Finding a Way Out
An Autobiography

By
Robert Russa Moton

Garden City, N. Y., and Toronto
Doubleday, Page & Company
1921

COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
All RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES,
INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN

PREFACE

        There is no other justification, I am sure, for telling a story that is so simple and lacks so many of those elements which compel interest and hold attention. As a matter of fact, I do not believe it to be very different in its main outline from the story of hundreds and perhaps thousands of other coloured men who have found their way out of the

difficulties which face the average Negro youth in the midst of American life.

        I have tried to record the events that have given character and colour to my own life, and at the same time to reflect the impressions made upon my mind by experiences that I could not always reconcile with what I had learned of American ideals and standards. In doing this I have also found the opportunity to acknowledge the kindly advice and help that have come to me from hundreds of friends among men and women of both races and sections, and of every walk in life.

        Whatever of labour and pains may have gone into this story, I shall feel amply repaid if it encourages any member of my race to greater faith in himself, as well as in other selves, both white and black; and shall help him to make his life count for the very most in meeting and solving the great human problem which we in this country call the "race problem."

        And I shall be further repaid if it shall have some slight part in leading any youth of the white race to follow the example of other members of his own

race of both North and South, and dedicate himself to the service of human welfare in securing justice and a fair opportunity for the humblest American citizen, whatever his race or colour, to the end that the white man of the North, the white man of the South, and the Negro shall work harmoniously together in bringing forward that Peace on Earth which results when men have Good Will.

R. R. MOTON.

Tuskegee Institute, Alabama, 1919

CONTENTS

• I. OUT OF AFRICA . . . . . 3
• II. ON A VIRGINIA PLANTATION . . . . . 16
• III. THROUGH RECONSTRUCTION . . . . . 39
• IV. DOING AND LEARNING . . . . . 50
• V. A TOUCH OF REAL LIFE . . . . . 77
• VI. ENDING STUDENT DAYS . . . . . 104
• VII. BLACK, WHITE, AND RED . . . . . 120
• VIII. WITH NORTH AND SOUTH . . . . . 153
• IX. FROM HAMPTON TO TUSKEGEE . . . . . 188
• X. AT TUSKEGEE . . . . . 209
• XI. WAR ACTIVITIES . . . . . 234
• XII. FORWARD MOVEMENTS IN THE SOUTH . . . . . 266
• INDEX . . . . . 291.

FINDING A WAY OUT

CHAPTER I

OUT OF AFRICA

slave ship and received his pay in trinkets of various kinds, common to the custom of the trade. Then he was asked to row out in a boat and inspect the wonderful ship. He went, and with the captain and the crew saw every part of the vessel. When it was all over they offered him food and he ate it heartily. After that he remembered no more till he woke to find himself in the hold of the ship chained to one of the miserable creatures whom he himself had so recently sold as a slave, and the vessel itself was far beyond the sight of land.

        After many days the ship arrived at the shores of America; the human cargo was brought to Richmond and this African slave merchant was sold along with his captives at public auction in the slave markets of the city. He was bought by a tobacco planter and carried to Amelia County, Virginia, where he lived to be a very old man. This man was my grandmother's great-grandfather.

        According to the story as he told it to my grandmother, he brought more at auction than any other member of the party. He was a very fine specimen of physical manhood, weighing somewhere around two hundred pounds, and standing about six feet

two inches in height. My grandmother said of him that he learned very little of the English language and used that little always with a pronounced foreign accent. He never grew to like America or Americans, white or black; and certain days, after the passing of so many moons, he observed religiously throughout his life. These were feast days with certain ceremonies of their own, in which, when possible, two other members of that same party though not of his tribe would join him. Each understood the tribal language of the others. These days, so my grandmother said, which occurred about three times a year, his owner permitted him to take off, leaving him undisturbed, for at other times he was entirely faithful and conscientious in his work. His great- granddaughter - my mother's mother - was not, I should judge, very unlike this great-great-great- grandfather of mine, for in her youth she was a magnificent type of womanhood, both physically and mentally; and even to her death, at ninety-six years of age, she was possessed of remarkable physical and mental vigour. She "carried the keys" on her owner's, Doctor Craddock's, plantation, and stood

next on the female side of the household to his wife, superintending the making of the clothes, caring for the children on the plantation, and in later years conducting what would in the present day be called a Day Nursery; that is, caring for the children of the mothers who were in the field, seeing to their food and dress, and to their conduct, of course. Frequently these old mothers were very clever in story telling, so that "Uncle Remus," "Brer Fox," and "Brer Rabbit" were familiar to the children of the South, both white and black, many years before they got into print.

        My father's mother, who lived to be 108 years old, was also brought directly from Africa, and was finally sold to a planter who lived in Charlotte County, Virginia. It was there my father was born. He was owned by Doctor Alexander of that county, and when he died, about 1850, and the estate was divided, my father was sold to John Crowder of Prince Edward County, and, I think, presented to his wife as a Christmas present. I have many times heard my father tell of his experiences as a slave; of the many hardships through which he passed, and of the many good times he had

even as a slave, for one of the fortunate traits of the Negro is his jovial nature, his ability to see humour even in adversity, and to laugh and sing under almost any circumstances. I have often thought that most other races, had they gone through the difficulties which the Negro faced, would have produced much more insanity than has been found in the past among Negroes; unfortunately, however, insanity is increasing very much indeed among my people, an indication in all probability that they are taking life much more seriously than they have done in the past.

        There were many kind masters during slavery days; and there must have been such a thing as kindness even between master and slave. The overseers who were generally of the poorer class of white people were, as a rule, the cause of much of the contention and usually made most of the trouble; at least the Negroes thought so. They were night patrollers, or, as the Negroes called them, "patter-rollers," and were paid by the hour in many places to catch and whip any slave found off his master's plantation after nightfall without a pass. Not infrequently these people received from the master

class less consideration even than the slave, and in most cases the bitterest animosity and hatred existed between the overseers and the slaves. It was not unusual that Negroes considered themselves superior in every respect to the overseer class, whose members were generally referred to among them as "po'h white trash." This expression was "the last word" in degradation, infamy, and general contempt that Negroes could command. Even to-day, when Negroes refer to people as "poor white trash," it has a meaning all its own, and I am of the opinion that much of the ill feeling between the races in our country to-day had its origin in these unpleasant relations between overseer and slaves before Emancipation.

        On the Crowder plantation there was an overseer who had a particular dislike for my father, probably because he thought that my father received entirely too much consideration from his master and mistress; in short, there was a kind of jealous rivalry between them. It is unnecessary to say that the dislike on the part of the overseer was generously reciprocated by my father. If there was any difference, it was that the hatred

on my father's part was the stronger - if that were possible; and without doubt, being in the confidence of his master, he used his opportunity to the disadvantage of the overseer. It was the rule of the plantation that no slaves except such as the master designated should be whipped by the overseer. My father, of course, was thus exempted. On one occasion the overseer, unfortunately, and against the order of his employer, insisted upon whipping my father. The scene took place in a tobacco barn where my father was engaged with perhaps fifty other slaves in sorting and stripping tobacco. In the scuffle, in which several other slaves helped the overseer in response to his call, my father easily got the upper hand, for he was a man of unusual strength. He not only overpowered the overseer but the men who undertook to assist him, maiming the overseer and one of the men very seriously. This was in the midst of a severe snow storm. My father took the only course, as it seemed, that was open to "obstreperous" slaves - he took to the woods. This was in early December. Here he remained, picking up what food he could at nights in cabins and elsewhere, until March, when, for

want of food and sufficient clothing, his feet having been frost bitten, he was obliged to give in. He returned one snowy afternoon, slipped into the stable, and hid himself in the loft under the hay. His hat was discovered by his master's two sons whose conversation, which he overheard, showed that they were afraid of him. They ran to the house and told their father of his return, and he came out to the barn and urged him to come to the house and be looked after, for the entire family was really very fond of him. He was taken back to the house where his mistress, the mother of the two boys, treated him most kindly. Indeed, he said, they all wept over his pitiable condition. His feet were finally, but only after careful nursing for several months, in shape to permit him to resume his usual duties. He promised that he would not commit the same offense again, provided, however, no "po'h white trash" attempted again to whip him. He apologized to the overseer, and the two agreed that there would be no further trouble. But a few weeks afterward he went to his master and told him he was very sorry it was not possible for him to get along with that overseer

and asked that his master sell him to a near-by planter, who had agreed to give him better treatment. This time it would appear that he and the master came very near the "parting of the ways." This seems strange, I know, but it was not infrequent that slaves of the more intelligent type would make definite arrangements with some near or distant planter to buy them; thus slaves very often picked their own masters. But in this case Mr. Crowder made it plain to him that they could get along; that he was unwilling to sell him; that he belonged especially to his mistress and that she depended on him. My father insisted, however, that the overseer be discharged. Whether his attitude in this case produced the desired result my father did not know, but in any case within a few weeks the objectionable overseer left and a new overseer took his place, who established better relations, not only as between himself and my father, but with the other slaves as well, in consequence of which the master got better and more efficient service with very much less friction.

        From that time forward my father lived pleasantly on the Crowder plantation, neither he nor

the master nor the overseer breaking their mutual promise - my father's being that he would not fight again unless someone attempted to whip him; and the overseer's, that he would not attempt to whip him. My father used to say that one man could not chastise another, although two men might fight and one might get the better of the other. That idea was very strong in his mind.

        When the Civil War broke out my father went with Mrs. Crowder's brother - Captain Womack of Cumberland County, Virginia, who was afterward Colonel Womack - into the fray as his "body servant." I think they would say "valet" today. He was with him during the first three years of that bitter struggle, suffering all the privations and hardships so familiar to those who know what the Southern Army endured.

        One experience he used often to relate was that near Petersburg he accidentally got within the Union lines and was told that he might remain with the Yankees if he so desired; but he told them that he could not do so at the time because he had given his definite promise that he would stand by Colonel Womack until the war was over. He could not

break his promise. He had also sworn to see to it, so far as he could, that no harm came to his master and he felt that he would remain true to that pledge so long as Colonel Womack was equally true to his promises to him. I am told that the friendship between the two men, one black, one white, was very strong; that nothing ever separated them save Colonel Womack's death which, as I recall my father's account of it, occurred in one of the famous charges near Petersburg.

