Miles Robinson was the slave of Mrs. Roberts, a widow lady living in
York County, Virginia. He did not live with her, however, but was hired
out in the city of Richmond. He had been fortunate in falling into hands
that had not treated him harshly. He was not contented, however. Much of
the leisure falling incidentally to his lot from hours of duty, he
devoted to the banjo. As a player on this instrument he had become quite
gifted, but music in Richmond was not liberty. The latter he craved, and
in thought was often far beyond Mason and Dixon's line, enjoying that
which was denied him in Virginia. Although but twenty-two years of age,
Miles was manly, and determination and intelligence were traits strongly
marked in his unusually well-shaped visage. Hearing that he was to be
sold, he conferred not with his mother, brothers, or sisters, (for such
he had living as slaves in Richmond) but resolved to escape by the first
convenience. Turning his attention to the Underground Rail Road, he soon
found an agent who communicated his wishes to one of the colored women
running as cook or chambermaid on one of the Philadelphia and Richmond
steamers, and she was bold enough to take charge of him, and found him a
safe berth in one of the closets where the pots and other cooking
utensils belonged. It was rather rough and trying, but Miles felt that
it was for liberty, and he must pass through the ordeal without
murmuring, which he did, until success was achieved and he found himself
in Philadelphia. Boston being the haven on which his hopes were fixed,
after recruiting a short while in the city he steered for said place.
Finding liberty there as sweet as he had fondly hoped to find it, he
applied himself unceasingly to industrial pursuits, economy, the
improvement of his mind and the elevation of his race. Four years he
passed thus, under the shadow of Bunker Hill, at the end of which time
he invested the earnings, which he had saved, in a business with two
young friends in Philadelphia. All being first-class waiters and
understanding catering, they decided to open a large dining-saloon.
Miles was one of the two friends mentioned in Wm. Scott's narrative, and
as his success and consequent fortunes have been already referred to, it
will suffice here to mention him simply in connection with two contests
that he sustained with the prejudice that sought to drive colored people
from the passenger cars.
At the corner of Fourth and Walnut streets Miles, in company with two
other young men, Wallace and Marshall, one evening in a most orderly
manner, entered the cars and took their seats. The conductor ordered
them on the front platform; they did not budge. He stopped the car and
ordered them out; this did no good. He read rules, and was not a little
embarrassed by these polite and well-dressed young men. Finally he
called for the police, who arrested all three. Miles did not yield his
seat without a struggle. In being pulled out his resistance was such
that several window lights were broken in the car. The police being in
strong force, however, succeeded in marching their prisoners to the
Mayor's police station at the corner of Fifth and Chestnut streets where
they were locked up to await further investigation. The prisoners
thought they were back in "old Virginny" again. Miles gritted his teeth
and felt very indignant, but what could he do? The infamous prejudice
against which they had borne testimony was controlling all the lines of
city passenger railways in Philadelphia. While Miles and his friends
were willing to suffer for a principle, the dirt, filth, cold, and
disagreeableness of the quarters that they most likely would be
compelled to occupy all night and the following day (Sunday) forbade
submission. Added to this Miles felt that his young wife would hardly be
able to contain herself while he was locked up. They sent for the writer
to intercede for them.
At a late hour of the night, after going from the alderman's
boardinghouse to a fire engine house and other places, where it was
supposed that he might probably be found, on going a third time to his
hotel, a little before midnight, he was discovered to be in bed, and it
was then ascertained that he had not been out all the evening. The night
was very stormy. We could not tell whether or not the fruitless chase on
which we had been sent in search of the alderman, was in keeping with
the spirit that had locked the men up, designed to mislead us; he
condescended at last to appear, and accepted our offer to go bail for
all of them, and finally issued a discharge. This was hastily delivered
at the station, and the prisoners were released.
But Miles was not satisfied; he had breathed free air in Massachusetts
for four years, and being a man of high spirit he felt that he must
further test the prejudices of the cars. Consequently one very cold
night, when a deep snow covered the pavements, he was out with his wife,
and thought that he would ride; his wife being fair, he put her on the
car at the corner of Third and Pine streets, and walked to the corner of
Fourth and Pine streets, where he stepped into the car and took his
seat. The conductor straightway ordered him out, on the plea of color.
God had shaded him a little too much. "How is this, my wife is in this
car," spake Miles. All eyes gazed around to see who his wife was. By
this time the car had been stopped, and the wrath of the conductor was
kindled prodigiously. He did not, however, lay violent hands upon Miles.
A late decision in court had taught the police that they had no right to
interfere, except in cases where the peace was actually being broken; so
in order to get rid of this troublesome customer, the car was run off
the track, the shivering passengers all leaving it, as though flying
from a plague, with the exception of Miles, his wife, and another
colored gentleman, who got on with Miles. The conductor then hoisted all
the windows, took out the cushions, and unhitched the horses. But Miles
and his party stood it bravely; Miles burning all the time with
indignation at this exhibition of prejudice in the city of Brotherly
Love. The war was then raging fiercely, and as Miles then felt, he was
almost prepared to say, he didn't care which beat, as the woman said,
when she saw her husband and the bear wrestling. He was compelled to
admit that this prejudice was akin to slavery, and gave to slavery its
chief support.
The occupants of the horseless car, which was being aired so thoroughly,
remained in it for a length of time, until they had sufficiently borne
their testimony, and they too quietly forsook it.
Prior to this event, by his industry and hard-earned savings, Miles had
become the owner of a comfortable brick house, and had made up his mind
to remain a citizen of Philadelphia, but the spirit which prompted the
aforesaid treatment called up within him reflections somewhat similar to
those aroused by Slavery, and it was not a great while before he offered
his property for sale, including his business stand, resolving to return
to Boston. He received an offer for his property, accepted it, pulled up
stakes, and again hopefully turned his face thitherward. The ambitious
Miles commenced business in Chelsea, near Boston, where he purchased
himself a comfortable home; and he has ever since been successfully
engaged in the sale of kerosene oil. Instead of seeking pleasure in the
banjo, as he was wont to do in Virginia, he now finds delight in the
Baptist Church, Rev. Mr. Grimes', of which he is a prominent member, and
in other fields of usefulness tending to elevate and better the
condition of society generally.
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