Intermingled with this "Unwritten History" is the story of my life. Being all from memory, except here and there the verification of a date, there may be some repetitions. Of course much of the "Story" is omitted, but, things that impressed me most, and facts that seem to me most important among the "Unwritten" things, are noted. Those who are fond of reading novels about men who never lived, and things that never did and never will happen, may enjoy a change to something that is historical and real. If the example of some of the worthy ones mentioned inspires someone else, the object of the author is accomplished.
It was at Frederick Town, Maryland. Be sure and distinguish between Frederick in Western Maryland, and Frederick Town on the Eastern Shore.
It makes all the difference in the world to an Eastern Shore man. You may call the difference only sentimental, but Frederick Douglass was born there. To be sure, Benjaman Banneker was born on the Western side of the famous Chesapeake Bay.
Perhaps Bishop A. W. Wayman more than any one else, advertised the Eastern Shore as the "Garden Spot of the World."
It is indented with rivers that flow into the Chesapeake Bay. These rivers are full of fish, oysters and crabs. At some points along the Bay, the fishing and crabbing are perennial. Shad, and herring in the Spring; crabs, hard and soft shell, in the Summer; oysters in the Winter, and fish of various kinds the year 'round.
All of the "Eastern Shore" is not in Maryland. Virginia claims a part of this modern "Promised Land." So, the expression goes; "the Eastern Shore of Maryland and the Eastern Shore of Virginia," with Maryland always first; for the collossal [sic] figure of Frederick Douglass in Maryland is bound to loom up.
Frederick Town is on the Sassafras river, the boundary line between the counties of Kent and Cecil--English names.
This little stream, as clear as crystal, forms the Southern boundary of Cecil, the northernmost county on the Eastern Shore.
Frederick Town, once an active lumber and grain market, nestles on the banks of the Sassafras, just five miles from its head, where is a town known as "Head of Sassafras," made more or less famous by the grist mill that stands, or stood--at the falls, where the rushing waters tumble into the river, after turning the mill wheel day and night. Upper Cecil and Kent patronize this mill for miles around.
Some of my earliest and most pleasant recollections are, of going with "Billy Cannan" to "Freemans Mill." We drove the big black horse, Jim, when we did as we were told. He was blind in one eye, "as big as a barrell" as round as an apple, and as fat as butter. A kind and safe driving horse for boys, and as fine a saddle horse as there ever was in "Sassafras Neck." But if we boys could catch the old man King "napping" we would hitch up Dandy, a fine looking spirited bay, and slip away to the mill.
Opposite Frederick Town, Cecil County, is Georgetown, Kent County. These were rival grain markets.
Sailing crafts plied the river from both sides with grain, principally wheat and corn, from early fall until the river became frozen over. In mid-summer, the Delaware and Chesapeake Canal steamers would come up for peaches. Besides these, a flat bottom side wheel steamer ran every summer between Frederick Town and Baltimore, sixty miles away, carrying passengers and light freight to the merchants, country store keepers, of Galena and George-Town [sic] of Kent, and Cecilton and Frederick Town of Cecil; and passengers back and forth.
These boats looked large to me. They were the first I ever saw. I went on one of them, a sailing craft, to Baltimore when about seven years of age. Baltimore was the first city I ever saw. Our goodly ship (?) dropped anchor in the busy Patapsico river, amid scores and scores of steam and sailing crafts, river boats, coast wise and ocean steamers, and ships and brigs, and tugs. What a sight to a pair of young country eyes! Three score years, as full as they have been of travel and sight seeing, have not been sufficient to obliterate the scenes of the Patapsico harbor, nor to wipe out the impression made, upon my first visit there.
My mother took me there. A wonderful mother! Great men are not the only men who have great mothers. Some obscure men who have not been much more known in the world's great movements, than a match that starts a blaze and immediately perishes, have also had great mothers.
The light of John the Baptist was cruelly blown out before he saw the fruit of his labor; but, the Kingdom he proclaimed is still marching on. St. Luke tells us about his mother.
We know about the mother of Moses, and Timothy and Samuel, and John Wesley and others; but, there are unknown mothers whose sons, breathing their spirit, inheriting their nobility of soul, and becoming the heirs and beneficiaries of their faith and prayers, have helped to make up "the salt of the earth," both upon the mountain top of fame, and in the vale of obscurity.
There were seven of us children, four boys and three girls. The most of us were born "on the hill" in Frederick Town.