        When the war was over my father "hired himself" to the Crowders, where he remained until Christmas of 1866 when he married my mother, Emily Brown. They were married in the old plantation house of the Hillmans of Amelia County. The Hillmans, as I recall, were Scottish Presbyterians and like many other Southerners, had lost everything during the war except their name and honour and the pride of aristocratic ancestry.

        My mother, like her own mother, was a woman of very strong character in many ways, very much like my father. Among my early recollections is the fact that my mother frequently, after working in the field all day, would hurry us through the

evening meal in order to get the cabin ready for the night school which met regularly in our simple home. I recall now the eagerness with which some twenty-five or thirty men and women struggled with their lessons, trying to learn to read and write while I was supposed to be asleep in my trundle bed, to which I had been hurried to make room for this little band of anxious, aspiring ex-slaves, some of whom came as far as six miles in order to take advantage of this rare opportunity which but a few years before had been denied them. The teacher of this night school was my mother's brother, who, in spite of the penalties attached, had learned to read and write from his young master, picking up here and there snatches of information while they played and worked together, ofttimes without the young master's realizing the gravity of his actions. All this took place but a few years after the close of the war and before any schools had been established for coloured or white children in that section. My mother was one of the most enthusiastic of the students, while my father, who was much older than my mother, although giving his unqualified approval and encouragement to the

school, sat by and listened and once in a while in a mischievous mood threw in an ejaculation which upset the order and dignity of the school, much to the embarrassment and annoyance of the teacher and, I fear, sometimes to the indignation of the more serious-minded students, especially my mother.

        Thinking of the experiences through which my ancestors passed, along with thousands of other slaves, in their contact with the white people of America, I have often felt that somehow - in spite of the hardships and oppression which they suffered - that in the providence of God, the Negro, when all is summed up dispassionately, has come through the ordeal with much to his credit, and with a great many advantages over his condition when he entered the relationship. The white man, on the other hand, has reaped certain disadvantages from which the whole country still suffers and from which it will probably take several generations to recover completely.

CHAPTER II

ON A VIRGINIA PLANTATION

- in order to protect me from the bitter cold. Here in an old house, in the rear of a Virginia mansion known as "Pleasant Shade," I spent most of the years of my early youth. My mother for many years was cook, and my father "led the hands" on the plantation. It was here that I caught my first glimpses of real culture and got my first inspiration as to what I would like to be and something of what I would like to do.

        On account of my parents' relation to the household, and because I was the only child near the "big house," I naturally received much attention from the Vaughan family. I can never forget Mrs. Vaughan - "Miss Lucy" we called her, as was the custom not only among the coloured people but among the white folks also - and her three daughters, Misses Patty, Jennie, and Mollie. I was soon big enough to carry Miss Lucy's key basket. This was considered a great honour for a small Negro boy before the war and immediately afterward. I felt the "dignity and responsibility" of my office. As I grew older my duties increased until I assisted her and her daughters in the care of the fowls, of which she had a great number - turkeys, geese,

ducks, and a great many chickens. But proud as I was of these duties, I have never since so sincerely envied any one his position as I did Sam Reed, the general house boy and waiter in the family. Miss Lucy had promised me that when Sam was big enough he would be transferred to the farm, as was the custom, and I could have his place. Sam helped the cook, made all the fires, was in the "big house" much of the time, and generally wore "good clothes." He was a favourite on the plantation. Besides all this, Sam was a remarkable acrobat. He could turn somersaults, stand on his head, turn a cart wheel, go wheelbarrow fashion, and could perform what were to me many very wonderful acrobatic feats, in addition to being a wonderfully good reel and jig dancer and a remarkably fine singer. He must have inherited his ability to sing from his father, "Uncle Jim," who was a noted "shout singer" in the neighbourhood. Sam was not a "Christian" and so sang anything; and he did it very effectively. Under Sam's direction I practised many of his accomplishments, and with his careful tutelage became a close second. As a result, he and I were

frequently called into the "big house" to perform. But there was one thing I had against Sam. He grew so slowly it seemed that I would soon be bigger than he, and would lose my chance to get his place when he should be sent on to another. Fortunately for me, but perhaps unfortunately for Sam, his father now insisted that it was time for him to leave the house, as he considered him too old to devote himself to "doing chores"; and being only a house boy, his pay was too small. He would earn more by working on the farm. So Sam had to go.

        I never shall forget the joy I felt when told that I was to wait on the table at breakfast the following morning, and how Sam and my mother instructed me until late in the night how to perform my new duties; how I should stand; and how to all appearances I was to pay no attention to the conversation. I remember how they sat at the table and had me pass things - empty plates and dishes - I do not recall whether from the right or left side, but judge now it must have been from the left. In any case, I got through my first day with some show of success and proved myself fairly equal to my new responsibilities. As a compliment

to the honours of the post, the young ladies at the house made me a couple of suits which I should wear only on special occasions. I think I have never had a position since then in which I took any more pride than in this youthful promotion to the place to which I had aspired for several years. Yet there was more in my position than was at first apparent. "Mr. Willie" Vaughan, the only son, I took in many things as a model. I copied his laugh, his walk, his dress, the way he handled his knife and fork, and other characteristic manners of his in a fashion that must have sometimes amused those who observed me. But aside from its humorous aspects, this contact with the Vaughan family meant for me a certain kind of most valuable training and education.

        About this time a rather interesting incident happened. While my work was new, my mother made me devote an hour at night to my blue backed Holmes's Primer. She was my teacher, being one of the very few coloured women in our neighbourhood who could read at all. There was a popular belief that the Vaughans, notwithstanding their kindness and aristocratic ideas, objected to

and opposed Negroes' reading and writing. My mother was very careful, therefore, that they should not know that she was teaching me to read, or even that she herself could read. For several years she had kept from them the fact that she even knew one letter of the alphabet from another; but one night after the day's work was done there was a gentle rap at the door of our two roomed house. I remember that we were sitting before a big, open fire - my father, my mother, and I - my mother teaching me by the light from the fire. As the custom was in those days my mother called out to learn who was there. Imagine our consternation when the answer came back: "Miss Lucy." My mother was tempted to hide the book when she discovered who was at the door, but my father objected, saying we were free and that he would leave the Vaughans if they made any objections; that he could find plenty of work at good pay at any one of a dozen plantations in the district. So the door was opened and in walked "Miss Lucy", to find us in the very act. She expressed the greatest surprise when she discovered what was taking place, but she astonished us equally when she

indicated that she was very much pleased, and commended my mother on the fact that she could read and told her she was very wise to teach her son to read. The next day we were even more astonished and of course pleased when Miss Mollie, her youngest daughter, said to my mother that Mrs. Vaughan had asked her to give me a lesson for one hour every afternoon and to do the same for my mother if my mother would care to have her do so. So the next time my father went to Farmville, eight miles away, he bought the necessary books both for my mother and me, and my lessons began in a more systematic way with Miss Mollie as teacher and my mother as my "classmate" for one hour each afternoon. My mother finally dropped out but I continued for some time, though intermittently.

        One of the saddest recollections of my childhood was the death of Mrs. Vaughan. I can never forget the impression it made upon me, the wailing of the coloured women on the plantation and the sadness of the coloured men. There must have been between three and four hundred people on the Vaughan estate, including men, women, and children.

Mrs. Vaughan, like her husband, possessed a very beautiful character and was beloved of everybody on the plantation. While I did not then appreciate the full gravity of the situation, I wept along with the others; for in spite of my youth I realized somewhat the loss that this death was to me as well as to others. For there was not a family on the plantation and scarcely a person who had not at some time been helped by her kindly personal attention to their needs and difficulties. Several years later Mr. Vaughan was married again - to Miss Pattie Perkinson, a daughter of Captain Perkinson, the head of another of Virginia's fine families, who owned a large estate a few miles away. I confess that I did not entirely approve of the marriage. The truth of the matter was I shared the feelings - perhaps in less degree - of most of the people on the plantation, especially the women; though my own feelings were more personal than general. I was not so worried about the marriage itself as I was anxious that whoever took "Miss Lucy's" place should not interfere with the position I was occupying in the Vaughan household. I was certain that no one could be so

kind as "Miss Lucy" had been to me, and I felt sure that "Miss Pattie" would not be: and what I had heard of the dealings of certain members of her family with coloured people rather tended further to disquiet than to allay my youthful anxiety about my own future. My position at this time in the Vaughan household was, in my mind, of a very important sort. I was doing, so I supposed, just about as I wished, and running things much to my own liking. I carried the keys all day and hung them at the head of Mr. Vaughan's bed the last thing at night. I issued the corn for the stock and frequently helped in weighing the rations to the scores of men who came up Saturday afternoon for their allowances. I went hunting with Mr. Vaughan, visited the rabbit traps in the morning, and also went fishing with him on the Appomattox River. He rode a magnificent bay mare we called Fannie, while I rode a mule, blind in both eyes, named Kit. It is not surprising, therefore, that I should have been more or less jealous of my position and anxious that the new mistress of the house should be of a kind to meet my approval, for by this time the three daughters had all married

and only Mr. Vaughan's son, Mr. William S. Vaughan, was left.

        My mother was still the cook, and my father was running things as headman on the farm, but neither my father nor my mother counted very much in my mind so far as this situation was concerned; indeed Mr. Vaughan and his son did not count very much, looking at it from the mental angles of my youth. I was, however, very pleasantly surprised when "Miss Pattie" came to "Pleasant Shade." The things that had been prophesied regarding her were not fulfilled. She did not take the keys from me and I had just about as much leeway as before, in some respects more. She was more careful than the men folks had been about setting the table and cleaning the house, pulling up weeds, the clearing of the garden, and such things. She made me sweep off the porches once and sometimes twice or three times a day - I had gotten to the place where I swept them perhaps twice and sometimes only once a week. And besides all this, the new Mrs. Vaughan insisted that my mother should continue my lessons, and encouraged me in various other ways.

        In the fall following this important event a school was opened for coloured children a few miles from the Vaughan plantation. This was the first school for Negroes in that neighbourhood; indeed the first school of any kind, for there had been no public schools of consequence for either white or coloured children before that time. In the fall of the previous year the coloured people had been urged to vote with the promise that if they did so a public school for their children would be established in our district. They voted according to instructions and the promise was kept.

