in all of the sports of boyhood and with the manners of a prince. He had
reached the last year in grammar school, the graduating class. Already
the obligations of maturity were forcing themselves upon the boys and
girls. They, for the first time in their school career, were an
organized group. They were going to elect officers, dignified officers.
Nominations had been many and enthusiasm surged around the youthful
candidates, but the choice for president had narrowed itself down
between Donald and a laughing-eyed girl with crinkly black hair. As
usual there were more girls in the class than boys, but while the boys
stood solidly as one behind the masculine candidate, there were a few
girls who put their trust in manly courage rather than feminine charm
and were disposed to break loose from the suffragette camp. Public
opinion thus gave the election to Donald.
As the time for election drew near, the interest became more intense and
the various camps campaigned vigorously, each striving to gain the
majority vote. One day as the school was assembling in their usual room
they were stopped by the sight of their principal questioning one of the
members of the class.
"But this is your knife, isn't it?" sternly inquired the principal.
"Yes, sir," responded John, a trustworthy boy, the son of a widowed
mother whom he helped by working after school hours.
"Mr. Starks found this knife underneath his broken window last night. It
had evidently been dropped by the boy who, in climbing out of his cherry
tree, accidentally smashed the window. You know that I announced last
week that the next boy who was caught trespassing upon Mr. Starks'
property would be suspended from school for the rest of the year. I am
disappointed in you, John. This does not sound like you. Did you drop
this knife last night?"
"No, sir," responded John.
"No? Well, speak up. Who had the knife?"
"I can't say, sir."
"But you must. This is a serious matter. One of the rules of the school
has been broken." Then looking nervously around the room of girls and
boys, the principal commanded: "Will the boy who dropped this knife last
night speak, or shall I be forced to find out the culprit for myself?"
There was no answer. Every boy stood taut, his eyes steadfastly before
him in the thick silence that followed.
"Very well," snapped the principal. "John, who had the knife yesterday?"
"I cannot say, sir," responded John unwillingly.
"You may do one of two things, either you will tell the name of the boy
to whom you lent the knife or you may be suspended from school for the
rest of the year."
The silence was more intense. One, two, three minutes passed.
"You are dismissed," said the principal.
Slowly John left the room. Three days passed. John's mother, much
disturbed, bewailed the fact that he would lose this year out of his
school life and, perhaps, would not have the opportunity of going again.
John thought of the responsibility toward his mother and then of that
toward the boy whose fault he was concealing. Was he doing right or was
he doing the easiest thing in not telling?
On the fourth day John sought the principal. "If it is necessary to tell
the name of the boy who had my knife before I can return to school, I
will tell," he anxiously said.
"It certainly is necessary."
And John told.
There was great excitement in the graduating class. The traditions of
centuries had been broken. One of their number had become a tattler.
John resumed his school work, systematically and obviously shunned by
the other boys.
But Donald reflected over the incident. "After all," he thought, "John
did the bravest thing. It would have been easier to appear heroic and to
sacrifice his mother for the sake of a boy who needed to be punished."
The next day Donald sought John, accompanied him to school, and showed
the class that he regarded John as a hero instead of a tell-tale.
The boys divided into two camps, some following Donald's example, and
others loudly denouncing him.
[Illustration]
Donald's sponsorship of John cost him the presidential election just as
he had foreseen, but he knew that he had lived up to the best within him
and he was satisfied.
As he climbed into bed at the end of the day upon which he had been
defeated and yet had gained a great victory, his mother tucked the
covers closely around him, kissed him good-night, and lowered the light.
Then she bent over him again and kissed him once more and whispered,
"My brave little knight."
A NEGRO EXPLORER AT THE NORTH POLE
MATTHEW A. HENSON
"Matthew A. Henson, my Negro assistant, has been with me in one capacity
or another since my second trip to Nicaragua in 1887. I have taken him
on each and all of my expeditions, except the first, and also without
exception on each of my farthest sledge trips. This position I have
given him primarily because of his adaptability and fitness for the work
and secondly on account of his loyalty. He is a better dog driver and
can handle a sledge better than any man living, except some of the best
Esquimo hunters themselves.
