Out of all the charges of vice laid at the door of the negro race there
rises the fact that almost on the heels of their emancipation the men and
women composing it brought out their savings of a lifetime and deposited
nearly six million of dollars in this Freedmen’s Bank and its thirty-odd
agencies. The candid-minded will admit that this fact is something
greatly to their credit, and must not be forgotten when their virtue or
want of virtue is under discussion. Indeed, it speaks volumes for their
thrift, for their love of saving, and providing for future wants. Most
of this money was drawn from the middle southern States, the negroes
of Georgia alone contributing nearly half a million, all of which, or
nearly all of which, was brought here and placed at the mercy of a ring
of Republican sharpers, and with the shocking result already known. It is
also something to the credit of the race that, during and just after the
war, very many of them, with remarkable shrewdness, purchased property
and built comfortable little homes in what is now the most desirable part
of the city, and where real estate is the most valuable. The imposing
churches and school houses they have built in this neighborhood must also
be accepted as proof of their thrift and progress. It is also something
to their credit that, during the reign of Mr. Shepherd and his vile Ring,
they successfully resisted the shameful attempts made to get possession
of their property and drive them from their homes. Here let me say that
the greatest danger to the future prospects of the race will come from
those mischievous, ambitious, and restless men, more white than black,
who set themselves up as leaders, and are always shedding tears over
what they call the sorrows of “their race.” They have no claim to race
distinction, being a bad cross between a bad white man and an unchaste
negress. I cannot help thinking that their example is bad and their
teachings worse.
The damaging effect, morally, physically, and otherwise, on the negro,
of the robbery of the Freedmen’s Bank can hardly be over estimated. It
was a very serious blow to his progress—to his future hopes. It made him
lose faith in the integrity of the white man. The hope of gain no longer
sweetens labor with him. He no longer saves his money to deposit in a
saving bank, where he was so plausibly told it would bring him large
interest, and ultimately a home. No; my experience has been that a large
majority of the negroes to-day spend their money as they earn it, and
indeed have lost that ambition to put something aside for a rainy day
which characterized them a few years ago.
I will here relate an instance in proof of what is said in the above,
and which will forceably illustrate a thousand other cases. During the
campaign on the peninsula (1862) under McClellan, we had our headquarters
(Franklin’s) at Toler’s Farm, Cumberland Landing, on the Pamunkey. A
very intelligent and respectable colored man came to me and disclosed
the secret that he had more than fourteen hundred dollars, in silver,
buried in the cellar. His wife, a wonderfully active woman, and one
child were owned by the Tolers. He, himself, was the slave of a Mr.
Myers, of Richmond, of whom he bought his time, as was common among the
more intelligent and thrifty slaves. He boasted that his master would
trust him anywhere, and had always been very kind to him. The Tolers,
on the other hand, were very hard on their slaves, and Henry’s greatest
ambition was to get money enough to purchase the freedom of his wife and
child, and the money he had saved from fishing and oystering on the York
and Pamunkey rivers was for that purpose. For that he had toiled, and
toiled, and toiled for sixteen years to get money enough to purchase the
freedom of his wife and child. Even then he could have taken his money,
his wife, and his child, and gone to Washington; but he refused. Indeed,
he remained true to his master until the fall of Richmond. Then he came
here, put what money he had left in the Freedmen’s Bank, and the painful
story is told in these words: he lost it. The Washington sharpers got it.
I met this man a few years ago; dissipation had overtaken him; he was a
changed man; uttering curses on the heads of the men who had robbed him.
Let us retrace our steps again.