J. Johnson, or, "The unknown man" : an answer to Mr. Thos. Dixon's "Sins of the fathers"

Table Of Contents

CHAPTER page

I. The Discovery i

II. Sweeps the Boys’ Game 8

CHAPTER I. The Discovery

No home, no father, no mother or even sister or brother, was the lot of little Jirri. And legally speaking, in the eyes of the law, we might add that he had no name.

It was a sad day in the life of this boy, when first the rays of sunlight streaked his brow and the music of nature beat upon his ear. Who were his parents no one knew.

When upon the tide of time he was first seen floating, like the great Law Giver, in a basket was he, but not so fortunate as the Law Giver, to be among the flowers of the sea; a cheap five-cent basket discarded and worn, with rags tucked around, held the little flower bud that was lying at the door of an excuse of a house, that was inhabited by one of the poorest families of the town. We say family, but not a family, it was but the remnant, a June pear swinging tenaciously to the limb of the tree, when the fruit was all plucked, and the October frost and whistling wind of autumn had said to the leaves, “Earth to earth and ashes to ashes.’’ It was all that was left of a very happy but humble family.

A lone widow, poor and feeble. An old woman, left in the world without a relative. Aunt Jane was her name. At her door one winter morning, while the ground was wrapped in a sheet of frost this wee babe was found.

Her dark eyes rolled, and her wiry form stood erect, she laughed, “Ha! Hal Bless the Lord! Child! I wonder whose baby is you? Ise sho gwine ter have trouble here.” By this time she had him up, in her bosom, fondling, shaking and continuing to talk to him : “Where you came from sich er day like this? Little rascal ain’t crying er bit! Your people sure must be crazy or want er fling you in a coffin to put you here a day like this.”

A little bed was speedily arranged in a rocking chair, and in this improvised nest our little friend found what hereafter was to be his home. An interesting picture they presented around this fireside, compared with what it was a few minutes before.

/. Johnson; or ^‘The Unknown MM

Days and weeks rolled by, and neighbor after neighbor came to see Aunt Jane and her new visitor; all of them, more or less, were equally filled with advice, but for the mush and milk that made up the little one’s diet, the merciful God only knew the hardships and struggles of Aunt Jane to secure it.

After a year passed and the wee baby had struggled from the cradle, and was creeping about the house, showing a little ivory decora- ^ tion, cute dimpled cheeks and fat dimpled hands, cooing and twittering like a sparrow; Aunt Jane came in, seized the little one up into her arms, gave him the usual kiss just as she had a hundred times, looked into his eyes that showed the African and Anglo-Saxon mixture, and said, “Boy, Ise gwine ter sho name you today. Ise dunno how old you is, but you is been here a little over a year, so Ise bound ter name you today.”

While Aunt Jane was talking to the child some one came up and struck the steps with a stick as though they would split them, and said, “Hey! Hey! Who lives here?”

Aunt Jane replied, ^‘You hush dat noise, Jonah, come in ef you gwin ter.”

Uncle Jonah answered, ^‘Oh, hush yer foolin’, ’oman, don’ git scared, Ise jest thought to pester yo’ a little. How is dat child gitting along. You ain’t hearn nothin’ yet ’bout his ’cestry?”

^‘No; not a word,” said Aunt Jane.

“Well Janie,” said Uncle Jonah, “What you gwine ter do wid him?”

“Do wid him?” said Aunt Jane, “Why today Ise gwinter name him. I thought I’d call him Spurgeon or Beecher, and den one time I wanted to name him Garfield, but now — ”

“Oh Janie,” said Uncle Jonah, “You think dat boy will be President? An you know dat niggers can’t even vote; why dey is just ’franchising the negro eber whar.”

To this dialogue the baby paid no attention, he simply feasted on the music of the words and seemed to have been greatly delighted to pull Uncle Jonah’s gray mustache or poke his finger into the old man’s mouth.

Uncle Jonah, like Aunt Jane, had watched the pickaninny grow; and while the baby could not talk yet, he could with his little eyes watch them ; the old folks argued, debated and loved ; the baby cooed, cried and loved, thus in process of time the three were bound together.

