CHAPTER ONE

"_'Scriminatin' 'G'inst Nigga's_"

"Do you read d' papers?"

"A' co'se I does. Wha' kind-a 'sinuations y're tryin' t' pass on me, nigga?" said one, whose feelings were, at that moment, very much injured.

The heavy train pulled cumbersomely to the summit, and stopped a moment, while the switch engine attached to the rear, was uncoupled. A moment later, it continued on its way.

Miles to the rear and below Effingham it struggled for one brief moment, and then, as a curve in the mountain was being made, it finally disappeared from view.

Sidney Wyeth settled back in his seat in the front end of the Jim Crow car, and, with his feet spread over the seat ahead, prepared himself languidly to enjoy the four hundred odd miles that were before him.

Only half a car, possibly not that much, was given over to the use of the colored passengers. It was as comfortable as the other part of the train, however, so no discrimination was evident. The portion given to them was, of course, next to the baggage car; while far to the rear, as he observed when the train rounded a curve, fully eight or ten cars were more or less filled with white passengers. About half the number were Pullmans.

"Den 'f y' read d' papers, yu autta know 'bout dis 'scrimination dat is a-goin' on up dere in Washington," he overheard between three or four Negroes a few seats to the rear.

"Ah reads th' papers eve' day; but I 'on know wha' you's a-drivin' at," contended another.

"Den you do'n read d' papers den, case all dis accurred up dere las' fall, 'n' dere was a big awgument 'bout it, 'n' all de no'then papers done took sides agi'nst d' president."

"Aw, sho!" cried the second speaker now quickly. "Ah knows what youah talkin' 'bout now, sho thing!" And he nodded his head understandingly. The other observed him nevertheless, dubiously, but was patient while the other enlightened him.

"Yeh; you 'ferrin' t' dat bill dey had up dare about 'scriminatin' ag'inst nigga's. M-m. Yeh. Des 'ere bill was a pretest from--well, somebody up no'th, a'-cose; but it's to make dem stop havin' nigga's eatin' in d' kitchen, dat us it, sho," and he looked about him into the faces of the listeners.

The first speaker, confident at first that he was going to show the other up as not knowing as much as he, looked a trifle disappointed; but he didn't grant the other the benefit of the doubt.

The second speaker went on:

"Yeh, I don read all 'bout dat. Yu see," he explained very ostentatiously, "dare was 'n' editor, a sma't nigga frum Boston who had done _been t' school 'n' graduated frum college, and knowed ebreting_, 'n' 'e 'as a bill down dare t' Washington, 'n' eve' body says t' 'im: 'Why 'on' you take dat bill up 'n' make d' president sign it!' So dis nigga 'e finally git mad 'n' takes it 'roun' to de president's office, 'n' shows it to'im 'n' tole him: 'Sign it!' Now, dy president he look at it, and read it over a little. Then 'e jumped up outer 'is chaeh, 'n' says: 'I won' sign tha' bill!' 'N' dey says 'e got awful mad, 'n' sto'med aroun' fo' 'n' houh.

"So dis Boston nigga 'e got mad den, too, 'n' den 'e got du' president tole. Says 'e: 'I voted fo' yu; 'n' so did a lotta udder crazy nigga's, 'n' now we 'us about t' be drivin outta du race, kase why? So now, I dun come all d' way heah frum Boston wi' dis bill that I wants you t' sign, t' make dese secretaries quit fo'cin' nigga's t' eat in d' kitchen!' Den du president 'e got madder still, 'n' wants t' fight. But they pa'ts 'm, but d' president 'lows: 'I won' sign dat bill, I won' sign it!' 'E stamps 'is foot den, 'e be so mad. But dis nigga, 'e ain' no southern darkey 'n' 'e stans pat, an 'monstrates dat 'e will sign it, ah dare won' no mo' nigga's t' vote fo' 'im fo' president. Well, du' president 'e is so mad dat he sto'm, 'n' finally says: 'I won' sign dat bill, I won' sign hit! Befo' I'll sign that bill--'n' 'e strikes 'is desk wi' 'is fist--'I'll qui' mah job!'"

"But," said another, who, up to this time, had taken no part in the harrangue, "the president, ah taut, ain' axed t' sign a bill ontell it had been acted on by congress."

The others looked at each other now, in some surprise. Then they observed the speaker, in a manner that was serene with contempt, for his apparent ignorance. (?) Then the second speaker said:

"Aw, dis bill, y' see, 'us a secret. Dey wa'nt but three people knowed 'bout it. 'N' dey was du editor and du president--'n'--," he was thoughtful now, as he meditated for a moment, and then said, "_Roosevelt!_"

By this time the train had gotten under way, and it thundered on its way southward, down among the scrub pines that stood back from the single track. Croppings of iron, Wyeth observed, reached far to the south of Effingham, while the country, as far as soil was concerned, was a desolate lot of red clay and rock. The train tore through numerous little towns, consisting of a number of shacks, built mostly of plain boards, standing straight up and down, with smaller boards nailed on the cracks. Before some of these shanties played white children, whose appearance showed the life they lived, which was apparently that of poverty; while at some distance, he also observed were other houses, not as respectable as those behind which white children played, and occupied by Negroes. Little patches of cleared land that was scratched over, denoted that agriculture was attempted in even this poor soil. By the slenderness of the dead stalks, he could see that it would take many acres to produce a bale of cotton.

