Fifty Years of Freedom From Cabin to Congress , A Drama in Five Acts. by KATHERINE DAVIS TILLMAN Autho of Thirty Years of Freedom, Aunt Betsy's Thanksgiving:, Lincoln's Proclamation, etc.. etc. Published by the A. M. E. Book Concern, 631 Finest., Philadelphia, Pa. Copyright 1910 Price, - - 25 Cents Fifty Years of Freedom or From Cabin to Congress A Drama in Five Acts. by KATHERINE DAVIS TILLMAN Author of Thirty Years of Freedom, Aunt Betsy's Thanksgiving:, Lincoln's Proclamation, etc.. etc. Published by the A. M. E. Book Conceni, 631 Pine St., Philadelphia, Pa. Copyright 1910 Price, - - 25 Cents CHARACTERS. Benjamin BANNEKiiK Houston, An Ambitious Young Kentuckian Aunt Riioda A Southern Mammy LiNDY Aunt Rhoda's Ward Jake A Trifling Husband Sue ] LouiMiENiA ^ Aunt Rhoda"s Daughters Pansy ) >->, , „. > Aunt Rhoda's Sons (jLADSTONE J Colonel White A Gentleman of the South Miss Lou His Beautiful Daughter Robert White Her Suitor Ruth Pexn A Quaker Teacher PKEsn)EXT Xokton President Bayview University Arthur Norton His Son Prof. Cox PrOE. Weir ) ivr i r ^i n> u Prof. Minor [ Members of the Faculty Prof. Ward ^ Van Wert g?"'^^ I Students Stewart f Powell ^ George Neil A Successful Negro Lawyer Edith Neil Tlis Young Daughter Mrs. Neh. His Wife Ida Cami'iskll Julia Storm Maid Guests at the reception. *-' t- j r, ^ T.^P96-006728 > PViends of Edith iCLD 23018 Act 1 Scene i. {Interior of Aunt Rhoda's cabin, calico curtains at zvin- don', Bible on center table, family portraits on zvall, por- traits of Douglass,. Lincoln, Bruce, Aunt Rlioda, a pleasant- faced zvoman of perhaps 45, is stirring cake in an old-fash- ioned ycllozv crock. Lindy, a pretty girl of 12, is holding Gladstone, and at the same time, attempting to read. Pansy, a girl of 8, is singing a plantation ditty. Louphenia, 10, is clapping her hands in time to the tune, and Lige barely 7, is xcatching the cake bozvl zvith hv.ngry longings.) ['ansv {sings). — -"Juber dis and julier dat, Juber killed a yaller cat; Ain' yo' 'shame, yo" dirty dog, Dance this juber." Aunt Rhoda. — Why don' yo' children stop makin' so much noise? It's enough to wake up the dead, the way you uns go on. Why don' yo' clar out from under my feet anyhow. You alius as thick as Hies when you're not wanted. I don' look for you uns to get a blessed thing Chrismus 'cause you so hard- harded. LiGE {zvlii)iingly). — I want the bowl when you th.rough with it Mammy, Pansy had it the las' time. Pansy {indignantly) . — I didn't 'tall, Mammy, Lige had it his own self, didn't he Louphenia? Louphenia {zvitheringh). — Cose he did. Aunt Lou. — Here Lindy, put dat book down and get dese children out do's befo dey drive me plum crazy. Here's Miss Lou spectin' company fo' Chrismus, and dat trifling Sue ain' got mo'n haf the cakes baked. I clar to gracious. Sue can't get aroun' haf as good as her ole mammy wid all de rheumatism I 4 Fjkty Years of Freedom. got in my jints. {Lindy tries to get the children out, when a rap is heard. Lindy opem the door and a bare-footed boy of fourteen staggers in. He has a bundle tied in red 'kerchief on his shoulders and around his hat is a band of black calico.) Aunt R. — Great head of the church, who is this? (sets cake bowl on table.) Ben. — Is this my Aunt Rhoda? {he sinks down in a chair as if exhausted.) Aunt R. (rnshes to Imn and lifts his head. He is a well-de- veloped lad, with a handsome face and speaks better English- than the average colored Southern boy). — It's Ben, my Sister Lucy Ann's baby boy, her only Hving child. I see the favor. Lindy han' me de cordial quick. Po' chile 's he's jus' played out. (Pours cordial down Ben's throat. He revives.) There now, he's comin' 'roun' alright. (Hugs Ben.) Yes this is yo' Aunt Rhoda. You favor Lucy Ann, up an' down. They say that a boy that favors his mammy is bo'n fo' good luck. How is Sister Lucy Ann anyhow, an' why didn't you sen' word you's comin'? I clar to goodness, you mos' took my bref, comin' in on me so sudden. Ben. — Mother's dead, Aunt Rhoda, and I haven't got anybody in the world but you. (Wipes eyes on coat sleeve.) Aunt R. — Lucy Ann dead? (Begins to cry. The children join her, except Lindy, ivho tries to quiet them.) Po' lam', tain't no mo' an' could be expected. She never was strong an' she's been ailing a long time. When did she die? Ben (zt'ipes eyes again on coat sleeve). — She's been dead three weeks to-day. She suffered like everything. She called me to the bed before she died and told me if they didn't treat me right, after she was dead, I could come to you. Aunt R. — Course you can stay with your Aunt Rhoda.. I'm po' as Job's turkey, an' he was so po' he had to lean agin the fence to balance hisse'f, but long as me an' the chillens got a Fifty Years of Freedom. 5 piece of bread FH divide it with you, an' what I lack the Lord who's promised to look ofter the orphans, will make up. Ben. (puts hand in bosom and draivs out a package). — Aunt Rhody, mother sent you her ear-rings and breastpin an' a quilt she pieced while she's sick. There were some more of her things [ could have brought but Aunt Millie, the housekeeper and the rest of them took them and I couldn't get hold of them. Aunt R. (examining things). — I aint much han' fo' jewelry, but Fm goin' to wear these ear-bobs out of respect for Sister Lucy Ann. Po' Lucy Ann, I wish I'd a been there, when they was go- ing through her things, an' he'ping themse'ves. Ben. — Oh my poor head how it aches, I walked so far and I feel so faint. Aunt R. (suspiciously). — Walked? Did you tramp all the way here from Lucy Ann's? You run away that's what you's done. What you run away for? It's a blessin' twasn't cold or you'd froze to death sure. BEN.^'Cause mother told me to come to you if I wasn't treated right. Col. Thomas beat me like a dog for nothing and I ran off. Aunt R. — What did he beat you fo', I hope you didn't do noth- in' mean and ornery? Ben. — Why Aunt Rhody, I been working for Col. Thomas up at the big house long before mother got sick, waiting on him and tending to his horse, and he seemed to think a heap of me and always gave me his old papers and magazines when he was through with them, and Aunt Millie used to let me read some of the books out of the book-case when she was in a good humor. Aunt R. — Well, hurry up chile, for the lan's sake an' tell the res'. Don' go all aroun' Robin's Hood's barn befo' you tell what happened, yo' remin' me of yo' Uncle Jake's prayin'. He goes way to Jerusalem an' back befo' he gets through. 6 Fih'TY Years ok Freedom. Ben. — Well, 'twasu't nothin' for him to get mad at anyhow. You know mother was always crazy about schooling herself and she's always urged me to study hard as I could at school, and I did and I always stood head of my classes. Well, 'twas a day or two after mother died and I picked up one of Col. Thomas's old newspapers and I read where some young colored man went from the South and worked his way tlirough one of the biggest white colleges in the North and now he's a rich lawyer practicing in Michigan and the paper said how everybody black and white was proud of him, because he worked his way up from the bottom, and all at once something seemed to say to mc, "Why don't you do that, Ben? You're not afraid of hard work," and it seemed like I could hear mother saying lo me like she used to, "Ben learn all you can and never be too lazy to work ami you'll get through the world, even if your poor mother does have to die and leave you alone." Aunt K. i7viping her eyes). — Ben Houston ain't you never coming to the point? Ben. — Yes'm, I'm most through. I was telling Aunt Millie and some of the rest of them about wjiat I'd read and what I'd like to do, and they told Col. Thomas that I was thinking about run- ning ofif and he called me up to the house and asked me about it, and when I told him I'd like to go, because I thought I'd have a better chance to get an education he got mad and said that all education was good for was to spoil Negroes for work, and we wasn't worth our salt anyhow, since Freedom. He asked me what good education would do me, and I said it would make a man of me, and then he said I was giving him impudence and he took the buggy whip and whipped me like everything, and he never had touched me when mother was living, and I knew he didn't have any right to whip me when I hadn't done anything, so I watched my chance and ran away. Aunt R.