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The Conquest
_The Story of a Negro Pioneer_
BY THE PIONEER
1913
THE WOODRUFF PRESS
Lincoln, Nebr.
Entered according to the Act of Congress in the year 1913,
by the Woodruff Bank Note Co., in the office of the
Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.C.
First Edition, May 1, 1913
_To the_
_HONORABLE BOOKER T. WASHINGTON_
_INTRODUCTORY_
_This is a true story of a negro who was discontented and the
circumstances that were the outcome of that discontent._
INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Became number one in the opening 56
Everybody for miles around had journeyed thither to
celebrate 113
Made a declaration that he would build a town 128
Although the valley could not be surpassed in the production
of grain and alfalfa, the highlands on
either side were great mountains of sand 133
On the east the murky waters of the Missouri seek
their level 140
The real farmer was fast replacing the homesteader 145
Everything grew so rank, thick and green 160
Had put 280 acres under cultivation 177
Bringing stock, household goods and plenty of money 192
Were engaged in ranching and owned great herds in
Tipp county 209
As the people were all now riding in autos 241
A beautiful townsite where trees stood 251
Ernest Nicholson takes a hand 256
The crops began to wither 289
The cold days and long nights passed slowly by, and I
cared for the stock 304
LIST OF CHAPTERS
PAGE
I Discontent--Spirit of the Pioneer 9
II Leaving Home--A Maiden 18
III Chicago, Chasing a Will-O-The-Wisp 24
IV The P----n Company 34
V "Go West Young Man" 48
VI "And Where is Oristown?" 54
VII Oristown, the "Little Crow" Reservation 61
VIII Far Down the Pacific--The Proposal 67
IX The Return--Ernest Nicholson 72
X The Oklahoma Grafter 74
XI Dealin' in Mules 79
XII The Homesteaders 86
XIII Imaginations Run Amuck 91
XIV The Surveyors 94
XV "Which Town Will the R.R. Strike?" 104
XVI Megory's Day 108
XVII Ernest Nicholson's Return 117
XVIII Comes Stanley, the Chief Engineer 123
XIX In the Valley of the Keya Paha 126
XX The Outlaw's Last Stand 132
XXI The Boom 134
XXII The President's Proclamation 140
XXIII Where the Negro Fails 142
XXIV And the Crowds Did Come--The Prairie Fire 148
XXV The Scotch Girl 153
XXVI The Battle 164
XXVII The Sacrifice--Race Loyalty 168
XXVIII The Breeds 175
XXIX In the Valley of the Dog Ear 182
XXX Ernest Nicholson Takes a Hand 186
XXXI The McCralines 193
XXXII A Long Night 201
XXXIII The Survival of the Fittest 208
XXXIV East of State Street 216
XXXV An Uncrowned King 233
XXXVI A Snake in the Grass 241
XXXVII The Progressives and the Reactionaries 251
XXXVIII Sanctimonious Hypocrisy 265
XXXIX Beginning of the End 273
XL The Mennonites 280
XLI The Drouth 284
XLII A Year of Coincidences 294
XLIII "And Satan Came Also" 297
The Conquest
CHAPTER I
DISCONTENT--SPIRIT OF THE PIONEER
Good gracious, has it been that long? It does not seem possible; but it
was this very day nine years ago when a fellow handed me this little
what-would-you-call-it, Ingalls called it "Opportunity." I've a notion
to burn it, but I won't--not this time, instead, I'll put it down here
and you may call it what you like.
Master of human destinies am I.
Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait.
Cities and fields I walk. I penetrate
Deserts and seas remote, and passing by
Hovel, and mart, and palace--soon or late
I knock unbidden once at every gate.
If sleeping, wake--if feasting, rise before
I turn away. It is the hour of fate,
And they who follow me reach every state
Mortals desire, and conquer every foe
Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate,
Condemned to failure, penury, and woe
Seek me in vain and uselessly implore,
I answer not, and I return no more.
Yes, it was that little poem that led me to this land and sometimes I
wonder well, I just wonder, that's all. Again, I think it would be
somewhat different if it wasn't for the wind. It blows and blows until
it makes me feel lonesome and so far away from that little place and the
country in southern Illinois.
I was born twenty-nine years ago near the Ohio River, about forty miles
above Cairo, the fourth son and fifth child of a family of thirteen, by
the name of Devereaux--which, of course, is not my name but we will call
it that for this sketch. It is a peculiar name that ends with an "eaux,"
however, and is considered an odd name for a colored man to have, unless
he is from Louisiana where the French crossed with the Indians and
slaves, causing many Louisiana negroes to have the French names and many
speak the French language also. My father, however, came from Kentucky
and inherited the name from his father who was sold off into Texas
during the slavery period and is said to be living there today.
