The Author of this book, though a quadroon, is pleased to announce himself the “Colored man around the world.” Not because he may look at a colored man’s position as an honorable one at this age of the world, he is too smart for that, but because he has the satisfaction of looking with his own eyes and reason at the ruins of the ancestors of which he is the posterity. If the ruins of the Author’s ancestors were not a living language of their scientific majesty, this book could receive no such appellation with pride. Luxor, Carnack, the Memnonian and the Pyramids make us exclaim, “What monuments of pride can surpass these? what genius must have reflected on their foundations! what an ambition these people must have given to the rest of the world when found the glory of the world in their hieroglyphic stronghold of learning,” whose stronghold, to-day, is not to be battered down, because we cannot reach their hidden alphabet. Who is as one, we might suppose, “learned in all the learning of the Egyptians.” Have we as learned a man as Moses, and if yes, who can prove it? How did he come to do what no man can do now? You answer, God aided him; that is not the question! No, all you know about it is he was “learned in all the learning of the Egyptians,” that is the answer; and thereby knew how to facilitate a glorious cause at heart, because had he been less learned, who could conceive how he could have proved to us to be a man full of successful logic. Well, who were the Egyptians? Ask Homer if their lips were not thick, their hair curly, their feet flat and their skin black.
But the Author of this book, though a colored man, hopes to die believing that this federated government is destined to be the noblest fabric ever germinated in the brain of men or the tides of Time. Though a colored man, he believes that he has the right to say that, in his opinion, the American people are to be the Medes and Persians of the 19th century. He believes, from what he has seen in the four quarters of the globe, that the federal tribunal of this mighty people and territory, are to weigh other nations’ portion of power by its own scale, and equipoise them on its own pivot, “the will of the whole people,” the federal people. And as he believes that the rights of ignorant people, whether white or black, ought to be respected by those who have seen more, he offers this book of travels to that class who craves to know what those know who have respect for them. In offering this book to the public, I will say, by the way, I wrote it under the disadvantage of having access to no library save Walker’s school dictionary. In traveling through Europe, Asia and Africa, I am indebted to Mr. Cornelius Fellowes, of the highly respectable firm of Messrs. Fellowes & Co., 149 Common St., New Orleans, La. This gentleman treated me as his own son, and could look on me as as free a man as walks the earth. But if local law has power over man, instead of man’s effects, I was legally a slave, and would be to-day, like my mother, were I on Louisiana’s soil instead of Ohio’s.
When we returned to America, after a three years’ tour, I called on this original man to consummate a two-fold promise he made me, in different parts of the world, because I wanted to make a connection, that I considered myself more than equaled in dignity and means, but as he refused me on old bachelor principles, I fled from him and his princely promises, westward, where the “star of empire takes its way,” reflecting on the moral liberties of the legal freedom of England, France and our New England States, with the determination to write this book of “overlooked things” in the four quarters of the globe, seen by “a colored man round the world.”
THE AUTHOR.
This day, June 15th, 1851, I commence my writings of a promiscuous voyage. This day is Sunday. I am going from the Custom house, where I have deposited my baggage to be searched for contraband goods, and making my way along a street that might be termed, from its appearance, “The street of cemeteries.” This street is in Liverpool, and is a mercantile street in every sense of the word, and the reason why it looked so lonesome and a business street at that, is wanting. I must now explain why so great a street looked dismal. The English people are, indeed, a moral people. This was the Sabbath, and the “bells were chiming,” discoursing the sweetest sacred music I had ever heard. The streets were very narrow and good. Their material was solid square stones closely packed together. The houses were very high, some being six stories. Not one house for half a mile had a door or window ajar. It was raining; consequently not a person was to be seen. All of a sudden the coachman drew up to the side walk, and, opening the coach, said, “Adelphi, sir.” I was looking with considerable interest to see the hotel of so much celebrity on board the ship. Captain Riley had informed me that it was a house not to be surpassed in the “hotel line,” and I had put an estimated interest on this important item to travelers that Southerners are too much addicted to. I mean to say, that I, a Southerner, judge too much by appearance, instead of experience. I had been taught at Orleans that the “English could whip all the world, and we could whip the English,” and that England was always in great danger of being starved by us, and all her manufactories stopped in double quick time by Southern cotton-planters. But, the greatest absurdity of all was, that England was very much afraid that we would declare war against her, and thereby ruin what little independence she still retains. I, under this dispensation of knowledge, looked around to see the towering of a “St. Charles or Verandah,” but when I saw a house looking like all the rest, I came to the conclusion that the English were trying to get along without making any improvement, as it was not certain how long we would permit her to remain a “monarchial independent nation.” Just then a well-dressed gentleman opened the door and descended the steps with an umbrella to escort me in. “Come right in here, sir,” said he, leading me into a large room, with an organ and hat-stands as its furniture. The organ was as large as an ordinary sized church organ. The gentleman took my overcoat and hung it up. He then asked me some questions concerning the voyage, after which he asked me to walk to the Bureau and register my name. This done we ascend one flight of stairs and enter my room. He asked me if I wished fire. I answered in the affirmative. He left me.
