The Negro in The American Rebellion

The fact is, slavery has been the cause of all the prejudice against the negro. Wherever the blacks are ill treated on account of their color, it is because of their identity with a race that has long worn the chain of slavery. Is there any thing in black, that it should be hated? If so, why do we see so much black in common use as clothing among all classes? Indeed, black is preferred to either white or colors. How often the young man speaks in ecstasies of the black eyes and black hair of his lady-love! Look at the hundreds of advertised hair-dyes, used for the purpose of changing nature! See men with their gray beards dyed black; women with those beautiful black locks, which, but yesterday, were as white as the driven snow! Not only this, but even those with light or red whiskers run to the dye-kettle, steal a color which nature has refused them, and, an hour after, curse the negro for a complexion that is not stolen. If black is so hateful, why do not gentlemen have their boots whitewashed? If the slaves of the South had been white, the same prejudice would have existed against them. Look at the “poor white trash,” as the lower class of whites in the Southern States are termed.

Henry Clay would much rather have spent an evening with his servant Charles than to have made a companion of one of his poor white neighbors. It is the condition, not the color, that is so hateful.

“When the Britons first became known to the Tyrian mariners,” says Macaulay, “they were little superior to the Sandwich Islanders.” Cæsar, writing home from Britain, said, “They are the most ignorant people I ever conquered.” Many of the Britons, after their conquest by the Romans, were sent as slaves to Rome. Cicero, writing to his friend Atticus, advised him not to buy slaves from England; “because,” said he, “they cannot be taught to read, and are the ugliest and most stupid race I ever saw.” These writers created a prejudice against the Britons, which caused them to be sold very cheap in Rome, where they were seen for years with brass collars on, containing their owner’s name. The prejudice against the American negro is not worse today than that which existed against the Britons. But, as soon as the condition of the poor, ill-treated, and enslaved Britons was changed, the caste disappears.

Twenty-five years ago, a slave escaped from Tennessee, and came to Buffalo, N.Y. He was as fair as the majority of whites, and, having been a house-servant, his manners and language were not bad. His name was Green. It was said that he had helped himself to some of his master’s funds before leaving. For more than a month he had boarded at the American, the finest hotel in the city, where he sat at table with the boarders, and occupied the parlors in common with the rest of the inmates.

Mr. Green passed for a Southern gentleman, sported a gold watch, smoked his Havanas, and rode out occasionally. He was soon a favorite, especially with the daughters of Col. D – . Unfortunately for Mr. Green, one day, as he was taking his seat at the dinner-table, he found himself in front of one of his master’s neighbors, who recognized him. The Southerner sent for the landlord, with whom he had a few moments’ conversation, after which mine host approached the boarder, and said, “We don’t allow niggers at the table here: get up. You must wait till the servants eat.” Mr. Green was driven from the table, not on account of his color, but his condition. Under the old reign of slavery, it not unfrequently occurred that the master’s acknowledged sons or daughters were of a much darker complexion than some of the slave children.

On one occasion, after my old master had returned home from the Legislature (of which he was a member), he had many new visitors. One of these, a Major Moore, called in my master’s absence. The major had never been to our place before, and therefore we were all strangers to him. The servant showed the visitor into the parlor, and the mistress soon after came in, and to whom the major introduced himself. I was at that time about ten years old, and was as white as most white boys. Whenever visitors came to the house, it was my part of the programme, to dress myself in a neat suit, kept for such times, and go into the room, and stand behind the lady’s chair. As I entered the room on this occasion, I had to pass near by the major to reach the mistress. As I passed him, mistaking me for the son, he put out his hand, and said, “How do you do, bub?” And, before any answer could be given, he continued, “Madam, I would have known your son if I had met him in Mexico; for he looks so much like his papa.” The lady’s face reddened up, and she replied, “That’s one of the niggers, sir;” and told me to go to the kitchen.

On my master’s return home, I heard him and the major talking the matter over in the absence of the mistress. “I came near playing the devil here to-day, colonel,” said the major. – “In what way?” inquired the former. “It is always my custom,” said the latter, “to make fond of the children where I visit; for it pleases the mammas. So, to-day, one of your little niggers came into the room, and I spoke to him, reminding the madam how much he resembled you.” – “Ha, ha, ha!” exclaimed the colonel, and continued, “you did not miss it much by calling him my son. Ha, ha, ha!”