Uncle Jonah continued: ‘‘Tell you, Janie, de way de Negro is lynched an’ pestered sorter ’pears to me dey is agin him eber whar, yes 1 eber whar! You think ’cause he’s kinder yaller, das hope for him? Bet you needn’t think dat; yaller niggers are hated as bad as any of dem. Dey say dey aint got no nation.”

“Wy,” said Aunt Jane, “I knows he ain’t gwine ter be no President, but I thought he mout un be ’lowed to vote ’outen any one pesterin’ ’im.”

“Yas,” said Uncle Jonah, “Dat ar Grandpa Clause in de Con’tution keeps us fom it.”

“Grand-daddy claws, what make dat dey don’t cut him off”? asked Aunt Jane with a deal of confidence and assurance in her very accent.

“More’n dat,” she continued, “Who knows but what dis boy’s Granddaddy, both of um, come in dat dar — what yo call it?”

“Oh! no!” said Uncle Jonah, “You kin see the nigger in him, fer if he is only got one drap of blood of my race, the whole blessed thing becomes nigger.”

^^Any way,” said Aunt Jane, “Ise gwine ter name him, Ise gwine ter call him Jim Johnson, atter the great book writer.”

Aunt Jane had heard of Ben Jonson, the great scholar and writer of England, and her husband, who was now dead, was also named Jim; therefore, she had this name deeply rooted in her heart. She called him Jim.

In this name she perpetuated racial love and predicted scholarship. Perhaps the boy might someday be a great scholar, and then her soul’s crave to see the name of her family placed among the great men of the earth would be realized. For, in the heart of every son of Adam, there is a something that is called by some, an instinct; by others, an affinity; and yet by the great Philosophers it is an unknown attribute, that throws men together and repels them.

Aunt Jane was a good Christian, intensely religious as most colored folks are; yet she had a feeling to love her own; of course this love was not necessarily confined to her own people exclusively, as we have seen, in the case of this child, that no one could kiss a Bible on, as being of Negro blood; yet, like Moses, like any people, when it came to hair-splitting love, the racial love was bound to predominate, although many have often said that the Negro possessed no such love.

Now, here was a child, a bright child, an Octoroon ; may be a white child, but somehow she believed it to be of her race. If it had been an Indian of the forest, a Chinese from Hong Kong, or a Saxon of the purest blood, it would have made no difference with Aunt Jane; for in spite of all his opposition, in spite of all his shortcomings, in spite of all his faults and sins, the Negro is a Good Samaritan; he is hospitable; he will help the needy; yea, he will feed even the slayer of his brother and those who revile, maltreat and abuse him.

CHAPTER II. “Sweep the Boy's Game."

“Kill him!” “Head him off, Sam; I got him once on the knoggin!” “No you didn’t, old Spaniard, not that time!” were noises heard from half a dozen throats that filled the air. A crowd of boys were chasing a little bushy-headed boy of about eight or nine years ; his face was dirty, and like the other boys, easily could he have passed for white, no one would have thought him other if it had not been that one of the boys said: “Never mind, you nigger!” As the boy escaped his pursuers and entered a hut an old woman pulled him in and closed the door.

She said, “Jim, what’s the matter, my boy? What’s those boys chasing you ’bout? I dunno what I’m gwine ter do wid yo ; one of des days Ise mighty ’fraid you’ll git hurt. You know you ought ter stay ’way fom dose white folks.”

“Well, Ma Jane,” said Jim, “We boys were just shooting marbles and getting on fine until one big boy came along and shouted ‘sweeps,’

and I happened to get more of them than the other boys, then they started to fighting. We boys play together all the time, us boys, we do, and we never fight. Of course I wont’ going to give my marbles away. I don’t like sweep stakes, but if they are going to play the game, every man for himself.”

“Yes, son,” said Aunt Jane, “You donno; you stay by yourself and be a good boy if you want to go to Heaven, where you can meet your ma and pa.”

“But, Ma,” said Jim, “You are the only ma I have, and if I get to Heaven how will I know my mamma? Oh, no, I ain’t got no ma but you, and if I go to Heaven she won’t know me, either.”

“Come, son, and git your dinner, I knows you is hungry, fer you is sure got a bright head, eber body says it. Your Uncle Jonah was er telling me ’bout it tuther day,” said Aunt Jane.

