A YANKEE JOURNALIST'S VISIT TO THE SLAVE STATES, 1833 by JAMES BROOKS Letters originally published in the Portland Advertiser (Maine) Compiled and edited by Duncan S. Campbell <[email protected]> Copyright © 2017 TABLE OF CONTENTS TABLE OF CONTENTS .............................................................................................................. 2 THE ROAD TO CHARLESTON .................................................................................................... 3 THINGS IN SOUTH CAROLINA ................................................................................................ 32 AMONG THE CREEKS ............................................................................................................. 67 ONWARD TO LOUISIANA ....................................................................................................... 86 NEW ORLEANS: RISING STAR ............................................................................................... 100 THE WESTERN FRINGE ......................................................................................................... 121 APPENDIX: OBSERVATIONS ON NEGRO SLAVERY ................................................................. 169 THE ROAD TO CHARLESTON Richmond, (Va.) March 11th, 1833 You see I have slipped away from the capital of the Union to the capital of the Old Dominion, from the calm, unruffled waters of the Potomac to the noisy stream of James River, or Jeems's River, as the good people, this side of our Tweed,1 see fit to pronounce the word James. In "Ould Virginia" one feels as if he were on holy ground. He treads the soil and breathes the air of the Washingtons, the Henrys, the Jeffersons, the Madisons of our republic. He feels as if he were in old Greece, but, alas, in a land of lost gods, for I see, among the future statesmen of Virginia, none with heart and soul enough to equal the glory of her ancestors. Having provided myself with letters of introduction to all parts of our common country, which Members of Congress and friends have given me in Washington, that center from which flow, and to which converge, men and women from all points of the compass, I bade adieu on Saturday (March 9) to "the city of magnificent distances," where I had passed many pleasant, and, with all my wanderings, many laborious hours, in diligent correspondence. I bade adieu, with heavy heart, to many friends who had made me happy; and yet, the regret was tempered with the consolation that I was starting for home—by a route somewhat devious and long, I grant.2 The steamboat bound to Norfolk, having been injured in the ice, and hauled up for repair, I took the steamer "Sydney" for Fredericksburg, which left at 10 A.M. Among our passengers were three members of Congress from North Carolina, a prominent Nullifier from South Carolina, and, next, the greatest man in Congress, Mr. Lewis3 of Alabama, who 1 Tweed — River forms the eastern boundary between Scotland and England. The analogy is to the Potomac, which separates the Northern States from Virginia. 2 Brooks was on his way to New Orleans, but his home city was Portland, Maine. 3 Dixon Hall Lewis (1802-1848) — U.S. Representative, later Senator, for Alabama weighs three hundred and sixty pounds, and for whom a chair has been especially provided in the House of Representatives, the common large chairs not being large enough. Another passenger was Governor Moore4 of Alabama, with three female slaves whom he had just purchased in Washington for seven hundred dollars, and whom he was carrying with him to Alabama. The eldest of these slaves was thirteen, the second eleven, the youngest nine. They were clad neatly, in calico gowns, with bandanna handkerchiefs around their necks, and seemed very much like the well-dressed little girls in the interior of New England, in all but their color. Prompted by curiosity, I inquired of one of the girls all about her affairs. She said that her father and mother lived in Washington, that her father was free, and her mother a slave, and that she never expected to see them again. "Governor Moore was a good master," she added, "but I cried much when I left home." It requires all my philosophy to be reconciled to this forcible severance, for money's sake, of these tender associations that make us human, and which do honor to our natures. My heart bleeds at the misery with which slavery curses both bond and free. It is an awful question, and one which should be approached in no spirit of fanaticism, proselytism, or chivalrous recklessness. This is not the time, nor am I in the place, to draw inferences. I intend only to speak facts, and give the impressions which Southern society, as mingled with slavery, make upon me. Did I not see from my window proud exhibitions of architectural grandeur, the beautiful Capitol of the State crowning a neighboring hill, and here and there a church that would have graced a street in Rome, I might