"Not very long ago, in Lincoln County, Kentucky, a female slave was
sold to a Southern slaver under most afflicting circumstances. She had
at her breast an infant boy three months old. The slaver did not want
the child on any terms. The master sold the mother, and retained the
child. She was hurried away immediately to the depot at Louisville, to
be sent down the river to the Southern market. The last news my
informant had of her was that she was lying _sick_, in the most
miserable condition, her breast having risen, inflamed, and _burst_!"
Let another case, testified by the Rev. C.S. Renshaw, add to the fame
of this _infamous_ city.
"Hughes and Neil traded in slaves down the river: they had bought up a
part of their stock in the upper counties of Kentucky, and brought them
down to Louisville, where the remainder of their drove was in jail
waiting their arrival. Just before the steam-boat put off for the lower
country, two negro women were offered for sale, each of them having a
child at the breast. The traders bought them, took their babes from
their arms, and offered them to the highest bidder; and they were sold
for one dollar a piece, whilst the stricken parents were driven on
board the boats, and in an hour were on their way to the New Orleans
market. You are aware that a young babe diminishes the value of a field
hand in the lower country, while it enhances her value in the breeding
States."
February 21.--Another dreary Sabbath on board. The principal objects of
interest pointed out to us on that day were the residence and the tomb
of the late President Harrison. The latter is a plain brick erection,
in the midst of a field on the top of a hill, about half a mile in the
rear of the former. The recollection of that man, so highly elevated,
and so quickly cut down, could hardly fail to suggest a train of not
unprofitable reflections. He was, I suppose, a moral and well-meaning
man, distinguished for qualities not often to be found in high places;
but I was sorry to be obliged to infer that much of what I had heard
respecting the _religiousness_ of his character wanted confirmation.
At half-past 4 P.M. we arrived at the long-wished-for Cincinnati--the
"Queen of the West." Our voyage from New Orleans had thus occupied
twelve days, during which time we had been boarded and lodged, as well
as conveyed over a space of 1,550 miles, for 12 dollars each, or one
dollar per diem! It was the cheapest, and (apart from the
companionships) the most pleasant mode of travelling we had ever
experienced. As the boat stayed but a couple of hours at Cincinnati, we
had to land without delay. Being a stranger in a strange land, I
inquired for the Congregational minister, and was told that his name
was Boynton. In perambulating the streets in search of his house, I was
pleased to see but one shop open. It was a tailor's, and, as I
afterwards learned, belonged to a Jew, who closed it on Saturdays, the
law of the State compelling all to close their shops one day in the
week. In every street, we were struck with the glorious liberty enjoyed
by the pigs. On all hands, the swinish multitude were seen luxuriating
in unrestricted freedom. Mr. Boynton, who received us kindly, did not
know of any place where we could be accommodated with private board and
lodging, but promised to make inquiry that evening. He was a man of
about forty years of age, wearing on the Sabbath, and even in the
pulpit (as most American ministers do), a black neckerchief, and
shirt-collar turned down over it. That night we had to go to an hotel,
and were recommended to the Denison House, which we found pretty cheap
and comfortable. But the American hotels are not, in point of comfort,
to be compared for a moment to those of Old England. My wife was too
tired to go out in the evening; and unwilling for my own part to close
the Sabbath without going to some place of public worship, I thought I
would try to find the sanctuary of "my brethren--my kinsmen according
to the flesh"--the Welsh. Following the directions I had received, I
arrived at the top of a certain street, when I heard the sound of
sacred song; but I could not tell whether it was Welsh or not, nor
exactly whence it came. As I stood listening, an overgrown boy came by,
of whom I inquired, "Where does that singing come from?"--"I _guess_ it
comes from a church down below there." "Is it a Welsh Church?"--"I
can't tell, but I _guess_ it is." "Well, then," I rejoined, "I _guess_
I will go and see." I turned, and the youth "guessed" he would follow
me. I got to the door. The singing had not ceased. It _was_ Welsh--the
language in which I had first heard "_Am Geidwad i'r Colledig!_"[1] How
interesting in the "Far West" to hear sounds so sweet and so familiar
to my childhood! None but those who have experienced can tell the charm
of such an incident. The minister was in the pulpit. His dress and hair
were very plain, and his complexion was extremely dark. He was
evidently a Welshman: there was no mistake about it: his gravity,
plainness, attitude--all told the fact. I ventured forward, and walked
along to the stove, which to me was an object of agreeable attraction.
Around the stove were two or three chairs. A big aristocratic-looking
Welshman, a sort of a "Blaenor," who occupied one of these chairs,
invited me to take another that was vacant. The eyes of all in the
synagogue were upon me. My "guessing" informant had followed me even
there, though he evidently understood not a word of Welsh. The building
was about 40 feet by 35, without galleries, and was about two-thirds
full. The pulpit was fitted up in the platform style--the "genuine"
American mode. The text was, "How shall we escape, if we neglect so
great a salvation?" The sermon was good and faithful. The audience--the
men on one side of the chapel, and the women on the other--did not
excite much interest. The men, especially, were among the worst hearers
I had ever seen. I felt ashamed of my countrymen. The spitting was
incessant, and attended with certain unmentionable circumstances which
render it most disgusting and offensive. What a contrast to my own
clean and comely congregation of black and coloured people in New
Amsterdam! In about twenty minutes after the preacher had begun his
sermon, one-half of the men had their heads down, resting on both arms
folded on the tops of the pews before them. Whether they were asleep or
not, the attitude was that of deep sleep. This behaviour was grossly
rude,--to say nothing of the apathetic state of mind which it
indicated. I wondered how the preacher could get on at all, with such
hearers before him. I am sorry to say that the Welsh too frequently
manifest a great want of decorum and devotion in their religious
assemblies. This is telling, and will tell, against dissent in the
Principality.
[Footnote 1: Literally, "Of a Saviour for the lost."]