Having seated myself a la American, I listened very attentively to “those chiming bells.” Tap, tap on my door called forth another American expression, “come in.” The door opened and a beautiful girl of fifteen summers came in with a scuttle of coal and kindling. She wore on her head a small frilled cap, and it was very small. A snow white apron adorned her short, neat dress. A man is a good deal like a dog in some particulars. He may be uncommonly savage in his nature, and as soon as he sees his sexual mate, his attention is manifested in the twinkling of an eye. She looked so neat, I thought it good policy to be polite, and become acquainted. Having finished making a lively little fire, she rose up from her half-bending posture to follow up her duty through the hotel. “What is your name, Miss,” said I; “Mary,” said she, at the same time moving away. “I shall be here a week said I, and want you to take care of me.” Mary’s pretty little feet could stay no longer with propriety the first time.
In fifteen minutes the gong rang for dinner. I locked my door, and made my way through the narrow passages to hunt head quarters. Passing one of the inferior passage ways, I saw Mary half whispering to one of her companions about the American, and laughing jocularly. Her eyes fell upon me just as mine did on her. In the twinkling of an eye she conveyed an idea to her comrade that the topic must be something else, which seemed to have been understood before conveyed. “Mary,” said I, “I want some washing done,” as polite as a piled basket of chips. She stepped up to me and said, “Are they ready, sir?” “No,” said I, “I will be up in a few minutes,” (we always do things by minutes.) “I will call for them,” said she. I descended and found a good dinner, after which I walked into the newsroom, where I found several of the merchants of Liverpool assembled to read and discuss the prevailing topics of interest. Seated close to a table on which was the London Times, New York Tribune and Herald, the French Journal, called the Moniteur, besides several other Journals of lesser note, was a noble looking gentleman. On the other side of this feast of news was another noble and intellectual looking gentleman. These were noblemen from different parts of England. They were quietly discussing the weak points in American policy. One held that if the negroes of the Southern States were fit for freedom, it would be an easy matter for four million of slaves to raise the standard of liberty, and maintain it against 250,000 slaveholders. The other gentleman held that it was very true, but they needed some white man, well posted in the South, with courage enough to plot the entree. He continued, at great length, to show the feasibility under a French plotter. He closed with this expression, “One intelligent Frenchman like Ledru Rollin could do the whole thing before it could be known.” I came to the conclusion that they were not so careful in the expression of their views as I thought they ought to be. I was quite sure that they would not be allowed to use such treasonable language at Orleans or Charleston as that they had just indulged in.
Sitting in my room about an hour after hearing this nauseous language, Mary came for the clothes, for that is what she asked for. I requested Mary to wait until Monday morning, for the fact was, I had no clothes—they were in the Custom House. Here Mary began to show more familiarity than I had ever shown, but she only expressed enough to show me that she only wished to return for my clothes when they were ready. I gave her to understand that nothing would give me more pleasure than to have her return again for them.
Two weeks have gone by. I am now packing my trunk for London. In half an hour, the evening express train leaves here for a five hours’ cruise over farms of rich and poor, like a streak of lightning. I find on the day of departure that the servants are like the servants of all parts of my own country. It is impossible for me to do anything for myself. I have offers from nearly all parts of the Hotel, volunteering to do all that is to be done and more too.—Before I commenced packing my trunk, I went down to the Bureau (office) to have my bill made out. As I passed along the passage I saw a large man with slippers on, with a cap denoting Cookery, bowing and scraping. I instantly perceived that my fame, as an American, had reached the culinary sanctum. I requested the Clerk to have my bill ready, but found that I was too late in the information to be given. My bill was already made out.
A quarter to 5 o’clock, I showed to Mary, my sincere wishes for her welfare, and left my apartment. Her cap was neater than when I located there; her apron was whiter, and her hair was neater. I done my duty to the advice given by Murray, who is the author of the Guide Book of all Europe, Asia, and even Africa. He says that it is best to give a small bonus to the menials in public or private houses. The landlord, saw me in the coach and wished me a happy voyage to London. When the coach moved gradually away from that small Hotel, it carried lingering thoughts of friendship and comfort. I thought of the kind attention, and obedient but commanding language of all I had seen, and the moral came home to my heart, saying “you have value received.” I reflected on Mary’s cap and snow white apron; the old porter’s hopeful countenance; the dining room servants; and how well they seemed to be pleased, when the driver stopped my coach and landed me at the London station in a good humor. All aboard! The Cars, (express train in a hurry) dashed on with fury, and I found myself a happy man on my way to London.