The boy wouldn’t be shut off so soon, especially when he seemed to have the best of the argument, so he continued: “You know, Ma, the other day I was standing by the road and a big automobile passed me; and all at once my hair stood straight, my skin grew tighty and I don’t know how I felt. It looks like that every time that machine and those people pass me, I have that same feeling.”

Aunt Jane couldn’t answer the boy, but simply groaned, and before she knew it a tear was stealing down her sainted old cheek.

When the boy had ended his supper, he and Aunt Jane were seated before the fire, and whiled away the time until the hour arrived for bed. Aunt Jane was busy with the needle, and the boy busy with his books and toys.

The little scrummage among the boys that very often took place, and many times was magnified by the papers, as a race war, very soon was forgotten.

Day after day passed and years rolled by, the tender youth became the hope and inspiration of the old Saint, and the old Saint was the succor and hope of the child. The one’s life became entwined within the other. It was barely possible to cut one without affecting the other; like Mille-Christine, the twins that were held together by one body. One mouth said to the other: “When you die, how long will I live ?” “N ay, I can’t live, I will die also.”

CHAPTER III. Two Old Saints

Janie, say what you will or may, but there is something strange about that boy. It has now been twelve years since he was picked up, and yet you know nothing.”

^‘Yes, Jonah,” said Aunt Jane, “It is strange, but I have hearn of a heap uv folks in dis ole wurl picked up, yit dey seem to stay here an git along like de tuthers. Dey ain’t gotten but one mouth, and it kinder git somkin to eat. Why, take dat man, Fred Douglass; he couldn’t tell who his daddy was, I don’t believe. Didn’t he live, died, and all de wurl had to tip dey hats to him. Nobody ’sputes dat “Well, what you gwinter do wid Booker Washington; he named hisself. I am not er arguing ’bout his daddy, and ain’t he sma’t? Why, bless your soul, he is the biggest man you ever seed. Ain’t no white people kin beat him in dat ’dustrial education.”

“But Jane,” said Uncle Jonah, “Have you ever think ’bout dat boy?”

“Yes,” said Aunt Jane. “I know one thing he has sho brought good luck to dis house, and the good Master protects me as never before. He sho’ opens de window of Heaven.”

Uncle Jonah said, “I don’t mean dat; bet dat boy was picked up, as a naked bird thrown from its nest! Janie, I am an old grey haired man, stung by the frost of seventy-five December morns, but I says again — dar am somethin’ ’bout dat boy ’spicious. When I was a boy I saw a featherless bird; yea, a naked little bird, you got me? Fall fom its nest dat wuz hidden in de bough and secured fom the winds and dews of Heaven. I saw it fall, and as it fell, hitting limb after limb, bush after bush, screaming, chirping, aye, gurgling. Oh! it was dying. The blood was creeping fom its legs — its wings seemed broken, and its back looked like a beef. Janie, you ought to have hearn its screams. It would have made a hangman cry and a demon weep. Did the mother leave it? No! She floundered beneath it; she fluttered about it, and when I went dat I mought take it outen de sand, the ole bird fought me; she picked me; she left me not ’till

I had nested the leetle one back, safe into its hiding.”

“Well,” said Aunt Jane, “What ’bout it?” ^ “Why, ’oman,” said Uncle Jonah, “We are mortal, and how kin a mother lay its little one out, on a frosty morning, to weep, to cry, to suffer; yea! to die? If dere be a God who shall judge the wurld, Janie, do you believe such an one as dat shall ever see his face in peace? Jane, shall not the Jedge of all the earth do right? De Good Book sez — ”

“Ah! Jonah,” said Aunt Jane.

Then for about ten minutes they were both lost in thought and not either said a word. The two old sainted philosophers were trying to solve a problem that had baffled sociologists and humanitarians and scholars from the days that Cyrus was found, down to the present. Yet unsolved it remained.

