But a little more than a century ago, the old world laughed at the
new. Writers of the old world called our American eagle, "a paper
bird, brooding over a barren waste;" yet in what they then called a
barren waste, railroads now carry more of the products of the earth,
than all the railroads of all the lands, of all the peoples on the
face of the earth.
When New England people believed there would never be anything worth
having west of the Connecticut River, what if some seer had prophesied
that in nineteen hundred there would be a city on Manhattan Island
named New York that would rival London, two southwest, Baltimore and
Washington to equal Venice, Philadelphia to match Liverpool, Pittsburg
and Buffalo to surpass Birmingham, and beyond these a city called
Chicago, which in grit and growth would beat anything the old world
ever dreamt of; while on still farther west, would be a State named
Iowa, in which in nineteen hundred and fourteen, would be produced
enough cattle to beef England, enough potatoes to feed Ireland and
hogs to "beat the Jews."
What if he had continued; that in the libraries of the barren waste,
there would be ten million more books, than in the combined libraries
of Europe; that its college students would outnumber the college
students of England, France and Germany combined; that its wealth
would be great enough to purchase the empires of Russia and Turkey,
the kingdoms of Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Switzerland, with South
Africa and all her diamond mines thrown in, and then have enough left
to buy a dozen archipelagoes at twenty millions each, and still have
the wealth of the republic growing at the rate of five millions of
dollars every twenty-four hours. What a land in which to live! Think
of it; less than a century and a half ago, Liberty and England's
runaway daughter, Columbia, took each other "for better or for worse,
forever and for aye" and started down time's rugged stream of years.
George Washington, then Chief Magistrate, performed the ceremony, and
what he joined together time has not put asunder. It was not a wedding
in high life, such as shakes the foundation of fashionable society
today, but rather more like the swearing away of a verdant country
couple, in some Gretna Green, with no other capital than youth, health
and trusting confidence. We have had some domestic discords; once a
very serious family row, but I of the South, join you of the North, in
thanks to God, the application for divorce was not granted, and we are
still a united republic.
The memories which followed that civil strife were so bitter,
doubtless many of you northern brethren believed the men who
surrendered at Appomattox were not any too sincere, and if we should
ever have war with any foreign country, the north, east and west would
have to furnish the patriotism, for the South would never again march
under the stars and stripes. But when the Spanish-American war broke
out, the first boy to pour out his heart's blood for his country's
flag, was Ensign Bagley, of North Carolina. The young man who
penetrated the Island of Cuba, 'mid Spanish bayonets and bullets, and
searched out Cevera and his fleet in the harbor was Victor Blue, the
son of a Confederate soldier. The young man who sank the Merrimac,
Captain Richmond Pearson Hobson, was the son of another Confederate.
Our Consul in Cuba, whose patriotism no one ever doubted, was General
Fitzhugh Lee, and the old man who planted the flag in the tree-tops
around Santiago, and led two negro regiments into the battle, was
fighting Joe Wheeler of the Confederate army.
If I were to close here, what an optimistic picture would be left in
the glow of the century's searchlight. But alas! we have unsolved
problems of imperial moment, and my purpose is to throw the
searchlight upon a few of these unsolved problems.
First, being a southern man, I shall turn it upon the Race Problem.
A century ago the Indian question was a perplexing problem, but it
cuts but little figure now, for the Indian is nightly pitching his
moving tepee a day's march nearer the sunset shore, where one more
shove, and,
"Mad to life's history
Glad to death's mystery,"
the red race will go, to where the pale face will cease from
troubling, and the weary spirit will find its rest at last.
The Chinese question is of equal insignificance, since our doors are
closed and barred against the almond eyes of the Orient.
The Negro question seems to be the race riddle of our civilization and
it will take much tact, patience and wisdom to solve the problem. It
may be a revelation to some of you to know, that at the rate the negro
race has grown since the Civil War, when the twentieth century goes
out, there will be sixty millions of negroes in one black belt across
the Southland. I say across the Southland because, the main body of
the negro race will never leave the track of the southern sun. The
South held the negro in slavery, the North set him free. We supposed
at the close of the war, he would leave the South and go to live among
his liberators. But after half a century, he is still clinging to the
cotton and the cane, or sitting in his log house home, the "shadowed
livery of the burning sun" upon his brow, the plantation song still
lingering on his lips, the banjo tuned to memory's melodies on his
knee, a clump of kinky-headed pickaninnies playing in the sand about
his cabin door, and there he sits multiplying the Southland and
problemizing the century.
