For more than an hour Mrs. Waterman sat by the bedside of the slumbering child. It was the bitterest hour of her life. “If it wasn’t for the little Lady, I wouldn’t mind,” she sobbed; “if it wasn’t for little Lady, I wouldn’t mind.” Then she thought of the first happy months after she had married Fred. How happy and full of manly pride he had been when she confided the secret that she was soon to be a mother. She remembered how tenderly solicitous he was during the trying period that preceded Elsie’s birth. Then the baby had come, and Fred seemed to have eyes and ears for nothing but the baby. Jealousy, like a serpent, had crept into her heart. She felt that she hated the baby and her husband also. Her mild manners and sweet disposition underwent a complete change. She became crabbed and cranky. Fred, at a loss to account for the sudden change in his wife, bore her continued ill-temper with patience and fortitude; but he continually lavished the affection of his generous heart more and more upon his daughter. The years dragged slowly by; but the strain they were undergoing told on each, until the year before it had reached the breaking point.
Mrs. Waterman remembered vividly that last Christmas. Fred had promised her a set of white furs. Just before Christmas he told her that his work had slackened and that she must wait until the New Year for her furs; in the meantime he had spent all his savings for Elsie’s Christmas. How mean and selfish she had thought him then! They quarreled, and she had told him to go; angry at her injustice, he had taken her at her word and left.
For weeks after her father had gone, Elsie had refused to be comforted. Mrs. Waterman was forced to tell Elsie the one and only falsehood she had ever told her, that her father was away on business and would be back as soon as possible. It was during the following weeks and months of loneliness that Mrs. Waterman had learned to love her daughter. She saw herself as she had been, a narrow-minded, selfish woman. “If Fred would only return,” she murmured, “how different I would be!”
Mrs. Waterman had been put to her wits’ end to provide for the little household. Not having been schooled in the art of economizing, her expenses were always more than her income. She had been forced to the humiliating expedient of pawning her jewelry; then her clothes, and lastly the furniture. Now it was Christmas Eve, and not a cent to buy Elsie a present. How could she face the disappointed look of Elsie’s bright eyes when they opened in the morning and found that Santa had passed her by? As the thought took full possession of Mrs. Waterman’s mind, she fell upon her knees and sobbed in anguish. Then she prayed, “O God, send my husband to me! Give my baby her Christmas!”
A loud knock at the door brought Mrs. Waterman to her feet in quick alarm. She pressed her hand to her heart to still its tumultuous beating. The knock was repeated, this time louder, as if the knocker were growing impatient. Not knowing what to expect, she opened the door, and gazed in the face of a special delivery boy.
“Is this 332 X. Street?” the boy asked.
“It is,” Mrs. Waterman replied.
“A package for you.” And the boy shoved a large box into her hands.
“There must be some mistake,” began Mrs. Waterman, but the boy was walking rapidly away, whistling with pleasure that his last errand had been completed.
Trembling with excitement, Mrs. Waterman proceeded to undo the package. The first thing that greeted her eyes was a beautiful brown-skin doll. “Oh, how happy Lady will be!” she exclaimed. Smiling through her tears at the thought of Elsie’s happiness, she proceeded to remove a layer of tissue paper, and there disclosed to her view was a set of handsome snow-white furs. Laughing and crying by turns, she fell upon her knees and buried her face in its soft fleece. “Fred has not forgotten us, little Lady,” she whispered.
While Mrs. Waterman was yet upon her knees, the familiar melody of a whistler was borne to her ears. Only one person had ever whistled that little melody; could it be him, she wondered? Fred had always repeated the little strain at the next corner, so she would always be sure it was him. Now she waited breathlessly for the repetition; her nerves were strained to their utmost tension. Then, just as she was sure it would not recur, clear and sweet, the little melody broke upon the midnight air. Every doubt was dispelled. It was Fred! She arose from her knees. Her trembling knees threatened to give way and leave her sprawled upon the floor; she grasped the foot of the bed for support; the blood had receded from her face, leaving it pale and cold.
