“They who have their eyes fixed in adoration upon the beauty of
holiness are not far from the sight of all beauty. It is not permitted
to us to doubt that in Music, in Painting, Architecture, Sculpture,
Poetry, Prose, the highest art will be reached in some epoch of its
growth by the robust and versatile race sprung from those practical
idealists of the seventeenth century, those impassioned seekers after
the invisible truth and beauty of goodness.”--_Moses Coit Tyler._
The intellectual history of a people or nation constitutes to a great
degree the very heart of its life. To find this history, we search
the fountain-head of its language, its customs, its religion, and its
politics expressed by tongue or pen, its folklore and its songs. The
history of the Afro-American race in this country may be divided into
three epochs--the separation from native land and friends, and later
arrival in this land of forced adoption. Next follows two hundred
and fifty years of bondage and oppression mitigated only through
the hope thrown upon life’s pathway by the presence of hundreds of
freemen of the race eking out an existence hampered on all sides by
caste prejudice. Later, an era of freedom covered by twenty years
of emancipation, holding in name citizenship, but defrauded of its
substance by every means that human ingenuity could devise. Again, the
intellectual history of a race is always of value in determining the
past and future of it. As a rule, a race writes its history in its laws
and in its records. Not so the Afro-American: he could make no law;
deprived of the opportunity to write, he could leave no written word;
he could only protest against the injustice of his oppressors in his
heart, in his song, and in his whispered consolations to the suffering
and dying.
The heredity and environment of a people fix their intellectual
limitations as they do their moral and physical. Therefore, perhaps
it would be said, these people can have no real literature; but in
yet another sense let its successful achievement convince us of the
accomplished fact. Every human attempt must have had its first, feeble,
rudimentary steps, must have one day been the era of small things. The
first tiny stream that at last swells to a broad river having therefore
its own important place in the future life of that fact, so these
faint, tottering intellectual steps must be worthy of record. With all
its drawbacks the race has built up a literature of its own that must
be studied by the future historian of the life of the American nation.
Afro-American literature in the United States, and by this we mean
literature which has originated with the Afro-American, must be largely
tinctured with the history of three great happenings in their lives.
Torn from their home and kindred, they soon lost all memory of their
native tongue, except as here and there some idiom survived. Their
first faint gropings in the language of the new world were recitals of
the woes they had suffered and the longing for home and loved ones.
The soul felt desire to see again the land of their birth and look
once more upon its beauty. But as memory of the fatherland became
dimmed by time, the experiences of the life of bondage, its hardships
and sufferings, its chastened joys and its future outlook toward the
longed-for day of freedom that all believed would some day come, the
ties of love and friendship formed, became the burden of their song.
At the time the slave trade started in this country, the possibilities
of the new continent were new to the master; he had not become adjusted
to his own novel environment. The newly imported Africans were largely
descendants of the lowest type of African barbarism--history telling
us they were mostly drawn from the coast tribes, who were easiest
of capture, the white man fearing to go into the interior. The few
belonging to the mountain tribes brought to this land were only such
as had been held as prisoners of war by the coast tribes. The slaves
were located in the warmest section of the New World, employed in
the lowest forms of labor. Their environment was from every point
of view hostile to intellectual development. They had been captured
and enslaved that their toil might enrich another nation; they were
reared in the midst of a civilization from whose benefits they were
largely debarred; they were taught two things--reverence and obedience
to authority as embodied in the master, and next in all of his race,
and lastly to fear God. In spite of all impediments to intellectual
advancement, here and there faint searchings after knowledge appeared
among them. With a nature keenly alive to inquiry, the stories of
the Bible took fast hold upon their imagination. The history of the
children of Israel they made their own. As Moses through God became
the deliverer of the Israelites, so would He give the oppressed ones
of that day a deliverer. This seems to have been the first germ of
intellectuality that appeared among them; this thought they wove into
verse and sung and crooned as a lullaby. In their first attempts at
literature may be found their origin--native Africans made Americans
against their will--the tribes to which they belonged giving a clue
to the differences in their powers of physical endurance or strength
of character, when drawn from mountain or coastland. Their place of
residence in their new home, largely a sojourner in the sunny South;
their fear of the rigor of the northern and eastern climes; the
troubles they had to contend with from within were those caused by the
jealousy and suspicion implanted by their cunning masters, from without
by the lack of opportunities for educational or spiritual growth, it
being at that day against the law for an Afro-American to be found
with a book, and a felony to teach one the alphabet. In the course of
time, however, by stealth in the South and through the philanthropy of
individuals of the North, largely members of the Society of Friends,
they gained a foretaste of education. It has been said that oratory is
the art of a free people, but this race even in the days of bondage
and at the first faint breath of freedom, seems to have given birth
to those who could rank with the masters of this art. The matchless
oratory of Frederick Douglass, Samuel Ruggles Ward, Jabez Pitt Campbell
and Joseph C. Price, has never been surpassed by men of any race
on this continent. Scattered through every State in the Union, the
Afro-American unconsciously imbibed the traits of character and order
of thought of those among whom he dwelt. He became the Chesterfield of
the South; his courtliness even in his master’s cast-off belongings
put that of the master to shame. The slave-mother’s loving kindness
to her own and her foster child became a proverb; her loving, wifely
spirit of devotion and self-sacrifice dimmed the lustre of these
virtues in her more favored sister of a fairer hue.
