Brown’s pioneering history of African Americans, The Black Man, appeared in December 1862 during the tense hundred-day waiting period between the Preliminary Emancipation Proclamation, issued on September 22, 1862, and the Emancipation Proclamation, issued on January 1, 1863. A book so timely and novel drew extraordinary attention in both the black and the white press, though not precisely the kind of attention to satisfy a prickly author. Brown responded to his critics in this important early commentary on black writing, which took specific aim at the black community for failing to give due recognition not only to his book but also to black writing generally.
SIR: The first edition of “The Black Man” having been sold, and a second being now in the printer’s hands, and will be out in a few days, I shall be glad if you will allow me space enough to say a word in regard to the book and its critics. The Negro being forced before the country so prominently by the rebellion, his bravery, his cowardice, and his general usefulness became matters of discussion in every section of the land. Those who took part in canvassing the black man’s abilities were continually applying to Abolitionists for books and papers from which to post themselves upon the subject in hand. As there was no work containing anything like a history of our people, I was applied to from various quarters to get up a book to supply this deficiency. Feeling that there were others who could perform the task better, I waited more than a year, but in vain, for some one to take up the pen. Persuaded at last to commence the work, my first thought was, to collect together such biographies of distinguished persons as had appeared in print, and the most favorable facts concerning the race, that had been given to the public, and put them in a cheap form. This, however had been done in part by Mr. W. C. Nell, and well done. It then occurred to me that I might take ten or a dozen of our most celebrated men, and give to each fifteen or twenty pages, and by that means get out the best qualities of the Anglo-African. But in this, I feared that I would only be repeating what had been said again and again of our few great men, and I therefore resolved to give a short essay on the Negro’s antecedents, and a series of still shorter sketches of persons of genius and ability, without regard to past celebrity or notoriety in any manner. I never intended that the book should be considered as a history of our people, or as containing sketches of all our distinguished men, but selected such characters as suited me best to make a book for the present crisis.
In the preface to the work, I distinctly say: “To meet and refute these misrepresentations (the charge of natural inferiority) and to supply a deficiency long felt in the community, of a work containing sketches of individuals who, by their own genius, capacity and intellectual development, have surmounted the many obstacles which slavery and prejudice have thrown in their way, and raised themselves to positions of honor and influence, this volume was written.” Nothing can be plainer than the above. Any person perusing the book, unless it be those who do so to find fault with it, can see at a glance that it is intended only as an argument, not as a history. The great blunder committed by those who have taken upon themselves the office of the critic, lies in the fact that they could not, or would not, understand either the title or the preface. In each case they erected a man of straw, and then fired away at it. They criticized, not what was in it, but what was out of it. If they had read the work with the eye of a scholar and a critic, they could have found errors enough in it to have enabled them to have given it a decent cutting up: for being engaged in travelling while it was going through the press, I did not get a last reading of the proofs, and the stereotyper made mistakes which mortified me exceedingly when the book was printed. One of these is on page 33, where he makes me say, “Euclid, Homer and Plato were Ethiopians.” In the MS. it was written, “Tertullian and St. Augustine were Ethiopians.” The explanation given me was, that “the type-setter had two manuscripts before him while correcting the proofs,” which, I think, was a very lame excuse, to say the least. There were other typographical errors; yet the critics, with all their smartness, did not discover these mistakes. The worst of these critical blunderers is Mr. William H. Yates, who writes in The Pacific Appeal, over the signature of “Amigo.” In his article of May 30th he is really furious. He opens his battery as follows:
“This book comes far short of the truth, and is but a poor exhibit of the ‘genius’ of the black man. Indeed, a more ex parte or garbled statement in relation to our origin, progress, present position and future hopes could not well be imagined. According to Mr. Brown, there are at least fifty-three intelligent colored in the world (for he does not claim his host for America) that may, in some degree, be considered ‘representative men.’ If, out of a population of 6,000 in California, we cannot multiply his figures by 4, then we are more mistaken than we have ever been before.”
There is not a word in the whole book about “our origin.” This is one of his men of straw. If we are to judge Mr. Yates’s estimate of intelligence by the scholarly attainment and literary ability exhibited in the composition of this criticism, then I’ll admit that the “fifty-three” can be multiplied by four times four of Californians. He then names a number of men whom he thinks should have been in the work, not appearing to understand that the book contained only 288 pages, and that it was not possible to put in more, even if they were all actually worthy of a place, which I do not admit. Some of them should find a place in a collection of colored men when such a work is published; but as I have never attempted to write a volume of that kind, and don’t think of doing so now, I will leave the task to Mr. Yates, or some other competent writer. Again he says:
“Mr. B. proves himself to have but a limited acquaintance with our people throughout the whole country, and certain it is that his knowledge is quite as imperfect in relation to California as to any other portion of the continent.”
“We claim to have a fair representation of the industry, fidelity, progress and wealth of the black man in this State, and all that is required for its fair development is union. With a population of about 6,000, we represent nearly $3,000,000. We can go to the forest, fell the timbers, build a ship, officer, man and freight her with our own artisans and producers. Our mechanics are not to be surpassed, our orators are profuse; and then we have our distinguished poet, with never ceasing food for his inspiration.”
Well, Mr. Yates, let us see. With your 6,000 population and $3,000,000 wealth, and what you “can” do. Have you Californians ever built a ship and officered her? With your profuse orators and distinguished poet, have you ever published a book advocating the right and freedom of the race? True, you have The Pacific Appeal, a paper well conducted and showing talent; but with all your wealth and boast, I venture the assertion that it (The Appeal) has not Five Hundred colored paying subscribers in California. One quotation more and I am done:
“But here we tire, and will refer only to his confused, disordered and unjust arrangement of his fifty-three characters, and, for the present, leave Mr. Brown with all the glory his gross misrepresentation of his people may entitle him to.”
