Crossing the River (2 page)

Sadly, this letter was uncovered by Edward’s wife, Amelia, and not conveyed. However, never again did Edward receive intelligence that his former bondsman Nash had either disobeyed his instruction, put himself in unnecessary mortal danger, or done anything that might lead Edward once more to consider reaching for the pen and composing lines of disapproval.

In 1841, having received the letter from his former slave Madison, and having fully digested its discomfiting contents, Edward Williams rose from his chair in the drawing-room and immediately set about making plans to journey to Liberia in order that he might determine for himself what had befallen the virtuous Nash. His plan was to travel alone by the first ship that was sailing for the coast, and he foresaw no reason for there to be a delay of any kind. Being now a widower, he would have to endure neither harsh nor reproachful words from his lady wife, Amelia, who would no doubt have been gravely suspicious of the motives which lay behind his projected expedition. At first, and much to Edward’s surprise, the idea of this scheme did not win the consent of the officials of the American Colonization Society. Though full of admiration for the enthusiasm of Edward Williams, and sympathetic to the ardor he continued to display towards his black charges, they were at pains to point up to him the many dangers to which he might unwittingly be exposing himself. Edward persisted in his communications with them, and eventually, but only after much altercation, they chose to relent their opposition and grant cautious support. At first they had insisted that the mysterious disappearance of a single settler was something they could reasonably expect to occur on a regular basis. Such was the peril of dispatching good men to heathen shores at the edge of civilization, and encouraging them to make this African land their home. But Edward had argued that to abandon men as remarkable as Nash could only reflect adversely on the future of the Society. He reminded the Society that, on his own initiative, he had borne the not inconsiderable expense of sending this man to college in Virginia, in order that he might be thoroughly prepared and trained for the life of a missionary. And further, he had encouraged all of his former slaves, including Nash, to avoid Monrovia, and like wind-driven seeds to scatter themselves about the land in the hope that there might be a widespread distribution of the message of the Lord. Only Nash had heeded his words. He had settled up-river in native country, having taken to his bosom a good Christian wife from Georgia, one Sally Travis, now deceased. Edward reminded the Society that, together with his wife, Nash had operated the most successful of the mission schools for natives. In fact, Edward had reminded them of this fact at every possible juncture, for, according to his closely argued deposition, this was not simply the sacrifice of one missionary, a victim of untreated fever or ill-advised wanderings into the interior. Edward was adamant that the disappearance of Nash could signal a humiliating defeat for the Society’s ideals as a whole, and he was determined to reach the territory of Liberia and investigate matters with his own eyes. Finally, the American Colonization Society, having listened with patience, came to realize that indeed there was more virtue in assisting Edward Williams than in impeding him.

It was customary at this time to set sail from Virginia or New York, but Edward had determined to leave on the first available ship, irrespective of its port of departure. He spread before himself a map of the known world, and stared at the inelegant shape of Africa, which stood like a dark, immovable shadow between his own beloved America and the exotic spectacle of India and the countries and islands of the Orient. He would travel for an undetermined length of time, although he had been led to believe that twenty-eight days was not at all unusual for such a journey. Fortunately, he was already armed with some knowledge of what rigors he might reasonably expect to face, both on the passage and after arrival, through the evidence of those letters from his former slaves which Amelia had permitted him to peruse. They spoke of problems and difficulties which would inevitably tax the health of a man of Edward’s fragile constitution, but common sense and restraint would be his guides.

Born in 1780, the son of a wealthy tobacco planter, Edward had inherited his father’s estate in his twenty-ninth year, and with it the sum total of three hundred slaves. A rich man of unrivalled wealth, he could simply have luxuriated himself and slipped quietly into a premature retirement, but he also inherited from his father an aversion to the system which had allowed his fortunes to multiply. Edward soon took the unusual initiative of encouraging his slaves to acquire the generally forbidden arts of reading and writing. When, some years after his windfall of slaves, he became aware of the formation of the American Colonization Society, this seemed an ideal opportunity to divest himself of the burden, or at least some part of the burden, of being a slave-owner, a title which ran contrary to his Christian beliefs. His wife, though initially not sharing fully in his unusually philanthropic fervor, had slowly come to tolerate the strange behavior and desires of her husband. But, sadly, she was no more. And now the chief player in his game, the most successful of his Christian blacks, was lost somewhere on the dismal coastline of Africa. Day and night a troubled Edward mused over Nash. Had that dark face, charged with belief and propriety, been somehow changed in the humid and barbarous climate? He could not believe that Africa could have distorted Nash’s faith, and encouraged him to turn his back on his God. And why now, after all these years of patience, had he suddenly chosen to break off with his former master? This troubling conundrum, which each night kept Edward awake and tossing first this way and then that, threatened to tear apart his very soul. He knew that he had little choice but to travel to Liberia, not simply to discover the truth surrounding the fate of his Nash, but in order to confirm that his life’s work, and more importantly his own life, had been of some worth.

