and capital and slaves poured in. Sugar, coffee, chocolate, indigo,
dyes, and spices were raised. There were large numbers of mulattoes,
many of whom were educated in France, and many masters married Negro
women who had inherited large properties, just as in the United States
to-day white men are marrying eagerly the landed Indian women in the
West. When white immigration increased in 1749, however, prejudice arose
against these mulattoes and severe laws were passed depriving them of
civil rights, entrance into the professions, and the right to hold
office; severe edicts were enforced as to clothing, names, and social
intercourse. Finally, after 1777, mulattoes were forbidden to come to
France.
When the French Revolution broke out, the Haytians managed to send two
delegates to Paris. Nevertheless the planters maintained the upper hand,
and one of the colored delegates, Oge, on returning, started a small
rebellion. He and his companions were killed with great brutality. This
led the French government to grant full civil rights to free Negroes.
Immediately planters and free Negroes flew to arms against each other
and then, suddenly, August 22, 1791, the black slaves, of whom there
were four hundred and fifty-two thousand, arose in revolt to help the
free Negroes.
For many years runaway slaves under their own chiefs had hidden in the
mountains. One of the earliest of these chiefs was Polydor, in 1724, who
was succeeded by Macandal. The great chief of these runaways or
"Maroons" at the time of the slave revolt was Jean Francois, who was
soon succeeded by Biassou.
Pierre Dominic Toussaint, known as Toussaint L'Ouverture, joined these
Maroon bands, where he was called "the doctor of the armies of the
king," and soon became chief aid to Jean Francois and Biassou. Upon
their deaths Toussaint rose to the chief command. He acquired complete
control over the blacks, not only in military matters, but in politics
and social organization; "the soldiers regarded him as a superior being,
and the farmers prostrated themselves before him. All his generals
trembled before him (Dessalines did not dare to look in his face), and
all the world trembled before his generals."
The revolt once started, blacks and mulattoes murdered whites without
mercy and the whites retaliated. Commissioners were sent from France,
who asked simply civil rights for freedmen, and not emancipation. Indeed
that was all that Toussaint himself had as yet demanded. The planters
intrigued with the British and this, together with the beheading of the
king (an impious act in the eyes of Negroes), induced Toussaint to join
the Spaniards. In 1793 British troops were landed and the French
commissioners in desperation declared the slaves emancipated. This at
once won back Toussaint from the Spaniards. He became supreme in the
north, while Rigaud, leader of the mulattoes, held the south and the
west. By 1798 the British, having lost most of their forces by yellow
fever, surrendered Mole St. Nicholas to Toussaint and departed. Rigaud
finally left for France, and Toussaint in 1800 was master of Hayti. He
promulgated a constitution under which Hayti was to be a self-governing
colony; all men were equal before the law, and trade was practically
free. Toussaint was to be president for life, with the power to name his
successor.
Napoleon Bonaparte, master of France, had at this time dreams of a great
American empire, and replied to Toussaint's new government by sending
twenty-five thousand men under his brother-in-law to subdue the
presumptuous Negroes, as a preliminary step to his occupation and
development of the Mississippi valley. Fierce fighting and yellow fever
decimated the French, but matters went hard with the Negroes too, and
Toussaint finally offered to yield. He was courteously received with
military honors and then, as soon as possible, treacherously seized,
bound, and sent to France. He was imprisoned at Fort Joux and died,
perhaps of poison, after studied humiliations, April 7, 1803.
Thus perished the greatest of American Negroes and one of the great men
of all time, at the age of fifty-six. A French planter said, "God in his
terrestrial globe did not commune with a purer spirit." Wendell
Phillips said, "Some doubt the courage of the Negro. Go to Hayti and
stand on those fifty thousand graves of the best soldiers France ever
had and ask them what they think of the Negro's sword. I would call him
Napoleon, but Napoleon made his way to empire over broken oaths and
through a sea of blood. This man never broke his word. I would call him
Cromwell, but Cromwell was only a soldier, and the state he founded went
down with him into his grave. I would call him Washington, but the great
Virginian held slaves. This man risked his empire rather than permit the
slave trade in the humblest village of his dominions. You think me a
fanatic, for you read history, not with your eyes, but with your
prejudices. But fifty years hence, when Truth gets a hearing, the Muse
of history will put Phocion for the Greek, Brutus for the Roman, Hampden
for the English, La Fayette for France, choose Washington as the bright
consummate flower of our earlier civilization, then, dipping her pen in
the sunlight, will write in the clear blue, above them all, the name of
the soldier, the statesman, the martyr, Toussaint L'Ouverture."