On to the south the train hurried, and as they neared the capital of the state, he observed, with some encouragement, that the soil grew a little deeper; but, at the best, would have been laughed at back in the _Rosebud Country_. And the same sight met his gaze all along. This had once been a proud, aristocratic state; but, he wondered if it became so by the returns of crops from such poor land. Yet he was seeing only a small part of it from the car window.

A cotton gin greeted the traveler at almost every station; while everywhere the scrub pines and rocks were largely in evidence. If all the state was like what he saw from the car window, with the exception of that which lay about the capital for a distance of fifteen or twenty miles, he scarcely wondered that so many Negroes preferred the city, where wages were sufficient to give them something in life.

It was a cold, disagreeable day in the beginning; but, as afternoon wore on, he was cheered to see the elements clear, and the air become warmer.

The highlands were behind them now, and had given place to great trees, while back from the track log houses interspersed the forest here and there. The further south the train pulled, the deeper became the swamp, while the trees towered to heights that could not be fully estimated from the car window. The atmosphere, which had before been dry, was now charged with a peculiar dampness, that seemed to rise from the earth, which melted away from the tracks.

After many miles, in which the afternoon sun barely penetrated the deep forest, the train passed through another pine district. The trees were slender and scattered, while thousands of stumps stood lowly and darkly about. As he looked closer, he saw that among the standing timber, at the base, were little buckets. He made inquiries and was told that this was where turpentine came from. He laughed then at his ignorance. He had forgotten entirely that it was the south which produced the greatest amount of this article.

"And when they have tapped the tree for such a purpose, I suppose it is of no further good but to be cut down?"

"They cut them down at once, and make most of them into cord wood," replied the person of whom he asked.

"Now these people," said Wyeth, pointing to the black people, "they attend to the most of it?"

"Yes; the women to the turpentine, and the men to the timber."

The train had now come into a land of swamp. As far as eyes could see, there was a profusion of vines and palm leaves. He wondered if that was where the palm leaf fans came from. If so, the harvest was abundant. For miles and miles the swamp was thick with them, and they appeared to be all of fan size. Water stood a foot deep, while the track rose, perhaps, upwards of four or five feet above it all. The trees were a strange variety to him, while nowhere for miles did it appear possible for anyone to live. The mosquitoes, he judged, must surely find this place a haven when the days were warm; while fever could fairly thrive.

Now the train had left the deeper forests, and was rolling across numerous trestles that stood high above the water. Great lagoons were crossed, where large birds, sea gulls and others not so large, flew about undisturbed. Miles away at last, rose church spires and ship hoists, and he then knew they were approaching a city that was a great seaport.

A half hour later, they stood in the station. He found his way out over the tracks and into the station, where he entered the colored waiting room and lunch counter. They were supposed to stop twenty minutes there; but, before the lunch he had ordered was served, he observed the train pulling out. He tore out and was about to pass through a gate that was open, but was halted by a young white man, who informed him that it was the gate white people passed through.

"But I'm traveling on that train, and it is pulling out," he cried frantically.

"Don't make any difference," said the other coldly. "Enter through the niggers' gate," and pointed to the rear. Wyeth tore down there, but it was closed and locked. He gave up. Aboard the train was his luggage, while he must stand and see it go on without him, simply for the sake of a rule, that Negroes and whites cannot walk through the same gate. He was disgusted over such an occurrence, and stood watching his train disappear. It had gone well toward the end of the yards, when it came to a stop, while the locomotive attached thereto, whistled two or three times. Another man came to the gate, and Wyeth said to him:

"I'm traveling on that train. Can I not pass through this gate and catch it?"

He was permitted to, and breathed a deep drawn sigh. As he passed the fop who kept him back, he gave him a look, and wished they were both in the _Rosebud Country_ at that moment....

A waiter, who had seen him go into the station, had the vestibule of the diner open, and it was through this he entered, as he caught the moving train.

"I knew you would get balled up!" he exclaimed. "I saw your controversy at the gate.... And wasn't surprised, for you see, this is a _white man's country_." Thereupon he smiled a hard, dry smile. Wyeth passed forward to the Jim Crow car, and forgot the incident, for it was best so.

They had now come into the greater city, and he got off.

"Where can good accommodations be had here?" he inquired of the porter.

"Want a place to stop?" His face lightened perceptibly. "If you will wait until I get through--say ten or fifteen minutes--I'll carry you to a good place," he said, and Sidney waited.

He sat in the waiting room listening to the noise without. About the four sides of the wall, sat many little girls--that is, girls. They smiled upon him, and made immodest advances. He wondered at it, but then he recalled that this was supposed to be the most profligate town in our states. He paid little attention to them. Others entered, and they smiled upon them also.