On the evening of November 3rd, 1841, the
Mercury
set sail out of New York harbor. On deck, Edward Williams knelt and prayed both for the soul of his dearly departed Amelia, and for the success of the journey he was embarking upon. As they passed out beyond the stillness of the river and into the sea, he leaned over the rail and watched his beloved America recede from view and eventually vanish behind the horizon. Sadly, within a day of their departure, thick black clouds appeared overhead and they hit upon a terrible storm in which the ceaseless rain cascaded down from a perpetually dark sky. Edward remained below and listened through the planks to the moaning of his fellow passengers, a parcel of Louisiana blacks headed for the coast, who lay about the boards stricken into various stages of mortality. They were a week out of New York, and the storm had still not abated, when the mast came crashing down. The sailors were men of experience, but for some time it appeared as though the ship would have to be abandoned to the wind and waves, for there seemed to be no end to this tempest. All who were able were summoned on deck to help repair the ailing vessel, but by this time Edward had contracted the fever and was unable to bestir himself in any way. He lay below and listened to the painful creaking and straining of the wood, as the squalls grew ever more violent. Mercifully, midway through the second week, the storm finally blew itself out, but soon after the true and unbearable force of the sun’s heat was upon them. Long, sunstruck afternoons assailed the ship, the sky forever clear and without even the slightest stain of a cloud, the air still and bereft of any breeze that might flutter a sail or distort the mirror of the sea. The journey was now in danger of becoming prolonged past the supply of food and, more crucially, water. Sadly, despite the efforts of the ship’s surgeon, Edward’s ghastly condition, his body roaring with fever, showed no sign of improving. The Captain, a man renowned for his sagacity, resigned himself to the inevitable loss of his most illustrious passenger.

At last, on the evening of December 14th, 1841, the
Mercury
limped into the harbor at the British settlement of Freetown, Sierra Leone, the Captain having thought it politic to acquire fresh supplies and immediate medical help for those, like Edward, who lay between life and death. Natives came on board and bore Edward, perspiration flowing down his forehead, his body racked with chills and fever, into a crudely constructed rowing boat. Through the haze of illness Edward could hear, in fact almost taste, the sea, which stretched out all around him, melancholy and still. By straining his half-closed eyes, it was possible for him to discern the shoreline, where torches burned in the moonless dusk. The short journey seemed interminable, and was made worse by the descent of a thick mist which soon turned into a light rain. On reaching Freetown, Edward was clumsily lifted on to a rudimentary cart that was to be pulled by a solitary mule. The black driver yelled at the dispirited beast, and Edward felt the cart lurch, the wheels spin idly in the mud, but the whole contraption remained painfully static. After much bellowing and inconvenience to Edward, he was eventually, by these impossible means, transported to a mission hospital whose only virtue appeared to be the number of white faces which inhabited this otherwise insanitary place. Here Edward lingered for some days, his hand in the hand of his God, until the tide turned and washed him back upon the shores of this earth.

After a week, in which his body grew accustomed to solid foods, and in which he learned how to walk again without aid, Edward was impatient to commence upon the final measure of his journey. It was at this juncture that the British doctor informed him that his ship, the
Mercury
, had set sail without waiting for those passengers who had been discharged. It appeared that some trading dispute had broken out between Sierra Leone and Liberia, which meant that all exchange, commercial or otherwise, between the two territories had, for the time being, been suspended. Apparently, the
Mercury
was not welcome in Sierra Leone as long as she flew openly and with pride the American flag. Edward felt desperate, and made immediate and hourly cross-examination of the doctor as to how he might reach Liberia. He was keen to impress upon this man the seriousness of his intent, but the doctor was powerless to help beyond offering up the suggestion that either Edward attempt the passage overland, or he wait in Sierra Leone for this diplomatic squabble to subside. In response to Edward’s enquiries as to the general health of the Liberian experiment, the doctor simply shrugged his shoulders. What could he say? He had never been to Liberia, but neither would he want to travel there. Here, in the Crown Colony of Sierra Leone, he was British. There he would be nothing. He touched Edward lightly on the arm, in that manner which doctors soon accustom themselves to in order that they might assuage the fears of their patients. His advice was to wait. He assured Edward that these disputes tended to be short-lived. There was little to be gained by worrying excessively.