The preacher of this race has never been surpassed for his powers of
imagery, his pathos, his abundant faith in the future states of reward
and punishment. His faith in the word of God, even as a bondsman,
made soft the dying pillow of many a passing soul; the quaintness and
originality of his speech delighted many an auditor in the home circle,
and his abounding love of great titles and high-sounding names has
never ceased to amuse the student of this impressionable son of Ham.
The first written works of the Afro-American were not issued to make
money, or even to create a literature of their own, but to form a
liberal sentiment that would favor the abolition of slavery, or at
least, the gradual emancipation of the slaves, and thus laboring they
assisted the Anti-Slavery workers in the advancement of their cause.
Thus, the speeches of Frederick Douglass, his “Life of Bondage,”
and other like writings were given to the world. At a later day, as
opportunities for education advanced, and readers among their people
increased, various weekly, annual, quarterly and monthly publications
appeared. Here and there some more cultured and learned member of
the race gathered into book-form scattered sermons, church history
and poems. Within the past twenty years they have become, to a large
extent, their own journalists, gathering and compiling facts about
the race, forming plans to erect monuments to their heroes, recording
the deeds of these heroes both in prose and verse. The despised
Afro-American is learning daily to honor himself, to look with awe upon
the future possibilities of his people within the life of this nation.
The first two books written by members of the race in America were by
native Africans, who had for a time drifted to the shores of Europe,
and there in that purer light of freedom published the outpourings of
their burdened spirits, and at that early day, as at the present, the
song was in the minor key, never rising to a glad and joyous note. Both
books were well received, their merit recognized, and their authors
honored with the love and confidence of those who had minds liberal
enough to recognize the worth of a brother, although of sable hue. The
first attempt at book-making by an Afro-American in the United States
was, strange to say, from the pen of a woman, and was entitled “Poems
on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral,” by Phyllis Wheatley, servant
to Mr. John Wheatley of Boston. The volume was dedicated to the
Right Honorable the Countess of Huntington, by her much obliged, very
humble and devoted servant, Phyllis Wheatley, Boston, June 12, 1773.
A meekly worded preface occupies its usual place in this little book.
Mr. Wheatley’s letter of explanation of the difficulties encountered
follows the preface. Fearing, as often occurred in those days of bitter
race-hatred, that the authenticity of the poems would be questioned, an
attestation was drawn up and signed by a number of worthy gentlemen.
Afro-Americans are born idealists; in them art, poetry, music, oratory,
all lie sleeping. To these the first dawn of hope gave utterance. The
little slave girl, in the safe, quiet harbor of her mistress’ boudoir,
takes heart of grace and tunes her lyre. Her verse shows the shadow
of her unhappy lot, but rises above these sorrows and on the uplifted
wings of song, floats to the starry heavens and consoles the afflicted,
gives praise to the faithful ruler, breaks forth in love for the new
home.
Phyllis Wheatley, from all accounts given of her from every source, was
of a sweet, loving disposition, attaching herself readily to those with
whom she came in contact by this especial trait in her character. Her
book was written under the pleasantest auspices, surrounded by loving
and appreciative friends, with a bright fire and friendly lamp in her
room that she might get up at any moment and jot down the thought.
The point is often discussed whether the poems of Phyllis Wheatley
are of literary merit or simply curiosities as the work of an African
child. That this gifted one died in her early womanhood would lead us
to feel that longer life might have left to the world poems of greater
strength and beauty. Yet, scan as often as we will or may the verses of
Phyllis Wheatley, we claim for her the true poetic fire. In the poem
to the Right Honorable the Earl of Dartmouth, the perfect rhythm, the
graceful courtesy of thought, the burning love for freedom capture the
heart. The “Farewell to America,” the “Tribute to New England,” have a
sweetness and grace, a sprightliness and cheer all their own. Another
proof of the genius of this young poetess may be found in the poem
beginning, “Your Subjects Hope, Dread Sire.” How these verses must have
won the heart of His Most Excellent Majesty the King! what a flood of
sympathy must have gone out to this young maiden in bondage, who could
forget her sorrows in his joy!