        In early October a free school was opened for coloured people, with Mr. John Morrisette, a white man, as teacher. My father and my mother decided that I should go. They consulted the Vaughans, particularly Mrs. Vaughan. She readily approved. Forthwith she and my mother fitted me out and I appeared in school the opening day. I recall how I felt when I observed that there were so many children bigger than myself who could not read. Because of my instruction at home I was in the highest class in the school. And I had special pride in the fact. I think I was reading in

the third reader. But reading at all by a coloured boy in those days was rather unusual; and a coloured free school, with fifty or sixty children on the opening day, and meeting in the daytime as well, was a real marvel. Mr. Morrisette, who, by the way, had been an officer in the Southern Army, was most kind and thoughtful and very patient, and took a great deal of care and pains, even on the opening day, to classify us. He brought many books of various kinds, and his wife, who was a very unusual woman, came in later to help him in the difficult task of organizing this large number of Negro children into a real school. His task no doubt was a hard one, not only because of the children directly, but because of the parents as well, many of whom, as time went on, troubled him very much. All of us naturally thought the more books the student carried the more he knew, and many parents were therefore willing to get the fourth, fifth, and even the sixth reader for their children without any protest at the expense so long as they were carrying "bigger" and "higher" books. My father shared this feeling along with the rest. He was not altogether happy at my

having only a third reader; but Mrs. Vaughan, who knew what I was doing, came to the rescue and assured him that I would have "bigger" books in ample time, and that I would probably learn more than many others who had many more books.

        I continued my work in the Vaughan family, before and after school, at intervals for many years, and without doubt what I learned from my contact with them was worth quite as much to me as what I learned at school. Indeed, my own idea has always been that the one supplemented the other. My work before and after school was being correlated unconsciously with what I was learning in books; which was true also of my contact with the nearly four score children whom I met daily at school.

        The Vaughans were of the finest type of Southern families - kind, thoughtful, and generous. They were people of considerable wealth and at the top of the social scale in that community; but at the same time they were of all the white people the most popular among the Negroes of the neighbourhood. They visited Negro churches and prayer meetings, and Negroes frequently visited the old

Jamestown Presbyterian Church to which the Vaughans belonged and of which Mr. Vaughan, I think, was an elder, as was also his son in later years. For many years they conducted Sunday School in the afternoon at Jamestown Church for coloured people. This school was taught by the leading ladies of the community with the help of some of the leading white men. In this connection it is significant that the Vaughans never suffered for want of adequate and faithful help on the farm or in the household, and it is certain that their influence on the coloured people on their place and in that section was of the best. This was true of them in that day. It is equally true today of their three daughters and was true of their son and his wife, both of whom have died within the last few years. The Vaughans never lost any prestige or social standing in the community by being kind and helpful to coloured people.

        The pastor of the Jamestown Presbyterian Church, to which I have referred, was the Rev. George H. Denney, a minister who lived in Amelia County, some twenty miles away, and usually came to the community on Saturday afternoons

in a sulky. He generally made his home with the Vaughans, remaining over from Saturday until Monday. Occasionally he came earlier or remained later for certain special services. I was always glad to have him come, even though it added to my duties somewhat, because of the extra shoes to polish and the extra pail of water that I had to bring from the spring some distance away. At the same time he was very kind to me; it was he who gave me the first Bible that I ever had and took pains to interpret certain passages with which I had become somewhat familiar but whose meaning was as yet rather vague to me. But my joy at his coming lay in the fact that frequently, especially in the summer season, he brought with him his son George. He was of about my own age which accounted for our having many good times together. Sometimes we were joined by Ernest Morton, another white boy, and Lee Brown, a coloured boy, but George and I were especially friendly. Many a day he would sit at the table with the family and I would be keeping the flies off and waiting on the table, when we would wink at each other and make plans as to what we

would do when dinner was over and my other work done. Often he would pitch in and help me through and then off we went fishing on Sailor Creek, famous for one of the skirmishes between Lee and Grant, on the way to Appomattox after the evacuation of Richmond.

        We not only enjoyed our boyish play, but we worked many examples in arithmetic together and discussed history as well. I remember that we differed frequently. One of the discussions we used to have most often was about which was the greater general, Grant or Lee. He was for Lee; I for Grant. We often discussed the merits of the conflict betwen the states, which culminated in the war. I could never swerve him from his position on this question and he never swerved me from mine. We never found it profitable to discuss this issue. He would sometimes lose his temper, and I frequently lost mine. There came a time when we ceased to discuss it at all and I think our relations were consequently very much pleasanter. He had a most excellent father and the son was of the same type - very bright, always frank, always generous - and he never swerved in his friendship for me.

        I sometimes feared that the Vaughan's and the Reverend Mr. Denney, George's father, were a little annoyed that he preferred apparently to be out in the fields where I was with the cows and sheep, or even to help me with my chores, to being in the house among the guests - for the Vaughan household was a very popular meeting place for young people and old. It was a great social centre and the scene of many parties.

        Mr. Vaughan's death, which occurred about this time, made everything different at "Pleasant Shade" thereafter. The farm was divided among the children. Most of the coloured people moved away. My father went to live with a family of Mortons who were by marriage connected with the Vaughan family. Mr. J.X. Morton, who afterward became a professor at the Virginia Polytechnic Institute, had a son Ernest, to whom I have referred. Our friendship grew stronger; indeed he left parents and everything else to be with my coloured chum Lee and with me, and we, in the same spirit, neglected everything that we could with impunity, in order that the three of us could be together. We fished and hunted together and engaged in many boyish sports

and pranks. Nothing in his possession was too good for us, and nothing in ours was too good for him. As we grew older my father did not wholly approve of this intimacy, and used often to say that we were "too thick to thrive." In the course of time there did come a parting. Ernest went off to school and my chum Lee and I were left on his father's farm. The weeks immediately following his leaving for the Virginia Polytechnic Institute were dull and dreary for us at home. This I think was in October. I continued to work on the farm, for I was now too big for chores, and went to school when the weather did not permit working on the farm. I was anxiously awaiting the Christmas holidays when our friend Ernest would return and we would again have some good times together. He would tell us no doubt of his college experiences and we had some experiences that we could relate to him. At last the day came. Lee and I were at the house when they brought him in the carriage from Rice's Depot. His father and one of his sisters had gone to meet him. He had with him also his room mate, I think, who had come to spend the holidays with him. They both wore

gray uniforms with brass buttons. Lee and I, as soon as Ernest alighted from the carriage, rushed up to shake hands. He not only did not shake hands with us but his manner was as cold and frigid as the north wind that we were breathing. He did bow, but it was quickly done. Lee went home. I went into the kitchen with Aunt Viny, the cook. I was feeling bad; so was Lee. I was thinking. Sometimes I wonder if I ever thought quite as seriously on life as I did that night. A few moments later he came out into the kitchen in his splendid spick and span uniform with brass buttons and polished shoes. Aunt Viny, the old cook of sixty or seventy years, rushed up to him and threw her arms around him, exclaiming, "My chil'! My chil'!" and he in turn threw his arms around her. He was not more demonstrative toward his mother; in fact, not even so much so, because his mother was not so demonstrative as the cook. I sat unhappy, puzzled, thinking. Finally, through the darkness of the night, I stole down through the ravine, across the brook, and up to our cabin on the hill. I went to bed early that night. My father, who always saw and realized much more

than he ever expressed, asked me the one question that I did not care to have him ask, and he made just the one ejaculation which cut keen and deep. He said, "Did you see Ernest?" "Yes, Sir," I said. "What did he say to you?" "Nothing," said I. "I told you to stay away from there," he said. I made no answer. He said no more. He knew how I felt, for he probably imagined what had happened. I went immediately to bed, as I have said, earlier than was my custom, and I think remained in bed later next morning, but I slept less than usual. I was thinking that night. I arose next morning more weary than when I went to bed; but I was wiser and more resolute than ever before in my life. I went through my usual day's work on the farm and looked after the hogs for the Mortons, and did what I had to do with reference to the feeding, but did not go to the house except as I was obliged to do. I met Ernest and his chum face to face. I looked the other way. I do not think they noticed where I was looking. I am sure they did not care. I was trying to snub them both. It had no effect, so far as I could judge, on either. But before going to bed the following night I had firmly resolved

that getting an education was the best thing toward which I could bend my efforts in the future.

        The next morning I asked my father about the school for coloured people, which was being projected under the influence of General Mahone at Petersburg, now a State Normal School. He told me much about it. It was to open the following fall. The Hon. John M. Langston, he said, a coloured man who was as well educated as any white person that he knew of, was to be the president. He said I might go if I wished and that he would do what he could to help me. It being a state school, and he having certain strong friends in the Republican Party (General Mahone among them), Hon. B.S. Hooper, a member of Congress from the Fourth Congressional District of Virginia, would probably arrange for me to have a scholarship. He also told me much about Hampton Institute but he was not enthusiastic about my going to Hampton. He said Hampton was a "work school" and that he could teach me as much about work as Hampton could; but as he thought I could go to Hampton without any money, he would permit me to go if I insisted, though it was against his inclinations.

During the winter I did much thinking, and much talking, too, with those people whose judgment I thought I could trust, about going to school, either at Hampton or at Petersburg. Mention was also made of some other schools. Captain Frank Southall, whose brother, Dr. J.W. Southall, was later Superintendent of Public Instruction of Virginia, learned through some source that I contemplated going to school. He had somehow been impressed with my knowledge of the Bible and my interest in the Sunday School by my attendance at the afternoon Sunday School at the Jamestown Presbyterian Church, to which I have referred, and of which he was superintendent. He wanted me to go to a school at Tuscaloosa, Alabama, to fit myself for the ministry in the Presbyterian Church. He said he would gladly arrange this and that the entire expense would be provided. This did not appeal to me very much, because I was unwilling to sign an agreement that I would enter the ministry or join the Presbyterian Church. All of my people were Baptists and we were living in a strongly Baptist community, that is, so far as Negroes were concerned. The Negroes, at least

in my community at that time, looked with more or less suspicion upon the religion of white people anyway, and the feeling between denominations was strong; so, while I was determined to get an education, I replied that I preferred to be an ignorant Baptist rather than an educated Presbyterian. In my youthful zeal I told others of the offer I had had from Captain Southall and of my determination to keep the faith, repeating the expression that I preferred being an ignorant Baptist rather than an educated Presbyterian, and this expression never failed to bring forth much approval and applause from the coloured people of the community.