I have not time to discuss at length the solution of the problems
before us, but I hope to present them in such a manner as will help
you to appreciate their importance and how they are linked with the
destiny of the republic.
It seems to me exaltation of character, dignification of labor,
material prosperity, leaving social equality to take care of itself,
makes up the best solution of the negro problem. Social equality does
take care of itself even among the white races. Some of you may have a
white servant who is a good woman, a Christian woman, you expect to
meet her in heaven (if you get there), but she is not admitted to your
social set.
There is a vast difference between social rights and civil rights.
Near Lexington, Ky., where I claim my home, is the country residence
of J.B. Haggin, the multi-millionaire horseman. Soon after the
completion of his mansion home, he gave a reception which cost
thousands of dollars. The "first cut" of society came from far and
near, but I was not invited, nor did I feel slighted, for I had no
claim upon the millionaire magnate socially. But when I meet the great
turf-king on the turnpike, he in his limozine and I in my little
runabout, I say, "Mr. Haggin, give me half the road, sir." Inside his
gates I have no claim, but outside, the turnpike's free, and J.B.
Haggin can't run over me. So the negro has no claim on the white man
for social equality, but he has a right to the key of knowledge and a
chance in the world.
Slavery was not an unmixed evil. Like the famed shield it had two
sides. While it had its blighting effects it had its blessings. In
bondage the negro was taught to speak the English language, and in
childhood had the association of white children with their southern
home training. They were taught two valuable lessons, industry and
obedience, without which liberty means license. The negro was
compelled to work and obey, two lessons the Indian never had and never
respected. Beside these valuable lessons the negro was taught the
fundamental principles of Christianity and at the opening of the war
nearly every negro belonged to some church. Their preachers used to
get their dictionary and Bible very amusingly mixed at times. Elder
Barton exhorting his hearers said: "Paul may plant and Apolinarus
water, but if you keeps on tradin' off your birthright for a pot of
Messapotamia you'se gwine to git lost. You may go down into de water
and come up out ob de water like dat Ethiopian Unitarium, but if you
keeps on ossifyin' from one saloon to another; if you keeps on
breakin' the ten commandments to satisfy your appetite for chicken; if
you keeps on spendin' your time playing craps, the fourteenth
amendment ain't gwine to save you. Seben come elebin never took a man
to Heben. I want you to understand dat." Yet from such crudeness of
expression has come preaching, remarkable for thought as well as
scholarship and eloquence, while out of the suffering of slavery,
through the law of compensation, we have matchless melodies in negro
choirs and negro concert companies.
Leaders of thought may differ as to the methods of solution, but upon
one thing all must agree. The net-work of our republic is such that if
one suffers all suffer, and the negro is so interwoven with the
various interests of our National life, we must level the race up or
it will level the white race down. The lower classes must be lifted to
the tableland of a better life, where they can breathe the pure air of
intelligence and morality, or they will pollute the whole body
politic. They must also acquire property. Economy is a lesson the
negro race needs to learn. This lesson was well presented to a drunken
white man by a sober old negro. The white man spent his money for
liquor, and then started for home. Reaching a river he must cross by
ferry, he found he had spent his last penny for drink. Seeing an old
colored man seated at a cabin door near by, he turned toward the
cabin. Nearing the old man he said:
"Uncle, would you loan me three cents to cross the ferry?"
"Boss, ain't you got three cents?"
"I ain't got one cent," replied the white man.
"Well, you can't git the three cents. Ef you ain't got three cents,
you'se just as well off on one side de river as you is on de other."
I said we may differ as to methods for solving this race problem.
Remembering as I do the days of slavery, how in Christian homes the
most merciful masters and the most faithful slaves were found, I
believe the best solution lies in the golden rule of the gospel of
Jesus Christ.