American Scenes, and Christian Slavery - Ebenezer Davies
At eleven o'clock precisely, a man of tall but stooping figure and dark
complexion, about forty years of age, muffled up in a cloak, took his
stand at the bottom of the pulpit or platform stairs. It was Dr. S----.
He appeared to beckon to some one in the congregation. A tall, lank old
gentleman, with a black cravat, and shirt-collar turned over it _a
l'Americain_, stepped forward, and, ascending the steps before the
Doctor, occupied one of the two chairs with which the rostrum was
furnished, the Doctor taking the other. I supposed him to be one of the
elders, going to give out the hymns, or to assist in the devotional
exercises. At this moment the organ--a fine-toned instrument--struck
up, and the choir sang some piece--known, I presume, only to
themselves, for no others joined in it. This prelude I have since found
is universal in America. In all places of worship provided with an
organ, a "voluntary" on that instrument is the first exercise. In the
present instance the choir had no sooner ceased than the Doctor stood
up, having his cloak still resting upon his shoulders, and stretched
forth his right hand. At this signal all the people stood up, and he
offered a short prayer. "Where is Abel, thy brother?" thought I, during
this address to the Father of the spirits of all flesh. He then read
the 23rd and 24th Psalms. "Where is Abel, thy brother?" was still
ringing in my ears. The 33rd Psalm was then sung. "Where is Abel, thy
brother?" was still heard (by me at least) louder than the swelling
tones of the organ. The singing done, of which the choir still had an
entire monopoly, the Doctor read the 14th chapter of Mark; and as he
read the awful story of our Lord's betrayal, I could not help thinking
that the only difference between some of the Southern slave-dealers and
Judas was, that had they been in his place, they would have made a
"smarter" bargain. The reading, though free from affectation, was not
by any means in the best style. The chapter finished, the tall elder
(as I took him to be) prayed,--the congregation standing. The prayer
was short and appropriate, and the language tolerably correct; but the
tone and pronunciation were queer. I supposed them to indicate some
provincialism with which I was not acquainted. Along with that peculiar
nasal sound for which nearly all Americans are distinguished, there was
in the voice a mixture of coaxing and familiarity which was a little
offensive; still, as a "layman's" exercise, it was very good. He prayed
for "every grace and Christian virtue." Amen, ejaculated I,--then your
slaves will soon be free. He prayed for "our nation and rulers." He
prayed that "the great blessings of Civil and Religious Liberty which
we enjoy may be handed down to future generations." "Looking out for a
few niggers this morning?" thought I. He also prayed for "the army and
navy, and our fellow-citizens now on the field of battle," in allusion
to the Mexican War.--The prayer ended, Dr. S---- gave out another hymn.
During the whole of the service, I may here remark, there was a good
deal of going in and out, talking, whispering, spitting, guttural
turbulence, &c. At first there were about a dozen white boys in my
neighbourhood, who seemed as if they belonged to the Sabbath-school;
but, having no teacher to look after them, and enjoying the full swing
of liberty, they had before sermon all disappeared.
After the singing, Dr. S---- made several announcements,--amongst
others, that the monthly concert to pray for the success of Foreign
Missions would be held there to-morrow evening, when several speakers
would address the meeting. By all means (said I to myself), and I'll
try to be present. He also told his people that the Rev. ----. ------,
(from some place in Kentucky,--the particulars I did not catch,) was
in the city, as a deputation from the ladies, to solicit subscriptions
for the erection of a new church that was greatly needed.
The tall man in the black neckcloth then rose, and, to my surprise and
disappointment, read a text. It was I Cor. iii. 21: "For all things are
yours." I imagine _he_ was the deputation from the Kentuckian ladies.
After a few introductory remarks explanatory of the context, he
proposed to inquire what are the things which "enter into"
("constitute," we should say) the inheritance of God's people. Slaves
(said I to myself) are a part of the inheritance of "God's people,"
both here and in Kentucky: I wonder if he will notice that.
The first thing, I observe (said he), that enters into the inheritance
of God's people, is the living ministry--"Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas."
To illustrate the value of this blessing, he referred to the imaginary
Elixir of Life, the Philosopher's Stone, and the Universal Panacea. If
such things really existed, what a high value would men set upon them!
But here was something of incomparably higher worth. In order to form
an estimate of its value, he led his hearers to imagine the entire loss
of the living ministry. Secondly, the "world" belongs to God's people.