"Robert E. Peary, Rear Admiral, U. S. N."
Exactly 40 deg. below zero when we pushed the sledges up to the curled-up
dogs and started them off over rough ice covered with deep soft snow. It
was like walking in loose granulated sugar. Indeed I might compare the
snow of the Arctic to the granules of sugar, without their saccharine
sweetness, but with freezing cold instead; you cannot make snowballs of
it, for it is too thoroughly congealed, and when it is packed by the
wind it is almost as solid as ice. It is from the packed snow that the
blocks used to form the igloo-walls are cut.
At the end of four hours, we came to the igloo where the Captain and his
boys were sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion. In order not to
interrupt the Captain's rest, we built another igloo and unloaded his
sledge, and distributed the greater part of the load among the sledges
of the party. The Captain, on awakening, told us that the journey we had
completed on that day had been made by him under the most trying
conditions, and that it had taken him fourteen hours to do it. We were
able to make better time because we had his trail to follow, and,
therefore, the necessity of finding the easiest way was avoided. That
was the object of the scout or pioneer party and Captain Bartlett had
done practically all of it up to the time he turned back at 87 deg. 48'
north.
March 29, 1909: You have undoubtedly taken into consideration the pangs
of hunger and of cold that you know assailed us, going Poleward; but
have you ever considered that we were thirsty for water to drink or
hungry for fat? To eat snow to quench our thirsts would have been the
height of folly, and as well as being thirsty, we were continually
assailed by the pangs of a hunger that called for the fat, good, rich,
oily, juicy fat that our systems craved and demanded.
Had we succumbed to the temptations of the thirst and eaten the snow, we
would not be able to tell the tale of the conquest of the Pole; for the
result of eating snow is death. True, the dogs licked up enough
moisture to quench their thirsts, but we were not made of such stern
stuff as they. Snow would have reduced our temperatures and we would
quickly have fallen by the way. We had to wait until camp was made and
the fire of alcohol started before we had a chance, and it was with hot
tea that we quenched our thirsts. The hunger for fat was not appeased; a
dog or two was killed, but his carcass went to the Esquimos and the
entrails were fed to the rest of the pack.
April 1, the Farthest North of Bartlett: I knew at this time that he was
to go back, and that I was to continue, so I had no misgivings and
neither had he. He was ready and anxious to take the back-trail. His
five marches were up and he was glad of it, and he was told that in the
morning he must turn back and knit the trail together, so that the main
column could return over a beaten path.
He swept his little party together and at three P. M., with a cheery
"Good-by! Good Luck!" he was off. His Esquimo boys, attempting English,
too, gave us their "Good-bys."
The Captain had gone. Commander Peary and I were alone (save for the
four Esquimos), the same we had been with so often in the past years,
and as we looked at each other we realized our position and we knew
without speaking that the time had come for us to demonstrate that we
were the men who it had been ordained, should unlock the door which held
the mystery of the Arctic. Without an instant's hesitation, the order
to push on was given, and we started off in the trail made by the
Captain to cover the Farthest North he had made and to push on over one
hundred and thirty miles to our final destination.
Day and night were the same. My thoughts were on the going and getting
forward, and on nothing else. The wind was from the southeast, and
seemed to push on, and the sun was at our backs, a ball of livid fire,
rolling his way above the horizon in never-ending day.
With my proven ability in gauging distances, Commander Peary was ready
to take the reckoning as I made it and he did not resort to solar
observations until we were within a hand's grasp of the Pole.
The memory of those last five marches, from the Farthest North of
Captain Bartlett to the arrival of our party at the Pole, is a memory of
toil, fatigue, and exhaustion, but we were urged on and encouraged by
our relentless commander, who was himself being scourged by the final
lashings of the dominating influence that had controlled his life. From
the land to 87 deg. 48' north, Commander Peary had had the best of the
going, for he had brought up the rear and had utilized the trail made by
the preceding parties, and thus he had kept himself in the best of
condition for the time when he made the spurt that brought him to the
end of the race. From 87 deg. 48' north, he kept in the lead and did his
work in such a way as to convince me that he was still as good a man as
he had ever been. We marched and marched, falling down in our tracks
repeatedly, until it was impossible to go on. We were forced to camp, in
spite of the impatience of the Commander, who found himself unable to
rest, and who only waited long enough for us to relax into sound sleep,
when he would wake us up and start us off again. I do not believe that
he slept for one hour from April 2 until after he had loaded us up and
ordered us to go back over our old trail, and I often think that from
the instant when the order to return was given until the land was again
sighted, he was in a continual daze.
