Part 1

Produced by Judith Boss and John Hamm

THE MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. DAY, 1995, MEMORIAL ISSUE.

By Various

Edited and Assembled by Judith Boss and John Hamm

Table of Contents -----------------

Sojourner Truth, the Libyan Sibyl.............Harriet Beecher Stowe Reconstruction................................Frederick Douglass An Appeal to Congress for Impartial Suffrage..Frederick Douglas The Negro Exodus..............................James B. Runnion My Escape from Slavery........................Frederick Douglass The Goophered Grapevine.......................Charles W. Chesnutt Po' Sandy.....................................Charles W. Chesnutt Dave's Neckliss...............................Charles W. Chesnutt The Awakening of the Negro....................Booker T. Washington The Story of Uncle Tom's Cabin................Charles Dudley Warner Strivings of the Negro People.................W. E. Burghardt Du Bois The Wife of his Youth.........................Charles W. Chesnutt The Bouquet...................................Charles W. Chesnutt The Case of the Negro.........................Booker T. Washington Hot-Foot Hannibal.............................Charles W. Chesnutt A Negro Schoolmaster in the New South.........W. E. Burghardt Du Bois The Capture of a Slaver.......................J. Taylor Wood Mr. Charles W. Chesnutt's Stories.............W. D. Howells Paths of Hope for the Negro Practical Suggestions of a Southerner.........Jerome Dowd Signs of Progress Among the Negroes...........Booker T. Washington The March of Progress.........................Charles W. Chesnutt The Freedmen's Bureau.........................W. E. Burghardt Du Bois Of the Training of Black Men..................W. E. Burghardt Du Bois The Fruits of Industrial Training.............Booker T. Washington The Negro in the Regular Army.................Oswald Garrison Villard Baxter's Procrustes...........................Charles W. Chesnutt The Heart of the Race Problem.................Quincy Ewing Negro Suffrage in a Democracy.................Ray Stannard Baker

Bibliography of Sources

SOJOURNER TRUTH, THE LIBYAN SIBYL by Harriet Beecher Stowe

Many years ago, the few readers of radical Abolitionist papers must often have seen the singular name of Sojourner Truth, announced as a frequent speaker at Anti-Slavery meetings, and as travelling on a sort of self-appointed agency through the country. I had myself often remarked the name, but never met the individual. On one occasion, when our house was filled with company, several eminent clergymen being our guests, notice was brought up to me that Sojourner Truth was below, and requested an interview. Knowing nothing of her but her singular name, I went down, prepared to make the interview short, as the pressure of many other engagements demanded.

When I went into the room, a tall, spare form arose to meet me. She was evidently a full-blooded African, and though now aged and worn with many hardships, still gave the impression of a physical development which in early youth must have been as fine a specimen of the torrid zone as Cumberworth's celebrated statuette of the Negro Woman at the Fountain. Indeed, she so strongly reminded me of that figure, that, when I recall the events of her life, as she narrated them to me, I imagine her as a living, breathing impersonation of that work of art.

I do not recollect ever to have been conversant with any one who had more of that silent and subtle power which we call personal presence than this woman. In the modern Spiritualistic phraseology, she would be described as having a strong sphere. Her tall form, as she rose up before me, is still vivid to my mind. She was dressed in some stout, grayish stuff, neat and clean, though dusty from travel. On her head, she wore a bright Madras handkerchief, arranged as a turban, after the manner of her race. She seemed perfectly self-possessed and at her ease,--in fact, there was almost an unconscious superiority, not unmixed with a solemn twinkle of humor, in the odd, composed manner in which she looked down on me. Her whole air had at times a gloomy sort of drollery which impressed one strangely.

"So this is YOU," she said.

"Yes," I answered.

"Well, honey, de Lord bless ye! I jes' thought I'd like to come an' have a look at ye. You's heerd o' me, I reckon?" she added.

"Yes, I think I have. You go about lecturing, do you not?"

"Yes, honey, that's what I do. The Lord has made me a sign unto this nation, an' I go round a'testifyin', an' showin' on 'em their sins agin my people."

So saying, she took a seat, and, stooping over and crossing her arms on her knees, she looked down on the floor, and appeared to fall into a sort of reverie. Her great gloomy eyes and her dark face seemed to work with some undercurrent of feeling; she sighed deeply, and occasionally broke out,--

"O Lord! O Lord! Oh, the tears, an' the groans, an' the moans! O Lord!"

I should have said that she was accompanied by a little grandson of ten years,--the fattest, jolliest woolly-headed little specimen of Africa that one can imagine. He was grinning and showing his glistening white teeth in a state of perpetual merriment, and at this moment broke out into an audible giggle, which disturbed the reverie into which his relative was falling.

She looked at him with an indulgent sadness, and then at me.

"Laws, Ma'am, HE don't know nothin' about it--HE don't. Why, I've seen them poor critters, beat an' 'bused an' hunted, brought in all torn,--ears hangin' all in rags, where the dogs been a'bitin' of 'em!"

This set off our little African Puck into another giggle, in which he seemed perfectly convulsed.

She surveyed him soberly, without the slightest irritation.

"Well, you may bless the Lord you CAN laugh; but I tell you, 't wa'n't no laughin' matter."

By this time I thought her manner so original that it might be worth while to call down my friends; and she seemed perfectly well pleased with the idea. An audience was what she wanted,--it mattered not whether high or low, learned or ignorant. She had things to say, and was ready to say them at all times, and to any one.

I called down Dr. Beecher, Professor Allen, and two or three other clergymen, who, together with my husband and family, made a roomful. No princess could have received a drawing-room with more composed dignity than Sojourner her audience. She stood among them, calm and erect, as one of her own native palm-trees waving alone in the desert. I presented one after another to her, and at last said,--

"Sojourner, this is Dr. Beecher. He is a very celebrated preacher."

"IS he?" she said, offering her hand in a condescending manner, and looking down on his white head. "Ye dear lamb, I'm glad to see ye! De Lord bless ye! I loves preachers. I'm a kind o' preacher myself."