— That wasn't nothin' to beat yo' for if that was all. Fifty Years of Freedom. 7 but you know there's plenty of white folks everywhere thinks just like him, that education spoils colored fo'ks fo' work an' I guess it do spoil some of 'em same's it does white folks. You was right to come, you don't liave to stay no where you don't want to unless you're bound out by the law. We're free now, thank God ! I don't know how you're going to get any schoolin' because the colored fo'ks haven't got any school round here 'cep'n de Sunday school Miss Lou carries on here in my cabin every Sunday, but Lindy ain't been to no other school and she reads to beat the band. Ben. — That would hardly do for me. Aunt Rhody, because I finished the school at home last year, and could have got a school to teach if mother had been well enough to leave. Aunt Rhoda. — Sake's alive, you sho' is sma't. Done finished school an' talkin' about goin' to college. LiNDY. — Aunt Rhoda, don't you think cousin Ben ought to have something to eat. Aunt R. — That's the born truth ! Get that piece of hog jole out of the cupboard and the sweet taters out of the ashes and sec if the hoe-cake ain't brown (Lindy goes out). Heah, Pansy, Lou, Phcny, Lige and Gladstone shake hands with your cousin Ben, (the children advance bashfully. Ben takes Gladstone on his knee). Now you's seen all the family 'cep'n yo' Uncle Jake, and my oldest girl Sue who works at the big house for Miss Lou and Colonel White. Set up Ben and eat. (Ben goes to the table and eats). Heah, children, take dis bread and clear out, (gives bread to children, exit all but Lindy, who sets more plates on the table and remains interested in the conversation). Ben. — Isn't Lindy my cousin too? Aunt R. — No, Lindy is Jake's niece, Celia's girl. Her mother's dead and she ain't got nobody to look after her but me, but you can call her cousin jes' the same as you do the res' de chillen. 8 Fifty Years ok FReeooNf. LiNPY. (throwing her arms around Aunt R's H^r^).^And Aunt Rhoda is so good to me. Bkn. — Aunt Rhody, you've got a big heart! (Voice is heard outside singing. Enters Jack). Jake. — Hello, there ole woman, didn' you forgit to blow a din- ner horn? Aunt R. — Couldn't you tell whether the horn was blowed or not? Jake. — De way my insides feel it orter blowed whether it did or not. Aunt R. — You'll never die in debt to your stomach Jake Jones, you don't study 'bout a livin' thing but eatin' an' possum huntin'. Jake. — Possum mighty good ole lady and when you bring him out of de oven, he's cooked good enuf fo' de president of the United States to eat. {sees Ben). Why who's this? Aunt R. {mollified). — It's Lucy Ann's boy Ben. Po' Lucy Ann's dead and he's come to stay with us. Jus' think my po' sis- ter's gone and I didn't know a thing about it. {ivipes eyes). Jake. — Dat's what dat dog's been doin' a howlin' 'round dis place fo' de las' month, well she suffered a long time, sho' Ben, chile, you're welcome to our po' cabin. We'll try to fin' you a bite to eat and a bunk at night as long as you's willing to stay. Ben. — Thank you, Uncle Jake, all I want is a chance to go to school and learn something. I'll try not to to give you and Aunt Rhody any trouble, I can do lots of work. Jake, {aside). — He is de boy, I'm lookin' fo' for Colonel White certny do impose on my constitution, making me work so hard. Dat's a good sperit, Ben, and if you feel rested enuf you might come out to de fiel' dis afternoon. Aunt R. — 'Deed he ain't going to no fiel' to-day. Don't you Fifty Years of Freedom. 9 see the chile's all played out tramping all the way from Henry County way heah ? Jake.— Alright Rhoda, I didn't mean no harm, (walks to table, sits and helps himself). By de way. Rhody, I hearn a pow'ful piece of news to-day. Aunt R. — Von don't say, I hope none of the colored folks got in any trouble. Jake. — Oh, no, it's good news, or you'll say so anyhow. A Quaker lady is here frum de North and going to start a school heah for de cullud fo'ks. Li.XDY. {jumps up). — Oh I am so glad. Bex. — Just what I was wishing. Aunt R. — Who's a telling you, Jake ? Jake. — Why St. Nichols, Aunt Mandy's daughter's boy Ike. ArxT R. — Well his mouth ain't no prayer-book, but it may be so. Where they think they going to have it? Jake. — Dey dont know but dey wants to have it at de Cross Road's Church. Aunt R. (meditatively). — I wonder if they's asked the white fo'ks if they kin start the school. Kinder late in de season too, right heah at Chrismas. Jake, (gesticulating). — What dey gwine ask de white fo'ks fo'? Ain't we cullud fo'ks free? Is de 'Mancipation Proclamation passed in Congress or not? Ain't we free same as de white fo'ks? Catch me askin' a white man whether I can do anything or not? (Col. White from outside thunders) Jake. (Jake jumps up from the table zvith astonishing alacrity.) Jake. — Suh ? Col. White, (calls).— You get that field finished up this after- noon, you hear, you lazy, black rascal? 10 FiiTY Years ov Freedom. Jake. — Yes, suh, yes, siih, I'm comin' Colonel (starts out in a hurry). Aunt R.— Land sakes alive! I ain't got that cake baked. (Hur- ries around and begins to stir the cake.) Clar out from here, de las' one of you, or I'll skin you alive! (children scamper righ* and left). (A rap is heard.) (Amtt R. runs out zvith cake-bowl, comes back iviping her hands.) I wonder who on earth's comin' here now. (opens door, Ruth Penn the Quaker teacher stands on the threshold. She is attired in the gray Quaker garb and is a sweet-faced woman of 30.) Ruth. — This is Friend Rhoda, I know. Aunt R. — Yes, ma'am, Fse a friend to everybody, sho's you bo'n, and you're de Quaker lady the Lord has sent to lead us po' cullud fo'ks from darkness into light. Come in. (Ruth comes in. Sits down. Dusts rocker with her apron.) The good Lord knows, I hope and trust that the school will be started. There's just a few colored fo'ks aroun' here an' all of 'em po' an' not able to pay a teacher, an' so we ain't had no school. Ruth. — Yes, I am Ruth Penn, and I have come from my home in New England to labor here among your people. I know that our work is apt to meet with opposition and I thought perhaps thee could give me some advice. This is Friend White's land, thee is on is it not? Aunt R. — Yes, ma'am, almost far as you kin see looking to- ward the South is Col. White's Ian' and me an m'os' all my fo'ks used to belong to the Whites, and I was the chillen's nurse after mammy died and I never could make up my min' to leave the old place. Course I might leave an' do better an' then agin I mightn't. Ruth. — So thee has been in the family all thy life and nursed the children? Are they all living? Fii'TY Years of Frekdom. ii Aunt R. — No, there's just two chillen left, the one they call Lady Mary and our Miss Lou. Ruth. — Lady Mary ? Are they English ? Aunt R. — Mistress was English born and bred, and after she died one of her English cousins came over here and married Miss Mary, and after his brother died, it made her a Lady Mary, and Ihey call him Lord Clyde but I think that's downright heathenish to call any body Lord here on earth, and I've always been expect- ing to hear of something dreadful to happen to him for taking the Lord's name that way. Ruth, {smiling). — Thee must be a little bit of a Quaker, Friend Rhoda. We do not use titles for ourselves or others. So the mis- tress died. Were there any sons? Aunt R. — Yes, she died heart-broken over losing her two boys, master Louis and master John, the two handsomest boys in the whole country, chillen Fd nursed ever since they were born, got killed the same day fighting in the Rebel Army. Mistress was always good as an angel and she