Historical Romance of the American Negro. Fowler Charles Henry
gave a shout for joy as we left the Public Landing and floated out on the mighty and splendid Ohio. Owing to the recent heavy rains all along the head branches of this beautiful river, the stream was swollen from bank to bank, and presented a grand appearance as we plunged into the high-rolling waves and surges in the centre of the river. The glorious sun danced upon the silvery tide, and covered all the forests, the hills and dales on each side of the great and rushing flood. Huge barges were floating down from Pittsburg, and the far North, and large and small craft of every description were dancing and whirling away, whistling and screaming and advancing towards us, or retreating around the bends.
So far as my duties on the boat permitted, my eyes were never off the river, the hills, woods and forests, and the wild, fast-flowing traffic that was going up and down, and which seemed to have no end. The red and fiery sun went down in the wild waters of the beautiful river that looked like heaving, molten gold; then up came the silver moon, and turned all things visible into silver sheen.
The great Creator, indeed, was on the waves, and the Natchez drove on at a rapid rate. We had now the Indiana shore on our right hand, having passed the Ohio state line at Lawrenceburg, Indiana. In the early morning we came to Louisville, Ky., where we remained for a few hours. Here we passed through the Portland canal, and soon went by Riverside Hall, and the little cabin on the opposite side of the river. It stands two or three miles below New Albany, and I could see some of our dear friends standing before the door. It was here that Tom and I had crossed the Ohio.
The "beautiful river" still continued to increase and to swell, and we plunged along at a glorious rate. All on board seemed to be in a laughing mood, for the weather was superb, and that floating palace, "The Natchez," swept along at a furious speed. You can talk as much as you please about a light heart, but during this most delightful voyage mine did seem "as light as any feather." I had such joyful dreams every night, and hailed each coming morning with delight. Indeed I dressed myself every morning while my mouth was full of laughter.
"What are you laughing at?" "I think you must be in love." "You always appear in such tip-top humor." Such remarks were addressed to me by my companions in the waiting department, as we made our toilets before the looking-glass. To which I would reply, "I am laughing for the self-same reason that the bird sings in the forest, because the sun shines. As the children say, I am laughing at nothing!"
By this time the beautiful hills on both sides of the Ohio had fallen away. We had the state of Illinois in front of us at last, when we passed the mouth of the Wabash; and lower down on our left, the Cumberland and Tennessee rivers poured all their flood into the Ohio, after they had drained the mountain lands of Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee and Kentucky. "The beautiful river" was beautiful no more, but on both sides the lands were flat and fertile.
Ho for the Mississippi! What a rush there was among our passengers to behold the great "Father of Waters" absorbing our smaller Ohio at Cairo, in the state of Illinois. The city of Cairo lies right in the fork of these two rivers – the Mississippi and the Ohio. "Whew! What a river! Why, to be sure, this is, indeed, something like a river! It is more like a flowing sea of fresh waters than a river," were the remarks of a gentleman on board, and the sight was one that I am sure I never shall or can forget, either.
Our arrival upon the Mississippi seemed to add to my good humor, and then I was drawing nearer and nearer to my devoted and beloved mother every hour, and I seemed to have a firm presentiment from high heaven that my adventurous mission would turn out a success.
On, on, on, we rushed night and day, passing the mouths of the St. Francis, the White, the Arkansas and Red rivers on our right hand, and the Yazoo and other smaller ones on our left. It grew much warmer as we advanced farther south. We were now coming into the lands famed for the cultivation of the sugar cane, the cotton plant, and the rice. The only thing that dampened my spirits was to behold from the deck of the swift-flying Natchez, hundreds and thousands of oppressed colored people toiling and sweating in the sun, whilst their overbearing overseers stood over them, whip in hand, to make them work on, or receive the lash on their backs. How even Southern people could look upon such barbarity as that, and call themselves Christians, I could not understand. But as sure as there is a God in heaven, there is a terrible "judgment day" in store for all this, and I firmly believe that we shall all see it very soon.
What was to hinder Mrs. Jackson from selling me down South here, and forcing me to work till I died, in these very fields that I can see from the deck of the Natchez? Wherein am I better than these full-blooded Africans before my eyes, who were murderously torn away from their beautiful homes in Africa, brought over in "floating hells," and sold like cattle in the markets of the South? Shall not these who criminally carry on the slave-trade, and slavery, soon atone for all this? As surely as God lives, the "judgment day," even in this world, cannot be far off! The Southern people, like the doomed inhabitants of wicked Jerusalem, know not the approaching day of their visitation.
Musing in this way, we passed the cities of Memphis, Helena, Vicksburg, Natchez, Baton-Rouge and Donaldsonville, and, at last, amidst a great deal of noise and excitement, came to the wharf at New Orleans.
During all this glorious and enchanting travel from Buffalo by rail and steamboat, like a good and faithful wife, I never forgot to write every second day to my brave and beloved Tom, and I knew well that he would be greatly interested in hearing of my progress down the Ohio and the Mississippi. He afterwards told me that he used to read these letters of mine over, and over, and over again, and sometimes before he went to sleep, he would again light the lamp and read the last "arrival" from end to end once more.
Here, then, at last, the good boat Natchez has brought us all safe and sound to New Orleans, in the Sunny South. There is no snow here, and fruits and flowers are to be found all the year round. The climate is almost tropical, and everything out of doors breathes of orange blossoms and all those exotics found in the warm climates. The whole scene had an irresistible charm for me, and I felt a pleasure in being in the state of Louisiana that I felt quite unable to describe.
But even the charms of nature and the strange French air of the people did not produce the greatest impression on me here. That which produced the greatest impression of all, was the mighty river Mississippi itself, and the immense traffic carried over its irresistible waters. It is true that its banks are quite plain and homely when compared with the beautiful Ohio in its upper and middle courses. But then the Mississippi is so big, that it is always majestic, solemn and grand. You are never tired of looking at the immense and gigantic "creature," and especially where it has constructed for itself a high embankment, cast up by the silt and overflow of its muddy waters, in the lofty bosom of which the mighty river flows as in an elevated canal.
And thus the Natchez was high up above the level of the plains on our right and left hand, and we could look down on the valley of the Mississippi from the deck of our palatial steamboat. Oh, the Mississippi is a glorious sight to behold, always immense, solemn and grand!
The next thing that attracted me so much was the immense traffic that came rolling down from the North, and that ascended the stream. When I came off its mighty waters, I felt as if I was coming up from a wild, riotous and troubled sea. And though forty-six years have now fled and gone, the tremendous impression made upon my heart and soul by the Father of Waters remains. I therefore cried, Ho for the Mississippi! as I walked the gang-plank into the city.
My dear and beloved mother, Harriet Jackson, was one of those religious women who would go to church if she went nowhere else. She went to the A. M. E. Church whenever she could get there, and I had ascertained before I left Riverside Hall, that she attended the services of that congregation that lay nearest the mansion of the family to whom she had been sold. I cannot say that she belonged to that family, for slavery was nothing but a system of robbery in its best estate. She had been sold down the river to an ancient French family – Roman Catholics – but, in their indifferent, careless way, they allowed mother to go to her own A. M. E. Church. She was so steady and devoted in her ways, and so very remote from Kentucky, that they regarded it as an impossibility that she would ever even dream of making her escape; and never, never, that any one would ever come after her in this far-away part of the great world.
First and foremost, then, I made inquiries from those who could speak English, for the name of the pastor, and found it with