CHAPTER III

THROUGH RECONSTRUCTION

        One is apt to think of seventy five or more lumbermen as a rough, lawless, and undesirable group,

fitted only for the heavy work connected with lumbering. As a matter of fact, there were a few rough men, who, in every sense, lived up to that reputation, but in the Ferguson camp there was a large number of honest, hard working, thrifty men who came mostly from Prince Edward, Amelia, and Dinwiddie counties in Virginia. Many of them were ambitious for schooling. Some few had had some experience in politics and therefore kept posted on what was going on in Virginia.

        The "Readjuster Movement" had just been introduced. This had caused the fusion of many Republicans and Democrats into what was known as the Readjuster Party. We had little or nothing to do with the people native to Surry County; the truth of the matter was, they didn't permit us to, because of our reputation. A few of us went to Sunday School and attended church services at Cypress Baptist Church, five miles away, and got somewhat into the social life of the coloured community. Beyond this a number of the men, in order to spend their leisure time profitably, organized a debating club, holding at intervals a mock court or a mock assembly, copying as nearly as we

could the Virginia Legislature. Almost every night in the week there was something going on in connection with some one of these organizations.

        I remember one man from Dinwiddie County, George Edwards, who had for many years served as magistrate in his precinct. He was reasonably well educated and had been a school teacher. He was well versed in politics and everything else that had to do with public affairs in Virginia. He it was who guided us for the most part in these activities. There were others almost as well trained. I think I have never had any experience I enjoyed any more than the winter nights in that camp; and I got from this experience a certain sort of training that I have since in many ways found very useful. I got also a taste for politics and other civic affairs that might have changed my career but for certain conscientious scruples of my mother's.

        I recall also how shocked we were at the tidings that President Garfield had been shot. When we later learned of his death, we thought it proper to suspend all public activities in the camp for a week as a mark of respect to the President.

        Evening meetings, especially on Saturdays, brought out sometimes large numbers of local people, white and coloured; and the manager of the camp became so well pleased with the effect that he gave us Saturday afternoon once a month, and invited many people from surrounding communities as well as from other saw-mills - and there were many saw-mills in the neighbourhood - to witness these monthly public exercises.

        During the two years that I spent in that camp in Surry County, I saved comparatively little money; but I got something from the work itself, and the intimate contact with this group of men - the debating societies, the glee club, the prayer meetings, and other activities - which has had a very strong influence upon my later life.

        An attack of malaria fever made it necessary for me to leave this marshy section on the James River. At the doctor's suggestion I returned to my home in Prince Edward County. My return home was in the late summer of 1882 and I found the political atmosphere very "thick and heavy." I was asked frequently to speak at political mass meetings, and I pitched in with vigour, taking up the cudgels

for the "Readjuster Movement," about which, however, I knew little. This was a movement on the part of the Fusion Party for the readjustment of the state debt. All Negroes had a vote in those days. Negro Democrats were very few, only about a half dozen or so being found in a county. I remember the impression created on the mass of coloured people - and white people, too, for that matter - when I appeared at a picnic in the Vaughan woods and made a surprisingly effective political speech. I knew little about the subject, and was as much surprised as any one at the impression made and the enthusiasm over my speech displayed by the large number of people present. But the impression was so strong that when the meeting was over I was taken aside by three or four white men and as many coloured, who decided then and there that I should have the nomination for the Lower House of the State Legislature from my district. They decided what the ticket should be; that there should be certain white men and myself as the one coloured man. I was especially urged to this step by Walker Blanton, a shrewd, keen, coloured man, who did not know one letter of the alphabet from the

other, but who was nevertheless the political leader of the district among the coloured people and withal a very useful citizen. I was inclined to accept the proposition, but there were one or two strong obstacles in the way. One was that I had planned to go to school, but the really serious one was that I was not yet twenty one years of age. The white people in the group said that they could arrange the age situation, that nobody could prove exactly when I was born, and that I was large and mature in appearance, so that question would hardly arise in any case; and one gentleman in the group said that he knew my mother and father and the whole family connection and, moreover, had the family Bible record of all of them, so that he could easily adjust them in a way that would stand any test. The coloured men were equally zealous, making their plea on the ground that I had more education than any coloured man in the precinct, which was enough; that I could at least read and write and figure, and that was not true in Virginia of all the legislators even. The temptation was very great. I had just about decided to accept. Everything was to be arranged by the leaders of the

Readjuster Party in the county. The only thing then left would be the formal notification a few weeks afterward. But my mother when approached said that she could not raise my age, and would be unwilling to swear to anything but the truth; that she knew exactly the day and year and hour of my birth. My father was non committal. He felt that my mother was too conscientious and that there were lots of probabilities of her being mistaken, and, too, that she would be perfectly safe in saying she was not absolutely sure and leaving it to the white people to settle the rest. But my mother stood firm, so the committee, finding that they could not get her to agree to sign the affidavit, concluded that the matter was at an end. Another coloured man was nominated and later elected. I confess I was somewhat relieved and not very sorry that my mother had taken such a firm stand. To be sure there was some disappointment, but I am confident that I slept better as a result of my mother's decision.

        About this time a young man by the name of Edward D. Stewart, a graduate of Hampton Institute, came to teach in the school in our district

which I had attended at intervals for some years. I was able to get from him first hand information about Hampton. He gave me facts regarding the inner working of the school: how a student could enter, the kind of work he would do, the studies he would have, and something of what the men accomplished after graduating. He felt sure that I would have no difficulty in entering and in completing the course of studies. He thought my greatest difficulty would be in overcoming the popularity which I had achieved in my home community. He suggested that I would have to put all that behind me and assume that I did not know so much as I thought I did or as others in my community thought I did. He feared it would be difficult for me to adapt myself to the discipline of the school at Hampton. I was at this time leader of the church choir, superintendent of the Sunday School, and might have been a deacon, but was considered too young for that particular place. In some ways I was considered a very important man in what was then a rather backward community.

        I wrote to General Armstrong, the principal of

Hampton, my letter being endorsed by Mr. Stewart. General Armstrong gave me an immediate reply in his own handwriting, saying that I might come to Hampton and work in the knitting room. Mr. Stewart advised that I had better wait until I could get work on the farm at Shellbanks or at the saw-mill. He knew something of my knowledge of lumber and experience in farming, stock raising, and similar lines. He advised against my learning to knit mittens or working in the house under any circumstances. He had the feeling that knitting room boys at Hampton did not succeed very well, for some fell into bad ways, a good many were disciplined severely, and a few suspended. So, at his suggestion, I wrote asking that I might have a place either on the farm or at the saw-mill, which work, I considered, was better adapted to my size and strength. Not long afterward I received a letter to the effect that I might come and that they would find satisfactory work for a boy who showed such good sense in his choice of occupation.

        I took my departure on Sunday morning from the cabin where we were then living. The night before I was given a "party." It would be called

a "reception" now. To be sure, it was in a log cabin and there were a great many people present. The young folk indulged in games of various kinds but the older ones, the church members especially, took the whole matter more seriously. I recall that just before we parted there were many speeches. They were all crude, as I think of it now, yet I have seldom witnessed a more sincere and touching farewell reception. Our old pastor, Armstead Berkely, who was perhaps seventy six years of age, officiated as master of ceremonies. He had a wonderfully fine voice, strong and melodious. He was a great singer and had all the qualities necessary to make him a fervid, emotional speaker. I have known him at revival meetings to offer prayer, and again and again I have seen educated white people present who could scarcely control their features for the tears which ran down their cheeks. He made the final speech and closed the affair with a very earnest and touching prayer; and while there had been much levity among the young folk the early part of the night, he left them all in a very serious mood. I could not respond when called upon, but the impression of the

sincere affection and good will of those simple, earnest people with whom I had lived from childhood has always remained with me.

        My old chum, Lee Brown, and a few friends took my little trunk on a mule cart next morning, and we drove about five miles to Rice's Depot where I took the train for Norfolk, Virginia. Here I transferred to the Baltimore steamer which ordinarily touched at Old Point about seven o'clock at night. It so happened that because of a very severe storm the captain of the steamer decided that he would not touch at Old Point, so I was carried on with many other passengers to Baltimore. This was entirely against my wishes and naturally I was much annoyed. The ship's crew were very kind to all of us and gave us our meals and made no additional charge for the extra trip. This being my first experience on a steamboat, I suffered the discomforts that are common to the average passenger sailing on a stormy night. I spent a most interesting day in Baltimore strolling around, but did not get very far from the wharf.