hoped and prayed all the time that the colored fo'ks would all be free without any war, and when the word came and they was killed she went to bed and never got up. Ruth. — Time brings about many sad changes. I asked not from idle curiosity but because I would know the disposition of the people before I appeal to them in aid of the school. Aunt R. — Yes, there's just three left. Lady Mary in England, Col. White who's head's fas' blossomin' fo' the grave, and Miss Lou, the baby chile, dat Fd give my last drop of blood for, she's so dear to me. Ruth. — Do you think I can enlist their efforts in starting the school? Aunt R. — Miss Lou's all right. She's just like mistress. She 12 Fifty Years of Freedom. loves the colored people an' she'd go right in and teach herself if Col. White would let her. She could do it too, 'cause she went oflf to New Orleans to school when she wasn't out of short dress- es jes 'bout 13 or 14 years old, and she's got a big education! She can do two or three kinds of talkin' 'sides what she talks to us, and she's always talkin' about helpin' dc colored fo'ks but Col. White, it's accordin' how you catch him. Sometimes he's good as pie and 'notlier time he rears and pitches like a lion he do. Ruth. — You still work for them. Aunt R. — Yes'm. I does the washing and mending for the rent of the cabin and a garden patch, and Jake my ole man and my daughter Sue, they's hired by the month. They don't get much though, 'cause all Col. White's got is some land and the rent he gets frum it don't hardly keep 'em going. Miss Lou she done got a little money of her own left from mistress' private fortune, but la me nothin' ain't like it used to be befo' the war. Why Christmas the big house would be full of company and down in the colored fo'ks quarters there'd be as much fun as up at the big house. Ruth. — Well, friend Rhoda, I think thee had better go and speak to Friend White first and ask if we may have the school here on his land and I will follow on later and see what he says, will thee do this? Aunt R.— It'll be mos' like Daniel going in the lion's den I 'spect, but I'll go, and you pray that the Lord of Hosts go with me. Ruth. — If anybody can win him it will be thee, my good wom- an, his children's nurse and trusted friend. Never fear, the Lord of Hosts shall arm the Right ! (Exit Aunt R. and Ruth, enter Lindy and Ben.) LiNDY. — That's the Quaker lady who's going to start the school. Ben. — Yes, I've seen pictures of them in books. They used to Fifty Years of Freedom. 13 carry slaves over the underground railroad when they were run- ning away from the South. LiNDY. (coming close to Ben). — What, did they have a railroad under the ground? Ben. — It wasn't a sure enotigli railroad, it was just kind white people like the Quaker teacher who took poor colored people in who were ru'ining away from slavery and helped them on their way. LiNDY. — I love kind people don't you Cousin Ben ? Ben. — Yes, that's why I love you. The rose is red, the violets blue, sugar's sweet and so are you. LiNDY.^ — Oh Cousin Ben, do you love me already? I love you too, and Fm sorry for you. Ben. — Yes, I mean it Lindy. Fm only a poor colored boy, but I am going to work hard, study hard and make a man of myself so I can help my people. LiNDY. — Oh, Cousin Ben, like Frederick Douglass? Ben. — Yes, and like Senator Bruce, Bishop Turner and other great Negroes. I had a colored teacher at home who used to talk to me about them all the time. I don't think Fll get much chance here, and if I get a chance Fm going to the North and find the college that colored lawyer graduated from. FiNDY. — Oh, what would I do, Cousin Ben. You promised to help me with my books. Ben. — Stay here with Aunt Rhoda and learn all you can little Cabin Princess. Girls don't have to know as much as boys and when I get through school Fll come back and take you away with me. Do you want to wear my mother's ring so you won't forget. Findy. — Yes, Cousin Ben. {Ben puts ring on Liiidy's finger.) Aunt R. (calls). — Lindy. Lindy. (runs out). — Yes'm. Curtain. 14 Fii'TY Yi'ARs or Freedom. ACT [[. Scene ir. — (Colonel IVhite's dining room, ivith a viezv of the kitcheti ivJien the door opens in the back-ground. Sue, a neat looking girl of eighteen in tvhite sewing apron and cap is setting the breakfast table. Colonel White is at his desk read- ing the morning paper. Enters Aunt Rhoda in freshly laun- dered dress and apron, with tray on -which are tivo covered dishes.) Aunt R. (curlcsyi)ig) . — Good mornin', good morniii', Colonel. How you fcclin' ihis fiiK- mornin'? You's lookin' miglity fine sure. CoL. W. — Pretty well, pretty well, Rhoda, for an old fellow. How's your rheumatism. Sit down there. Sue does well, but we miss you in the kitchen, nobody can beat your cooking, Rhoda. Aunt R. — Thank you suh. Cooking alius did come handy to me some how. (sits down.) Col. W.— Well, when it comes to cooking and singing, your folks are hard to l)eat. Aunt R. — My rhematism ain't bothered mc much fo' the las' day or two, an' I's feelin' so spry this mornin' that I got up a little earlier, and fi.xed up something a little extra fo' yo' breakfast. Heah, Sue put these dishes in the warming oven, I didn't know you'd be so late with yo' breakfast. Keep thein hot till the Colonel is ready for his breakfast. (Lixit Sue with dishes.) CoL. W.— What did you fi.x for me Rhoda? Aunt R. — Oh. 'twant much. I jes' fried you a young chicken with the cream gravy you liked and baked you a pan of light rolls. Col. W. — Whv Rhoda that was verv kind of vou 1 am sure Fu'TY Years of Freebom. 15 Is there anything I can do for you? Children all well? Aunt R. (curtseys again).— Yes, suh, all well an' able to eat all they kin git. Col. VV. — I repeat Rhoda, is there anything you wish. Is Jake in any new trouble? Aunt R. (tossing her head angrily). — Nothing but what 1 can settle. He went to town and came back full as a tick, but I wait- ed till he went to bed and then I used the does stick on him un- til he was sober as anybody. Col. \V. (laughs heartily). — Rhoda, you are a great disciplinar- ian. Aunt R. (stitfly). — What's that you callin' me? I hope you ain't callin' me names 'bout that triflin' Jake Jones. Col. W. (laughing more heartily than ever). — No indeed, I'm complimenting you, Rhody, I mean that you manage Jake and the children well, but are you sure there isn't something I can do for ycu this morning? Lou was telling me you wanted a new red table-cloth and knives and forks for Christmas. Is tliat what's worrying? Aunt R. — No, suh, the Lord knows I ain't got that red table- cloth to study 'bout, I needs it, but I won't die if I don't get it. But now I come to think of it, there is something T might as well as ask you about while I'm up here. Col. W. — I knew you wanted something Rhody, you was always a first class diplomat. Alright, what is it. Aunt R. — Who owns the Ian' the Cross Road's Church's on, Colonel White, you or Mr. Rol)ert White? Col. W. — WMiy I own it of course. I thought you knew that years ago. It's just this side of the boundary line, you may thank your stars for it, for Mr. Robert never would have let you had a church on his land. He's not a churchman and don't be- lieve in churches. i6 Fifty Years of Freedom. Aunt R. — I always thanked my stars that my folks belong to yoiir family instead of Mr. Robert's. Well, then if you own the Ian' I know it will be alright. Col. W. {looking up from his paper). — What will be alright, Rhoda ? Aunt R. — Why a school for the colored people that a Quaker lady's come from the North to start for the colored people. CoL. W. — Quaker lady nothing ! Do you suppose ladies of any kind are going to leave their homes and come and live among Negroes to teach them? No, they have better sense. No, I'm not going to have any school started here. The Negroes don't need any school, they're not worth the powder and lead it would take to blow them up with, now. We don't need any educated niggers around here, (stalks about room in a passion.) We need Negroes to work the land, that's what we need ! Aunt R. (starts to speak and zvipes eyes on apron. Sue comes to door peeps in and listens anxiously. Enters Miss Lou. She a girl of fragile build zvith brown hair and eyes. She wears a rid- ing habit and has roses in her hands. She is pretty and re- fined.) Miss Lou. — Good morning, papa, (kisses him.) Isn't it a glor- ious morning. The birds are singing in the hedges and all the world seems happy. I had a splendid ride. Birdie still goes a little stifif but she can't help it, poor thing. Too bad she got that fall while I was in New Orleans. Am I late? Well, here is my peace offering. Aren't they beautiful? (Holds out Rowers.) Out of the conservatory. Oh, how I love flowers, (goes back of cen- ter and calls Sue.) Sue, bring me some roses so that I can ar- range tliese flowers. Sue. (pokes her head in from kitchen). — Yes, Miss Lou. Miss Lou. (suddenly perceives Aunt R.) Oh, here's mammy. (Hugs her.) Why, what's the matter with you, mammy? Fifty Ykars of Freedom. 