The treacherous killing of Toussaint did not conquer Hayti. In 1802 and
1803 some forty thousand French soldiers died of war and fever. A new
colored leader, Dessalines, arose and all the eight thousand remaining
French surrendered to the blockading British fleet.
The effect of all this was far-reaching. Napoleon gave up his dream of
American empire and sold Louisiana for a song. "Thus, all of Indian
Territory, all of Kansas and Nebraska and Iowa and Wyoming and Montana
and the Dakotas, and most of Colorado and Minnesota, and all of
Washington and Oregon states, came to us as the indirect work of a
despised Negro. Praise, if you will, the work of a Robert Livingstone or
a Jefferson, but to-day let us not forget our debt to Toussaint
L'Ouverture, who was indirectly the means of America's expansion by the
Louisiana Purchase of 1803."
HIS MOTTO
LOTTIE BURRELL DIXON
"But I can't leave my business affairs and go off on a fishing trip
now."
The friend and specialist who had tricked John Durmont into a confession
of physical bankruptcy, and made him submit to an examination in spite
of himself, now sat back with an "I wash my hands of you" gesture.
"Very well, you can either go to Maine, now, at once, or you'll go
to--well, as I'm only your spiritual adviser, my prognostications as to
your ultimate destination would probably have very little weight with
you."
"Oh, well, if you are so sure, I suppose I can cut loose now, if it
comes to a choice like that."
The doctor smiled his satisfaction. "So you prefer to bear the ills of
New York than to fly to others you know not of, eh?"
"Oh, have a little mercy on Shakespeare, at least. I'll go."
And thus it was that a week later found Durmont as deep in the Maine
woods as he could get and still be within reach of a telegraph wire. And
much to his surprise he found he liked it.
As he lay stretched at full length on the soft turf, the breath of the
pines filled his lungs, the lure of the lake made him eager to get to
his fishing tackle, and he admitted to himself that a man needed just
such a holiday as this in order to keep his mental and physical balance.
Returning to the gaily painted frame building, called by courtesy the
"Hotel," which nestled among the pines, he met the youthful operator
from the near-by station looking for him with a message from his broker.
A complicated situation had arisen in Amalgamated Copper, and an
immediate answer was needed. Durmont had heavy investments in copper,
though his business was the manufacture of electrical instruments.
He walked back to the office with the operator while pondering the
answer, then having written it, handed it to the operator saying, "Tell
them to rush answer."
The tall lank youth, whose every movement was a protest against being
hurried, dragged himself over to the telegraph key.
"'S open."
"What's open?"
"Wire."
"Well, is that the only wire you have?"
"Yep."
"What in the world am I going to do about this message?"
"Dunno, maybe it will close bime-by." And the young lightning slinger
pulled towards him a lurid tale of the Wild West, and proceeded to enjoy
himself.
"And meanwhile, what do you suppose is going to happen to me?" thundered
Durmont. "Haven't you ambition enough to look around your wire and see
if you can find the trouble?"
"Lineman's paid to look up trouble; I'm not," was the surly answer.
Durmont was furious, but what he was about to say was cut off by a quiet
voice at his elbow.
"I noticed linemen repairing wires upon the main road, that's where this
wire is open. If you have any message you are in a hurry to send,
perhaps I can help you out."
Durmont turned to see a colored boy of fifteen whose entrance he had not
noticed.
"What can you do about it?" he asked contemptuously, "take it into town
in an ox team?"
"I can send it by wireless, if that is sufficiently quick."
Durmont turned to the operator at the table.
"Is there a wireless near here?"
"He owns one, you'll have to do business with him on that," said the
youth with a grin at Durmont's unconcealed prejudice.
