierce remarked to Kate, such a mar-
riage would be unsuitable-he had other plans for the boy. Also, he
remembered to ask Kate to go with them, fulfilling an old dream
which they had often discussed.
Princeton won. Also, it "heldon; her


Atlanta Repents
255
Kate recalled when her husband had made an unsuitable mar-
riage, but she said nothing and went along. On the voyage another
matter of disagreement occurred. Kate had assumed that of course
they would visit Ireland. To her a trip abroad had always meant
seeing County Cork. But now her son looked at her and said:
“Why Ireland? To get acquainted with the Shanty Irish?"
Kate flared, “Yes!" she said, "My father was one!”
Her husband looked annoyed and the son surprised. “I thought
grandfather was a Southerner-a Confederate officer”
The father hastily intervened: “We've no time for Ireland this
trip," he said. “I must hasten to London and Paris.”
Nothing more was said on the matter. They spent two weeks in
London which Kate hated; and then a month in Paris, which they
all loved, particularly the week at Versailles.
When they returned to Atlanta, Kate persuaded Pierce to
buy an estate further out than the Peachtree district so as to make
her social life less annoying. In a meadow lying rather below the
level of the through road they bought fifty acres, and in the center
built a mansion fashioned after Versailles in general plan and col-
oring.
Here Kate occupied her time in decorating, in housekeeping
and wandering about field and forest. She saw her husband usually
only at the breakfasts which she prepared personally and he en-
joyed. Almost invariably he lunched and dined in town, excusing
her because of her duties around the new estate. She bought a
dog, a Great Dane, for company. They were inseparable on her
long walks. Also since the baby's death Kate had secretly re-entered
the Catholic church, but with no connections in Atlanta. Continu-
ally, the son belonged to the father and not the mother. Even during
and after the riot it was with his father that he talked; it never
occurred to him to discuss such things with his mother. And Kate
was not so forward with her opinions as she formerly had been.
John Pierce had planned to keep his son in the South. He had
faith in the South. By 1906, he had spent twenty years here in de-
veloping carefully his plans, with studied care regardless of ex-
pense. He had not reckoned on race hate as so terrific an impulse;
so frightful a motive. Right in Atlanta, the Capital of his new
South, he had seen stark murder stalking men like beasts in a
jungle.
Pierce was a man of peace and order. He had seen little rioting
or lawlessness or blood save as incidents; as a matter for police and
instant restoration of order. Once, as a boy in New York in his


258
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
audience that there were certain matters of regular business before
the house which ought temporarily to take precedence over this mo
tion!”
He then proceeded to appoint chairmen of several committees
and to listen to many long and vague reports. Finally, when the
audience had recovered its breath and poise, the chairman tenta-
tively "suggested” that young Mr. Pierce confer with the several
chairmen just appointed, and that in consultation with them a new
resolution to which all agreed could be submitted to the next meet-
ing. Rather irregularly but speedily and without objection the
suggestion replaced Pierce's motion and the meeting adjourned.
Pierce knew that he had been tactfully out-maneuvered, but he
was not licked. The Reverend Dr. Barnswell was rushing away
when Pierce, slipping out just as the Doctor was entering his
carriage, asked a word. The preacher, looking as near annoyed as he
ever permitted himself, graciously made room beside him, telling
the colored coachman meantime to “Hurry, please, Ben, I am
already late for an important session of our Foreign Missions Board."
It was meeting in the very elegant quarters of his Church House.
Pierce plunged into his subject:
“The riot was a terrible thing, wasn't it, Doctor?"
"It was horrible! The ways of Providence are past finding out!"
"You don't mean you're blaming God for it, do you?”
"Certainly not. I blame ourselves, poor miserable sinners that
we are,”
"Don't you think, then, that we ought to get busy and stop
sinning?"
“My dear young man, that is impossible. We were conceived in
sin. But we ought to besiege the throne of God for help in bearing
this intolerable burden."
"Pardon me, sir, but we don't seem to be getting anywhere. You
are not saying, are you, that God is playing a cat and mouse game
with us?"
Dr. Barnswell looked outraged but answered quietly, “No, sir,
I mean that the ways of God are past finding out."
"That I readily grant, but the ways of men are painfully clear,
aren't they?"
"I do not judge my fellow men.”
“Wasn't the late Governor Joe Brown a member of your
church?”
"He was a staunch doer of good works.”
“And a thrifty doer of some mighty evil ones.”
The Doctor was annoyed and murmured, "I pray each day,"


Atlanta Repents
259
"But, sir, we can't have it both ways: either we are guilty or
God is. If it is our fault, or so far as it is, we ought to do something
besides pray. Now as I see it, one sin is that the churches are so
divided; black and white; Protestant and Catholic; Methodist, Bap-
tist and whatnot-don't you think we ought to begin to have com-
mon services, joint efforts, interlocking organizations in order to
fight evil, to get to know each other better and achieve brother-
hood?”
"I do not! The Church of God—”
"Which one?”
“I am sorry, sir, to interrupt this talk, but we have arrived—”
“Then you really think that God likes white Methodists better
than black; and Protestants better than Catholics—"
“Good day!” said the Doctor sharply as he left the carriage.
Dr. Barnswell sat down beside the lady chairman of the Missions
Board.
“Sometimes,” he said as he wiped his brow, "I fear the younger
generation has lost all reverence for God!”
Tight-lipped, Pierce took a cab to the Board of Education. The
Superintendent of Schools headed the proposed new education
program. He was quickly received as his father's son. But the super-
intendent laughed in his face:
"Mr. Pierce, I haven't the money to make the Negro schools
equal to white. And if I had it and used it for this purpose, I'd
lose my job as soon as the Board of Education met. And,” he added
significantly, “some of us have to have jobs.”
They looked at each other a long moment and then without
another word John walked out, climbed the hill to the City Club
and took two stiff drinks. Then he heard the words of his neigh-
bor-and no God-damned Northern ‘nigger’-lover is going to
change that!” He turned and looked Colonel Brady, the president,
straight in the eye:
"Change what?" he asked.
“The White Primary! No 'nigger' is ever going to vote in At-
lanta, Georgia!”
"Even if it costs another riot?"
The Colonel downed another whiskey: “Not if it costs us an-
other riot and the company of every damned 'nigger’-loving carpet-
bagger in the Pierce office!"
Then John Pierce promptly drove his fist into the Colonel's eye.
The Colonel would have killed him then and there but he did not
happen to be carrying his customary revolver. The two clinched


