The Tar Baby and the Tomahawk: Race and Ethnic Images in American Children's Literature, 1880-1939

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GRANDMA CAREY, a little, old white-haired lady of the village, had the most beautiful flower garden of all. No one had flowers to bloom as early as Grandma Carey and nobody's lived as long; and no one, not even in the whole village, had flowers to match Grandma Carey's in color. Her flowers had the richest hues, her rambling roses, the pinkest tint, and her pansies were almost dazzling in their bright color. When anyone was sick a flower from Grandma Carey's garden was the first aid to recovery.

When visitors asked Grandma Carey how she obtained such glorious colors, she would laugh and her little eyes would twinkle merrily as she said, "Land sakes, I don't do nothin'; that garden belongs to the fairies:"

No wonder Grandma Carey had such a beautiful garden, the fairies lived there!

But soon there came a morning when the flowers didn't hold up their heads, but hung them in shame. What could have happened? All the children and even the grown-ups of the village came hurrying to Grandma Carey's cottage. And this is how she explained it.

For a long, long time the fairies had been planning and preparing for the Queen's annual dance. They collected all the sweet honey and nectar and all the bright golden pollen for miles and miles around. For this year at the Queen's annual dance they were to entertain with great ceremony and pomp, the King of the Gnomes. Everything was ready, from the sweet food of the fairies to the beautiful fairy carriages which were driven by golden-winged beetles. And the King of the Gnomes didn't arrive! Imagine the anger and disappointment of the fairies! So they neglected their homes, (which are the roses and pansies and nearly all the flowers), to meet at the fairy palace to talk and wonder about the King of the Gnomes.

"But," said Grandma Carey, slowly, "I know why the King of the. Gnomes didn't arrive on time. While crossing a meadow he happened to notice a tiny, neglected field and in the center a tiny, neglected cottage standing all alone. And it looked so forlorn and forgotten that the King of the Gnomes expressed a desire to visit it.

"'But,' said the Count of the Gnomes, 'we are on our way to visit Her Majesty, The Queen of the Fairies:'

"'I wish to visit that cottage,' said the King, and I shall do so.'

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"And so the King of the Gnomes visited the forlorn looking cottage. If one would call the outside forlorn, one should see the inside, that was most forlorn! For on a cot in the corner of the room lay a little girl moaning and tossing in pain, crying always, incessantly for flowers, bright flowers.

"'We have work here,' said the King softly. 'Let us begin.' So all the King's men started to work and they worked harder and harder. Now when one works hard one accomplishes something; and the King's men really did accomplish something. For the next morning the little field around the cottage was cleared of its rubbish and weeds and in their place grew beautiful, bright flowers! Imagine the surprise and joy of little Margaret Marnie when she saw her lovely garden!

"And so today when the King left, Margaret Marnie was sitting on the steps softly talking and caressing her bright flowers. Margaret Marnie was well again. Now," continued Grandma Carey, "the King of the Gnomes is on his way to visit the Queen of the Fairies and when he arrives the Queen will forget her temper. The King will apologize and all will be peace again. For the King of the Gnomes is going to ask for the Queen's hand in marriage and I think she will accept. Their honeymoon will be spent visiting Margaret Marnie's garden, then they will come back to live forever in my garden. When they do, then my flowers will become beautiful again."

Thus Grandma Carey ended her story. Yes, even as she spoke the flowers raised their heads; their color returned, the King of the Gnomes had arrived.

Once more Grandma Carey had the most beautiful garden of all. And strange to say, Grandma Carey's flowers never lost their bloom again, and so we conclude that the King of the Gnomes and the Queen of the Fairies are living very happily in their beautiful garden of flowers.

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TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE

What sort of story do you like best? I confess my favorite is the one where the poor or unknown boy or girl, man or woman, struggles up, up, up until he becomes rich or famous, or useful, or the leader of his people, the saviour of his fatherland. All other stories of no matter how splendid adventures and achievements fade into nothing for me beside the heroes who mount—as the Romans used to say—per aspera ad astra, "through rough ways to the stars"! And when the stories are of real people who have passed through real suffering and have achieved real triumph, my admiration goes beyond all bounds. Even if the hero afterwards meets with misfortune, what of that? Everything that has been done once, may be done again, and some day some man realizing what one before his time has accomplished, will do all that and more. Sometimes a defeat can be more splendid than a victory.