A narrative by Gustavus Vassa, published October 2d, 1790, was
the second volume written by an African made by force a resident
of America. Prejudice being so great, this volume, as was Phyllis
Wheatly’s, was first published in England. The second edition
was welcomed in his American home. The writing of this little
narrative, unlike the first, was accomplished under many hardships and
difficulties, pursued by troubles and trials and dire calamities, yet
it is a true and faithful account, written in a style that deserves
respect. The following memorial to the English Parliament will give an
idea of the style of the volume.
_To the Lords spiritual and temporal, and the Commons of the
Parliament of Great Britain._
MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN:--Permit me, with the greatest deference
and respect, to lay at your feet this genuine narrative, the
design of which is to excite in your august assemblies a sense of
compassion for the miseries which the slave trade has entailed on my
unfortunate country. I am sensible I ought to entreat your pardon
for addressing to you a work so wholly devoid of literary merit, but
as the production of an unlettered African who is actuated by the
hope of becoming an instrument towards the relief of his suffering
countrymen, I trust that such a man pleading in such a cause will
be acquitted of boldness and presumption. May the God of Heaven
inspire your hearts with peculiar benevolence on that important day
when the question of abolition is to be discussed, when thousands in
consequence of your decision are to look for happiness or misery.
I am, my Lords and Gentlemen,
Your most obedient and devoted humble servant,
GUSTAVUS VASSA.
“I believe it is difficult,” writes Vassa, “for those who publish
their memoirs to escape the imputation of vanity. It is, therefore, I
confess, not a little hazardous in a private and obscure individual,
and a stranger too, to thus solicit the indulgent attention of the
public. If then the following narrative does not prove sufficiently
interesting to engage general attention, let my motive be some excuse
for its publication. I am not so foolishly vain as to expect from
it either immortality or literary reputation. If it affords any
satisfaction to my numerous friends, at whose request it has been
written, or in the smallest degree promotes the interest of humanity,
the end for which it was undertaken will be fully attained and every
wish of my heart gratified. Let it therefore be remembered that in
wishing to avoid censure, I do not aspire to praise.” Says the Abbe
Gregoire in his volume entitled “An Inquiry Concerning the Intellectual
and Moral Faculties, or a Literature of Negroes:” “It is proven by
the most respectable authority that Vassa is the author of this
narrative, this precaution being necessary for a class of individuals
who are always disposed to calumniate Negroes to extenuate the crime
of oppressing them.” Says the good Abbe in conclusion, “The individual
is to be pitied who, after reading this narrative of Vassa’s, does not
feel for him sentiments of affection and esteem.”
The second class of writers were natives of America, living in liberal
communities, such as could be found in the New England and some of the
Middle States. “Walker’s Appeal” is one of the most notable of these
volumes, as it counselled retaliation. The author’s reward was a price
upon his head. Writers, such as William Wells Brown, of “Rising Sun”
fame; William C. Nell, with “Colored Patriots of the Revolution;”
Frederick Douglass, Francis Ellen Watkins Harper, with other like
workers, labored for the Anti-Slavery cause. Inspired with a hope of
greater privileges for themselves and emancipation for their brethren
in the South, they wrote with a burning zeal which had much to do
with securing the end desired. After this came twenty-five years of
freedom with its scores of volumes, such as Williams’ “History of the
Negro Race in America,” Fortune’s “Black and White,” Bishop Gaines’s
“African Methodism in the South,” Albery Whitman’s “Poems,” Crummel’s
“Greatness of Christ,” Penn’s “Afro-American Press,” Scarborough’s
“Greek Grammar,” Johnson’s “Divine Logos,” Bishop Payne’s “History of
African Methodism,” Steward’s “Genesis Reread.”
This era produced history, narrative, fiction, biography, poetry
and scientific works varying in grade of excellence, but yet all of
invaluable interest; for in them is garnered that which must give
inspiration to the youth of the race. Each had its effect of gaining
the hearts of their enemy, winning respect and admiration, thus
strengthening the bands of a common humanity. Simple and unadorned,
these writings have a force and eloquence all their own that hold
our hearts, gain our sympathies, fill us with admiration for the
writers, for their persevering energy, their strong love of freedom,
the impartiality of their reasoning. With what sincerity they bear
testimony to the good they find even in their enemies. With what
clear judgment they state the difficulties that surround their path.