CHAPTER IV

DOING AND LEARNING

to preserve the Union. It is interesting that in that same cemetery, cared for by the Federal Government, there are many hundreds of Confederate soldiers also. Looking upon the well kept grounds of the Institute, the water front, the neat and imposing buildings and farm lands, I felt almost as if I were in another world. A few mischievous boys took occasion to have some fun at my expense. They were already calling out "fresh fish," and two or three of them yanked my small trunk out of the carriage and balanced it on their fingers as waiters balance their trays in hotels. Some suggested that it weighed ten pounds; others, five. One little fellow, by the name of Bates, as I remember, whom I afterward found to be a fine baseball player, wanted to bet it would weigh not over two and three fourths pounds. I must confess that the small trunk was entirely out of proportion to the size of its 175 pound, eighteen year old, and somewhat awkward, owner. But I went through the ordeal good naturedly, and finally one of the older boys was kind enough to show me to the office where I presented myself to the commandant, the Rev. George L. Curtis, who later served for many years as a clergyman

in Bloomfield, N. J. He sent me for examination to Miss Anna G. Baldwin, the head teacher in the night school. She seemed to me very cold and unsympathetic, but I found afterward that I had misjudged her. She was, in fact, kind and very sympathetic; though her manner, like that of many New Englanders, was cold, austere, and very businesslike. The white women with whom I had dealt before had in their manner and speech a certain sympathetic quality that put one rather at ease than otherwise. Anyhow, I failed utterly to pass the entrance examination, though it seemed even at that time to be easy. I think I was bewildered. Everything was new and confusing. Baltimore experiences, my sea sickness, so many students, the battalion and band - all were so strange that I found it difficult even to see the print which was given me to read or the figures with which I was working. I was very much upset over my failure. I returned to the office and handed Mr. Curtis the note which announced it. He, too, seemed very much disappointed. He was at the same time sympathetic and told me frankly that he was very sorry that I had not

passed. From what I had told him of the work I had done in school he had thought I would have no difficulty in passing, but would make a rather high class. He passed the note to Mr. F. C. Briggs, then the business agent of Hampton Institute, who sat at a desk near him. The two whispered some words, to which, at the time, I did not think it improper for me to listen. Mr. Briggs remarked - and, by the way, I thought all the time Mr. Briggs was General Armstrong - in an undertone to Mr. Curtis, "It is too bad. I like his face. He has a very honest look," adding, "I think you had better keep him if you can." Mr. Curtis then turned to me with the words, "Well, young man, what are you going to do? You have failed to pass your examination to enter even the lowest class." I told him that I had come to stay at any cost, and that I thought my failure was due to my new surroundings; that I had not been in school for about two years, but had read an occasional newspaper and an occasional book when I could get hold of one, but had done no work in arithmetic except of the simplest kind and had written only an occasional letter, so that I thought I was "rusty." He

wanted to know if I had any objection to hard work. I assured him I was not afraid of hard work, that I had worked hard all my life; so he said he would give me a choice of work, asking whether I would like to go to the kitchen or to the farm or whether I would prefer the saw-mill. As I had worked at a saw-mill and had some knowledge of lumber, I preferred the saw-mill, and was so assigned. I found this mill much larger and much more complicated than any I had seen before. I was put under the charge of a student, Edward R. Jackson, whom the boys called "Big Jack." He was to instruct me in Hampton's methods of grading and piling lumber. I was also admitted on trial to the lowest class in the night school.

        On the second afternoon of my saw-mill work, while piling lumber with Big Jack, the Rev. H. B. Frissell, the school chaplain and vice principal, came up and engaged us, or rather me, in conversation. He knew Jackson, for Jackson was then in what was known as the Pastor's Class, the School for Bible Study at Hampton, where he was then fitting himself for the ministry. He afterward became a minister and had a large church

in Alexandria, Virginia, where for many years he did very effective work as a teacher and preacher.

        Mr. Frissell asked me many questions: if I was happy at Hampton; whether I liked the place and people. He inquired about my home and family. His kindly expressed wish that I should have a successful career at Hampton, and his assurance that I was in the midst of friends made a deep impression on me, and strengthened very much my determination to remain at Hampton and to succeed, for that afternoon I had been experiencing a certain kind of longing for home that affected me more than at any time during my entire stay at the Institute. Later I was transferred from piling lumber to a raft of logs in the creek to get off the chains. I was shown how to perform this operation by another Virginia boy by the name of John H. Palmer. He went about his work very quietly and always most faithfully and steadily, and as he showed me how to remove the chains I was impressed by his kindness and patience. It is more than interesting that this same J. H. Palmer is now registrar at Tuskegee Institute,

where for many years he has been just as kind and faithful as an officer as on that day thirty-four years ago when he showed me how to take the chains off of logs that were brought from North Carolina, through the Dismal Swamp, across Hampton Roads to the school saw-mill.

        I remember so well my first Sunday night at Hampton. Six hundred or more students - Negroes and Indians - with a hundred or more white people, assembled for evening prayers. A modest, unassuming gentleman, with a soothing voice, conducted the services. I do not remember the passage he read, but there were two or three petitions in his prayer that stirred my youthful emotions and brought over me a feeling hard then and hard now to describe. A few days before, amid unattractive, meagre cabin surroundings, I had bidden good-bye to an earnest, hard-working, devoted, Christian mother. In this simple yet inspiring prayer, Mr. Frissell, who had so kindly spoken to me a few days before, asked God's blessing upon the humble mothers and fathers in all of the homes represented by the young people before him, the poorest as well as the

best; and he prayed that, amid the pleasant surroundings of Hampton Institute, the young people would always remember their parents who did not live, all of them, in such an environment as we had at Hampton. It seemed most strange to me, amid new surroundings and so many new faces, that everybody should turn aside from work and study, and that this gentleman, a stranger to me, should be thinking, as I supposed, about my old mother, and that he should put in such beautiful words the very thoughts and feelings which were in my own mind. From that night I made up my mind that Hampton was a very good place for me to be, and from that night also I knew Mr. Frissell was our friend, that he was interested in all that concerned us, that he was a man in whom I could confide.

        The students sang plantation songs, the religious folk songs of the Negro. I had been brought up on this kind of music and was very familiar with many of the songs that were sung, but somehow there was something about this singing - led by a tall, very handsome black man with a deep and melodious baritone voice - with the four parts

blending almost as if there were just one great voice singing, that almost carried me into a new world. I had never heard such singing, but somehow, notwithstanding my thorough enjoyment of the music, the dress, and manner of the pupils, and my real appreciation of being in such a wonderful institution, I was disappointed to hear these songs sung by educated people and in an educational institution. I had expected to hear regular church music such as would be sung by white people mostly, and such as was written as I supposed by white people also. I had come to school to learn to do things differently; to sing, to speak, and to use the language, and of course, the music, not of coloured people but of white people.

        One of my newly made friends, Thomas B. Patterson, who sat next me in chapel, and with whom I worked at the saw-mill, and who to this day is noted for his frankness of expression, whispered to me, saying, "What do you think of that music?" My reply was, "The singing is all right but this is no place for it." As the group of us walked on toward our quarters I did not hesitate to

express my opinion regarding this music and most of the new boys agreed emphatically with my attitude. One or two of the older students argued that the songs were beautiful and people enjoyed them so why should we not sing them. The only reply I could give was that they were Negro songs and that we had come to Hampton to learn something better; and then, too, I objected to exhibiting the religious and emotional side of our people to white folks; for I supposed the latter listened to these songs simply for entertainment and perhaps amusement. I had frequently seen white people at Negro gatherings in my own community, and had the feeling that many of them came merely to be entertained. I remember how strongly I felt many years before then when I attended Robinson's circus in our little village of Farmville. I remember the animals, of which I had only seen pictures before, and also the ring performances - fancy riding, antics of the clowns, and so forth. At the close of the main performance a concert was announced and my last ten cents was paid for it. Some twenty or thirty men with faces blackened appeared

in a semicircle with banjos, tambourines, and the like. The stories they told and the performances they gave were indeed most interesting to me, but I remember how shocked I was when they sang, "Wear dem Golden Slippers to Walk dem Golden Streets," two men dancing to the tune exactly as it was sung by the people in the Negro churches of my community. This song was as sacred to me as "Nearer, My God, to Thee" or "Old Hundred." I felt that these white men were making fun, not only of our colour and of our songs, but also of our religion. It took three years of training at Hampton Institute to bring me to the point of being willing to sing Negro songs in the presence of white people. White minstrels with black faces have done more than any other single agency to lower the tone of Negro music and cause the Negro to despise his own songs. Indeed, the feeling of the average Negro today is that the average white man expects him to "jump jim-crow" or do the buffoon act, whether in music or in other things. It is a source of gratification, therefore, to Negroes generally that Fisk University, Hampton Institute,

Tuskegee Institute, with many other Negro educational institutions, have persistently preserved and used the folk music of their people, in keeping with the spirit of its origin, thus not only elevating it in the estimation of coloured people, but causing others also to appreciate its value and beauty.

        A few Sunday evenings later, when General Armstrong had returned to the Institute, he spoke in his own forceful manner to the students about respecting themselves, their race, their history, their traditions, their songs, and folk lore in general. He referred then to the Negro songs as "a priceless legacy," which he hoped every Negro student would always cherish. I was impressed with him and with his address, but I was not entirely convinced. However, I was led to think along a little different line regarding my race. The truth is it was the first time I had ever given any serious thought to anything distinctively Negro. This also was the first time in my life that I had begun to think that there was anything that the Negro had that was deserving of particular consideration. This meant a readjustment of

values that was not particularly easy for a raw country lad.

        I think it was in December of 1885 or late in November that a group of boys, of which I was one, was returning from the Soldiers' home, which is separated from Hampton Institute only by a creek. We had noticed, before going over, a coloured man going through the engine room and boiler room and over the lumber yard looking at the machinery, lumber, saw-mill, planing-mill, etc., And we met this same man on our return going through the orchard, the farm, and the truck garden. We wondered who this man could be who seemed rather familiar with things at Hampton, and at the same time appeared to be very much interested in all the work of the place. When we went to chapel that night this gentleman sat next to General Armstrong on the platform in the old Whitin chapel. There were many visitors from the hotels and the town as well as the regular audience, and there were more teachers in chapel than usual. It was the first time I had seen a coloured man on the speaker's platform. We were glad, and took much pride, as the Negro

students generally did, in any honour that came to a coloured man at Hampton; that is, any special recognition that came from General Armstrong.

        After the usual devotional exercises General Armstrong, in his characteristic way, introduced this gentleman to the audience. He presented him as Booker T. Washington of Tuskegee. I remember now what a beautiful introduction General Armstrong gave him. He spoke of the possibilities of the work at Tuskegee and felt very sure that Tuskegee would some day be as large as Hampton, if not larger, and he predicted that Booker T. Washington would eventually be recognized as one of America's most distinguished citizens. He made this statement, he said, because he was thoroughly acquainted with the man of whom he was speaking. Booker Washington, he said, had been one of his boys; that he had served as his private secretary, and that he had recommended him for the work in Alabama. That during the past five years he had had wonderful success in gaining the good will of the white people and the coloured people surrounding the Institute and that the North had responded to his appeals for aid. Indeed General

Armstrong had given no one so strong and, it seemed to us, so flattering an introduction, though many distinguished visitors had already appeared on that platform since I had entered school. There was not much known then of Booker T. Washington, though General Armstrong and others had frequently referred to him and the work which he had started at Tuskegee in Alabama. Even at this time General Armstrong had pointed him out as a sample of what he hoped the Hampton students would look forward to becoming after completing their education. He hoped they would start schools on the Hampton plan in rural communities.

