Pleading Their Cause Before President and Legislators.

Washington, March 24, 1870.

Before the late war a man’s life was unsafe south of Mason and Dixon’s line, if he professed to believe in the abolition of slavery. The same malignant spirit exists to-day. It is not safe to be a Republican in many parts of the sunny South. In the sparsely settled districts men are shot and whipped for the offence of forming what are termed “Grant clubs.” Murder succeeds murder, and the offenders never feel the hand of justice. Officers of the United States Government are assassinated in cold blood; but it is the helpless freedman that is made to feel most the sharp edge of the situation. Before the war, when this part of humanity had a money value, it was different. The overseer on the plantation which belonged to the husband of Fanny Kemble Butler said he generally managed “to work ’em up once in seven years.” What has the freedman gained by the boon of liberty if he is still to be hunted and killed like the wild beasts in the jungle? What hinders the Government from wiping out the Ku Klux Klan of the South? Late Confederate soldiers have laid aside the gray uniform, and now wear the mask of the inquisition, and their work is performed with the horrible secrecy of that medieval conclave. General Grant has sent the Quakers to look after the Indians. Why will not Congress enact a law to send General Phil Sheridan and Colonel Baker on a mission after the Ku Klux to protect millions who are as helpless as so many orphan children?

When President Lincoln issued the proclamation of emancipation 5,000 slaves were held in bondage by the Chickasaw and Choctaw Indians; or, in other words, three-fourths of a tribe of people held the other fourth as slaves. When the chattels of the Republic became free these bond people expected their freedom also; but this was denied them by their Indian masters because it was claimed that these masters owed no allegiance to the United States. A subsequent treaty was formed, freeing the parties, containing two conditions: First, that the freedman should have forty acres of land as their share and right in the Territory, or in case they should leave the Territory they were to receive $110 each, and the Government was to reserve this amount of the Indian fund and pay it to those who chose to emigrate. The freedmen desire to remain in the Territory, but the Indians will not allow them to occupy the land; will not permit them to have a right or privilege which an Indian is bound to respect. These patient men and women, native Americans, born to the same heritage as the President of the United States, are slaughtered in cold blood. Oh! there is no language strong enough to paint the hideousness of the Indian character. Was an Indian ever tame? These poor, forgotten outcasts of a distant Territory have sent a man to lay their sad case before Congress.

A band of loyal Georgians are in Washington, praying that the power of the Government may be exerted for their protection. They have seen the President, who did not hesitate to give them some kind, strong words; but it remains to be shown whether Congress will hearken to them. The delegation is composed mostly of colored men, with Governor Rufus B. Bullock at their head. A meeting was called at Lincoln Hall, by the citizens of the District, to show their sympathy for the cause which these Southern men represent. Mayor Bowen presided; John W. Forney made the welcoming address; while Senator Thayer and Representative Maynard spoke some good, strong, manly words, which must have brought the blush to Congress if Congress had been present to hear it. The great feature of the evening were the speeches made by the Southern men. Governor Bullock said little. Governor Scott of South Carolina, though unaccustomed to public speaking, made his short sentences into arrows, and fired them at the audience with the precision of a William Tell. Governor Scott has been a soldier. The exigencies of war stranded him on Southern soil. He has taken root there, where he has grown into a goodly tree, and not a single Ku Klux has yet dared to lay the axe at the root of it.

It will always remain a secret “who struck Billy Patterson” and why the noble governor of Georgia should be surnamed Bullock, for in personal appearance he bears not the slightest resemblance to that fiery, untamed animal. It is true, he has a handsome shock of hair on his head, but he is as destitute of horns as the administration is of knavery, and a better looking white man is seldom to be found.

Most noticeable on the platform was Simeon Beard, chairman of the Georgia delegation, a man whose superb oratory and strange personal appearance are most difficult to describe. Take away the prejudice of the race which, alas! descends to us in the same way as the color of our eyes or the length of our hair—a prejudice which education, prayer, or any other softening, refining influence of civilization never can remove—rend this veil asunder, and we should see a man that we could honor as President.

Simeon Beard has the lithe, erect form, and the smooth, raven locks of the Indian. Both African and white blood course in his veins; his complexion is that pale, rich brown—the same color with which nature loves to tinge the leaves in mid-autumn. But the spirit of some animal long kept at bay looks out of his deepset eyes, and his words burn as if they had been forged in a redhot furnace. He made the audience feel the print of the nails in far-away Georgia. Only a little longer will Frederick Douglass stand the acknowledged mouthpiece of the mixed races and the darker stratum which underlies it.

Simeon Beard was followed by a Texan, Mr. Ruby, another member of the proscribed family. How shall we describe this swarthy man, who appeared to be made up of sharp, glittering points, and who seems to bear the same relation to the human family that a dagger does to other weapons? He had the indescribable sway of the body of the children of the sunny climes. When his youthful face appeared it did not seem possible that he had the essential requisites to address such an audience, but surprise gave way to admiration and applause. He spoke in behalf of Georgia, asking nothing for Texas. “Why is it,” asked the speaker, “that the same atrocious state of affairs does not exist in middle and western Texas as in Georgia to-day?” Lowering his voice until it hissed, “I’ll tell you; when a Union man was killed a rebel was made to bite the dust. Only one man was shot in my neighborhood. He was a poor colored preacher who had started a school. Some men disguised went in broad daylight and shot him in the schoolroom. Mind ye, he was a poor man with no friends; but every man engaged in that day’s work was hunted down. We killed them as we would so many reptiles (raising his voice until it sounded like a musical instrument); that is the way we stamped out treason in our part of the world.”

A colored man of polished education followed this fierce and war-like Texan. His words were admirably chosen. The glowing appeals flowing from the lips of Messrs. Beard and Ruby seemed like the virgin ore torn from the rocks where it had been imbedded for ages. The smooth, handsome sentences of Professor Langston fell from his tongue like coin from the mint, each word having an appreciable value. Professor Langston is at present at the head of the law department in the Howard University. He was born in Maryland, of slave parentage, but was emancipated at a very early age, and received a thorough classical education through the indulgence of his paternal ancestor. After leaving college he studied law, and he now occupies one of the most honorable positions in the country. Like all of his race at the capital, he takes the deepest interest in the welfare of the freedmen farther South. The delegation earnestly asks that the Bingham-Farnsworth amendment, which is tacked on to the last law of reconstruction, may be crushed in the Senate, as its passage would hand the loyal element to the tender keeping of the late masters of Andersonville and Salisbury.

Olivia.