I
"What our country needs most in its treatment of the race problem,"
observed Mr. Cicero Clayton at one of the monthly meetings of the Blue
Vein Society, of which he was a prominent member, "is a clearer
conception of the brotherhood of man."
The same sentiment in much the same words had often fallen from Mr.
Clayton's lips,--so often, in fact, that the younger members of the
society sometimes spoke of him--among themselves of course--as
"Brotherhood Clayton." The sobriquet derived its point from the
application he made of the principle involved in this oft-repeated
proposition.
The fundamental article of Mr. Clayton's social creed was that he
himself was not a negro.
"I know," he would say, "that the white people lump us all together as
negroes, and condemn us all to the same social ostracism. But I don't
accept this classification, for my part, and I imagine that, as the
chief party in interest, I have a right to my opinion. People who belong
by half or more of their blood to the most virile and progressive race
of modern times have as much right to call themselves white as others
have to call them negroes."
Mr. Clayton spoke warmly, for he was well informed, and had thought much
upon the subject; too much, indeed, for he had not been able to escape
entirely the tendency of too much concentration upon one subject to make
even the clearest minds morbid.
"Of course we can't enforce our claims, or protect ourselves from being
robbed of our birthright; but we can at least have principles, and try
to live up to them the best we can. If we are not accepted as white, we
can at any rate make it clear that we object to being called black. Our
protest cannot fail in time to impress itself upon the better class of
white people; for the Anglo-Saxon race loves justice, and will
eventually do it, where it does not conflict with their own interests."
Whether or not the fact that Mr. Clayton meant no sarcasm, and was
conscious of no inconsistency in this eulogy, tended to establish the
racial identity he claimed may safely be left to the discerning reader.
In living up to his creed Mr. Clayton declined to associate to any
considerable extent with black people. This was sometimes a little
inconvenient, and occasionally involved a sacrifice of some pleasure for
himself and his family, because they would not attend entertainments
where many black people were likely to be present. But they had a social
refuge in a little society of people like themselves; they attended,
too, a church, of which nearly all the members were white, and they were
connected with a number of the religious and benevolent associations
open to all good citizens, where they came into contact with the better
class of white people, and were treated, in their capacity of members,
with a courtesy and consideration scarcely different from that accorded
to other citizens.
Mr. Clayton's racial theory was not only logical enough, but was in his
own case backed up by substantial arguments. He had begun life with a
small patrimony, and had invested his money in a restaurant, which by
careful and judicious attention had grown from a cheap eating-house into
the most popular and successful confectionery and catering establishment
in Groveland. His business occupied a double store on Oakwood Avenue. He
owned houses and lots, and stocks and bonds, had good credit at the
banks, and lived in a style befitting his income and business standing.
In person he was of olive complexion, with slightly curly hair. His
features approached the Cuban or Latin-American type rather than the
familiar broad characteristics of the mulatto, this suggestion of
something foreign being heightened by a Vandyke beard and a carefully
waxed and pointed mustache. When he walked to church on Sunday mornings
with his daughter Alice, they were a couple of such striking appearance
as surely to attract attention.
Miss Alice Clayton was queen of her social set. She was young, she was
handsome. She was nearly white; she frankly confessed her sorrow that
she was not entirely so. She was accomplished and amiable, dressed in
good taste, and had for her father by all odds the richest colored
man--the term is used with apologies to Mr. Clayton, explaining that it
does not necessarily mean a negro--in Groveland. So pronounced was her
superiority that really she had but one social rival worthy of the
name,--Miss Lura Watkins, whose father kept a prosperous livery stable
and lived in almost as good style as the Claytons. Miss Watkins, while
good-looking enough, was not so young nor quite so white as Miss
Clayton. She was popular, however, among their mutual acquaintances, and
there was a good-natured race between the two as to which should make
the first and best marriage.
Marriages among Miss Clayton's set were serious affairs. Of course
marriage is always a serious matter, whether it be a success or a
failure, and there are those who believe that any marriage is better
than no marriage. But among Miss Clayton's friends and associates
matrimony took on an added seriousness because of the very narrow limits
within which it could take place. Miss Clayton and her friends, by
reason of their assumed superiority to black people, or perhaps as much
by reason of a somewhat morbid shrinking from the curiosity manifested
toward married people of strongly contrasting colors, would not marry
black men, and except in rare instances white men would not marry them.