Abraham Lincoln gave character to the log cabin. When ex-Vice President Fairbanks died--June, 1918, the Press referred to him as "the last of the famous Log Cabin Statesmen."
Since America's most famous could come from log cabins, it has become popular to refer to these primitive dwelling places of earth's lowly, as a birth place. All the same, this is not the way of the world's desire, preferably.
We speak of a mother's love, but mothers have instinct also. Perhaps it is inspired vision.
What is it that could make a mother persist in clandestinely having her child taught to read and write when there was no visible prospect whatever of it ever being of service to him; and, besides, when, it being in violation of the law, it could only be done at a peril.
My maternal grandmother was free born, while her husband, Perry Lilly, was a slave. Alas! a slave! A slave in a country whose citizenship was made up of those who fled from oppression, and fought, and bled, and died for liberty!
Children took the condition of their mother. This was the surest way to perpetuate slavery where the masters were so plentifully the fathers. For this reason many a slave man married a free woman, that his children might be free.
Many slave men, veritable heroes, purchased their freedom by working by day for their masters, and by night for themselves; hiring their time, etc.
Many a free man married a slave woman because he loved her, and purchased her and her children.
My grandmother being free, the Lilly children were free born, and John Coppin, also free born, married Jane, one of the Lilly girls.
There was a large family of them; all girls but one. They got the reputation of being the best girls in the neighborhood, and my Aunt Clara told me that they called themselves "the Shoestring Breed."
The girls all married free men, and grandfather, Perry Lilly, was "set free" before the Emancipation, on account of meritorious service. But he was about through serving by that time anyway.
His wife Amelia, had passed away, and he had a few years left to enjoy life with his children and grandchildren. I remember the visit he made to our home. I do not remember my grandmother.
The parentage of my father is not so easily traced. I do not, even now, see many Coppins in the directories and 'phone books.
In a visit to Covington, Kentucky, when Editor of the A. M. E. Review, I saw on a sign over a large store: "John Coppin." That was my father's name. I had never seen or heard of it outside of the family. I immediately went in and asked for "Mr. Coppin," and purchased a souvenir from the store.
In a rather lengthy conversation with him, for we became interested in each other, on account of the name, he gave me some facts about the history of the name. He said it was of German origin, and was primarily Coppenger. Coming to England the "ger" was dropped. Coming to America the "en" was changed to "in," or "pen" to "pin," thus Coppin.
As soon as he told me that, I began to account for the friendship, peculiar friendship that existed between our family and the only Coppins I ever knew outside of our family. James Coppin, a white man, was a bachelor, with one sister, Araminta. She married Robert Price. I think now that she and her brother Jim knew more about the origin of our father than they ever told us.
"Miss Minty," as we children called her, would think nothing of taking us into her home and seating us at her table. This was contrary to the unwritten law of Maryland.
Well, if we are of German origin, this is not the most auspicious time to look it up, while the Kaiser is in such disfavor.
When I became old enough to really appreciate the greatness of my mother, who despite my lowly birth, planned for my future, on blind faith, I went to the site of the homestead to get a souvenir, from one of the logs of the house in which I was born. A new house stood on the spot. "Aunt Caroline" went behind the house in search of a log that might still remain, but, was doomed to disappointment.
However, that is the spot. The pear tree has long since ceased to exist. The old well, as dear to us as was Jacob's well, to his posterity, is filled up, but a sunken place in the ground, a few paces from what was the northwest corner of the dear old house, tells the story.
My mother always referred to me as her "Christmas gift." I was born between sundown, December 24th and daybreak, December 25th.
We had no clock in the house, and the people in those days did not go to bed at all on "Christmas Eve Night," and it may have been after midnight when I came. But the record in the old family Bible says:
"Levi Jenkins Coppin, born December 24th, 1848." The "Christmas gift" idea is all right, for Santa Claus is always credited with coming at night and not in the morning.
No one can ever know exactly just what a mother is thinking about her children, or why she does this thing or that.
The sentiment that clustered about the time of my birth enabled mother to observe the day with a "birthday dinner" without seeming to show partiality. Neither did any of the other children ever show the least dissatisfaction because the "fatted calf" was killed only once a year.
I discovered early in life that I was always the one called up when company came to "speak a piece," and to tell what day of the month it was; and later on to get down the Farmers' Almanac, and tell about the "full and changes of the moon." Tell about the man standing there with "Pharaoh's plagues" all around him, punching him; and to read, to the admiration of the listening hosts, "conjectures of the weather." With an eloquence that held all spellbound, I would cry out, "first and second, clear; third and fourth, cloudy; fifth and sixth, variable; seventh and eighth, showers, etc."
