CHAPTER XXXVII
THE PROGRESSIVES AND THE REACTIONARIES
It is not commonly known by the white people at large that a greatnumber of colored people are against Mr. Washington. Being an educatorand philanthropist, it is hard to conceive any reason why they should beopposed to him, but the fact remains that they are.
There are two distinct factions of the negro race, who might be classedas Progressives and Reactionaries, somewhat like the politicians. TheProgressives, led by Booker T. Washington and with industrial educationas the material idea, are good, active citizens; while the other classdistinctly reactionary in every way, contend for more equal rights,privileges, and protection, which is all very logical, indeed, but theydo not substantiate their demands with any concrete policies; dependinglargely on loud demands, and are too much given to the condemnation ofthe entire white race for the depredations of a few.
It is true, very true indeed, that the American negro does not receiveall he is entitled to under the constitution. Volumes could be filledwith the many injustices he has to suffer, and which are not rightbefore God and man; yet, when it is considered that other races in othercountries, are persecuted even more than the negro is in parts of theUnited States, there should be no reason why the American negro allowobvious prejudice to prevent his taking advantage of opportunities thatsurround him.
I have been called a "radical," perhaps I am, but for years I have feltconstrained to deplore the negligence of the colored race in America, innot seizing the opportunity for monopolizing more of the many millionacres of rich farm lands in the great northwest, where immigrants fromthe old world own many of acres of rich farm lands; while the millionsof blacks, only a few hundred miles away, are as oblivious to it all asthe heathen of Africa are to civilization.
In Iowa, for instance, where the number of farms total around twohundred and ten thousand, and include the richest land in the world,only thirty-seven are owned and operated by negroes, while South Dakota,Wisconsin, Minnesota, and North Dakota have many less. I would quotethese facts to my father-in-law until I was darker in the face than Inaturally am. He could offer no counter argument to them, but continuedto vituperate the sins of the white people. He was a member in goodstanding of the reactionary faction of the negro race, the larger partof which are African M.E. ministers.
Since Booker T. Washington came into prominence they have held back anddone what they could to impede and criticize his work, and cast littlestones in his path of progress, while most of the younger members of theministry are heart and soul in accord with him and are helping all theycan. The older members are almost to a unit, with some exceptions, ofcourse, against him and his industrial educational ideas.
A few years ago a professor in a colored university in Georgia wrote abook which had a tremendous sale. He claimed in his book that the publichad become so over-enthused regarding Booker T. and industrialeducation, that the colored schools for literary training were almostforgotten, and, of course, were severely handicapped by a lack of funds.His was not criticism, but was intended to call attention of the publicto the number of colored schools in dire need of funds, which on accountof race prejudice in the south, must teach classics. This was true,although industrial education was the first means of lifting theignorant masses into a state of good citizenship. Immediately followingthe publication of the volume referred to, thousands of anti-Booker T.'sproceeded to place the writer as representing their cause and formed allkinds of clubs in his honor, or gave their clubs his name. Theypretended to feel and to have everyone else feel, that they had at lastfound a man who would lead them against Booker T. and industrialeducation.
They made a lot of noise for a while, which soon died out, however, asthe author of the book was far too broad minded and intelligent in everyway, to be a party to such a theory, much less, to lead a lot ofreckless people, who never had and never would do anything for theuplifting of their race.
The Reverend and I could not in any way agree. He was so bitter againstindustrial education and the educator's name, that he lost all composurein trying to dodge the issue in our argument, and found himself upagainst a brick wall in attempting to belittle Mr. Washington's work.Most of the trouble with the elder was, that he was not an intelligentman, never read anything but negro papers, and was interested only innegro questions. He was born in Arkansas, but maintained false ideasabout himself. He never admitted to having been born a slave, but he wasnearly sixty years of age, and sixty years ago a negro born in Arkansaswould have been born in slavery, unless his parents had purchasedthemselves. If this had been the case, as vain as he was, I felt sure hewould have had much to say about it. He must have been born a slave, butof course had been young when freed. He had lived in Springfield,Missouri, after leaving Arkansas, and later moving to Iowa, where, atthe age of twenty-seven years, he was ordained a minister and started topreach, which he had continued for thirty years or more. He never hadany theological training. This was told me by my wife, and she addeddespairingly:
"Poor papa! He is just ignorant and hard-headed, and all his life hasbeen associated with hard-headed negro preachers. He reads nothing butradical negro papers and wants everybody to regard him as being abrilliant man, and you might as well try to reason with two trees, or abrick wall, as to try to reason with him or Ethel. I'm so sorry papa isso ignorant. Mama has always tried to get him to study, but he wouldnever do it. That's all."
