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Fact Stranger Than Fiction.
Seventy-Five Years of a Busy Life with Reminiscences of Many Great and Good Men and Women:
Electronic Edition.

Green, John Patterson, b. 1845

Funding from the Academic Affairs Library,
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill supported the electronic publication of this title.

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First edition, 2004
ca. 767K
Academic Affairs Library, UNC-CH
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill,
2004.

        © This work is the property of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. It may be used freely by individuals for research, teaching and personal use as long as this statement of availability is included in the text.

Source Description:
(title page) Fact Stranger Than Fiction Seventy-Five Years of a Busy Life with Reminiscences of Many Great and Good Men and Women
(spine) Fact Stranger Than Fiction
John P. Green
[i]-xv, 368 p., ill.
Cleveland, O. U.S.A.
Riehl Printing Company
1920

Call number CB G797g (North Carolina Collection, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill)

        The electronic edition is a part of the UNC-CH digitization project, Documenting the American South.
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[Cover Image]

        

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Compliments of the Author--
John P. Green
To Bruce Cotton Esq. of --
of
Baltimore, Md.:
Cleveland, Ohio: 7/6/23.
"Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit"
Virgil: Book I--Line 203.

        

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John P Green.
AT SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS OF AGE.

        

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[Title Page Image]

FACT STRANGER THAN
FICTIONSEVENTY-FIVE YEARS OF A BUSY LIFE
WITH REMINISCENCES
OF
MANY GREAT AND GOOD MEN AND WOMEN

BY

JOHN P. GREEN

1920 RIEHL PRINTING COMPANY
CLEVELAND. O.
U.S.A.

Page iii

        TO
THE GRAND, WEALTHY AND BEAUTIFUL CITY
OF CLEVELAND, OHIO,
--QUEEN OF THE GREAT LAKES--

        MY CHILDHOOD'S REFUGE AND ASYLUM FROM THE "WHIPS AND SCORNS" (?) OF SOUTHERN SLAVERY CASTE, PREJUDICE AND PROSCRIPTION; MY OWN DEAR ALMA MATER, WHERE I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED, AND BEEN ALLOWED FREE AND FULL SCOPE TO ESTABLISH MY RIGHT TO A PLACE IN THE SUNLIGHT, AMONGST MEN; A HAVEN OF REST TO THE PERSECUTED AND FORLORN; THE GLARE OF WHOSE FURNACES ILLUMINES THE WORLD; THE REVERBERATIONS OF WHOSE TRIP-HAMMERS AND THE HUM OF WHOSE SPINDLES RESOUND THROUGHOUT THE HABITABLE GLOBE; I, IN LOVE AND HUMILITY, DEDICATE THIS LITTLE BOOK.

JOHN P. GREEN.

Dec. 3d, 1919.

Page v

FOREWORD

        If gauged by the hosts of friends who recognize me, and the high esteem and kindly consideration manifested for me by my fellow citizens, of all classes and stations in life, then I feel that, I have not "strutted and fretted" my hour of life in vain.

        From this point of view, I have written the following story of my life, for two principal reasons: First, because I, alone, can certify to the truthfulness of all the statements--to the minutest details; and secondly, for the reason that, I have been well nigh importuned, by many of my personal acquaintances to write it; and because I am hoping and praying that, by the reading of it, a stimulus and inspiration may be imparted to ambitious--struggling youths of both races--especially the colored race, to put forth renewed efforts for success.

        I, myself, by the reading of the auto-biographies of such colored men as Frederick Douglass and Booker T. Washington, have derived great encouragement, which has, persistently, sustained me in my life efforts along that "road so narrow where one but goes abreast."

        I desire, herein, to place before the colored youth, of my class, another concrete proof of the fact that, even in the United States, where the handicap of color and former restrictions are so much in evidence, ambition, united with initiative and reasonable endeavor, will surely win success, along some worthy, honorable line.

        In the preparation of the type-written copy of this narrative, I have been placed under lasting obligations to Miss Harriet J. Willis--competent and popular court stenographer, and attorney and counsellor at law; who has, gratuitously and beautifully, prepared the same.

JOHN P. GREEN.

Page vii

CONTENTS

Page 1

CHAPTER I.

ORIGIN OF THE FAMILY GREEN--"THE SHORT AND
SIMPLE ANNALS OF THE POOR."

        John P. Green, the subject of this sketch, was born in the old town of Newberne, North Carolina, on the second day of April, 1845. His parents were John R. Green and Temperance Green, both of whom were free colored people of mixed blood, and highly respected by the people of both races in that community.

        John R. Green, the father, was the reputed son of John Stanley (spelled by him, Stanly) of North Carolina, who was the son of John Wright Stanley, of the same place, and who, during our Revolutionary War, for a long period of time, maintained a fleet of fourteen privateers, in the vicinity of the West India Islands, which preyed upon British Commerce, quite successfully, until, being attacked in its West Indian harbor of refuge, by a portion of the British Navy, it was thoroughly destroyed, and Stanley betook himself to commerce and merchandise, in the old North Carolina town, at that time, the capital of the state.

        This is the same John Wright Stanley upon whose head, with that of William Gaston,--a great Revolutionary patriot of the same state and community,--was placed a premium; by the British military authorities,

Page 2

during that war, and who, in the darkest days of the War of Independence, loaned General Nathaniel Greene the sum of forty thousand pounds, which` I may say, was never repaid to him, and when we consider the scarcity of money at that time, and that forty thousand pounds was as valuable then, as two hundred thousand pounds is now, we can form a correct estimate of the patriotism of that "Son of the Revolution."

        It may interest the reader, in passing, to know that, Gaston was murdered, by British spies, for the bounty which was offered for his head; but Stanley lived to see the end of the war and enjoy the blessings of Liberty, for many years, under our glorious Stars and Stripes.

        John Stanley, my reputed grand-father, was widely noted for his legal lore and successful practice at the Bar of North Carolina. It was said of him that, he "never lost a case," but, as to the truthfulness of this statement, I am somewhat incredulous; unless it be a fact that, he had very few cases, or that, he was so uniformly successful in practice that, it became a proverb, that, he lost no cases.

        That he was a great orator, politician and statesman, was well known,--he was, for seven consecutive sessions of the North Carolina House of Representatives, Speaker of the House, was in Congress once, and followed and sustained that great party of which Henry Clay was the famous leader, known as the Whig party, and stood for "America for Americans," and the protection of American industries.

        This John Stanley, in the early part of the last century became involved in a quarrel with Governor Richard Dobbs Speight, of North Carolina, one of the original signers of our National Constitution, and, accepting a challenge sent to him by Governor Speight, they fought a duel, in which the Governor was killed. This was a social and political calamity in the "Old North State," for a

Page 3

long time deplored, and did much to bring into hatred, scorn and contempt, a system of so-called "honor," which was finally outlawed, under a heavy penalty.

        Herein, peculiarly enough, lies the explanation of this writer's name being John Green, rather than John Stanley.

        My father's mother, Sarah Rice, a woman of African descent, had, for years, been a "good and faithful maid servant" in the home of the unfortunate Governor Speight, and had exercised over the little girls and maidens of that august southern family almost maternal care. A condition of affairs which, I suspect, few persons, in the North, East and West, can adequately conceive of, unless they lived in the South, during the slavery era, and became familiar with it, so close was the association between the Negro and mulatto nurses and their little wards, that, even down to the present day, we often hear the scions of old southern families and some of the elderly ladies, from the same section, refer to their "Old Black Mammies," with accents of love and affection. Such was the love and affection for Sarah Rice, on the part of the Speight family, that, they "set her free," manumitted--emancipated her,--giving her, at the same time, the sum of two hundred dollars, as required by the law of the State, at that time.

        Previous to this important event in the life of this favored nurse, she had been delivered of a wee boy baby, whom she had named for herself only,--Johnnie Rice, not daring to disclose his true paternity; but, subsequently, having attained her freedom, she called him Johnnie Green, for a little boy whom she had nursed; for, Johnnie, having been born when his mother was still in the bonds of slavery, followed his mother's slave condition; and, not having been manumitted with her, he was still the slave of the Speight estate; and to let it be known that he was the "natural" son of John Stanley, the fatal ball from

Page 4

whose pistol had killed the Governor, would, in all probability, have sealed his fate, adversely.

        So, Johnnie Green became, in later days, John R. (Rice) Green; and this writer, his son, has flaunted the green flag, as John P. (Patterson) Green, ever since. Sometimes, really, "fact is stranger than fiction."

        Having stated it as matter of fact that, my father, John R. Green, was the reputed son of John Stanley, a "son of the Revolution," the skeptical may demand the proof of this fact; if so, I submit the following data:

        To the best of my knowledge, the most illustrious son of my grandfather John Stanley, was the Honorable Edward Stanley, M. C., who was leader of the Whig party, in Congress, in the "Forties."

        This gentleman and scholar was, later on, the first nominee of the Republican party for governor of California; and afterwards, during the reconstruction period, subsequent to our Civil War, was appointed by President Andrew Johnson "provisional governor" of North Carolina.

