The Official Twitter Account of the Henry McNeal Turner Project. The Digital Archival Project dedicated to the writings and study of Bishop Henry McNeal Turner.
4. The colored scullions and spittoon lickers, who would sell their race at public auction, for the exalted honor of being called “a good nigger,” or “a very clever coon.” https://t.co/tY2N3E3zdC
"What a host of foes the progressive black man has to contend with in this country. @aejohnsonphd 1. The devil and all Hades. 2. The Democratic Party 3. The weak-kneed, milk, and water, Negro-frightened and race-prejudiced Republicans.
The first battle in the Civil War to use a majority of Black soldiers was the battle of Wilson Wharf. But Black soldiers were not paid their full pay. I was there. I know. Here's what I wrote about that time.
has been watched by the colored soldiers with an undying eagerness, and every paper is ransacked with a view to their pay. But God grant that the evil may be speedily remedied, is all I will now say.
@TechOfGospel Bonjour the unroll you asked for: Thread by @thehmtproject: "The death of Miss Mary Harden hit me hard. She was the one who helped me with my sermon preparation and made me into the […]" https://t.co/MUCE469wQ8
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@TechOfGospel @amechurch Oh yes, I do declare, this new form of communicating is taking me back to some fond memories of some of my best smackdowns of those folks I called scullions!
When the Civil War started, I admit, I was not for the war at all. In my diary, that I was bad at keeping, I did write this just after the start of the war:
God help the people to think before they are beyond the reach of thought." However, as time went on, I became a supporter of the war effort and eventually became the first Black Chaplain in the Union Army.
The death of Miss Mary Harden hit me hard. She was the one who helped me with my sermon preparation and made me into the wordsmith that many of you enjoyed even today. Here's what I wrote when I find out about her passing away.
It is under a sense of the highest appreciation which begets in my soul such solemn evolutions, while writing about one to whom I owe so much regard, especially when the thought strikes me, that she is gone, leaving me to dispose of those instructions she labored to give...