17 Col. W. — She's pouting because I told her I wasn't going to have some meddling Quaker woman here from the North starting a school for the lazy niggers around here, on my land. Sue bring in the breakfast. {Sue brings in breakfast.) Miss Lou. (^placing flowers in vases). — Oh, papa, it must be right if mammy wants it, I never knew mammy to make a mis- take. I've often wished I had time to start a day school for them. The years I spent at the school in New Orleans convinced me that education is good for everybody. Aunt R. — I don't want my children to grow up in ig'nance if they ain't white I expected the Draines and the Peterses and all of the res' of the po' trash 'roun heah to be against having the school, but I didn't expect it of Colonel White, faithful as his colored fo'ks always been to him. Sue. — Breakfast is ready, if you please, sir. (Col. IV. and Miss Lou seat themselves they bow their heads for a silent grace and begin to eat. As Col. White looks at the dishes, Rhoda has pre- pared for him, his sternness relaxes.) Col. W. — Oh, I don't care, have the school if ymi want to, but don't think any of you are going to slack work to go, and me paying you wages. Aunt R. — Thank the Lord! Miss Lou. — Papa, you're a darling. Aunt R. — Good mornin', I must be getting back to the cabin. CoL. W. (tossing her a half dollar). — Here treat yourself, Rhoda. you gained your point as I expected yon would. Aunt R. (smiling. and slipping the coin in her pocket).- — Thank you. Colonel, you made me feel mighty dubious sir, mighty du- bious, I tell you. Miss Lou. — How are you getting along with the Christmas- baking mammy? I couldn't help you and Sue any yesterday. I i8 FitTY Ykars or Freedom:. was so busy with my Christmas gifts. It's a burden to have s<3 many relatives and friends at holiday times. Aunt R.— Everything baked but the pound cake. When the fo'ks comin'? Miss Lou. — Oh, I guess they'll be here in time for dinner to- morrow. Cousin Robert sent word that he would be here in time for breakfast, but the others will come later. Here take this can- dy to Gladstone, {reaches plate front table. Aunt R. takes it and departs. A rap is heard. Sue goes to door at left of stage.) Sue. — Colonel White, there's a lady to see you. >CoL. W.— Who is it? ■ Sue. — I don't know, sir. She's a strange looking lady. Cql, W.— Tell her to come in. {Enters Ruth Penn. Col. W. and Miss LvU ^i^^- Col. W. bows gallantly.) Col. W.— T am Colonel White, and you are— Ruth.— Ruth Peim, if thee please. I am sorry to disturb thee at thy breakfast hour. Miss Lou {extending hand).— Oh, never mind that! I am the Colonel's daughter Louise. Won't you sit up and have breakfast with us? Ruth.— Oh no, T will sit here while you finish- I am glad to know thee both. Col. W.— You wished to see me ? Ruth.— Yes, if thee please; I came to thank thee for thy kind permission to start a school for the colored pe»ple here on thy land. Friend Rhoda has just told me the good news! CoL. W. {angrily).— I never could get around letting Rhoda have her own way, but I'm not in favor of the school. The Ne- groes need hoes and rakes more than they do spelUng books. Fii'TY Years of Freedom. 19 Ruth. — Friend White, have not these people souls? Col. W. — I don't know whether they have or not, madam; there are those who say not. Ruth. — But thee does not believe such a wicked thing, I am sure. Thou knowest that they are human beings like ourselves, and that, having been turned adrift without education, money or friends, they need kind Christian people to live with them and teach tlrem. Miss Lou. — Oh, yes, that is true. So my dear mother used to speak. We shall be friends, I know. CoL. W. — And, Miss Penn, those who associate with the Ne- groes here in the South, for any purpose whatever, should realize, before doing so, that such a course of action ostracises them from the society of Southern people. Ruth. — We Quakers follow Christ, and our work often leads tis among the lowly. Your sweet daughter believes this, for I learn that she has started a Sunday-school among the poor col- ored people. Again T thank thee for the opportunity to open the school. CoL. W. — I gave my word to Rhoda to satisfy her; but, madam, I have no sympathy for those who come from the North to teach us our duty to our Negroes. I am a plain man, and I speak as I feel. Ruth (gently). — Thou art blinded by the gods of this world. Thee will see differently some day. (She glides out.) CoL. W. (pushing back his plate). — Another Northerner down here on a fool's errand, wanting Negroes sent to school and put on an equality with the whites. Before the war it was against our law to teach them to read and write even, and thus we kept them in their places. Miss Lou. — But, papa, listen. The colored people were brought 20 Fii-TY Years of Fkeeuom. to this country against their will and made to toil like beasts of the field, to educate us, clothe us and keep us in luxury, while they were kept in ignorance and poverty ; and I think that the South owes the colored people a chance, and a fair one at that! Col. W. — Lou, you're getting beside yourself. Much learning doth make thee mad. Are these the principles you imbibed while off at school? Whose Negroes were better treated than mine? I believe in treating the Negro well as long as he behaves himself, just as I do my horse, my dog or any other animal. Miss Lou. — Oh, papa, you are wrong to speak so ! Does not the Bible say, "Out of one blood God created all the nations of the earth"? Is not the Negro our brother? Col. W. — Here, Lou, this is enough of your impertinence ! Don't presume on my love and try me too far ! The idea of your thinking that a Negro could ever be equal to a wliite man ! Out of one blood indeed! And is the proud Anglo-Saxon blood in- deed the same as that of the inferior African? Haven't the Ne- groes owned the continent of Africa for centuries, and do they not still live there in an uncivilized state? Miss Lou. — History icUs us of a time when the Angles and Saxons were equally rude and barbarous. It was Christianity that tamed the wild Saxons and Angles. Let us give the Negro all of the advantages of Christian civilization before we say that he is incapable of reaching the same heiglits. CoL. W. — That I should have lived to hear a daughter of mine express such views! I'll not stay here to be insulted so. {Starts off.) Miss Lou. — Oh, papa, do not be angry with me ! I beg your pardon if I have offended you. CoL. W. — Say no more, miss; say no more! (Goes out and slams the door.) Fifty Years of Freedom. 21 Miss Lou (sadly). — What have I gained but my father's deep displeasure? He is unreasonable on this question. Sue, you may clear away the table now. (Enters Sue, who remcwes disltes quickly and puts cover on the table.) Miss Lou. — Bring my sewing basket, Sue. To-morrow is Christmas, you know, and I have some gifts to finish. (^Sue brings basket. Miss Lou takes out sezving and begins to sew.) Have ynu finished that book I lent you, Sue? Sue. — Yes'm. It was a fine book, Miss Lou. Miss Lou. — Yes, it is a prime love story, St. Elmo. I read it twice in New Orleans. I don't think T could love a man like St. Elmo: could you. Sue? Sue.