Sadly, this letter was uncovered by Edward’s wife, Amelia, and not conveyed. However, never again did Edward receive intelligence that his former bondsman Nash had either disobeyed his instruction, put himself in unnecessary mortal danger, or done anything that might lead Edward once more to consider reaching for the pen and composing lines of disapproval.
In 1841, having received the letter from his former slave Madison, and having fully digested its discomfiting contents, Edward Williams rose from his chair in the drawing-room and immediately set about making plans to journey to Liberia in order that he might determine for himself what had befallen the virtuous Nash. His plan was to travel alone by the first ship that was sailing for the coast, and he foresaw no reason for there to be a delay of any kind. Being now a widower, he would have to endure neither harsh nor reproachful words from his lady wife, Amelia, who would no doubt have been gravely suspicious of the motives which lay behind his projected expedition. At first, and much to Edward’s surprise, the idea of this scheme did not win the consent of the officials of the American Colonization Society. Though full of admiration for the enthusiasm of Edward Williams, and sympathetic to the ardor he continued to display towards his black charges, they were at pains to point up to him the many dangers to which he might unwittingly be exposing himself. Edward persisted in his communications with them, and eventually, but only after much altercation, they chose to relent their opposition and grant cautious support. At first they had insisted that the mysterious disappearance of a single settler was something they could reasonably expect to occur on a regular basis. Such was the peril of dispatching good men to heathen shores at the edge of civilization, and encouraging them to make this African land their home. But Edward had argued that to abandon men as remarkable as Nash could only reflect adversely on the future of the Society. He reminded the Society that, on his own initiative, he had borne the not inconsiderable expense of sending this man to college in Virginia, in order that he might be thoroughly prepared and trained for the life of a missionary. And further, he had encouraged all of his former slaves, including Nash, to avoid Monrovia, and like wind-driven seeds to scatter themselves about the land in the hope that there might be a widespread distribution of the message of the Lord. Only Nash had heeded his words. He had settled up-river in native country, having taken to his bosom a good Christian wife from Georgia, one Sally Travis, now deceased. Edward reminded the Society that, together with his wife, Nash had operated the most successful of the mission schools for natives. In fact, Edward had reminded them of this fact at every possible juncture, for, according to his closely argued deposition, this was not simply the sacrifice of one missionary, a victim of untreated fever or ill-advised wanderings into the interior. Edward was adamant that the disappearance of Nash could signal a humiliating defeat for the Society’s ideals as a whole, and he was determined to reach the territory of Liberia and investigate matters with his own eyes. Finally, the American Colonization Society, having listened with patience, came to realize that indeed there was more virtue in assisting Edward Williams than in impeding him.
It was customary at this time to set sail from Virginia or New York, but Edward had determined to leave on the first available ship, irrespective of its port of departure. He spread before himself a map of the known world, and stared at the inelegant shape of Africa, which stood like a dark, immovable shadow between his own beloved America and the exotic spectacle of India and the countries and islands of the Orient. He would travel for an undetermined length of time, although he had been led to believe that twenty-eight days was not at all unusual for such a journey. Fortunately, he was already armed with some knowledge of what rigors he might reasonably expect to face, both on the passage and after arrival, through the evidence of those letters from his former slaves which Amelia had permitted him to peruse. They spoke of problems and difficulties which would inevitably tax the health of a man of Edward’s fragile constitution, but common sense and restraint would be his guides.
Born in 1780, the son of a wealthy tobacco planter, Edward had inherited his father’s estate in his twenty-ninth year, and with it the sum total of three hundred slaves. A rich man of unrivalled wealth, he could simply have luxuriated himself and slipped quietly into a premature retirement, but he also inherited from his father an aversion to the system which had allowed his fortunes to multiply. Edward soon took the unusual initiative of encouraging his slaves to acquire the generally forbidden arts of reading and writing. When, some years after his windfall of slaves, he became aware of the formation of the American Colonization Society, this seemed an ideal opportunity to divest himself of the burden, or at least some part of the burden, of being a slave-owner, a title which ran contrary to his Christian beliefs. His wife, though initially not sharing fully in his unusually philanthropic fervor, had slowly come to tolerate the strange behavior and desires of her husband. But, sadly, she was no more. And now the chief player in his game, the most successful of his Christian blacks, was lost somewhere on the dismal coastline of Africa. Day and night a troubled Edward mused over Nash. Had that dark face, charged with belief and propriety, been somehow changed in the humid and barbarous climate? He could not believe that Africa could have distorted Nash’s faith, and encouraged him to turn his back on his God. And why now, after all these years of patience, had he suddenly chosen to break off with his former master? This troubling conundrum, which each night kept Edward awake and tossing first this way and then that, threatened to tear apart his very soul. He knew that he had little choice but to travel to Liberia, not simply to discover the truth surrounding the fate of his Nash, but in order to confirm that his life’s work, and more importantly his own life, had been of some worth.
