room in the village-“town” we called it — for such affairs, except the churches, which were barred against “fanatics,” was the district schoolhouse, which, by common consent, was open to all comers, and as the windows and doors, through which missiles were hurled during Anti-Slavery gatherings, were always more or less damaged, “we boys” usually got a holiday or two while the building was undergoing necessary repairs.
As might be surmised, the lessons I learned at school were not all such as are usually acquired at such institutions.
My companions were like other children, full of spirit and mischief, and not without their prejudices.
They hated Abolitionists because they — the Abolitionists-wanted to compel all white people to marry “niggers.”
Although not naturally unkind, they did not always spare the feelings of “the son of an old Abolitionist.”
We had our arguments.
Some of them were of the knock-down kind.
In more than one shindy, growing out of the discussion of the great question of the day, I suffered the penalty of a bloody nose or a blackened eye for standing up for my side.
The feeling against the negroes' friends — the Abolitionists — was not confined to children in years.
It was present in all classes.
It entered State and Church alike, and dominated both of them.
The Congressional Representative from the district in which I lived in those days was an able man and generally held in high esteem.
He made a speech in our village when a candidate for re-election.
In discussing the slavery question — everybody discussed it then-he spoke of the negroes as being “on ”