— Law me! T don't know; T ain't never been in com- pany. Miss Lou (sighing). — Too bad there aren't some nice young fellows around. Ell have to hunt you a beau. Sue. — I don't need none. I want to go to school and learn to be a teacher. Miss Lou. — A teacher? Why, Sue, you'll have to study hard. Ell help you nights before we go to sleep. Ell do my own hair while you study. Sue. — No'm, I love to do your hair. You've got a beau. I reckon he'll be over bright and early to-morrow. Miss Lou. — My Cousin Robert? Yes, I s'pose he will. Papa and Uncle Robert are dead set on our marrying, but every time T see Robert I get more out of the notion. Sue. — Mr. Robert's nice-looking, but they say he's got a bad temper. Miss Lou.— Yes, the White temper. I know all about it. But it isn't that that keeps me from liking him. I like somebody else. 22 Firrv Years ot* Freedom. Sue.— Why, Miss Lou ! Who? Miss Lou. — I don't know so much about him, only that his father is the president of a big college in Michigan, and the young man was the youngest professor in the faculty. He was a nephew of our president at the New Orleans school. Sue. — What's his name. Miss Lou? Miss Lou. — Don't you ever tell, Sue. His name is Arthur Norton. Sue. — Where do he live? Miss Lou. — At Bayview, Michigan. I only saw him a few times, but he seemed to like me. But oh, well, I don't suppose we'll ever meet again! (Sighs.) Sue. — Was he good-looking. Miss Lou? Miss Lou. — Handsome! He had such kind gray eyes and such polished manners. But my ! papa would never allow him to come here. All his folks were, abolitionists. Sue. — You don't say. {Footsteps are heard.) Miss Lou. — Sue, you can have that sprigged lawn of mine. I think it will just fit you. (Lays finger on lips.) Remember! Sue. — Yes'm. (Enter Col. IV. and Robert W. Exit Sue.) CoL. W. (in good humor, apparently; rubbing his hands to- gether). — I met Robert coming over, and I returned back with him. Make yourself at home, Robert. I'm going to hunt Sue and order up your breakfast. (Exit Col. IV.) Robert (crosses over to Lou; takes her hands). — And how is my fair cousin this Christmas Eve morning? The roses in ytour conservatory are not more fair to my eyes Fifty Years of Freedom. 23 Miss Lou. — Fie, Cousin Robert! You were ever an arch flat- terer. Robert. — A man may not flatter when hi.s whole being throbs with love, as mine does for you. Miss Lou (zvithdraws hands). — Have I not told you it is in vain for you to speak thus? It can never be as you wish. Robert. — Oh, say not never, dear cousin. Let me wait awhile. Answer me not now. You have changed since you went to New Orleans. I thought once you liked me. Miss Lou. — Oh, Cousin Robert, I do; you are all the brother I have ; but that is all. Rachel Draine is single yet. Why not court her? Robert. — Lou, do not trifle with me. I have your father's con- sent, and I will marry you in spite of yourself. (Enters Col. White; sits at desk; takes up letters and begins to read.) Col. W. (looks up from letter in his hand). — Ah, here is a letter from Colonel Thomas, asking about a Negro boy who ran away from his place a short time ago, and his whereabouts have been made known by some of the servants. He says the fellow is very rude and impudent, by reason of too much schooling, but he wishes him returned and he will be responsible for the cost. (The door ledding into the kitchen is ajar, and Sue listens.) He says further that the boy was given to him by his mother, who is dead, and he can claim him by law. Miss Lou. — It is Ben, mammy's nephew. Robert. — And do you keep here such a character? Coiv. W. — I see little of the boy. He has been working around here with Jake, but I liked his appearance and had thought to hire him to help Sue about the house and accompany Lou on her drives. 24 Fu'Ty YivArs ot* Freedom. Miss Lou. — That would be well. Ben is not rude and impu- dent. He is mammy's own sister's child, and came to her at her sister's dying request. Robert. — But surely you will oblige Colonel Thomas, our rich- est and most influential neighbor, and return the boy? His son John visits me, comes New Year's. Send the boy back by him. Col. W. — It may be the best thing to do. Colonel Thomas and I have business interests, and it is useless to quarrel about such a thing as sending the boy home. (Sue disa(>f>eays.) Lou. — I think he could not have been well treated. He was bruised from being beaten, ragged from head to foot, and half dead from his weary journey. , Robert. — Well, what would you, fair cousin — that he should come robed in a velvet gown, riding on a white charger? Do not rags and lashings belong to those of his class? Miss Lou. — Cousin Robert! CoL. W. — You will never win Lou by talking thus. She has strange notions about Negroes and the way they should be treated. Robert. — She has been shut up in school too long. When she has been home longer she will again think as we do. Miss Lou. — I never thought as you do. Robert. — Well, do not let us quarrel in the season of Christ- mas cheer and good will. Are you as fond of riding as you used to be? Miss Lou. — Yes, if anything, more so. Robert. — I hope, then, my Christmas present to you has not been ill chosen. I've a pretty mare outside awaiting your inspec- tion. Will you come out and see him? Fii'TY Years of Freedom. 25 Col. W.— Of course she will. Come. I'm going to take an- other peep at her myself. {Exit all. Enter Ben and Sue.) Ben. — So Mr. John is to take me back to Colonel Thomas' at New Year's. Well, he won't find me here to take. I'm going on to the North. I hafe to leave Aunt Rhoda and you and Lindy and the rest of the children and Miss Lou, but mother used to say where there's a will there's a way, and if you trust in God and do right you'll come out all right. I've got to try that mare for Miss Lou, and maybe that will be my chance. (Exit Ben hurriedly.) Sue. — I'll tell mammy first chance I get. It's mighty resky for Ben to go so far from home. (Re-enter Col. W., Robert and Miss Lou.) Robert. — Since you have refused my gift, I think I had better relieve you of my presence also. Miss Lou. — I am sorry. Cousin, but I could not accept it. But you must stay. It's a pretty sight to see mammy and her family come in after their Christmas gifts in the early morning, each one yelling, "Chrismus gif. Colonel! Chrismus gif. Miss Lou!" Coi,. W. — Yes, it is fun to see them, though it brings back sad old memories of other days. Robert. — I hardly think I shall stay. What about the boy? Will you send him back by me? I have a notion to spend the day with John Thomas. Miss Lou. — Oh, no! CoL. W. — Why not, if he is to go at all? You are hard to please to-day. Miss Lou. — 'Tis not right. Col. W. — I'll call him in and question him. (Exit Col. IV.) 26 Fifty Ykars of Freedom. Robert. — Promise you will try to love me, and all shall be as you will. I will leave the boy. Miss Lou. — I am a White too, Cousin Robert, and I have a mind and will of my own, and I say, once and for all, No! Curtain. ^^^^ Fifty Yrars oi< Freedom. 27 ACT IIT. SCENE III. Bayview College. President's oMce. Prof. Norton, Secretary of the Faculty, is at his desk. Ben raps on the' door.) Prof. N. — Come ! (Enters Ben, in poor but clean clothing. He carries his fezv old shabby books.) Well, my lad, what can [ do for you to-day? Ben. — If you please, sir, I came to enter the university. Prof. N. (astonished). — You don't mean it! Ben. — Yes, sir. I heard about this school down in Kentucky I short time ago, and I made up my mind to graduate from this ichool if I lived. Prof. N. (smiling). — I feel complimented by your selecting ny alma mater. How did you happen to settle on the school, iid you say? Ben. — It's almost like a fairy tale, sir. I just happened to pick jp a piece of old newspaper that told about a young colored fel- ow that had worked his way here from the South and gradu- ited from this college, and how proud everybody was of him, ind how he became a successful lawyer. Prof. N. — You mean George Neil. Yes, the university is justly )roud of him. We hope to see him a judge some day. He is a :redit to us. Ben. — The paper said the white people was as proud of him IS the colored ones, and that is what inspired me to want to :ome. I want to be something too. Prof. N.