Kingdoms and Empires rose and fell ; years roll by; nations, like men, grow old and die; history changes; science advances, but this problem ever remains. Here is a boy who will soon bud into the beautiful life of manhood; who will stand upon the college platform and deliver the Valedictory of his class, enter the world and, like other fellow students, speak of his Alma Mater. But who knows the yearnings of his heart? Who knows the dreams that come to him in the night times, as upon his bed he rests his weary head, and in his sleep climbs the golden stairs? No mother knew he, that had ever kissed his lips or father said “my son.’’ There he was, a lone pine, born in the ocean expanse of sandy desert, and although scorching sand and burning winds swept on into one eternal day; yet it remained. Where did it come from? How did it get there? No one seemed to know. Not indigenous to the clime, yet it lived ; when there was no oasis to shade and water its roots, it caught the dews of Heaven, it dropped its own leaves and made a shade.

Uncle Jonah ended his visit and returned home. The days rolled by as usual.

The boy fast sprouted into a large youth while the dame rumor nodded but never slept.

Kind friends made it possible for Aunt Jane to find work. And evenings on Jim’s return from school he washed, ironed, gathered wood

/. Johnson; or '‘The Unknown Man”

and did whatever his hands found to do. The people admired him and the community often buzzed with gossip that: “We don’t know whether he is white or colored, but he certainly is thrifty.” A few other children would sometimes join him in his work. And at school allow him to share their lunch. Prominently among these was a little dark girl called Susie Smith. Susie’s father was dead, and so she and her widowed mother lived alone together. Yet her mother was young and proud and possessed a neat home and had a few thousand dollars in the bank from which she could draw whenever the income from her poultry farm and garden failed to cover the weekly expenditure. Susie and Jim were the star pupils of the little town and often contested for the place at the head in the spelling row. Jim was Susie’s senior by two years, but they were both in the same grade.

CHAPTER IV. Platting The May Pole

One day in May when the school met for the final close, six boys and girls were selected to plait the pole. Three beautiful girls and three fine robust boys. One of the boys seemed to be the favorite of all. The girls called him Jimmie; the boys called him Jim. The day before that, he had led the class in arithmetic and saved the day in spelling. Problem after problem the town folks and wise old farmers threw at the scholars but never failed Jim to work every one. Sometimes jokers, sometimes catch problems, but seriously, quickly, and manly, worked he every one. An example like this one time tripped the whole school. “If two trains were traveling the same day in opposite directions, one starting three hours ahead of the other and had gone 120 miles, traveling at the rate of 40 miles an hour and the other was making 70 miles, where would they meet on the road, and how far would each one have traveled? Jim worked it and not only won a smile from Aunt Jane and Uncle Jonah, but likewise won the heartfelt thanks of the teacher, for no teacher likes to see his school fail.

Uncle Jonah gave one: “Suppose a man had twenty sick sheep and one died, how many would be left?”

Many of the children said, “Why, 25; for one from 26 always leaves 25.” But he couldn’t catch Jim, he politely said that 19 would be left.

Now the word and book battle was over and the gods of the feast had to be fed. Every person attending had a basket. Chicken, little shoats, cakes, pies, and gingerbread formed the bill of fare.

The crowning event before the feast was to plait the May Pole, and the speeches and dialogues came next with the crowning of the May Queen and King as the last event before the meal. Little Susan Smith was the queen and our friend Jim was the king. The scholars making the highest marks were selected. Hence the pupils leading the school in the general averages were Susie and Jim.

i8 /. Johnson; or *‘The Unknown Man'

And to these no greater joy could have come than to be king and queen.

When dinner began, Uncle Jonah threw the crowd into convulsions of laughter as he looked at Aunt Jane and winked and said: “Janie, you ’member foe de war when we plait a pole; you wuz queen and I wuz king and old Jim got so mad. I thought I mought have been king right on, but Janie always liked big men, so Jim won de day, and here I is, wid my fuss shoes standing right on de carpet.”

The Professor broke in, “Uncle Jonah, you have sorter given her up now, haven’t you?”

“Oh no, sir!” said Uncle Jonah. “Never too late for a raccoon to wear a pleated bosom shirt.”

CHAPTER V. Who Uncle Jonah Was

By the glowing fire coals one night, near a fire hearth, sat little Jim and Aunt Jane. They were talking as usual; the boy, like all boys, since Cain stood questioning Adam, down to the present, was right there seeking information and sometimes his question were hard to answer.