Onward we forced our weary way. Commander Peary took his sights from the
time our chronometer-watches gave, and I, knowing that we had kept on
going in practically a straight line, was sure that we had more than
covered the necessary distance to insure our arrival at the top of the
earth.
It was during the march of the 3d of April that I endured an instant of
hideous horror. We were crossing a lane of moving ice. Commander Peary
was in the lead setting the pace, and a half hour later the four boys
and myself followed in single file. They had all gone before, and I was
standing and pushing at the upstanders of my sledge, when the block of
ice I was using as a support slipped from underneath my feet, and before
I knew it the sledge was out of my grasp, and I was floundering in the
water of the lead. I did the best I could. I tore my hood from off my
head and struggled frantically. My hands were gloved and I could not
take hold of the ice, but before I could give the "Grand Hailing Sigh of
Distress," faithful old Ootah had grabbed me by the nape of the neck,
the same as he would have grabbed a dog, and with one hand he pulled me
out of the water, and with the other hurried the team across.
He had saved my life, but I did not tell him so, for such occurrences
are taken as part of the day's work, and the sledge he safeguarded was
of much more importance, for it held, as part of its load, the
Commander's sextant, the mercury, and the coils of piano-wire that were
the essential portion of the scientific part of the expedition. My
kamiks (boots of sealskin) were stripped off, and the congealed water
was beaten out of my bearskin trousers, and with a dry pair of kamiks,
we hurried on to overtake the column. When we caught up, we found the
boys gathered around the Commander, doing their best to relieve him of
his discomfort, for he had fallen into the water, also, and while he was
not complaining, I was sure that his bath had not been any more
voluntary than mine had been.
It was about ten or ten-thirty A. M., on the 7th of April, 1909, that
the Commander gave the order to build a snow-shield to protect him from
the flying drift of the surface-snow. I knew that he was about to take
an observation, and while we worked I was nervously apprehensive, for I
felt that the end of our journey had come. When we handed him the pan of
mercury the hour was within a very few minutes of noon. Lying flat on
his stomach, he took the elevation and made the notes on a piece of
tissue-paper at his head. With sun-blinded eyes, he snapped shut the
vernier (a graduated scale that subdivides the smallest divisions on the
sector of the circular scale of the sextant) and with the resolute
squaring of his jaws, I was sure that he was satisfied, and I was
confident that the journey had ended.
The Commander gave the word, "We will plant the Stars and Stripes--_at
the North Pole_!" and it was done; on the peak of a huge paleocrystic
floeberg the glorious banner was unfurled to the breeze, and as it
snapped and crackled with the wind, I felt a savage joy and exultation.
Another world's accomplishment was done and finished, and as in the
past, from the beginning of history, wherever the world's work was done
by a white man, he had been accompanied by a colored man. From the
building of the pyramids and the journey to the Cross, to the discovery
of the North Pole, the Negro had been the faithful and constant
companion of the Caucasian, and I felt all that it was possible for me
to feel, that it was I, a lowly member of my race, who had been chosen
by fate to represent it, at this, almost the last of the world's great
work.
BENJAMIN BANNEKER
WILLIAM WELLS BROWN
Benjamin Banneker was born in the State of Maryland, in the year 1732,
of pure African parentage; their blood never having been corrupted by
the introduction of a drop of Anglo-Saxon. His father was a slave, and
of course could do nothing towards the education of the child. The
mother, however, being free, succeeded in purchasing the freedom of her
husband, and they, with their son, settled on a few acres of land, where
Benjamin remained during the lifetime of his parents. His entire
schooling was gained from an obscure country school, established for the
education of the children of free negroes; and these advantages were
poor, for the boy appears to have finished studying before he arrived at
his fifteenth year.