It would be hard to estimate the exact amount of respect, mingled with
surprise, with which the city man now looked at the boy whose
information he had evidently doubted till confirmed by the white boy.
"Suppose you've got some kind of tom-fool contraption that will take
half a day to get a message into the next village. Here I stand to lose
several thousands because this blame company runs only one wire down to
this camp. Where is this apparatus of yours? Might as well look at it
while I'm waiting for this one-wire office to get into commission
again."
"It's right up on top of the hill," answered the colored boy. "Here,
George, I brought down this wireless book if you want to look it over,
it's better worth reading than that stuff you have there," and tossing a
book on the table he went out, followed by Durmont.
A couple of minutes' walk brought them in sight of the sixty-foot aerial
erected on the top of a small shack.
"Not much to look at, but I made it all myself."
[Illustration: His Motto]
"How did you happen to construct this?" And Durmont really tried to keep
the emphasis off the "you."
"Well, I'm interested in all kinds of electrical experiments, and have
kept up reading and studying ever since I left school, then when I came
out here on my uncle's farm, he let me rig up this wireless, and I can
talk to a chum of mine down in the city. And when I saw the wire at the
station was gone up, I thought I might possibly get your message to New
York through him."
They had entered the one-room shack which contained a long table holding
a wireless outfit, a couple of chairs and a shelf of books. On the walls
were tacked pictures of aviators and drawings of aeroplanes. A
three-foot model of a biplane hung in a corner.
"Now if he is only in," said the boy, going over to the table and giving
the call.
"He's there," he said eagerly, holding out his hand for the message.
Durmont handed it to him. His face still held the look of doubt and
unbelief as he looked at the crude, home-made instruments.
"Suppose I might as well have hired a horse and taken it into town." But
the sputtering wire drowned his voice.
"And get on your wheel and go like blazes. Tell 'em to rush answer. This
guy here thinks a colored boy is only an animated shoe-blacking outfit;
it's up to us to remedy that defect in his education, see!" Thus sang
the wires as Durmont paced the floor.
"I said," began the nervous man as the wires became quiet. "I--" again
the wire sputtered, and he couldn't hear himself talk. When it was
quiet, he tried again, but as soon as he began to grumble, the wire
began to sputter. He glanced suspiciously at the boy, but the latter was
earnestly watching his instruments.
"Say," shouted Durmont, "does that thing have to keep up that confounded
racket all the time?"
"I had to give him some instructions, you know, and also keep in
adjustment."
"Well, I'll get out of adjustment myself if that keeps up."
Durmont resigned himself to silence, and strangely enough, so did the
wire. Walking around the room he noticed over the shelf of books a large
white sheet on which was printed in gilt letters:
"I WILL STUDY AND MAKE READY, AND MAYBE MY CHANCE WILL COME."
--ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
Durmont read this, and then looked at the boy as if seeing him for the
first time. Again he looked at the words, and far beyond them he saw his
own struggling boyhood, climbing daily Life's slippery path, trying to
find some hold by which to pull himself up. And as he watched the
brown-skinned boy bending over the instruments, instinct told him here
was one who would find it still harder to fight his way up, because of
caste.
"Ah!"
The exclamation startled him. The boy with phones adjusted was busily
writing.
"Well, has that partner of yours got that message down at his end yet?"
"Yes, sir, and here is your answer from New York."
"Why it's only been half an hour since I wrote it," said Durmont.
"Yes, that horse wouldn't have got into town yet," grinned the boy.
Durmont snatched the paper, read it, threw his cap in the air,
exclaiming, "The day is saved. Boy, you're a winner. How much?" putting
his hand in his pocket suggestively.
"How much you owe to my help, I don't know," answered the lad sagely. "I
offered to help you because you needed it, and I was glad of the chance
to prove what I believed I could do. I'm satisfied because I succeeded."
Durmont sat down heavily on the other chair; his nerves couldn't stand
much more in one afternoon. To find himself threatened with a large
financial loss; to have this averted by the help of the scientific
knowledge of a colored boy, and that boy rating the fact of his success
higher than any pecuniary compensation--he had to pull himself together
a bit.