“Ma,” said Jim, “How long have you known Uncle Jonah?”

“Oh, ’bouten sixty-odd years, I think, if Ise not mistaken,” said Aunt Jane.

“Why, Ma, thatwas before the war,” said Jim.

Aunt Jane: “Yes, my son, when the war broke out in i86i. Uncle Jonah was a fullgrown man. He isn’t old as I is, but he was grown. He was one of the men who was carried from South Ca’lina wid de men who went to Kansas to fight de free soilers. He was de cook.

“Free soilers,” said Jim, “What do you mean by free soilers?”

20 /. Johnson; or “The Unknozvn Man^^

“Wy,” said Aunt Jane, “A free soiler wuz a man who believes eber body dat lives is free born, and outen dar, dey want to make dat country free jist like de North. Well, a lot of dem wanted to keep it in slavery, so de people from Alabama and Ca’lina sent soldiers dar to keep ’em slave. As I wuz telling you, Jonah was carried dar as cook, but dere wuz a man out dere, a mighty good man named John; well, you know de Bible talk about a man named John. Dis one wuz called John Brown.”

“Oh yes, Ma,” said Jim, “I know about him. We sing about him in school, you know.” And Jim sang, and the old Saint hummed also :

They hung John Brown to a sour apple tree, They hung John Brown to a sour apple tree, They hung John Brown to a sour apple tree.

But his soul is marching on.

CHORUS:

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

His soul is marching on.

^‘Ma, he was the best man I ever read about, if it had not been for him we all would have been slaves today.”

“Well,” said Aunt Jane, “As I was telling you, dis man wuz sent from God to free the cullud folks, and de soldiers went dar to stop him and make dat country slave. Jonah, I says, wuz cook, but Jonah wuz ha’dly over de long ribber ’fo he brake loose and ’scape fer freedom.”

Jim interrupted: “They couldn’t catch him?”

Aunt Jane: “Yes, son; dey tried, but Jonah could outrun a rabbit. De patrols run ’im wid hounds, but Jonah got in a lake and laughed, ‘ha I ha!’ atter dem.” Aunt Jane laughed and continued:

“You ought to seed ole Jonah grab de dog an souse him under de water an de dog got out er yelping and he drowned one. An’ you know, Jonah wuz a reg’lar die dapper; he jist git right under de water and crawl like he wuz ’pon land; den he ’scape to John Brown an’ stay wid him. Wherever John Brown go, Jonah go.”

“Well, Ma,” Jim said, “I read where they hung John Brown about something he did at Harper’s Ferry.”

“Yes; dey did,” said Aunt Jane, “But dey didn’t hang Jonah, you know. John Brown, Jonah, and a heap of um, went dar and take de guns and powder an put in, gwinter free we cullud folks. But dey wuz pow’ful weak tc fight so many, an’ some gotten away and some wuz ’rested. John Brown, who had some uv his boys killed already, sez: ‘I ain’t gwine ter run no whar; God will fight a righteous cause.’ Well, Jonah run, as you see, my son. Brown is in Heaven, and Jonah is right here.”

“Ma,” said Jim, “Uncle Jonah certainly knows something!”

“Yes,” said Aunt Jane, “Jonah certainly is lucky; he must be born wid a cod on his eyes or ca’y graveyard dirt one, fer he shore is lucky. You know, son, dat man came fom Afreka. Such a man lak dat aint born in ’Merika. You see him so, all des white folks and cullud folks say he is the truthfuldist and ’ligidest man you ever seed. An’ boy, people now days ain’t born like dat.”

“Well, ma,” said Jim, “Uncle Jonah must have seen Lincoln.”

“Yes, boy;” said Aunt Jane, “Ise hearn him speak ’bout Lincumb time an’ ’gin. Jonah sez he neber seed a man so ligidist looking in all his life. He sez one day he went wid John Brown to see Lincumb ’bout freeing cullud folks. Lincumb thought it de thing ter do, but ’nother man, Lincumb’s friends,” ha! ha! laughed Aunt Jane, “sez, hf you free de niggers dey will all starve in a year.’ Lincumb, you know, wuz a tall bony man, an’ as sharp as er blessed needle, he draws hisself up, pops his fingers and sez, ‘I guess we do like er man in Illinois; he plant er tator patch and had er lot of hogs, but him wuz too lazy to dig de tatoes; so he goes an’ turns de hogs on de tatoes. A man comes along and ’lowed. Friend, don’t you know when de winter comes, de ground will froze and de hogs can’t root no ’tatoes? Well, sez he to de other man, he will hab to root hog or die.’

