Where civilization has met civilization, as in India, China, Japan, there has never been any question of local intermixture in such proportions as to give rise to the conditions indicated. Where civilization has met savagery, elsewhere than in Africa, the savage race has generally dwindled to a degraded and negligible remnant. The African races alone have shown considerable tenacity of life and considerable power of putting on at any rate a veneer of civilization. This is as much as to say that only between Europeans and Africans has the active competition arisen which is the essence of the race problem. In some parts of Spanish America it has resulted in the practical fusion of the races; a solution which, as above noted, commends itself to some thinkers. But where fusion is resisted, the problem must one day become acute; and that day has arrived in the Southern States. There the two races are more nearly than anywhere else on a footing of numerical equality; there, more than anywhere else, is the ambition of the African race stimulated by political theory and seconded by education, organization, and considerable material resources. The Southern States, then, are, so to speak, the great crucible in which this experiment in inter-racial chemistry is working itself out. There you can watch the elements simmering. To some hopeful eyes they may even seem to be clarifying and settling down. The following pages will show that I, personally, am not confident of any desirable solution, unless a new element of far-sighted statesmanship can be thrown into the brew.
Mr. Ray Stannard Baker, author of that admirable series of studies, “Following the Colour-Line,” was good enough to map out for me a zig-zag tour through the States east of the Mississippi, which enabled me to employ my time to the best advantage. I was also much indebted to Mr. Baker, as well as to Mr. Walter H. Page and Dr. Booker Washington, for many valuable introductions. Wherever I went, my first preoccupation was with the colour question; but I also welcomed the opportunity to see something of the great agricultural, industrial, and educational revival which is rapidly transmuting the South from a ghost-haunted region of depression and impoverishment into one of the most eagerly progressive, and probably one of the wealthiest, of modern communities. This book, then, is mainly to be regarded as a series of rapid impressions of travel, intermingled with conversations, in which I try to present the colour-problem from various points of view, and to suggest the temper in which it is approached by men of both races. In the middle of my travel-sketches, however, at the point where I leave the American Continent, I have inserted an essay of some length which embodies my reflections on the preceding “choses vues” with such tentative conclusions as I felt justified in drawing. This essay, which appeared in McClure’s Magazine for July, 1909, has elicited a good deal of criticism in the South, which has led me to modify one or two passages. I am happy to say, however, that none of the criticism which has reached me, either privately or through the Press, has been in any sense hostile. Many critics have declared impossible the only solution of the problem which at all commends itself to me; but only one out of a hundred or thereabouts has accused me of seriously misrepresenting the conditions.
From Florida, I proceeded by way of Cuba and Jamaica to a detached but very important section of the United States, the Canal Zone at Panama. I make no apology for including in this book a few notes of that journey. For one thing, I was still in Afro-America, still studying certain aspects of the colour-problem. But another motive prompts the inclusion of these sketches—the hope that some readers may be moved to follow in my footsteps, and enjoy a very delightful and interesting tour. Anything is worth doing, in my judgment, that tends to encourage Englishmen to cross the Atlantic. If any considerable proportion of the English travelling public could be induced to set their faces westward, we should soon get rid of many of the little prejudices and ignorances which still interpose themselves between the two branches of the Anglo-Saxon stem. The route which I followed—roughly, New York, Washington, Memphis, New Orleans, Charleston, Florida, Cuba, Jamaica, Panama, Cartagena, Trinidad, Southampton—is as easy and comfortable as it is interesting and instructive. No doubt the completion of the Canal will carry a rush of travel in this direction. But even before the gates of the Pacific are opened, I see no reason why the fascinating ferment of the Southern States, in conjunction with the glorious beauty of the West Indies, should not attract the travelling Briton.
The chapters in the First Part of this book appeared, with two exceptions, in the Westminster Gazette; those in the Third Part, with one exception, appeared either in the Morning Leader or the Pall Mall Magazine. The chapters on Hampton and on Jamaica are here printed for the first time.
PART I
SOUTHWARD HO!
I
ON THE THRESHOLD
The scene is Chicago; the occasion, a luncheon-party at the Cliff-Dwellers’ Club. All the intellect and talent of the Middle West (I am credibly assured) are gathered round one long table. I mention to an eminent man of letters that I am going into the South.
“Well,” he says, “you are going into a country that is more foreign to me than most parts of Europe. I do not understand the Southern people, or their way of looking at things. I never feel at home among them. The one thing I have in common with them is a strong antipathy to the black man.”
This, of course, is only an individual point of view; but many other men are listening, and, while some nod assent, no one protests.
But here is another point of view. A few days later I met an old friend, a Philadelphian, who said, “I like the South and the Southerners. They are men of our own stock and our own tongue—even the ‘poor whites’ whom slavery and the hookworm have driven to the wall. In the North we are being jostled and elbowed aside by the foreigner, who murders our speech, and knows nothing and cares nothing about our history or traditions. Yes; give me the South. It is true that, intellectually, it scarcely exists. The Southerner may be living in the twentieth century, but he has skipped the nineteenth. His knowledge of literature, for instance, if he have any at all, stops at the Waverley Novels and ‘The Corsair.’ But I’m not sure that that isn’t part of the charm.”