— Good ! But seriously, my boy, sit down here and et me talk to you. How old are you, and what is your name? 28 FuTY YiCAus oi' Fricicdom. Ben. — Ben Houston, sir ; and since Miss Lou told me aboi Benjamin Bannecker, the Black astronomer, I thouglit Fd ca my name Benjamin Bannecker Houston, if you don't mind. Pkok. N. (^starting). — Miss Lou — who No, I have no ol jection to that name, I am sure. And your age? Ben. — Going on sixteen now, sir. Miss Lou and Aunt Rhod both said I was so big for my age nobody'd hardly believe I wan older. I was fourteen when I left Colonel White's place to com here. Pkok. N. — Colonel White! 1 have heard of the Whites c Kentucky. Ben, it takes a number of years and a good deal c money to go through a school like this, and there would be lot of preparatory work before you could begin to work for degree. Ben. — -Ml I want is just a chance, sir. T don't care how bar I have to work. Couldn't I work my way through, sir? Prof. N. — I don't know. I must talk with father. H the fac ulty is willing to admit you, it means that you must have a grej deal of help to enter even the lowest classes of such a universit as ours, with a view to graduating. However, a boy with you grit should be encouraged. Have you had any Latin, algebra o physics? Ben. — Yes, sir, Fve had a pretty fair start in all three. The didn't have it in our school at home, but our teacher had bee through the book and he helped me nights. Prof. N. — Gocd for him, and you too! Here! (Hands exam ination sheets.) Take these blanks (zvrites hurriedly) and thi note, and go to that house over there across from the campu; and my mother will give you some dinner; and after you hav eaten, write out the answers to these questions and bring ther back to me. (Exit Ben.) Such perseverance would do credi to the proudest Anglo-Saxon blood. Heard of this universit Fii'TY Years of Freedom. 29 lown there in Kentucky, and came here seeking an education, 'oor, despised African race, there must be something great in ou, or you would not in the face of such discouraging circum- tances make such heroic' attempts to rise ! Kept in a state of bject slavery for more than two centuries, the moment the pres- ure is removed, up they spring, inquiring the way to the light f civilization. Truly we owe this people a chance! Miss Lou! "an Ben's Miss Lou be the beautiful Southern girl I met at New )rleans three years ago? She was very young then, but had mind as beautiful as her face. Her friends took pains to tell le that she was engaged to her cousin, and I have tried to for- et her; but alas! "Her bright smile haunts me still." It must e my Miss Lou, for she lived out from Louisville and her ather's name was White. I'll see the boy again and question im. Poor lad ! I know that father will be willing to admit im if he can pass the preliminary examination, but I know not ow it will be with the rest of the faculty. Some of the students lade it unpleasant for Neil. Such a fine fellow, too ! (Enters President Norton. He is a fine-looking old gentleman f sixty, ivith a saintly face. He carries a cane.) PrES. — Well. y\rthur, my son, any new applications? Prof. N.— Yes, a poor colored lad, who heard of our university own in Kentucky, and worked his way here in the hope of raduating from this university. PrES. — He had pluck, all right. I'm afraid well have a fight n hand, but I'll do what I can for him, for I'll never be the man 3 shut the donr of opportunity in the black man's face. {Re- lies. ) llowe'er it be, it seems to me 'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood, 'ennyson never said a truer thing, to my mind. Prof. N. — I'm with you, father. My sympathies are always ^ith the under dog. 30 FiiTY Ykars of FrivIvdom. PrES. — Where is the candidate? Prof. N. — I sent him over home for some dinner. (Ben raps.) Pres. — Come ! Proe. X. — Here he is; father. You look like another boy sine you've had your dinner. Let nic have the e.xaniination sheets gave you. Ben (lia)ids llieiii). — I hope they're all right, sir. Proe. N. {excimiiics paper). — Excellent! Look here, fathei How's this? Proe. {adjusts glasses, looks over papers). — ?Te's been studj ing. His answers show considerable knowledge of these sufc jects. I'd be willing to admit him on the strength of these ar swers. {To Ben.) And so, my lad, you're very anxious to h admitted to this university, and you have no money, and cam here in the hope of working your way through? Ben. — Yes, sir. Pres. — Arthur, I think I'll step over to Professor Cox's roon Several of the faculty are there. {Exit Pres.) Proe. N. — Ben, tell me about your Miss Lou. What kind o a looking young lady is she? Ben. — Oh, she looks exactly like an angel, only prettier. Sh has long brown curls and big brown eyes, and the sweetest smil coming and going over her face all the time, and when she' talking to you her voice makes you think of the little singin birds in the woods. Prof. N. — Why. Ben, that's quite poetical. Did you say tha '^he is Colonel White's daughter? Ben. — Yes, sir, Colonel White's her father, and Mr. Robei White, lier cousin, is the one she's to marry. Aunt Rhoda say she never saw the man that was good eHough to marry Mis Fii'TY Years oi' Freedom. 31 Lou, but Mr. Robert White's folks and Colonel White always been dead set for him and Miss Lou to marry. (Steps are heard.) .Prof. N. (sharply). — The faculty! (Throws open door to left.) Sit m here, Ben, and look over the magazines until they are through. (Exit Ben. Enter Pres. and members of the faculty.) Prof. Cox. — President Norton, I repeat, it is an outrage to admit another Negro to an institution like ours. We lost five students the last year Neil was here. I'm one of the oldest mem- bers of the faculty, and I think my opinion ought to have some weight. Prof. Weir. — It seems a shame to turn away any who seek 3iigher education, but I am somewhat of Professor Cox's opin- ion. Prof. Minor. — It does not seem to me that the time has yet arrived for Negroes to graduate from our best institutions. Prof. Ward. — Professor Norton will speak for the rest of us. Prof. N. — Gentlemen of the faculty of Michigan's noblest insti- tution, I am here to plead the cause of the humblest and most helpless client an advocate could have. My client is a Negro lad, born in adversity and nurtured in poverty. From a Kentucky cabin he has worked his way hence and knocks at our doors for admittance. Should we admit him and allow his intellectual thirst to be quenched at our fountains of knowledge? He has nothing to offer us of this world's goods, for his ancestors gave to ours over two and a half centuries of unrequited toil. What contrast to our white students, who, for the most part, come to us from homes of wealth and culture, the sons of parents who do all within their power to stimulate them toward the goal of the highest type of citizenship; but my young client, without educated parents, or favorable environment, starts out to seek tlie same grand heights ! Will you close the door of hope in his face? Will you deny him his chance? Gentlemen, it was but yesterday 32 Fifty Years of Freedom. that the shackles were burst from his limbs. Shall we refuse to unshackle his mind? (Part of the Professors say, "No!") PkES. — Is there any one else who wishes to speak? I will say that the young man passed a very creditable preliminary examination. 