260
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
and were separated, but naturally that ended the short-lived cru-
sade of young John Pierce. He was forced to resign from the City
Club and was gradually ostracized socially.
He and his father had a frank talk.
“John, I'm disappointed. I hoped you'd be the third Pierce to
head our business enterprises."
"I'm disappointed too. I sort of took it for granted that I'd
have to follow you and Granddad, although I didn't like
it. But I'm puzzled now. Follow what? Where are we headed?
Just what is Business, anyway? You see, I had a vague idea that
Business might become a kind of professional service to help the
world. I didn't see myself as any knight-errant, but I was willing
to do my part. Now I wonder if my part is worth doing.
“Remember the first job you set me to? A clerk in a little drug-
store down on Marietta Street had concocted a drink with cocaine
in it to relieve headache. The public liked it and drank so much of
it that the druggist organized a company. The company began to
make real money. Then the United States Collector stepped in.
You know that colored Collector, Rucker? He was Collector of In-
ternal Revenue for the State of Georgia for 23 years under McKin-
ley and Roosevelt. Rucker stopped operations because of the co-
caine and the new Pure Food Law.
“The company, however, substituted concentrated coffee extract
for cocaine and began to expand. Prohibition came and ‘soft drinks
increased enormously in demand. There we came in and were asked
to furnish capital. I was to look into it. For profit it sure was a
gold mine. You could manufacture ten cents' worth of material
into ten dollars' worth of drink, while patents stopped all imitation.
From the point of view of profits, it was a natural. But for the pub-
lic,,well, it was taking candy from babies.”
His father blushed and retorted: “True, but babies exist and
if we don't take their candy someone else will. If we had not
grabbed this opportunity a dozen other capitalists would have
been ready with the cash.”
"So Business is Profit, not Service,” said John.
“Business is Life—it has its nasty, cruel side; but much of it-
most of it is service; it is grasping at Power which others will get
if you do not. So profit first, then service. Without profit, no ser-
vice."
"No, no!" protested John. "Without service, no profit. Surely
that is possible!”
"Perhaps, in Heaven above where all is Love. But here."
From toll, it was ta med and reto


Atlanta Repents
261
"I see,” said John, “I resigned the job. You put a hundred
thousand dollars into it so as to substitute bottling machinery for
human labor and increase profits still more."
“John," replied his father, “It is plain that you'll never make a
business man. Private profit is Life, as sometime you'll discover.
But don't take my word for it. Travel and look. Perhaps you'll
find what I never found; or perhaps Life will knock some sense
into you."
“Thanks, Dad. I'll take you up on that!”
Pierce put his son out of his mind and turned toward business.
He had been scared by this riot, but he began to see it as an unim-
portant interruption-bad and unnecessary but not of real signifi-
cance. There was something wrong in the South but it wasn't busi-
ness; it could not be Business.
Some astonishing figures had just been brought to his notice.
They were astonishing, and meant that for every dollar in use in
1900 there was $2.50 in 1910. Buying had been doubled and more,
and the profits of buying had risen. Today was the day for manufac-
turing and a wide and shrewd manipulation of labor.
In 1900 the value of manufactured goods in the nation was not
only larger than that of agricultural products but twice as
large as farm, orchard and dairy products. Before the War one
man owned his own business or ran it by partnership; but begin-
ning with the 20th Century, the Corporation, in which the investor
was liable only for the amount he invested, was the director of large-
scale enterprises.
The Corporation was the Frankenstein of the 20th Century,
contrived by the lawyers of the 19th. By 1950 in America it would
be the Robot ruler of Man. It had “neither Body to be kicked nor
Soul to be damned”; but in the present century, it owned the Earth
and enslaved Mankind. It could not be controlled in a world where
the greatest force was control of Wealth and the weakest the sense
of Right. It directed the kinds of Business and the route of Com-
merce and set prices, salaries and wages. It decided the careers
of men. It was King by the Grace of whatever God remained in the
calendar of Saints. And if this was not really true, if individuals in
secret still wielded the power and made the decisions, yet legally
the Corporation ruled.
With 1900 began the Age of Big Business. The first billion dol.
lar steel corporation was formed in 1901. Mass production began.
Nine out of ten of the auto cars were made by three great com-
panies. Four companies sold over 90% of the rubber. Two electric


262
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
for overdrivind machinery was deginning of this cen-
aterial America ces. Weads. No Collars inhe Spani
companies were beginning to monopolize electric lamps, and one
shoe machinery company took over most of the shoe manufacturing
business. The Sherman Anti-Trust Act had been passed, but be-
cause of a decision of the Supreme Court some of the biggest indus-
trial combinations were established after it was enacted.
It was as Woodrow Wilson said: “At the beginning of this cen-
tury men were cheap and machinery was dear. A man might be
dismissed for overdriving a delicate machine, but not for over-
driving a man.”
We had become a colonial power. The West Indies which the
slave power could not annex in the '50's was annexed just before
the beginning of the century through the Spanish-American War.
We owned in colonies a billion dollars in sugar mills, tobacco plan-
tations, mines and railroads. No country except Russia equalled us
in natural resources. We became interested, therefore, in Mexico,
Central America and South America. We wanted to buy cheap
material raised by cheap labor and sell high-priced manufactured
goods.
The volume of our manufactures began to increase tremen-
dously. Soon the manufacturers of the world would be able to
make more than they could sell. Then they must seek new markets
to absorb the surplus goods. American automobiles, typewriters,
electric supplies, electric razors, moving pictures, bathtubs and foun-
tain pens, would be shipped to the ends of the earth and help
Americanize the world. We not only had surplus goods but we
had surplus capital to make goods. There was a time when English
and other European capital had come here to build railroads and
dig mines and lay out ranches, but after 1900 American capital
began to penetrate other parts of the world. Life insurance, that
silent index of business faith, nearly doubled in the last decade. Was
that not proof of the soundness of American business?
The interests of John Pierce were largely involved in many
phases of American development and had furnished millions of
capital. But above all, he was watching with calculating eye the
expansion of world trade from 17 to 33 billions of dollars in two
decades. It was fabulous; he would be willing to bet that by 1930
it would reach a hundred billions. Astronomical!
Then, too, what politicians called “Trusts” were increasing.
What of it? Could not men with brains see that this movement
was the culmination of government of Business, by Business and
for Business? Did it not miracuously decrease expense and by elimi-
nating senseless competition enormously increase profits? The move-
but here as a time 6000