        I have gone into this matter somewhat minutely, because I am proud of the fact that I can trace my descent from a family so distinguished, in both "camp and state;" and, also, because it furnishes to the student of society and social standards, in these United States, a concrete

Page 5

example of how "fearfully and wonderfully" a large percentage of the colored people here are made.

        I shall end any further consideration of the Stanley family, by submitting the following epitaph, from the pen of the late William Gaston, of North Carolina, who was the son of that William Gaston, the friend and associate of John Wright Stanley, who died a martyr in the cause of American liberty. This William Gaston, who wrote the epitaph, was noted in his day,--and down to the present, as having been one of nature's noblemen and the greatset Chief Justice and jurist his state ever produced. He was, from the first, John Stanley's close personal friend (both at the Bar and in the political arena), and well knew whereof he spoke.

        The following is the epitaph:

        "John Stanley, eldest son of John Wright-Stanley and Ann, his wife, born 1774, died August 2d, 1833. Few persons in any community have occupied a more prominent station; few have exercised a more powerful influence than this distinguished individual for many years held and exercised in our town and throughout our state. Long in the affectionate and grateful remembrance, of all, will live his genius, his learning, his courtesy, his eloquence, his virtues, his personal characteristics and his public services."

GASTON.


        My mother, Mrs. Temperance Durden Green, was a quadroon, by blood, and was a direct descendent, on both her father's and her mother's side, from those Scottish and Yorkshire Englishmen who followed the flag and fortunes of the last "Pretender,"--descendant of the unfortunate James II, of England, in 1745; and after having met disastrous defeat, at Derby, almost at the gates of London, were expatriated and in large numbers, found asylum in North Carolina,--notably, in the counties of Cumberland and Sampson, where, by thrift and

Page 6

economy, they left a numerous and wealthy progeny, as may be seen by tourists and others today.

        In the latter part of the eighteenth century, 1792, to be specific, there resided near the town of Clinton, in Sampson county, North Carolina,--about thirty miles from the city (then town) of Fayettsville, in the same state, a family, containing two beautiful daughters, of which a man, Chesnut (or Chestnutt) by name, was the head. This pater familias was a well-to-do farmer; and, with his wife and daughters, was known and respected, far and wide, by persons of his class; moreover, since his daughters were young and comely, they were, frequently favored by the calls of young gentlemen, in the vicinage, who, socially and financially, deemed themselves their superiors.

        In the course of time, the young ladies became greatly enamored of two of these young men; but, since they did not hasten to make to them proposals of marriage, they had recourse to the advice and services of a "likely" young colored man (the slave of their father), who advised them, in the premises, with the result that, ere long, each became the mother of a little colored girl; one of these baby girls was named Obedience, which was transformed to "Bede;" this one was my grand-mother, born in the same year as my father, 1793; the child of the other girl, sister of this first mother, was name Alice, but, invariably, as long as she lived, called "A-lice."

        A glance will suggest that these two babies, being the offspring of one father by two sisters, were, at once, sisters and cousins!! This condition during the womanhood of these two colored girls was doubly complicated, when each girl presented to two white brothers, severally, a child, one of whom was my mother.

        If the foregoing is proof of a low moral status amongst both white and colored persons in that portion

Page 7

of these United States, at that time, place the odium where it belongs, not at door of the poor slaves; nor should we forget that, as far back as the time of Homer, when bondsmen were of every nationality and race, it became a maxim that,


                         "Jove made it certain that, whatever day
                         Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away."
Moreover, it seems to be a natural inclination governing dominant and oppressing men, to take unjust advantages of unprotected females and others; as,--witness the Romans, under Romulus, taking, by force, the Sabine virgins and carrying them into captivity; and a more recent proof of my contention may be found in the conduct of the German warriors and the "Reds" of Russia, who have disregarded every sacred right of conjugal, maternal and virginal purity; under such conditions those damnable doctrines,--"Might makes right," and, "To the victor belongs the spoils," are an unspeakable curse.

        It may interest the reader to know that, both those colored girls lived to a "ripe old age." Bede, my grandmother, lived to be nearly ninety-seven years of age, and, had she not yielded to dread pneumonia, she would, probably, have rounded out a century; Alice was almost ninety years of age, when she died. Both left behind them a numerous projeny, thus proving the fallacy of that "scientific" dogma--that Mulattoes cannot reproduce their species; for both were mulattoes,--having white mothers and a Negro father.

        "Granny Bede," was, in her youth and young womanhood, a very strong and active woman, as the two anecdotes which follow, concerning her, will abundantly prove.

        When she was between eighteen and twenty years of age, she had, to some extent, the care of the cows and other cattle belonging to the farm on which she was reared. On one occasion, it became necessary to put a

Page 8

rope around the horns of a powerful steer, which was confined in the pen; but, this being at a time remotely anterior to the herding of cattle on our western prairies, and skillful lassoing of the same by our doughty "cow-boys." the men failed of success, and, after repeated efforts and failures, appealed to "Bede," their keeper. "Here's Bede," they said; "they know her; let her try."

        No sooner said than done; for, in a "jiffy," she vaulted over the fence of the pen, and, noose in hand, dauntlessly, approached--confronted, the steer. Lowering his head, the beast rushed at her! In this supreme moment, "Granny" did not scream and faint, but, grasping his horns, she held his nose to the ground until relieved; when, she triumphantly climbed back over the fence, the cynosure of all eyes, the heroine of the moment, and even down to the present day, in the estimation of this writer, and others.

        The other incident follows: In 1872, when she was in the seventy-ninth year of her age, I visited her on a farm in the suburbs of Bennettsville, Marlborough County, South Carolina. The little cabin in which she then resided, was on the roadside, at the edge of a fifty-acre cottonfield, and, it becoming necessary to call one of the "hands" to his dinner, she did not ring a bell or sound a horn, but with a stentorian voice, called "Lewis! O, Lewis!!" I can hear her to this day. "Come to dinner!" Needless to say, Lewis heard the gladsome summons, and, dropping his hoe in his tracks, ran, as the "crow flies" to that refreshment which his manly labor entitled him to, and which made a mere dish of "corned beef-and," more palatable to him, than any nectar brewed by a fabled god.

        My dear mother was a born Spartan, with not the slightest suspicion of African blood traceable in features or complexion, with brown eyes, auburn hair, high cheek bones, high forehead, straight nose and thin-compressed

Page 9

lips, she was a study for everyone who was introduced to her, as a colored woman; and yet, she married a colored man, not disowning her descent, and, to her death, in her eighty-first year of age, she commingled with her colored friends.

        Some conception of my mother's energy and determined spirit may be gained from the fact that, when she was about twenty years of age, she walked from Clinton, Sampson County, N. C., to Fayettsville, N. C., in less than one day, arriving in Fayettsville in a foundered condition, carrying her shoes in her hand.

        When she arrived in Cleveland, she had occasion to transact some business with Mr. Blair, who owned the extensive real estate on the south side of Prospect street, just east of Thirtieth street. Mr. Blair said to her: "Of what nationality are you?" Mother answered, "I am a colored woman." "Well," replied Mr. Blair, "I wouldn't tell it!"

        Mother could wash and iron, cook, make any article of wearing apparel, for either man or woman,--from a shirt to a "Prince Albert" coat; in addition to all this, she had been taught and thoroughly understood how to "card" wool or cotton, spin with the wheel and weave at the loom. She could gather the cotton from the stalk in the field, and with her own hands, without assistance, card, spin, weave and manufacture it into a suit of clothes. She could even knit the stockings of the family. The first kite ever flown by me was attached to a ball of twine which my mother had manufactured for me out of the "raw" cotton.

        When, she, a comely lass of twenty-four summers, married my father in 1837, he took her to a beautiful home, which was still standing in 1897, when I last visited "Old Newbern Town," and was in use as a parsonage for the Presbyterian pastor and his family.

        The interior decorations of this house, by the carpenter,

Page 10

in the "thirties" cost in cash eighteen hundred dollars, an amount which would purchase then what five thousand dollars would to-day.

        Having given a survey of the Stanley family and others of his ancestors, I will now proceed to give an outline of my father's brief but useful and remarkable life; and here and now, I dare assert, that, taking into consideration the time and place of his birth, his enslaved condition, his absolute handicap in the way of obtaining even the rudiments of an education, his was one of the most remarkable careers that stand attested, by any other colored man, of his age and generation.

        It is a peculiar and interesting fact, which I may mention, in passing, that my father and I, together, have lived in portions of three centuries--the eighteenth, the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries: Father was born, as I have said, in the year 1793; he lived until November, 1850; while this writer having been born in 1845, in the 19th century, is still living, in the 20th century. In addition to the foregoing, it may be noted, that, we each, have lived in two centuries; my father in the 18th and 19th century, and this writer in the 19th and 20th centuries.

        My father, having been born of a slave mother--before she was maumitted, his estate followed that of his unfortunate mother,--he was a slave! Ye gods! fancy the son of a Stanley in slavery! yet, stranger conditions than this have existed in the southern states of this country--the "natural" colored sons and daughters of many slave masters have been openly sold, on the auction block, and the proceeds of those sales have gone to line the pockets of their un-natural parents!!!

        Little "Johnnie Green" was of such small and delicate frame, even up to the time when he entered his "teens," that, it was somewhat of a problem, what disposition should be made of him,--a laborious occupation for

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him was "out of the question;" and as for a professional career, that was not to be thought of.