Now she could hear his footfalls upon the gravel walk. She had always loved to hear his firm and regular tread. As the footfalls drew nearer the door, they hesitated, as if the walker were in doubt whether to proceed or retire. Mrs. Waterman felt that she would faint. The steps drew nearer; now they were crossing the little porch; they hesitated at the door a moment; then came a knock. Even in this Mrs. Waterman recognized her husband’s thoughtfulness; he was afraid to enter without knocking, as was his custom, not knowing what effect his sudden appearance might have upon his family. Mrs. Waterman heard the knock and tried to answer; only an inarticulate sound issued from her dry and parched throat. Impatient at not receiving an answer to his knock and fearful that something might be wrong, Fred opened the door, stepped across the threshold and stood face to face with his wife.
They seemed incapable of speech. Mrs. Waterman swayed slightly, but recovered herself with an effort. The husband was the first to speak.
“Virgie,” he said, and his voice sounded strange and unnatural; “Virgie,” he repeated, “I couldn’t stay away another minute; ’deed I couldn’t.”
Mrs. Waterman wondered if she would ever regain her power of speech.
“It didn’t seem right,” continued Fred, “to be away from you and Lady on Christmas day.”
Mrs. Waterman stood like a graven image, with eyes riveted upon her husband’s face.
“I—I—thought—you might—you might be a little glad to see me,” faltered the man. There was a sound of tears in his voice as he continued: “If—if—you’ll just let me spend Christmas with you—and Lady—I’ll promise to go away and—and—never see you again.”
This momentary weakness in the man touched the woman as nothing else could have done. All the love of a good and true woman shone in her eyes and suffused her face. With quivering lips she cried: “O Fred! Fred! How could you!” She took one step toward her husband, faltered, swayed; at one stride the husband had her in his arms, crushed to his breast; her arms were about his neck. “I’ve wanted you so much, Freddie boy, so very, very much,” she sobbed.
Manly tears were running down the husband’s cheeks. “It was all my fault, girlie,” he said.
“No! No!” she cried, “the fault was mine. I was little, mean, and jealous; and oh! the shame of it. I was jealous of my own daughter.”
“Hush, Virgie,” commanded the husband. “I should have been more of a man. My love and sympathy should have made me understand. I was conceited; you wounded my pride and vanity, and I left you—left my wife and baby to the mercy of strangers. Virgie,” he pleaded, “can you ever forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive, Freddie boy,” she answered; “we have both been foolish. I was as guilty as you; but what does it matter, since we are together again.”
Roused by the sound of voices, Elsie sat up in bed. “Little mother, has papa come?” she asked, drowsily. The father loosened his wife’s arms from about his neck, bounded to the bedside and gathered the little girl into his arms, where she nestled affectionately. “I knowed Santa would bring you to me and little mother,” she murmured.
“He didn’t forget to send the dolly,” said the mother, as she held it before Elsie’s wondering eyes.
Just then the clock in the tower began to strike the midnight hour. Immediately the Trinity chimes began to ring out the melody of that wonderful hymn, “All hail the power of Jesus’ name.” While the beautiful tones echoed and vibrated upon the midnight air, the three stood with arms entwined about each other. After the last sweet strain had whispered itself away into the silence of the winter night, the fa
ther said, “It is Christmas now, little Lady,”
“God is very good,” murmured the mother.
“So is Santa Claus,” whispered Elsie.
GENERAL WASHINGTON: A CHRISTMAS STORY
Pauline Elizabeth Hopkins
Widely known as a writer, editor, playwright, singer, and actress, Pauline Elizabeth Hopkins was born in Portland, Maine, in 1859. As the great grandniece of poet James Whitfield, a descendant of Nathaniel and Thomas Paul, founder of the Baptist churches in Boston, Hopkins was steeped in black middle-class life and culture. However, her exposure and intimate knowledge of the folklore, lifestyles, and speech patterns of Southern black migrants, many of whom belonged to the Baptist and Methodist churches in Boston, provided her with ample materials for her novels, short stories, plays, and nonfictional works. Hopkins, a pioneering writer, was exceptionally gifted and prolific. Her familiarity with black accomplishments, racial movements, and race-related issues is manifested in her fiction, drama, and essays.