It is sustained for their sake, and therefore sinners are indebted to
God's people for the preservation of their lives. To prove this he
referred to the words of our Lord, "Ye are the salt of the earth." In
speaking of the preserving nature of salt, he supposed the sea to be
without salt.
How pestilential then! But as it is, how salubrious the air that has
swept over it! He also referred to another case. There was once (said
he) a ship in a tremendous storm; the crew and passengers--about 270 in
number--were at their wits' end; nothing appeared before them but a
watery grave. On board of that ship was a poor prisoner, bound in
chains. He was deemed to be of the filth of the world, and the
off-scouring of all things. To that poor prisoner the angel of the Lord
came, and told him what must be done to save the life of every one on
board. The angel's directions were obeyed, and all were preserved.
Thus, for the sake of one of God's people, were 270 lives spared. He
offered another illustration. Three men came to converse with Abraham,
on the plains of Mamre. They told him that God was about to destroy
five cities. Abraham began to intercede for them. The preacher
recapitulated the wondrous story of this intercession and its success,
as further proving that ungodly men owe the preservation of their lives
to the presence and prayers of the people of God. The parable of the
tares was also cited, as illustrating the same position. "Let both grow
together until the harvest." Imagine (said he) all the people of God
removed from the face of the earth--no heart to love Him--no tongue to
praise Him,--there would be no reason why the earth should be continued
in existence another moment. In the light of this subject, see how
great a privilege it is to have pious relatives. "Life" also was, in
the third place, a part of the inheritance of the child of God, because
during it he makes a provision for eternity. He dwelt on the richness
of the treasure which God's people are laying up. Suppose (said he) any
of you were making money at the rate of fifty dollars an hour,--(I dare
say you do so sometimes, reflected I, when you get a good price for
your "niggers,")--how rich you would soon be! and how anxious that not
a single hour should be lost! But the child of God is laying up
treasure at a faster rate than this. Every time he works for God, he is
laying it up. The Christian's treasure is also of the right kind, and
laid up in the right place. If any of you were going to emigrate to
another country, you would be anxious to know what sort of money was
current in that country, and to get yours changed into it. The
Christian's treasure is the current coin of eternity. It is also in the
right place. Where would you like to have your treasure? Why, at home.
The Christian's treasure is at home--in his Father's house. Life is his
also, because during it he fights the battles of the Lord. Here the
preacher made an approving reference to the war against the Mexicans;
and I strongly suspect that this view of the Christian's inheritance
was dragged in for the very purpose. We fight (said he) under the eye
of the General. We fight with a certainty of victory. Death too was, in
the fourth place, a portion of the Christian's inheritance. To the
people of God curses are made blessings, and to those who are not his
people blessings are made curses. So sickness, persecution, and death
are made blessings to the saints. Death to the Christian is like an
honourable discharge to the soldier after the toil and the danger of
the field of strife. But that illustration (said he) is too feeble: I
will give you another. Imagine, on a bleak and dreary mountain, the
humble dwelling of two old people. They are bending under the weight of
years. Amidst destitution and want, they are tottering on the verge of
the grave. A messenger comes, and tells them of a relative who has
died, and left them a large inheritance,--one by which every want will
be supplied, and every desire realized,--one that will, the moment they
touch it with the soles of their feet, make them young again: he
points, moreover, to the very chariot that is to convey them thither.
Would this be bad news to those old people? Now, such is death to the
child of God. The cord is cut, and the spirit takes its flight to the
abodes of the blest. Or take another illustration. A stage-coach was
once upset. Many of the passengers were in great danger. One man
snatched a little babe from among the wheels, and laid it down in a
place of safety on the roadside. Twenty years after the same man was
travelling in a stage, on the same road, and telling those around him
about the accident which had taken place a long time before. A young
lady, sitting opposite, was listening to the narrative with eager
interest, and at last she burst out with rapture, "Is it possible that
I have at last found my deliverer? I was that little babe you rescued!"
Something like this will be the disclosures that death will make.
Having thus illustrated the inheritance of the people of God, let me
ask you (said he) who are not his people--what will all these things be
to you, if you die without Christ? The living ministry? The world?
Life? Death? Having spoken briefly, with power and pathos, on each of
these particulars, he very coolly and deliberately turned to Rev. xxii.
17, and read, "The Spirit and the Bride say, Come; and let him that
heareth say, Come," &c., &c., and closed abruptly, with neither an Amen
nor an invocation of any kind.
