life, has never flickered--
"Has burned and burned Forever the same",
from Lexington to the cactus groves of Mexico; in the slaughter hells of Europe; over fields and upon spots where, in the centuries gone, the legions of Caesar, of Hannibal and Attila, of Charlemagne and Napoleon had fought and bled, and perished! Striding "Breast forward" beneath the Stars and Stripes as this History crowds them on your gaze, through the dust of empires and kingdoms that; before the CHRIST walked the earth; before Christianity had its birth, wielded the sceptres of power when civilization was young, but which are now but vanishing traditions.
You are thrilled! History nor story affords no picture more inspiring.
MAKING DUE ALLOWANCE--
For its nearness to the living and dead, whose heroic and transcendant achievements on the battle spots of the great war secured for them a distinction and fame that will endure until--
"The records of valor decay",
it is a most notable publication, quite worthy to be draped in the robes that distinguishes History from narrative; from "a tale that is told"; a story for the entertainment of the moment.
AS INTERPOLATED--
By the writers of its text; read between the lines of their written words; it is a History; not alone of the American Negro on the "tented field"; the bloody trenches of France and Belgium, it is also a History and an arraignment, a warning and a prophecy, looking backwards and forward, the Negro being the objective focus, of many things.
IT PRESENTS--
For the readers retrospection, as vividly as painted on a canvas, a phantasmagoric procession of past events, and of those to come in the travail of the Negro; commencing with the sailing of the first "Slaver's Ship" for the shores of the "New World", jammed fore and aft, from deck to hold, with its cargo of human beings, to the conclusion of the great war in which, individually and in units he wrote his name in imperishable characters, and high on the scroll on which are inscribed the story of those, who, in their lives wrought for RIGHT and, passing, died for MEN! For a flag; beneath and within its folds his welcome has been measured and parsimonious;--a country; the construing and application of its laws and remedies as applied to him, has inflicted intolerable INJUSTICE: Has persecuted more often than blessed. And so and thus, its perusal finished, its pages closed and laid aside, you are shaken and swayed in your feelings, even as a tree, bent and riven before the march and sweep of a mighty hurricane.
* * * * *
LOOKING BACKWARDS--
The spell of the book strong upon you, you see in your mind's eye, thousands of plantations covering a fourth of a continent of a new and virgin land. The toilers "Black Folk"; men, women and children--SLAVES!
* * * * *
YOU HEAR--
The crack of the "driver's" lash; the sullen bay of pursuing hounds.
* * * * *
JUST OVER YONDER--
Is the "Auction Block". You hear the moans and screams of mothers torn from their offspring. You see them driven away, herded like cattle, chained like convicts, sold to "master's" in the "low lands", to toil--
"Midst the cotton and the cane."
YOU LISTEN--
Sounding far off, faint at first, growing louder each second, you hear the beat of drums; the bugle's blast, sounding to arms; You see great armies, moving hitherward and thitherward. Over one flies the Stars and Stripes, over the other the Stars and Bars; a nation in arms! Brother against brother!
* * * * *
YOU LOOK--
And lo, swinging past are many Black men; garbed in "Blue", keeping step to the music of the Union. You see them fall and die, at Fort Pillow, Fort Wagner, Petersburg, the Wilderness, Honey Hill--SLAUGHTERED! Above the din; the boom of cannon, the rattle of small arms, the groans of the wounded and dying, you hear the shout of one, as shattered and maimed he is being borne from the field; "BOYS, THE OLD FLAG NEVER TOUCHED THE GROUND!"
* * * * *
THE SCENE SHIFTS--
Fifty years have passed. You hear the clamor, the murmur and shouts of gathering mobs. You see Black men and women hanging by their necks to lamp posts, from the limbs of trees; in lonely spots--DEAD! You see smoke curling upwards from BURNING HOMES! There are piles of cinders and--DEAD MENS BONES!
* * * * *
NEARING ITS END--
The procession sweeps on. Staring you in the face; hailing from East, West, North and South are banners; held aloft by unseen hands, bearing on them--the quintessence of AMERICA'S INGRATITUDE,--these devices:
"For American Negroes: JIM CROW steam and trolley cars; JIM CROW resident districts; JIM CROW amen corners; JIM CROW seats in theatres; JIM CROW corners in cemeteries."
YOU MUTTER--
"Are these indignities to CONTINUE? Is God DEAD?"
* * * * *
COMES--
A voice. You listen!
"WHEREFORE hear the word of the lord-- "THE days
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