The Conquest: The Story of a Negro PioneerMicheaux, Oscar
General
The Conquest: The Story of a Negro Pioneer
Micheaux, Oscar
African American pioneers -- Fiction; Autobiographical fiction; South Dakota -- Fiction; Western stories
At Columbus, Ohio, we took on a colored preacher who had a ticket for an
upper berth over a Southerner who had the lower. The Southern gentleman
in that "holier than thou" attitude made a vigorous kick to the
conductor to have the colored "Sky-pilot," as he termed him, removed. I
heard the conductor tell him gently but firmly, that he couldn't do it.
Then after a few characteristic haughty remarks the Southerner went
forward to the chair car and sat up all night. When I got the shoes
shined and lavatory ready for the morning rush I slipped into the
Southerner's berth and had a good snooze. However, longer than it should
have been, for the conductor found me the next morning as the train was
pulling into Chicago. He threatened to report me but when I told him
that it was my first trip out, that I hadn't had any sleep the night
before and none the night before that on account of my restlessness in
anticipation of the trip, he relented and helped me to make up the beds.
I barely got to my room before I was called to go out again. This time
going through to Washington. The P.F. & W. tracks pass right through
Washington's "black belt" and it might be interesting to the reader to
know that Washington has more colored people than any other American
city. I had never seen so many colored people. In fact, the entire
population seemed to be negroes. There was an old lady from South Dakota
on my car who seemed surprised at the many colored people and after
looking quite intently for some time she touched me on the sleeve,
whispering, "Porter, aren't there anything but colored people here?" I
replied that it seemed so.
At the station a near-mob of colored boys huddled before the steps and I
thought they would fairly take the passengers off their feet by the way
they crowded around them. However, they were harmless and only wanted to
earn a dime by carrying grips. Two of them got a jui jitsu grip on that
of the old lady from South Dakota, and to say that she became frightened
would be putting it mildly. Just then a policeman came along and the
boys scattered like flies and the old lady seemed much relieved. Having
since taken up my abode in that state myself, and knowing that there
were but few negroes inhabiting it, I have often wondered since how she
must have felt on that memorable trip of hers, as well as mine.
After working some four months on various and irregular runs that took
me to all the important cities of the United States east of the
Mississippi River, I was put on a regular run to Portland, Oregon. This
was along in February and about the same time that I banked my first one
hundred dollars. If my former bank account had stirred my ambition and
become an incentive to economy and a life of modest habits, the larger
one put everything foolish and impractical entirely out of my mind, and
economy, modesty and frugality became fixed habits of my life.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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