        Finally, it was determined to apprentice him to a tailor; and the resolution was no sooner adopted than executed. At the age of thirteen, in 1806, when, by reason of diminutive size, he was dubbed "Jack, the weazel," he first crossed his legs, on the "board" and commenced a career, which continued for forty-three years, when death ended it.

        Father related many instances of shameful treatment of him by some of the apprentice boys during his apprenticeship, who frequently "picked" on him; but to his last day he spoke in terms of superlative gratitude of the protection often extended to him by a Frenchman, Durand by name, whose memory I laud and magnify, to this day--who can tell the limitation of


                         "Little deeds of kindness, little words of love?"
He also, often spoke of his meager supply of food, when old Aunt Hannah, his care-taker, would, at times, prepare and serve him "Cush," a dish which I suspect few of the present generation know anything about. Having been served with the same dish in my childhood, I hereby submit the recipe for making that inexpensive and palatable dish: Take crusts and crumbs of cold cornbread; moisten them moderately, put them into a "spider," (frying-pan) containing a modicum of hot grease,--and let them fry, until all are nicely browned; then, Voila! a dish for a hungry boy. We think we are experiencing "hard times" in our day; and we are, in many instances; but, what will you say when I avow to you that, the mistress of his salve cousin, Maria, often, before sending her out into the street to perform an errand, would grease her lips in token of the fact (?) that, she had been eating meat!

Page 12

        Father, considering his direct lineal descent, was in reason,--necessarily, an apt pupil; and, in the course of a year or two, he began to earn money, by doing extra work, during his spare hours, and by occupying some of the hours allotted to him for sleep, in this way.

        At the age of twenty-one, when his apprenticeship was ended, he was the proud possessor of one thousand dollars, which he ultimately used in buying his freedom; for, he related that, after he had married a free wife, he could no longer endure the yoke of slavery.

        When he attained his liberty, he had already learned to read and write. In fact, he had, to some extent, mastered the three R's.

        No school door swung open, or even ajar for him; he learned the alphabet in some mysterious way, for it was a crime to teach a slave to read and write; in this respect, he was in a sadder plight than the great Frederick Douglass, for he, before he escaped from slavery, had some "side" instruction; but father, had no instructor, save a copy of the then, Webster's Elementary Spelling Book, which was his inseparable companion, by night and by day; and, with the assistance of a blind man, whom, at times, he led through the street, he was gradually inducted into the mystery of reading.

        The method in practice between my "Daddy" and the blind man, was as follows: Dad would call the letters of a word, and the blind man would tell him how to pronounce it; and "Jack-the-weazel," like his forebears, being naturally clever, ere long was reading, in the same little book, the monosyllabic sentences, beginning,--"No man may put off the law of God."

        It may surprise the reader to learn, that, in after years, without any additional schooling, my father kept the "single and double entry" books of accounts, used in his business; that, at the time of his death, he owned a large collection of books, amongst which I can, at this

Page 13

late day, recall, The Life and Speeches of Henry Clay, The Church Register, which contained thorough accounts of nation-wide transactions in the Protestant Episcopal Church of the United States; A History of the World, by Sir Walter Raleigh; Rollin's Ancient History, and many others; in fact, so choice, and, in some instances, rare, was his collection of books, that, when, by order of my mother, they were sold at public auction, the bidding was spirited and the competition noteworthy, to obtain possession of some of them, even amongst the wealthy slave-holders who were in attendance.

        Unquestionably, my father possessed a great desire for literary attainments, and did his utmost to reach to some excellence, along that line. This talent on his part was recognized during all his life. Men of learning and discrimination sought him in his store and engaged him in conversation, to such an extent, that much of his valuable time was lost, in this way, and even the Bishops of the Episcopal Church (of which he was a member)--Bishops Ives and Atkinson, respectively, always visited and conversed with him, when they made their episcopal visits to old Christ Church, in that town. In this connection, it may not be amiss to state that, although born and reared a slave, and residing in a slave-holding community, my daddy, so deported himself as to merit and receive kind and courteous treatment, from all. He owned and occupied with his family, a pew in Christ Episcopal Church, which was the most wealthy and aristocratic congregation in that part of the state; while the other members, with two exceptions, sat in the galleries; and as proving how tenacious he was of what he conceived to be his rights, it may be stated, that, when the Reverend Doctor Buxton, (white) a clergyman of the Episcopal Church, married him and my mother in Fayetteville, North Carolina, in 1837, and did not wear his clerical robe, he would not give him a bill which he carried in his vest pocket for him.

Page 14

        I may add, in passing, that, my father who never aspired to be called a poet, in any sense, yet, undoubtedly, was possessed of the afflatus, to some extent, for, he read the higher poets with avidity and had committed many excerpts to memory, which, in animated conversation, he often repeated. As an illustration, I will here record one, which I have carried in my memory for sixty-five years, and during that time, I have never seen it in print:


                         "Where are those names which set the world on fire?
                         Where does the pride of Rome and Greece retire?
                         Caesar's dread name now marks the butcher's dog;
                         While Cato saws wood and Scipio drives the hog.
                         Seek ye for Pompey?--Search the tanner's yard,
                         While Nero, you'll find your kitchen's faithful guard."

        As tending to show that father was possessed of a keen sense of humor, and could on occasion extemporize a little rhyme, I will give the following illustration:

        One Sunday afternoon, when he and some of his boon companions were promenading, one of the principal streets of the town he noticed that one of them, "Boston" by name, was wearing a coat which had been made in his tailor shop, and that it had been dyed black. Like a flash he slapped "Boston" on his shoulder, and exclaimed,


                         "This coat I know, it once was brown,
                         And shone all o'er this Newbern town;
                         But now, alas, this coat is black,
                         And shines upon poor Boston's back!"

        It is needless to remark that, this thrust drew forth much merriment, at the expense of "poor Boston;" but, since it was confined to the friendly group, it was taken for a joke, as was intended.

        The following epitaph written (composed) by my father, was engraved on the marble headstone placed by

Page 15

him at the head of his first wife's grave, in grateful and loving remembrance of her. She died beloved and even revered by the whole community, in which she was born and passed her useful and devout life.

        "Sacred to the memory of Sally Green, who departed this life March 29th, 1837, aged 45 years, 6 months.


                         A constant friend, a tender, loving wife;
                         Prudent in all the needful cares of life;
                         And when arrested by the hand of Death,
                         In faith and hope resigned her mortal breath.
                         Her soul, we trust, doth dwell with God, above,
                         And there drinks in the copious streams of love."

        In the course of father's long experience as a tailor and merchant tailor, he had many apprentices, some of whom became quite noteworthy, by reason of their attainments and mercantile successes.

        The most conspicuous of these was, the late Reverend William J. Alston, a native of Raleigh, N. C.; who, for eight years, was under my father's eye, and finished his apprenticeship--"cum magna laude".

        "William", as he was called, was, for years, bubbling over with animal spirits; he was rude, boisterous and untidy; and, more than once, had to be disciplined. It was the general opinion of William that, he was a "ne'er do well," and, that, he would come to no good end.

        On one occasion, he tied up his small wardrobe in a bandana handkerchief and shipped to "sail before the mast;" however, he was intercepted, by my father, before the departure of the schooner, taken, with his luggage, back to his home, soundly "flogged", and given some wholesome advice, for his government, in the future.

        Shortly thereafter, he was invited to participate in the exercises of a singing society, which held Sunday afternoon sessions. He accepted the invitation, became

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a regular and most interested member, and, ultimately, announced his intention to study theology, for the Episcopal ministry. This resolution having been received with marked favor, by his father, the late Oscar Alston, of Raleigh, N. C., he was, in a way, matriculated in an institution at Chapel Hill, N. C., where he was prepared for college. After that, he was graduated from Oberlin College in the later fifties; and, finally, at Gambier, Ohio, became a full fledged priest in the Episcopal Church.

        In many years, this true and tried servant of God, as Rector of both Saint Phillip's Church, New York City, and Saint Thomas' Church, Philadelphia, preached "Jesus Christ and him crucified;" and his sweet exemplary life was as a beacon light, to many who, perhaps, otherwise, would have been stranded and lost.

        The following anecdote, related by Rev. Alston, to my dear mother, in my presence, goes far to prove the almost intolerable conditions which prevailed, even in religious educational institutions, in the United States, prior to the Civil War.

        Being the only colored student in Kenyon College, prior to the abolition of slavery, Alston was the cynosure of all eyes; and, at times, not a little at a loss for companionship, and even association. To such an extent was this true, that, on one occasion, while taking a stroll, in the suburbs of the old college town, he was confronted by a cow, who honoring him with a friendly stare, turned out of his way,--gave him "gangway" (as the vulgar expression of our day would have it); delighted at the unusual recognition and courtesy shown him, by the humble brute, Alston saluted her and exclaimed,--"Good morning, Mrs. Cow!"

        It goes without saying, that, we had a hearty laugh over the incident.

