<strong>The</strong> <strong>Souls</strong> <strong>of</strong> <strong>Black</strong> <strong>Folk</strong>Howard has said, “scarcely any subject that has to be legislated uponin civil society failed, at one time or another, to demand the action <strong>of</strong>this singular Bureau.”To understand and criticise intelligently so vast a work, one mustnot forget an instant the drift <strong>of</strong> things in the later sixties. Lee hadsurrendered, Lincoln was dead, and Johnson and Congress were atloggerheads; the Thirteenth Amendment was adopted, the Fourteenthpending, and the Fifteenth declared in force in 1870. Guerrillaraiding, the ever-present flickering after-flame <strong>of</strong> war, was spendingits forces against the Negroes, and all the Southern land wasawakening as from some wild dream to poverty and social revolution.In a time <strong>of</strong> perfect calm, amid willing neighbors and streamingwealth, the social uplifting <strong>of</strong> four million slaves to an assuredand self-sustaining place in the body politic and economic wouldhave been a herculean task; but when to the inherent difficulties <strong>of</strong>so delicate and nice a social operation were added the spite and hate<strong>of</strong> conflict, the hell <strong>of</strong> war; when suspicion and cruelty were rife,and gaunt Hunger wept beside Bereavement,—in such a case, thework <strong>of</strong> any instrument <strong>of</strong> social regeneration was in large partforedoomed to failure. <strong>The</strong> very name <strong>of</strong> the Bureau stood for athing in the South which for two centuries and better men hadrefused even to argue,—that life amid free Negroes was simply unthinkable,the maddest <strong>of</strong> experiments.<strong>The</strong> agents that the Bureau could command varied all the wayfrom unselfish philanthropists to narrow-minded busy-bodies andthieves; and even though it be true that the average was far betterthan the worst, it was the occasional fly that helped spoil the ointment.<strong>The</strong>n amid all crouched the freed slave, bewildered between friendand foe. He had emerged from slavery,—not the worst slavery inthe world, not a slavery that made all life unbearable, rather a slaverythat had here and there something <strong>of</strong> kindliness, fidelity, andhappiness,—but withal slavery, which, so far as human aspirationand desert were concerned, classed the black man and the ox together.And the Negro knew full well that, whatever their deeperconvictions may have been, Southern men had fought with desperateenergy to perpetuate this slavery under which the black masses,26
W. E. B. Du Boiswith half-articulate thought, had writhed and shivered. <strong>The</strong>y welcomedfreedom with a cry. <strong>The</strong>y shrank from the master who stillstrove for their chains; they fled to the friends that had freed them,even though those friends stood ready to use them as a club fordriving the recalcitrant South back into loyalty. So the cleft betweenthe white and black South grew. Idle to say it never shouldhave been; it was as inevitable as its results were pitiable. Curiouslyincongruous elements were left arrayed against each other,—theNorth, the government, the carpet-bagger, and the slave, here; andthere, all the South that was white, whether gentleman or vagabond,honest man or rascal, lawless murderer or martyr to duty.Thus it is doubly difficult to write <strong>of</strong> this period calmly, so intensewas the feeling, so mighty the human passions that swayedand blinded men. Amid it all, two figures ever stand to typify thatday to coming ages,—the one, a gray-haired gentleman, whose fathershad quit themselves like men, whose sons lay in nameless graves;who bowed to the evil <strong>of</strong> slavery because its abolition threateneduntold ill to all; who stood at last, in the evening <strong>of</strong> life, a blighted,ruined form, with hate in his eyes;—and the other, a form hoveringdark and mother-like, her awful face black with the mists <strong>of</strong> centuries,had aforetime quailed at that white master’s command, hadbent in love over the cradles <strong>of</strong> his sons and daughters, and closedin death the sunken eyes <strong>of</strong> his wife,—aye, too, at his behest had laidherself low to his lust, and borne a tawny man-child to the world,only to see her dark boy’s limbs scattered to the winds by midnightmarauders riding after “damned Niggers.” <strong>The</strong>se were the saddestsights <strong>of</strong> that w<strong>of</strong>ul day; and no man clasped the hands <strong>of</strong> these twopassing figures <strong>of</strong> the present-past; but, hating, they went to theirlong home, and, hating, their children’s children live today.Here, then, was the field <strong>of</strong> work for the Freedmen’s Bureau; andsince, with some hesitation, it was continued by the act <strong>of</strong> 1868until 1869, let us look upon four years <strong>of</strong> its work as a whole. <strong>The</strong>rewere, in 1868, nine hundred Bureau <strong>of</strong>ficials scattered from Washingtonto Texas, ruling, directly and indirectly, many millions <strong>of</strong>men. <strong>The</strong> deeds <strong>of</strong> these rulers fall mainly under seven heads: therelief <strong>of</strong> physical suffering, the overseeing <strong>of</strong> the beginnings <strong>of</strong> freelabor, the buying and selling <strong>of</strong> land, the establishment <strong>of</strong> schools,27
- Page 1 and 2: The Souls ofBlack FolkbyW. E. B. Du
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