On the evening of November 3rd, 1841, the
Mercury
set sail out of New York harbor. On deck, Edward Williams knelt and prayed both for the soul of his dearly departed Amelia, and for the success of the journey he was embarking upon. As they passed out beyond the stillness of the river and into the sea, he leaned over the rail and watched his beloved America recede from view and eventually vanish behind the horizon. Sadly, within a day of their departure, thick black clouds appeared overhead and they hit upon a terrible storm in which the ceaseless rain cascaded down from a perpetually dark sky. Edward remained below and listened through the planks to the moaning of his fellow passengers, a parcel of Louisiana blacks headed for the coast, who lay about the boards stricken into various stages of mortality. They were a week out of New York, and the storm had still not abated, when the mast came crashing down. The sailors were men of experience, but for some time it appeared as though the ship would have to be abandoned to the wind and waves, for there seemed to be no end to this tempest. All who were able were summoned on deck to help repair the ailing vessel, but by this time Edward had contracted the fever and was unable to bestir himself in any way. He lay below and listened to the painful creaking and straining of the wood, as the squalls grew ever more violent. Mercifully, midway through the second week, the storm finally blew itself out, but soon after the true and unbearable force of the sun’s heat was upon them. Long, sunstruck afternoons assailed the ship, the sky forever clear and without even the slightest stain of a cloud, the air still and bereft of any breeze that might flutter a sail or distort the mirror of the sea. The journey was now in danger of becoming prolonged past the supply of food and, more crucially, water. Sadly, despite the efforts of the ship’s surgeon, Edward’s ghastly condition, his body roaring with fever, showed no sign of improving. The Captain, a man renowned for his sagacity, resigned himself to the inevitable loss of his most illustrious passenger.
At last, on the evening of December 14th, 1841, the
Mercury
limped into the harbor at the British settlement of Freetown, Sierra Leone, the Captain having thought it politic to acquire fresh supplies and immediate medical help for those, like Edward, who lay between life and death. Natives came on board and bore Edward, perspiration flowing down his forehead, his body racked with chills and fever, into a crudely constructed rowing boat. Through the haze of illness Edward could hear, in fact almost taste, the sea, which stretched out all around him, melancholy and still. By straining his half-closed eyes, it was possible for him to discern the shoreline, where torches burned in the moonless dusk. The short journey seemed interminable, and was made worse by the descent of a thick mist which soon turned into a light rain. On reaching Freetown, Edward was clumsily lifted on to a rudimentary cart that was to be pulled by a solitary mule. The black driver yelled at the dispirited beast, and Edward felt the cart lurch, the wheels spin idly in the mud, but the whole contraption remained painfully static. After much bellowing and inconvenience to Edward, he was eventually, by these impossible means, transported to a mission hospital whose only virtue appeared to be the number of white faces which inhabited this otherwise insanitary place. Here Edward lingered for some days, his hand in the hand of his God, until the tide turned and washed him back upon the shores of this earth.
After a week, in which his body grew accustomed to solid foods, and in which he learned how to walk again without aid, Edward was impatient to commence upon the final measure of his journey. It was at this juncture that the British doctor informed him that his ship, the
Mercury
, had set sail without waiting for those passengers who had been discharged. It appeared that some trading dispute had broken out between Sierra Leone and Liberia, which meant that all exchange, commercial or otherwise, between the two territories had, for the time being, been suspended. Apparently, the
Mercury
was not welcome in Sierra Leone as long as she flew openly and with pride the American flag. Edward felt desperate, and made immediate and hourly cross-examination of the doctor as to how he might reach Liberia. He was keen to impress upon this man the seriousness of his intent, but the doctor was powerless to help beyond offering up the suggestion that either Edward attempt the passage overland, or he wait in Sierra Leone for this diplomatic squabble to subside. In response to Edward’s enquiries as to the general health of the Liberian experiment, the doctor simply shrugged his shoulders. What could he say? He had never been to Liberia, but neither would he want to travel there. Here, in the Crown Colony of Sierra Leone, he was British. There he would be nothing. He touched Edward lightly on the arm, in that manner which doctors soon accustom themselves to in order that they might assuage the fears of their patients. His advice was to wait. He assured Edward that these disputes tended to be short-lived. There was little to be gained by worrying excessively.
