The Forged Note: A Romance of the Darker RacesMicheaux, Oscar
General
The Forged Note: A Romance of the Darker Races
Micheaux, Oscar
African Americans -- Fiction
After many miles, in which the afternoon sun barely penetrated the deep
forest, the train passed through another pine district. The trees were
slender and scattered, while thousands of stumps stood lowly and darkly
about. As he looked closer, he saw that among the standing timber, at
the base, were little buckets. He made inquiries and was told that this
was where turpentine came from. He laughed then at his ignorance. He had
forgotten entirely that it was the south which produced the greatest
amount of this article.
"And when they have tapped the tree for such a purpose, I suppose it is
of no further good but to be cut down?"
"They cut them down at once, and make most of them into cord wood,"
replied the person of whom he asked.
"Now these people," said Wyeth, pointing to the black people, "they
attend to the most of it?"
"Yes; the women to the turpentine, and the men to the timber."
The train had now come into a land of swamp. As far as eyes could see,
there was a profusion of vines and palm leaves. He wondered if that was
where the palm leaf fans came from. If so, the harvest was abundant. For
miles and miles the swamp was thick with them, and they appeared to be
all of fan size. Water stood a foot deep, while the track rose, perhaps,
upwards of four or five feet above it all. The trees were a strange
variety to him, while nowhere for miles did it appear possible for
anyone to live. The mosquitoes, he judged, must surely find this place a
haven when the days were warm; while fever could fairly thrive.
Now the train had left the deeper forests, and was rolling across
numerous trestles that stood high above the water. Great lagoons were
crossed, where large birds, sea gulls and others not so large, flew
about undisturbed. Miles away at last, rose church spires and ship
hoists, and he then knew they were approaching a city that was a great
seaport.
A half hour later, they stood in the station. He found his way out over
the tracks and into the station, where he entered the colored waiting
room and lunch counter. They were supposed to stop twenty minutes there;
but, before the lunch he had ordered was served, he observed the train
pulling out. He tore out and was about to pass through a gate that was
open, but was halted by a young white man, who informed him that it was
the gate white people passed through.
"But I'm traveling on that train, and it is pulling out," he cried
frantically.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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