Spending part of the winter of 1880 in Tennessee, I began the study of the character of the people and their institutions. I soon learned that there existed an intense hatred on the part of the whites, toward the colored population. Looking at the past, this was easily accounted for. The older whites, brought up in the lap of luxury, educated to believe themselves superior to the race under them, self-willed, arrogant, determined, skilled in the use of side-arms, wealthy—possessing the entire political control of the State—feeling themselves superior also to the citizens of the free States,—this people was called upon to subjugate themselves to an ignorant, superstitious, and poverty-stricken, race—a race without homes, or the means of obtaining them; to see the offices of State filled by men selected from this servile set made these whites feel themselves deeply degraded in the eyes of the world. Their power was gone, but their pride still remained. They submitted in silence, but “bided their time,” and said: “Never mind; we’ll yet make your hell a hot one.”

The blacks felt their importance, saw their own power in national politics, were interviewed by obsequious and cringing white men from the North—men, many of them, far inferior, morally, to the negro. Two-faced, second-class white men of the South, few in number, it is true, hung like leeches upon the blacks. Among the latter was a respectable proportion of free men—free before the Rebellion; these were comparatively well educated; to these and to the better class of freedmen the country was to look for solid work. In the different State Legislatures, the great battle was to be fought, and to these the interest of the South centred. All of the Legislatures were composed mainly of colored men. The few whites that were there were not only no help to the blacks, but it would have been better for the character of the latter, and for the country at large, if most of them had been in some State prison.

Colored men went into the Legislatures somewhat as children go for the first time to a Sabbath school. They sat and waited to see “the show.” Many had been elected by constituencies, of which not more than ten in a hundred could read the ballots they deposited; and a large number of these Representatives could not write their own names.

This was not their fault. Their want of education was attributable to the system of slavery through which they had passed, and the absence of the educated intelligent whites of the South, was not the fault of the colored men. This was a trying position for the recently-enfranchised blacks, but nobly did they rise above the circumstances. The speeches made by some of these men exhibited a depth of thought, flights of eloquence, and civilized statesmanship, that throw their former masters far in the back-ground. Yet, amongst the good done, bills were introduced and passed, giving State aid to unworthy objects, old, worn-out corporations re-galvanized, bills for outrageous new frauds drawn up by white men, and presented by blacks; votes of both colors bought up, bills passed, money granted, and these ignorant men congratulated as “Statesmen.”

While this “Comedy of Errors” was being performed at the South, and loudly applauded at the North, these very Northern men, who had yelled their throats sore, would have fainted at the idea of a negro being elected a member of their own Legislature.

By and by came the reaction. The disfranchised whites of the South submitted, but complained. Northern men and women, the latter, always the most influential, sympathized with the dog underneath. As the tide was turning, the white adventurers returned from the South with piles of greenbacks, and said that they had been speculating in cotton; but their neighbors knew that it was stolen, for they had been members of Southern Legislatures.

While Northern carpet-baggers were scudding off to their kennels with their ill-gotten gains, the Southern colored politicians were driving fast horses, their wives in their fine carriages; and men, who, five years before were working in the cotton field under the lash, could now draw their checks for thousands.

This extravagance of black men, followed by the heavy taxes, reminded the old Southerners of their defeat in the Rebellion; it brought up thoughts of revenge; Northern sympathy emboldened them at the South, which resulted in the Ku-Klux organizations, and the reign of terror that has cursed the South ever since.

The restoring of the rebels to power and the surrendering the colored people to them, after using the latter in the war, and at the ballot box, creating an enmity between the races, is the most bare-faced ingratitude that history gives any account of.

After all, the ten years of negro Legislation in the South challenges the profoundest study of mankind. History does not record a similar instance. Five millions of uneducated, degraded people, without any preparation whatever, set at liberty in a single day, without shedding a drop of blood, burning a barn, or insulting a single female. They reconstructed the State Governments that their masters had destroyed; became Legislators, held State offices, and with all their blunders, surpassed the whites that had preceded them. Future generations will marvel at the calm forbearance, good sense, and Christian zeal of the American Negro of the nineteenth century.

