Saint Paul’s River, Liberia
Jan. 3rd, 1842
Dear Father,
Despite my earlier protestations, I resort again to pen and paper in a final attempt to engage with you. I find the process humiliating, and I fail to see what hurt I ever inflicted upon you that could justify such a cruel abandonment of your past intimate, namely myself. There is much to report, but being unsure of how it might interest you, if at all, it is my intent to be brief.
My three wives (I have considered a fourth, but the expense is at present beyond me) are faring well, as are the children. Six in total, all of whom receive lengthy instruction in reading and writing which sits well upon their shoulders. In addition they receive, from their mothers, instruction in the African language, as I do. I feel the necessity of being able to understand properly the words of the natives in whose land I reside, and the inconvenience, self-denial and hardship I suffer on this count is clearly worthwhile if it facilitates my being able freely to communicate with those hereabouts. That children learn faster, and with less inhibition than their elders and betters, is daily proven as we sit together and try to drink up these strange words and sounds. That my present family does not conform to what you might reasonably expect of me will no doubt disturb you. However, despite their heathen origins, my wives send their best respects to you, but nothing further, for you would scorn their poor marks were they to attempt written words. They had no school to attend, and have suffered accordingly, but not in their generosity of heart, or in their ability to act out the role of dear and gentle mother to their precious children. They know also how to administer to the needs of a husband, for as I chanced to mention in an earlier communication, the climate of this country does not suit old sores. Two such
fellows
have long since taken up residence on my left leg, and although I am obliged to suffer a little for want of a cure, my wives seek all the while to ease my discomfort with as much care and attention that I might reasonably expect from an American-born woman. Some months ago, I was quite afflicted by the death of my youngest child, a fine boy of about nine months. A large and healthy child, he was taken ill quite suddenly, and died thereafter. I am not able to say what his sickness was, for this remains a mystery even to those closest to him, who continue to grieve.
Perhaps you imagine that this Liberia has corrupted my person, transforming me from the good Christian colored
gentleman
who left your home, into this heathen whom you barely recognize. But this is not so, for, as I have often stated many times over, Liberia is the finest country for the colored man, for here he may live by the sweat of his brow, although everything remains scarce and high, such as provisions, clothing, etc. There are still many out here, and more arriving with each ship, who are not prepared for freedom, and who get on poorly because there is no one to act for them, and they are totally incapable of acting for themselves. But this is not the fault of the country, for although not free from famine, war, sickness and death, and other troubles incidental to mankind, I still proclaim that it will compare favorably with any other part of the habitable world. Persons coming to Africa, white or colored, should always remember that this is a new country and that everything has still to be created. Things can be both inconvenient and uphill, and many hardships will no doubt be experienced, but such problems are common to the first settlement in any country. We, the colored man, have been oppressed long enough. We need to contend for our rights, stand our ground, and feel the love of liberty that can never be found in your America. Far from corrupting my soul, this Commonwealth of Liberia has provided me with the opportunity to open up my eyes and cast off the garb of ignorance which has encompassed me all too securely the whole course of my life.
These days I am happy simply to raise my crops. The land is rich and produces the familiar American garden stuff, cabbage, peas, beans, onions, tomatoes, etc., as well as the native produce, which it does in abundance. The school is no more, and shall never again occupy a position of authority in any settlement of which I am a part. This missionary work, this process of persuasion, is futile amongst these people, for they never truly pray to the Christian God, they merely pray to their own gods in Christian guise, for the American God does not even resemble them in that most fundamental of features. The truth is, our religion, in its purest and least diluted form, can never take root in this country. Its young shoots will wither and die, leaving the sensible man with the conclusive evidence that he must reap what grows naturally. It has taken my dark mind many years to absorb this knowledge, and while it would be true to assert that the man I love is Christ, and I love him as one might love an intimate, having no means to return to America, and being therefore bound to an African existence, I must suspend my faith and I therefore freely choose to live the life of the African.