Atlanta Repents
265
liked the quiet and smooth working of their summer home where
she had stayed after her father's sudden death. But she refused
their invitation south; first because she did not like Atlanta; but
particularly because she found herself getting too interested in
young John Pierce, while he only occasionally remembered she
was alive. Also his father, as she knew from his talk, had plans
which did not include her.
So she went to New York and lived a few months on her broth-
er's bounty, an unpleasant chore. She wandered, moped, thought
and read. She was level-headed, clean, punctual and reasonably
healthy. Since that childish episode of the little sandy-haired col-
ored boy she had decided “Love” was silly and she had never felt
any particular sex urge. She did not ask much of life but it ap-
parently offered nothing. This bit of nothing presented itself finally
as a job in a shop where eight hours of absolutely uninteresting
drudgery six days a week paid her board and room rent with a
slight surplus.
She was wondering just how long life like this could or should
last, when she looked up and saw John Pierce. She looked down
at her work and then after a pause glanced up again. There was
no mistake.
“Hello!" she said carefully.
"Hello,” he replied; and then, "What would you like to do
tonight, if you're free?"
They went to hear Carmen at the Metropolitan.
"And now,” he said briskly, "let's go somewhere and talk.”
They went to the “parlor" of her boarding house and were
undisturbed. Apparently nobody ever occupied it who did not have
to.
"I've left Atlanta and Dad,” he announced. She listened calmly
and after a pause said:
"You don't like Atlanta?"
"No; and since the riot I hate it."
“Are you going to be a businessman?"
“I have always thought I had to be, until recently. But it's
stupid. At least what I had to do was-stupid or crooked. It needn't
be. I think a man might be happy running a small shop which
was doing a good job for the neighborhood. I know I'd like to
fence a farm and cultivate a crop of good potatoes, if I could
make a living and have some leisure. But figuring costs and chances,
cheating fools, stealing people's underwear off their already naked
backs-it's not interesting.'


Atlanta Repents
267
There was no difficulty on the part of John, either, as indeed
Betty Lou had never expected. He had no sooner been introduced
to this beauty, after her mother had carefully outfitted her, than
he was hopelessly in love. Her poise and fragility; her unsophisti-
cated and trusting ways fascinated him. It did not seem possible that
she would ever permit him to hold her in his arms and take liber-
ties of love and deep affection.
And this proved partly true. Letitia did not like to be, as she
put it, "squeezed and mauled,” and indeed bereft of her protecting
garments she did not appear quite so temptingly unearthly. She
was a bit angular which helped her costumes hang right. She was so
innocent as to approach the stupid side; which was not strange
since her education had paid little attention to her mind and more
to her hands, legs and complexion. Letitia was in fact almost com-
pletely illiterate, and yet her social success was immediate. Their
wedding was the social event of the Charleston season, and Atlanta
opened its arms. To be invited to her teas and dinners soon came
to be social recognition of the highest type.
The real sex life of John Baldwin was arranged in other
ways, which at first caused Betty Lou acute distress. It was a
mulatto girl, once a maid in the Baldwin home. Betty Lou got
rid of her with short shrift, but knew that the connection had been
kept up. However it was quiet and kept her son from worse adven-
tures. Betty Lou let the relationship go on. It was quite different
with this white Rice girl.
Mary Rice was born in Salina, Kansas in 1887. She had good
elementary school training and later took the "business course” in
the Topeka High School. She was a strong, well-built and healthy
young woman of good parentage. When she began to look about
for a career the role of farmer's wife did not appeal to her in the
least. So like many other westerners, Mary went to Chicago. Per-
haps that winter was no more characteristic of the great city than
usual; but the wind and snow and cold proved more than Mary
enjoyed. Then quite by accident she got a temporary job repre-
senting her Chicago firm in Atlanta.
Again, perhaps by accident, Atlanta climate was at its best in
the fall of 1912 while Mary stayed there and made final settlement
of a contract with the First National Bank. The details were ar-
ranged with Mr. John Baldwin, and frankly, he was surprised to
find so much efficiency, accuracy and punctuality in a hired clerk.
He asked her finally if she wanted a job and she said “Yes” without
hesitation or qualification.


Atlanta Repents
269
thoroughly than she remembered ever having been kissed before.
Mary Rice was no wanton. She had never yielded to a man and
her last thought was an affair with a married employer. But she
was healthy, lusty and lonely and John Baldwin was the most
attractive man she had ever met. The loud western men whom she
knew, without manners, grammar or tailors, had never tempted her.
But Baldwin did as they worked closely together daily in a private
office at a fascinating job. Mary was moral but no innocent prude.
She entered this relationship with open eyes, knowing Betty Lou
would soon take notice.
Betty Lou did take notice, as Mary foresaw; and sooner rather
than later. She invited Mary Rice to tea when John and his wife
were in Macon at an important social function. Betty Lou had
cleared her calendar and was quite alone. But Miss Rice did not
turn up. Instead, at the last moment a formal note of declination
came, pleading office duties as an excuse. Betty Lou said nothing,
but when a month later John Baldwin went to New York, Betty
Lou walked into his inner office unannounced in the middle of the
afternoon. She did not beat about the bush but said, as Miss Rice
arose from her loaded desk and indicated a chair:
"You did not accept my invitation to tea, Miss Rice."
"No. As I wrote, I was sorry, but I had work which Mr. Baldwin
left.” She sat down. Betty Lou leisurely removed her gloves and
settled back in her chair.
"Let us be frank,” she said. “Just what are your relations with
my son?”
Mary Rice laid aside her papers.
“I am his secretary and private stenographer; I have charge of
his mail and files. Also,” she paused, “I am his mistress.”
Betty Lou rose and approached the desk. Miss Rice never
stirred. Then Betty Lou took hold of herself. “When does John
return from New York?”.
“Tomorrow at midnight.”
“Very good. Will you do something for me—and for yourself
tomorrow at six?”.
Miss Rice hesitated. Betty Lou unbent. “Please,” she pleaded.
"It is in your interest as well as mine."
Miss Rice assented. The next night Betty Lou picked her up
at the office at five-thirty in a hired cab. They drove slowly down
Auburn Avenue and through a better-class Negro residential sec-
tion. They stopped at a shadowy corner and waited. Neither spoke.
At låst Betty Lou called attention to a cab which hurriedly dropped