        Another story, related by him, at the same time, is recalled by the former. During a summer vacation, while

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exerting himself to add to the contents of his meager purse, he shipped as a waiter on a steamer plying between Cleveland and Lake Superior ports. On arriving at Duluth, Escanaba or some one of the other "seaport towns," he left the steamer and went in search of some other remunerative employment. The older readers of this narrative will recall, that, during the later part of the "fifties," the whole country was in the grip of a most trying panic, which made it almost impossible to procure remunerative labor, at any price. "William," in that remote section, soon made this discovery; and, since the boat had gone, and funds were extremely low, he was "open" to any job that presented itself. He soon found it, in the shape of a small mountain of earth which had been formed by the excavation of a large hole, to be used as a cellar.

        The owner of this mountain offered to pay him the sum of thirty-five dollars, and furnish him with a shovel and wheel-barrow, if he would remove it. In a jiffy, he accepted the proposition, and without delay, having "peeled" of his coat, disregarding his flaccid muscles and tender hands, he bent to his task. At the end of two weeks, he had finished the undertaking and received his compensation, which he had in his pocket, when the boat returned to convey him back to Cleveland.

        Another of father's apprentices, who was graduated with honor, from his workshop, was the late Jerry Harvey, of Boston, Mass. Mr. Harvey, near the close of his apprenticeship, had the sad misfortune, while playfully, pointing a gun at a comrade, on Christmas day, to kill him, by its accidental discharge.

        In North Carolina, in the "thirties," such an occurrence was an exceedingly grave affair; for the old criminal "Comon Law" of England, with only slight modifications, was still in vogue, which made the condition of the

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offender vastly different than now, under our enlightened and merciful regime.

        However, my father went to the front for him; and, as usual, he received a respectful hearing, in behalf of the unfortunate young man; and the matter was compromised, by allowing the defendant to leave the state, not to return again. Without any delay, Mr. Harvey betook himself to Boston, where he followed the trade which had been taught him; and, being very successful, along this line, his name became well known, especially amongst colored people, in all sections of New England. At that period in the history of the South, Mr. Harvey might with propriety have paraphrased our well known school declamation, beginning.

        "Banished from Rome (Newbern)! What's banished--(but set free, From daily contact with the things I loathe!"


        My father was a man of generous, impulses; he really, at times, when pressed to bestow a favor, could not say "No," and since the homestead exemptions to heads of families, in that state, at that time, were extremely scant, the usual result followed--he was compelled to meet the defaults of others by exhausting his earnings and sacrificing his properties. Added to this was the fact that, on two several occasions his establishments were destroyed by fire. On both occasions, he was the victim of neighboring conflagrations. It is, scarcely necessary to say, that, the amount of insurance recovered by him at that time, was of slight value; hence, his was an almost total loss.

        Twice, he bought some of his relatives, when being sold at public auction, being entreated by them to save them from the speculator.


        NOTE--The "speculator was a person who traveled from one location to another, buying slaves for resale and speculation, in the cotton, cane and rice producing sections of the Gulf States.


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        The amounts thus advanced by him, it is needless to say, were never returned to him.

        Being importuned by two frail mulatto youths, apprentices of his, for whom he entertained regard and sympathy, be bought them, on their promise to repay him the money advanced, in installments: Sad to relate, both these young men died, of tuberculosis, before they had paid to him a tenth of the money advanced--one thousand dollars, for each of them; here, again, was an additional loss of two thousand dollars, which, we must not forget, was, then, worth at least, three times as much as at the present time.

        Ultimately, of course, he was stripped of all his earthly possessions, save his honor; and, broken in body, bereft of his redundant humor, good cheer and genial, whole-souled, winsome conversation, he betook himself to his bed, from which he was never to rise again.

        The sheriff came, levied on everything, save the sad and downcast widow and three forlorn children, ranging in age from eleven years to nine months. This writer being second in order, was five years of age, small and weak for the age.

        "Lift me up and let me die!" he said to our dear mother, after a lingering illness; and so died John R. Green of Newbern, North Carolina, of whom it may be said, "He loved not wisely, but too well."

        The more I reflect on the current of my father's eventful life,--of his early struggles for existence,--his social limitations--his vaulting ambitions, his consuming zeal, and his unspeakable disappointments, the more I wonder at the phenominal successes which attended his efforts.

        He was broad and cosmopolitan in his views and altho he was a colored American, in a slave state, carrying on his shoulders all that incubus of caste proscription which characterized the time and place in which he lived

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yet, he counted amongst his friends and quasi-associates, many of the wealthy as well as the poor whites, in the place of his residence.

        It was no uncommon occurence to meet in his place of business illiterate persons of the white race, who took advantage of his literary attainments, to procure "begging-petitions" and other documents, for public use; and, after his death, I was accosted frequently, by persons of both races, who would ask me,--"Whose boy are you?" I would answer, "I am the son of John R. Green." Then, invariably, the reply would be, "Well, son, you must be a good boy, for your father was a good man!"

        Father was very fond of aquatic sports. If a "vessel" was to be launched or any race rowed on the river, he was sure to be one of the spectators, and as for swimming, boating and fishing, they were the acme of his out-of-door pleasures.

        The town of Newbern, North Carolina, is located in the triangle formed by the juncture of the Neuse and Trent rivers, where they unite to form Pamlico Sound. These rivers, as well as the Sound, are well stocked with many species of most delicious seafood, not omitting oysters, clams and hard and soft-shell crabs. So fond was he of sea-food, that, when the hegira of colored people from the South to the North was at flood-tide, during the decade prior to the Civil war, and especially during the debates in Congress, about the year 1850, and he was asked, whether or not he intended to join in the procession, he answered, that he would never leave North Carolina, until he could carry the Neuse and Trent rivers with him. And, it is a notable fact, that, as long as we remained in that state, he was the only person who, knowingly, had ever walked over the frozen surface of the Trent river, at Newbern, where it is from a half to a mile wide. This feat he daringly accomplished during the winter of 1833-4, as my mother informed me.

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        As a workman, my father, was without a superior, in that section of the state. He designed and executed all styles of clothing and uniforms which the trade demanded, even going back to old continental styles and theatrical costumes.

        In closing this brief sketch of the life of my dear father, I shall, use the lines of Lord Byron, as dedicated to a poetic enthusiast of his time, White, by name, only paraphrasing a word or two to make them applicable.


                         "Unhappy soul, when life was in its spring,
                         And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing,
                         The spoiler swept thy soaring lyre away,
                         Which else, had sounded an immortal lay.
                         O, what a noble life was there undone,
                         When science's self destroyed her favorite son!
                         Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit,
                         She sowed the seed, but Death has reaped the fruit.
                         'Twas thine own genius struck the fatal blow,
                         And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low.
                         Like the struck Eagle, stretched upon the plain,
                         No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
                         Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart,
                         And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart.
                         Keen were his pangs, yet keener far to feel
                         He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel,
                         While the same plumage which had warmed his nest
                         Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast!"

        Here begins, in an humble way, an epic, to end when and how God, in his great wisdom, power and mercy, wills it to end. We follow the little sombre hearse by twos, in the direction of Christ-Church Cemetery (now popularly known, there, as Rock Cemetery). Mother, supported on the arm of a true and tried old friend, leading the cortege, this writer clinging to the arm of his elder sister, next; a few friends following.

        The beautiful burial service of the Episcopal Church having been read, and the final, "earth to earth,--dust

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to dust," having been pronounced, forlorn and needy, we turn away, to confront and fight,--to "strut and fret," our more or less gloomy way,--widowed, and fatherless, for many years to come.

        Mother, glum, demure and determined as ever Spartan mother showed herself, turns from her palatial residence of yore, mahogany furniture, cut-glass, silver service, the ministration of maid servants and hosts of friends, and repairs, with her little brood, to a rude cottage, in an obscure section of the old town; confronted, on the opposite side of the narrow street, by the ancient "grave yard," gloomy with its "weeping" willows, funereal cypresses and moss-covered cedars; and flanked, on either side, by dwellings, tenanted by persons, the like of whom she had never known as associates; and who, on occasions, would publicly proclaim, in clarion tones, "It makes no difference how high the Eagle flies in the air, he's got ter come down ter git 'is support!!"

        As the Immortal Bard puts it:


                         O, what a falling off, my countrymen, was there!"

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CHAPTER II.

CHILDHOOD DAYS.


                         "Is the road dreary?--Patience yet;
                         Rest will be sweeter if thou are aweary;
                         Then bide a wee and dinna fret."

        In commencing the first chapter, I stated, humorously, that I was "born with a silver spoon in my mouth," and rocked in the cradle of luxury (a mahogany cradle, to be explicit). But now, all is changed, save that mother still retains a few pieces of the furniture, and broken sets of silver-ware, rescued from the flames,--grim reminders of the fact that, the besom of destruction had passed by, and the merciless hand of fate was weighing heavily upon us.

        In that sad predicament, some of her friends wondered that she, being still in comparative youth, and pleasing to look upon did not accept several offers of marriage made to her, especially, since her only means of existence, for herself and three fatherless children, was the use of the needle, which, at that time and place, was a source of very small remuneration. Her curt answer was that, she would not place her children under any step-father, to be treated in accordance with his whim or mood.