If it please you, I wish you to remember me kindly to my colored friends. Inform them that should they choose to come out to this country, then they must bring everything for housekeeping, farming and carpentry, etc. They will need them, for they cannot be got here nor, unless their master chooses to be bonded to his promises, can they be obtained by means of purchase from the packet. It only remains that I request of you that you do not come out to Africa, for I fear I will surely disappoint you. I suppose I shall never again see you in this life, but if the Lord so deems it, I might yet cast my eyes upon you on the pleasant banks of deliverance. Perhaps in this realm of the hereafter you might explain to me why you used me for your purposes and then expelled me to this Liberian paradise. I believed fiercely in all that you related to me, and fervently hoped that one day I might be worthy of the name I bore, the learning I had been blessed with, and the kind attentions of a master with the teachings of the Lord fused into his soul. That my faith in you is broken, is evident. You, my father, did sow the seed, and it sprouted forth with vigor, but for many years now there has been nobody to tend to it, and being abandoned it has withered away and died. Your work is complete. It only remains for me once more to urge you to remain in your country.
Nash Williams
Madison Williams appeared at the rooming house and enquired of the innkeeper as to the general well-being of his former master. The innkeeper slowly shook his head, and informed Madison that for three days now he had neither seen nor heard from the gentleman. Sadly, he presumed his guest to be still in a state of distress. Madison thanked him for his intelligence and, acting upon the innkeeper’s suggestion, he made his way to Edward’s room. He knocked, but there was no answer, so he knocked again, this time more briskly. From inside he heard a muted cry to enter. Madison opened the door and, peering through a gloom that belonged to neither night nor day, he discovered Edward prostrate upon the bed, and Nash’s letter scattered about the floor.
The room had a heavy, musty smell, the drapes having been pulled against the world for three whole days. Edward, as though suddenly conscious of his lamentable appearance, heaved himself into an upright position, rubbed a hand into his face, and then, with some difficulty, stood and made some efforts to stretch. Madison remained standing by the door, unsure as to whether or not he wished to witness this spectacle. Then, through a small chink in the drapes, a slither of light hit Edward and, taking this as a signal, he drew back the coarse material and flooded the room. Madison lifted his arm to his face and awaited his cue, but for the moment at least Edward chose to remain silent. He carefully positioned himself at the foot of the bed and, as he pulled on his leather shoes and strapped them into place, he observed Madison out of the corner of his eye. Madison chose to ignore him, and instead looked all about himself, studying the sparsely furnished room. There was something about the small room, the many hours of darkness having cooled the air and created a welcome respite from the familiar heat, which suggested to Madison that whatever business had to be carried on in these parts had been concluded. Madison knew, without his former master saying anything, that Edward was ready to leave. He expected an announcement.
Edward cleared his throat and spoke slowly, but forcefully. ‘I wish,’ he began, ‘to be taken immediately to where Nash Williams conducted his affairs.’ Madison looked hard at Edward. Detecting Madison’s opposition, Edward repeated himself. ‘I wish you to conduct me to the Nash Williams settlement.’ Madison nodded once, careful to make his nod an acknowledgement of his understanding the words, and not an agreement to act upon them. ‘Well?’ asked a suddenly animated Edward. ‘When do we leave?’ ‘Perhaps in a day or two,’ suggested Madison. ‘How long do you wish to tarry there?’ Edward snorted in disbelief, and then laughed out loud. ‘A day or two! We leave today. And I will tarry there as long as I desire.’ Madison adjusted his posture, and then explained to Edward that should they leave immediately they would inevitably have to spend this coming evening in a settlement between the capital and Nash’s own former place of residence, for the distance was simply too great to be covered in what remained of this day. A river canoe would have to be engaged, and a navigator found. Supplies would have to be purchased. Precautions taken. Madison listed off the various stages of preparation that still needed to be passed through, but even as he spoke he could see that nothing was going to deflect the smiling Edward from his chosen course. The man’s mind was fevered with determination.
