I know, dear friends, that what I have already said is not new to you; you have heard it many times and are anxious to know if any progress is noticeable. I wish, oh, how I wish, I could tell you of the progress they are making. How they are working under cast-iron laws to pay for their land and get little frame houses. People tell me, in a general way, that they are lazy and there is no hope for them; but I know them to get up at “day clear” and work until sundown to pay for their land under conditions that would discourage nine white men out of every ten. I could name a dozen families around us who have their land paid for, and nice little homes. The children come to school, their tuition is paid regularly and their books are provided as soon as needed.
Are they progressing? For an answer I would like to show you the nice little two-story frame building in which two of our pupils who were married last winter live. On the lower floor is the parlor, dining-room and kitchen; above are the chambers. The pretty chamber set, white spread and pillow-shams, were purchased with the money Sarah earned off her cotton patch.
People say they are dull and stupid. Yet children ten years old will criticise letters received by their parents, and in two and a half years we can fit a boy for the second preparatory year in college. He works his own way, pays for his books, and at the end of a year has enough to pay his traveling expenses home, and when his teacher asks him if there is anything he needs, he replies, “Oh, no; can’t I do something for you?”
People say, “You can’t trust them.” Yet I know of one of my little girls on sewing afternoon, when almost home, returning with a needle that somehow got stuck in her dress; and I have never missed a pencil or book out of my desk, on which there is no lock, during the years I have spent in McIntosh. How often you are told they are ungrateful, and do not appreciate what you are doing for them. Once and forever this idea would be banished from your minds could you be present at our meetings, and hear the fervent, heartfelt prayers of both young and old that God will pour out his richest blessings on this Association and the friends who uphold it. It has also been said they do not care to be educated, they would just as soon remain as they are. We have many pupils in our room who walk sixteen miles every day, and who do a task before leaving home in the morning, and another when they return at night. One of my boys, Josiah Roberts, walked this distance every day last year with the exception of two, making a total of 2,250 miles during the school year, and was not tardy one morning. Can any other school show such a record?
Among the colored people great stress is laid upon “joining the church.” This is one of the evils against which we have to fight. It is the only idea many of them have of what it is to be a Christian. One day, when returning home from making a call on Aunt Judy, the minister’s wife called me, saying the girls wished to see me. She has a number of girls from “up country,” who board with her and attend our school. I followed her into the room where they were, and said, on entering, “Well, girls, what is troubling you?” There was silence for a moment; then one bright girl looked up saying, “Oh, Miss Robertson, won’t you tell us what to do? We thought we were Christians, we belong to the church, but we are beginning to find out that that isn’t enough. We are not living for Christ. Won’t you tell us how to be such Christians as our teachers are?” With a short prayer for help, I pointed them to the Divine Example, and during the remaining days of school we had proof that they were imitating Him. Those girls went out into various parts of the country this summer to teach, carrying Jesus with them. Who can estimate the good they will do?
Every Tuesday and Thursday evening at the cabins the people hold neighborhood meetings. Desiring very much to see how these were conducted, I started out one evening with one of my girls. After walking about a mile through the woods we reached the cabin, which was crowded with dusky faces. As I entered, room was made for me at one side of the fire-place, in which was a crackling fire of pine knots. They asked me to read to them, so I opened my Bible to the CIII. Psalm. How eagerly and attentively they listened as it was read and explained. Then each one took part, either singing or praying. Then together they began to sing their old slave songs, keeping time by clapping and shaking hands, bobbing their heads and scraping their feet. Every part of the body seemed in motion. As I watched the strange scene, I thought, “Will this form of worship die out with the old slaves, or will it be continued by our young people?” I turned at that moment to look at my companion. A woman had just stepped up to her saying, “Why don’t you shake hands?” “Because I see no sense in it,” was the reply. On our way home she inquired of me if I did not think the last part of that meeting was more like a frolic than praising God? How rejoiced I was to hear that young girl express herself in such a manner. Truly, “Our labor is not in vain in the Lord.”
Dear friends, I would not give you the impression that there are no discouragements in our work, for there are many. It is with heavy hearts we oftentimes watch some of our scholars returning to their homes in the evening, for we know that there everything tends to overthrow the religious teaching received during the day. Girls going home to mothers who have no sense of purity and virtue, and who cannot realize the degradation of their lives. Sometimes those the most promising, those for whom we have entertained bright hopes for the future, fail us, and we are almost constrained to cry out, “This is greater than I can bear.”
But He, whose promises never fail, has shown us that the seed sown in tears will surely bring a harvest, and the encouragements, together with the joy of being in His service, outweigh the discouragements.
I could tell you of young men who have come to our school addicted to drink, using profane language and tobacco, who to-day are earnest, faithful Christians, the hope of our school. We gladly would keep them, yet we bid them “God speed,” as this year they go to Atlanta University. I could tell you of young girls who, out of the wickedness and immorality around them, have grown up pure, consecrated Christian women, doing what they can for the Master they have promised to serve.
Such is the work the A. M. A. is doing throughout the South. Is there anyone who can afford not to have a part in this glorious work? Think of the privilege of being permitted to help lift these souls, born in ignorance and vice, into the marvellous light of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Last year, for want of room and help, we had to turn many away from our doors, and that means sending them back into the wickedness and ignorance from which they desired to rise. When I take up the American Missionary Magazine and read therein the appeals for help, the feeling that comes over me is not unmixed with indignation, for in God’s precious word I read, “If I were hungry I would not tell thee, for the earth is mine and the fulness thereof;” and again, “The silver is mine and the gold is mine, saith the Lord of hosts;” and yet the stewards to whom He has entrusted this vast fortune do not allow Him enough to carry on His work. I heard the remark, not long ago, “When money is needed you can’t compensate with prayer.” Faith and works must go hand in hand. Shall not the treasury this year be full to overflowing so that “the barnacles may be cleared off this old ship,” and there be nothing to impede her progress?