We went up to the claims, taking the elder along. My sister had marriedand her husband was making hay on the claims.
I might have been more patient with the Reverend, if he had not been sofull of pretense, when being plain and truthful would have been so muchbetter and easier. I had quit talking to him about anything serious oranything that interested me, but would sit and listen to him talk of thebig preachers, and the bishops, and the great negroes who had died yearsbefore. He seemed fond of talking of what they had done in the past andwhat more could be done in the future, if the white people were not sostrongly banded against them. After this, his conversation would turn topure gossip, such as women might indulge in. He talked about the womenbelonging to the churches of his district, whether they were livingright or wrong, and could tell very funny stories about them.
In Dakota, like most parts of the west, people who have any money atall, carry no cash in the pocket, but bank their money and use checks.The people of the east and south, that is, the common people, seldomhave a checking account, and, with the masses of the negroes, no accountat all. During the summer Orlean had sent her father my checks withwhich to make purchases. The Reverend told me he checked altogether, butmy wife had told me her father's ambition had always been to have achecking account, but had not been able to do so. I had to laugh overthis, for it was no distinction whatever. We discussed the bankingbusiness and the elder tried to tell me that if a national bank wentbroke, the government paid all the depositors, while if it was a statebank, the depositors lost. As this was so far from correct, I explainedthe laws that governed national banks and state banks alike, as regardsthe depositors, in the event of insolvency. I did not mean to bring outsuch a storm but he flew into an accusation, exclaiming excitedly:
"That's just the way you are! You must have everything your way! I neversaw such a contrary man! You won't believe anything!"
"But, Reverend," I remonstrated. "I have no 'way' in this. What I havequoted you is simply the law, the law governing national and state bankdeposits, that you can read up on yourself, just the same as I havedone. If I am wrong, I very humbly beg your pardon."
The poor old man was so chagrined he seemed hardly to know what to do,though this was but one of many awkward situations due to his ignoranceof the most simple business matters. Another time he was trying tolisten intelligently to a conversation relating to the development ofthe northwest, when I had occasion to speak of Jim Hill. Seeing he didnot look enlightened, I repeated, this time referring to him as James J.Hill, of the Great Northern, and inquired if he had not heard of
thepioneer builder.
"No, I never heard of him," he answered.
"Never heard of James J. Hill?" I exclaimed, in surprise.
"Why should I have heard of him," he said, answering my exclamationcalmly.
"O, no reason at all," I concluded, and remained silent, but my facemust have expressed my disgust at his ignorance, and he a public man forthirty years.
Ernest Nicholson takes a hand. (Page 186.)]
After this conversation I forced myself to remain quiet and listen tocommon gossip. Instead of being pleased to see us happy and Orleancontented, he would, whenever alone with her, discourage her in everyway he could, sighing for sympathy, praising Claves and telling her howmuch he was doing for Ethel, and how much she, Orlean, was sacrificingfor me.
The contest trial occurred while he was with us, and cost, to startwith, an attorney's fee of fifty dollars, in addition to witnesses'expenses. I had bought a house in Megory and we moved it onto Orlean'sclaim. The Reverend helped with the moving, but he was so discouragingto have around. He dug up all the skeletons I left buried in M--pls andbared them to view, in deceitful ways.
We had decided not to visit Chicago that winter. The crop was fair, butprices were low on oats and corn, and my crops consisted mostly of thosecereals. I tried to explain this to the Reverend when he talked of whatwe would have, Christmas, in Chicago.
"Now, don't let that worry you, my boy," he would say breezily. "I'llattend to that! I'll attend to that!"
"Attend to what?" I asked.
"Why, I'll send both of you a ticket."