“At first glance, we thought his subjects were alphabetically arranged, if not, then according to date or merit—a very common practice with authors, and especially reviewers. If the latter, in Mr. Brown’s introduction he has sought to acquaint parties that will never recognize each other.”
If our critic had been as well posted in literary matters as he was in inclination to find fault, he would have known that sketches of individuals are seldom, if ever, put in alphabetical form; and as for date or merit, the first cannot always be found, and the latter must be decided by the reader. He is mistaken if he supposes that I “sought to acquaint parties that will never recognize each other.” All I ask or care for is, that the whites “recognize” the genius and ability of the characters which I have grouped together. I do not expect that they will all be recognized by their own color. No black man’s ability was ever “recognized” by his own people until it had been first discovered and acknowledged by the whites. This is owing to the fact that we have so long been under the whites, and looked up to them as the only class possessing talent, that we have no confidence in the ability of our own color. If we want advice, need a lawyer or a doctor, we go to the whites; if we wish for an agent to collect our rents in our absence, we employ a white man; if he cheats us, we try another. No colored man’s talents have ever been rewarded by his own class. The narratives of a few escaped slaves have sold rapidly, but principally among the whites. No work written by a colored person in favor of the freedom and elevation of his race, and appealing to them directly, has ever received their support. Dr. Delany’s book stopped with one edition; Mr. Nell’s work has not reached a second edition; in point of numbers, our newspapers have been legion, yet nearly all have died of the same disease, starvation. The New York Herald has more subscribers and readers to-day, and gets a larger support from the colored people of California and the other States, than Douglass’s Monthly, THE ANGLO-AFRICAN and The Pacific Appeal put together. “Will you subscribe for Douglass’s Monthly?” I asked a lady in New Hampshire, a few weeks since. “No,” was the reply. “Why?” I inquired. “Because Mr. Douglass, in his lectures, always calls colored people “negroes.” “Will you subscribe for THE ANGLO-AFRICAN?” I asked. “No, for I am no negro and no Anglo-African.” Yet she was one of the darkest in complexion that I had seen for months.
If a colored man publishes a book, every scribbler supposes himself a scholar and a critic, and commences an attack, feeling that his ability will not be seen unless he can disagree with the author. Most of the opposition to “The Black Man” arises from jealousy; and this jealousy is founded in ignorance.
Upon the supposition that the book was a history of all our great men, everyone who felt himself to be great considered that he had a right to a place within its pages. An old and well known friend of freedom in Philadelphia, in a note, says, “the greatest opposition comes from those who are left out.” Not long after the work was published, I met an old and venerated friend, whom I had not seen for many months. We shook hands, and I remarked that I had just been thinking of him. He gave a long sigh and an unearthly groan, and said, “You say you were just thinking of me?” “Yes,” I replied. Another groan and a heavier sigh followed. At this I looked him full in the face, for I really thought he had been attacked with a sick spell. His face was pale, and his countenance wore a dejected form. “Ah,” said he, “you were thinking of me just now, but you could not think of me when you were writing your book.” “But,” said I, “the book was so small that I could not put in all that I wished.” “Yes,” replied he, “but you might have left some of the others out, and put me in.” This, I confess, was a “knock-down” argument. Another good man said, “I don’t care so much about myself, but I think you might have put my father in, for he was a good man.”
“Cosmopolite,” in The Pacific Appeal of June 13th, says:
“I am glad to see the strictures of G. L. R. and Amigo; it shows the works of our own authors are read and appreciated, for men do not usually condemn things which are beneath their notice. Mr. Brown’s book will do good; it shows that we have men who have made their mark in almost every field of art and science, and are capable with equal opportunities of competing with any.”
Our friend is much mistaken if he imagines for a moment that these attacks grow out of a reading interest, or a wish to see the productions of colored men circulated. I know of at least one critic who actually borrowed a copy of “The Black Man” for the purpose of reviewing it. And he done what most persons forget to do who borrow books—he returned it after writing the criticism. A letter before me from a colored gentleman says: “I would like a copy of your book if it had some other name. To call a book ‘The Black Man’ is a lasting disgrace to our people. I can’t patronize you, sir.”
But, Mr. Editor, let it not be presumed that I consider that my work is disliked by all colored men and women; for I don’t believe anything of the kind. There are men of our own caste who appreciate the efforts of their brethren, let these efforts be ever so humble. But they are the better educated portion, and those who have labored in season, and out for the redemption of the race.
The following cheering words are from one of that class:
“Though Mr. Brown’s book may stand alone upon its own merits and stand strong, yet while reading its interesting pages—abounding in fact and argument—replete with eloquence, logic and learning—clothed with simple yet eloquent language—it is hard to repress the inquiry. Whence has this man this knowledge? He seems to have read and remembered nearly everything which has been written or said respecting the ability of the negro, and has condensed and arranged the whole into an admirable argument, calculated both to interest and convince.”—Frederick Douglass, in his Monthly.
The press generally throughout the country have been liberal in its comments on the book, all appearing to understand that it is only a leaf in behalf of the genius and the ability of the oppressed and injured Negro.
Some have found fault with the sketches on account of their shortness. But they should remember that we have no literature, no history, and that the injustice of the American people have, in the past, kept us out of sight. Let anyone attempt to write biographies of our “great men,” and he will at once see how soon he will run ashore for material. Any fool can find fault with a book, but a dozen cannot write one.
Common justice would seem to demand that The Pacific Appeal, which published the most ferocious of these attacks on “The Black Man,” should give this article an insertion.
Respectfully your obedient servant,
WILLIAM WELLS BROWN.
Cambridgeport, Mass., July 21.