1 will now take a vote. All who are willing to admit the Negro boy rise. Prof. Cox (to Prof. Weir). — The Nortons run everything. I won't be obstinate. (All rise.) Prof. N. (shakes hands with all). — Thank you, gentlemen, thank you ! PrES. — Aye, you voted like men. It reminded me of the days of Garrison and Sumner in dear old New England. Pkof. N. (opens door of outer room). — Ben! (Enters Ben.) PrES. — Gentlemen of the faculty, the student you have voted to admit. What is your name, sir? Ben. — Benjamin Banneker Houston. PrES. N. — Mr. Houston, gentlemen. Curtain. ^^ FlKTV YKARS ok J^-RKKDONf. ^^ ACT IV, : books under Ihcir arm^ \,« *oup of students u'ith text- ^^ob^rt Ouden, R^lZ's^Z^ """"'^ '"'" ''^''^ Van Wert— I s-i\- it" *l'<-'t '" Texas, I tell you. '*^"'' ^"' anything Jike Ogden.— Well, we don> UL- ■. Van Wkkt.— Tile rlnrL- -i . ^nmg to rain. "' ^'""''^ ^"'^ ^«^'^-ing. I g,,,,, .^,^ Or.nE.v.-Hello, coon! .".:•--! l^e^?8MH'^tfieJ;uUh^r- sitv. '*^TKWART:^r hope hell he cxpciletf^at {>Vili?e. -PKiiS-Rest assured, gentlemen, the matter .hall be ^horouglily investigated. Come to the office^ttK'ine/^FloustOn. , ' {lixit President and Ben.) 'van Win.T.-I guess' we've' got him in a pretty scrape at last.; We must stick together and get him expelled if we^c^m. ,^^. ^^ . OcuKN.-Yes he's getting entirely,toopron^nent^irou,.dhei;e. • Professor Norton makes a regular ^foor of him. ^ ^ SXEVVAKT.-It will\neyei;;dx>;fcvr; hi^v^o^ku^^ ^^^M ^^'S^^^ the trouble. Come on, let's go. _ .,^,,.. ,„.o. -,,> '.A'vv. /.\-.\'. "-•''^'■ , /^ ril st^idcnts. Enter Be,, .with.,P,PZ^'dh. o^ m^^^-^lP'^^ ' row worse.' ' _^ _^, Y _ .^.,q , ■ I r -, Prnfpssor Norton wilt "fair you. ' He ■T""" I'^lvo^Anl™ Sim- y«V f..r. we ■..'.*■ o^ tb'inks so much ot you. rs.uu ^^^_.^ ^^ ^^,^ .^.^^^^.. Keimick, if- for nothing else. - ^ .^ ... ..,^,,.,,,, ; aN.-JYes. as poor as 1 am, I would have, perhaps, given up Fifty 'Dear's of Freedom.' ,; tl^e idea of graduating from this institution 'hS~ it not beei/'fbr the encouragement given me Iw Pr^f ' xr " '- ";^^=^) *9.f Whenever the Profess ::e^,^tts f ''""^ "' -^ '^^^^^• and then he has been so ^:^^t^firZ^'^:-^'^^^- expenses. (£,.,.. /.,,;,,,,, A'o..... ^^ ""' '" P'''-^' '">' few^n^S"""' :'""""^^ ^^^^-^"-^ W..h.,,.see.Haust^,a J.o,vX.--B.,rj«minBanneker 1 iouston, vvhafs this I hlaHcif^ Wert '^'^■'^ -^'-"^- ^^--i" - row. insulted his' L^HsWp^^V^^ V\ert,and made a brutal attack upon him : besides' - -: H' REx.-Professor >ortpn; do ^ypu;^ Pi^or. >^.-Not often. TeH^meabot^t the whole' thing, Ben ^ HfJmZhi'V'l"^ '-een after me eversu.ce IVe 'been Hef6.- re tl r" 1^ " '' "" opportunity to taunt me ab6aV nn..,.ace,colo, .md,poverty._. ^:.haye,bonie,,it .patientlv. - To-dav o. .w,y io the astronomy dass,.,Yan Wert.mad, remarks.abput a^a,KxIoud^a^hen.^..,s I.came u^,, Ogd,n.,ay,ed me a copf Fd.an t say.u:ythn,s. : I simply IpQked.i^a,, Wert^n, th. ,ye,aud h. resented.t..u,d then Tcalled^him .,ci.e.p ^1, and he Su^ nie and the other fellows jumped on me too Of coursi defended myself the best I could, and I can't say but whatT w;s enjoymg the^ snuation, when President'' Norton atrived: f>^^. K. (Iauyj^s,^,^ju,t ahput.Xt- 1 'S^c^ugU'l^ai/Avert^ ather ,s v ery r,eh and Van Wert tries to take advantage of this' .a J to do as he likes A set of cheap bullies is a fit term for ffr^^ ^'nd h,s assotiate5,for'^m^ney doesn't iniikd^hien. -^Beh^ ifs cfeir ;'S^r ,^°"^ ;you Vorri 'Ben; ■ybu'V^^ dWrid ^8pd' wb^lc^^fei^^e^ W^ive bc^n here, and father- and I hi'e'^oing^^o s^^^ypl, ttfp,,gh. \\ ho else saw the affair?" : -: >:;,< . ;> ,, ,.,,. .", >K.V. -Powell anrl Hart were tliere. 3(1 F)i-Tv Years oi' Frekik)m. Proe. N. — I'll see tliem. I think I can depeiul on tlieni to tell the truth. (Exit Professor NorloH.) (Ben zvalks slotvly and seems depressed. FMers Lawyer Neil; slaps Beii on the bdckl) l^EN. — Why, Mr. Neil, how did yon happen over to-day? Neil. — Oh, I must get over once in a while and see how iny Kentucky lad is making out. The fact of the matter is Ben, that all of us here at Baijanew are proud of the record you have made, and we wish to do something to show our appreciation, and I thought I'd start the hall a-rollihg by ejxtending a reception to you at our home Thursday evening; and, oh, yes, Mrs. Neil and Hdith will expect you ito dinner at, six on the same evening. If Rdith were older, and you hadn't talked so much of that little IJndy you left down in old Kentucky, I might be afraid to have jdu over so much. By the way, have you heard from home lately? I've b^en ^0|bus.v I've neglected you like everything this BEN.-!-Yes 'I hear from Aunt Rhoda and Miss Lou and them regularly. Colonel White, where Aunt Rhoda lived, is dead, my Uncle Jake is dead, my Cousin Sue's married. Miss Lou's beau, Mr. Robert White, is ntarried, and Miss Lou rnid my little Cousin Lindy are in England visiting "Lady Mary" as .\unl Rhoda calls her. Neil (whistles) . — Whew 1 Why, Ben, you're indirectly con- nected with the English nobility, aren't you? You spoke of the colored peo])le building a college there at your hoiue. Is it com- pleted? • ' ' Ben. — Yes, sir. They've put ug a line brick building with >tonc foundations on the very spot where the Ku-klux burn! down the old Cross Roads Church where the Quaker teacher taught, and, strange to say, she is back teaching colored children oh the very sp('t where she suffered ])ersecution. Fifty Years or FREErK)M. 2,7 Xeil. — Don't call it strange, Ben. When "truth gets a hearing" mighty changes take place; and when any people have it in their hearts to rise as strongly as the Negro race, God will raise up friends for them on e\cry iiaiwl, and victory will he theirs. But f must be going. Bex.— r waiite.dytd,'ypeak/to/yp.u'about, a little .trouble I am in. i^krE.^¥f.oA|rlte?''''ei^ife;'tib tdybi\r't'6;:6liV^iV.d' t^ll^'fiie' all about it. That's the wa.v we lawyers make our living, you know — off (if other people's troubles. Cur haul. 3^ Fifty Years of pRUiinoM. ; ACT IV. Scene V. {Parlors of Lawyer Neil's beautiful home arranged for' a reception. Polins conceal an orchestra. Piano and . .other, appropriate furiiishiniis. Ben discovered alone. He is in a ivell-fitting suit. Looks zvell. P.iilers Edith Neil in a reception goivn. She is barely si.vteen. ) Ben (risiui)). — Well, Miss Hditli, li;i\c y(iU cume at last? Edith. — Alone. Mr. Ilouston? Hasn't papa come yet? Too bad he had to miss dinner, when he had phmned to have such a nice honr with you. Oh, the life of a jjrofessional man! 1 wouldn't marry one for anything. Wm can never depend on hav- ing them when you want them. Ben. — I don't think I'd he hard to find. It's been so long since I've had a home, T think I'd wish to stay all the time. Edith. — That's what you say now, but men change after they are married. .„^ ,.- Ben. — Do they, little M]SiW,c«.l^^\^feeL3 1 can't imagine any one changing toward yoiJ^.^^^ \^'< i''^' j-o-" Edith. — Can't you? Don't try to flirt with me, sir. You col- lege boys are dreadful. Papa told me he believed yon were en- gaged to a girl in Kentucky. Ben. — Did you believe it? (Enters Neil.) Neie (shakes hands heartily with Ben: kisses EdilJi). — Run away, little girl. T wish to see Houston privately. (E.vit Edith pouting.) Neil. — \^'cll, Ben, my boy, you came out all right. 1 told you you wdiild. (lidti't T? Those fellows have had a bad record ever Fii-Tv Vkaks oi* Frkgi 39 since they landed here. Professor Norton 'phoned me about it this morning. He was very anxious about the outcome. • rBEN. — I know he was, but not half so much as I, right here on the eve of my graduation. Fortunately, Powell and Hart couldn't be bribed by Van Wert's money, and what they said exonerated me from serious fault. I lost my. temper, all right, and, as I told Professor Norton, when President Norton came up and I had Vau Wert down, I was enjoying the situation. Nkil. — It was time to lose your temper, I think, when three •fellows had' you down, pounding the life out of you. I went in for athletics a good deal when I was in college, and I was always in good trim for the boys. (Laughs.) Say, Ben, as long as you have selected la\y as your profession, I may take you in as a partner some day if you decide to settle here. ,, Ben. — Thank j-ou, Mr. Neil. This is more than I deserve. ^, (Bell rings. Enters neat-looking maid.) Maid. — A gentleman to see Mr. Houston. '-^'Neii,. — Tell him to come in. Come up to my den when your Caller'has'gotie;Bien,and let's finish building our air castles. (Exit Neil: AMd admits Professor Norton.) - « ■iti -■"■.