The Portable Nineteenth-Century African American Women Writers

by Various

  From what we saw of Edisto, however, we did not like it better than our own island,—except, of course, the beach; but we are told that farther in the interior it is much more beautiful. The freed people, who left it at the time of its evacuation, think it the loveliest place in the world, and long to return. When we were going, Miss T.—the much-loved and untiring friend and physician of the people—asked some whom we met if we should give their love to Edisto. “Oh, yes, yes, Miss!” they said. “Ah, Edisto a beautiful city!” And when we came back, they inquired, eagerly,—“How you like Edisto? How Edisto stan’?” Only the fear of again falling into the hands of the “Secesh” prevents them from returning to their much-loved home.

  As the summer advanced, the heat became intense. We found it almost overpowering, driving to school near the middle of the day, as we were obliged to do. I gave up riding, and mounted a sulky, such as a single gentleman drives in at the North. It was exceedingly high, and I found it no small task to mount up into it. Its already very comical appearance was enhanced by the addition of a cover of black India-rubber cloth, with which a friend kindly provided me. Thus adorned, it looked like the skeleton of some strange creature surmounted by a huge bonnet, and afforded endless amusement to the soldiers we chanced to meet, who hailed its appearance with shouts of laughter, and cries of “Here comes the Calithumpian!” This unique vehicle, with several others on our island, kindred, but not quite equal to it, would create a decided sensation in the streets of a Northern city.

  No description of life on these islands would be complete without a word concerning the fleas. They appeared at the opening of spring, and kept constantly “risin’,” as the people said, until they reached a height the possibility of which we had never conceived. We had heard and read of fleas. We had never realized them before. Words utterly fail to describe the tortures we endured for months from these horrible little tyrants. Remembering our sufferings “through weary day and weary night,” we warn everybody not gifted with extraordinary powers of endurance to beware of a summer on the Sea Islands.

  Notwithstanding the heat, we determined to celebrate the Fourth of July as worthily as we could. The freed people and the children of the different schools assembled in the grove near the Baptist Church. The flag was hung across the road, between two magnificent live-oaks, and the children, being grouped under it, sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” with much spirit. Our good General could not come, but addresses were made by Mr. P.,—the noble-hearted founder of the movement for the benefit of the people here, and from first to last their stanch and much-loved friend,—by Mr. L., a young colored minister, and others. Then the people sang some of their own hymns; and the woods resounded with the grand notes of “Roll, Jordan, roll.” They all afterward partook of refreshments, consisting of molasses and water,—a very great luxury to them,—and hardtack.

  Among the visitors present was the noble young Colonel Shaw, whose regiment was then stationed on the island. We had met him a few nights before, when he came to our house to witness one of the people’s shouts. We looked upon him with the deepest interest. There was something in his face finer, more exquisite, than one often sees in a man’s face, yet it was full of courage and decision. The rare and singular charm of his manner drew all hearts to him. He was deeply interested in the singing and appearance of the people. A few days afterwards we saw his regiment on dress-parade, and admired its remarkably fine and manly appearance. After taking supper with the Colonel we sat outside the tent, while some of his men entertained us with excellent singing. Every moment we became more and more charmed with him. How full of life and hope and lofty aspirations he was that night! How eagerly he expressed his wish that they might soon be ordered to Charleston! “I do hope they will give us a chance,” he said. It was the desire of his soul that his men should do themselves honor,—that they should prove themselves to an unbelieving world as brave soldiers as though their skins were white. And for himself, he was like the Chevalier of old, “without reproach or fear.” After we had mounted our horses and rode away, we seemed still to feel the kind clasp of his hand,—to hear the pleasant, genial tones of his voice, as he bade us good-bye, and hoped that we might meet again. We never saw him afterward. In two short weeks came the terrible massacre at Fort Wagner, and the beautiful head of the young hero and martyr was laid low in the dust. Never shall we forget the heart-sickness with which we heard of his death. We could not realize it at first,—we, who had seen him so lately in all the strength and glory of his young manhood. For days we clung to a vain hope; then it fell away from us, and we knew that he was gone. We knew that he died gloriously, but still it seemed very hard. Our hearts bled for the mother whom he so loved,—for the young wife, left desolate. And then we said, as we say now,—“God comfort them! He only can.” During a few of the sad days which followed the attack on Fort Wagner, I was in one of the hospitals of Beaufort, occupied with the wounded soldiers of the Fifty-Fourth Massachusetts. The first morning was spent in mending the bullet-holes and rents in their clothing. What a story they told! Some of the jackets of the poor fellows were literally cut in pieces. It was pleasant to see the brave, cheerful spirit among them. Some of them were severely wounded, but they uttered no complaint; and in the letters which they dictated to their absent friends there was no word of regret, but the same cheerful tone throughout. They expressed an eager desire to get well, that they might “go at it again.” Their attachment to their young colonel was beautiful to see. They felt his death deeply. One and all united in the warmest and most enthusiastic praise of him. He was, indeed, exactly the person to inspire the most loyal devotion in the hearts of his men. And with everything to live for, he had given up his life for them. Heaven’s best gifts had been showered upon him, but for them he had laid them all down. I think they truly appreciated the greatness of the sacrifice. May they ever prove worthy of such a leader! Already, they, and the regiments of freedmen here, as well, have shown that true manhood has no limitations of color.

