Those who recollect the standing of Virginia in days gone by, will be
disappointed in her at the present time. The people, both white and
black, are poor and proud, all living on their reputation when the “Old
Dominion” was considered the first State in the Union.
I viewed Richmond with much interest. The effect of the late Rebellion
is still visible everywhere, and especially amongst those who were
leaders in society thirty years ago. I walked through the market and
observed several men with long, black cloth cloaks, beneath which was a
basket. Into this they might be seen to deposit their marketing for the
day.
I noticed an old black man bowing very gracefully to one of these
individuals, and I inquired who he was. “Ah, massa,” said the negro,
“dat is Major ----, he was berry rich before de war, but de war fotch
him right down, and now he ain’t able to have servants, and he’s too
proud to show his basket, so he covers it up in his cloak.” And then
the black man smiled and shook his head significantly, and walked on.
Standing here in the market place, one beholds many scenes which bring
up the days of slavery as seen by the results. Here is a girl with a
rich brown skin; after her comes one upon whose cheek a blush can just
be distinguished; and I saw one or two young women whose cream-like
complexion would have justly excited the envy of many a New York belle.
The condition of the women of the latter class is most deplorable.
Beautiful almost beyond description, many of them educated and refined,
with the best white blood of the South in their veins, it is perhaps
only natural that they should refuse to mate themselves with coarse and
ignorant black men. Socially, they are not recognized by the whites;
they are often without money enough to buy the barest necessaries of
life; honorably they can never procure sufficient means to gratify
their luxurious tastes; their mothers have taught them how to sin;
their fathers they never knew; debauched white men are ever ready to
take advantage of their destitution, and after living a short life of
shame and dishonor they sink into early and unhallowed graves. Living,
they were despised by whites and blacks alike; dead, they are mourned
by none.
I went to hear the somewhat celebrated negro preacher, Rev. John
Jasper. The occasion was one of considerable note, he having preached,
and by request, a sermon to prove that the “Sun do move,” and now
he was to give it at the solicitation of forty-five members of the
Legislature, who were present as hearers.
Those who wanted the sermon repeated were all whites, a number of
whom did it for the fun that they expected to enjoy, while quite a
respectable portion, old fogy in opinion, felt that the preacher was
right.
On reaching the church, I found twelve carriages and two omnibuses,
besides a number of smaller vehicles, lining the street, half an hour
before the opening of the doors. However, the whites who had come
in these conveyances had been admitted by the side doors, while the
streets were crowded with blacks and a poorer class of whites.
By special favor I was permitted to enter before the throng came
rushing in. Members of the Legislature were assigned the best seats,
indeed, the entire centre of the house was occupied by whites, who,
I was informed, were from amongst the F. F. Vs. The church seats one
thousand, but it is safe to say that twelve hundred were present at
that time.
Rev. John Jasper is a deep black, tall, and slim, with long arms and
somewhat round-shouldered, and sixty-five years old. He has preached in
Richmond for the last forty-five years, and is considered a very good
man. He is a fluent speaker, well versed in Scriptures, and possesses
a large amount of wit. The members of Jasper’s church are mainly
freedmen, a large number of whom are from the country, commonly called
“corn-field niggers.”
The more educated class of the colored people, I found, did not
patronize Jasper. They consider him behind the times, and called him
“old fogy.” Jasper looked proudly upon his audience, and well he might,
for he had before him some of the first men and women of Virginia’s
capital. But these people had not come to be instructed, they had
really come for a good laugh and were not disappointed.
Jasper had prepared for the occasion, and in his opening service saved
himself by calling on “Brother Scogin” to offer prayer. This venerable
Brother evidently felt the weight of responsibility laid upon him, and
discharged the duty, at least to the entire satisfaction of those who
were there to be amused. After making a very sensible prayer, Scogin
concluded as follows:--“O Lord, we’s a mighty abused people, we’s had a
hard time in slavery, we’s been all broken to pieces, we’s bow-legged,
knock-kneed, bandy-shanked, cross-eyed, and a great many of us is
hump-backed. Now, Lord, we wants to be mendid up, an’ we wants you to
come an’ do it. Don’t send an angel, for dis is too big a job for an
angel. You made us, O Lord, an’ you know our wants, an’ you can fix us
up as nobody else can. Come right down yourself, and come quickly.”