He was a farmer and owned eighty acres of land and was, therefore,
considered fairly "well-to-do," that is, for a colored man. The county
in which we lived bordered on the river some twenty miles, and took its
name from an old fort that used to do a little cannonading for the
Federal forces back in the Civil War.
The farming in this section was hindered by various disadvantages and at
best was slow, hard work. Along the valleys of the numerous creeks and
bayous that empty their waters into the Ohio, the soil was of a rich
alluvium, where in the early Spring the back waters from the Ohio
covered thousands of acres of farm and timber lands, and in receding
left the land plastered with a coat of river sand and clay which greatly
added to the soil's productivity. One who owned a farm on these bottoms
was considered quite fortunate. Here the corn stalks grew like saplings,
with ears dangling one and two to a stalk, and as sound and heavy as
green blocks of wood.
The heavy rains washed the loam from the hills and deposited it on these
bottoms. Years ago, when the rolling lands were cleared, and before the
excessive rainfall had washed away the loose surface, the highlands were
considered most valuable for agricultural purposes, equally as valuable
as the bottoms now are. Farther back from the river the more rolling the
land became, until some sixteen miles away it was known as the hills,
and here, long before I was born, the land had been very valuable. Large
barns and fine stately houses--now gone to wreck and deserted--stood
behind beautiful groves of chestnut, locust and stately old oaks, where
rabbits, quail and wood-peckers made their homes, and sometimes a
raccoon or opossum founded its den during the cold, bleak winter days.
The orchards, formerly the pride of their owners, now dropped their
neglected fruit which rotted and mulched with the leaves. The fields,
where formerly had grown great crops of wheat, corn, oats, timothy and
clover, were now grown over and enmeshed in a tangled mass of weeds and
dew-berry vines; while along the branches and where the old rail fences
had stood, black-berry vines had grown up, twisting their thorny stems
and forming a veritable hedge fence. These places I promised mother to
avoid as I begged her to allow me to follow the big boys and carry their
game when they went hunting.
In the neighborhood and throughout the country there had at one time
been many colored farmers, or ex-slaves, who had settled there after the
war. Many of them having built up nice homes and cleared the valley of
tough-rooted hickory, gum, pecan and water-oak trees, and the highlands
of the black, white, red or post oak, sassafras and dogwood. They later
grubbed the stumps and hauled the rocks into the roads, or dammed
treacherous little streams that were continually breaking out and
threatening the land with more ditches. But as time wore on and the
older generation died, the younger were attracted to the towns and
cities in quest of occupations that were more suitable to their
increasing desires for society and good times. Leaving the farms to care
for themselves until the inevitable German immigrant came along and
bought them up at his own price, tilled the land, improved the farm and
roads, straightened out the streams by digging canals, and grew
prosperous.
As for me, I was called the lazy member of the family; a shirker who
complained that it was too cold to work in the winter, and too warm in
the summer. About the only thing for which I was given credit was in
learning readily. I always received good grades in my studies, but was
continually criticised for talking too much and being too inquisitive.
We finally moved into the nearby town of M--pls. Not so much to get off
the farm, or to be near more colored people (as most of the younger
negro farmers did) as to give the children better educational
facilities.
The local colored school was held in an old building made of plain
boards standing straight up and down with batten on the cracks. It was
inadequate in many respects; the teachers very often inefficient, and
besides, it was far from home. After my oldest sister graduated she went
away to teach, and about the same time my oldest brother quit school and
went to a near-by town and became a table waiter, much to the
dissatisfaction of my mother, who always declared emphatically that she
wanted none of her sons to become lackeys.
When the Spanish-American War broke out the two brothers above me
enlisted with a company of other patriotic young fellows and were taken
to Springfield to go into camp. At Springfield their company was
disbanded and those of the company that wished to go on were accepted
into other companies, and those that desired to go home were permitted
to do so. The younger of the two brothers returned home by freight; the
other joined a Chicago company and was sent to Santiago and later to San
Luis DeCuba, where he died with typhoid pneumonia.
M--pls was an old town with a few factories, two flour mills, two or
three saw mills, box factories and another concern where veneering was
peeled from wood blocks softened with steam. The timber came from up the
Tennessee River, which emptied into the Ohio a few miles up the river.
There was also the market house, such as are to be seen in towns of the
Southern states--and parts of the Northern. This market house, or
place, as it is often called, was an open building, except one end
enclosed by a meat-market, and was about forty by one hundred feet with
benches on either side and one through the center for the convenience of
those who walked, carrying their produce in a home-made basket. Those in
vehicles backed to a line guarded by the city marshall, forming an
alleyway the width of the market house for perhaps half a block,
depending on how many farmers were on hand. There was always a rush to
get nearest the market house; a case of the early bird getting the worm.