Such was the first sermon I heard in the United States. It was
thoroughly evangelical and good; but I listened to it with mingled
feelings. It was painful to think that such a ministry could co-exist
with slavery. The creed it is evident may be evangelical, while there
is a woful neglect of the duties of practical piety.
LETTER V.
First Religious Service in America (continued)--A Collection "taken
up"--Rush out--Evening Service--Sketch of the Sermon--Profanation of
the Sabbath--The Monthly Concert for Prayer.
After sermon Dr. S. gave out a hymn, and told the congregation that the
collection for the support of the "beneficiaries" of that church would
be "taken up" that morning; adding that, in consequence of this
collection not having been made at the usual time (in May last), some
of the young men who were preparing for the ministry, and dependent on
that congregation for food and clothing, were now in great want. He
also suggested that, if any present were unprepared with money, they
might put in a slip of paper, with their name, address, and the amount
of their contribution, and some one would call upon them.
The collection was "taken up" during the singing, At the last verse the
congregation stood up. The benediction was pronounced, with
outstretched arm, by the Doctor; and the moment he uttered the "Amen!"
all rushed out of the place as fast as they could. This rushing is a
characteristic of the Americans. It is seen in their approach to the
dining-table, as well as in a hundred other instances. I suppose it is
what they call being "smart," and "going a-head."
In the evening I went again to the same "church." The introductory part
was shorter and more simple than in the morning. The Doctor's prayer
(seven or eight minutes long) was admirable. I wished some dry, prosy
petitioners in England could have heard it. It was devout,
comprehensive, and to the point. All classes of men--but one--were
remembered in it. The slaves were not mentioned,--their freedom was not
prayed for!
The Doctor gave us to understand that he was about to deliver the fifth
of a series of lectures to young men in great cities. The text was,
"The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath;" the
subject, "The importance of the Sabbath to young men in great cities."
The text (he observed) involved the principle, that man was not made to
observe certain ceremonies and obey certain precepts, but that the
observance of rites and laws was enjoined for man's own sake. This
principle applied to the institution of the Sabbath. The body, the
intellect, the affections--all required the rest which the Sabbath
affords. The experiment had been abundantly tried; and it had been
invariably found that more could be done, in every department of
labour, with the regular observance of the Sabbath as a day of rest
than without it. The farmer, the student, the legislator, had all tried
it. Man could no more do without the Sabbath than he could do without
sleep. Writers on slavery, however they differed on other points, were
all agreed on this,--that the withholding of the Sabbath from the
slaves in the West Indies, together with the other cruelties inflicted
upon them, had materially shortened their lives! (How telescopic, by
the way, are our views with regard to evils at a distance! West India
slavery never wore the hideous features which slavery presents in the
Southern States of America. Slavery even in Cuba, with all its horrors,
is far milder than in the United States.) France once presented a
fearful example of what a nation would be without a Sabbath. The
testimonies of Drs. Spurzheim and Rush were cited in confirmation; also
that of a respectable merchant in New York, well known to the preacher,
who, after the observation and experience of twenty-five years in that
city, declared that of those who kept their counting-houses open on the
Sabbath not one had escaped insolvency. A poor boy was apprenticed to
an apothecary in a large city. To increase his wages and encourage his
efforts, his master gave him a recipe and materials for making blacking
on his own account. The blacking was made, and placed in pots in the
shop window; but day after day passed, and no purchaser appeared. One
Sunday morning, while the shop was open for medicine, before the hour
of public service, a person came in, and asked for a pot of blacking.
The boy was in the very act of stretching out his hand to reach it,
when he reflected it was the Lord's-day. Falteringly, he told the
customer it was the Sabbath, and he could not do it. After this the boy
went to church. The Tempter there teased him about his folly in losing
a customer for his blacking: the boy held in reply that he had done
right, and, were the case to occur again, he would do just the same. On
Monday morning, as soon as he had taken down the shutters, a person
came in, and bought every pot of blacking there was; and the boy found
that, after deducting the cost of materials, he had cleared one dollar.
With more faith and fortitude than some of you possess (said the
preacher), he went and took that dollar--the first he had ever
earned--to the Bible Society. That poor boy is still living, and is now
a wealthy man.
The preacher said he knew a man, in his own native State of Tennessee,
who on his arrival in America had nothing but a pocket Bible; but he
made two resolutions,--1st. That he would honour the Sabbath; 2nd. That
he would remember his mother. The first dollar he got he sent to her,
and declared that he would never forget the Sabbath and his mother. He
also was now a wealthy man.