270
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
a passenger at a neighboring door. A tall, brown woman opened
it and John Baldwin left the cab and stepped inside.
Mary Rice gasped. She had clear ideas about the freedom of
women and the contradictions of marriage, but she had also limits
of decency. Their cab drove on while Betty Lou talked in low
tones.
"This has been going on for years. It began when John was a
boy and this woman worked for us. I knew it, but have not tried
to stop it for in a way it was a protection for John. By law this
woman cannot compel marriage nor by custom can she sue for
bastardy. Before his marriage this liaison kept John from seeking
prostitutes. After his marriage John's home could not be broken up
nor his career ruined. The woman is decent and healthy. There are,
I believe, two children. With you it might be different. Both home
and bank might be in danger. Do you understand now?".
Mary's insides seemed slowly to drop away. She understood.
Next morning she paid her bill and arrived at the bank long be-
fore hours. Before nine she had all her work in perfect order and
her own finances straight. She took the nine o'clock train to De-
troit. She never returned.
As for Letitia Brett Baldwin, if she ever knew that Mary Rice
was on earth, or cared, she gave no sign. She was content with her
home and her gowns; her social leadership and her prominence as
the strikingly beautiful wife of the coming mayor of Atlanta. Her
reputation was flawless. In 1911, just before Mary Rice came to
Atlanta, Letitia became the mother of Lee Baldwin. It was a dis-
gusting experience, and her sexual relations with John became
fewer and fewer. Their social relations continued most successfully.
To young John Baldwin the Atlanta Riot looked like oppor-
tunity. It forced the retirement of his difficult old father from the
University and out of the public eye. It drove young John Pierce
out of Atlanta and made Baldwin a closer associate of John Pierce,
Sr., in his wide business interests. It broadened the control of busi-
ness men over the South and discredited the politicians.
The last years of old Dr. Baldwin, the father, were not happy.
His theories on race and progress came to be seriously at odds with
those of his trustees and many of the alumni. He could not be sum-
marily dismissed from his position; he had become an institution
and a legend. It was better to leave him alone, while narrowing his
power and limiting his salary. Meantime, to his family he was an
increasing annoyance. The young mother and son lived in Atlanta,
where their own fortune and his increasing income enabled them


Atlanta Repents
271
riot, Tues and cuphemi came
to live in simple elegance. They referred to the father with a shrug;
a difficult person, not quite normal. In fact, the young man had
been brought up always to regard his father as queer and negligible.
Finally Old Dr. Baldwin, at the age of 86, came to such a state
that he had to be "put away" as the euphemism has it. He became
quite impossible in his theories and outspoken comments. On the
occasion of the Atlanta riot, for instance, he said in class that this
"deliberate murder was the direct outcome of the dirty political
deal between Northern industry and Southern race hate.”
Word flew over the campus and the trustees hastily were con-
vened. There was, happily, no trouble. Dr. Baldwin quietly and
smilingly resigned, and asked to go up to his summer cottage in
Cherokee county at Tallulah Falls, about 80 miles northeast of
Atlanta, where the waters of the Blue Ridge fall in wild beauty and
rush on to reach Savannah at the Sea. Here, with a housekeeper
and his books he was left to his thoughts and vagaries, far from
harmful influence upon the world.
Young John Baldwin's mother, Betty Lou Breckinridge, had am-
bitions which gradually he came to share: social prominence, ac-
cording to the standards of the pre-war regime, wealth, and a
political career. He saw chances in the New South for a planter's
grandson, a Princeton graduate, a partner in the Pierce interests,
and a gentleman of manners to become-who could tell? His mother
whispered: mayor, governor, senator-what not?
To John Baldwin Life was simple. Its work was Business. The
object of Business was Profit. Profit meant Wealth. Wealth meant
Politics, Politics meant Power. Power meant Business. Business
meant Profit, and so on ad infinitum. There were important side
paths-society, golf, drink and women. But in the main life was sim-
ple despite riot and murder; despite doubt and bribery. Business
ruled the South. The results were startling. Since John Pierce, his
patron, had come south property values there had increased 122
per-cent. The cotton crop had gone from 6 to 15 million bales
in spite of the boll weevil. Railroads had extended from 25,000 to
75,000 miles, and manufacturing establishments had doubled in
number while their invested capital had quadrupled. It was fan-
tastic. It was the greatest growth of the kind in world history.
John Baldwin watched his step. He became a rising official in
the First National Bank, a popular man-about-town and a shrewd
judge of human character. The riot, he realized, was temporarily
bad for business and northern investment. But it had to his mind
no lasting significance. The Negro must get fair treatment for he


272
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
was a valuable laborer and would become more and more valuable.
But there was a gulf between black and white which could never
be bridged.
As early as 1908 a small and influential committee got together
in the Board Room of Baldwin's bank. There were four or five
prominent Southern businessmen, a couple of quiet but effective
politicians, and John Sheldon. It was in reality one of those secret
caucuses through which so much of the government of the South
is run, with a few tentative elements which might be useful in the
future. The real object was to arrange to nominate Baldwin as
“reform" mayor in 1910. He had every recommendation: a well-
connected Southerner, young, personable and closely connected
with Northern capital. Sheldon would make an excellent off-the-
slate manager of the campaign, with plenty of funds.


Chapter XVI
BLACK CAPITAL
To Manuel Mansart, the one personal reaction from the Atlanta
Riot and the industrial situation seemed to be escape from the
South. Especially after the flight of young John Pierce, he
began to consider taking steps toward this end. Principally this
decision came from disappointment with his situation in the At-
lanta schools. The colored schools here did not greatly differ from
those of Jerusalem. There were more of them with a vastly larger
enrollment, but just as in Jerusalem, they were given little attention
and proportionately less money. Practically all the children were in
double sessions. There was no colored high school and no night
school. The salaries paid Negro teachers were not only low but
half those paid for whites for the same preparation and identical
work.
Worst of all, Mansart could not see what he could do about it.
Patience, pulling strings, using white influence; all this might
accomplish something. But what was needed was a stirring up of
the parents; exposition of the facts, and strong demands. Just now,
after the riot, any attempt at such a movement might cost him his
job. And that was the trouble with the South. The successful black
man must cajole and coax; he must conceal his feelings and take
insults. He must crawl and beg instead of standing and talking
plainly. Mansart decided that he could not accept this as a life
work.
His children now became the center of his house and life. His
wife began to look old, peevish, sick and worn. The house was
never clean and in order. It was never quiet. He could not do any
work there, nor thinking; and above all this, he was naturally more
upset because he did not have enough income to pay the extraordi-
nary expenses of this family of five people. The money simply
could not be stretched. It was astonishing how the children wore
out shoes and always needed new clothes. And as for his wife, she
became almost a total stranger; they had no time to talk together.
There was only one thing they could talk about-the money which
was needed and which they did not have.
In her general philosophy of life Susan was simple and naive.
273


