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Atlanta, capital of
Georgia, is rising from the dust in which
Sherman's too famous march from
Chattanooga left her — a sacrifice of war-when the fair young city, not yet seventeen years old, perished in her youth; wasted so fiercely that her waters seemed to be on fire; so thoroughly that a rosebush here and there was all that told of former opulence and present wreck.
Atlanta, rising from her ashes, is a type of
Georgia.
Standing on a hill, the domes and turrets of
Atlanta, shining over belts of ash and pine, endow her with a regal air. A natural crown of the adjacent flats, she looks the capital which a proud and grateful people have made her since the great calamity she suffered in the civil war. Her soil is rich and ruddy, with the wealth and colour of a Devonshire ridge.
Wide fields and pastures lie
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around; these under grass, those under cotton, these again under rice.
Maize and tobacco grow on every side, and overhead hangs a sky like that of
Cyprus.
Here cattle browse; there herdsmen trot.
Negroes with creels of cotton on their heads slouch and dawdle into the town.
The scene is pastoral and poetic; English in the main features, yet with forms of life and dots of colour to remind you of the
Niger rather than the
Trent.
Frame houses, painted white, with colonnades and gardens, nestle in shady nooks and cluster round hill-sides.
About these villas romp and shout such boys and girls as
New England poets find under apple-trees in
Kent.
What roses on their cheeks; what bravery in their eyes!
Here glows the fine old English blood, as bright and red in
Georgia as in
York and
Somerset.
But for her Negro population,
Georgia would have an English look.
The Negro is a fact-though not the fact of facts — in
Georgia.
Unlike
Louisiana,
Mississippi, and
South Carolina-States in which the
Black element is stronger in number than the
White-
Georgia has a White majority of votes; yet her
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majority on the whole is slight, and her Negro population is so massed as to command the ballot-boxes in many counties.
For example — in
Baldwin County,
Early County, and
Sumter County there are nearly two Negroes to each
White; in
Baker County,
Camden County,
Columbia County,
Effingham County, and
Troup County there are more than two Negroes to each
White; in
Liberty County there are nearly three Negroes to each
White; in
Bullock County and Hurston County there are more than three Negroes to each
White; and in
Lee County there are four Negroes to every
White.
If all the Negroes in these counties held together, under the advice of carpet-baggers and with the help of Federal bayonets, they might set up Negro judges, sheriffs, and assessors, as in
Louisiana and
Mississippi, and might send up Negro senators to
Atlanta, if not to
Washington.
Lee County might have her Antonie, even though
Georgia failed to achieve her
Pinchback.
At present most of them are busy on their farms and homesteads, leaving politics alone, though every word from
Vicksburg and
Jackson,
Shreveport and New Orleans, is apt to rouse them like a cry of fire.
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The session for 1875 is opening under great excitement.
Unlike her neighbours,
Florida and
South Carolina,
Georgia has recovered her independence.
She has now a native Governor in
James M. Smith.
The Legislature and the
Government are Conservative; and being Conservative, are bitterly opposed to
President Grant.
Though suffering less than the Virginians and South Carolinians by the war, the Georgians are more exasperated than their neighbours in either of their sister States ; the burning of
Atlanta, the destruction of property at
Milledgeville, and the injuries done to rails and roads, canals and bridges everywhere, appearing in their eyes as acts of savage vengeance rather than of lawful war. Such deeds are not forgotten in a day, and till they are forgotten they are never likely to be forgiven.
Ten years ago the greatest civil warfare ever waged by man against his brother was burning in these Southern cities.
Armies to be counted by hundreds of thousands trampled on these vineyards and tobacco-fields.
Fierce sieges were being carried on, murderous battles were being fought, in every Southern State.
Dense woods were fired,
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broad rivers turned, fair villages destroyed.
Ruin reigned everywhere.
Need one wonder that scars are left?
The rent and blackened walls of
Atlanta have not disappeared.
It is in vain to dream that the moral sores are healed.
Wounds inflicted in a civil strife last long.
Israel was divided for ever by her war of tribes.
For ages the contest of patricians and plebeians stopped the growth of
Rome.
Internal feuds gave
Seville to the Moor and
Dublin to the
Saxon.
Street conflicts opened
Constantinople to the Turk.
Religious conflicts weakened
Germany and
France.
The raid on
Freiburg by the Swiss volunteers is still resented by the
Catholic Cantons.
But the direst form of civil war is that which has a social or a servile cause.
Long years elapsed ere
Rome recovered from her tug with
Spartacus.
English society was shaken by
Cade.
Munzer's rising is still recalled with horror by the people of Wurtzburg and Rothenburg.
The French wars of the communists, the
Spanish wars of the comunidades, are not ended yet. Last year, at
Cartagena, we heard the names and passwords used by Padilla in the reign of Charles the Fifth.
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“Have you many
White leaguers in
Georgia?”
we ask a senator in
Atlanta.
“ Yes,” he answers frankly; “ you will find either Black leaguers and
White leaguers in every district where you see
Black and
White men. A league is but the sentiment of a class trying to become the sentiment of all. We have
White leaguers in
Atlanta, but I must warn you against the idea, that in
Georgia we have any of the rascals of whom
Sheridan speaks and Republican journals write.
There is a true White League, and a false White League.
The true White League consists of a band of Conservatives, who wish to maintain order and preserve property; the false White League consists of a band of destructives, who desire to break the peace and ruin house and land.