The river wore a rutted frown where their slow progress had disturbed her sleep. To either side the somber banks, cluttered with trees, shrubs and vines, were pressed by a thick, brooding undergrowth that was heavy with years. As dusk approached, the heat still hung low like a ceiling above their heads. Madison uttered some words in the local language and the native helmsman, a reed of a man who could clearly boast no association with books, and whose liquor-stained breath announced his common mode of recreational activity, began to paddle towards the northern shore. The mosquitoes redoubled their attentions, and Edward crushed another against his blotched arm and asked if this place was to mark their journey’s end for this day. As the canoe neatly avoided the clean stones, and fetched up on a muddy shelf, Madison replied that he knew of a settlement hereabouts where, according to his calculations, they should receive a peaceful welcome. However, he advised Edward that perhaps he ought not to mention the true purpose which lay behind their visit, for there were those who would not consider a pilgrimage to the site of Nash Williams’s demise an honorable journey.
Madison followed a stamped-in path through the tall grass, and Edward, ignoring the irritating bite of a nail in his boot, and the native tracked close behind. A little more than one hundred paces from the river bank, Madison stopped suddenly and pointed through the bush towards a village. Tall brown huts were huddled together within a clumsy fence, and a faint wind lifted human voices and stirred Edward’s curiosity. Choosing not to speak, Madison edged forward through the drooping foliage and into the heart of this village which, much to Edward’s consternation, was soon revealed to be not a native settlement, but one populated by Americans who spoke English. The primitive nature of the conditions shocked Edward, who until now had not the slightest notion of the poverty-stricken rural existence which enveloped those Christians who chose not to settle in and around the capital town of Monrovia. Men, women and children appeared to be living alongside hog, goat and fowl as though family members, and Edward had never before witnessed such scenes of squalor, not even on the worst-run plantations in his native America.
Night fell quickly, the sky bereft of stars, the moon hidden behind drifting clouds. Fires were lit and the bush closed in as though a cloak were being draped around them. Madison left Edward alone with the native, and withdrew to negotiate for some shelter in which they might pass the night. An exhausted Edward slumped to the ground and removed the offending boot. Madison soon returned and informed his former master that there was only one small hut available, and they had been encouraged to share it. However, continued Madison, if his former master wished, he would happily sleep outside with the native. Edward would have none of this. Madison sat down on the dirt beside Edward and reached for a gourd of water. He drank deeply and then enquired if Edward were hungry, for the settlers would soon be roasting a goat. Pleading excessive fatigue, Edward insisted that he simply wished, if possible, to retire. Madison put the gourd to one side and, sensing the white man’s discomfort, he helped him to his feet and together they crossed the strangely quiet village until they reached their lodgings. Once there, Madison deposited Edward at the mouth of the wooden hut, and then he moved off to relieve himself in the bush. Edward watched Madison’s dark, glistening, sweat-filmed skin until his former slave was swallowed up whole by the blackness of the night.
When Madison returned, Edward was already undressed and basking in the glow of the lamp. Two straw cots lay next to each other, and an uneasy Madison looked around at the personal articles which littered the hut. In order that he might mask his discomfort, Madison spoke quietly as he unbuttoned his clothes. He asked Edward if there were any real purpose to their visit in a practical sense, or if this was nothing more than a tribute to Nash? Or perhaps a promise that was being kept? Edward listened intently to Madison, his eyes fixed upon his former slave. Madison removed his shirt. And then Edward shared with Madison his intention of taking the children of Nash Williams back to America and offering them the possibility of a proper Christian life amongst civilized people. Madison turned away and said nothing in reply. Outside the hut the nocturnal screeching and sawing began to build towards its terrifying nightly pitch. Edward asked the semi-clad Madison if he thought the children would return with him, and how many there were, and how many wives did Nash truly possess? Madison drank in all of these questions, and then turned back and stared directly into the face of his former master. Half of Edward’s face lay shrouded in thick shadow, the other half changed hue and shape according to the nature of the dancing flame. As Madison moved to answer this volley of questions, Edward reached up his hand in a gesture of silence, and then leaned forward and took Madison’s hands in his own. He spoke softly to Madison of how far he felt from home, from those like himself, and how he desired to be once more among his own people, both white and colored. Madison stared back and said nothing in reply. And then he felt the pressure increase upon his hands, and Madison took this as a signal to speak. ‘No,’ he said. The word echoed around the small hut, its weight and purpose obscuring the sounds of nature without. And then, after what seemed an eternity, Edward Williams gave up Madison’s hands and lay back on his straw cot.