The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored ManJohnson, James Weldon
General
The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man
Johnson, James Weldon
African American men -- Fiction; Racially mixed people -- Fiction
We drove into the town just before dark. As we passed a large,
unpainted church, my companion pointed it out as the place where he
held his school. I promised that I would go there with him the next
morning and visit awhile. The town was of that kind which hardly
requires or deserves description; a straggling line of brick and
wooden stores on one side of the railroad track and some cottages of
various sizes on the other side constituted about the whole of it. The
young school teacher boarded at the best house in the place owned by
a colored man. It was painted, had glass windows, contained "store
bought" furniture, an organ, and lamps with chimneys. The owner held a
job of some kind on the railroad. After supper it was not long before
everybody was sleepy. I occupied the room with the school teacher. In
a few minutes after we got into the room he was in bed and asleep; but
I took advantage of the unusual luxury of a lamp which gave light, and
sat looking over my notes and jotting down some ideas which were still
fresh in my mind. Suddenly I became conscious of that sense of alarm
which is always aroused by the sound of hurrying footsteps on the
silence of the night. I stopped work and looked at my watch. It was
after eleven. I listened, straining every nerve to hear above the
tumult of my quickening pulse. I caught the murmur of voices, then
the gallop of a horse, then of another and another. Now thoroughly
alarmed, I woke my companion, and together we both listened. After a
moment he put out the light and softly opened the window-blind, and we
cautiously peeped out. We saw men moving in one direction, and from
the mutterings we vaguely caught the rumor that some terrible crime
had been committed. I put on my coat and hat. My friend did all in his
power to dissuade me from venturing out, but it was impossible for me
to remain in the house under such tense excitement. My nerves would
not have stood it. Perhaps what bravery I exercised in going out was
due to the fact that I felt sure my identity as a colored man had not
yet become known in the town.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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