Monrovia, Liberia
September 11th, 1834
Dear Beloved Benefactor,
I am exceedingly happy to take up my pen and embrace this precious opportunity of addressing you a few lines. I trust that God in His mercy will spare you to read these words and many more. My family and I were blessed with a safe and prosperous passage over the briny deep, and delivered safely to this African land. Accordingly, I thank God that I remain alive to have the pleasure of writing to you from distant shores. Though we are separated by wide waters and steep mountains, you, my dear father, are forever with me in my mind. That we were only seventeen days at sea speaks of the fine weather that we were fortunate enough to have bestowed upon us. Further, the ship happily improved her numbers, for there was one birth at sea. This is the first opportunity I have had to send to you a humble communication since our arrival here. I do so in the hope that my crude lines might find both yourself and your wife in fine health, thanks be to God. We are all well, with the exception of young York, upon whom the sea-sickness vented itself with uncommon fury, and whose childish body has yet to recover equilibrium. Fortunately, my wife Sally is of a more rigorous constitution and dutifully nurses him while I attend to more pressing matters. Among the other emigrants of our ship with whom you will be familiar, only old Nancy and big Mabel were ill at ease on the sea. The rest are somewhat well, and earnestly salute your noble person, although many are now touched up with the African fever.
Galloway Williams is dead. He died only a day since. His wife, Constance, who arrived in this country aboard the same packet as myself, was only last week delivered of a fine son, but alas the Lord saw it fit to take the child. He could not have taken it at a better time, the child being but an infant, but He soon after took to Him Constance also, to be with the child, and now Galloway to afford his wife some support in the hereafter. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh, blessed be the name of the Lord. The burden you placed upon us of repeating the Ten Commandments, which we considered a form of punishment, has proved of the utmost importance in meeting the pain of these trying times. As a father you cared for us, and we hope that the Lord will reward you for your kindness.
Liberia is a fine place to live in. I was at first astonished to see the bushes that grow in the streets, and the boldness of the nature all about, but my person is now accustomed to these strange sights. Thank God I have been spared to reach here in good health and by His permission do still enjoy it. The town of Monrovia is well-watered and timbered, and if a person could have a little capital he would do very well. A colored person can enjoy his liberty in this place, for there exists no prejudice of color and every man is free and equal. Although, dear father, I am greatly desirous of seeing you again before we leave this world, I doubt if I shall ever consent to return again to America. Liberia, the beautiful land of my forefathers, is a place where persons of color may enjoy their freedom. It is the home for our race, and a country in which industry and perseverance are required to make a man happy and wealthy. Its laws are founded upon justice and equality, and here we may sit under the palm tree and enjoy the same privileges as our white brethren in America. Liberia is the star in the East for the free colored man. It is truly our only home.
Sadly, there is amongst some emigrants a tendency for lying about and doing nothing. True, it is very hot hereabouts, but after the industrious man achieves acclimatization, there is no excuse for not applying himself with unwearied dedication. Those who won’t work and who get along by stealing are becoming something like the natives. Of the money you lodged for me with Mr Gray, I have not seen one cent of it as the
gentleman
denies all knowledge of the matter. Why he does so I cannot say, but it is so. I informed him that as I am determined to obey your instructions and proceed to the country in order that I might establish a school, I shall require capital. He countered with the knowledge that it would be a deathly and ruinous undertaking to go up there, the native population being uncivilized so that during sickness with fever I would most certainly be robbed of whatever articles of value I might possess. Indeed, the scantiness of the Christian population beyond Monrovia is somewhat surprising, but I am resolved to lead by example and carry the word of God to the heathens.
My resolution has occasioned something of a rift to develop between my good wife, Sally, and myself. She remains steadfast in her belief that the Lord, having blessed me with a reasonable portion of health, will surely regard the exposing of my person to the rigors of the country as both eccentric and foolish. Her concern was initiated by the most recent bleeding from the nose that I suffered. The climate agrees with my health in many respects, but in some respects it does not. This rainy season that we presently endure will, I fear, eventually prove the most injurious portion of the year with reference to my constitution. I have already suffered several bleeding attacks, but this most recent one, which commenced shortly before noon last Sabbath morning, lasted two full hours. It then ceased its red passage, only to recommence at six in the evening, whereupon it determined to set its course clear through until midnight. Sally offered up a volley of prayers to Him that orders all things to His own glory, and clearly He set a favorable ear to her pleading, for the discharge and discomfort soon ceased their labors.
Father, some emigrants hereabouts, having previously embraced religion and displayed the patience necessary to resist the temptation of the evil one, now dance to the discordant tune of drunkenness. I am, however, happy to report that not only my wife but those of our immediate acquaintance remain steadfast in our beliefs. I have attended worship at every opportunity, and find the people very friendly, as does my wife. Her anxieties concerning our impending journey into the interior merely reflect her unease upon receiving alarming stories of the primitive state of affairs beyond this Monrovia. Rest assured, dear father, for she remains a true Christian.