Black Capital
277
Then by accident Mansart visited Gary in neighboring Indiana.
A friend drove him there in his car to visit acquaintances known
to both. Here was a new industrial city where separation by race
was just being introduced by the Steel Trust. A new high school
for Negroes with colored principal and teachers had recently been
opened, and colored children from all over the city were practically
being forced to enroll here instead of in the city high school. Man-
sart saw the principle involved, but he also saw the opportunity.
Here was a fine schoolhouse, with ample funds and abundant
equipment.
Think of anything like this in Atlanta! What a chance for
devoted teachers to show the world what Negroes could do. He
talked to the principal and that poor man, overwhelmed to find a
Negro who did not damn him as a traitor and who saw the vision
which he had, urged Mansart to come there as a teacher. He was
sure he could find him a place at a salary of $1200. Mansart was
amazed and gratified. He promised that if the position were offered
he would accept.
He started back to Atlanta, glowing in anticipation of how his
wife would greet this chance to escape the South; and of the op-
portunity to raise the children in freedom. At the same time he
felt the South reaching the North, for the “Jim-Crow” coach in
which he sat ran boldly in and out of Chicago. Riding through
Tennessee on the same “Jim-Crow” coach he winced at the opposi-
tion which the Gary school was meeting and would meet from
Negro citizens of the town. They wanted to kill the race segregation
idea. They were right in principle; but wasn't there a wiser and
more fruitful way than opposition to this school and forcing out
colored teachers, while Negro children suffered the disdain of white
teachers? It was, he admitted, a difficult matter to decide easily;
probably because he had been born and raised in a segregated
atmosphere he could see his side of this controversy more clearly.
He fell into uneasy sleep, sitting in the crowded, dirty coach all
the long night.
To Mansart's astonishment on reaching home full of all his
thoughts and experience, he found his wife almost in hysterics.
She had just learned that she was to have another baby. She wept
and moaned, even shrieked. She declared she would no longer live
with Manuel; that she would not have another child; that she was
not a brood mare; that already she was sick and broken in health;
she had not had an undisturbed night's sleep for ten years; that her


278
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
whole life had been drudgery, with diapers and washing, mending
and scolding, cleaning and lugging; she was tired, tired, tired; she
wished she were dead; she would kill herself if she only knew how.
Manuel was appalled. He called in the physician and talked
earnestly; they all talked together. The physician soothed and reas-
sured them. He told Manuel that such upsets were common; that
it probably would be better to have no more children after this. He
gave the distracted wife a sedative which put her to sleep and ad-
vised Manuel to send her to the country and manage for a few
months to keep house with the aid of the three boys. Manuel for-
got Gary and sat down to consider whether this thing called Life
was worth as much as he had assumed.
Mansart now began to view his future seriously. He was ap-
proaching forty and no longer "young.” On the contrary he would
soon be middle-aged which seemed in many respects worse than old.
He was principal of a public school for Negroes, inadequately sup
ported by the city and overcrowded. His dream of escaping to the
North with a better-paid job and a better supported school began
slowly fading away. In its place began to rise the idea of business
venture. Booker Washington had been preaching industry and in-
dustrial training for more than fifteen years; but with that gospel
had gone the urge for educated Negroes to enter business and get
wealth. A Negro business league had been formed by Mr. Wash-
ington in 1900 and its membership was growing. Atlanta University
in 1905 had made a study of business enterprises among Negroes,
and Washington had used its encouraging report to spread his
league. Mansart began to consider whether or not he might enter
some kind of Negro business enterprise.
venture. Booker w: In its place beginner supported scho
Expanding business, growing yearly bigger and more powerful,
dominated his era. No one questioned the righteousness and inev-
itability of the continued rule of that industrial empire which
Great Britain and the United States represented and which all
nations envied and strove to follow. In a city like Atlanta, Mansart
was totally surrounded by a world of Big and growing Business.
He watched the rampart of office buildings rise in the city and
the beautiful homes of their white owners spread themselves out
from the slums of Decatur Street toward the surrounding hills. He
saw the raw stuff pouring into Atlanta; lumber and cotton, iron
and steel, horses and mules; but he especially was amazed at the
legerdemain by which the raw stuff that came into the city was
transformed in all sorts of astonishing forms: machines and bricks


280
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
the finest barber shop for white people in Atlanta. It was almost
a patent of social standing to be welcomed at this shop, and espe-
cially to be served by the owner in person.
Herndon, nearly white, had been born in a country town about
twenty-five miles from Atlanta and had worked as a farm laborer
and then as a barber. He was polite, thrifty, and good-hearted.
From the first he had saved his money and invested it in tenement
houses; very simple, small, cheaply constructed rows of tenements
where colored laborers lived and paid him rent weekly. Herndon
collected the rents himself, and the total returns from his shop and
houses increased. He quietly put his savings in the First National
Bank. From time to time he spent considerable sums in making
his barber shop beautiful and elaborate until it surpassed any
other shop in the city. He shrewdly bought the building where it
was housed. There was some hesitation on the part of real estate
agencies in selling it to a colored man, but his influential white
friends allayed apprehension, bought it for him and turned it over
to him at a good commission. He paid cash and asked no mortgage.
Herndon was now well-to-do, but he saw a chance to be rich.
He was greatly impressed by the doctrines of Booker Washington
and he wanted to invest his money in something that would bring
him larger returns than he was getting. First, he multiplied his
shops, establishing three or four branch barber shops here and
there in the city. They paid, but not as well as his first shop and
they met competition and bad feeling from shops controlled by
white barbers. Then he built a better grade of tenement houses,
but soon saw that they would not pay. The Negroes who could
pay rent for such houses were the very Negroes who themselves
wanted to buy property and not to rent.
Herndon noticed, however, and with increasing interest, the
success of white insurance concerns among Negroes. A large propor-
tion of the colored folk, inspired by agents' sales talks, were now
buying insurance against sickness and death; small sums from 50 to
500 a week were paid, insuring members of the family so that when
sick, one could receive a small weekly stipend of $2, $3, or $5 a
week; if they died the family got funeral expenses of $50, perhaps
$100.
On this was built the business of Negro undertakers; tying
themselves closely to the white insurance companies on one hand,
the Negro churches on the other, they conducted an increasingly
profitable business by selling expensive funerals to poor people.
The colored people were stirred by death and by the social desire


