Historical Romance of the American Negro

by Charles Henry Fowler

We called at no place on our way, but at the beautiful little city of Madison, Indiana, that lies so sweet-looking in the edge of the Ohio river. Quite a goodly number of our own beloved people came on board here, whom we rejoiced to see. It was the same old, old story that I have told before. They were going to Louisville to swell the mighty throng, and help sing the songs of the ransomed of the Lord during the forthcoming celebration at that city.

After we left Madison, we all retired to bed for the night, and we were not long in falling into a sound sleep. The night passed away, on flew the waves of the beautiful river with our fleet boat on their bosom, rushing on for the general rendezvous, and about four o'clock in the morning our gallant craft tied up at the landing-place at Louisville, the metropolis of Kentucky.

All up once more, and in good time! We were careful this morning to give ourselves a thorough, good washing, and lay in a solid, substantial breakfast in preparation for the events of the coming day. All on board, bent on the same happy journey as ourselves, were in a high key of excitement. Indeed we could snuff excitement in the very air before we left the boat. But at last we got away, and came up the bank from the beautiful river, and entered the city before seven o'clock, where we found the whole place astir with great numbers of excited people, rushing and sweeping along in all directions—men on horseback riding rapidly up and down the streets; great crowds of men, women and children arriving by rail from different parts of the State, while men in uniforms, bands of music, with the town boys and girls scurrying along in all directions like the wild waves of the sea; flags, banners, streamers and ribands seen fluttering in the breeze in all directions—such was our introduction to Louisville, when we came up from the river, and looked up and down Market, Jefferson and Green streets, and made our early way to a place on Walnut street, where we had arranged previously by letter to take up our quarters for the week that we were to spend in the city. Here our dear old acquaintances of ante bellum days received us gladly. We were all much altered now, had grown older, were married and had children of our own; were now free, whereas formerly we were called "goods and chattels" in defiance of the truth of the Eternal Jehovah that we had all the same rights as others, but for the time being were held down by sheer physical force.

So much talk about a "Fifteenth Amendment" we had never heard in our lives, and it made us laugh to hear even the little children lisp "The Fifteenth Amendment!" Poor, dear little things! Theirs was a happy lot. They were all free, and had not come up by the rough side of the mountain like their oppressed parents. The glorious weather was immensely in our favor. We blessed God for that, and we blessed Him for all things. The sun was shining in all his beauty; the mocking-birds sang in the parks, and the light winds blew over the fair and garden-like city on the Ohio. Thousands upon thousands of people still continued to arrive upon boats that came up and down the river, by the ferry-boats, and on all the heavily-laden incoming trains that arrived thick and fast. Even the old inhabitant was astonished at the tremendous crowds that at last packed all the main streets along which the procession was to pass, because we were now getting well into line, just as is done at a Presidential inauguration at Washington. Uniformed riders and fast messengers, ex-soldiers dressed in Uncle Sam's conventional blue, the fair sex as thick as the leaves of the forest, boys in the trees, all the windows full of sight-seers, and men and boys on the roofs of the houses—well, indeed, might the oldest inhabitant ask where all the people came from! Nobody could have given a complete answer to that question, for there were tens of thousands of people here this day who had never been to Louisville before. All had heard of Louisville, the beautiful metropolis of the State, but they were slaves then, and had no hope of ever beholding its beauties; but God is good—here came the war, here came victory and freedom, here came new laws and the Fifteenth Amendment, and here came they themselves at last to help on the good cause with loud shouts of joy.

Flags fluttered from thousands of windows, and the indications of joy were universal. And not only did the colored, but the white population packed the streets in thousands and tens of thousands; the crowds were good-humored to the last degree, and there was nothing but joy and rejoicing on every side all day long.