Nothing has been left undone to cripple their energies, darken their minds, debase their moral sense, and obliterate all traces of their relationship to the rest of mankind; and yet how wonderfully they have sustained the mighty load of oppression under which they have groaned for thousands of years.

After looking at the past history of both races, I could easily see the cause of the great antipathy of the white man to the black, here in Tennessee. This feeling was most forcibly illustrated by an incident that occurred one day while I was standing in front of the Knoxville House, in Knoxville. A good-looking, well-dressed colored man approached a white man, in a business-like manner, and began talking to him, but ere he had finished the question, the white raised his walking stick, and with much force, knocked off the black man’s hat, and with an oath said, “Don’t you know better than to speak to a white man with your hat on, where’s your manners?” The negro picked up his hat, held it in his hand, and resumed the conversation.

I inquired of the colored gentleman with whom I was talking, who the parties were; he replied,—“The white man is a real estate dealer, and the colored man is Hon. Mr. ——, ex-member of the General Assembly.”

This race feeling is still more forcibly set forth in the dastardly attack of John Warren, of Huntingdon. The wife of this ruffian, while passing through one of the streets of that town, was accidentally run against by Miss Florence Hayes, who offered ample apology, and which would have been accepted by any well-bred lady. However, Mrs. Warren would not be satisfied with anything less than the punishment of the young lady. Therefore, the two-fisted, coarse, rough, uncouth ex-slave-holder, proceeded to Miss Hayes’ residence, gained admission, and without a word of ceremony seized the young lady by the hair, and began beating her with his fist, and kicking her with his heavy boots.

Not until his victim lay prostrate and senseless at his feet, did this fiend cease his blows. Miss Hayes was teaching school at Huntingdon when this outrage was committed, and so severe was the barbarous attack, that she was compelled to return to her home at Nashville, where she was confined to her room for several weeks. Yet, neither law nor public opinion could reach this monster.

A few days after the assault, the following paragraph appeared in the Huntingdon Vindicator:

“The occurrences of the past two weeks in the town of Huntingdon should prove conclusively to the colored citizens that there is a certain line existing between themselves and the white people which they cannot cross with impunity. The incident which prompts us to write this article, is the thrashing which a white gentleman administered to a colored woman last week. With no wish to foster a spirit of lawlessness in this community, but actuated by a desire to see the negro keep in his proper place, we advise white men everywhere to stand up for their rights, and in no case yield an inch to the encroachment of an inferior race.”

“Stand up for their rights,” with this editor, means for the white ruffianly coward to knock down every colored lady that does not give up the entire sidewalk to him or his wife.

It was my good fortune to meet on several occasions Miss Florence T. Hayes, the young lady above alluded to, and I never came in contact with a more retiring, lady-like person in my life. She is a student of Tennessee Central College, where she bears an unstained reputation, and is regarded by all who know her to possess intellectual gifts far superior to the average white young women of Tennessee.

Spending a night in the country, we had just risen from the supper-table when mine host said:

“Listen, Mingo is telling how he re-converted his daughter; listen, you’ll hear a rich story, and a true one.” Mr. Mingo lived in the adjoining room.

“Yes, Mrs. Jones, my darter has bin home wissitin’ me, an’ I had a mighty trial wid her, I can tell yer.”

“What was the matter, Mr. Mingo?” inquired the visitor.

“Well, yer see, Fanny’s bin a-livin’ in Philamadelfy, an’ she’s a mighty changed ’oman in her ways. When she come in de house, she run up to her mammy and say,—‘O! mar, I’m exquisitely pleased to greet you.’ Den she run ter me an’ sed,—‘O! par,’ an’ kiss me. Well, dat was all well enuff, but to see as much as two yards of her dress a-dragin’ behind her on de floor, it was too much,—an’ it were silk, too. It made my heart ache. Ses I,—‘Fanny, you’s very stravagant, dragin’ all dat silk on de floor in dat way.’ ‘O!’ sed she, ‘that’s the fashion, par.’ Den, yer see, I were uneasy fer her. I were ’fraid she’d fall, fer she had on a pair of boots wid the highess heels I eber see in my life, which made her walk as ef she were walkin’ on her toes. Den, she were covered all over wid ribbons and ruffles.