        While we were pleased at the introduction, we were anxious that this coloured man should measure up with his address to what General Armstrong said in the presence of so many white people, to say nothing of the coloured people. It made us all the more anxious that the coloured man should appear to good advantage, and I confess, as I think of it now, the appearance of the speaker did not impress us strongly. I remember some boys whispered, "We're gone to-night."

        There is something pathetic sometimes, I think, about the anxiety on the part of coloured people that one of their number shall show up to good advantage. The conditions under which we live, the early predictions that the Negro would not succeed, and the persistent comment that he is an inferior individual, have created in the race an anxiety and an earnest desire that every effort the Negro puts forth shall be of the best. We were especially anxious, therefore, that on that occasion he should "hit the bull's-eye," as we used to say. He had not spoken many minutes before all of our anxiety had disappeared. He started off by telling a story which I do not recall at this time, but I know it was something about eating partridges. He spoke of what he was trying to do at Tuskegee Institute and said, modestly, that he was trying to carry out, as any graduate should do, the ideas of General Armstrong and Hampton. He spoke clearly of the importance and value of trade education and pointed out the fact that the men who had learned their trades in slavery were passing and that white men were taking their places. He emphasized the importance of rural

life, buying farms, good homes, and the degradation of one-room-cabin life, and while he did not in any way belittle college education, he did emphasize the fundamental need of trade education, the buying of land, the building of homes, bank accounts, etc. These, he declared, were essential to the highest development of any people.

        As I think of it now, and as I thought of it then, we considered it perhaps the most remarkable address we had ever heard, and coming from a coloured man, about whom we had felt so much anxiety, it was all the more impressive. We were not expected to applaud in chapel at Sunday evening services, but there was a spontaneous outburst of applause from the audience when he sat down, and it was prolonged. General Armstrong arose, remarking, "I am glad you had the good sense to break the rule on such an occasion." He added, "This is for me as well as for you a very happy hour." It is unnecessary to remark that that address was the talk of the year among the students and teachers. We had some Indian friends who used to come to our rooms after meetings of this sort. I recall now that until "taps", some eight

or ten of us, with our Indian friends, discussed that speech. One of the latter, John Archambeau, remarked to the group that the only fault he found with Booker Washington was the fact that he was not an Indian.

        My twelve months' work at the saw-mill was hard and difficult, but we got out of it a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction. I, with my associates, learned a great many things, especially about lumber and machinery. I learned among other things to fire a huge boiler, something of the quality of coal, and how to get the most out of it. I learned to run the big Corliss engine, much about steam fitting, and a good deal about carpentry work, though I had worked for awhile as a carpenter before.

        There were about twenty-two boys who worked at the saw-mill with me during that year. The record of those boys since leaving Hampton - what they have done - would be interesting reading. Mr. William T. Westwood, our foreman, an ex Confederate soldier, had very high ideals and insisted, frequently against our private protests, that we live up to his standards of work and neatness

in piling lumber, as well as in our personal appearance in overalls. Even to this day, though no longer connected with the school, he continues to take a very personal interest in all of the young men who come under his instruction.

        I closed my year at the saw-mill in October, 1886, when I entered the regular day school. During the previous year I had worked in the day and attended school at night. This was customary among students who did not have the means to enter the day school directly. I had the choice between entering the highest class in the Junior Grade or the lowest class in the Middle Year; for I had been promoted from the lowest class in night school after three months, and was already a Junior in regular standing in the school. Inasmuch as I would be entering the higher class with two conditions and the lower class with no conditions, I preferred the highest Junior Grade to the lowest Middle, much to the satisfaction of the head teacher, Miss Mary F. Mackie, to whom Doctor Washington referred in "Up From Slavery" as the one who gave him that now-famous entrance examination. But I knew my weakness and I

knew my deficiencies in English particularly, one of the subjects in which I would have been conditioned; and I knew further that if I missed the Junior training, I would probably be handicapped for the remainder of my course. It was also true that my knowledge of geography was rather limited - I would have been conditioned in that also - so I made my choice advisedly.

        Soon after this I was made an officer in the battalion and was given charge of one of the boys' buildings, being responsible to the commandant for the physical care of the building as well as for the conduct of its occupants. I recalled that my father yielded under protest to my coming to Hampton as a work student, urging me to wait another year while he and I saved sufficient money so that I could go to Petersburg and not be obliged to do work in the school. He felt, and I shared his feeling to some extent, that I knew all there was to know about work, but somehow I discovered during my year as a work student that I was constantly running against new things and new ways of doing old things: in the care of my own room, in the drill, at the saw-mill, in the night school;

and even in the dining room and on the playground my vision grew continually wider and larger and I became more skilled in many ways with many and various things. That work year was a sort of initiation into an entirely new life, new surroundings, new people, different races, new standards, new ideas and ideals; and I have always been glad that, in spite of my father's protest, I had come not because I wished to work, but rather because I did not wish to delay another year in getting an education - and had taken this year of work at Hampton Institute. But the first year in day school was different. I assimilated, perhaps unconsciously, many of these new ideals. While I learned many valuable lessons from books during this first year, they were insignificant as compared with the indescribable something which I gathered outside of books, very real at Hampton, and very real to me, too, which I cannot accurately describe in writing, but which was nevertheless very pronounced and very definite.

        In my next year I came in daily contact with a half dozen or more lady teachers of the sturdy, to

austere, exacting, yet very kindly New England type; and while many of the subjects which they taught were not entirely new, the presentation was so different and they brought in so many practical, daily-life problems, not put down in books, that I found myself for the first few months in a realm almost as strange and different as my first year. One of the most striking subjects, as I think of it, was natural history or zoölogy, which was taught by Miss Ford, who afterward became the wife of General Armstrong. Our collection of numerous specimens, the investigation and dissecting of various insects and animals, the use of the microscope, were all a constant revelation to me of my dense ignorance concerning the common, every-day things with which I had been dealing and about which I had thought I knew so much. Mrs. Armstrong was a wonderfully strong teacher, able to arouse tremendous enthusiasm among her pupils, not only to master what was in the text book, but also to augment this by their own investigation and research in order to test the accuracy of the text book. I think also that my work in mathematics under Miss J. E. Davis, a graduate of

Vassar College; in geography, under Miss Mary E. Coates; in grammar, under Miss M. J. Sherman, a graduate of Wellesley College, together with my work under others made for me a most interesting, inspiring, and helpful year.

        I recall, too, as I am sure every Hampton student does who came under their instruction and care, the helpfulness of Miss Helen W. Ludlow and her intimate friend, Dr. Martha M. Waldron, the resident physician of the Institute, in many other things besides books and studies. Their loyalty to General Armstrong, and their devotion to Hampton through many years of service, had much to do with making the life and work of Hampton possible. I was not surprised at the end of the year, when the announcement was made of my name with many others for promotion to the Middle Class. I was so much impressed with the life at Hampton, and had enjoyed so much the use of the library, where there were more books than I had ever seen before in one place (to all of which I had free access, as had all students) that I asked if I might remain there for the summer vacation and be given work, the money that had been placed to my credit during

my work year having been considerably reduced. I thought that perhaps by remaining I would not only save more money through having less opportunity to spend, but that I would also have the use of the library and be in the atmosphere of educated people, which was much to my liking. I was accordingly assigned to work for the summer, and was given more responsibility In connection with the battalion as well as with the young men generally. It proved a very pleasant and very profitable summer. I went home for a vacation of two weeks in August - my first trip away from the school since I had entered nearly two years before. I was very anxious to see my parents and friends, and, of course, was equally anxious, I think, to show my uniform with my first lieutenant's shoulder straps. Everyone was glad to see me, white as well as coloured, and the older white people were especially cordial. One thing I noticed which I could not at that time explain was that many of the young white men with whom I had grown up were much less cordial than their parents, and frequently they avoided me and only greeted me after I had greeted them.

I attended the church and the Sunday School and I think I never had a more cordial welcome anywhere, with more consideration, or one giving me more real pleasure, than that from these people at Macedonia Baptist Church, with which I had been connected in one way or another since its organization. And certainly no mother ever had any more real pride in her son and his appearance than mine at that time. It was hard for me to get out of her sight. She insisted on going with me almost everywhere I went.

        Returning from Macedonia Church with my mother the first Sunday after my return, we were pleasantly surprised to meet Mr. William L. Vaughan and his wife as they were driving home from the Jamestown Presbyterian Church. Seeing me with my mother they stopped and greeted us very cordially. I was very glad to see them and apparently they were equally glad to see me. Before parting they asked me to come over and spend the day with them, which I did on the following Tuesday, when they sent their carriage and driver to my mother's home to take me over. Mr. Vaughan devoted the entire day to me, taking

me over the farm on horseback, looking at the stock, acres of tobacco and corn, and showing me other points of interest about the place. He also asked many questions about Hampton Institute and about my courses of study and progress there, showing a deep interest in all that I was doing, as well as in my future. He expressed much satisfaction in the fact that I had gone to school rather than into politics and possibly into the Legislature, for he knew of the incident in my experience a few years before, to which I have already referred.

        Of course I was greatly interested in all that he showed me on his splendid farm, but I was more impressed with the attention and courtesy which he accorded me during the day. And I did not fail to notice that he gave me the same consideration in many ways that he and his father had bestowed upon their guests of former years when I worked as a boy upon their plantation. While I very much enjoyed the two weeks at home visiting old scenes and old friends, there was nevertheless an element of sadness in it all. The dwellings, barns, and fences were unkempt; there was an air of disorder and confusion about most things and most people

also; our church and the choir, as well as the sermon of our pastor, seemed so different and disappointing and so unsatisfactory that I was rather relieved to get away from it. Before leaving I discussed this with my mother; but she felt that things were not so very different, that many things were actually better, that the difference was with me. I had changed. I have no doubt she was correct, as she usually was.

        I returned to Hampton after an interesting and pleasant, though in some ways disappointing, visit, but I was never before so impressed with the needs of my community along almost every line. I was convinced that whatever else I might do, there was nothing more worth while than helping just such people in just that kind of a community.