Presently the porter appeared, clothing changed, and dressed neatly. Several of the girls gathered about him, and said many foolish things. He smiled upon some of them, while he told others to go to the devil; and still others he told to go to----but we will stop here. And then they told him he could go there, too. They left then, and Wyeth and he walked up a street that was the widest, he felt certain, that he had ever seen.

"Where are you from?" inquired the porter.

Wyeth told him; whereupon the other whistled.

"That's a long way from here. How do you like these parts?"

Wyeth didn't answer the last; but to the first he said: "Yes, a long way," and fell silent.

"Ever been here before?" said the porter.

"Twelve years and more ago."

"See quite a difference now, eh?"

"I was not here long enough to see what there was in the beginning."

They walked up a street that was intersected at various and irregular intervals, by numerous other streets, that were as narrow, if not more so, than the one they were following was wide. In the center of the wide street were four car lines. This part of the street was raised above the other, and was protected by a curbing, that prevented anything with wheels from crossing, only at the intersections. Wyeth remembered this. It was something he had never seen elsewhere, and he wondered who could have conceived the idea of making one street so wide, and then crossing it with others that were so narrow that only one single street car track was possible, and, when passing down it, the wagons on either side had to hug the curbing closely, or be collided with.

"A beautiful place," he commented, pointing to the maze of electric lights that lined the narrow cross streets, and made their way as bright as day--brighter, he came afterwards to see, when it rained.

"This town was settled by French and Spaniards many years ago, and they were very artistic in planning for the future of the city," said the other.

"It is apparent on all sides; I can see that," Wyeth agreed.

"There are some of the most beautiful colored people here you ever saw," said the other.

"There is one now," said Wyeth, as a woman, different from the kind he had been accustomed to, passed by.

"Creole," advised the other.

"And this is their native soil, so I understand," said Wyeth, turning his head to take another look at the woman with the beautiful face.

"There are some," said the porter, "who cannot speak English at all."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Wyeth.

"Yes," went on the other. "Plenty cannot speak a word of English, and they may be found in what is called the French district. It is there you find them with the most beautiful skin, and the finest and heaviest hair you ever saw."

"I hear they have frightful tempers," said Wyeth. "Is it true?"

"I would advise you to avoid any conflict with them, lest you find out," said the other, smiling amusedly.

"What is that?" said Wyeth, pointing to a bar before which stood many men drinking.

"Why, what?" said the other, then replied: "A saloon."

"And they are open on Sunday?" Yet he was not surprised when he had thought, for he had seen the same elsewhere. But the other replied:

"The saloons never close here."

"Never close! What do you mean?" said Wyeth.

"What I say," from the other.

"And still I do not understand you," said Wyeth. And then added: "What time do they open in the morning?"

"They do not close at night; therefore, they do not have to go to the trouble of opening in the morning."

"Uh huh!"

"There are saloons here that boast of having not closed since before the Revolutionary War."

"Good night!" Wyeth laughed. "Something historical down here!"

"You'll learn more when you have been here a while. This is the city of history--American history. We turn here."

And Wyeth came to see for himself. They were crossing the wide street now, and went up another that was as wide, but no cars ran up that way.

"This is Basin court," said the other, as they paused outside of a two-story structure, that opened its doors upon the street.

A big, fat, brown-skinned man appeared presently, and bade them enter.

When they were inside they met another--a woman, and she was fatter still. It was the man's wife, and she appeared to be in charge, from her statements regarding the rental. They were from Alabama, and one glance was sufficient to show they were not creole.

Wyeth bought some beer, and the fat man went for it with a pitcher. He returned with as much for a dime, as would have cost twenty-five cents in Effingham. He said so to the other, and then the others laughed and said:

"This is the city where they drink it. They drink more here than anywhere else in the world." Wyeth recalled a year before--but then these people had seen only a small part of the world, as their conversation later revealed, and, of course--but it didn't matter.

"You genemens goin' to the dance?" said the woman.

"To the dance?" Wyeth repeated. "This is Sunday!"

They smiled at him now--all of them--and then said:

"Sunday is the day of sport in this town. More dances occur on Sunday than any other day."

Wyeth whistled.

"This is the creole city," and they smiled again.

"This gentleman is from a more pious territory," said the porter, appreciatively. He seemed to be very intelligent.

"What kind of work do the genemen follow?" asked the hostess.

"Books," Wyeth replied.

"They don't read much down here," she said, dubiously.

"Some do everywhere--more or less!"

"They are strongly engaged in the art of having a good time here," remarked the porter, and laughed.

"I suppose so," said Wyeth. "And, since practically half of the colored people of the state are illiterate, I am, of course, compelled to agree with you."

They talked on other topics now, and Wyeth, not feeling sleepy, suggested venturing out sight seeing. He went alone, and what he saw, he did not soon forget.

When the door had closed behind him, and his steps died away in the distance, the fat man winked and the woman smiled; then the pair spoke, in the same breath:

"Books--huh! He he! Books--huh! He he!" They regarded the porter with a smile; but he did not, strange to say, share their point of view. But they had their say, nevertheless.

"Books--huh!"