Black Capital
281
to make a fine showing at the funeral of their relatives; thus a
profitable field of exploitation appeared both for insurance com-
panies, the colored undertakers and the white manufacturers of
funeral necessities.
The real point of the matter was, as Herndon quickly saw,
that numbers of people began to buy insurance, and then after a
time stopped, from carelessness or misfortune or unemployment.
Huge sums in this way became forfeited, and by law accrued to
the insurance societies as pure profit.
This intrigued Herndon. He inquired into it; he joked with
some of the white collection agents who drifted into his shop.
Ordinarily they got seats in the back of the shop and were attended
by the less skilled barbers; but now and then Herndon flattered
one of them by putting one in his own front chair and assiduously
attending to him. He learned in this way a good deal about insur-
ance business. He had never heard that in some parts of the world
the city or state had undertaken this sort of service for the poor,
not only for sickness and death but for medicine and other social
services. In other parts of the United States this kind of socialism
might have been publicly discussed, but not in Atlanta; and no-
where in the South for the benefit of Negroes. Herndon's only
problem then was whether Negro or white exploiters should share
this profit, and he thought it fair that Negro exploiters share the
opportunity.
As competition increased white companies put in colored col-
lectors. They were found to make a better appeal to some of the
upper group of colored families who resented the white agents.
The white agents felt they must walk into colored homes with their
hats on and address the owners by their first names. Colored
agents took off their hats and said “Mrs." The number of these
naturally began to multiply.
The success of colored collectors had already induced colored
business men to try to organize insurance companies themselves.
The state had practically no curbs on the business and no deposits
were required. But no sooner did successful colored insurance com-
panies appear in Virginia and in some other states and begin to
spring up in Atlanta than the state took notice and passed a law
which required that beginning with the year 1906 industrial insur-
ance companies must deposit $5,000 with the state as guarantee of
their solvency. Herndon bought out a small company and hastened
to be the first colored company to deposit $5,000 with the State
Commissioner of Insurance. The Commissioner shaved daily in his
white agentddress the owners id. Mrs.” The


282
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
chair. In 1906 the assets of this company were worth $10,000; ten
years later they were worth $71,000. Herndon died a millionaire
in 1927.
Thus as political power faded there emerged a new escapism
for educated and ambitious Negroes. In the South particularly,
the better class not only turned from politics to business, but from
industry to exploitation. A class structure began to appear among
Negroes, differing from the past. In the past there was a fissure
between blacks and colored people which was not simply a color
line but a line between the slave and free-the mulattoes claiming,
and often legally, freedom from their white fathers. This line, em-
phasized by ownership of property and better paid employment,
became in cities like Charleston and New Orleans a distinct class
cleavage.
During the abolition controversy, 1820 to 1860, the class line
was naturally between slave and free, with some emphasis on
hereditary freedom and increased consideration for wealth. Then
with Emancipation the levelling process began to be modified by
new efforts to get wealth, which was illustrated by the turning to
ward business enterprise; and that enterprise began to change from
personal service like barbering, restaurants and small shops for
trade, to exploitation of labor. The teachers, physicians and writers
were thrown with the new exploiters and separated from the work-
ers, the only marked exception being the preachers who became
leaders of the working masses without too good an understanding
of what modern work meant in the new industrial process.
The physicians and pharmacists inaugurated a new avenue of
business enterprise. Negro physicians began to increase slowly
because of the difficulty Negroes had in entering white medical
schools and because of the few Negro schools available and up to
standard. But Negro physicians were in increasing demand and
white physicians were eager to be rid of Negro patients. Pharmacy
was easily taught and standards low; patent medicine interests
encouraged the Negro market. Thus Negro drug stores began to
multiply: they became centers of social intermingling for the black
world; they sold soft drinks and food and also here and there they
concealed gambling in “numbers" and sale of liquor.
Colored people of Atlanta began stirring. They saw the increased
prosperity of the city; they began to understand the mystery of
investment and the gains from employing labor; they soon realized
that a colored business man could hire colored labor and on the
whole get better service for less wages than whites paid, particularly


Black Capital
283
of wooden be, the old Negromic direction, had only one appedeath
if a Negro was in a position to give to his colored employee a cer-
tain social standing and a chance to dress well and have pleasant
working surroundings. Colored clerks, stenographers and agents
began to multiply.
The colored artisans were more than willing to work for colored
contractors if the contractors could get the capital and backing.
This was difficult, but they did have a chance sometimes to underbid
the white contractors by lowering the wages of their workers; and
if they could make the necessary connections with influential white
forces they could carry on their work. For twenty years or more,
up until the riot, a colored builder, by outbidding whites, hiring
cheap colored labor, working along with his men, being satisfied
with small profits, and doing excellent work, was the biggest builder
of wooden bridges in the county around Atlanta.
Meantime, the old Negro fraternities and secret societies began
to move in this new economic direction. They had fallen into
limited popularity and favor because they had only one appeal to
the mass of colored people: their regalia and parades, small death
benefits, and the lure of secrecy. But now certain shrewd leaders
added the "endowment” or insurance feature. There was, for in-
stance, the Odd Fellows. They represented an ancient triumph of
Negro shrewdness over whites. They had flourished in Northern
cities and to a less extent in the South.
In Georgia, in the first decade of the twentieth century they
got a fearless leader. Ben Davis was a big man of physical power
and persuasive manners who had studied at Atlanta University.
He and a group of his fellows began to organize new Odd Fellows
lodges. They went into the corners and byways and gave the Ne-
groes centers of recreation in Odd Fellows halls; new amusements
in the lodge meetings; new places of congregation and cheer; and
finally, new methods of saving their pennies and dollars in the
endowment insurance plan of the Odd Fellows lodges.
The women were well taken care of in the "household of
Ruth,” and pretty soon the annual dues rolling into Atlanta became
a huge and impressive sum, amounting in 1911 to $80,000. Davis
was elated and began to get ideas. In 1912 the order bought an
entire block on Auburn Avenue, paying $53,000 for the land and
erecting a five story office building at a cost of $250,000. Then they
built an auditorium and were so successful that Davis determined
to extend his operations to the national field and gain control of
the whole colored order which extended throughout the United
States but, save in Georgia, had remained relatively unimportant


284
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
and confined its activity to building a few lodge halls and staging
annual parades.
When Davis appeared at the next annual convention where
because of his increased membership he was about to control the
order, the northern Negroes got jealous of his power and also
apprehensive of the soundness of his insurance venture. Morris of
Chicago took the leadership of this opposition. He was a rich,
brown-skinned lawyer, leader of the criminal bar of Chicago,
shrewd and unscrupulous. He simply out-maneuvered Davis and
the Southerners on technical points, was himself elected Grand
Master and moved to take firm control of the Georgia branch of
the order.
Davis went to bed ill from exertion and disappointment, and
for months the whole matter was in abeyance. But the beautiful
Odd Fellows' hall was finally finished and stood as an inspiration
to colored people to save and invest. Other Negro orders, like the
Knights of Pythias, were accumulating funds. White men, espe-
cially investors and bankers, made friendly gestures toward colored
business men.
Davis, who now directed nearly $900,000 worth of Odd Fellows
property in Georgia, angrily took a fatal step. He took the matter
into the Georgia courts, which promptly made the Georgia branch
of the order a state corporation under local law. Davis threw the
whole Odd Fellows order into receivership. In this way the efforts
of Negro capital came to the attention of John Baldwin, the banker.
He called on his patron, Pierce, one day with regard to a mortgage
on some land, an office building and other assets. Pierce told him
to go ahead if the terms were right. Of course mortgages were risky,
but in good times like these and in Atlanta the risk was small.
Baldwin hesitated. “The property," he said, "is on Auburn
Avenue and owned by Negroes."
Pierce was astonished. “How much?” he asked.
“Half a million.”
"Who owns it?"
"The colored Odd Fellows."
“Colored?” said Pierce in surprise. “You can't touch it. Col-
ored real estate is poison.” He scowled and looked thoughtfully
out of the window. He was about to say that it was no use for
Negroes to own property or try to invest as long as--. He was
attacking his own theories.
Baldwin arose. “You are confirming my own judgment,” he