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        My domestic environment was, apparently, all that could have been wished, for a poor boy. Far better than that of Abraham Lincoln, Frederick Douglass or Booker T. Washington, at five years of age, for, my food, tho scant at times, was sufficient to sustain life, at least. I had a feather bed, still, to sleep upon, in cold weather, and mother, by extraordinary efforts, managed to preserve for me a "Sunday suit of clothes."

        In addition to the support which we derived from the industrious use of the needle by our mother, we had, in our garden, which was intelligently cultivated, a source of much assistance. In addition to a few plum trees and a large fig tree, all of which yielded abundantly, in season, we raised fair crops of sweet corn, collards, and the medical roots and herbs which, a century ago, could be found in every well regulated truck garden.

        Southern people and those native to the soil, will recognize in the term "collard," a plant greatly resembling the cabbage, down to the time when the cabbage "heads". The collard is of a greener tint than the cabbage, and never heads, save to the size of a small orange, in the center. When the frosts come, the leaves of the collards are streaked white and, when boiled, in a big iron "pot", hung on trammels, placed in the big fire-place, with a piece of bacon, pork or corned-beef, together with the well known "corn-dodgers," they furnished the dish de resistance, placed before a half-famished boy.

        I can't see, at this writing, what on earth would have become of us, had we not been in possession of that little garden, and a few chickens, which furnished us with an occasional egg to vary the monotony of our diet.

        In order to procure a piece of "fresh beef," or a pound of liver, it was necessary to arise with the lark and hie us to the market house, which, with the Court

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House, stood at the junction of the two principal streets, and formed an imposing group.

        Let it not be imagined, however, that our dear mother was, in any sense, remiss or lax in providing for the future, for denying herself fine clothing and all the adornments of the body, so much coveted by many women, she dedicated her whole life to the support and partial education of her children. During the summer season, she would save, as best she could, a dollar now and then, for the purpose of buying a pig, for the remainder of the year, and then, when the weather was sufficiently cold, she would purchase, on the market, one of the weight of a hundred or a hundred and fifty pounds, and impose on this writer the task of wheeling it home.

        I have a very pleasant remembrance, in this connection of a friendly-generous act, performed, in my behalf, by a noble white lady, during the winter of 1855-6, which goes far to prove that, neither true gentlehood nor true womanhood is always to be found in the palace; nor must we search for them beneath "robes and furred gowns." Now listen! Miss Arete Ellis, a maiden lady of culture and refinement, was the matron of the Griffin Academy, an institution founded for the nurture and education of poor white girls, in that section of North Carolina. She was an Episcopalian by religious faith, and attended Christ Episcopal Church, at the head of her group, every Sunday morning.

        She had known my father all her life, and she had seen me and my elder sister, in our pew, invariably, every Sunday morning.

        On the occasion I am now referring to, I was wheeling, in a wheelbarrow, a dressed pig, weighing about a hundred and fifty pounds. I was ten years of age, and weighed exactly fifty pounds. Placing a fifty pound weight on one side of the old market scales, I would then stand upon the other side, and they would equally

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balance--as the slang phrase of the present day would have it--it was "fifty-fifty."

        The day to which I have referred, was one of the coldest I had ever seen or felt, and I was minus an overcoat. I had stopped at about half the distance to my destination, to rest my muscles (?) and recover my breath, when along came Miss Arete Ellis, nicely and warmly clad, carrying in her hands a few parcels which she had just purchased from one of the dry goods stores where she had been shopping.

        Slackening her gait, she beamed upon me a countenance full of sympathy and compassion. "Poor little fellow!" she exclaimed, "Are'nt you very cold?" "Yes ma'am!" I answered. "Well, take my parcels, and let me help you," was her rejoinder. Suiting the action to the word, she handed me the things, seized the handles of the wheelbarrow, and trundled it along the public street, almost to my mother's door!

        Here was, in very fact, an angel in disguise. Her name was Arete, a Greek word, which, in the original Greek signifies talent, skill, fitness, courage, etc., and surely, on this occasion, she proved that she was worthy of the name. Miss Ellis has, long since, been gathered into the bosom of her Lord and Master whom she loved and served. It has been sixty-five years since this unselfish deed was done, "Unto one of the least of these." But, her face and form and kindly act, lives and blooms perennially, in my mind and heart, never to be forgotten; and, whether there be erected monument or tablet in commemoration of her useful, virtuous and noble life, I know not; but, here and now, I pour out to her all the gratitude and esteem of an appreciative heart hoping that a knowledge of her goodness may stimulate others to "go and do likewise."

        Returning to mother and her struggles: Sometimes the "bacon" would be exhausted before the next pig

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would be purchased; at other times, work would be scarce and the purse would be almost depleted. On such occasions, the strictest economy would be required. Once in a while we would put some cornmeal into a bowl, sprinkle some salt in and upon it, pour in some hot water and stir it thoroughly. After that, we would place it on a "griddle," with live coals under it. When it browned on one side, we would turn it over and brown it on the other side. Then we would divide it into four equal parts, of which each one was given a portion, to eat or let alone, as the humor moved us.

        Judge John R. Donald, the widower of the late daughter of the former Governor Richard Dobbs Speight, of whom I have spoken, had a mansion about half a mile distant from the humble abode of my mother. Here were servants galore, and food in abundance. Several of the servants were related, by blood, to my deceased Father, and they sympathized with us, in our forlorn condition. One of the poor slave women, for whom father had done a kindness, could not endure the thought of my elder sister doing the family washing, and be it said to her everlasting honor, that she came to mother by night, and begged permission to do the washing, rather than that my sister should do it.

        Mother, in her stern, positive way, said, "No, Sarah has got to work for her living, and she may as well be learning now as later on." That ended the matter, and for years after that, while mother sewed, sister in her teens, assisted and did the washing.

        Amongst Judge Donald's maid servants, were two, one whom we denominated, "Little Auntie," and another known as Aunt Hannah. Each was domiciled on the premises, in adjoining rooms of an out-house. "Little Auntie" was a cousin of my father, and, quite reasonably, regretted the great misfortune which had befallen us, and in her poor way she told mother to send me around

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there in the night time, and she would give me some milk to carry home, and such other, little articles of food as remained over from the table of the great-house. Of course, we eagerly grasped at this opportunity of satisfying the cravings of hunger, and it became my duty to go to Judge Donald's, every night and fetch home, the bounty dispensed to us.

        This was, at times, a source of much assistance to us and we made the most of it. Indeed, so jubilant was I over the trend of affairs, that, I was wont to exclaim, in superlative glee,--"That woman that you call Little A-u-n-t-i-e, has a p-l-e-n-t-i-e!" "That woman you call Aunt Hannah has a p-l-e-n-t-i-e!" And so, these poor slave women, grateful for kindnesses which our big-hearted daddy had bestowed on them, in the day of his abundance, found now their opportunity of re-paying, almost in kind, what their true hearts had always been grateful for.

        In those days, I was little more than seven years of age, and, frequently, the streets through which I wended my way to Judge Donald's were as dark as Egypt. However, I quailed not, and when I could not see the route, I tried to feel it, as best I could.

        Sometimes, Aunt Hannah would sigh, and say, "Ah (air) Johnnie, I haven't got nothin' fer yer ter night!" On such occasions, returning home empty-handed, mother would say: "Well, go to bed and go to sleep, and you will forget your hunger!" This I did, on more than one occasion. We had our bright days though, for on Christmas, mother always secured a little turkey, and during the summer season, we more than once enjoyed a lusciops water-melon.

        As soon as I was strong enough to use a wood-saw, I was given charge of sawing and splitting the firewood. A cord of hickory, oak or ash wood would be thrown over our fence. After that, the trouble began. However,

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as I look back to those days, and the benefit which I derived from my contact with those wood piles, in the way of developing muscles and general physique, I am persuaded that, the criminal branches of our courts would have less to do, had every boy a wood pile and "buck-saw" in his back yard, over which he could preside with honor and profit.

        This recalls the fact (which I am very proud of), that, in the winter of 1858, when I was thirteen years of age and weighed just sixty pounds, I raised the money to buy me a pair of skates, by sawing and splitting and piling up three cords of wood. Two cords I sawed into three pieces, and one cord, I sawed into two pieces. It required much walking around the streets of Cleveland, in order to find the wood, and I regret to relate it, after buying the skates, I used them only a few times, before I was seized with pneumonia, and sold them for about one-half their purchase price. What limited skating I tried to do was without pleasure, for, I wore shoes, while the other boys wore boots. My shoes were too low for the proper strapping of the skates on, and my ankles would ever and anon turn over, and cause me to fall.

        Another task which I had imposed upon me, while I was yet a little boy, in Newbern, was that of turning the grind-stone, for Uncle Balaam Jones, a cooper, who would recompense me by supplying some portion of our firewood.

        Every Saturday afternoon, I would go to Flanner's cooper shot, about half a mile distant from our home, to perform this function. I was too light and weak for the work, but mother permitted us to eat no "idle bread."

        At times, when Uncle Balaam would bear down with considerable weight, the grindstone would cease revolving. Then he would "let up" for a few moments and allow me to rest a little, before proceeding again, and, when, finally, the adz, the broad-axe, the drawing

Page 30

knives, the chisels, etc., etc., were properly sharpened, I was well nigh exhausted, for, be it remembered, that I was conditioned like "hungry Jake," in the Minstrel show. The interlocutor said to him, "Brace up!" Jake answered: "How kin I brace up, when I aint got nuthin to brace up on!" Many times I went to perform the task before I had dined, (?) for mother was loth to lay her work down before she had accomplished a given task.