Grandmother Lilly discovered an aptness about Jane, that the other children did not possess, and slipped her off to Baltimore.
Baltimore being in the State of Maryland, "free Negroes" from other parts of the State might go and come freely, so long as there was no suspicion of an ulterior motive.
If such a person was suspected of whispering to the slaves, or, clandestinely conveying passes, an accusation was equivalent to conviction, and for such a crime the offender could be sold to the highest bidder outside of the State and henceforth made a slave.
It is no wonder that so few would undertake to "run the blockade." Runaway slaves, if captured, were entirely at the mercy of the master. The other slaves were made to form a cordon, while the culprit, in the midst, received such punishment as was thought best to terrify the other slaves.
Sometimes it would be a terrible castigation from the overseer. Sometimes the wife, or husband, or child of the victim would be selected to apply the punishment.
I heard of a case once, where the victim was cut up piece by piece and fed to the bloodhounds. And so it required a great deal of courage for a slave to run away, or, for a "free nigger" to be caught learning to read and write, for he would be accused of preparing to write passes for slaves in the name of their masters.
Amelia Lilly was willing to take so great a risk as this with her most likely child, and so, Jane was sent to Baltimore, ostensibly to live with her aunt, Lucy Harding, but, in fact, it was that her Aunt Lucy might find some one who would teach her to read and write; and so she did.
When mother came home on a visit one time, father, a man of taste and good judgment soon discovered that she was above the mark set by the custom of the place, and so, was bold and daring enough to seek her heart and hand, and not in vain.
What gave him an idea that he was worthy of the foremost young woman in Cecil County, so granted by common consent, no one knows.
Why not be wooed and won by a Baltimore lad, who could boast at least of having "city ways," a thing quite unknown to a "country clodhopper." Well, it is hard to tell just how far presumptuousness will go when once started. It may even be inherited.
Father had a habit of consulting mother on all important matters, and I think, generally took her advice. She was quick to reach a conclusion, and not easily changed from an opinion.
There were two things upon which they did not entirely agree in the earlier days, at least of their married life. First, father could not see the wisdom of taking such risks as mother would take, to teach the children to read and write. Of what service could it ever be to them?
The majority of the children held to the opinion of father, but the "Christmas baby" inclined to side with mother, and this fact made them early companions, much earlier than the average child is called into parental council.
Another point on which father and mother differed somewhat was, father always regarded mother as being recklessly generous.
Every old woman in the neighborhood formed a habit of visiting our home frequently, especially about hog-killing time.
When the winter set in, and the visitors could not make their customary itinerary, we boys knew where they lived, and knew how to go and hunt them up, carrying the practical compliments of mother; and not make known where we had been and for what purpose, a fireside talk upon our return.
Those dear old women would call mother "Cousin Jane." Father would speak derisively of such relationships, and characterized it as "swap dog kin."
I have often heard mother say: "I shall never want for bread," and she did not.The philosophy of father was different. He thought the best way to keep away want was to kill several fat hogs; bury a plenty of potatoes and cabbages; dry and preserve much fruit; salt away a barrel of herrings and pile up cord after cord of wood at the "wood pile," and his theory was, let others do the same.
My mother did not at all object to such a course, for she was hand in hand with him in providing. But she believed in sharing with others, especially the unfortunate and needy.
I was sent to the store one cold day with orders to go by the little hut where "Aunt Ruthy" lived. This was not even "Swap dog" relation.
The white people did not permit us to say "Mr." and "Mrs." to each other, so, the children, for "manner's sake," were taught to call the older people, "aunt" and "uncle."
Well, I called as I was directed, at the house of "Aunt Ruthy." She was shivering before a few not very live coals, for, the wood must not be burned extravagantly. When I got ready to go, she said, "Leevie, tell your mother, while the grass grows, the steed is starving."
I had never heard of a "steed" before, and thought "Aunt Ruthy" had surely made a mistake. And besides, I could not see how mother would make the application.
So, to help mother out somewhat, I changed the phraseology a little, and said: "Aunt Ruthy says, while the grass grows the sheep are starving."
I knew what a sheep was.
A few minutes later I found myself on the way back to "Aunt Ruthy's["] with a basket of meat and potatoes, from my father's smokehouse.
