Chapter I: Front Matter

NOTES FROM THE JACKET DUSTCOVER OF THE FORGED NOTE:

It is sometimes asked what inspires people to begin to write. Many reasons may be given, but in this particular instance, a brief statement of the author's experiences might be of interest.

At the age of twenty-one he was a homesteader on the Rosebud Indian Reservation, South Dakota, where he was about the only Negro settler. At twenty-six he was prosperous; and when another strip of the famous reservation was thrown open to settlement, he helped some of his relatives to secure land by furnishing money with which to purchase relinquishments on homesteads and other expenses. He also secured for a young lady another homestead, upon which she made filings. Six months later they were married and then went to live on her homestead.

She was the daughter of a minister in one of the leading Negro churches and was well educated, loved her husband devotedly--to all appearances--and they were happy.

Her father and husband represented beings with different points of view, and on this account an enmity grew up between them. The husband had often publicly criticised some of the leaders in his race as not being sincere, particularly many of the preachers. A year after the marriage, the preacher paid his second visit and when the husband was away, to indicate his dislike for the pioneer, he had his daughter, who was sick in bed, forge her husband's name to a check for a large sum, secured the money and took his daughter to his home in Chicago.

The homestead had been contested previous to this, and the minister had denounced the white man (a banker), who filed the contest, scathingly for trying to beat his daughter out of her homestead. Left alone after her departure, with only his ninety-year-old grandmother, who had raised a family in the days of slavery, for company, Mr. Micheaux wrote his first book. In the meantime, the case dragged through all the land courts at Washington, being finally settled by Secretary of the Interior Lane in her favor. About this time, the book appeared, and was called "THE CONQUEST".

In this was told anonymously the story of a base intrigue on the part of the preacher to vent his spite. The white banker, whose bank in the meantime had failed, read the book, and understood.... He went to Chicago and sent the preacher money to Cairo to come to Chicago, which the preacher did. Although unsuccessful in his effort before the government to beat Mr. Micheaux's wife out of her homestead, which had cost Mr. Micheaux thirty-five hundred dollars and which at that time was worth six thousand dollars, the banker succeeded in having the preacher persuade his daughter to sell him the homestead, giving her in consideration, only three hundred dollars.[A]

[A] NOTE--Until a homestead is commuted--proved up on--it may be
relinquished by the holder without any person's or persons' consent.
The woman, therefore, in this case could sell the homestead without
her husband's consent.

THE FORGED NOTE

THE FORGED NOTE

_A Romance of the Darker Races_

BY

OSCAR MICHEAUX
_Author of_ "The Conquest"

_ILLUSTRATED BY C.W. HELLER_

Lincoln, Nebraska
WESTERN BOOK SUPPLY COMPANY
1915

COPYRIGHT, 1915
BY
WOODRUFF BANK NOTE CO.

_All rights reserved_

Press of the
Woodruff Bank Note Co.
Lincoln, Nebr.

TO ONE WHOSE NAME DOES NOT APPEAR

I am leaving you and Dixie land tomorrow. It is customary perhaps to say, "Dear Old Dixie" but, since I happen to be from that little place off in the northwest, of which I have fondly told you, the _Rosebud Country_, where I am returning at once, and which is the only place that is dear to me, I could not conscientiously use the other term. Still, I am grateful, and well I should be; for, had I not spent these eighteen months down here, I could never have written _this_ story. No imagination, positively not mine, could have created "Slim", "T. Toddy", "Legs", "John Moore", et al. I really knew them. I haven't even changed their names, since what's the use? They, unless by chance, will never know, for, as I knew them, they never read. Only one of them I am sure ever owned a book. That one did, however, and that I know, for he stole my dictionary before I left the town. Whatever he expected to do with it, is a puzzle to me, but since it was leather-bound, I think he imagined it was a Bible. He was very fond of Bibles, and I recall that was the only thing he read. He is in jail now, so I understand; which is no surprise, since he visited there quite often in the six months I knew him. As to "Legs", I have no word; but since summer time has come, I am sure "Slim" has either gone into "business" or is "preaching." "T. Toddy" was pretty shaky when I saw him last, and I wouldn't be surprised if he were not now in Heaven. And still, with what he threatened to do to me when he was informed that I had written of him in a book, he may be in the other place, who knows! I recall it with a tremor. We were in a restaurant some time after the first threat, but at that time, he appeared to understand that I had written nothing bad concerning him, and we were quite friendly. He told of himself and his travels, relating a trip abroad, to Liverpool and London. In the course of his remarks, he told that he used to run down from Liverpool to London every morning, since it was just over the hill a mile, and could be seen from Liverpool whenever the fog lifted. He advised me a bit remonstratingly, that, since I had written of him in the book, if I had come to him in advance, he would have told me something of himself to put into it that would have interested the world. I suggested that it was not then too late, and that he should make a copy of it. He intimated that it would be worth something and I agreed with him, and told him I would give him fifty cents. He said that would be satisfactory, but he wanted it then in advance. I wouldn't agree to that, but told him that he would have to give me a brief of his life, where and when he was born, if he had been, also where and when he expected to die, etc. first. He got "mad" then and threatened to do something "awful". Took himself outside and opened a knife, the blade of which had been broken, and was then about a half inch long, and told me to come out, whereupon he would show me my heart. As he waited vainly for me, he took on an expression that made him appear the worst man in all the world. I did not, of course go out, and told him so--through the window.

That was the end of it--and of him, so far as I know. But you can understand by this how near I have been to death in your Dixie Land. When I come back it will not be for "color"; but--well, I guess you know.

New Orleans, La., August 1, 1915. O.M.