Voyage up the Ohio (continued)—Illinois—Evansville—Owensborough
—Indiana—New Albany—Louisville, and its Cruel Histories—The Grave
of President Harrison—Arrival in Cincinnati—First Impressions—The
Congregational Minister—A Welsh Service.

The Ohio, the "beautiful river," is a magnificent stream formed by the confluence at Pittsburg of the Allegany and Monongahela Rivers, and is 1,008 miles long, constituting the boundary of six States: Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois on the north,—all free States; and Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee on the south,—all slave States. A trip on this river, therefore, affords a fine opportunity for observing the contrast between slavery and freedom.

The Ohio is the great artery through which the inland commerce of the Eastern States flows into the valley of the Mississippi. In ascending this river, we had first on our left the State of Illinois. This territory, which contains an area of 60,000 square miles, was settled by the French in 1720, and was admitted into the Union in 1818. Its population in 1810 was 12,300; in 1840, 476,180. It is now, probably, not far short of 1,000,000!

On the 19th of February, about noon, we arrived at Evansville, on the Indiana side of the river. This was the prettiest place we had yet seen; and its charms were enhanced by the assurance that it was free from the taint of slavery. The rise of this little town has been rapid. Its population is about 3,000. Three "churches," with their neat and graceful spires, rising above the other buildings, were conspicuous in the distance.

At 5 P.M. we passed Owensborough, on the Kentucky side of the river. This, too, is a neat little town, with a proportionate number of places of worship. Indeed, on every hand, places of worship appear to rise simultaneously with the young settlement. The free and efficient working of the voluntary principle is the glory of America. In reference to "church" accommodation, it everywhere appears to decided advantage compared to the most favoured parts of England. On this subject Dr. Baird's book on Religion in America is very truthful.

The fever left me on entering the Ohio, and returned no more,—a clear proof that this river is healthier than the Mississippi. The latter has much fog and malaria, which tell quickly upon a constitution like mine, already predisposed by residence among the swamps of Guiana to fever and ague.

As I have already intimated, we had now Indiana, a free State, on our left. This State is rapidly advancing in wealth and population. It was settled by the French in 1730, and became an independent State in 1816. It has an area of 36,840 square miles, being by two-fifths less than its neighbour Illinois. Its population at the beginning of this century was only 5,640; in 1840 it was 685,860. It is now above a million! In 1840 it produced upwards of four millions of bushels of wheat, and twenty-eight millions of corn!

February 20.—The scenery was diversified. Hills covered with trees rose on either side. In the summer, when all is fresh and green, there must be here scenes of loveliness and grandeur unsurpassed. At present the country had a cold and winterly aspect. It rained, too, the whole day. At 3 P.M. we approached New Albany, on the Indiana side. It is a flourishing place, with from 5,000 to 6,000 inhabitants. Just above this town are some falls in the Ohio, that can seldom be ascended by steamers, which therefore pass through a side canal, with locks, formed (through the superior influence of the slave-power) on the Kentucky or slave bank of the river. We had to pass through three locks, which have been very foolishly made too small to receive steamers of the largest class in the navigation of the Ohio. Ours fortunately, not being of that class, could "go a-head."

At 5 P.M. we got to Louisville, a city of about 30,000 or 40,000 inhabitants, on the Kentucky side. This city is a great depot for slaves, whence they are shipped for the New Orleans market. By this means it has acquired a detestable notoriety.

"A trader was about to start from Louisville, Kentucky," says the Anti-Slavery Record, "with one hundred slaves for New Orleans. Among them were two women, with infants at the breast. Knowing that these infants would depreciate the value of the mothers, the trader sold them for one dollar each. Another mother was separated from her sick child about four or five years old. Her anguish was so great that she sickened and died before reaching her destination."

Take another instance, on the same authority:—

"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."]