-'..' ,., Prof. N. (/oo/i:i, rtroiiH Tija'.— Oh;' flid ' yon ? That's why he couldn't come to play — '♦fe^nis. ., JuLiA.^Edith, you mustn't set your cap for Mr. Houston. Yoa're just coming out. You're too young. You must give Ida iuid me a chance. vTlM-.T.- vlii : TtDiTH.-^I'd set my cap for him if I thought 'twas any use. Papa's just drkzy about him, but I'm afraid a Southern girl has cut us out. ' He was talking about her at the dinner table. She's in R«igland traveling with a white lady. Ida.— The idea ! Nothing but a servant girl. I should think he'd look~hig]ier. (Bell riiiiis several times. Music strikes up.) Edith. — Oh, our guests are arriving! Come, girls, let's see if everything is ready. (Exit girls.) . ' ' [(Enf'er'^r. and Mrs. .Veil, zvith Ben. Girls come hick and ' fffi-ni a receifins. line. Enter f/uests.) Edith. — Dr., and Mrs. Lynch, Mr. Houstorv Tda. — Rev. and Mrs. Berry. ■ JuuA, — ijiudgeiand - Mrs. CarnoIL ; - 'Enrt H.— Mf . 'A lt)€Vt C^^iroll, our poet Julia. — Madame I^elpliine l^ewis, our vocalist. i=K.Diff:Ht:— And Uere is Mrs. GraiM. whose new book is making her so famous. Julia. — Professor Gibbs,'the' attist. (GUei'ts^''i^oH!if'foi'ivard ds lliey are Hkh-'ddiiced, arid seat them- scIt'cs ") ■■ NEJL.-^Friends, it affords me muth i^l^asu'fe' to-^rght 'to'liaV'e 'yoi1'WTeet''Our yo'i'tfig' guest, Mi'.'Benjamin Banneker Houston," for -whoHv r 'f)'red'ict asfeat in Congress if'he keeps on as he has •begun.' "(i'/z^rifM^rf apptaiise.) We W^Wo have watched Mr. Hous- ton from the time that he etltet^ed'the'ddo^s' bfdiir great uhJvef- ■si^y knovYnthat :h?|,^y,as iiii;eve^y seiv?;^ -of th^ ,wor4: at -the foot of the ladder. His only assets were honesty, love of learning and a willingness to work hard. Scorned by many of the students, he went quietly' on His way doing good worl< in alf Of his classes and sustaining througlibut His colfege career ah unimpeachable record. Not only has he conquered the prejudice''bf the faculty aijd st^jdents, bijtiprthe mos,t,0art. ,he,.^as won-jheir; respect and ,qdmiratipn.,,9S wel), .3i>d;hq|Will;i.represe\>t his university in the copiing.,,3it;ate: oratorical contest .this, fall. . {Applause.) This being the eve of Mr. Houston's, r graduation, I Have , a^sked ; yo« here to meet him and to rejoice with me that we have a young man of our race $o earnest, so persistent, so eloquent. I will now a.sk iCl'r. ' Hou'sldn' to "say'a word." (Applause.) Ben. — Honored Host, Ladies, and (j.entlemen,: From Cabin to ;C,(j)ngr|^ss isa long stretch, but if Mr. NeJV? Rredicti^^ns are ever verified, that is the distance it \yill mean for me. I confess that Fifty Yeaks oi* FrEEuom. 43 my aspirations hu\e not soared so higli as that. When T entered the doors of your great university, I had no well-defined thought of a great career, political or otherwise ; I simply obeyed the in- tolerable longing for knowledge, that had arisen in my soul, and sought to assuage it. It seems strange, but it is true, that it was the account of Lawyer Neil's own graduation, that T read in an old newspaper in Kentucky^ that gave. me, the determination to gf;t a college education. ( A /jplatisc.) .The yveamre of success that has so far attendetl my humble endeavors T owe to the teach- ings of my mother in our little Kentucky cabin. I wish ho higher life than the opportunity to serve my fellows. I thank Lawyer K'eil for this opportunity to meet some of the most cultured and gifted of my ownpeoprc, and I pledge myself tb-nlght to press fbrwarci'to^vard the highest achfevemeiit's within my' reach. (Ap- phuse.) Neil. — How do you like the ring of my Congressional timber? 'We wifl-noW be 'f^vorecl witli a s6rig by Madame Delphine L^is. \Madame Lewis sings. Applause.) .,,i NjE;!];.,— MJss,,St,Qi;i-t),,,and,,,M?-'55r P^riip^'*^''' will f^iyor 115 with:,a jdupt,,^ ^jjO; surp.-,,, , (Jnlja afidjdgirphy-) ■^^^■NE1L;-— Will Professor Harris give us a song? ^ (Professor Harris sings.) iti='BEN.^— I am not taking the place of themaster of ceremonies, *n!t i'f ' MisS' Editjh would sing— ^^-^ ^ "■; -"'■' '"'''Mrs.' NEiL.'^Sing my 'favorite, Edith. . „■ >{eil.— Certainly she will sing. (Edith plays and sinys.) And now^'iftlie orchestra' will' :^avor' us with a march, we wifl go to the dining room." Mr. Hqiiston, will you ial'e Miss Neil? ,K (Quests. fAll.in lifie. rvhile inarch is being., plfiiyefl, and follozu Neil, Mrs. Neil, Ben and Edith off stage.) Curtain. 44 T"iFT\- Vkaus nif FkI'.i'.ivjm. Sci; ACT \'. itNK 111. (4 pf-tvate sitting rooin ,in a hotel Miss Lou in a blaciy' 'tdii6r-inade\!:iotaf, h'tit dnd'olack'mou'hiing veil is stiiudiiiff ai the zviiidozc ' She is prcfiier than e-fe'r. Liudy, •^roivii z'ei-y pretty, is. sitylisUy, gowned. She rvalks nervously .around the, room anii occasi,ona,ll,y Iquks in the glaf<;s,). _. LiNM)Y,— 0|), Missi Lou, Trn ^p nerydus ! Just think, it's been aiuiost seven years since T saw Ren. Suppose he don't like me wlicn lie sees me. after being with all these pretty girls here in the North. Do you think I look as well as I did when he left home? He called me his little sweetheart Lindy the day he left. ; Miss Lot/.— Is it-ppssilile that yon don't realize that time ami training have made yon a very handsome girl?, You foolish Lindy! .\nd then, if you were homely, your disposition would make you loved anyway. If Ben doesn't appreciate you after the way yon'vc worked and studied to educate yourself and be a fit companion for him, I shall be disappointed in him, that's all. ( Enters Aunt Rhody ivilh z'arions articles of clothimj in her hand.) ..Aunt R.^Miss Lou, I jus' wish you'd come np to m\'^ room and see how them ornery nniform men done tu'n my bran new trunk upside down and got my bes" black dress and everything else all mussed up. They ought to be arrested for sucii doings. Miss Lou. — I'll be there in a minute, mammy. Don't worry. The p\'). — .Ml ri.^ht. There's no answer. .\unt Rhoda, 46- ■ FriTl'- YKaus f)i^ FiiKiln^M. yoii don't kivoXv Wowhappy- it makea-me'to sei-'ybu: 'You'fe^'ill t1*e mmlier IVCgot/'Vou IsiVd'U'. ' ""'■^ •<-^~n/ -i/. ■:■):•!,•/ •.. Aunt R. — You've been more like a son to me tlian anything else. When you would send me money 1 alv/ays told Miss 'Lou that I knew vou were robbine vourself. (Enter Miss Lou. She g.pe$,ifp and, fakes bcjth of,.Biin's.Jt.and^,\, Miss Lou.— Ben Houston, what a splendid specimen of man- ho'd'd yotl are ! 't sim 'jiroud' if yoiif' "'''■' <'•■/-- 'i.- .. Ben. — Ah, Miss Lou, I owe so much to you ! Miss Lou.--Nonsense! .Be ^gpod to this foolish Lin.dj',,\vho lias, tormented herself all the way from England with the thouglit that she would not meet your expectations. Ben {Looks at zvaich and then at {ci'indo'-t.v) -—l thinly she's in- a better frame of mind already, Miss Lou. Miss Lou, excuse us a few minutes. T want to take' Aunt Rhoda and Lindy aroUnd' the -block.- :■!!.;:; v n .<:' JM :*:■ :i)ti; ■''. ■! -■: ■\<:-:i\ ;!(i;;-j Kii'ss Loii.— t^e'rtCLinly.'' ''Mi(ce''it as"'pleasaht' for the;lrt"ar yoii can. Don t get the engagement ring yet. 1 bought one in- Lon- don that I think you will like. ; s ^od Ben.— Ali'nght," Miss ''Lou. ' I '^for^ot to te1r'y6u'''fhat '%ii'-rc looking fine. You re as rosy as a Kentucky peach. The sea vo.\- agfe- did you gdod. '■ ' ' -" .■ ■'■-'^Hiu\^.\'' ru; -;'- /-i:: Miss Lou. — It did us both good, and in more ways than one. My -mother's brother took such a liking lo-ime that ^he made me his heiress, and when my Lindy marries "Ti^'hairg'ive h'ei- a- nice little sum for herself. Run on now. No tini'e''fbi' pre'tty spee'ches. ^'&t^-'{Ldoks '(iitt xvindoiv) .'-—¥:0, \Ve must go lat once.' ■ ' '" '{Miss Lou 'seats herself 'eft f>iaii(y ti'ri'drelttb'z'W h{ft' and't/eil''