The core and kernel of yesterday's great noon meeting, in
honour of the Brotherhood of Man, in Music Hall, was the superb
address of the Negro President of Tuskegee. "Booker T. Washington
received his Harvard A.M. last June, the first of his race," said
Governor Wolcott, "to receive an honorary degree from the oldest
university in the land, and this for the wise leadership of his
people." When Mr. Washington rose in the flag-filled, enthusiasm-warmed, patriotic, and glowing atmosphere of Music Hall, people
felt keenly that here was the civic justification of the old
abolition spirit of Massachusetts; in his person the proof of her
ancient and indomitable faith; in his strong through and rich
oratory, the crown and glory of the old war days of suffering and
strife. The scene was full of historic beauty and deep
significance. "Cold" Boston was alive with the fire that is
always hot in her heart for righteousness and truth. Rows and
rows of people who are seldom seen at any public function, whole
families of those who are certain to be out of town on a holiday,
crowded the place to overflowing. The city was at her birthright
fete in the persons of hundreds of her best citizens, men and
women whose names and lives stand for the virtues that make for
honourable civic pride.
Battle-music had filled the air. Ovation after ovation,
applause warm and prolonged, had greeted the officers and friends
of Colonel Shaw, the sculptor, St. Gaudens, the memorial
Committee, the Governor and his staff, and the Negro soldiers of
the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts as they came upon the platform or
entered the hall. Colonel Henry Lee, of Governor Andrew's old
staff, had made a noble, simple presentation speech for the
committee, paying tribute to Mr. John M. Forbes, in whose stead he
served. Governor Wolcott had made his short, memorable speech,
saying, "Fort Wagner marked an epoch in the history of a race, and
called it into manhood." Mayor Quincy had received the monument
for the city of Boston. The story of Colonel Shaw and his black
regiment had been told in gallant words, and then, after the
singing of
Mine eyes have seen the glory
Of the coming of the Lord,
Booker Washington arose. It was, of course, just the moment for
him. The multitude, shaken out of its usual symphony-concert
calm, quivered with an excitement that was not suppressed. A
dozen times it had sprung to its feet to cheer and wave and
hurrah, as one person. When this man of culture and voice and
power, as well as a dark skin, began, and uttered the names of
Stearns and of Andrew, feeling began to mount. You could see
tears glisten in the eyes of soldiers and civilians. When the
orator turned to the coloured soldiers on the platform, to the
colour-bearer of Fort Wagner, who smilingly bore still the flag he
had never lowered even when wounded, and said, "To you, to the
scarred and scattered remnants of the Fifty-fourth, who, with
empty sleeve and wanting leg, have honoured this occasion with
your presence, to you, your commander is not dead. Though Boston
erected no monument and history recorded no story, in you and in
the loyal race which you represent, Robert Gould Shaw would have a
monument which time could not wear away," then came the climax of
the emotion of the day and the hour. It was Roger Wolcott, as
well as the Governor of Massachusetts, the individual
representative of the people's sympathy as well as the chief
magistrate, who had sprung first to his feet and cried, "Three
cheers to Booker T. Washington!"