CHAPTER V

A TOUCH OF REAL LIFE

Hyde, who conducted the class, and who has ever since been one of the strongest and most helpful forces in the life and work of Hampton Institute. We had at least a part of the time of nearly every recitation taken up in a sort of conference on human nature. We did not call it psychology then, but that is what it was, and even to this day I am influenced by many of the conclusions that we then reached.

        At the close of the year, with seventy-eight other students, I was passed on to the Senior Class and was provided with a certificate to teach in the schools of Virginia, provided, of course, that I could pass the county examination satisfactorily. It occurred to me that, before teaching, inasmuch as I had never been outside of Virginia except on my enforced visit to Baltimore, it would strengthen my position in my school community, wherever it might be, if I could at least say that I had lived outside of Virginia; so I secured a position as head waiter in a hotel in Pennsylvania. I had what the boys would call in those days "a very successful season." While my work was not very hard from some points of view and my pay was very generous, at least in gratuities - "tips" - there was

something about the life that did not appeal to me, because the conduct of some of the guests differed greatly from what I had expected. So far as the treatment received from the guests was concerned, I had no cause for complaint, but many things about them and their manner of living were disappointing, not to say shocking, to one who had set up a very high standard and rather high ideals for people of means and education who lived amidst such pleasant and apparently wholesome surroundings.

        At the close of the summer season I returned to Virginia and was appointed to teach in the school at Cottontown in Cumberland County. I had taken the examination in Prince Edward County, for this was the county in which I lived, but inasmuch as all the places in the schools in that county were filled I was recommended to the superintendent of Cumberland County. I had no serious difficulty in passing the examination, though I had been told that it was very difficult and that under no circumstances would I be granted a first-grade certificate. This did not prove true, however, for even though I had had no experience as a

teacher I was given a first-grade certificate. This was in early September, and my school did not open till about the middle of October, so I immediately secured work on the farm of Mr. L. B. Walthall, a white neighbour, it being the harvesting season. In this community, as in most other country communities, everybody knew everybody's else business, or thought he did. It was therefore soon known throughout the community that I had returned from school and secured a first-grade certificate, and that the county superintendent, Mr. Irving, a lawyer, had also spoken several times to groups of people on the streets of the town of Farmville and other places of the excellent record I had made in my examination; indeed that he had felt obliged to grant me a first-grade certificate even though I had had no practical experience as a teacher. I think I must have shocked the whole district by working as a day labourer on a farm after having been appointed to teach. It thoroughly upset the residents, white and coloured. No coloured teacher in that locality had up to that time ever been known to do such a thing. Many white friends, also neighbours, who

had heard of it mostly through coloured people, rode over to Mr. Walthall's place to see if the rumour were really true. I was a sort of curiosity, but deep down in the heart of the people I am sure that there was a feeling of genuine satisfaction that I was doing this. Mr. Walthall, who was one of the leading farmers in that section, did not hesitate to express his approval in no uncertain terms.

        The following Sunday I appeared at Macedonia Baptist Church where I previously had had charge of the Sunday School, choir, and other activities. The old minister, Brother Armstead Berkeley, while he took a text, talked more about me than anything else. He likened me to Paul, the tent maker, and a great many more extravagant comparisons were made, much to my own embarrassment. I was pleased at the beginning of his discourse, but would have been happier had he said much less about me.

        Mr. Walthall, after the first few days, increased my pay to nearly twice what he was paying the others, saying that he felt that I was worth more than they. Furthermore, he did not hesitate to tell all of his men about it, and after two weeks

gave me entire charge of the squad of some twenty people. The truth of the matter is I was earning more on the farm than I did later when I began teaching.

        On the Sunday in October prior to the opening of school on Monday I attended church services at Midway Baptist Church, a short distance from the school, where a large audience had gathered. It had been announced, it seems, in the town on Saturday - and almost everyone went to Farmville on Saturday from the four counties, as they do now - that the teacher would be present and speak. I was introduced by the pastor, an old friend and former night-school teacher, the Rev. Anthony G. Green. He knew of my early boyhood, and did not hesitate, in his kindly and well-meaning way, to paint the most graphic picture of me that his limited vocabulary could command. I made a short talk, and among other things urged the people to send their children to school the next day. I was early at the schoolhouse the following morning, swept up the building and cleaned the grounds. The few neighbours, seeing what I was doing, insisted upon my permitting them to do it. They

thought the teacher had no business to be cleaning up the school grounds and cutting down weeds and such things. I permitted them to help me until the time came to open school.

        At nine o'clock we opened. Six pupils were registered the first day. The number continued to increase rapidly until shortly afterward there were somewhere near one hundred and fifty. The schoolhouse was a two-room building, so I made application to the school board for an assistant teacher, which application was granted. The superintendent sent a young man by the name of Eston Hembricks. Mr. Hembricks was a very excellent man and not a bad teacher from the standpoint of the conventional methods of that day. He believed in whipping, and that vigorously. If a student missed three words in spelling or read poorly, or did not know his lessons, there was only one thing to follow and that whipping. In this we did not agree, and had many heated arguments over the point. I felt that it might perhaps be necessary to whip one or two, but the general upsetting of the school by having a boy take off his coat and vest, the screaming and the

howling, with many of the girls also crying while the boys were being whipped, all this to my mind was generally demoralizing, and besides it grated very much on my sensibilities. He was persistent, however, in his idea that I could never maintain control of one hundred and fifty children by the method I was advocating.

        The school was located in what was from many points of view a very promising community. It contained a large number of coloured people and but few white families. Very many of the coloured people owned their homes; at least they owned the land, and many of them considerable land. They had reached what is sometimes called now "the land period" in their development. They had not, however, reached "the home period." Many men who owned a hundred or more acres of land would be living in a cabin which could be built in those days for twenty-five dollars; yet these people had very high aspirations. They wanted their children educated; they were strong in their religious convictions and had fairly good churches. They were generous toward their lodges and toward religious and educational matters.

        Mr. Hembricks persistently continued in the use of corporal punishment in his room in spite of my advice to the contrary. Frequently he disturbed the order in my room with the disorder which he created by his vigorous method of discipline, until, as principal teacher, I felt obliged to insist that if there were any occasion for discipline, it must be referred to me. Not being in sympathy with my method of school management, he said after a time that he would appeal the matter to the school board, and if they did not sustain him, he would resign. I was not sure how the matter would impress the school board, so I thought it wise to call together a deacon of the church and a few older men in conference with Hembricks and myself at my boarding place on a certain night. My landlady's husband, though he could neither read nor write, was a remarkably clever man. He was the political boss of the Randolph district and the leader in whatever matters concerned Negroes. Whatever happened, whether in school, in church, in politics, in secret societies, or elsewhere, must have Charlie Palmer's approval. He suggested, because of my youth and

inexperience, that I leave the matter entirely in his hands. I readily acquiesced in his suggestion and he in his own way began making preparations for a big supper. He made out the bill of fare. I need not specify here the delicacies, but we had all kinds of food common to a rural coloured community of the day: opossum, raccoon, turkey, and all the delectable parts of the hog. Indeed we had, as we thought, everything that one could wish, both to eat and to drink. Instead of about seven or eight men, however, Charlie Palmer had about fifty men with about half as many women, who were not invited to the party but were present to look after the preparation and serving of the food. It was a rather warm and beautiful moonlight night. They barbecued a pig over coals in the yard, and there was a barrel of persimmon beer, of which the people drank freely, and I think that barrel had some ingredients in it other than persimmon juice. Anyhow, after we had eaten and drunk our fill and our friend Palmer had told us many a marvellous story of his experiences, political and otherwise, and had made a strong speech, advising the people to use all the influence they

possessed for Prof. John M. Langston, a coloured man, who had bolted the regular Republican ticket and was running for Congress on an independent ticket in the 4th District, Judge Arnold being the regular Republican candidate, he called on me to give my ideas of Mr. Langston and why the coloured people, though they lived in the 10th Congressional District across the river from the 4th District, should use all the influence they could muster for his election. Of course I have no idea now what I said, but my words urging the importance of having a Negro representative in Congress and my criticism of many white Republicans who had gotten into office on the Negro vote and simply used us, created among the crowd a profound sensation. They yelled and threw up their hats. Some took me on their shoulders and carried me around the premises and were withal so demonstrative that I was confused and puzzled; and I am not sure even yet whether it was not the effect of the persimmon beer and other things which were very freely dispensed rather than my speech which caused this embarrassing demonstration. Then Mr. Palmer called on Hembricks for a

speech. Mr. Hembricks made a good speech, but the enthusiasm had expended itself somewhat, so that while he got some applause, it was very weak by contrast. When he concluded Mr. Palmer said that it had been a meeting in which we had stressed the importance of Negroes working together under coloured leadership, and he thought it was a great mistake in any man who pretended to be a leader among coloured people to take any difficulty arising between them to white officials to settle if it could possibly be avoided. He said that the Cottontown school had had less disorder that year under its new teachers than at any time since the school was established. The children were more enthusiastic about attending school, and the homes of these children had already felt the influence of promptness and order which the pupils had been taught during the short time the school had been in session. This speech was followed by several others of the group in the same strain. The meeting broke up and the people went home. Nothing was said about the controversy between the teachers. I went to bed and Mr. Hembricks spent the night with the Palmers. He and Mr.

Palmer talked late into the night. At breakfast next morning Hembricks apologized for his attitude and assured me there would be no further trouble so far as he was concerned, and from that time on I continued to handle the discipline of the school, except in cases where I thought Mr. Hembricks himself ought to handle it. No more pupils were whipped and we had a very orderly set of children. More than two hundred and fifty were enrolled during the year till we had to select, after securing the approval of the chairman of the board, two of our more advanced pupils to help us in the work.