Although out of school, Banneker was still a student, and read with
great care and attention such books as he could get. Mr. George
Ellicott, a gentlemen of fortune and considerable literary taste, and
who resided near to Benjamin, became interested in him, and lent him
books from his large library. Among these books were three on Astronomy.
A few old and imperfect astronomical instruments also found their way
into the boy's hands, all of which he used with great benefit to his own
mind.
Banneker took delight in the study of the languages, and soon mastered
the Latin, Greek and German. He was also proficient in the French. The
classics were not neglected by him, and the general literary knowledge
which he possessed caused Mr. Ellicott to regard him as the most learned
man in the town, and he never failed to introduce Banneker to his most
distinguished guests.
About this time Benjamin turned his attention particularly to astronomy,
and determined on making calculations for an almanac, and completed a
set for the whole year. Encouraged by this attempt, he entered upon
calculations for subsequent years, which, as well as the former, he
began and finished without the least assistance from any person or books
than those already mentioned; so that whatever merit is attached to his
performance is exclusively his own.
He published an almanac in Philadelphia for the years 1792, '93, '94,
and '95, which contained his calculations, exhibiting the different
aspects of the planets, a table of the motions of the sun and moon,
their risings and settings, and the courses of the bodies of the
planetary system. By this time Banneker's acquirements had become
generally known, and the best scholars in the country opened
correspondence with him. Goddard & Angell, the well-known Baltimore
publishers, engaged his pen for their establishment, and became the
publishers of his almanacs.
He knew every branch of history, both natural and civil; he had read all
the original historians of England, France, and was a great antiquarian.
With such a fund of knowledge his conversation was equally interesting,
instructive, and entertaining. Banneker was so favorably appreciated by
the first families in Virginia, that in 1803 he was invited by Mr.
Jefferson, then President of the United States, to visit him at
Monticello, where the statesman had gone for recreation. But he was too
infirm to undertake the journey. He died the following year, aged
seventy-two. Like the golden sun that has sunk beneath the western
horizon, but still throws upon the world, which he sustained and
enlightened in his career, the reflected beams of his departed genius,
his name can only perish with his language.
THE NEGRO RACE
CHARLES W. ANDERSON
As a race, we have done much, but we must not forget how much more there
is still to do. To some extent we have been given opportunity, but we
must not cease to remember that no race can be given relative rank--it
must win equality of rating for itself. Hence, we must not only acquire
education, but character as well. It is not only necessary that we
should speak well, but it is more necessary that we should speak the
truth.
PAUL CUFFE
JOHN W. CROMWELL
Paul Cuffe was born in 1759 on the island of Cuttyhunk, near New
Bedford, Massachusetts. There were four sons and six daughters of John
Cuffe who had been stolen from Africa, and Ruth, a woman of Indian
extraction. Paul, the youngest son, lacked the advantage of an early
education, but he supplied the deficiency by his personal efforts and
learned not only to read and write with facility, but made such
proficiency in the art of navigation as to become a skillful seaman and
the instructor of both whites and blacks in the same art.
His father, who had obtained his freedom and bought a farm of one
hundred acres, died when Paul was about fourteen. When he was sixteen,
Paul began the life of a sailor. On his third voyage he was captured by
a British brig and was for three months a prisoner of war. On his
release he planned to go into business on his own account. With the aid
of an elder brother, David Cuffe, an open boat was built in which they
went to sea; but this brother on the first intimation of danger gave up
the venture and Paul was forced to undertake the work single-handed and
alone, which was a sore disappointment. On his second attempt he lost
all he had.
Before the close of the Revolutionary War, Paul refused to pay a
personal tax, on the ground that free colored people did not enjoy the
rights and privileges of citizenship. After considerable delay, and an
appeal to the courts, he paid the tax under protest. He then petitioned
to the legislature which finally agreed to his contention. His efforts
are the first of which there is any record of a citizen of African
descent making a successful appeal in behalf of his civil rights. On
reaching the age of twenty-five he married a woman of the same tribe as
his mother, and for a while gave up life on the ocean wave; but the
growth of his family led him back to his fond pursuit on the briny deep.