That was the interpretation of the starving steed.
In after years, father came to understand mother's philosophy better. When the opportunity unexpectedly came for the children to go to school, mother was not more anxious than father that we should go, and he also learned at last, that, they who sow bountifully, reap also bountifully.
Mother was a Christian as far back as I can remember. The fact is, she embraced religion when a girl.
The children, one by one, so soon as they could pronounce words, said prayers before going to bed, and said "thank the Lord" after each meal.
Father was not a churchman, though I never heard him swear. And not a child up to his manhood was ever allowed to swear before him.
In this particular thing I was always like my father and have my first oath yet to swear. In this, I differed from the other boys.
Father, as well as mother, despised lieing [sic], stealing and drunkenness, and the weight of their influence, both by precept and example, was always in favor of a pure moral atmosphere in the home.
But still, as my father made no profession of religion, and could not lead his household in family worship, it threw the burden of religious duty on mother.
To neglect early religious training is to leave out that which is most important in the formative period of a life. And this is especially true of those, who, by social ostracism, are deprived of coming in contact with uplifting influence outside of the home.
When the father is the patriarch, leading the family in daily devotions, it is not difficult to establish in the home a respect for morals and religion. But when the head of the house is not responsible for such law and order, the mother, in order to bring it about, must be unusually strong in personality, and courage, and faith.
Some of my very earliest recollections are upon moral and religious subjects.
My mother used to take me to church and have me sit in the "Amen corner" with her. I was too young to have any opinion about anything that took place. I remember that after preaching, class meeting would follow, and one after another would get up and speak. Mother would frequently sing between these speeches. She was the one who was really depended upon to sing at the "Meeting house."
She had a clear, ringing voice, which could be detected above the other voices, no matter how large the chorus.
She used to sing:
"John carried his number over.
Moses led the children home.
We'll join the forty thousand, by and by."
And "We Are the True Born Sons of Levi," and many other like songs. Also the good old Methodist hymns, such as:
"Am I a Soldier of the Cross?" "When I Can Read My Title Clear" and "O, Joyful Sound of Gospel Grace," "My God, the Spring of All My Joy." But whether on the make-as-you-go hymns or the standards, mother was quite at home, and was always in great demand.
If the meeting became a little dull, the leader would call out, "Sister Coppin, sing something." No sooner would the words fall from his lips than that familiar voice would ring out, and soon things would be going at a lively pace.
The old church leaders, as a rule, did not know many hymns by heart. They used to call them "hymes." My mother had this advantage of them, she could read, and would learn hymn after hymn, and sing them from memory.
There was a Bible and hymn book in our home ever since I can remember any thing.
Once, when mother took me to church--I must have been very small--I remember there was a little fat yellow woman who got very happy while singing a piece. The fact is, some of them would apparently get quite happy after the first or second verse, if that was all they knew; then some one else would have to catch it up and go on with it, if it went any further. This was one of "Uncle" Abe Kennard's tricks.
But, on this particular occasion, the singer was "Aunt" Fanny Bayard. There were two peculiarities about the song that so impressed me, that I still remember them vividly, namely:
First, she sang so fast that no one could catch on and accompany her. Secondly, in her "Hallelujah" she repeated the "Halle["], and would say:
"We've found the rock, the traveler cried, Glory halle, hallelujah."
As I remember now, she made only one double or single line and chorous [sic], and that with such rapidity that no one got hold of the words or rhyme; then suddenly she exclaimed, "Glory to God, Glory to God!" and all was over.
She was short and fat, and had what people called, "poppy eyes." I never did lose sight of her; and when I grew older, I came to know her well. She was a free woman, a widow with one daughter, Henrietta--"Henny" she called her--and lived in her own little house at Crooktown, near Cecilton.
Crooktown and Perrytown were two little clusters of houses--huts--that were behind the woods that separated Cecilton from where the free colored people lived.
There were not many families in these little settlements, but the woods, i. e., the grove, spoken of in another chapter, afforded a meeting place for our people, bond and free.
After I visited South Africa, and saw some of the original Hottentots, I was led to believe that "Aunt" Fanny Bayard was one of them.
The Hottentot is exactly the color of the Chinese; so was "Aunt" Fanny. They have little tufts of hair scattered about on their heads. I do not know what was on "Aunt" Fanny's head, except that kerchief, that I never saw her without.