With what firm faith they look ever to the Ruler of all nations to
guide this one to justice. Yes, this race is making history, making
literature: he who would know the Afro-American of this present day
must read the books written by this people to know what message they
bear to the race and to the nation.
Of volumes of a later date all are more or less familiar. But we cannot
forbear in closing to say a word of three recent race publications:
“Iola, or The Shadows Uplifted,” by Mrs. F. E. W. Harper, and “A Voice
from the South, by a Black Woman of the South” (Mrs. A. J. Cooper).
“Iola, or The Shadows Uplifted,” is in Mrs. Harper’s happiest vein. The
scene is laid in the South, and carries us through the various stages
of race history from slavery to this present day. All of the open and
settled questions of the so-called Negro problem are brought out in
this little volume. In the opening and closing of many chapters Mrs.
Harper has risen to a height of eloquent pleading for the right that
must win for the race many strong friends. Mrs. A. J. Cooper has done
for her people a great service in collecting her various essays into
book form. Together they make one of the strongest pleas for the race
and sex of the writer that has ever appeared. In this little volume
she proves that few of the race have sung because they could but sing,
but because they must teach a truth; because of the circumstances
that environed them they have always been, not primarily makers of
literature, but preachers of righteousness.
The third volume, “Aunt Lindy,” by (Victoria Earle) Mrs. W. E.
Matthews, the last to appear, is a beautiful little story and is
deserving of careful study, emanating as it does from the pen of a
representative of the race, and giving a vivid and truthful aspect of
one phase of Negro character. It shows most conclusively the need of
the race to produce its own delineators of Negro life.
The scene is laid in Georgia. A Cotton Exchange has taken fire, the
flames spreading to a neighboring hotel, many of the inmates are
wrapped in the flames of the dread tyrant. One, a silver-haired
stranger, with others is carried to neighboring homes for quiet and
careful nursing.
“Good Dr. Brown” thinks of no other nurse so capable as “Aunt Lindy.”
The old lady had been born in slavery, suffered all its woes, but in
the joys of freedom had come to years of peace.
She welcomed the wounded sufferer, laid him in a clean, sweet bed that
she had kept prepared hoping that some day one of her own lost children
might return to occupy it.
As she stands by his side suddenly some feature, some word of the
suffering one, brings back the past. Peering closely into the face of
the restless sleeper she exclaims, “Great Gawd! it’s Marse Jeems!”
Then begins the awful struggle in the mind of the poor freedwoman. The
dreadful tortures of her life in bondage pass in review before memory’s
open portal. Shall vengence be hers? Shall she take from him the chance
of life? Shall she have revenge, swift, sure and awful?
In these beautiful words Mrs. Matthews shows us the decision, how the
loving forgiveness of the race, as it has always done, came out more
than conqueror:
“Soon from the portals of death she brought him, for untiringly she
labored, unceasingly she prayed in her poor broken way; nor was it
in vain, for before the frost fell the crisis passed, the light of
reason beamed upon the silver-haired stranger, and revealed in mystic
characters the service rendered by a former slave--Aunt Lindy.
“He marvelled at the patient faithfulness of these people. He saw but
the Gold--did not dream of the dross burned away by the great Refiner’s
fire.”
In this little story, and especially in its sequel, Mrs. Matthews has
given a strong refutation of the charges made against the race by
Maurice Thompson in his “Voodoo Prophecy,” where he makes the poet of
wild Africa to say:
“A black and terrible memory masters me,
The shadow and substance of deep wrong.
. . . . .
I hate you, and I live to nurse my hate,
Remembering when you plied the slaver’s trade
In my dear land.... How patiently I wait
The day,
Not far away,
When all your pride shall shrivel up and fade!
. . . . .
As you have done by me so will I do
By all the generations of your race.”
Only the race itself knows its own depth of love, its powers of
forgiveness. In the heart of this race, if the American nation will
only see it so, they have the truest type on earth of forgiveness as
taught by the Redeemer of the world.
This blood-bought treasure, bought with a Saviour’s love, a nation’s
dreadful agony, is yet spurned and trampled on by professed followers
of the meek and lowly Jesus.
As we remember that the one novel written in America that captured
the hearts of the world sung the wrongs of this people; that the only
true American music has grown out of its sorrows; that these notes as
sung by them melted two continents to tears; shall we not prophesy of
this race that has so striven, for whom John Brown has died, with whom
one of Massachusetts’ noblest sons felt it high honor to lie down in
martial glory, to whom a Livingstone bequeathed to their ancestors in
the dark continent that heart that in life beat so truly for them?
Shall we not prophesy for them a future that is commensurate with the
faith that is in them?