His eyes fell on the motto on the wall. He read it thoughtfully,
considered how hard the boy had worked because of that, his hopes of the
future based on that; saw the human element in him as it had not
appealed to him before, and then turning something over in his mind,
muttered to himself, "It's nobody's business if I do."
He got up, and walking over to the boy said: "What's your name?"
"Robert Hilton."
"Well, Robert, that motto you've got up there is a pretty good one to
tie to. You certainly have studied; you have made yourself ready as far
as your resources will permit, and I'll be hanged if I don't stand for
the 'chance.' In the manufacturing of electrical instruments you could
have great opportunity for inventive talent, and in my concern you shall
have your chance, and go as far as your efficiency will carry you. What
do you say, would you care for it?"
"I'd care for it more than any other thing on earth, and am very
grateful for the chance."
"The chance wouldn't be standing here now if you had not had the
inclination and the determination to live up to those words on the
wall."
THE MONTHS
H. CORDELIA RAY
JANUARY
To herald in another year,
With rhythmic note the snowflakes fall
Silently from their crystal courts,
To answer Winter's call.
Wake, mortal! Time is winged anew!
Call Love and Hope and Faith to fill
The chambers of thy soul to-day;
Life hath its blessings still!
FEBRUARY
The icicles upon the pane
Are busy architects; they leave
What temples and what chiseled forms
Of leaf and flower! Then believe
That though the woods be brown and bare,
And sunbeams peep through cloudy veils,
Though tempests howl through leaden skies,
The springtime never fails!
MARCH
Robin! Robin! call the Springtime!
March is halting on his way;
Hear the gusts. What! snowflakes falling!
Look not for the grass to-day.
Ay, the wind will frisk and play,
And we cannot say it nay.
APRIL
She trips across the meadows,
The weird, capricious elf!
The buds unfold their perfumed cups
For love of her sweet self;
And silver-throated birds begin to tune their lyres,
While wind-harps lend their strains to Nature's magic choirs.
MAY
Sweet, winsome May, coy, pensive fay,
Comes garlanded with lily-beds,
And apple blooms shed incense through the bow'r,
To be her dow'r;
While through the deafy dells
A wondrous concert swells
To welcome May, the dainty fay.
JUNE
Roses, roses, roses,
Creamy, fragrant, dewy!
See the rainbow shower!
Was there e'er so sweet a flower?
I'm the rose-nymph, June they call me.
Sunset's blush is not more fair
Than the gift of bloom so rare,
Mortal, that I bring to thee!
JULY
Sunshine and shadow play amid the trees
In bosky groves, while from the vivid sky
The sun's gold arrows fleck the fields at noon,
Where weary cattle to their slumber hie.
How sweet the music of the purling rill,
Trickling adown the grassy hill!
While dreamy fancies come to give repose
When the first star of evening glows.
AUGUST
Haste to the mighty ocean,
List to the lapsing waves;
With what a strange commotion
They seek their coral caves.
From heat and turmoil let us oft return,
The ocean's solemn majesty to learn.
SEPTEMBER
With what a gentle sound
The autumn leaves drop to the ground;
The many-colored dyes,
They greet our watching eyes.
Rosy and russet, how they fall!
Throwing o'er earth a leafy pall.
OCTOBER
The mellow moon hangs golden in the sky,
The vintage song is over, far and nigh
A richer beauty Nature weareth now,
And silently, in reverence we bow
Before the forest altars, off'ring praise
To Him who sweetness gives to all our days.
NOVEMBER
The leaves are sere,
The woods are drear,
The breeze that erst so merrily did play,
Naught giveth save a melancholy lay;
Yet life's great lessons do not fail
E'en in November's gale.
DECEMBER
List! list! the sleigh bells peal across the snow;
The frost's sharp arrows touch the earth and lo!
How diamond-bright the stars do scintillate
When Night hath lit her lamps to Heaven's gate.
To the dim forest's cloistered arches go,
And seek the holly and the mistletoe;
For soon the bells of Christmas-tide will ring
To hail the Heavenly King!
THE COLORED CADET AT WEST POINT
LIEUT. HENRY OSSIAN FLIPPER, U. S. A.
