Historical Romance of the American Negro

by Charles Henry Fowler

I dwell the more fully on these things because they led up to the war of secession, and actually brought it on in the year 1861.

SCENES IN NEW ORLEANS.

How did the South treat the oppressed African? She bought, she sold, she stole, she killed for gold. She hurled all revealed religion to the winds, and set the Almighty at open defiance. Thus millions of backs had to bend and labor over the cotton plant, the sugar cane and the rice stalks of the South. Families were torn asunder, and every human feeling violently dealt with in men and women born in the image of God, that silver and gold might be extracted through their blood and tears from the cotton fields, from the sugar plantations, and from the rice swamps of the Sunny South. With such crimes as these and a thousand nameless ones besides that high heaven had to avenge, was it any wonder that the coming tempest was heralded by rising winds, by darkening skies, by colder weather, and violent flurries of snow, hail and sleet?

It was one of the curses of slavery that the slave-holder often had a colored wife in the kitchen, and a white one in the parlor. This was very bad, indeed. It was just Hagar and Sarah over again, and not only did the iniquitous system bring the two women into conflict, but the poor, guileless children were brought into conflict also. It was a shame and a disgrace all the way through. If white American parents had never taught their innocent babes that the color of the skin made a difference, "American prejudice" would never have been known in the world.

My own beloved and charming mother was the first in the field. If my father had done the right thing by her, he would have married her out and out, and made her his wife de jure, as she certainly was de facto. Thus it always was in those days of slavery.

The grand, chivalric white planter had a splendid octaroon or quadroon for his "house keeper," a woman whom he loved supremely till Southern pride took alarm, and he took unto himself a white wife—to be like his neighbor! Alas! Alas! Such a crooked, dual system as that never worked, and it never will! Sarah and Hagar could not get along; neither could Rachel and Leah, and so on to the end of the chapter. Turkish women in the same harem fight among themselves like dogs and cats, and the poor miserable Turk sometimes has to provide a separate establishment for every wife.

At last my father brought Mrs. Jackson to the house, and my mother, Harriet Jackson, as she was called, was pushed to the wall. I am glad that I was my father's only child by his first wife, for had there been more of us, the mischief would have been the greater. As the reader already knows, a day came when I was up the river at Louisville, when, in some way only known to the devil and herself, Mrs. Jackson caused my beloved mamma to be spirited away, and as we all subsequently learned, to be sold down the river to New Orleans. Mr. Jackson seemed very sorry, indeed, but he said nothing about it at the time, as he knew that he himself was to blame for the whole matter. But I made up my mind at once to endeavor to find out her exact place of abode, and to trust in God to bring us together again.

Alas! my dear reader, how shall I ever make you understand the dreadful gap that was now created in my sensitive heart, when dear mother and I were torn apart? You can imagine how grieved I was, but how much worse must mother have felt? It was a shame to separate us, but Mrs. Jackson was fond of making grand, ostentatious shows, and she determined to keep me to grace her grand festal occasions. Still, I missed my dear mother for many a day. Clouds and thick darkness would gather round my heart. I was in great heaviness every now and then, and often would I retire to my bed-room, where I used to get into bed, cover myself up, and there lie and weep, and pray to God to bring mother and me together once more.

Now, one would imagine that this feeling would have worn off in the course of time, but it never did. Two whole years had passed away before I made my escape. I must admit the truth, that my newly-found freedom, marriage and acquaintance with the glorious people of the North brought me immense relief all the summer, but one day, about the beginning of the fall, I was once more completely overshadowed by grief. It was the self-same "old trouble"—a trouble that no doctor could cure. I locked up the house, and went to bed as I used to do at Riverside Hall, and wept and prayed until I fell asleep. The first thing I knew I was awakened by a very loud knocking at the door; Tom had come for his tea, so I arose and let him in, and he was greatly surprised to find me all in tears, and in such a bad way generally.