        The grinding being completed, then came my recompense. Uncle Balaam would select some defective ash "heading," split them to convenient sizes and fill my deep tray which I had carried there for the purpose. After this, he would assist me in placing the burden on my head. I had no little four-wheeled wagon to draw it home in. Then I would start for home, half a mile distant.

        In the course of four or five minutes, the pressure upon the top of my ten-eleven year old cranium, would cause my eyes to feel that they were beginning to bulge out; and my neck would pain me severely. In such an emergency, I would "sidle" up to the nearest fence and ease one end of my tray onto the top of it; having rested a while, I would proceed on my course, repeating the act from time to time, until I reached my home.

        On the route leading from the cooper shop to my home, resided a family by the name of Bragg,--father, mother and some seven sons and daughters. The father was a tailor by trade--carrying work to his home and performing it there, with the assistance of his good wife and other members of his family.

        Two of the boys, Cicero and Edwin, both of whom resembled white boys, seemed to "have it in" for me; and since there was no other route I could take, in returning to my home, from the cooper-shop, I was compelled to pass the residence of the Braggs where these two boys, switches in hand, invariably waited me. Both were my superiors in age and size; and there was no alternative

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for me, but to "grin" and bear the whipping, which they administered to me, as I quickened my pace, with bulging eyes and aching neck! The complaints of my mother had little effect in stopping their brutal sport, for it would ever and anon recur.

        The irony and cruelty of this torture which they imposed on me was all the more conspicuous from the fact that, my dear deceased father had, to a greater degree than anyone else in the world, been instrumental in securing Mrs. Bragg's freedom from slavery;--even advancing some portion of the purchase price, which had not been returned to him, at the time of his death.

        Here is one sequel to what I have just recited. About twenty years after the occurrences between the two Bragg boys and me, Edwin and I were both residing in the City of Cleveland, Ohio, my present home. I was a lawyer and Justice of the Peace of the Township of Cleveland, while Edwin was a barber. Edwn committed a larceny, and was indicted for a felony. He was without means, and I defended him, gratis. I put forth every effort at my command, to save him from the penitentiary, but all to no purpose.

        He was convicted of grand larceny and sentenced to serve a term in the State Prison. In sentencing him to the penitentiary the aged and learned Judge Foote complimented me on the energy and interest which I had evinced in defending the young man. I told the judge that, he was the son of one of my deceased father's friends, and the playmate of my childhood. Whereupon, the judge expressed great surprise; and animadverted on the fact that, he had fallen so low, while I had followed another course. Later on in life, his form crossed my vision; after that he was swallowed up in the human whirl, and was lost to me, entirely.

        On one occasion, while I was turning the grind-stone,

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for Uncle Balaam, an incident occurred which, to my "dying day," will haunt my memory.

        Mr. Hancock, the "town sergeant," came into the cooper-shop and exclaimed, "I want one of your men to make me a paddle!" The men, one and all, knowing the purpose of torture that the paddle would be put to, stoutly refused to make it. This they could do with safety, at that time, for they were slaves, and knew that their masters would uphold and protect them in the refusal. It is not so in the south now.

        "Well," said the official, "give me a drawing knife and a brace and bit, and I will make it myself."

        He was "as good as his word"; for in a jiffy, he had the instrument made and bored full of holes. He then took his departure, carrying the paddle with him. I followed him,--at a distance; for I was curious to learn the sequel.

        From my coign of vantage, I saw him go to a remote spot, up the shore of the Neuse river, which coursed near the location of the cooper shot, and stop under a cypress tree which reared its head in the midst of the pure white sand.

        There, stood a group of white men, with a young negro, in their midst, awaiting him. As the sergeant busied himself in removing a portion of the unfortunate Negro's clothing, tying his hands behind him and partially swinging him to one of the lower limbs of the tree, by a rope attached to his wrists, behind, I improved the opportunity in securing a position from which I could see every movement of the posse and hear the exclamations and groans of the tortured victim. "Tortured?" yes, tortured, for, if it be not obvious to the most casual observer, that, a human being, suspended by a rope attached to his wrists bound behind him, must suffer excruciating pain, then let him try it for one minute, as an experiment.

        By reason of the peculiar posture of the victim's body,

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the blows, with the perforated paddle, were administered with the utmost facility,--and with much force; which first blistered and then wounded the body, as I afterwards ascertained, by going to the spot and viewing the sand, which, at first, white, was now crimson with the blood of the poor slave,--helpless, in the hands of his tormentors.

        O, how earnestly I did plead with my dear mother, on my return home, to follow in the tracks of the Martins, the Hancocks and the Stanleys, all of whom had, recently left their native "heath?" and gone in quest of a modicum of liberty, into the great, free North, East and West! However, the time was not yet ripe for this important undertaking, and we must needs bide our time.

        The reason assigned for torturing this slave man was, that, he and another had conspired to "blow up" the dwelling house of a prominent citizen of the town. The victim of the torture had "confessed" to placing (like another Guy Fawkes), a keg of gunpowder under the residence and laying a train for its explosion, to it; but no threats or tortures could force him to incriminate anyone else. When the resounding blows of the instrument would cause more blood to flow from the wound, he would exclaim, "O, Lord!!" Nobody but me an' Jeff!!"; but who "Jeff" was, if, in very truth, "Jeff" existed, no one could find out.

        Here, perhaps, is the place to give some account of the administration of justice (?) in "The Old North State," at, that time, in the history of our country.

        In the old Court House, which was located in the heart of the business section of the town, was construed and, to some extent, applied, a modified form of the English Common Law, as it existed before the days of Peel and his co-adjutors, who pulled many of the fangs out of it.

        The Court House had been there "from that time

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whereof the memory of man ran not to the contrary;" and (with all modesty), it resembled quite closely the old Court House which we found standing in the southwest section of our Public Square, on our arrival, in 1857.

        Within this North Carolina court house, all the business of Craven county was transacted, even to the casting of ballots for all officials, from president, down to the least elective office. To this temple of justice(?) trudged (or stalked) the "grave and potent" member of the bar and the honorable Judges,--sometimes, carrying a green bag containing a volume of "legal lore,"--at other times, followed by a dark-hued slave, carrying the same.

        The court being duly opened, in a formal way, by the sheriff of the county, who, generally bearing (not the fasces, but) a rod or pole of authority, would proceed to execute the preliminary orders of the court. Sometimes, the Court would say, "Sheriff, call Milly White!" Then that august official would raise a window, (or if in the summer time, stick his head out of a window) and, in stentorian tones, call,--Milly White! Milly White! Milly White!" "O, yes! O, Yes! O, Yes! Come into Court! Come into Court!" etc. Another name which comes down to me, through the seventy years, since I heard it, is that of "Irish Jimmy! Irish Jimmy! Irish Jimmy! O, Yes! O, Yes! O, Yes! Come into Court! etc." The O, Yes, O, yes," is a corruption of the old Norman French, "Oyez, Oyez--hear ye, hear ye, which, for centuries, prevailed in English courts of Common Law, after the Conquest.

        It was my fortune or misfortune, to be in the Court room, one morning, when condign punishment was meted out to a person (white) who had been convicted of manslaughter. The sentence was, that, the prisoner should be branded in his right hand with a hot iron, bearing the letters, M. S. (signifying manslaughter); the iron not to be removed until the prisoner should exclaim, three times, "God save the State! God Save the State! God Save

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the State!" I watched, almost breathlessly, the Sheriff bind the right hand of the convict, securely to a small column which was one of the supports of the ceiling of the court room; then he drew from the stove which furnished warmth to the room, a "branding iron," which was quite hot. Without delay or more ado, the official pressed the hot iron against the thick portion of the prisoner's hand;--there was a sizzling sound,--smoke curled up into the air, and there was a smell of burning flesh, while the convict exclaimed in rapid succession, three times,--"God save the State! God save the State! God Save the State!" Immediately the iron was withdrawn; and I departed, in haste, to disclose to my mother and sisters the scene which I had witnessed.

        It was not an uncommon sight to witness, in passing the jail yard, a man standing in the stocks, with his wrists and head fastened in the holes of the same. It was fortunate for the men who were punished in the stocks, that, they were within the jail yard, which had a fence around it; for, the historians of England tell us, that, in times not so very remote, convicts, in the stocks, in the City of London, were entirely at the mercy of heartless mobs, who would often stone them, and sometimes pelt them with rotten vegetables, "over-ripe" eggs and decaying cats: to such an extent was this persecution carried, that, frequently, the victim lost his life.

        All persons convicted of capital offenses were executed upon gallows, which was erected, when needed, in an old neglected field, not so very remote from our residence. I saw a white man, John Tillman, by name, haled through the street in which our residence was located, in a tumbril or cart, which was preceded and followed by an armed guard and hosts of curious people.