May 20th, 1873! Auspicious day! From the deck of the little ferry-boat
that steamed its way across from Garrison's on that eventful afternoon I
viewed the hills about West Point, her stone structures perched thereon,
thus rising still higher, as if providing access to the very pinnacle of
fame, and shuddered. With my mind full of the horrors of the treatment
of all former cadets of color, and the dread of inevitable ostracism, I
approached tremblingly yet confidently.
The little vessel having been moored, I stepped ashore and inquired of a
soldier there where candidates should report. He very kindly gave me all
information, wished me much success, for which I thanked him, and set
out for the designated place. I soon reached it, and walked directly
into the adjutant's office. He received me kindly, asked for my
certificate of appointment, and receiving that--or assurance that I had
it--I do not remember which--directed me to write in a book there for
the purpose the name and occupation of my father, the State,
Congressional district, county and city of his residence, my own full
name, age, State, county, and place of my birth, and my occupation when
at home. This done I was sent in charge of an orderly to cadet
barracks, where my "plebe quarters" were assigned me.
The impression made upon me by what I saw while going from the
adjutant's office to barracks was certainly not very encouraging. The
rear windows were crowded with cadets watching my unpretending passage
of the area of barracks with apparently as much astonishment and
interest as they would, perhaps, have watched Hannibal crossing the
Alps. Their words and jeers were most insulting.
Having reached another office, I was shown in by the orderly. I walked
in, hat in hand--nay, rather started in--when three cadets, who were
seated in the room, simultaneously sprang to their feet and welcomed me
somewhat after this fashion:
"Well, sir, what do you mean by coming into this office in that manner,
sir? Get out of here, sir."
I walked out, followed by one of them, who, in a similar strain, ordered
me to button my coat, get my hands around--"fins" he said--heels
together, and head up.
"Now, sir," said he, leaving me, "when you are ready to come in, knock
at that door," emphasizing the word "knock."
The door was open. I knocked. He replied, "Come in." I went in. I took
my position in front of and facing him, my heels together, head up, the
palms of my hands to the front, and my little fingers on the seams of
my pantaloons, in which position we habitually carried them. After
correcting my position and making it sufficiently military to suit
himself, one of them, in a much milder tone, asked what I desired of
them. I told him I had been sent by the adjutant to report there. He
arose, and directing me to follow him, conducted me to the bath-rooms.
Having discharged the necessary duty there, I returned and was again put
in charge of the orderly, who carried me to the hospital. There I was
subjected to a rigid physical examination, which I "stood" with the
greatest ease. I was given a certificate of ability by the surgeon, and
by him sent again to the adjutant, who in turn sent me to the treasurer.
From him I returned alone to barracks.
The reception given to "plebes" upon reporting is often very much more
severe than that given me. Even members of my own class can testify to
this. This reception has, however, I think, been best described in an
anonymous work, where it is thus set forth:
"How dare you come into the presence of your superior officer in that
grossly careless and unmilitary manner? I'll have you imprisoned.
Stand, attention, sir!" (Even louder than before.)
"Heels-together-and-on-the-same-line, toes-equally-turned-out,
little-fingers-on-the-seams-of-your-pantaloons, button-your-coat,
draw-in-your-chin, throw-out-your-chest,
cast-your-eyes-fifteen-paces-to-the-front,
don't-let-me-see-you-wearing-standing-collars-again. Stand-steady, sir.
You've evidently mistaken your profession, sir. In any other service, or
at the seat of war, sir, you would have been shot, sir, without trial,
sir, for such conduct, sir."
The effect of such words can be easily imagined. A "plebe" will at once
recognize the necessity for absolute obedience, even if he does know all
this is hazing, and that it is doubtless forbidden. Still "plebes"
almost invariably tremble while it lasts, and when in their own quarters
laugh over it, and even practise it upon each other for mutual
amusement.
On the way to barracks I met the squad of "beasts" marching to dinner. I
was ordered to fall in, did so, marched to the mess hall, and ate my
first dinner at West Point. After dinner we were again marched to
barracks and dismissed. I hastened to my quarters, and a short while
after was turned out to take possession of my baggage. I lugged it into
my room, was shown the directions on the back of the door for
arrangement of articles, and ordered to obey them within half an hour.