The punishment of Sabbath-breaking was sure, though not immediate. Like
the punishment of intemperance or impurity, it would come. Here the
celebrated testimony of Sir Matthew Hale was adduced. Dr. Johnson's
rules respecting the Sabbath were read, with the observation that no
doubt he owed much of his celebrity to their observance. Wilberforce
had declared that, at one period of his life, parliamentary duties were
so heavy that he would certainly have sunk under them, had it not been
for the rest the Sabbath afforded. But the Sabbath was not merely a day
of rest,--it was a day for improvement. Where there was no Sabbath, all
was bad. The inhabitants of Scotland and New England were distinguished
for industry and mental vigour; and they were equally distinguished for
observance of the Sabbath. The universal observance of the same day was
of great importance. It guarded against neglect. It told upon the
ungodly, as was shown by an eloquent induction of circumstances,--the
shops closed--the sound of the church-going bell--the throngs of decent
worshippers going to and fro, &c.
Young men in great cities (it was observed) were in great danger,
chiefly from example. They met with those who were older in sin than
themselves--who prided themselves on knowing where the best oysters
were sold, the cheapest horses to be hired, or the cheapest boats to be
engaged for the Sunday's excursion. Young men were ready to think, "If
I don't do this, I may do something worse." The fallacy and danger of
this mode of reasoning were exposed. It might be employed to excuse any
sin. Public places of amusement were highways to destruction. Ah! how
those old people in that little cottage--surrounded with a stone
wall--on the hill side--far away--would weep, if they knew their son
was treading on the verge of these burning craters! Familiarity with
Sabbath-breaking destroyed the sense of guilt. The young medical
student when he first visited the dissecting-room, and the soldier when
he first stood on the field of battle, were sensible of misgivings,
against which repetition only made them proof,--each gradually losing
his first sensations.
The desecration of the Sabbath was a greater evil to society than any
tyrant could inflict. How would any infringement of civil rights be
resisted! Here was an infringement with consequences infinitely more
injurious; and yet the press were dumb dogs, and the pulpit itself was
not guiltless!
This masterly discourse was read, but read in such a manner as to lose
none of its effect. It occupied upwards of an hour. My irresistible
impression as I listened was, _There is a man of God!_ Truly a light
shining in a dark place; for, as I returned to my lodgings, I found the
coffee-houses, oyster-saloons, and theatres all open, just as on any
other day, only more thronged with customers. How much such discourses
are needed in this place, I leave you to judge from the following
extract from the _New Orleans Guide_:--
"The greatest market-day is Sunday. At break of day the gathering
commences,--youth and age--beauty and not so beautiful--all colours,
nations, and tongues are co-mingled in one heterogeneous mass of
delightful confusion. The traveller who leaves the city without
visiting one of the popular markets on Sunday morning has suffered a
rare treat to escape him."
On the evening of the next day, being the first Monday in the month, I
went to the "Concert" for prayer, which had been announced the day
before. It was held in a vestry or a school-room under the church.
About sixty or seventy persons were in attendance. When I got there,
they were singing the last verse of
"O'er the gloomy Mils of darkness," &c.
A gentleman then gave an address. His object was to show that extensive
fields were open in various parts of the world for the introduction of
the Gospel. There was nothing clerical in his appearance, and he
boggled a great deal; but, as he said "We, the ministers of the
Gospel," I inferred that he was the pastor of some other Presbyterian
church in the city. Behind the desk, where sat Dr. S----, was hung up a
missionary map of the world, drawn on canvas, and illuminated from
behind. It was an excellent device. All missionary prayer-meetings
should be furnished with one. Those parts where the Gospel is already
preached were light, the realms of Heathenism dark, the lands of Popery
red, and so forth.
After the address, the pastor called upon "Brother Franklin" to "lead
in prayer." The phrase was new to me, but I liked it,--it was
appropriate. The prayer was scriptural and good, as was that also of
another brother. The second prayed that the war, in which they were
then as a nation engaged, might be overruled for good, and "be the
means of introducing the Gospel and free institutions to a neighbouring
republic." Free institutions, indeed! (I said to myself): if you
conquer, I fear it will be the means of introducing slavery where now
it is not! After this prayer the pastor, having delivered a very short
address, gave out a hymn, and said that while they were singing Brother
such-a-one would "take up the collection,"--a phrase which seems to
indicate a greater degree of preparation on the part of the people than
our "make a collection." The Americans suppose it to be already made,
and nothing remains but to take it up. The good brother came round with
an old hat to receive contributions for the cause of missions. The
pastor then closed with a short prayer and the benediction. Upon the
whole, there were indications of a considerable degree of
warm-heartedness in reference to the missionary cause, and especially
of tender sympathy and affection towards missionaries themselves. As
one of the tribe, I found it rather difficult to preserve my _incog_.