Which of these two sorts of league are we likely to belong to-we, who own and cultivate nearly all the land in
Georgia?
Leagues are a necessity of our life, and will be while a Federal army occupies our towns.
Unless we are prepared to see this city and this country perish, we must unite our strength and close our ranks.
The false White League is a creation of the
President's private cabinet.”
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“You think that much of this trouble is excited by the
Government in order to favour
General Grant's campaign for a third term?”
“For nothing else.
These hubbubs in
Vicksburg and New Orleans suit his game.
If
Billy Ross were
President, and
Bear's Paw his
Secretary of War, you would hear of no Pin Leagues, Light Horse and Mourning Bands; but you would have daily articles and monthly messages on Negro misdeeds in
Caddo and
White encroachments on
Red River.
When we have a Democratic
President in office, you will hear more of the
Black League than of the
White.”
“ The Black League is an actual fact?”
“ There is a Black League in every Negro village and every Negro barrack.
You can hardly doubt that there is a Black League in
Mississippi after the murder of Jemmy
Gray?”
The murder of
Gray, and the murderer's confession, are the talk of every city in the
South.
Gray was a Negro lad, who came from his plantation into
Vicksburg, and was killed by order of a brother Negro, named
Jeff Tucker.
Oliver, a third Negro, was employed to do the deed.
Since his arrest,
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Oliver has turned on his employers and made a clean breast of the dirty business.
Gray, a member of the
Black League, heard in his lodge the purposes of his chiefs.
He learned that
Vicksburg was to be attacked by Negro troops, assisted by a Negro mob, and that all the
White citizens were to be killed.
Gray set out to warn some people who had been kind to him of the impending massacre.
Jeff Tucker, an officer in the League, suspected
Gray, and ordered him to be slain.
Oliver expresses deep regret, for
Gray had never injured him; but
Tucker was his officer, and he was bound by oath to do whatever he was told, even to the shedding of a brother's blood.
When
Tucker bade him go and kill
Gray he went and killed him, never asking why, because he dared not ask. He says he acted out of fear.
If he had not killed
Gray, he would have been killed himself.
In
Georgia the coloured people seem content, but who can say how long this calm may last?
The Negro is a child of mystery.
No man can guess what he will do or will not do. Voices move him, fetishes inspire him. Traces of his
African superstitions cling to him, even in a Georgian school and
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chapel.
He is open to such hints as “forty acres and a good mule,” and plenty of carpet-baggers are at hand, ready, at auspicious moments, with such hints.
He has enjoyed one spell of power, and the intoxication of that period hangs about his hut and dug-out.
What a day of glory for the son of
Ham!
A Negro loves to sit in a chair of state, to hear men say “his honour,” and to fine
White rowdies for getting drunk: “Hi, hi!
You bad fellow.
You drunk-Ten dollar! Hi, hi!”
Like other savages the
Georgian Negroes want to rule.
It is no use to tell them they are fewer than the Whites, and that the greater number rules the less.
They think it should be turn and turn about.
The Whites have had their day, and now the Blacks should have their day.
Thousands of these Negroes have been drilled and armed by the
State authorities.
Most of the militia regiments are Black, and these Black regiments are officered by scalawags and carpet-baggers, who have swarmed into the cotton-fields and rice-grounds from distant towns.
These regiments of coloured troops, commanded by strangers and adventurers, are the cause of much distrust.
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Some scalawag whispers that
General Grant desires to see the Negro uppermost in the
State, his hands in
White men's pockets, and his heels on
White men's necks.
The Negroes and Mulattoes think these scalawags speak the truth.
Poor things!
they cannot read and write.
As children they were slaves.
Of politics and history they know less than the most stupid Suabian boor or
Wiltshire clown.
Of moral codes and social sciences they have hardly an idea; but the poorest
African in
Georgia can see the difference between a cabin and a house, a full table and an empty one, a warm coat and a cotton rag, a place in the gutter and a seat in the legislative hall.
“Look,” cry the scalawags, “ at
Louisiana and
Mississippi!
There you have Negro sheriffs and assessors, judges and legislators.
In New Orleans and
Jackson you have Negro
Senators, Negro Lieutenant-governors, and Federal armies keeping down the Whites.
Louisiana sends
Pinchback,
Mississippi sends Rush, to represent the coloured people in the national Capitol!
Why not unite and carry your own candidates?”
Fired by such visions Sam begins to dream of running for the State legislature.
If not so lucky as
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Pinchback he may be as fortunate as
Antoine.
If he cannot reach
Antoine, he may hope to rival Demas.
If Pete can sit in
Jackson or New Orleans, why should not Sam aspire to sit in
Atlanta?
The lowest senator, he hears, gets three dollars a day for doing nothing but loll in an easy chair, chew tobacco, answer when his name is called, and now and then get up to have a drink.
A Negro toiling on a plantation has to pick and carry cotton for three dollars a week.
Why not attempt in
Georgia what the coloured people do so easily in
Mississippi and
Louisiana?
“You would be much amused by some of our dark politicians,” says to me a well known personage.
“This morning, as my coloured servant was cleaning my boots, he looked up into my eyes, and, with a broad grin across his face, asked me how he could get to run for the State Legislature.
The fellow can hardly read, and cannot write; he cleans my knives and holds my horse; and he wants to make laws for
me!”