286
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
ingt Ihe che age had bee
vard economicha, but were her guild of pro, The youn
But as sinuation abhed.
and carefully watched for was the development of secret conspira-
cies in these Negro fraternities. And this might have happened
but for the unexpected impact of Negro education. The young,
educated leaders were not like the older guild of preachers, grist
for the secret underground, but were leaning with Booker Wash-
ington toward economic solution of their problem.
The economy of ten million people was no trifle, even if they
were in the aggregate poor and ignorant. They earned and spent
millions; they had been deliberately encouraged to take a hand
in this industrial operation and help run it. In spots, here and
there, they were trying with some success. But what of the
future? What if they saw themselves continually balked? Again
Sheldon viewed this problem as something not outside the na-
tion's main problem but as singularly central.
Sheldon gathered the information about the Odd Fellows and
related it to Pierce. Pierce was astonished. This was a develop
ment of his interracial program which he had not expected. He
wondered how many Negro leaders really understood the game?
It was no place for novices. It was dog eat dog and always would
be until the Trusts took over and perhaps some Super-Trust-
there he reined his thought with a start. Was this Socialism? He
was surprised at himself to see the analogy.
He had always pictured Negroes as common laborers, capable
with training of becoming semi-skilled, and in a few cases skilled
artisans. That would go far to solve the labor problems of the
New South. When Booker Washington added to this his talk
about the Negro "in business,” Pierce smiled tolerantly, thinking
this was good propaganda and escapist philosophy for the restless.
But of course Pierce was sure that no subordinate race economy
could grow up in the all-embracing empire which he was building.
This Negro Odd Fellows business was interesting and perhaps
indicative of certain latent capacities in this race which in some
dim future might be used. But today no such movement could
succeed. Doubtless the actuarial basis of this insurance effort was
faulty and certainly if by any chance it succeeded it would only
be for eventual swallowing up by white business.
Sheldon put it bluntly. "Negro business without political
power is silly. Remember what the city did to those Negro physi-
cians and teachers who bought and built on Boulevard? They
stuck so many laundries and factories under their noses that the
property isn't worth today half what they paid for it. In Macon,


Black Capital
287
I'm told, they put a white whore-house in the center of the best
Negro residential district. Davis owns no judges and couldn't buy
any even if he had the cash. They wouldn't dare to sell out to him.
He's bound to lose, and Northern Negroes can't win in Georgia.”
Sheldon went out, leaving Pierce bewildered. But Sheldon
himself was getting ideas. It might not be a bad plan to watch
this growth of business among Negroes. There might be pickings.
And if the fools were determined to be fleeced, he might as well
benefit as the next man.
Eventually nearly a million dollars of the hard earned money
of Negro laborers in Georgia were given by the courts into the
hands of a board of white receivers, of which John Sheldon was
one. These receivers borrowed money for expenses from John
Baldwin's bank which John Pierce controlled. When, after years
of litigation these assets were finally “liquidated,” there was noth-
ing left for the colored policy holders. So died a dream. But
dreams die hard and other dreams replace them. So it was in this
case.
In 1908, two years after the Riot, Heman Perry came to
Atlanta. He was a little, neat, yellow man with frank, business-
like and persuasive manners. He was altogether different from
the familiar type of Negro preacher, but he was devout and
sober. He did not pretend to eloquence or leadership. He was
born in Texas, had completed only six grades in the public schools
and then went to work as a cotton sampler. Then he became an
insurance solicitor working for white companies who had colored
customers. He went to New York for wider opportunity but
saw no opening there. He said: :
"I decided to leave New York and come to Georgia. I went
to a pawn shop and disposed of my cuff-buttons for five dollars.
I went down to a river boat and gave the purser the five dollars
to work my way to Savannah. I made on the journey sixty-five
cents in tips.”
He began working in Atlanta for white insurance companies
among colored clients. But he was firm in the idea that Negroes
could start their own old-line legal reserve insurance company.
He asked Mansart's help. Mansart laughed. He was no business
man and never would be; yes, of course he needed more money
than he was earning. He admitted that the Negro problem was
in part a matter of income. He would certainly be glad to intro-
duce Perry to his friends.


Black Capital
293
en came the a while my oldou believe it?-thenite white
brutal force, but not before the nation was impressed that demo-
cratic government was not working so well in America as we
thought. The autocratic power of employers and property owners
and the distribution of the money stock which they controlled were
certainly the cause in part.”
Old Dr. Crogman added: “I remember the rise of Populism
which swept the South. Some of us hoped it would unite white
and black labor. Watson-would you believe it?--then led the
movement, and for a while my old pupil, Doyle, led him.”
"Then came the elections of 'go and '92," added Dr. Jones,
"and there was Hell to pay."
"This part is where I get lost. What happened to Watson?"
asked Mansart.
John Hope, a blonde colored teacher at Morehouse who came
from Watson's part of Georgia, answered:
“You must realize the split in the Democratic party. The
Northern Democrats began to be the party of labor and reform.
Southern Democracy was not a party but a group of industrial-
ists determined to run the State for Big Business. Tom Watson
the labor party, as Teddy Roosevelt tried to bring Big Business
in 1894 captured the Georgia Democratic Party and threatened to
capture the South. We were near then to having a national
labor party. But Big Business moved rapidly in, bought the elec-
tion in the North and stole it in the South. Politics for the first
decade of the century reeled, and Republicans bade fair to become
to heel. The South, by manipulating the Negro vote, began to be
the defender of industrial bandits.
"Watson tried in vain to arouse the farmer and labor vote,
South and North, in 1904, but failed miserably. Southern Demo-
crats offered to put him back in politics if he would desert the
Negro. Tillman and his tribe abetted, and old folkways, sup-
pressed for a time by Doyle, festered and stank. In deserting black
labor, Watson had to desert white labor and spend his strength
attacking Jews and Catholics. He sold out so completely that
lynching, murder and riot in the South scared Big Business all
over the nation into hysterics. And here we are."
The Monday Club strolled home in small groups; most of them,
including Mansart, passed the new bank building where John
Pierce had his office.
"And where do we go from here?" asked Mansart.
Hope replied: "If we can keep out of war and can be led by
Woodrow Wilson, the scholar and liberal Southerner, we may unite
in 1894 capanty, as Teddy Roate for Big Businroup of indus
the defender died in vain to arguiled miserably. Sould desert the
laborking Jews on and riot. And here wil groups; muhere Johı