        In this locality there were four coloured churches - Greencreek, Mount Nebo, Cornerstone, and the Midway Baptist. Midway was nearest to the school. Fortunately they held services not oftener than twice a month, so that Mr. Hembricks and I could attend each church at least monthly. We were always expected to speak and to teach a Sunday- School class, if not to review the lesson. From this I am sure I got a great deal more than the scholars. It was in many ways an easy matter in this section for a Negro teacher to win the

respect and confidence of the people. I have never found any group of people more willing to be led than were the people of this community. I am not sure now as to the quality or character of my teaching at the time. I doubt if it would pass muster under the eye of a modern pedagogue. I was somewhat original perhaps in some of my ideas and methods, and I introduced many things which in those days were entirely new. For instance, they had never observed Thanksgiving Day prior to my coming, so that year we had a great celebration. The pastor permitted us to use the church and people came from as far as twenty miles to be present. Some of the men who were interested in horses arranged a tournament, and at night we had chorus singing. The school sang as a body and I insisted that all the girls should appear in white dresses with blue sashes and every boy have a white sash. I suppose I did this because I wanted to be sure that the pupils should look different from the other people present. There must have been two thousand persons on the grounds, perhaps more, and all thoroughly enjoyed the occasion.

        Then at Christmas we had something of the same

sort of celebration, with a Christmas tree, which was the first seen in that community. We had perhaps a dozen preachers present at this Christmas celebration. Each one had some part in the service. This way of observing the day was in striking contrast to what had been previously in vogue. Christmas in that part of Virginia, as in many other parts of the South, had been given over very largely to dissipation of one kind or another; fireworks and also "fire water" were much in evidence, and many who did not have fireworks used guns or anything that they could muster with which to make a noise. Any form of disorder was permissible. They used to sing, as I remember, a song which went like this:

                        In the Summer roasting ears,
                        In the Fall, "punkin" -
                        Christmas comes but once a year,
                        And everyone must do somethin'.

        The "somethin'" meant something noisy and out of the ordinary. I introduced the general singing of plantation melodies among the people, and at three o'clock each Friday afternoon we had public

exercises. Often the schoolhouse could not accommodate the crowds that attended - scores of mothers and many fathers, as well as many of the white neighbours who came from long distances to hear the singing and to witness the other exercises by the children. The Negro farmers as well as the whites were much pleased with my talks once a week on general farming, poultry raising, care of cattle and hogs, the rotation of crops, and the importance of gardens, especially winter gardens. At these Friday exercises we also talked to the parents and older children on habits and manners, and many other simple, but, as we thought, needful things regarding the home, backyards, outhouses, and similar topics. We called in, too, on several occasions, leading white men to talk to the pupils on Friday evening, and each coloured preacher had a turn before the year was out. I tried to dignify the occasion by calling it the "Friday afternoon lecture."

        I somehow succeeded during that year in making a very pleasant impression on the school officials: the superintendent, Mr. Corson, and the members of the precinct board. They took much

pride in visiting the school, and the superintendent urged many coloured teachers to come, and brought with him, on one or two occasions, some of his white teachers. He generally called up a few classes and gave them certain examinations, and after the first visit always asked that we sing for him. We had rehearsed the pupils in singing, and the girls we had taught certain very simple gymnastic exercises and they usually went through these for his benefit. We would then have the students sing plantation melodies, which they did with a will and which, by the way, the pupils enjoyed as much as any one. As I think of it now, I wonder why they ever came or why there was any enthusiasm over these talks, and the other things that we did, for in many ways I really knew very little about what I was attempting to do.

        While I learned comparatively little about scientific agriculture during my stay at Hampton, I had absorbed something of the agricultural atmosphere from Mr. Albert Howe, than whom Hampton has never had a more faithful worker. Mr. Howe gave us frequent talks on agriculture,

the importance of gardens, poultry-raising, and other subjects, so that I was able, it seems, in spite of my lack of agricultural training, to help a community that knew so much less than I did.

        It was a very busy year but I managed to find time for reading and study. I had had up to that time a more or less vague desire to study law. I had an idea that perhaps some day I might follow that profession, so the superintendent of schools for Prince Edward County, whose office was in Farmville nine miles away, was kind enough to give me lessons in law and lend me such of his books as I needed. He declined to accept any pay but allowed me to work in his office on Saturdays, copying deeds, contracts, and similar work, which saved time for him and was, of course, excellent training for me. This enabled me to occupy my evenings in a more or less definite, systematic way. On Saturdays when I came to town he frequently catechized me very minutely on various phases of the week's work which he had given me to do.

        The following spring, Mr. Irwin, the superintendent, told me I had sufficient knowledge to pass the bar examination. It was the law in Virginia

then that a candidate for the bar could receive a certificate to practice after examination by two circuit judges. I never shall forget the time I appeared before Judge Frank Irving, the father of Mr. Irving under whom I had been reading law during the winter. I had come to the court-room late one afternoon. There must have been thirty people there, many attorneys among them. The cases had all been disposed of for the term. The judge was swapping stories with some of the attorneys. He finally turned to me and said, "By the way, Moton, I understand that you want to take an examination to practice law." I told him that I did, and he said, "I might as well examine you now." I told him I was not prepared to be examined then, that I would prefer to be given another appointment. He said, "No, I can refuse you a certificate now as well as any time. I have had only one Negro in my court and he did not belong there. He was permitted to practice by courtesy, so I will examine you now. Come up here." I was certainly unprepared, but I thought I might as well face the ordeal. His son who sat over within the enclosure gave me some encouragement by saying,

"You had better come over and try it anyhow. Many men have failed and you will have company."

        I remember that the judge asked me to tell him first what a "demurrer" was. I undertook to tell him. He differed with me. I argued with him. In ten minutes I had forgotten that I was arguing with "His Honour," so we argued the "demurrer" in all its phases until dark. All the attorneys remained and were intensely amused, apparently. After we had spent perhaps two hours and a half in arguing this, the only question that the judge asked me, he said, "I will give you a certificate. Call up at the office to- morrow morning." And turning to the clerk of the court he said, "Write him a certificate, Claxton, and I will sign it to-morrow."

        But I had to pass another examination, before a judge who was reported to be much more gruff than this one. A few days later I drove fifteen miles to the home of this other circuit judge, who lived in another county. I reached the house at breakfast time, somewhere around seven o'clock, just as the bell rang for him to come in to breakfast with the

family. He saw me drive up, asked what my business was, whether I had had breakfast, and other questions. I assured him that I had had a very early breakfast and told him what my errand was. He gave me a seat on the front porch and went in to breakfast. Presently the cook came out with a tray on which was a very good breakfast, with steaming hot biscuits and other appetizing dishes. I did not send it back.

        Later the judge came out and apparently in a very indifferent manner, talked of many things and asked many questions, not at all along the line of the law, as I had expected. The fact is, I was all prepared for this examination. I was prepared to give the definition of law, something of the history of law, the various divisions of the law, and to answer the questions likely to be asked. I was prepared to make up briefs, indictments, and everything else that I had been able to find after much study in law books; but the judge asked about President Cleveland, who was then president; what I thought of him, of Congress, the tariff, the Republican Party, Mr. Lincoln, the Secession Movement. He asked my opinion of General Lee, General Jackson,

and General Grant. He asked questions about Hampton Institute, General Armstrong, the relation of the races, as well as many other subjects. A famous case was then pending in an adjoining county; he asked me about the merits and demerits of both sides. It so happened that I was familiar with the case. He had seen me in the courtroom a few weeks before when he was the presiding judge. He asked me what I thought of the arguments of the opposing attorneys, and I did not hesitate to pick flaws in them and commend what I thought to be their good points. I also told him I thought one of the attorneys had been very unwise in one of the questions he had asked his client, almost losing his case himself, in my judgment. The judge expressed no opinion whatsoever. Finally he excused himself a moment, went into the house, and came back and handed me a certificate. I came away with a sense of disappoint that here I had been handed a license to practice law and had never been properly examined. I decided, therefore, to continue my studies, but as I think of it now I can understand that the examination, while technically deficient

from my viewpoint, was in every sense adequate from the standpoint of this experienced jurist.

        The apparent success which came to me that year brought many thoughts to my mind with reference to what I should do when I had finished my course at Hampton. Cumberland County and Cottontown - the name by this time had been changed to Adriance - seemed to me an ideal place for a small industrial school on the Hampton plan. Within a radius of perhaps ten or fifteen miles there were concentrated something like three or four thousand coloured people who could buy land, and many of whom had already secured substantial holdings. The white people were very kindly disposed toward them and anxious to sell land to coloured people. Also there were four churches. In every way it was an ideal community for a little school; so I got some of the more thoughtful coloured men together and we went over a scheme for such a school. I called on some of the leading white people and they also approved the plan, offering their support, and one gentleman offered to give ten acres of land. The county superintendent, Mr. Corson, assured us that the county would do at

least as much as it had been doing, and he felt sure that they would provide the salary for the teacher. I wrote General Armstrong at Hampton and Miss Mary F. Mackie and some others of my Hampton teachers, setting forth my plans. They strongly advised against it, and urged me to return to the Institute and to complete my course. Some of them wrote me frankly that I did not have sufficient education to undertake such a work. One lady teacher, Mrs. I. N. Tillinghast, who is at present a warden at Vassar College, wrote me very frankly that my education was exceedingly deficient; that I did not know enough about any one thing to succeed; that I had the ability to get up before a crowd and to make a certain kind of show, but that there was not nearly so much to what I was doing as I thought. I shall always remember that letter, for her argument, though hard to accept, was convincing. I therefore decided for the present, at least, to abandon the scheme.

        The public-school term was five months, but with the coöperation of the parents, Mr. Hembricks and I were successful in lengthening it by two months. I shall never forget the school closing "Exhibition"

- the large audience of coloured people, the wonderful dinner in the churchyard, or the committee of coloured citizens that waited on me, saying that the people had offered to double my salary the next year if I would come back. There was also a letter from the county superintendent endorsed by the chairman of the County School Board, Mr. Norton Flippin, in which they agreed that I could have the school in Cumberland County as long as they were in office. The parting there was much like the one previously described on my leaving home for Hampton.

        The following summer I went to Philadelphia and succeeded in securing work in John Wanamaker's store, through the kindness of a friend who gave me a letter of introduction to Mrs. Robert C. Ogden. This, too, was a very interesting experience. I worked in what was called the housekeeping department for the first two months with a gang of about fifty men. There were but two coloured men, of whom I was one. The others were mostly Irishmen and Italians, but there were also two Dutchmen and two or three American white men. We had all of the noon hour and

other off-hours when we had a chance to discuss many very interesting questions from different points of view. I never knew b