“When we set down to dinner, Fanny eat wid her fork, an’ when she see her sister put de knife in her mouf, she ses,—‘Don’t put your knife in your mouth; that’s vulgar.’ Nex’ mornin’, she took out of her pocket some seeds, an’ put ’em in a tin cup, an’ pour bilin’ hot water on ’em. Ses I,—‘Fanny, is yer sick, an’ gwine to take some medicine?’

“‘O! no, par, it’s quince seed, to make some gum-stick-um.’

“‘What is dat fer?’ I axed.

“‘Why, par, it’s to make Grecian waves on my forehead. Some call them “scallopes.” We ladies in the city make them. You see, par, we comb our hair down in little waves, and the gum makes them stick close to the forehead. All the white ladies in the city wear them; it’s all the fashion.’

“Well, yer see, Mrs. Jones, I could stand all dat, but when we went to prayers I ax Fanny to lead in prayer; an’ when dat gal got on her knees and took out of her pocket a gilt-edge book, and read a prayer, den I were done, I ax myself is it possible dat my darter is come to dat. So, when prayer were over, I sed: ‘Fanny, what kind of religion is dat yer’s got?’ Sed she,—‘Why, par, I em a Piscopion.’ ‘What is dat?’ I axed. ‘That’s the English Church service. Den yer’s no more a Methodist?’ ‘O! no,’ said she, ‘to be a Piscopion is all the fashion.’”

“Stop, Mr. Mingo,” sed Mrs. Jones; “what kind of religion is dat? Is it Baptiss?”

“No, no,” replied the old man; “ef it were Baptiss, den I could a-stood dat, kase de Baptiss religion will do when yer can’t get no better. Fer wid all dey faults, I believe de Baptiss ken get into hebben by a tight squeeze. Kase, yer see, Mrs. Jones, I is a Methodiss, an’ I believes in ole-time religion, an’ I wants my chillen to meet me in hebben. So, I jess went right down on my knees an’ ax de Lord to show me my juty about Fanny, fer I wanted to win her back to de ole-time religion. Well, de Lord made it all plain to me, an’ follerin’ de Lord’s message to me, I got right up an’ went out into de woods an’ cut some switches, an’ put ’em in de barn. So I sed to Fanny: ‘Come, my darter, out to de barn; I want to give yer a present to take back to Philamadelfy wid yer.’

“‘Yes, par,’ said she, fer she was a-fixin’ de ’gum-stick-um’ on her hair. So I went to de barn, an’ very soon out come Fanny. I jess shut de door an’ fasten it, and took down my switches, an’ ax her,—‘What kind of religion is dat yer’s got?’

“‘Piscopion, par.’ Den I commence, an’ I did give dat gal sech a whippen, and she cry out,—‘O! par. O! par, please stop, par.’ Den I ax her,—‘What kind of religion yer’s got?’ ‘Pis-co-copion,’ sed she. So I give her some moo, an’ I ax her again,—‘What kind of religion is yer got?’ She sed,—‘O! par, O! par.’ Sed I,—‘Don’t call me “par.” Call me in de right way.’ Den she said,—‘O! daddy, O! daddy, I is a Methodiss. I is got ole-time religion; please stop an’ I’ll never be a Piscopion any more.’

“So, yer see, Mrs. Jones, I converted dat gal right back to de ole-time religion, which is de bess of all religion. Yes, de Lord answered my prayer dat time, wid de aid of de switches.”

Whether Mingo’s conversion of his daughter kept her from joining the Episcopalians, on her return to Philadelphia, or not, I have not learned.