An incident of a rather amusing character took place on Cayuga Lake some years ago. I had but recently returned from England, where I had never been unpleasantly reminded of my color, when I was called to visit the pretty little city of Ithaca. On my return, I came down the lake in the steamer which leaves early in the morning. When the bell rang for breakfast, I went to the table, where I found some twenty or thirty persons. I had scarcely taken my seat, when a rather snobby-appearing man, of dark complexion, looking as if a South-Carolina or Georgia sun had tanned him, began rubbing his hands, and, turning up his nose, called the steward, and said to him, “Is it the custom on this boat to put niggers at the table with white people?” The servant stood for a moment, as if uncertain what reply to make, when the passenger continued, “Go tell the captain that I want him.” Away went the steward. I had been too often insulted on account of my connection with the slave, not to know for what the captain was wanted. However, as I was hungry, I commenced helping myself to what I saw before me, yet keeping an eye to the door, through which the captain was soon to make his appearance. As the steward returned, and I heard the heavy boots of the commander on the stairs, a happy thought struck me; and I eagerly watched for the coming-in of the officer.

A moment more, and a strong voice called out, “Who wants me?”

I answered at once, “I, sir.”

“What do you wish?” asked the captain.

“I want you to take this man from the table,” said I. At this unexpected turn of the affair, the whole cabin broke out into roars of laughter; while my rival on the opposite side of the table seemed bursting with rage. The captain, who had joined in the merriment, said, —

“Why do you want him taken from the table?”

“Is it your custom, captain,” said I, “to let niggers sit at table with white folks on your boat?”

This question, together with the fact that the other passenger had sent for the officer, and that I had “stolen his thunder,” appeared to please the company very much, who gave themselves up to laughter; while the Southern-looking man left the cabin with the exclamation, “Damn fools!”

Nothing is more ridiculous than the legal decision in the States of Ohio and Michigan, that a man containing not more than one-sixteenth of African blood in his veins shall be considered a white man, and, upon the-above basis, shall enjoy the elective franchise.

We know of a family in Cincinnati, with three brothers, the youngest of whom is very fair, and who, under the above rule, is a voter; while the other two brothers are too dark to exercise the suffrage. Now, it so happens that the voting brother is ignorant and shiftless, while the others are splendid scholars. Where there is a great difference in the complexion of the husband and wife, there is generally a much greater difference in the color of the children; and this picking out the sons, on account of their fair complexion, seems cruel in the extreme, as it creates a jealous feeling in the family. While visiting my friend William Still, Esq., in Philadelphia, some time since, I was much amused at seeing his little daughter, a child of eight or nine years, and her cousin, entering the omnibus which passed the door, going towards their school. Colored persons were not allowed to ride in those conveyances; and one of the girls, being very fair, would pay the fare for both; while the dark-complexioned one would keep her face veiled. Thus the two children daily passed unmolested from their homes to the school, and returned. I was informed that once while I was there the veil unfortunately was lifted, the dark face seen, and the child turned out of the coach. How foolish that one’s ride on a stormy day should depend entirely on a black veil!

“Colorphobia, which has hitherto been directed against ‘American citizens of African descent,’ has broken out in a new direction. Mong Chan Loo is a Burman who recently graduated at Lewisburg University, Penn., and has since been studying medicine, preparatory to returning to Asia as a missionary. He is quite dark, but has straight hair, and is a gentlemen of much cultivation. The other day, he took passage on the Muskingum-river packet, ‘J. H. Bert,’ and, when the supper-bell rang, was about to seat himself at the table. The captain prevented him, informing him that, by the rules of the boat, colored persons must eat separately from the whites. He grew indignant at this, refused to eat on the boat at all, and, on arriving at Marietta, sued the owners of the boat for five thousand dollars damages for ‘mental and bodily anguish suffered.’ The case is a novel one; and its decision will perhaps involve the question, whether Africans alone, or Asiatics, and, perhaps, all dark-complexioned people, are included in the designation ‘colored.’ If the more sweeping definition prevails, brunettes will have to be provided with legally-attested pedigrees to secure for themselves seats at the first table and other Caucasian privileges.” —Cincinnati Gazette.

“The Dunkards, a peculiar religious society, numerous in some of the Western States, at their recent annual meeting discussed the question, ‘Shall we receive colored persons into the church? and shall we salute them with the holy kiss?’ It was decided that they should be received into the church, but that all the members were to be left to their own choice and taste in regard to saluting their colored brethren, with the understanding, however, that all who refused to do so were to be regarded as weak.”