Toussaint L'Ouverture, the hero of this story, came of a royal line. His grandfather was Gaou Guinou, King of the Arradas, a powerful tribe on the West Coast of Africa. The son was captured by a hostile tribe and sold into slavery in one of the West Indian islands, Santo Domingo. Here his son, Pierre Dominic Toussaint, better known as Toussaint L'Ouverture, was born in 1743, a slave but the grandson of a king!

Nothing very much is known of his boyish days, except that he was very intelligent and loyal. Because of his faithfulness he rose rapidly from the occupation of shepherd to coachman and thence to the position of foreman of the large plantation where he lived.

He was always fond of reading, and managed remarkably enough to become acquainted with one or two foreign languages ; certainly he knew Latin. His tastes were various but chiefly he read the writings of Epictetus, himself once a slave in Greece, who later became a philosopher. Isn't that a fine picture—this boy on the tropical plantation reading the works of one whose early life had been as his own and who later on arose to fame? Besides Epictetus, Toussaint read Plutarch's "Lives", and several very technical, informing works on warfare and the conduct of battles.

But chiefly he liked the Frenchman Diderot's "History of the East and West Indies", in which Diderot, writing under the name of Abbé Raynal, said:

"Nations of Europe, your slaves need neither your generosity nor your advice to break the sacrilegious yoke which oppresses them. They only need a chief sufficiently courageous to lead them to vengeance and slaughter. Where can this great man be found? Where is this new Spartacus? He will appear, we cannot doubt it; he will show himself to raise the sacred standard of Liberty and gather round him his companions in misfortune! More impetuous than the mountain torrents they will leave behind them on all sides the ineffaceable signs of their great resentment!"

Self-confidence is a part of greatness. Modesty is a good thing, a fine thing, but one does not get very far on that quality alone, no matter how deserving. Toussaint, poring over these words from his youth up, feeling more and more keenly the horror of his condition, finally became convinced that these words applied to him and that he was that promised leader. Yet fifty years elapsed, before even he acted on this. When he was fifty-four he tells us: "Since the blacks are free they need a chief, and it is I who must be that leader predicted by the Abbé Raynal."

The island of Hayti and Santo Domingo— these two provinces form the same island, you must remember—was in a terrible plight in those days. Fighting, misgovernment, slavery and disaster ruled on all sides. Three powerful nations of Europe, England, France and Spain, were warring with each other because of their interests, and rebellions on the part of the slaves were constantly breaking forth against their various masters. French slavery flourished most in Hayti, where conditions were unspeakable for over a century. Finally, after the outbreak of the French Revolution, the Haytians sent two delegates to Paris. One of them, Ogé, on his return started a small rebellion which led to much bloodshed.

Now many black Haytians had in various ways achieved their actual freedom, but did not have the rights of freemen. In order to offset the consequences of Ogé's rebellion France
brownies.192005.024.jpg granted to these free Negroes all civil privileges, making them free in deed as well as in name. Immediately a new confusion arose, for the free Negroes took up arms against the white owners of slave plantations and four hundred and fifty-two thousand slaves rose up to take sides with them.

This was in August, 1791. Toussaint, still a foreman on his master's plantation, felt his time had come. He first helped Bayou de Libertat, the overseer in general of the plantation, who had been very kind to him, to escape with his wife and family. Then he enlisted in the Negro camp. He was a surgeon at first, but in the general confusion he realized that a good drill-master would be of more service and so he began to train and direct. His early reading doubtless helped him out here, but he was a natural leader, and generalship came as easily to him as breathing.

He seems to have been fitted in every way for the position which was finally his. His tastes and needs were extraordinarily simple. As a rule his meals consisted of a few oatmeal cakes, two or three bananas and water. He never touched wine. Nothing was too strenuous or fatiguing for him ; he did not know the meaning of fear. He could do without sleep and frequently went with no more than two hours of slumber a night, and he was a magnificent horseman. Then too, he had "good luck". In seven years of campaigning he was wounded nineteen times and never once seriously. He had great personal magnetism and impressiveness and an abundance of self-confidence.

