NOTE 2
(Chapter VI, page [159])
James Solomon Russell was born of slave parents in Mecklenburg, Va., Dec. 20th, 1827. The name Solomon was bestowed by his mother with the prayer that the little one would inherit the wisdom of his namesake; and the prayer has been answered, for this boy has ripened into one of the wisest of his people. A war-boy, his early years were subjected to the privations of the general poverty of the times. At twelve years his schooling began, the boy paying his way partly by selling butter and eggs, and, for the balance, his labor. Hampton was the earthly goal of the young colored youths of that time, and Russell attained it. From Hampton he entered Major Cooke’s School in Petersburg, and graduated from the theological department, in 1882. Upon being ordered a deacon, he was at once appointed missionary to Brunswick and Mecklenburg counties, with residence at Lawrenceville. Within eight months he brought his wife, Miss Virginia M. Morgan, to make the happy home which has been the haven of the busiest man of his race in the world, with the exception of Dr. Washington. Mrs. Russell, until her death two years ago, was as vital to the life of the School as was her husband. In 1917, the Virginia Seminary conferred the Degree of Doctor of Divinity on Mr. Russell, the first person of color to receive this honor so rarely bestowed upon anyone by that venerable Seminary. Once has Dr. Russell declined election to the Episcopate, and once again to have his name presented. He felt the urge of duty too strongly at Lawrenceville to allow himself to be diverted. For many years he has been Archdeacon of Southern Virginia, and the most conspicuously wise leader among the 400,000 Negroes of the Diocese.
As a deacon, he opened a school in the vestry-room of the little church built by his own efforts. Mrs. Russell and himself were the teachers. The population was 88 per cent illiterate, and correspondingly prejudiced and superstitious. The story of the transformation is a romance of absorbing interest. The teacher was a travelling missionary, without other means than nature had provided for transporting himself over great distances. He pleaded for a horse before the Diocesan Convention. “Let’s give Brother Russell a horse,” was the response, and “Ida” became as well known as Russell himself over two large “black-belt” counties. So Russell and Ida became the missionary team, each producing fruit after its kind. The Archdeacon’s pupils became scouts and recruits in the forward army against sin and ignorance; Ida’s colts increased the transportation facilities of workers.
In the midst of besetting difficulties, the young priest found a steady sympathetic helper in Mrs. Buford whose daughter became the wife of the late Bishop of East Carolina. She had started a hospital for infirm colored people, and now extended her interest to the school.
NOTE 4
(Chapter VII, page [180])
The Methodist Bishop, William Capers, father of the late Bishop of South Carolina and grandfather of the Bishop of West Texas, gave much of his life to the Negro. No better witness can be found of the power of Jesus Christ over the life of those Negroes whom He specially called. These samples from Bishop Capers’ Autobiography are selected, his description regretfully abridged:
“The most remarkable man in Fayetteville (N. C.) when I went there, and who died during my stay, was a Negro by the name of Henry Evans. I say the most remarkable in view of his class; and I call him Negro with unfeigned respect. The name simply designates the race, and it is vulgar to regard it with opprobrium. I have known and loved and honored not a few Negroes in my lifetime, who were probably as pure of heart as Evans, or anybody else. Such were my old friends, Castile Selby and John Boquet, of Charleston; Will Campbell and Harry Myrick, of Wilmington; York Cohen, of Savannah; and others I might name. These I might call remarkable for their goodness. But I use the word in a broader sense for Henry Evans, who was confessedly the father of the Methodist Church, black and white, in Fayetteville, and the best preacher of his time in that quarter; and who was so remarkable, as to have become the greatest curiosity of the town; insomuch that distinguished visitors hardly felt that they might pass a Sunday in Fayetteville without hearing him preach.”
Henry Evans was a shoemaker in Virginia, licensed to preach by the Methodists. Being free, he decided to move to Charleston. On the way, Fayetteville detained him. His spirit was stirred at perceiving the ungodliness of his people. There was no religion of any denomination, so Evans began preaching to his people. The Town Council objected, and he withdrew to the sandhills nearby. The results upon the changing lives were notable. Evans explained his motives to the authorities; and this, with the fruits of his work, won the day; he was allowed the liberty of the town. Mistresses and masters, powerfully influenced by the great improvement in their servants, began to attend the Services. They built a frame structure for the preaching, with seats for the Whites and a projection for Evans’ home. It became too small and was enlarged, for the Whites now occupied all of the original building, the Negroes the addition. “That,” continues Bishop Capers, “was the identical state of the case when I was pastor. Often was I in that shed, and much to my edification. I have known not many preachers who appeared more conversant with Scripture than Evans, and whose conversation was more instructive as to the things of God. He seemed always deeply impressed with the responsibility of his position; and not even our old friend Castile was more remarkable for his humble and deferential deportment towards the Whites than Evans was. Nor would he allow any partiality of his friends to induce him to vary, in the least degree, the line of conduct or the bearing which he had prescribed for himself in this respect; never speaking to a white man but with his hat under his arm, never allowing himself to be seated in their houses; and even confining himself to the kind and manner of dress proper for Negroes in general, except his plain black coat for the pulpit. ‘The Whites are kind to me, and come to hear me preach; but I belong to my own sort, and must not spoil them.’ And yet, Henry Evans was a Boanerges; and, in his duty, feared not the face of man.”