In the year 1844, I visited a town in the State of Ohio, where a radical abolitionist informed me that he owned a pew in the village church, but had not attended worship there for years, owing to the proslavery character of the preacher.

“Why don’t you sell your pew?” I inquired.

“I offered to sell it, last week, to a man, for ten dollars’ worth of manure for my garden,” said he; “but the farmer, who happens to be one of the pillars of the church, wants it for five dollars.”

“What did it cost?” I inquired.

“Fifty dollars,” was the reply.

“Are they very proslavery, the congregation?” I asked.

“Yes: they hate a black man worse than pizen,” said he.

“Have you any colored family in your neighborhood?” I inquired.

“We have,” said he, “a family about, four miles from here.”

“Are they very black?” I asked.

“Yes: as black as tar,” said he.

“Now,” said I, “my friend, I can put you in the way of selling your pew, and for its worth, or near what it cost you.”

“If you can, I’ll give you half I get,” he replied.

“Get that colored family, every one of them, take them to church, don’t miss a single Sunday; and, my word for it, in less than four weeks, they, the church-folks, will make you an offer,” said I.

An arrangement was made with Mr. Spencer, the black man, by which himself, wife, and two sons, were to attend church four successive Sabbaths; for which, they were to receive in payment a hog. The following Sunday, Mason’s pew was the centre of attraction. From the moment that the Spencer Family arrived at the church, till the close of the afternoon service, the eyes of the entire congregation were turned towards “the niggers.” Early on Monday, Mr. Mason was called upon by the “pillar,” who said, “I’ve concluded to give you ten dollars’ worth of manure for your pew, Mr. Mason.”

“I can’t sell it for that,” was the reply. “I ask fifty dollars for my pew; and I guess Mr. Spencer will take it, if he likes the preaching,” continued the abolitionist.

“What!” said the ‘pillar,’ “does that nigger want the pew?”

“He’ll take it if the preaching suits him,” returned Mason.

The churchman left with a flea in his ear. The second Sunday, the blacks were all on hand to hear the lining of the first hymn. The news of the pew being occupied by the negroes on the previous occasion had spread far and wide, and an increase of audience was the result. The clergyman preached a real negro-hating sermon, apparently prepared for the express purpose of driving the blacks away. However, this failed; for the obnoxious persons were present in the afternoon. Mr. Mason was called upon on Monday by another weighty member, who inquired if the pew was for sale, and its price.

“Fifty dollars,” was the reply.

“I’ll give you twenty-five dollars,” said the member.

“Fifty dollars, and nothing less,” was Mason’s answer.

The weighty member left, without purchasing the pew. Being on a lecturing tour in the vicinity, I ran into town, occasionally, to see how the matter progressed; for I had an eye to one-half of the proceeds of the sale of the pew.

During the week, Spencer came, complained of the preaching, saying that his wife could not and would not stand it, and would refuse to attend again: whereupon, I went over, through a dreary rain, and promised the wife a shilling calico-dress if she would fulfil the agreement. This overcame her objections. I also arranged that two colored children of another family, near by, should be borrowed for the coming Sunday. Mason was asked how the Spencers liked the preaching. He replied that the blacks were well pleased, and especially with the last sermon, alluding to the negro-hating discourse.

The following Sunday found Mason’s pew filled to overflowing; for the two additional ones had left no space unoccupied. That Sunday did the work completely; for the two borrowed boys added interest to the scene by taking different courses. One was tumbling about over the laps of the older persons in the pew, attracting rather more attention than was due him, and occasionally asking for “bed and butter;” while the smaller one slept, and snored loud enough to be heard several pews away. On Monday morning following, Mr. Mason was called upon. The pew was sold for fifty dollars cash. I received my portion of the funds, and gave Spencer’s wife the calico gown. Mason called in the few hated radicals, and we had a general good time.

During the same lecturing tour, I was called to visit the village of Republic, some thirty miles from Sandusky.

On taking a seat in one of the cars where other passengers had seated themselves, I was ordered out, with the remark, that “Niggers ain’t allowed in here.” Refusing to leave the car, two athletic men, employed by the road, came in at the bidding of the conductor, and, taking me by the collar, dragged me out.