294
THE ORDEAL OF MANSART
may restore pop
black and white labor in one movement for the uplift of the
working class; we may beat back disfranchisement and restore the
ideal of Democracy to the United States. We may restore popular
education to evolve a nation, and a people intelligent rather than
smart and rich; and integrate into this nation the blood and
music of ten million Africans."
Crogman looked at Hope and smiled: “Dear boy, that integra-
tion has been made in you, but it has not yet been made in this na-
tion and it will be long before it will.” And he put his arm about
the shoulders of John Hope, this young white man who was talking
black because he had a Negro great-grandfather.
mart and rich: and nation, and a people


Manuel Mansart Decides
305
ured thes given by officia the raceyees. The greatly the thinge
lower order of beings.
“At that time you stated you would investigate conditions for
yourself. Now after the lapse of a year we have come back, having
found that all the forms of segregation of government employees of
African extraction are still practiced in the treasury and post
office department buildings; and to a certain extent have spread
into other government buildings.
"We have come by vote of this League to set before you this
definite continuance of race segregation and to renew the protest
and to ask you to abolish segregation of Afro-American employees
in the executive department.”
President Wilson was at the moment a worried and irritated
man. World War I had broken out in Europe three months
before. He was straining every nerve to keep this nation out
of this war. It seemed to him ridiculous to have this eternal Negro
question intrude now on his busy day. But he tried to be concili-
atory. He said that he had investigated this question and had
been assured there had been no discrimination in the comforts
and surroundings given to the Afro-American workers. He added
he had been informed by officials that the segregation had been
started to avoid friction between the races and not with the object
of injuring the Afro-American employees. The President said
he was deeply interested in the Negro race and greatly admired
its progress. He then made the astonishing assertion that the thing
to be sought by the Afro-Americans "was complete independence
of white people," and that he felt the white race was willing to
do everything possible to assist them in this effort.
Trotter was incensed and retorted bitterly that "colored people
did not seek charity or assistance but that they took the position
that they had equal rights with whites and that these rights
should be respected.”
"Two years ago," he added, "you were thought to be a second
Abraham Lincoln."
The President reddened and interrupted. He was distinctly
upset at the comparison. “Leave out personalities,” he said. “You
are losing your temper."
But Trotter persisted. "Have you a 'new freedom' for white
Americans and a new slavery for your Afro-American fellow-
citizens?"
The President was now angry. He said that the question in-
volved was not that of intrinsic qualities because all had human
souls and were equal in that respect; but for the present it was
void fria fro-Amein the Nonishing complete was w


Manuel Mansart Decides
307
thought about this order, to which their consent was never asked?
Behind screens and closed doors they now sit apart as though lep-
rous. Men and women alike have the badge of inferiority pressed
upon them by Government decree. How long will it be before the
hateful epithets of ‘nigger' and 'Jim-Crow' are openly applied to
these sections? Let any one experienced in Washington affairs, or any
trained newspaper correspondent answer. The colored people
themselves will tell you how soon sensitive and high-minded mem-
bers of their race will refuse to enter the Government service which
thus decrees what is to them the most hateful kind of discrimina-
tion. Indeed, there is a widespread belief among them that this is
the very purpose of these unwarrantable orders. And wherever
there are men who rob the Negroes of their votes, who exploit
and degrade and insult and lynch those whom they call their
inferiors, there this mistaken action of the Federal Government
will be cited as the warrant for new racial outrages that cry out
to high Heaven for redress.
"Who shall say where discrimination once begun shall cease?
Who can deny that every act of discrimination the world over
breeds fresh injustice?".
The President took no action and Trotter faced attack which was
difficult to repulse. In trying to wreak political vengeance on a white
party or leader, a black reformer like Trotter faced serious anomaly.
The voting records of Negro legislators and city counsellors in the
North showed this. They followed the Machine; they opposed effi-
ciency in government; they helped overload the budgets; they refus-
ed to regulate the liquor traffic or places of amusement and gambl-
ing; they voted against civil service reform; against efficiency in
hauling garbage and government services; and although represent-
ing working class constituencies they opposed laws wanted by trade
unions.
They defended their votes because unions discriminated against
Negroes and because “efficient" government paid them no atten-
tion. They went along with corrupt white political bosses because
reese bosses saw that Negroes got employment even if in anti-social
ways, and defended them against attacks on civil rights. The white
reform movements almost invariably knew nothing and did nothing
to lift the veil of caste from black folk.
t along wirbes got employmon civil rights. id nothing
From contemplation of this occurrence the attention of Man-
sart was suddenly drawn home. He received a startling bit of news:
the colored supervisor of the Atlanta colored schools was seriously


316
Postscript
where documented material and personal experience are lacking.
In the great tragedy of Negro slavery in the United States and
its aftermath, much of documented history is lacking because of
the deep feeling involved and the fierce desire of men to defend
their fathers and themselves. This I have sought to correct in my
study of the slave trade and of Reconstruction. If I had had time
and money, I would have continued this pure historical research.
But this opportunity failed and Time is running out. Yet I would
rescue from my long experience something of what I have learned
and conjectured and thus I am trying by the method of historical
fiction to complete the cycle of history which has for a half century
engaged my thought, research and action.
I have personally lived through much of the history of the
American Negro from 1876 to 1956. Yet wide as my experience has
been, by travel, seeing, hearing and knowing, I of course actually
knew but an infinitesimal fraction of all that happened. The gaps
of knowledge I can in part supply by the memory of others, by
reading published and unpublished matter. Yet with all this I am
far from being able to set down an accurate historical account of
those fatal eighty years.
Therefore I have assayed first to gather such verifiable facts as
I can. This body of knowledge I have compared with the reports
of others. But even with all this, much, indeed most, is missing:
just what men thought, the actual words they used, the feelings
and motives which impelled them-those I do not know and most
of them none will ever know. These facts are gone forever. But it
is possible for the creative artist to imagine something of such
unknown truth. If he is lucky or inspired, he may write a story
which may set down a fair version of the truth of an era, or a group
of facts about human history.
This I have attempted to do: adhering as closely as I can to
historic fact so far as I can ascertain. I have added the fiction of
interpretation so as to make a reasonable story. I may have blund-
ered in places; I may have widely misinterpreted what seemed truth
to me. But I have tried and I believe the effort was worth while.
Here lies, then, I hope, more history than fiction, more fact
than assumption, much truth and no falsehood.