* * * * *

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?”