The Hottentot is said to live to a very old age. Well, "Aunt" Fanny and her daughter "Henny" lived to be very old. They were companions, and were nearly always together. The boys used to say that "Henny lived until she caught up with her mother."
Henny got married late in life. I do not know whether this was her first husband or not, but one thing I do know, that she outlived him; but "Aunt" Fanny outlived her.
When the little old hut was about to fall down on her, she made over the place to "Father Jones," and he built a little frame house on it, in which "Aunt" Fanny ended her days.
Besides "Aunt" Fanny; Emory Sisco, John Hall and Benjamin Freeman lived in Crooktown. All of them free people.
Living at Perrytown, which was but a few hundred yards from Crooktown, was a man named Perry Thompson. He was said to be a very wicked man.
A man thus characterized by our people was one who would swear, drink whisky and perhaps gamble; one who never went to church. They were called hard-hearted sinners.
Some of them were supposed to have "dealings" with the Devil. When such a person died, you could not get a neighborhood child to go any distance alone at night.
The impression was, the devil had come for the wicked person, and was probably still sneaking about there in the darkness.
This doctrine was quite generally believed by the older ones, and the children had no inclination to go out into the darkness and investigate it, in order to be convinced whether it was true or false.
There was always a superstition that the death of such a person was accompanied by a storm, a terrible storm, preferably a snow storm.
By some kind of coincidence, the biggest snow storm of the season often came at the time of the death of such persons.
I remember the Perry Thompson snow storm. What a time they had getting him buried! These wicked people would often die swearing and raving, crying, "drive out them dogs."
Of course, the modern physician can easily account for his delirious condition. But, even now, I have a lingering thought, that this doctrine of demoniacal visitation was so prevalent that some of those old sinners felt doomed, and just became mentally unbalanced in expectation of meeting their just deserts.
In those days, you would often hear hymns like this:
"And must I be to judgement brought,
To answer in that day
For every vain and idle thought,
And every word I say?"
"Yes, every secret of my heart,
Shall surely be made known;
And I'll receive my just deserts,
For all that I have done."
German "higher criticism" was not much heard of then, neither was a world war!
I do not claim to believe the many superstitions that I heard in my childhood, but I am glad that certain impressions were made upon me then, instead of some others that might have been made.
I was well up in my teens before I found out that the devil did not come with a pitchfork after boys who would lie and steal, and swear and get drunk. But I was so long in finding out that he did not come and literally catch them, that, having formed the habit of shunning these forbidden things, I just considered that there were other good reasons why these practices should be avoided, and so went on avoiding them.
When I was a child, they told me about "Kris Kringle," the country folks called him. I believed, with all my young, innocent heart, that such a person existed.
Finally some "smarty" told me that there was no such person, and "let the cat out of the bag."
But that is only half of the truth. The fact is that I am still afraid of the devil, whatever may be the reason for my fear.
But since I have become grown, I have found that there is a Santa who fills the heart with love and sympathy, and especially, about the "Christmas season."
No one shall ever again be able to convince me that no such spirit exists.
Many other impressions made in boyhood, thanks to the simple faith of a pious mother, have saved me from the dashing currents of sin, by which I have seen others swept away.
The history of the mothers of this period can never be known. The story of the Exodus from Egypt begins with the birth of Moses, and the mother who hid him until she could no longer do so with safety.
Then the story of the basket of rushes, by which the babe of providence was floated on the water until found by the princess.
Then the mother nurse, according to the mother plan. When it was time to hand him over to the adopted mother at the royal court, his own mother had made such lasting impressions upon him, that they proved stronger than the very strong temptation to "enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season."
The writer of the Pentateuch gives us this story of a mother's love and wisdom and successful training.
In both religious and secular history, we have the maternal part played in the world's history, until it is accepted as true that "the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world."
The story of the mother of Moses is the oldest of such stories, and the scene was in Egypt, and Egypt is in Africa.
But the bond woman brought from Africa had no one to write of her wisdom and heroism. Some things would be passed down by tradition from generation to generation and then be forgotten.
With the unwritten history of the race is buried most of the best things that are really characteristic of the race originally.
Two hundred and fifty years developed a new people, with new traditions, customs, morals and religion, copied from the dominant people of their new environment.
But whether written or unwritten, the history of the African in America from 1619 to 1865, constitutes a most interesting chapter in the book of human events.
End of the Art Galore! Browser Book e-text of
UNWRITTEN HISTORY
Bishop L. J. Coppin
For additional Art Galore! Browser Book titles see