The towns people who came to buy, women mostly with baskets, would file
leisurely between the rows of vehicles, hacks and spring wagons of
various descriptions, looking here and there at the vegetables
displayed.
We moved back to the country after a time where my father complained of
my poor service in the field and in disgust I was sent off to do the
marketing--which pleased me, for it was not only easy but gave me a
chance to meet and talk with many people--and I always sold the goods
and engaged more for the afternoon delivery. This was my first
experience in real business and from that time ever afterward I could
always do better business for myself than for anyone else. I was not
given much credit for my ability to sell, however, until my brother, who
complained that I was given all the easy work while he had to labor and
do all the heavier farm work, was sent to do the marketing. He was not a
salesman and lacked the aggressiveness to approach people with a basket,
and never talked much; was timid and when spoken to or approached
plainly showed it.
On the other hand, I met and became acquainted with people quite
readily. I soon noticed that many people enjoy being flattered, and how
pleased even the prosperous men's wives would seem if bowed to with a
pleasant "Good Morning, Mrs. Quante, nice morning and would you care to
look at some fresh roasting ears--ten cents a dozen; or some nice ripe
strawberries, two boxes for fifteen cents?" "Yes Maam, Thank you! and O,
Mrs. Quante, would you care for some radishes, cucumbers or lettuce for
tomorrow? I could deliver late this afternoon, you see, for maybe you
haven't the time to come to market every day." From this association I
soon learned to give to each and every prospective customer a different
greeting or suggestion, which usually brought a smile and a nod of
appreciation as well as a purchase.
Before the debts swamped my father, and while my brothers were still at
home, our truck gardening, the small herd of milkers and the chickens
paid as well as the farm itself. About this time father fell heir to a
part of the estate of a brother which came as a great relief to his ever
increasing burden of debt.
While this seeming relief to father was on I became very anxious to get
away. In fact I didn't like M--pls nor its surroundings. It was a river
town and gradually losing its usefulness by the invasion of railroads up
and down the river; besides, the colored people were in the most part
wretchedly poor, ignorant and envious. They were set in the ways of
their localisms, and it was quite useless to talk to them of anything
that would better oneself. The social life centered in the two churches
where praying, singing and shouting on Sundays, to back-biting,
stealing, fighting and getting drunk during the week was common among
the men. They remained members in good standing at the churches,
however, as long as they paid their dues, contributed to the numerous
rallies, or helped along in camp meetings and festivals. Others were
regularly turned out, mostly for not paying their dues, only to warm up
at the next revival on the mourners bench and come through converted and
be again accepted into the church and, for awhile at least, live a
near-righteous life. There were many good Christians in the church,
however, who were patient with all this conduct, while there were and
still are those who will not sanction such carrying-on by staying in a
church that permits of such shamming and hypocrisy. These latter often
left the church and were then branded either as infidels or human devils
who had forsaken the house of God and were condemned to eternal
damnation.
My mother was a shouting Methodist and many times we children would slip
quietly out of the church when she began to get happy. The old and less
religious men hauled slop to feed a few pigs, cut cord-wood at fifty
cents per cord, and did any odd jobs, or kept steady ones when such
could be found. The women took in washing, cooked for the white folks,
and fed the preachers. When we lived in the country we fed so many of
the Elders, with their long tailed coats and assuming and authoritative
airs, that I grew to almost dislike the sight of a colored man in a
Prince Albert coat and clerical vest. At sixteen I was fairly disgusted
with it all and took no pains to keep my disgust concealed.
This didn't have the effect of burdening me with many friends in M--pls
and I was regarded by many of the boys and girls, who led in the
whirlpool of the local colored society, as being of the
"too-slow-to-catch-cold" variety, and by some of the Elders as being
worldly, a free thinker, and a dangerous associate for young Christian
folks. Another thing that added to my unpopularity, perhaps, was my
persistent declarations that there were not enough competent colored
people to grasp the many opportunities that presented themselves, and
that if white people could possess such nice homes, wealth and luxuries,
so in time, could the colored people. "You're a fool", I would be told,
and then would follow a lecture describing the time-worn long and cruel
slavery, and after the emancipation, the prejudice and hatred of the
white race, whose chief object was to prevent the progress and
betterment of the negro. This excuse for the negro's lack of ambition
was constantly dinned into my ears from the Kagle corner loafer to the
minister in the pulpit, and I became so tired of it all that I declared
that if I could ever leave M--pls I would never return. More, I would
disprove such a theory and in the following chapters I hope to show that
what I believed fourteen years ago was true.