CHAPTER XLVIII.
KATE D. CHAPMAN TILLMAN.
This lady of much ability was born in Mound City, Illinois, February 19, 1870. Her mother was a faithful and gifted school-teacher and writer, from whom her daughter received much inspiration in early life.
This daughter of poor parents, Charles and Laura Chapman, has gained quite a reputation with the pen. She has written in both prose and poetry for the leading race papers. Her first published poem appeared in the Christian Recorder in 1888, entitled "Memory." Her first story appeared in Our Women and Children. Since then she has continued to write. Her education was obtained in the public schools and in the State University of Louisville, Kentucky; also in the high school at Yankton, South Dakota, and in Wilberforce University, in Ohio.
Some very praiseworthy statements concerning her have appeared in The Statesman, Appeal and Torchlight, all of which did honor to this worthy young woman. The first poem that came from her pen, when only thirteen years old, was occasioned by a severe illness, and was entitled "The Dying Child." A sketch of her life has appeared in a leading New York journal, and also in the very excellent book by Mr. I. G. Penn, "Afro-American Press and its Editors." She is now preparing a volume of short stories for girls. Ill health has caused a laxity in her progress as a writer, but there is yet hope that she may become one of our greater lights, being yet young in years. The following is one of her poems on the condition of the race:
A QUESTION OF TO-DAY.
"And shall our people, long oppressed
By fierce, inhuman foe.
Not seek to have their wrongs redressed?
No! by their manhood, no!
"You men do call us women weak.
By Him who ruleth all,
For what was ours we'd dare to speak,
Menaced by cannon ball.
"Human we are, of blood as good,
As rich the crimson stream,
God-planned, ere creation stood,
However it may seem.
"Oh! sit not tamely by and see
Thy brother bleeding sore;
For is there not much work for thee,
While they for help implore?
"From Wahalak came the news,
Our men are lying dead.
Did it not hatred rank infuse
When word like this was read?
"And now White Caps, with hearts as black
As hell—of Ku-Klux fame,
Still ply the lash on freedom's back;
And must he bear the same?"
Thus said a woman, old and gray
To me, while at her door,
Speaking of what so heavy lay
And made her heart so sore.
"What, woman! dost thou speak of war,
The weaker 'gainst the strong?
That, surely, would our future mar,
Nor stop the tide of wrong.
"We must be patient, longer wait;
We'll get our cherished rights."
"Yes, when within the pearly gate,
And done with earthly sights,"
Replied the woman, with a sneer
Upon her countenance.
"You men do hold your lives too dear
To risk with spear or lance."
"Naomi, at Fort Pillow fell
Three hundred blacks one day;
The cannon's roar their only knell,
In one deep grave they lay.
"Our men have bravely fought, and will,
When'er the time shall come;
But now we hear His 'Peace, be still!'
And stay within our home.
"Let but our people once unite,
Stand firmly as a race,
Prejudice, error, strong to fight.
Each here in his place.
"And not a favored few demand
Bribes of gold, position,
While many freemen in our land
Bewail their hard condition.
"Liberty, truly, ours will be,
And error pass away;
And then no longer shall we see
Injustice hold her sway.
"As Americans we shall stand,
Respected by all men;
An honored race in this fair land,
So praised by word and pen.
"And those to come will never know
The pain we suffered here;
In peace shall vow, in peace shall plow,
With naught to stay or fear."
Said Naomi: "You may be right;
God grant it as you say
I've often heard the darkest night
Gives way to brightest day."