Please give my true love to all my friends, and urge them to conduct themselves in such a manner that they might reasonably expect to meet me in Heaven, that is if I am not fortunate once again to lay eyes upon them in this world. In particular, Aunt Sophie, George, Hannah, Peter Thornton, Fanny Gray, Aggy and Charlotte, Miss Mathilda Danford, Henry, Randolph and Nancy. Above all, please give my love to my dear mother, but you who have done more for me than natural father, or any other, must keep the greater portion of my affections for yourself. Please read what follows in the presence of all your servants so that they might know from one who is free, and in no manner in bondage, thus in no way obligated to express such sentiments, what quality of master they are blessed with: –
There are those servants who, having served their master for more than fifty years, are not rewarded with their liberty, but are instead sold at auction to the highest bidder. How good the Almighty is to have blessed you with such a master as this, for there is not another under Heaven such as your master. I have found since my arrival in Africa that many of your master’s ways and fashions, burdensome though they were while in America, have served to form the basis of my character and have enabled me to survive this seasoning period with relative ease. Under his tutelage my understanding has been enlightened, so I beg of you servants to pay attention, attend school, and seize the opportunity to learn, for not all masters are so inclined to place the wisdom and good sense of the Bible at the disposal of their colored property.
And now to you, dear Father. If they should refuse to attend school or heed your words, you must punish them, whether young or old, for as I have already observed in these parts, too much pleasure brings on sin and ruin. I humbly remind you once more that you should convey my love to my own dear mother, who has been happy in your service for the greater part of her ancient life. Should she be visited by a change of heart, and desire to live out her final years in the bosom of Africa, or should she simply move past useful labor, I trust that despite her unlettered state you would allow her liberty to undertake such a journey. Dear father, I have recently read again the very kind letter you gave me as I set out for college some years ago. It gives me more pleasure than I can express to think that I have one such as you as both advisor and friend, and as I pursue my calling of teacher, I pray that the Lord will not abandon me, for without Him we are nothing and can do nothing. I praise His holy name that I was fortunate enough to be born in a Christian country, amongst Christian parents and friends, and that you were kind enough to take me, a foolish child, from my parents and bring me up in your own dwelling as something more akin to son than servant. Truth and honesty is great capital, and you instilled such values in my person at an early age, for which I am eternally grateful to you and my Creator. Had I been permitted simply to run about, I would today be dwelling in the same robes of ignorance which drape the shoulders of my fellow blacks. Words cannot express my gratitude for the care you displayed towards me during my younger days, for as the Scripture says, train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. I am ever hopeful that we might see each other’s faces again in the flesh, but if the Lord has ordained it otherwise, then I trust that we shall be amongst that number that John saw surrounding the Throne of the Lamb, where sorrow, pain and death are neither felt nor feared no more.
I look up to you as a son to a kind father and will ever expect assistance as long as we hear from each other. Presently I stand in need of help from you by the first chance, for I have not received one cent from your man, and the Society agents hereabouts seem determined to clasp what little there is to their own bosoms. Will you be so kind as to send me some mustard seed and some flax seed for stomach complaint? Father, will you please send me a pair of spectacles for my own use, and a further pair for my wife, Sally? I am very much in want of clothing; you may send some coarse cloth, and shoes. Further, my wife begs of you a spinning wheel and cards to keep her employed. I plead with you, sir, on behalf of myself, to aid us. The amount of four to five hundred dollars would be of little consequence to a man such as yourself, but in this hard country it can overnight alter a man’s fortunes. Anything further that you choose to send, whether dry goods or provisions, will be very acceptable, for this is no different from other new countries. Mr John Sawyer asks if you would be so kind as to send a pair of drum heads. He says he entrusted them to the care of the Captain, but they got wet and the mice made a hole in them. This tale is his own.
I wish you to be so kind as to try to remember my best regards to all enquiring friends. You might remind them to try and serve the Lord, in the hope that He might provide a way for them to reach these lands of civil and religious privileges. At present I have no more to say about myself which can be interesting to you. So, dear sir, receive the kindest wishes of this humble servant. I bid you adieu and do remain your most sincere and affectionate son until death. Dear Father, I trust that the Lord will continue to guard and protect you from all harm and dangers in this sinful world. My prayer to God is that He will bless and preserve you long in life, and at death – having finished your course and performed the work assigned to you – receive you into Heaven where you may sit at the right of God. I hope we shall meet there to part no more. Your affectionate son.
Nash Williams