They were therefore restricted for a choice to the young men of their
own complexion. But these, unfortunately for the girls, had a wider
choice. In any State where the laws permit freedom of the marriage
contract, a man, by virtue of his sex, can find a wife of whatever
complexion he prefers; of course he must not always ask too much in
other respects, for most women like to better their social position when
they marry. To the number thus lost by "going on the other side," as the
phrase went, add the worthless contingent whom no self-respecting woman
would marry, and the choice was still further restricted; so that it had
become fashionable, when the supply of eligible men ran short, for those
of Miss Clayton's set who could afford it to go traveling, ostensibly
for pleasure, but with the serious hope that they might meet their fate
away from home.
Miss Clayton had perhaps a larger option than any of her associates.
Among such men as there were she could have taken her choice. Her
beauty, her position, her accomplishments, her father's wealth, all made
her eminently desirable. But, on the other hand, the same things
rendered her more difficult to reach, and harder to please. To get
access to her heart, too, it was necessary to run the gauntlet of her
parents, which, until she had reached the age of twenty-three, no one
had succeeded in doing safely. Many had called, but none had been
chosen.
There was, however, one spot left unguarded, and through it Cupid, a
veteran sharpshooter, sent a dart. Mr. Clayton had taken into his
service and into his household a poor relation, a sort of cousin several
times removed. This boy--his name was Jack--had gone into Mr. Clayton's
service at a very youthful age,--twelve or thirteen. He had helped about
the housework, washed the dishes, swept the floors, taken care of the
lawn and the stable for three or four years, while he attended school.
His cousin had then taken him into the store, where he had swept the
floor, washed the windows, and done a class of work that kept fully
impressed upon him the fact that he was a poor dependent. Nevertheless
he was a cheerful lad, who took what he could get and was properly
grateful, but always meant to get more. By sheer force of industry and
affability and shrewdness, he forced his employer to promote him in time
to a position of recognized authority in the establishment. Any one
outside of the family would have perceived in him a very suitable
husband for Miss Clayton; he was of about the same age, or a year or two
older, was as fair of complexion as she, when she was not powdered, and
was passably good-looking, with a bearing of which the natural manliness
had been no more warped than his training and racial status had rendered
inevitable; for he had early learned the law of growth, that to bend is
better than to break. He was sometimes sent to accompany Miss Clayton to
places in the evening, when she had no other escort, and it is quite
likely that she discovered his good points before her parents did. That
they should in time perceive them was inevitable. But even then, so
accustomed were they to looking down upon the object of their former
bounty, that they only spoke of the matter jocularly.
"Well, Alice," her father would say in his bluff way, "you 'll not be
absolutely obliged to die an old maid. If we can't find anything better
for you, there 's always Jack. As long as he does n't take to some other
girl, you can fall back on him as a last chance. He 'd be glad to take
you to get into the business."
Miss Alice had considered the joke a very poor one when first made, but
by occasional repetition she became somewhat familiar with it. In time
it got around to Jack himself, to whom it seemed no joke at all. He had
long considered it a consummation devoutly to be wished, and when he
became aware that the possibility of such a match had occurred to the
other parties in interest, he made up his mind that the idea should in
due course of time become an accomplished fact. He had even suggested as
much to Alice, in a casual way, to feel his ground; and while she had
treated the matter lightly, he was not without hope that she had been
impressed by the suggestion. Before he had had time, however, to follow
up this lead, Miss Clayton, in the spring of 187-, went away on a visit
to Washington.
The occasion of her visit was a presidential inauguration. The new
President owed his nomination mainly to the votes of the Southern
delegates in the convention, and was believed to be correspondingly well
disposed to the race from which the Southern delegates were for the most
part recruited. Friends of rival and unsuccessful candidates for the
nomination had more than hinted that the Southern delegates were very
substantially rewarded for their support at the time when it was given;
whether this was true or not the parties concerned know best. At any
rate the colored politicians did not see it in that light, for they were
gathered from near and far to press their claims for recognition and
patronage. On the evening following the White House inaugural ball, the
colored people of Washington gave an "inaugural" ball at a large public
hall. It was under the management of their leading citizens, among them
several high officials holding over from the last administration, and a
number of professional and business men. This ball was the most
noteworthy social event that colored circles up to that time had ever
known. There were many visitors from various parts of the country. Miss
Clayton attended the ball, the honors of which she carried away easily.
She danced with several partners, and was introduced to innumerable
people whom she had never seen before, and whom she hardly expected ever
to meet again. She went away from the ball, at four o'clock in the
morning, in a glow of triumph, and with a confused impression of
senators and representatives and lawyers and doctors of all shades, who
had sought an introduction, led her through the dance, and overwhelmed
her with compliments. She returned home the next day but one, after the
most delightful week of her life.