Historical Romance of the American Negro. Fowler Charles Henry
of our history in a few minutes, and finished by requesting him to marry us any time that night.
When the question arose as to whether the marriage should be performed in private or public, I insisted on it being done as publicly as possible, and that a newspaper reporter should be called in, too.
Now, as good luck would have it, there was to be a great gathering at the Methodist Church that night, so it was decided that the wedding should take place an hour after the meeting commenced. Mrs. Robinson and the entire family were now called into the parlor, when we were all introduced to one another, and there was a mighty season of rejoicing. Tea was prepared, and we adjourned to the dining-room.
In the meantime some of the friends and neighbors were sent for, a reporter was notified, and the news of our safe arrival and prospective marriage spread like wildfire throughout the good city of Cincinnati. The ladies, both white and colored, were tremendously interested in my case. They lavished attentions upon me, and caressed me to such an extent that I was afraid I would faint!
In due time, however, we took up our grand march to the church, and here I will give the account of our wedding as it appeared next morning in the Cincinnati News:
"WEDDING AT THE A. M. E. CHURCH.
"Last night we were called in to witness a happy wedding, which reminded us of that of Jacob and Rachel. The contracting parties were Mr. Thomas Lincoln and Miss Beulah Jackson.
"This Thomas Lincoln, aged twenty-seven, a fine, tall young man, was formerly the house steward and general factotum of Lemuel Jackson, Esq., of Riverside Hall, below Louisville, Ky. The beautiful seventeen-year-old bride is the daughter of Mr. Jackson himself, by one Harriet, a slave woman of many graces, whom Mrs. Jackson two years ago, through jealousy, caused to be sold to New Orleans.
"Miss Beulah was indeed 'a bride adorned for her husband,' and the ladies had her duly arrayed in orange blossoms and the regulation wedding costume. 'The Flower Girl of Riverside Hall,' as she has been often called, it seems, carried a beautiful bouquet. The church was filled to suffocation, and the interest in the ceremony was intense.
"After the knot was tied, a gentleman advanced to the front, placed a five-dollar bill on the table, and called for a wedding present 'for these two ex-slaves from the State of Kentucky.' The call was readily responded to, and a good sum was contributed. The young couple passed the night at the home of the Rev. Mr. Robinson, who performed the ceremony. They leave this morning for Columbus, Ohio, and points beyond. Lincoln stated that he could have left Kentucky at almost any time, but remained until he could find an opportunity to assist in the escape of the girl.
"As the immense assemblage at the A. M. E. Church looked upon this splendid couple, all hearts were filled with compassion to think that the South should call such men and women 'goods and chattels.' It was the outspoken opinion that a day of reckoning is coming; a day of war, a holy war, sent by God Himself, that will end this system of robbery and oppression."
I bought several copies of the paper that contained the account of our wedding, and posted one to Riverside Hall, one to our friends at New Albany, and another to our benefactors in the little cabin by the creek. Next morning at breakfast the fun was delightful, and I was obliged to laugh when Mrs. Robinson called me "The flower girl of Riverside Hall." Breakfast over, our host and hostess insisted on accompanying us to the station to see us off, and here we took leave of our kind friends, whom we felt that we could never thank enough.
As we steamed away for Columbus, all things were still new and delightful, and I never tired of beholding the fair face of nature as our train wound along the banks of the Little Miami. I was immensely pleased with the beautiful State of Ohio, its fine churches along the way, its fair and fertile farms, and all its magnificent forest-clad hills. In due time we arrived at Columbus, the State capital, and were much impressed with the beauty of the sweet little city.
We continued our journey on through Ohio until we crossed into Pennsylvania, by the shores of Lake Erie, that flowed away towards Canada like a little inland sea. Thus we continued on to Buffalo, New York, where we left the train. Here we determined to settle down, at least for some time. For a few days we put up at a friend's house, for we were both very much fatigued, indeed, with our long journey and its incidental bustle and confusion. I was only seventeen years old at this time, the most romantic age of a woman's life – or rather she is standing on the borderland with girlhood just behind her, and all the joys of womanhood and matrimony just before. Anticipation invests all things with the glories of the rainbow. It is certainly a good time to get married, for then a girl's nature is soft and pliable, and she has had neither time nor opportunity to become possessed of cast-iron ways of her own.
During the few days that we were resting ourselves we became acquainted with a few most worthy colored families who belonged to the A. M. E. Church on Vine street, as good and loving a congregation as I have found up to this year. God bless that loving flock!
Just at this time Tom and I had a good deal of conversation about my writing a letter to my father at Riverside Hall. If it was to be done at all, it had better be done soon, lest the door between us be permanently closed. Had my father done the right thing he would have married my mother, Harriet. She was ten times more amiable and lady-like than Mrs. Jackson, a woman whom he married for fashion's sake; but he never did or could love her as he did my mother, or even myself. It was the identical case of Rachel and Joseph over again. If all the rest had died, and Harriet and Beulah had remained alive, it would have been all right to him. Thus were there two wives in the same house – Rachel and Leah once more. The one was loved and the other hated. So it came to pass that through jealousy that raged in her heart, Mrs. Jackson had my beloved mother sold down the river to New Orleans.
I ran no risk in writing to Lemuel Jackson, as everyone at Riverside opened his own letters. So we decided that I should write home in a week or two, when we were settled down to practical house-keeping. And, besides all that, the old gentleman liked a good letter, and I knew mine would be doubly welcome.
It is very true that the Fugitive Slave Bill was on the statute books of Congress, but that bill was practically a dead letter, and it was now only one chance in ten thousand that anyone would attempt to come after us all the way to Buffalo. It is quite true that immediately after the passage of that infamous bill there were several fugitive slaves caught close to the border, and carried back to slavery, but the true spirit of the North arose against such Southern barbarism, and after a few slave-hunters had been shot, the South ceased to send her couriers even to the borderland, but remained at home nursing her sullen wrath, cursing the Underground Railroad and all Christian abolitionism, and flaunting her oft-repeated threat in the face of the nation, that unless she could have her own way in the Union she would have it out of it.
We did not consider, therefore, that we had any risk to run in settling down here in Buffalo, or even in writing to my father and giving him our street address. Mrs. Jackson would have no doubt been capable of setting the man-hunters on our track, but father, though a rich man, would never have made the outlay of money necessary. Besides it would have exposed his shame and disgrace.
In the meantime, then, we rented a small and cosy cottage not far from the sweet little church on Vine street, furnished it cheaply, but comfortably, and at the appointed time we invited the pastor of the church and his good wife to come and spend the evening and take tea, that the Lord might bless us in our happy home.
After we had been settled in Buffalo about a month, I wrote the following letter to my father, which he duly received:
"Lemuel Jackson, Esq., Riverside Hall, Ky.
"My dear Father: —
"With great pleasure I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines. It is but natural that your daughter should take a delight in writing to you, and we have lived too long under the same roof for me not to know that you will be glad to receive a letter from me. I can never forget you, my own dear father.
"I have great pleasure in informing you that Tom is a very thoughtful, considerate and loving husband, and is most indulgent and kind to your own dear Beulah. If I had searched the whole United States I don't believe that I could ever have found a better man than Tom. He promised to be good to me when we were married in Cincinnati, and I believe he always will.
"The