At this sentence Jasper gave a loud groan, and Scogin ceased. After
service was over I was informed that when Jasper finds any of his
members a little too long-winded in prayer, singing, or speaking, he
gives that significant groan, which they all well understand. It means
“enough.”
The church was now completely jammed, and it was said that two thousand
people sought admission in vain. Jasper’s text was “God is a God of
War.” The preacher, though wrong in his conclusions, was happy in his
quotations, fresh in his memory, and eloquently impressed his views
upon his hearers.
He said, “If the sun does not move, why did Joshua command it to ‘stand
still?’ Was Joshua wrong? If so, I had rather be wrong with Joshua than
to be right with the modern philosophers. If this earth moves, the
chimneys would be falling, tumbling in upon the roofs of the houses,
the mountains and hills would be changing and levelling down, the
rivers would be emptying out. You and I would be standing on our heads.
Look at that mountain standing out yonder; it stood there fifty years
ago when I was a boy. Would it be standing there if the earth was
running round as they tell us?”
“No, blessed God,” cried a Sister. Then the laugh came, and Jasper
stood a moment with his arms folded. He continued: “The sun rises in
the east and sets in the west; do you think any one can make me believe
that the earth can run around the world in a single day so as to give
the sun a chance to set in the west?”
“No, siree, that doctrine don’t go down with Jasper.”
At this point the preacher paused for breath, and I heard an elderly
white in an adjoining pew, say, in a somewhat solemn tone--“Jasper is
right, the sun moves.”
Taking up his bandanna, and wiping away the copious perspiration that
flowed down his dusky cheeks, the preacher opened a note which had just
been laid upon the desk, read it, and continued,--“A question is here
asked me, and one that I am glad to answer, because a large number of
my people, as well as others, can’t see how the children of Israel were
able to cross the Red Sea in safety, while Pharaoh and his hosts were
drowned. I have told you again and again that everything was possible
with God. But that don’t seem to satisfy you.
“Those who doubt these things that you read in Holy Writ are like the
infidel,--won’t believe unless you can see the cause. Well, let me tell
you. The infidel says that when the children of Israel crossed the Red
Sea, it was in winter, and the sea was frozen over. This is a mistake,
or an intentional misrepresentation.” Here the preacher gave vivid
accounts of the sufferings and flight of the children of Israel, whose
case he likened to the colored people of the South. The preacher wound
up with an eloquent appeal to his congregation not to be led astray by
“these new-fangled notions.”
Great excitement is just now taking hold of the people upon the seeming
interest that the colored inhabitants are manifesting in the Catholic
religion. The Cathedral in Richmond is thrown open every Sunday evening
to the blacks, when the bishop himself preaches to them, and it is
not strange that the eloquent and persuasive voice of Bishop Kean,
who says to the negro, “My dear beloved brethren,” should captivate
these despised people. I attended a meeting at the large African
Baptist Church, where the Rev. Moses D. Hoge, D. D., was to preach to
the colored people against Catholicism. Dr. Hoge, though noted for
his eloquence, and terribly in earnest, could not rise higher in his
appeals to the blacks than to say “men and women” to them.
The contrast was noticeable to all. After hearing Dr. Hoge through I
asked an intelligent colored man how he liked his sermon. His reply
was: “If Dr. Hoge is in earnest, why don’t he open his own church and
invite us in and preach to us there? Before he can make any impression
on us, he must go to the Catholic Church and learn the spirit of
brotherly love.”
One Sunday, Bishop Kean said to the colored congregation, numbering
twelve hundred, who had come to hear him: “There are distinctions in
the business and in the social world, but there are no distinctions
in the spiritual. A soul is a soul before God, may it be a black or
a white man’s. God is no respecter of persons, the Christian Church
cannot afford to be. The people who would not let you learn to read
before the war, are the ones now that accuse me of trying to use you
for political purposes.
“Now, my dear beloved brethren, when I attempt to tell you how to vote,
you need not come to hear me preach any more.”
The blacks have been so badly treated in the past that kind words and
social recognition will do much to win them in the future, for success
will not depend so much upon their matter as upon their manner; not so
much upon their faith as upon the more potent direct influence of their
practice. In this the Catholics of the South have the inside track, for
the prejudice of the Protestants seems in a fair way to let the negro
go anywhere except to heaven, if they have to go the same way.