  Daily the long-oppressed people of these islands are demonstrating their capacity for improvement in learning and labor. What they have accomplished in one short year exceeds our utmost expectations. Still the sky is dark; but through the darkness we can discern a brighter future. We cannot but feel that the day of final and entire deliverance, so long and often so hopelessly prayed for, has at length begun to dawn upon this much-enduring race. An old freedman said to me one day, “De Lord make me suffer long time, Miss. ’Peared like we nebber was gwine to git troo. But now we’s free. He bring us all out right at las’.” In their darkest hours they have clung to Him, and we know He will not forsake them.

  “The poor among men shall rejoice,

  For the terrible one is brought to nought.”

  While writing these pages I am once more nearing Port Royal. The Fortunate Isles of Freedom are before me. I shall again tread the flower-skirted wood-paths of St. Helena, and the somber pines and bearded oaks shall whisper in the sea-wind their grave welcome. I shall dwell again among “mine own people.” I shall gather my scholars about me, and see smiles of greeting break over their dusk faces. My heart sings a song of thanksgiving, at the thought that even I am permitted to do something for a long-abused race, and aid in promoting a higher, holier, and happier life on the Sea Islands.

  “Charles Sumner, On Seeing Some Pictures of the Interior of His House” (1874)

  SOURCE: The Dunbar Speaker and Entertainer: Containing the Best Prose and Poetic Selections by and about the Negro Race. Ed. Alice Dunbar-Nelson. (J. J. Nichols & Co., 1920).

  Only the casket left, the jewel gone

  Whose noble presence filled these stately rooms,

  And made this spot a shrine where pilgrims came—

  Stranger and friend—to bend in reverence

  Before the great, pure soul that knew no guile;

  To listen to the wise and gracious words

  That fell from lips whose
rare, exquisite smile

  Gave tender beauty to the grand, grave face.

  Upon these pictured walls we see thy peers,—

  Poet, and saint, and sage, painter, and king,—

  A glorious band;—they shine upon us still;

  Still gleam in marble the enchanting forms

  Whereupon thy artist eye delighted dwelt;

  Thy favorite Psyche droops her matchless face,

  Listening, methinks, for the beloved voice

  Which nevermore on earth shall sound her praise.

  All these remain,—the beautiful, the brave,

  The gifted, silent ones; but thou art gone!

  Fair is the world that smiles upon us now;

  Blue are the skies of June, balmy the air

  That soothes with touches soft the weary brow;

  And perfect days glide into perfect nights,—

  Moonlit and calm; but still our grateful hearts

  Are sad, and faint with fear,—for thou art gone!

  Oh friend beloved, with longing, tear-filled eyes

  We look up, up to the unclouded blue,

  And seek in vain some answering sign from thee.

  Look down upon us, guide and cheer us still

  From the serene height where thou dwellest now;

  Dark is the way without the beacon light

  Which long and steadfastly thy hand upheld.

  Oh, nerve with courage new the stricken hearts

  Whose dearest hopes seem lost in losing thee!

  —Charlotte F. Grimké,

  Columbia, S.C.,

  June 1874.

  “The Gathering of the Grand Army” (1890)

  SOURCE: The Life and Writings of the Grimké Family. Ed. Anna Julia Haywood Cooper. N.p. 1951. 2: 25–26.

  Through all the city’s streets there poured a flood,

  A flood of human souls, eager, intent;

  One thought, one purpose stirred the people’s blood,

  And through their veins its quickening current sent.

  The flags waved gayly in the summer air,

  O’er patient watchers ’neath the clouded skies;

  Old age, and youth, and infancy were there,

  The glad light shining in expectant eyes.

  And when at last our country’s saviors came,—

  In proud procession down the crowded street,

  Still brighter burned the patriotic flame,

  And loud acclaims leaped forth their steps to greet.

  And now the veterans scarred and maimed appear,

  And now the tattered battle-flags uprise;

  A silence deep one moment fills the air,

  Then shout on shout ascends unto the skies.

  Oh, brothers, ye have borne the battle strain,

  And ye have felt it through the ling’ring years;

  For all your valiant deeds, your hours of pain,

  We can but give to you our grateful tears!

  And now, with heads bowed low, and tear-filled eyes

  We see a Silent Army passing slow;

  For it no music swells, no shouts arise,

  But silent blessings from our full hearts flow.

  The dead, the living,—All,—a glorious host,

  A “cloud of witnesses,”—around us press—

  Shall we, like them, stand faithful at our post,

  Or weakly yield, unequal to the stress?

  Shall it be said the land they fought to save,

  Ungrateful now, proves faithless to her trust?

  Shall it be said the sons of sires so brave

  Now trail her sacred banner in the dust?