At first Toussaint allied himself with the Spanish who were fighting the French. Under his leadership the Negro troops advanced from victory to victory. It was at this time that Toussaint took on the extra name of L'Ouverture, because he believed that he was "the opening" or door to brighter things for his fellowmen. In spite of his many triumphs and his steady advance he never stooped to base actions, never inflicted unnecessary cruelty or imposed punishments purely for revenge. And it was proverbial among French, Spanish and English that he never broke his word.

Now although Toussaint had taken up arms against France, his heart was really with the French. Theirs were the traditions, customs and training that he really admired and with which he would have preferred to ally himself. When, therefore, the French, hard pressed by British and by Toussaint's troops alike, finally proclaimed the abolition of slavery in Hayti, Toussaint immediately left the Spanish and united with the French. From this stand nothing could move him. General Maitland, head of the English forces, offered the supreme control of Hayti to Toussaint. But he refused. He wanted slavery abolished, but he wanted to be free under France.

By 1800, Haytian affairs had begun to calm down. The Spanish and English forces withdrew, and the French, although unwillingly, left the island also, with L'Ouverture as Commander- in-chief of Forces. He showed himself as able a ruler in peace as in war. He drew up a constitution under which Hayti was independent. He was to be governor or president for life and had the power to name his successor. There was to be religious freedom throughout the province and the ports of the island were to be thrown open to the world.

He sent a draft of this constitution to France for official confirmation. But Napoleon, alas! had never forgiven the Haytian warrior for his successful resistance to France. Instead, therefore, of honoring Toussaint's suggestion, the French ruler sent an immense army of 60,000 men to the island, to call on him to surrender. When Toussaint saw the fleet coming into the harbor he knew resistance was useless and rushed to Cape Francois to tell his people not to take part in an opposition which could avail them nothing. But he arrived there too late. His General, Christophe, had refused to let the white troops land and the fighting was already on. Toussaint felt that he must for loyalty's sake join in, but the odds were too heavy and he was forced to retreat.

As it happened both Toussaint's own son, Isaac, and his step-son, Placide, had been sent to France to complete their education. These Napoleon had sent back with the fleet to Hayti, and these were now brought to their father by the French General LeClerc to urge him to surrender to France. Toussaint, who was both proud and, just, told the boys to choose between him and their foster country, he would love them none the less, no matter what their decision.

Strangely enough, Isaac, his own son, said, "You see in me a faithful servant of France, who could never agree to take up arms against
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brownies.192005.026.jpg her." But Placide, who was bound to him by no tie of blood. but who owed all his position and training to him, exclaimed, "I am yours, father! I fear the future: I fear slavery. I am ready to fight to oppose it. I know France no more!"

Isaac returned to LeClerc to tell him his father's and brother's decision, but Placide stayed and fought at the head of a Negro battalion.

It is sad to admit that Toussaint finally had to yield. He retreated to his home at Gonaives and even then he might have lived out a peaceful and comparatively happy existence. But, induced by a message, he visited, unarmed and alone, the house of a treacherous General Brunet, where he was seized, put in irons, placed on board the French man-of-war Héros and taken with his wife and children to Brest. They never saw Hayti again.

He never lost his superb courage. He said to his captors, "In overthrowing me, you have only cut down the trunk of the tree of Negro Liberty. Its roots will sprout again, for they are many in number and deeply planted!"

At the harbor of Brest in France he bade a final good-bye to his family, and was removed to Fort Joux on the edge of the Jura Mountains. Here he was placed in a damp dungeon which in itself was fatal to a man used as he was to tropical light and sunshine. He was very closely confined here, every indignity heaped upon him, his faithful servant Mars Plaisir was taken from him and finally, lest he should commit suicide, his watch and razor were removed.

But this sort of insult meant nothing to that unvanquished spirit. "I have been much misjudged." he said scornfully, "if I am thought to be lacking in courage to support my sorrow."

For eighteen months he lingered on. Then one day the governor of the prison took a holiday, leaving things in charge of Lieutenant Colomier, and hinting to him that if the venerable Haytian were dead on his return, there would be no inquiries made. It is pleasant to know that Colomier, far from responding to such a dastardly hint, took advantage of the governor's absence to give Toussaint coffee and other comforts which he had so long desired. The governor, finding on his return that his trick had not worked, took, not long after, another holiday. This time he took the keys with him, and left no one in charge, saying that everyone had been attended to.