"O, really, Reverend, I thank you ever so much, but I could not think ofaccepting it, and you must not urge it. We are not coming to Chicago,and I wish you would not talk of it so much with Orlean," I would almostplead with him. "She is a good girl and we are happy together. She wantsto help me, but she's only a weak woman, and being so far away fromcolored people, she will naturally feel lonesome and want to visithome."
He paid no more attention to me than if I had never spoken. In fact, hetalked more about Chicago than ever, saying a dozen times a day:
"Yes, children, I'll send you the money."
I finally became angry and told him I would not, under any circumstanceswhatever, accept such charity, and that what my money was invested in,represented a value of more than thirty thousand dollars, and how couldI be expected to condescend to accept charity from him.
He had told me once that he never had as much as two hundred dollars atone time in his life. I did not want a row, but as far as I wasconcerned, I did not want anything from him, for I felt that he wouldthrow it up to me the rest of his life. I was convinced that he was avain creature, out for a show, and I fairly despised him for it.
At last he went home and Orlean and I got down to business, moving moreof our goods onto the claim, and spending about one-third of the timethere. We intended moving everything as soon as the corn was gathered.As Christmas drew near, her folks wrote they were looking for her tocome home, the Reverend having told them that she was coming, and thathe was going to send her the money for her to come. Her mother wroteabout it in letter, saying she didn't think it was right. Just beforeChristmas, she wrote that maybe if she wrote Cousin Sam he would sendher the money. Cousin Sam was a porter in a down town saloon. I felt somortified that I swore I would never again have anything to do with herfamily. They never regarded my feelings nor our relations in the least,but wrote a letter every few days about who was coming to the house tosee Orlean Christmas, of who was going to have her at their homes fordinner when she came home, until the poor girl, with a child on the way,was as helpless as a baby, trying to be honest with all concerned. Ithad never been her lot to take the defensive.
My sister came down from her claim and took Orlean home with her. Whileshe was in Tipp county a letter came from her father for her, andthinking it might be a matter needing immediate attention, I opened itand found a money order for eighteen dollars, sent from Cairo, withinstructions when to start, and he would be home to meet her when shearrived, suggesting that I could come later.
I was about the maddest man in Megory when I was through reading theletter, fairly flying to the post office, enclosing the money order andall, with a curt little note telling what I had done; that Orlean wasout on her claim and would be home in a few days, but that we were notcoming to Chicago. I would have liked to tell him that I was running myown house, but did not do so. I was hauling shelled corn to a feeder intown, when Orlean came. She was driving a black horse, hitched to alittle buggy I had purchased for her, and I met her on the road. I gotout and kissed her fondly, then told what I had done. My love for herhad been growing. She had been gone a week and I was so glad to see herand have her back with me. I took the corn on into town and when Ireturned home she had cleaned up the house, prepared a nice supper andhad killed a chicken for the next day, which was Christmas. She thenconfessed that she had written her father that he could send the money.
"Now, dear," she said, as though a little frightened, "I'm so sorry, forI know papa's going to make a big row."
And he did, fairly burned the mail with scorching letters denouncing myaction and threatening what he was liable to do about it, which was tocome out and attend to me. I judged he did not get much sympathy,however, for a little while after Orlean had written him he cooled downand wrote that whatever Orlean and I agreed on was all right with him,though I knew nothing of what her letter contained.
The holidays passed without further event, excepting a letter from Mrs.Ewis, to my wife, in which she said she was glad that she had stayed inDakota and stuck by her husband. The letter seemed a little strange,though I thought nothing of it at the time. A few months later I was toknow what it meant, which was more than I could then have dreamed of. Wewere a lone colored couple, in a country miles from any of our kind,honest, hopeful and happy; we had no warning, nor if we had, would wehave believed. Why, indeed, should any young couple feel that someperson, especially one near and dear, should be planning to put asunderwhat God had joined together?
