The fever in these parts is not so bad now as it used to be, for it would seem that the older the place gets, and the more it is cultivated, the better the fever is. Having long passed through the acclimatizing process, and having watched others do so with equal success, I am glad that I can say that I love this country more than I did at first. The seasons here remain quite different from those in my old country, yet the weather seems to get cooler. This year we have been blessed with little rain, and the sun has parched up most of all of the crops in the fields, so if you would be so kind as to send me out something, I would feel much obliged. Anything, I do not mind what it is, for I feel sure that it will make a valuable contribution.
Farming is now our main occupation, the numbers at the mission school having fallen off in a dramatic manner. I have my fields planted with potatoes, arrowroot, cassava, and considerable corn. In addition, I have a large number of cotton bushes, and a variety of other vegetables. I have also planted a large piece in rice, and together with the natives work from morning till sunset clearing and planting. I should be much obliged to you if you would send me a mill, for I have tried to cut a stone for that purpose, but found it beyond me. I am not in such a prosperous situation as might be expected, for it remains difficult to exchange produce for foreign produce, and besides, we make up just enough to sustain us from starvation. I have fowls in plenty, of all kinds. I have also hogs and goats. My homed cattle are only now beginning to increase, and some of the more skilled natives have, under my influence, made fences to secure them. They would, before this, often run out into the woods where they would quickly become lost. Keeping this rich land in order, and clean of grass and weeds, is my main task. But any man who will use common industry can raise much that he will eventually employ.
If, dear Father, these lines should find you in the land of the living, I will be more than glad to hear from you. I have written many letters to you at different times across the breadth of the last few years, and yet you seem reluctant to engage with me. I have come to the conclusion that you have repudiated me for reasons that perhaps owe their origins to some form of shame. Is there perhaps someone who has poisoned your mind against me? If these lines should find you in health, please return me an answer by the shortest way. My pleas with you to aid me, on behalf of all of this settlement, have been ill-received, for you have made nothing available to ease my present circumstances. Like all new countries, this is a very hard one, and some kindness on your part would have been pleasing to me. Should you have chosen to send me seeds of all description, I would have gladly made some use of them. I have given you full accounts of this place, so you can be in no doubt as to the often troubling nature of affairs hereabouts. That you have chosen to ignore my request that I might once more visit America to pay respects to my departed mother, and to cast my eyes upon old friends, has caused my heart to suffer in a great deal of pain. I have little opportunity for intercourse with familiar emigrants in these parts, for most of those who know of you are scattered all about the country, some few up here, but most down in the capital. So daily I wonder about those names across the water who, hearing no news, I constantly fear may have already departed this life.
Only last week I chanced to go into Monrovia in order that I might visit with old friends, both white and black. But not only could I not discern any news, it would appear that my present domestic arrangements have caused some offense to those who would hold on to America as a beacon of civilization, and an example of all that is to be admired. Are we not in Africa? This is what I constantly asked of the blacks. But it appeared they felt I merely sought to justify my native style of living. I counter-rallied and made it plain that I have nothing to justify, for amongst the emigrants I am indisputably the proudest holder of my race, but I soon found myself effectively shunned by my fellow Americans, many of whom privately mock African civilization whilst outwardly aping the fashion and posture of persons returned home. I realized that it would be beneficial for my health were I to cease conversation, withdraw, and return for ever to the safety of my Saint Paul’s River settlement.
Sad to report, but before my retreat from the capital I was able to ascertain that these days the chief topic of conversation is that ancient immovable, slavery. Hardly a week passes on this coast of Africa without some report of a sea-bound slaver, and its unfortunate cargo, who have been afforded protection by the unfurling of the Star Spangled Banner. Without the hoisting of this emblem, the British man-of-wars would quickly, and happily, take these ships captive and liberate their black inhabitants. To most colored men, who reside here in liberty, and would expect liberty to encompass all of Africa, this dark land of our forefathers, this American protectionism is a disgrace to our dignity, and a stain on the name of our country. The hoisting of some other banner would be scarcely less insulting, but that they choose to sport our national flag, this is surely too much. But sadly, there is still more to be said on this subject of slavery. It appears that slave-dealers are establishing slave factories within the territory of Liberia, cunningly situating them further down the coast in the hope of avoiding prying eyes. The Governor recently ordered one such villain away, telling him he had no right to deal in slaves in that territory, and instructing him under threat of penalty that he must remove his factory in so many days. However, contrary to his agreement, he would not do so, and so the factory was broken up and forty puncheons of rum turned loose on the ground. There are those in Monrovia who profit handsomely from this business, and who would choose to ignore the existence of such evil deeds and their correction, but the problems of slavery continue to plague us, yes, even here in the bosom of liberty.
The rains are still with us, and the sky continues to open its heart and shed tears upon all the known earth. Master, you took me into your house as a young boy and instructed me in the ways of civilized man. Under your tutelage, I acquired whatever rude skills I now possess in the art of reading and writing, and more besides. Why have you forsaken me? There are many things I cannot discuss with my native wife, for it would be improper for her to share with me the memories of what I was before. I am to her what she found here in Africa. If this is to be goodbye, then let it be with love and respect in equal portion. I must close these hasty lines by saying I remain your affectionate son.
Nash Williams
2
Just when Edward’s recovery appeared complete, he was seized again by another severe fever and the accompanying shivering. He dragged his wretched body back to the safety of his bed, and, as the British doctor applied a cold towel to his head, he closed his bloodshot eyes. Sadly, Edward’s stubborn fever refused to break, and merciful sleep eluded him as his mind ranged back and forth. When sleep did come it was soon destroyed by demons which prodded at his memory as though it were an open wound. Accordingly, at night he chose instead to lie perfectly still, the towel now hot and burning his brow, his stubbled aspect irritating him to the point of madness, and he simply stared out of the window and up into the black African sky. The thick heat of this devil’s climate clung to him like a woven blanket, and he was constantly visited by that unwelcome guest, thirst. Edward prayed earnestly, and with devotion, that he might be spared these days and nights of sad affliction, and that his health be soon restored to him.