        Afterwards, standing at a respectful distance from the gallows, I witnessed the "black cap" drawn down over his face, and his body "swung into eternity." The reader

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will readily infer, from what I have already written, that, there was not much "going on," in that old town, on land or on water, in those days, which I did not see. If there was to be a sale or hiring of slaves on the auction block, I was near at hand, to note every word, cry or movement; if any one was to be lashed, at the whipping-post, there was this writer, to behold it. At home, frequently, I would meet a warm reception on my return, after having neglected some domestic duty, in order to keep tab on the varied county and municipal affairs.

        Mother was, at times, quite severe in her treatment of me, and I have always entertained the opinion, that, from her lack of proper educational facilities, she was not keen to discover temperamental differences, and to differentiate in the treatment of persons. Now, mother was as cold and sangfroid of temperament as any Scotchman of the Highlands; and, as a matter of fact, she could not or did not discover that, I was a mere little bony bundle of nerves--that like my dear deceased father, I had to "do or die." To have kept either of us still, would have entailed upon us, saint-vitus dance or epileptic fits. All the boys of the town knew me--white and black. The white boys scorned me, because I was not white; and the black boys despised me, because I was not entirely black. They would "pick" quarrels with me, and I would, with either my fists or weapons, defend myself. I had no "big brother" or other person to "take my part," and it devolved upon me to "hoe my own roe," which I may add, in all truth, I proceeded to do,--to the best of my ability. On one occasion, a crowd of white boys chased me, like a pack of hounds, baying a stag (?); they did not give up until they had seen me enter my mother's door, in safety. On another occasioin, that same "Milly White," a colored woman of the town, (whose name was called by the Court crier), assaulted me, in the Academy Green, on my way homeward, carrying a tray of sweet potatoes

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on my head; it was not the first time; and happening to have a small knife open in one of my hands, I defended myself, by letting her "have it," in one of her hips. It was her last assault on me. That was the nearest I ever came to being arrested; for, she made complaint against me to the authorities, who sent the same Town Sergeant (he was our police force) to investigate; he, on hearing the statements of my mother and myself, said, the woman had received no more than she deserved, and dropped the matter. The colored women, of the lower class, seemed to be piqued at my mother, because she had never associated with them; and, even in her changed and humble condition she carried her head high, and, scorned the association of all white or black, who were not congenial or fit.

        One of these Colored Amazons, who wished to make me the "scapegoat," once upon a time, when I was about nine years of age, got me cornered in such a way that, no choice was left to me except to fight or be soundly beaten. In that emergency, I picked up a stone, closed my eyes, and, like another Macduff, "laid on." When my antagonist called a halt and ceased her struggle, I opened my eyes, to find her pretty thoroughly covered with blood.

        This struggle against great odds, on my part, was viewed by an old friend of my deceased father, who declared that, I was the "worst boy in town!" a declaration which made a lasting impression on my mind; and is still ringing in my ears. I have often debated the question,--"Did Mr. Green state a fact, or was he ignorant of conditions and biased, for some unknown reason, against me."

        What are the characteristics of a bad boy? I assert after an experience of fifty years, as an attorney-at-law, much of the time spent in defending persons indicted for, and charged with felonies and misdemeanors,-- persons ranging in age from ten years of age to old age, that, to

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be a bad boy or a bad man, one must have an evil-malicious heart; and his deeds must be the offsprings of such a heart; but if, on the contrary, a person's heart is free from "envy, hatred, malice and all uncharitableness," he is not, in any sense, "bad."

        I have known boys to lie, cheat and steal; to delight in causing pain and suffering to both man and beast. I knew a boy, once, who derived pleasure from seeing a chicken suffer, after he had cut off its feet. I saw a young southern "blood," on one occasion raise his gun and shoot to death a beautiful spaniel dog, his good friend, because he failed to obey his command, and come to him directly; and I personally knew a young fellow, who dared his companion to place his wrist on a block, in a meat market, and when the youth placed it there, with one forceful stroke of the cleaver, he severed his hand from it.

        The foregoing acts, I regard as being malicious,--bad; but, what must be said of a boy who could not look at a wound without shuddering;--and whose every fibre was shocked at the recital of acts of cruelty and tales of woe. True, this writer was a "live wire," in the slang of the day, and gloried in being conspicuous,--in leading a boisterous play, and in performing deeds which called for more or less courage; but, it is not on record, nor does the man live who can cite one instance of barbarity or destructiveness on his part: he confesses to the indictment of visiting, with another boy, his senior in age, Mr. Smallwood's vineyard, one one occasion, and then and there, without permission, indulging, quite generously, in the luscious scuppernong grapes which cumbered the vines; but, this was an extraordinary proceeding, on his part; it was an act which was not repeated; for, while the writer made a safe and speedy exit, his companion, who was less fleet of foot and expert in vaulting fences paid the penalty of being detained by a viscious dog, until a goodly portion of his trousers had been sacrificed. Hence,

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I deny the arraignment of my father's old friend,--long since gone to join him, in the great beyond.

        Of one fact, every one will bear witness,--I was patriotic to a fault, as the following anecdote will prove: On a certain Fourth of July, I arose betimes and hurried down to the "New County Wharf," to participate, by sight and by hearing, in the firing of the Day-break National Salute, only to learn that, there would be none fired; and that, the celebration of the Glorious Fourth of July would be duly consummated at Trenton, in an adjoining County,--twenty miles distant.

        Later on in the day, the monotony becoming unbearable, and having no horse and saddle-bags, like another "John Gilpin," with which to ride to Trenton, I concluded that I would walk there. Now, here is an exemplification of one of the reasons which actuated the old gentleman to dub me "the worst boy in town;" for, truly, I was the only boy, of all that town, who dared to walk to Trenton, after eight o'clock in the morning, to assist in celebrating our Nation's natal day.

        At about three o'clock in the afternoon of that day, I made my obeisance to sundry musicians, cooks and waiters, who were functioning a great, patriotic ball, being given in honor of "the day." I was tired, dusty and both hungry and thirsty. Of course, every one heard with astonishment of my adventure and the successful termination of it; but, as the procession had, long since "broken ranks" and the participants had betaken themselves to the banqueting hall and ball-room floor, my efforts to view the parade were in vain,--abortive; and I found myself in a condition closely allied to that of the King of the French, who, with "thirty thousand men, marched up the hill and then marched down again." However, the kind and sympathetic colored waiters would not allow the patriotic "hero" of the hour, to languish and to starve; for, they plied him with bits of roast-pig and other delicacies,

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not to mention a dish of ice cream, which was, at that time, somewhat of a luxury, and seldom in evidence. To express my unbounded happiness, would require a pen more facile than mine, after I had thoroughly gorged myself, and lent my ear to the dulcet strains of the orchestra, proceeding from the ball-room. Ere long, however, the "shades of night" began to fall, the merry-makers, "by twos, by fours and by sixes," began to depart for their homes; then the little speck of a cloud in the distance, which at an early hour had slightly dimmed my vision, began to draw near and hang over me in threatening form; and ever and anon, in my mind, I could see the forked flash and hear the reverberations of thunder, betokening a coming storm, on my arrival home; moreover, how was I to get home; for, the road was long, dark and dreary.

        Just here, the kindly fates came to my rescue; the orchestra, which hailed from Newbern, knew me,--knew my mother, and had known my father; and, again, with that generous, kindheartedness for which all colored people are noted, they came to my assistance, and invited me to return to my home with them,--in the "band wagon."

        "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow!" I was saved! Through the sands and the intervening forests, the languid horses progressed, until far after the break of day; but, finally, they drew up in front of my mother's home;--she, standing in the door, anxious and doubtful, poor soul! not knowing whether the coming of that wagon was, for her, an omen of good or evil tidings; for, more than twenty-four hours had elapsed since she had seen or heard from me; and who could say that, I was not drowned in the Neuse or Trent river, or even had been kidnapped by vultures, for the slave market?

        "We have brought your boy home!" exclaimed the leader;" and we charge you a dollar!" "A dollar!!!" Ye gods! a dollar from my poor needy mother, in 1855!

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How could she spare a dollar, as one of the results of a silly escapade on the part of a wayward boy! "I have no dollar for you!" Mother exclaimed, in her positive way, that carried conviction to their minds and hearts. Nothing more was said. I dismounted, and the team, with a steady trot departed; but, with me, as I entered the gloomy portal of that home, the thought uppermost in my mind, was that one which has vexed the ages,--"To be or not to be!" Am I to be threshed, within an inch of my life," or am I to be the subject of maternal love, affection and forgivenness?

        The latter prevailed--the weight of fear, doubt, perplexity and grief having been removed from mother's shoulders and heart, she welcomed her erring boy, returning like another prodigal, with outstretched arms, and, gave him no blows. There was no fatted calf killed or suckling pig put upon the spit. The remains of all these were left behind at Trenton.

        It may be of interest to my readers, to know, that, in returning from Trenton, after midnight, for ten miles, we had the association of a stalwart slave man, who walked by the side of our wagon and engaged in the conversation; he had walked to Trenton, ten miles from the plantation where he was employed, to visit his slave wife; now, he was returning, walking another ten miles, so as to be able to answer the morning bell, horn, reveille, or what not. Such is fate!