As he was unable to purchase a boat, with the aid of his brother he
built one from keel to gunwale and launched into the enterprise.
While on the way to a nearby island to consult his brother whom he had
induced once more to venture forth with him, he was overtaken by pirates
who robbed him of all he possessed. Again Paul returned home
disappointed, though not discouraged. Once more he applied for
assistance to his brother David and another boat was built. After
securing a cargo, he met again with pirates, but he eluded them though
he was compelled to return and repair his boat. These having been made,
he began a successful career along the coast as far north as
Newfoundland, to the south as far as Savannah and as distant as
Gottenburg.
In carrying on this business, starting in the small way indicated, he
owned at different times besides smaller boats, "The Ranger," a schooner
of sixty or seventy tons, a half interest in a brig of 162 tons, the
brig "Traveller," of 109 tons, the ship "Alpha," of 268 tons and
three-fourths interest in a larger vessel.
A few noble incidents may illustrate his resourcefulness, difficulties
and success over all obstacles. When engaged in the whaling business he
was found with less than the customary outfit for effectually carrying
on this work. The practice in such cases was for the other ships to loan
the number of men needed. They denied this at first to Cuffe, but fair
play prevailed and they gave him what was customary, with the result
that of the seven whales captured, Paul's men secured five, and two of
them fell by his own hand!
In 1795 he took a cargo to Norfolk, Virginia, and learning that corn
could be bought at a decided advantage, he made a trip to the Nanticoke
River, on the eastern shore of Maryland. Here his appearance as a black
man commanding his own boat and with a crew of seven men all of his own
complexion, alarmed the whites, who seemed to dread his presence there
as the signal for a revolt on the part of their slaves. They opposed his
landing, but the examination of his papers removed all doubts as to the
regularity of his business, while his quiet dignity secured the respect
of the leading white citizens. He had no difficulty after this in
taking a cargo of three thousand bushels of corn, from which he realized
a profit of $1000. On a second voyage he was equally successful.
Although without the privilege of attending a school when a boy, he
endeavored to have his friends and neighbors open and maintain one for
the colored and Indian children of the vicinity. Failing to secure their
active cooperation, he built in 1797 a schoolhouse without their aid.
Because of his independent means and his skill as a mariner, he visited
with little or no difficulty most of the larger cities of the country,
held frequent conferences with the representative men of his race, and
recommended the formation of societies for their mutual relief and
physical betterment. Such societies he formed in Philadelphia and New
York, and then having made ample preparation he sailed in 1811 for
Africa in his brig "The Traveller," reaching Sierra Leone on the West
Coast after a voyage of about two months.
Here he organized the Friendly Society of Sierra Leone and then went to
Liverpool. Even here one of his characteristic traits manifested itself
in taking with him to England for education a native of Sierra Leone.
While in England, Cuffe visited London twice and consulted such friends
of the Negro as Granville Sharp, Thomas Clarkson and William
Wilberforce! These men were all interested in a proposition to promote
the settlement on the West Coast of Africa of the free people of color
in America, many of whom had come into the domains of Great Britain as
an outcome of the Revolutionary War. This opinion was at this period the
prevailing sentiment of England respecting what was best for the Negro.
Sir J. J. Crooks, a former governor of Sierra Leone, in alluding to its
origin, says: "There is no doubt that the influence of their opinion was
felt in America and that it led to emigration thence to Africa before
Liberia was settled. Paul Cuffe, a man of color ... who was much
interested in the promotion of the civil and religious liberty of his
colored brethren in their native land, had been familiar with the ideas
of these philanthropists, as well as with the movement in the same
direction in England."[1]
[1] _History of Sierra Leone_, Dublin, 1903, p. 97
This explains Cuffe's visit to England and to Africa--a daring venture
in those perilous days--and the formation of the Friendly Societies in
Africa and in his own country, the United States.
When his special mission to England was concluded, he took out a cargo
from Liverpool for Sierra Leone, after which he returned to America.
Before he made his next move, Cuffe consulted with the British
Government in London and President Madison at Washington. But the
strained relations between the two nations, as well as the financial
condition of the United States at the time, made governmental
cooperation impracticable if not impossible.