As the literary editor of the Colored American Magazine, one of the first African American journals to offer black writers an open forum for expression, Hopkins became known as one of its major contributors. The majority of her short stories, biographical sketches of black historical figures, and serialized novels appeared in the magazine between 1900 and mid-1904. A keen observer of black life and culture, she believed that black writers must use fiction to tell the story of African American life and history.
“General Washington: A Christmas Story” and six other short stories were published in the Colored American Magazine. Hopkins’s fiction, particularly her novels, tended to focus on the black Southern elite and upper middle class, but many of her short stories are centered on the life of the working class. “General Washington,” published in the December 1900 issue of the Colored American Magazine, is rich in black vernacular speech, folklore, and culture. It includes a number of themes related to the African American condition at the turn of the twentieth century. Set in Washington, DC, the story features social commentary to focus on issues related to racism, religion, the survival of the urban black poor, spousal abuse, child neglect and abuse, crime, and even miscegenation. This is all accomplished through an exploration of the exploits of “General Washington.”
The central characters of this story are “General Washington,” Fairy, and Senator Tallman. “General Washington,” also known as Buster, is a formally uneducated but street smart ten-year-old orphan, who is hustling for survival among the food and produce stalls at the Washington Market where “his specialty was selling chitlins.” He is a “knight of the pavement,” who dances on the street and in saloons for pay; a leader of a gang of street urchins; a survivor who “lived in the very shady atmosphere of Murderer’s Bay,” in a box turned on end and filled with straw. Fairy, the granddaughter of Senator Tallman, meets General Washington while shopping with her nanny. Following a brief observation of General Washington unscrupulously selling chitterlings to buyers in the market, Fairy introduces herself and invites him to come to her home on Christmas morning to learn about God and atone for his un-Christian ways. Senator Tallman is a former slave owner and Confederate army veteran who regains his senatorial seat after Reconstruction ends. He is an embittered man who professes his hatred for “Negroes” and opposes any black advancement.
Hopkins skillfully used naming as a device to delineate the characters. Thus, “General,” or “Buster,” is a leader. “General Washington ranked first among the knights of the pavement,” Hopkins writes. Fairy represents an imaginary, tiny, graceful figure whom the General had learned about in his short stay at school. When he meets the blue-eyed, well-dressed white Fairy, he is awestruck. Hopkins describes Tallman as a larger-than-life, pompous racist who is preparing to deliver a speech before the Senate that would “bury the blacks too deep for resurrection and settle the Negro question forever.” Tallman, the fictional senator, was in some ways a parody of the real-life Senator Benjamin Tillman, who gained great visibility during the 1870s as an activist in the movement to overthrow the Republican-dominated Reconstruction government in South Carolina. A rabid racist, he was elected governor of South Carolina in 1890 and by 1894 was in the US Senate. Tillman was widely known for his virulently bigoted comments and conscientious efforts to pass the South Carolina Constitution of 1895, which disfranchised African American men. Through the characters of the General and Senator Tallman, Hopkins demonstrates that Christmas is a time of rebirth, salvation, and redemption in Christ.
Hopkins also refers to a particular cultural practice that is not well known today: the Juba, a popular slave dance based on an African step called Giouba, an elaborate jig. Like his forebears, General Washington and other dancers engaged in competitions to determine who was the most skillful and agile dancer, and who could dance the best and the longest.
General Washington:
A Christmas Story
I.
General Washington did any odd jobs he could find around the Washington market, but his specialty was selling chitlins. General Washington lived in the very shady atmosphere of Murderer’s Bay in the capital city. All that he could remember of father or mother in his ten years of miserable babyhood was that they were frequently absent from the little shanty where they were supposed to live, generally after a protracted spell of drunkenness and bloody quarrels when the police were forced to interfere for the peace of the community. During these absences, the child would drift from one squalid home to another wherever a woman—God save the mark!—would take pity upon the poor waif and throw him a few scraps of food for his starved stomach, or a rag of a shawl, apron or skirt, in winter, to wrap about his attenuated little body.