“Oh, boy! you wants to git ’formation ’bout de war, you ought to hear Jonah talk ’bout it.

He is a regular ’pedia. He ain’t got no book laming, but he sho’ is edecated.”

When the platting of the May Pole became a thing of history and a few more summers rolled by, a sad incident crept into the life of Aunt Jane. She had never before, from the first day that little Jim was placed at her door, considered a time of parting.

These two friends, who for many years had cheered each other around the fireside, Jim and Aunt J ane, must part. Aunt J ane, by close saving, had laid aside a few pennies that proved sufficient to put Jim for a year or two in a far-off university. The old Saint knew not one school from another, but a kind teacher, when Jim had finished his academic course, advised him about two schools, Nashville and Boston. Jim preferred Nashville, but the teacher, Boston. Jim also reasoned that while Nashville was planted in the South and the summer hung around almost the whole year, Boston for refinement was almost a college in itself and to mingle among its people was like placing two years work into one.

Jim went off to school and his progress was what all his friends predicted. Aunt Jane soon became accustomed to being alone and Susie and Uncle Jonah appeared to feel the sting of his absence almost as much as his foster mother.

A new doctor came to Bowser, and the old town that never had anything to liven it, but public gossip, except sometimes a funeral or marriage or when a wandering minstrel or circus visited its cross ways, moved on in the even tenor of its ways.

CHAPTER VI. At The Station

One warm day in June, when all nature was contriving to make old Bowser a duplicate of Eden, as the bees hummed, the honeysuckles waved, the peaches looked red on the trees, the blackberries waved their hands on every hill top and from every fence corner, the violets bloomed in every dale and fragrance filled the air; three people, while the dew yet stood on the roses and like diamonds sparkled from the eaves of the houses, stood at the station to meet the early train.

One was a feeble old woman, bent by the weight of ninety-odd years, wiry form, grey haired, sharp voiced, tenaciously holding on to life. Some hope, like a spark, moved in her breast and kept life burning, for you know we only die when there is nothing to live for. She hoped, she prayed, she worked, therefore she lived.

The other was a young woman in the bloom of life, a girl of but twenty summers, a blush-

J. Johnson; or ''The Unknown Mxm'

ing, rosy-cheeked, curling-lipped, ivory-teethed young woman. I would say a rose of the spring just unfurling its leaves to send out sweetness to conjure the humming birds and draw the bees. But you would say my description is far-fetched. Dressed plainly and simply, head erect and upon throwing it back she looked like a queen. She was there; there like the others watching and waiting with a spark in her breast that glowed through her beautiful dark eyes, whenever a certain name was mentioned.

Then we must not forget the third person; you know him well — the old sage from the dark continent who had been crushed by the demon slavery, but when they looked for him to be mashed and destroyed, he came forth a shining coal; he was ground in the mill of hardship, but instead of being destroyed, came forth as a diamond that sparkled in the sunlight of a new era. There he was, grey headed but yet youthful; he was a man who laughed at hardships and through impediments marched on to victory. When he was down and you thought hope had mouldered away into ashes, he had but one answer, “It’s never too late for a raccoon to wear a pleated bosom shirt.”

You know the three. Who could they be? None other than Aunt Jane, Susan Smith and Uncle Jonah.

The train arrived and a rapid stepping, curly headed, athletic young fellow with sachel in hand, football under arm, leaped from the car. The four sunshines met and melted into one. The words of none we record save those of Uncle Jonah: “Boy, we shore is glad to see you; Janie been cooking all day yesterday for you. She’s got a powerful lot of good things fer you. I dunno who’s been studying most ’bout you, Susan or Janie. I sorter git jealous one time, case Ise ur right here standing on the carpet yit, and nobody ever study ’bout me.”