  Ah, no! again shall rise the people’s voice

  As once it rose in accents clear and high—

  “Oh, outraged brother, lift your head, rejoice!

  Justice shall reign,—Insult and Wrong shall die!”

  So shall this day the joyous promise be

  Of golden days for our fair land in store;

  When Freedom’s flag shall float above the free,

  And Love and Peace prevail from shore to shore.

  —Charlotte F. Grimké,

  Boston,

  August 12, 1890

  19

  JOSEPHINE ST. PIERRE RUFFIN

  (1842–1924)

  Born into a wealthy, biracial family in Boston, Josephine St. Pierre Ruffin used her relatively privileged position to advocate for racial equality and women’s suffrage. Among the organizations that she helped found were the American Women’s Suffrage Association, the National Federation of Afro-American Women, the National Association of Colored Women’s Clubs, the Women’s Era Club, the League of Women for Community Service, and the NAACP. As a writer, Ruffin wrote for the Boston weekly, the Courant, and founded Women’s Era, the first newspaper in the United States published by and for black women. She used her newspaper as a platform to promote an image of black women as members of society, active beyond the confines of the home.

  The following pieces speak directly to the disappointment Ruffin felt in the resistance of white Southern women during Reconstruction to recognizing the humanity of African Americans. Why, Ruffin asks, do black southern children still lack access to a quality education? Why do southern women’s clubs still forbid blacks from joining? Ruffin refutes white southern women’s view of themselves as exemplary, claiming that if southern white women were truly the pinnacles of class they believed themselves to be, they wouldn’t need to seek the North’s help when racially integrating their society. Ruffin’s “An Open Letter to the Educational League of Georgia” (1889) was featured in Alice Moore Dunbar’s 1914 anthology, Masterpieces of Negro Eloquence.

  “Address to the First National Conference of Colored Women” (1895)

  SOURCE: Josephine St. Pierre Ruffin, “Address to the First National Conference of Colored Women,” Women’s Era (1895).

  It is with especial joy and pride that I welcome you all to this, our first conference. It is only recently that women have waked up to the importance of meeting in council, and great as has been the advantage to women generally, and important as it is and has been that they should confer, the necessity has not been nearly so great, matters at stake not nearly so vital, as that we, bearing peculiar blunders, suffering under especial hardships, enduring peculiar privations, should meet for a “good talk” among ourselves. Although rather hastily called, you as well as I can testify how long and how earnestly a conference has been thought of and hoped for and even prepared for.

  These women’s clubs, which have sprung up all over the country, built and run upon broad and strong lines, have all been a preparation, small conferences in themselves, and their spontaneous birth and enthusiastic support have been little less than inspiration on the part of our women and a general preparation for a large union such as it is hoped this conference will lead to. Five years ago we had no colored women’s club outside of those formed for the special work; to-day, with little over a month’s notice, we are able to call representatives from more than twenty clubs. It is a good showing, it stands for much, it shows that we are truly American women, with all the adaptability, readiness to seize and possess our opportunities, willingness to do our part for good as other American women.

  The reasons why we should confer are so apparent that it would seem hardly necessary to enumerate them, and yet there is none of them but demand our serious consideration. In the first place we need to feel the cheer and inspiration of meeting each other; we need to gain the courage and fresh life that comes from the mingling of congenial souls, of those working for the same ends. Next we need to talk over not only those things which are of vital importance to us as women, but also the things that are of special interest to us as colored women, the training of our children, openings for b
oys and girls, how they can be prepared for occupations and occupations may be found or opened for them, what we especially can do in the moral education of the race with which we are identified, our mental elevation and physical development, the home training it is necessary to give our children in order to prepare them to meet the peculiar conditions in which they shall find themselves, how to make the most of our own, to some extent, limited opportunities, these are some of our own peculiar questions to be discussed. Besides these are the general questions of the day, which we cannot afford to be indifferent to: temperance, morality, the higher education, hygiene and domestic questions. If these things need the serious consideration of women more advantageously placed by reason of all the aid to right thinking and living with which they are surrounded, surely we, with everything to pull us back, to hinder us in developing, need to take every opportunity and means for the thoughtful consideration which shall lead to wise action.

  I have left the strongest reason for our conferring together until the last. All over America there is to be found a large and growing class of earnest, intelligent, progressive colored women, women who, if not leading full useful lives, are only waiting for the opportunity to do so, many of them warped and cramped for lack of opportunity, not only to do more but to be more; and yet, if an estimate of the colored women of American is called for, the inevitable reply, glibly given is: “For the most past ignorant and immoral, some exceptions, of course, but these don’t count.” Now for the sake of the thousands of self-sacrificing young women teaching and preaching in lonely southern backwoods for the noble army of mothers who has given birth to these girls, mothers whose intelligence is only limited by their opportunity to get at books, for the sake of the fine cultured women who have carried off the honors in school here and often abroad, for the sake of our own dignity, the dignity of our race and the future good name of our children, it is “mete, right and our bounded duty” to stand forth and declare ourselves and principles, to teach an ignorant and suspicious world that our aims and interests are identical with those of all good aspiring women.