The outriders now began to move in advance of the procession; the first men in line followed next with a band of music, and these again were followed by a tasteful and beautiful float that promised mighty things in the rear! Bands of music at intervals, all the different societies, another wonderful and beautiful float came sailing on laden with rejoicing citizens, young and old, and a thousand other strange and wonderful features and devices of the triumphal march called forth loud shouts of joy, great outbursts of laughter and general applause. A beautiful colored maiden of sixteen or seventeen summers, named Miss Laura Claggett, stood up in a chariot during the entire procession, and she made a splendid living representation of the "Goddess of Liberty." It was said of her, as of the beauty of ancient Tyre, "Thou hast made thy beauty perfect." The interest that we all took in the long, splendid and varied procession was most intense. So much pains had been taken with all the necessary preparations that every part of it was complete, and the warmest approbation was bestowed upon all the preliminary arrangements, and the way in which they were carried out. Here was a true object lesson, indeed, that we were as fit for the highest civilization as the whites. This was freely admitted on all hands, with the exception, of course, of those blind persons who did not wish to see. We find them everywhere, and the best thing to do is simply to ignore them altogether. It was wonderful, thrice wonderful, to look around, and see the people who had come from the remotest parts of the State to see Louisville and the great celebration. It was most pathetic to look at some of them—bent down in some cases with hard work, labor and toil of half a century. There was a feeling of unutterable thankfulness that was apparent to all observers—thankfulness that they could yet enjoy a few years of freedom before they went home to be with the Lord, and thankfulness that their children should be free for all coming time. "No more auction blocks for me!" was the sentiment.

Thus the whole glorious procession marched and counter-marched over the principal streets of the beautiful garden-like city of Louisville, and at last broke up and scattered like all other famous processions of the kind, whether at Washington or anywhere else. The whole city press were loud in their praises of the universal good conduct and splendid management of the new citizens, and of course the Republican organ brought out the whole truth flat-footed, and cast all its glories to the breeze without stint. It was a downright triumph in the interest of law and order, for the police authorities had little or nothing to do. The pastors of all the churches, and other leaders, had impressed it upon the hearts and minds of all the people to be good, and to act as citizens, and give the enemy no just reason to throw stones. For my own part, though I had by this time seen a hundred processions, at least, in my time, I am bound to confess that the procession and day's doings at Louisville were as good as the best in regard to law and order, and I understand that other cities behaved quite as well as they did in Kentucky, throughout the Union.

For a week or so the entire colored population at Louisville were en fete, and a high old time of it they did have, indeed. It was a perfect carnival—a general jollification along the whole line. Music and dancing, and grand tea parties, both in public and private, were all the go, and as our presence in town was soon well known, we were invited to lend a hand in the general festivities along with others. There was a good time all over the metropolis of Kentucky, and don't you forget it.

There is a poem that says in one place, "Joy's image may vanish, and griefs die away; but the scenes of our youth are recorded for aye,"—which leads me on to say that Tom, mother and myself had a great and yearning desire to revisit all those dear scenes and places round about the beautiful river that had been so deeply stamped into our hearts and memories in the glorious, youthful spring-time of life. Mr. Sutherland had no such longing to satisfy, and the two girls were not then born. The latter three, indeed, were born at Buffalo, on the Niagara river, in the great Empire State of New York. So Tom, mother and myself made calls on all those dear, dear friends of our earliest days who still remained alive, or still dwelt in Louisville. But many changes had taken place. Some had grown old and almost past recognition; the children of others received us kindly, for their parents were gone to a better land, and there were other changes all around, too numerous to mention. With the exception of God Himself, and the course of nature, all things seemed to be altered, and it was a source of thankfulness to us all that something remained that could not be shaken.

When we had thus ransacked the whole city in search of old friends (Mr. Sutherland and the girls coming bravely along with us), we crossed the river to Jeffersonville, Indiana, where we made two or three calls, and then went down to New Albany, on the Indiana side, where we had grand welcomes from all whom we knew there. It was really astonishing to behold our mutual joy, and to tell our true tales of joys and sorrows, and hear theirs in return. Praise ye the Lord!