W.E.B. Du Bois: “Fool that I was to think or wish that this little soul should grow choked and deformed within the Veil!”

Their appearance was uncouth, their language funny, but their hearts were human and their singing stirred men with a mighty power.

Like all primitive folk, the slave stood near to Nature’s heart.

If somewhere in this whirl and chaos of things there dwells Eternal Good, pitiful yet masterful, then anon in His good time America shall rend the Veil and the prisoned shall go free.

Of death the Negro showed little fear, but talked of it familiarly and even fondly as simply a crossing of the waters, perhaps—who knows?—back to his ancient forests again.