“Where shall I ride?” I asked. “Where you please; but not in these cars,” was the reply. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have declined going by the train. But I had an appointment, and must go. As the signal for starting was given, I reluctantly mounted a flour-barrel in the open freight-car attached to the train, and away we went through the woods.

From my position, I had a very good view of the passengers in the nearest car, and must confess that they did not appear to be the most refined individuals. The majority looked like farmers. There were some drovers, one of whom, with his dog at his feet, sat at the end window: the animal occasionally got upon the seat by the side of its master, when the latter would take him by the ears, and pull him off. The drover seemed to say to me, as he eyed me sitting on the barrel in the hot sun, “You can’t come where my dog is.” At the first stopping-place, a dozen or more laboring-men, employed in repairing the road, got on the train with their pickaxes and shovels. They, too, took seats in a passenger-car. I had a copy of Pope’s poems, and was trying to read “The Essay on Man;” but almost failed, on account of the severity of the sun. However, a gentleman in the car, seeing my condition, took pity on me, and, at the next stopping-place, kindly lent me his umbrella; which was no sooner hoisted than it drew the attention of the drover at one of the end windows, and some of the Irishmen at the other, who set up a jolly laugh at my expense. Up to this time, the conductor had not called on me for my ticket; but, as the train was nearing the place of my destination, he climbed upon the car, came to me, and, holding out his hand, said, “I’ll take your ticket, sir. “I have none,” said I. “Then, I’ll take your fare,” continued he, still holding ont his hand. “How much is it?” I inquired. “A dollar and a quarter,” he replied. “How much do you charge those in the passenger-car?” – “The same,” was the response. “Do you think that I will pay as much as those having comfortable seats? No, sir. I shall do no such thing,” said I. “Then,” said the conductor, “you must get off.” – “Stop your train, and I’ll get off,” I replied. “Do you think I’ll stop these cars for you?”

“Well,” said I, “you can do as you please. I will not pay full fare, and ride on a flour-barrel in the hot sun.” – “Since you make so much fuss about it, give me a dollar, and you may go,” said the conductor. “I’ll do no such thing,” I replied. “Why? Don’t you wish to pay your fare?” asked he. “Yes,” I replied. “I will pay what’s right; but I’ll not pay you a dollar for riding on a flour-barrel in the hot sun.” – “Then, since you feel so terribly bad about it, give me seventy-five cents, and I’ll say no more about it,” said the officer. “No, sir: I shall not do it,” said I. “What do you mean to pay?” asked he. “How much do you charge per hundred for freight?” I asked. “Twenty-five cents per hundred,” answered the conductor. “Then I’ll pay thirty-seven and a-half cents,” said I; “for I weigh one hundred and fifty pounds.” The astonished man eyed me from head to feet; while the drover and the Irish laborers, who were piled up at each window of the passenger-car, appeared not a little amused at what they supposed to be a muss between the conductor and me.

Finally, the officer took a blank account out of his pocket, and said, “Give me thirty-seven and a-half cents, and I’ll set you down as freight.” I paid over the money, and saw myself duly put among the other goods in the freight-car.

A New-York journal is responsible for the following: —

“It is not many months since a colored man came to this city from abroad. A New-York merchant had been in business connection with him for several years; and from that business connection had realized a fortune, and felt that he must treat him kindly. When Sunday came, he invited him to go to church with him. He went; and the merchant took him into his own pew, near the pulpit, in a fashionable church. There was a prominent member of the church near the merchant, who saw this with great amazement. He could not be mistaken: it was a genuine ‘nigger,’ and not a counterfeit. Midway in his sermon, the minister discovered him, and was so confused by it, that he lost his place, and almost broke down.

“After service, the man who sat near the merchant went to him, and in great indignation asked, —

“What does this mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“That you should bring a nigger into this church?”

“It is my pew.”

“Your pew, is it? And, because it is your pew, you must insult the whole congregation!”

“He is intelligent and well educated,” answered the merchant.

“What do I care for that? He is a nigger!”

“But he is a friend of mine.”

“What of that? Must you therefore insult the whole congregation?”

“But he is a Christian, and belongs to the same denomination.”

“What do I care for that? Let him worship with his nigger Christians.”

“But he is worth five million dollars,” said the merchant.

“Worth what?”

“Worth five million dollars.”

“For God’s sake introduce me to him,” was the reply.