fancy that I had fallen upon Africa, for the children of Africa are far more numerous than any others I have yet met with. They beset one on every side. A cloud of darkness hovers round about. But to return. We sailed by the Arsenal, the Penitentiary, and the Navy Yard in Washington, crossed the Potomac, and tarried, in order to take in more passengers, a short time at Alexandria, which is a city of brick buildings, and looks rather as if it had been a place for business, than if it was. With a company of forty or fifty we put off again, and, after passing a brig loading with staves for New Orleans, soon lost sight of the heights of Georgetown, and of the Capitol in Washington, which gleams up in the 4 Samuel B. Moore (1789-1846) — Former Governor of Alabama (in office 1831) distance, like a white cloud in the horizon. I strained my eyes to catch the last farewell glimpse of this building, in whose walls interests of such immense importance are acted upon, but soon lost sight of it, and I then looked upon the surrounding country. The Potomac is here broad, and glides quickly over its bed. Its waters were here muddy and turbid. The hills of Virginia and Maryland were clad with snow, but a warm sun was melting it rapidly away. The oaks from the low banks of the river nodded gently with the wind. Here and there, the mansion of some planter greeted us in the distance. Flocks of canvasback ducks were flying up the river in vast numbers. Seagulls now and then approached near our boat. Soon Mount Vernon, where is buried the good Washington,5 and by which no American heart passes without a warmer devotion to the man, hove in sight. Even the British, when they sailed up the Potomac, paid his remains the tribute of a salute. We saw nothing on the little hill projecting into the Potomac, but the white mansion crowning its summit, and a few scattering trees. All was as quiet as death. I fancied that my eye rested on the brick tomb of the Father of his Country, as I strained them to the utmost to mark the spot, and [ran] them over the slope on which it lies, but it must have been but fancy, as hedges and trees quite conceal it from the passenger on the river. Fort Washington also, with its frowning fortress, peered upon our view. Formidable as it seemed, I believe it was this fort that the British passed in their course up and down the Potomac. We backed water here awhile, just to exchange a mail, which a sentinel on the wharf received, and then sailed on in our floating castle. We passed by many vessels loaded with an abundance of wood, and a country with forests, apparently enough to warm a hundred generations. The captain of our boat gave us an excellent dinner, and as soon as this was fairly disposed of, we were sailing up Potomac Creek. At the head of this creek we were landed, and there we took passage in some ready coaches for Fredericksburg, which was five miles off. The wheels of our coaches often were buried in the mud up to the hub. Occasionally we stuck fast, and then we trudged along on foot, through the mud and through the fields, over hill and ravine. My first experience of a Virginia road was a sad one indeed. However, by sunset, we crossed the 5 George Washington (1732-1799) — The first President of the United States. At the date of Brooks' travels, there was debate about whether his remains should be transferred from the family crypt to one in the U.S. Capitol. Rappahannock on a bridge, not remarkably inviting, and were landed in the principal street of Fredericksburg. I had but a moment to run over this place, and this I improved6. Fredericksburg, I am informed, has about thirty-five hundred inhabitants. The principal street is neat, and the houses are well built. It has much more of the air of prosperity than many of the towns in Virginia. I saw some navigation at the wharves. It is well known as containing the grave of the mother of Washington, over which Mr. Burroughs7 of New York City is erecting a monument.8 By dark, we packed up in a coach again, and started on our way to Richmond. The roads were better than we had just suffered over, but these were none of the best. I had for a coach companion the celebrated Chapman Johnson,9 one of Virginia's best sons, a man who has, of late years, scorned to mingle in Virginia politics, but who has left them to her political gamblers and her beardless boys. Our companions talked a little of "The Oaks," and "The Ashes," "The White Chimneys," and "Bowling Green," places by which we were passing, and which told me I was in a strange land. A Southern Member of Congress told an anecdote of John Randolph,10 who, when a Yankee peddler rode up to his door and proposed to swap away his spavined horse for one of John's of the royal blood, which he values at a thousand dollars each, bawled out indignantly to Juba,11 "Let loose my hounds—unleash my hounds," of which he had a hundred, when the poor peddler took to his heels in terrible affright.