        Educational opportunities for colored people, in any portion of the South were very poor, as may well be imagined, when we reflect on the fact that, it was made, by law, a felony to teach a slave how to read and write; but, North Carolina was, perhaps, the least proscriptive of all the southern states, in that behalf; for, many free colored people, especially, in the eastern cities of the state, enjoyed fair educational advantages, under the circumstances. There was a school at Newbern, of which,

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the late John Stuart Stanley was master; it was famous, all over the state, for the reason that Mr. Stanley was thoroughly equipped for his office.

        He was a son of John C. Stanley, (a barber), who, in turn, was the natural son of that John Wright Stanley, Son of the Revolution, mention of whom is made in the first chapter of this narrative, and half brother of that John Stanley from whom my father descended.

        John C. Stanley (colored) was "well to do," and gave to all his sons and daughters all the education that could be obtained for them, at that place,--"for love or money"; and John Stuart, his son, was, in all English studies, the peer and, the superior of a majority of the white men of that section. Whether or not he had any acquaintance with the "dead" languages or modern tongues, besides his vernacular, I cannot say, as I have never heard that phase of his education discussed.

        As a reader, speller and penman, he was not surpassed; and in all the studies, pertaining to a thorough English education, he was the equal of the best.

        I recall that, in 1856, when I was eleven years of age, the books of Mr. Alexander Mitchell, the leading wholesale grocer of the town got out of balance, Mr. Stanley was employed to audit them; a task which, in a reasonable time, he consummated, to the entire satisfaction of his employer; after which, he took charge of the accounts, until he left the state to take up his residence in the City of Cleveland, where he died, many years ago, leaving behind him here, a large, intelligent and prosperous family. Mr. Stanley was a grand-good man.

        Colored students came to Mr. Stanley's school from all parts of the state; and were well instructed for a very reasonable compensation.

        This writer, in his sixth and seventh years, was gradually inducted into the mysteries of Webster's Elementary

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Spelling Book, which was, at that time, in use all over the eastern part of this country, and elsewhere.

        To the best of my memory, Mr. Stanley carried me through my A, B, C's, and my ab's, even to the lesson beginning with B-a- (ba) k-e-r (ker) Baker; after that, his good wife, Mrs. Fanny Stanley, one of the most faithful and industrious of wives, and loving and affectionate of mothers that ever lived, took me in hand. She had visited Ohio, with one of her daughter (Mrs. Sarah Stanley Woodward), to place her in Oberlin Preparatory School, and on returning to her home, brought with her a set of the McGuffey school books, than which, it is difficult to imagine better; notwithstanding the numerous changes which have taken place, since their publication.

        Seated on a stool at her knees, by the side of her beautiful little daughter (Fannie), she laid the foundation of such education as I now possess, and for which, in deep gratitude, I shall always revere her name and memory.

        This branch of John C. Stanley's descendants was always conspicuous,--noteworthy; their reasoning and education, even in that old slave state, in the midst of a slave holding community, was on a par with that of the "best families" of the state; and, in many respects, the treatment accorded to them did not differentiate from that accorded to the'elite of white people; saving, only, that, they were not accorded domestic, social contact; which, I may say, the Stanleys never sought after; since our colored social circle in Newberne was satisfying and uplifting.

        There was not amongst us any of that, squeamishness with respect to the varying shades of color; all that was required of a person knocking at the door of our social circle for admittance, was--fitness; my dear father who was one of the leaders of the colored society, in the old town, always stoutly maintained that, persons seeking

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association with others should be congenial and meritorious; and this theory was acted on, until the emigration of the families composing the circle annihilated it.

        One of the well to do and most highly respected of the families which affiliated with that social circle was, Mr. Richard G. Hazle, a man of pure Negro blood, and his family. Mr. Hazle was a blacksmith by trade, and also owned a small bakery, which was managed by his worthy wife and daughters. One of his daughters was a student, and graduated from Oberlin College, during the latter years of the "fifties." Color did not make the status of that social group;--fitness,--merit, only; this, it would seem, should be the criterion, the world over.

        During the Buchanan-Fremont campaign for the presidency, in 1856, the slaveholders became greatly excited and quite fearful that, if the Republican party elected its first presidential nominee, their favorite, degrading, institution of slavery would be jeopardized; and properly so; for, despite the fact that their smart men in Congress, had wrung from the great North, East and West many concessions,--such as the Missouri Compromise,--The Fugitive Slave Law and the "Dred-Scott Decision," it was easily apparent that, the "Twin relic of barbarism" was doomed; and that with the enlisting of men, drilling of soldiers, searching of colored residencces for firearms, and cruelly whipping the owner, when an old fowling-piece" was found, a reign of terror seemed imminent.

        Thereupon, a majority of self-respecting colored families, in all parts of the South began to "sell out, pack up and get out," while, as one expressed it, "the getting was good." This was especially true as regarded the colored families, long resident in old Newbern; they "stayed not on their going," but, sold their possessions and went--some to New York, some to Philadelphia, a few to Boston and New Haven; but the majority to Cleveland and

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Oberlin, Ohio; whence, they began, without delay, to write persuasive letters, to the dear ones left behind, exhorting them to follow their example.

        My dear mother was persuaded, by the late John Patterson of Oberlin, Ohio, to sell her little home and come, with her children, to a "land of freedom."

        The fact that mother feared that I would, later on, in life, leave her there, as her elder brother, William Chestnut, had left his mother and settled in Terre Haute, Indiana, in 1835, whither he had ridden "on a little clay colored mare," had much to do with influencing her to follow Mr. Patterson's advice; but, especially, the petty persecutions and insults she was constantly subjected to by her crude neighbors, fully determined her to take the step.

        As an indication of the extent to which she was subjected to these petty annoyances, I will here record the true story of the treatment of our game old rooster,--"Old Dick," which I have often related in my talks to children, as an example of "nil desperandum."--never give up--never despair.

        My mother, in addition to her helpful garden, had a few chickens, amongst them was a game rooster of the genus now denominated Rhode Island Red. We called him, "Old Dick," for, we found him on the premises when we moved in, five years prior to the incident I am about to relate. Others of our neighbors also, owned roosters, of which they were proud, and in behalf of which they were ready to contend.

        Aunt Betsy York was one of these; and, since her "bird," as ours, each, metaphorically, carried a "chip on his shoulder," and frequently contended for the mastery, but with varying success, Aunt Betsy looked with much disfavor on Old Dick, and vowed vengeance on his head or body.

        One morning, mother, in the usual trend of her maternal duties went to the door with some corn and other feed for the chickens, and began to call them up. "Chickee! Chickee!! Chickee!!! she called. All answered by putting in appearance, except Old Dick; again and again, she reiterated the call; but no Old Dick answered it, in any manner.

        "John," said mother, go look for our rooster; I am afraid something has happened to him!" "As swift as the wing of the swallow," I was out, in quest of our treasured bird, scanning his usual haunts, peeping underneath the neighboring cottages (all of which were supported by blocks--(underpinning), and making frequent inquiries of persons in the vicinity, gave no clue as to his whereabouts; finally, I looked into a tar-barrel, on the premises of Aunt Betsy, which was partially filled with pine tar, and there, to my amazement and sorrow, I found the game and courageous old rooster,--submerged as to his whole body, excepting his head and neck, and gasping for breath.

        In less time than it takes me to write this, I had extricated him and was speeding to my mother's home, a few doors distant. There, we laid him on the ground, and carefully examined him,--diagnosed his case,--which disclosed the fact that, his bill was cut off, to the quick, likewise his wing feathers and his spurs. His feathers, of course, were thoroughly saturated with the sticky tar, all of which left him in such a deplorable condition that, we despaired of his life.

        However, that Scotch, English, African blood which animated my undaunted mother's being, was equal to the emergency, "nil desperandum, never give up,--despair as to nothing--was her motto, and she immediately set to work to save the life of her truly game bird.

        His bill being severed, almost to his head, it was impossible for him to pick up corn or any other kind of chicken food; so, she made a ball of dough out of cornmeal,

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and placed it before him; he ate of it (bit it up) voraciously, until he was satiated; then, he helped himself to water, as best he could, from a pan, set before him; thus, day by day, his needs were met and supplied.

        The next question was, how to divest him of his thick coat of tar; this was done by giving him daily baths in warm "pot-liquor"--the liquor left in the pot, after boiling fat pork and collards in it--it was covered with grease, and was warm.

        "Dick" enjoyed these baths, very much; and, ere long, the bill grew out again (just as a finger nail will grow out, again), the spurs were as long, sharp and menacing as of yore, and instead of close cropped wings, old chanticleer disported himself in a new suit of feathers, all over his body, and crowed as lustily as ever. He was "on the job" for all comers, and when, a year later on, we sold him to another, he was treasured as a "fighting birds," ready to meet all.

        Another source of great annoyance to my mother, at this time, were the raids of the patrols, who were constantly visiting residence sections of the colored people, in quest of fire-arms, and "war munitions," mentioned by me in the first chapter; they were respecters of no persons of color; and had no regard for time or conditions.

        In the course of their rounds, they visited our home; late one night I answered the summons on our front door. They unceremoniously entered--


                         "Not the least obeisance made they,
                         Not a moment stopped or stayed they;"
But, unceremoniously, they began to rummage the drawers of the side-board and bureau. Their first exclamation, in beholding this wri