He stayed away four days. When he came hack. Toussaint L'Ouverture lay in his cell cold and dead from starvation.

But does it greatly matter? If he had been asked, which do you think he would have preferred,— life and ease or the implanting and fostering of the idea of liberty in the Negroes of Hayti? No need to guess. His name lives on beyond his own fondest dreams. Lamartine, the French poet, dramatized him; Auguste Comte, the great philosopher, counts him among the fifty finest types of manhood in the world; our own Wendell Phillips, in the oration which all of you know, calls him "soldier, statesman and martyr."

But best of all his influence lives on. Wordsworth truly wrote to him,—

Thou hast left behind Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies ; There's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.

It was in April, 1803 that he died. And today Hayti is again struggling against a foreign invasion. But she does not falter. She knows that the spirit of Toussaint lives eternally among her men, urging them ever and always on to freedom. The light of great men lies forever across the pathway of those that follow.

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THE FIRST GAME OF MARBLES

LONG before the chubby hand of a chubby boy rolled a marble in its chubby palm, clinched it between thumb and fingers and sent it after another, monkeys did the same. A boy invented cheating at marbles, but monkeys invented the game.

Skybow was a monkey, and so was Peblow, and that made them a-kin, monkey-wise. Skybow thought the stars pebbles, waiting for a game. Peblow thought the pebbles marbles, begging for a game.

"Here they be," said Peblow, "nice, smooth, round ones. Lend them your paw, Skybow."

"Right you be, Peblow," said Skybow. "We can't game the Stars, but we can toss pebbles." At this they fell to playing. Skybow tossed a pebble, and Peblow rubbed his eye and wrote his respects in the dust with his tail. Skybow read it and aimed nearer the ground next time. Peblow tossed a pebble; and, after Skybow had turned around several times, the while making one long grunt, he shook the pebbles from his ear and wrote a line in the dust with his tail. Peblow read it and said:

"My dear Skybow, the dust is a better playground than our heads."

Then Peblow tossed pebbles to wipe out Skybow's writing, and Skybow tossed pebbles to wipe out Peblow's. This, you see, was the game. Then the Snake came up and said : "This is no game. To have a real game you must have a taw and a ring. You must toss your pebbles in ones and trebles and whirl about as you knock them out. I stretch me in the dust. Now that line is your taw. I coil me in the dust. Now that circle is your ring. Play now for pebbles and not for eyes and ears."

Skybow and Peblow then played. boy-fashion, and piled up the nice smooth round pebbles by the ring-side.

"Let me play," said the snake. "I'll show you fellows a new wrinkle."

"In the eyes and ears?" asked Skybow and Peblow.

"No," said the Snake, "You are wise enough to do that. I'll play you a game without hands. I'll swallow all the pebbles and cough them up as I need them in the game."

"Then go it," said Peblow.

"You know it," said Skybow.

The Snake swallowed the pebbles, coiled up and pretended to be asleep.

"Let's have the game," said Peblow.

"I ask the same," said Skybow.

Said the Snake: "There is no use grumbling. The pebbles are in, and you are out. Go write in the dust with your tails and blow out the letters with your mouths. That's a good game."

"I have a thought," said Skybow.

"Let it not go to naught," said Peblow.

Said the Snake: "I'll move on and leave you to think out your thought." The Snake tried to move, but the pebbles weighted it to the ground.

"Let my tail grip the Snake's tail," said Skybow.

"Let my tail grip the Snake's neck," said Peblow.

"What," said the Snake, "are you going to make me, a skipping rope?" It then curved its neck and wiggled its tail. In those days the Snake carried no poison under its tongue. The poison was in its tail and was harmless.

"I'm turning the Snake by the tail," said Skybow.

"I'm turning the Snake by the neck," said Peblow.

"Oh," said the Snake, "for the curve in my neck, and the wiggle in my tail!"

"Oh," said the monkeys, "for the crick in your neck, Brother Snake, and the twist in your tail!"

After Skybow and Peblow were sure that the Snake was a good skipping rope they left it to cough up the pebbles and play its own game. In coughing up the pebbles the poison was drawn from its tail and lodged under its tongue. It straightway became a stinging and poisonous creature. and from that day to this, all other creatures have been its enemies. That's how the first game of marbles was played, and how the Snake got its sting.