It was now the last of February and we expected our first-born inMarch. My wife had grown exceedingly fretful. Grandma was with us,having made proof on her homestead. Orlean kept worrying and wanting togo to her claim, talking so much about it, that I finally talked withsome neighbor friends and they advised that it would be better to takeher to the homestead, for if she continued to fret so much over wantingto be there, when the child was born, it might be injured in some way.When the weather became favorable, I wrapped her and grandma upcomfortably, and sent them to the claim in the spring wagon, while Ifollowed with a load of furniture, making the trip in a day and a half.We had close neighbors who said they would look after her while I wentback after the stock. A lumber yard was selling out in Kirk, and Ibought the coal shed, which was strongly built, being good for barns andgranaries. Cutting it into two parts, I loaded one part onto two wagonsand started the sixty miles to the claim. A thaw set in about the time Ihad the building as far as my homestead south of Megory. I decided toleave it there and tear down my old buildings and move them, instead. Ireceived a letter from Orlean saying they were getting along nicely,excepting that the stove smoked considerably; and for me to be verycareful with Red and not let him kick me. Red was a mule I had boughtthe summer before and was a holy terror for kicking.
My sister arrived that night from a visit to Kansas, and on hearing fromOrlean that she was all right, I sent my sister on to her claim, andhiring more men, moved the balance of the building onto the old farm,tore down the old buildings, loaded them onto wagons, and finally gotstarted again for Tipp county. That was on Saturday. The wind blew agale, making me feel lonely and far from home. Sunday morning I startedearly out of Colone planning to get home that night, but the front axlebroke and by the time we got another it was growing late. We startedagain and traveled about two miles, when the tongue broke, and by thetime that was mended it was late in the afternoon. About six o'clock wepulled into Victor, tired and w
eary. The next day, when about five milesfrom home, we met one of the neighbors, who informed me that he hadtried to get me over the phone all along the way; that my wife had beenawfully sick and that the baby had been born, dead. It struck me like ahammer, and noting my frightened look, he spoke up quickly:
"But she's all right now. She had two doctors and didn't lack forattention."
On the way home I was so nervous that I could hardly wait for the horsesto get there. I would not have been away at this time for anything inthe world. I knew Orlean would forgive me, but we had not told herfather. Orlean had told her mother and thought she would tell him. Hemade so much ado about everything, we hoped to avoid the tire of hisburdensome letters, but now, with the baby born during my absence, andit dead, when we had so many plans for its future. It was to have beenthe first colored child born on the Little Crow, and we thought we weregoing to make history.
When I got to the claim I was weak in every way. My wife seemed none theworse, but my emotions were intense when I saw the little dead boy. Poorlittle fellow! As he lay stiff and cold I could see the image of myselfin his features. My wife noticed my look and said:
"It is just like you, dear!"
That night we buried the baby on the west side of the draw. It shouldhave been on the east, where the only trees in the township, fourspreading willows, cast their shadows.
"Well, dear, we have each other," I comforted her as she cried.
Between sobs she tried to tell me how she had prayed for it to live, andsince it had looked so much like me, she thought her heart would break.
When the child was born they had sent a telegram to her father whichread:
"Baby born dead. Am well."
This was his first knowledge of it. We received a telegram that nightthat he was on the way and the next day he arrived, bringing Ethel withhim. When he got out of the livery rig that brought them I could seeSatan in his face. A chance had come to him at last. It seemed to say:
"Oh, now I'll fix you. Away when the child was born, eh?"
His very expression seemed jubilant. He had longed for some chance toget me and now it had arrived. He did not speak to me, but bounded intothe room where my wife was, and she must have read the same thing in hisexpression, for, as he talked about it later, I learned the first thingshe said was:
"Now, papa. You must not abuse Oscar. He loves me and is kind and doingthe best he can, but he is all tied up with debt."
He would tell this every few hours but I could see the evil of his heartin the expression of his eyes, leering at me, with hatred and malice inevery look. He and Ethel turned loose in about an hour. From that timeon, it was the same as being in the house with two human devils. Theynearly raised the roof with their quarreling. Of the two, the Reverendwas the worst, for he was cunning and deceitful, pretending in onesentence to love, and in the next taking a thrust at my emotions andhome. I shall never forget his evil eyes.
Ethel would cry out in her ringing voice:
"You're practical! You're practical! You and your Booker T. Washingtonideas!"
Then she would tear into a string of abusive words. One day, after thedoctor had been to the house, he called me aside and said:
"Oscar, your wife is physically well enough, but is mentally sick.Something should be done so that she may be more quiet."
"Is she quite out of danger?" I asked.
He replied that she was. That night I told my wife of our conversationand the next day I left for Megory county.
The Conquest: The Story of a Negro Pioneer Page 38