There were present about half-a-dozen black people, some on the right
and some on the left of the pastor--"the place of honour!"
LETTER VI.
"Jack Jones"--A Public Meeting for Ireland--Henry Clay--Other
Speakers--American Feeling in reference to the Irish Famine--A
Slave-Auction.
On that dreadful day, the 28th of January, on which we arrived in New
Orleans, Jack Jones, a Welshman, was drowned in the Mississippi, in a
generous effort to save another man from a watery grave. In that effort
he succeeded, but at the cost of his own life. On the 2nd of February
there was an advertisement in the papers, in which his friends offered
a reward for the recovery of the body. Where was the corporation, or
some one of the municipalities? for the papers make a continual
reference to first, second, and third municipalities. Was there no
public body, either civil or humane, to come forward on such an
occasion? Had "Jack Jones" gone to the war, and butchered a score or
two of harmless Mexicans, he would have been loaded with honours; but
he _saved_ a human being, close to the metropolis of the South, and his
body was left to perish like that of a dog--for aught the citizens
cared. I felt proud of my countryman. All honour to "Jack Jones!" May
none of Cambria's sons perish in a cause less noble!
On the evening of the 4th of February I attended a public meeting for
the relief of the Irish. It was held in the New Commercial Exchange,
and was the first public meeting I had had an opportunity of attending
in America. The Commercial Exchange is a fine large building, supported
by pillars, and containing an area on the ground floor that would
accommodate about 1,500 people. It is but ill-adapted for a public
meeting, having no seats or benches. I found about 800 gentlemen
present, but no ladies. Nor was that to be wondered at; for out of the
800, about 799 were spitting, 600 smoking cigars, 100 chewing tobacco,
and perhaps 200 both chewing and smoking at the same time, for many of
those people chew one end of the cigar while burning the other. There
was a large platform, and a great number of gentlemen were upon it.
Governor Johnson was the president, assisted by lots of
vice-presidents. When I entered, a tall old gentleman, with rather high
cheek bones, and a voice somewhat tremulous and nasal, was speaking. He
descanted, in a second or third rate style, on the horrors of famine in
Ireland,--its horrors especially as seen in the family. Coming to a
period, he said, "It is under these circumstances that I want you to
put your hands into your pockets, and pull out something, and throw it
into the lap of starving Ireland!" This caused the most tremendous
cheering I ever heard,--"bravo--bravo--bravo,--whoo--hoo--whoo!" The
last sound was to me altogether new. Not having learned phonography, I
can give you no adequate notion of it; but it was a combination of the
owl's screech and the pig's scream. The favoured orator continued his
speech a little longer, and at the close there was a storm of applause
ten times more terrific than the former. And who was the speaker? It
was none other, as I subsequently ascertained, than the celebrated
Henry Clay! In departing from the tone of eulogy in which it is
fashionable to speak of him, I may be charged with a want of taste and
discrimination. That I cannot help. My simple object in these letters
is to tell how Transatlantic men and manners appeared to my eye or ear.
Before I went to America my respect for Henry Clay was very great. I am
sorry to say it is not so now. I have closely examined his conduct in
reference to "the peculiar institution," and find it to have been
that--not of a high-minded statesman and true philanthropist--but of a
trimming, time-serving partisan. He has been a main pillar of slavery;
and as the idol of the Whig party, a great stumbling-block in the way
of those who sought the overthrow of that system. The man of whom I
have thus freely, yet conscientiously expressed myself, is nevertheless
thus spoken of in the _New Englander_, a quarterly review of high
character now open before me:--"We intend to speak in the praise of
Henry Clay. His place among the great men of our country is permanently
fixed. He stands forth prominent above the politicians of the hour, in
the midst of the chosen few who are perpetual guardians of the interest
and of the honour [slavery?] of the nation. The foundations of his fame
are laid deep and imperishable, and the superstructure is already
erected. It only remains that the mild light of the evening of life be
shed around it."