One night the General’s daddy being on a short vacation in the city, came home to supper; and because there was no supper to eat, he occupied himself in beating his wife. After that time, when the officers took him, the General’s daddy never returned to his home. The General’s mammy? Oh, she died!
General Washington’s resources developed rapidly after this. Said resources consisted of a pair of nimble feet for dancing the hoe-down, shuffles intricate and dazzling, and the Juba; a strong pair of lungs, a wardrobe limited to a pair of pants originally made for a man, and tied about the ankles with strings, a shirt with one gallows, a vast amount of “brass,” and a very, very small amount of nickel. His education was practical; “Ef a corn-dodger costs two cents, an’ a fellar hain’t got de two cents, how’s he gwine ter git de corn-dodger?”
General Washington ranked first among the knights of the pavement. He could shout louder and hit harder than any among them; that was the reason they called him “Buster” and “the General.” The General could swear, too; I am sorry to admit it, but the truth must be told.
He uttered an oath when he caught a crowd of small white aristocrats tormenting a kitten. The General landed among them in quick time and commenced knocking heads at a lively rate. Presently he was master of the situation, and marched away triumphantly with the kitten in his arms, followed by stones and other missiles which whirled about him through space from behind the safe shelter of back yards and street corners.
The General took the kitten home. Home was a dry-goods box turned on end and filled with straw for winter. The General was as happy as a lord in summer, but the winter was a trial. The last winter had been a hard one, and Buster called a meeting of the leading members of the gang to consider the advisability of moving farther south for the hard weather.
“ ’Pears lak to me, fellers, Wash’nton’s heap colder’n it uster be, an’ I’se mighty onscruplus ‘bout stoppin’ hyar.”
“Business am mighty peart,” said Teenie, the smallest member of the gang, “s’pose we put off menderin’ tell after Chris’mas; Jeemes Henry, fellers, it hain’t no Chris’mas fer me outside ob Wash’nton.”
“Dat’s so, Teenie,” came from various members as they sat on the curbing playing an interesting game of craps.
“Den hyar we
is tell after Chris’mas, fellers; then dis sonny’s gwine ter move, sho, hyar me?”
“De gang’s wid yer, Buster; move it is.”
It was about a week before Chris’mas, and the weather had been unusually severe.
Probably because misery loves company—nothing could be more miserable than his cat—Buster grew very fond of Tommy. He would cuddle him in his arms every night and listen to his soft purring while he confided all his own hopes and fears to the willing ears of his four-footed companion, occasionally pulling his ribs if he showed any signs of sleepiness.
But one night poor Tommy froze to death. Buster didn’t—more’s the wonder—only his ears and his two big toes. Poor Tommy was thrown off the dock into the Potomac the next morning, while a stream of salt water trickled down his master’s dirty face, making visible, for the first time in a year, the yellow hue of his complexion. After that the General hated all flesh and grew morose and cynical.
Just about a week before Tommy’s death, Buster met the fairy. Once, before his mammy died, in a spasm of reform she had forced him to go to school, against his better judgment, promising the teacher to go up and “wallop” the General every day if he thought Buster needed it. This gracious offer was declined with thanks. At the end of the week the General left school for his own good and the good of the school. But in that week he learned something about fairies; and so, after she threw him the pinks [flowers] that she carried in her hand, he called her to himself “the fairy.”
Being Christmas week, the General was pretty busy. It was a great sight to see the crowds of people coming and going all day long about the busy market; wagon loads of men, women and children, some carts drawn by horses, but more by mules. Some of the people well-dressed, some scantily clad, but all intent on getting enjoyment out of this their leisure season. This was the season for selling crops and settling the year’s account. The store-keepers, too, had prepared their most tempting wares, and the thoroughfares were crowded.
A Treasury of African American Christmas Stories Page 6