Last night I arrived here, making the time from Liverpool in five hours and a half. My location is between Buckingham Palace and Trafalgar Square. I am on the second floor, in the Trafalgar Hotel, on Trafalgar Square. The Queen, when in London, resides at this celebrated palace. It is in St. James’ Park. This July 28th, London is the world’s Bazaar. The Crystal Palace is the acquafortis of curiosity that gives the arcadial polish to London’s greatness. This is the place where every country is trying to make a pigmy of some other. In this great feast of genius no country is fairly represented. The United States has many articles of arts in the palace that are not what she has ever prided herself on as her arts. One of our ordinary Steam Boats would have astonished the natives beyond the admiration of all the trumpery that we ever contemplate carrying to a World’s Fair. I was, indeed, ashamed to see the piles of India Rubber Shoes, Coats and Pants, and Clocks that stood out in bas relief in that part of the palace appropriated to the American Arts and Sciences.—Pegged Shoes and Boots were without number. Martingales and Side Saddles, Horse Shoes, Ploughs, Threshing Machines, Irrigators, and all the most worthless trash to be found in the States. I saw everything that was a prevailing disgrace to our country except slaves. I understood that a South Carolinian proposed taking half a dozen haughty and sinewy negroes to the Fair, but was only deterred from that proposition by the want of courage to risk six fat, strong healthy negroes to the chances of escape from slavery to freedom. In the centre of this beautiful and most splendid palace, was a Band of Music not to be surpassed by any Band for discoursing sweet melody. Close to this music was a beautiful fountain, throwing sprays upward like the heaves of a shark; and round about this fountain were seats for ladies and gentlemen to take refreshments together. This palace resembles, in a great degree, “Paradise found;” there is also some sparrows inside yet, that the Falcons did not run out when those twenty thousand took possession some months ago. These little birds light about among this gay crowd as if they were on one of our wild prairies, lighting among the still gayer tribe of flora. Two or three tried to light on a spray of water, but could not make it go. I see two sitting on a piano, whilst one is trying to get an equilibrium on the strings of a harp. The piano now opens and a noblemen is seating one of the most handsome women there I have seen in England. I said to a young Englishman, that is indeed a handsome woman. He said yes, she is generally pronounced the handsomest woman in London. I enquired her pedigree and found that it was the benevolent Duchess of Sutherland; like a humming bird, from one “sweet flower” to another her alabaster-like fingers darted from the bassiest note to the flutiest. The pianos were generally enclosed like a separate tomb with railings a yard from the pianos. After her highness had played out “God Save the Queen” and brought an audience round the railing, as if they really came to protect the “queen of beauty,” she played a thrilling retreat as if her intention was to convey the idea that she must retreat or be captured. The piece played, she rose straight up and gazed around upon the recruits she had drummed up with the air of a successful adventurer throughout the world; she moved along this immense crowd of various classes like a swan in a showery storm. Whilst all was in commotion, she seemed more herself. The noble gallant seemed to be quite conscious that the lady he was gallanting was the Duchess of Sutherland.
On the outside of the Crystal Palace is a small, fairy-like house, erected for Prince Albert and her majesty the Queen of England to lunch in when they visit the Fair. It is said that the Prince planned it himself. In this pretty little house is enough furniture of various beauties to make an ordinary Fair itself.
The Police regulations about this Fair are admirable. There is no question that can be asked about this affair but will be properly and intellectually answered by any policeman. They are intelligent men and seem to take an interest as well as pride in this great Fair.
It is now 4 o’clock. All the streets within a mile of the Crystal Palace are crowded with people, instead of drays, carts, wagons and other impeding obstacles to the World’s Fair. For a quarter of a mile down the street that leads to St. James’ Square, where the Queen resides, at Buckingham Palace, I presume I can see 50,000 people bareheaded, that is to say, they have their hats off. But, at the further end of this quarter of a mile, I see a uniform commotion, and this commotion of heads are coming towards Hyde Park. I mean only the commotion but not the heads. These heads are being responded to from an open plain Calashe, that is coming as rapid as a Post Chaise from the battle field when bringing good tidings to a King.—The object of this exciting moment is the Queen of England. One minute and she is gone by, as she passed me, bowing on all sides to the crowd greeting her. I felt a sort of religious thrill pass over me, and I said to myself “this is civilization.” Her Majesty was evidently proud of her people’s homage; and her people were not ashamed to show their loyalty to their “gracious Queen.” She was looking remarkably healthy for one living on the delicacies of a Queen. In fact she was too healthy in appearance for a Queen. Her color was too red and masculine for a lady. She was considerable stouter than I thought she was, and quite as handsome as I expected to find the great Queen. Seated opposite her, face to face, was her Maid of Honor; and seated by her side vis-a-vis to the Queen, was a couple of the “little bloods” of her Majesty and Prince Coburgh. I thought it strange that his highness, Prince Albert, was not accompanying the Queen. I learned afterwards that it was usual for the Queen to go in Hyde Park alone. I also found that the Prince and his courtiers were gone out deer stalking.
In the Queen’s calashe was four greys. The driver rode the hindmost left horse. In his right hand he carried a light whip which was altogether useless. About 50 yards ahead of this moving importance, a liveried outrider sped on at a rapid speed, that the populace might know that he was soliciting their attention to making way for the Queen. He wore long, white-legged boots, and held his Arab steed as artful as a Bedouin sporting over a rocky desert. His other habiliments were red, save his hat, which was a latest style silk. The driver keeps him in view, and has nothing to do but mount and drive off after this courier or out-rider, who gets his orders at the Palace where to lead.
It is said that the Queen is not celebrated for a good temper. Like her symbol, the lion, she is not to be bearded by any one, no matter how important. She is a natural monarch and feels her royalty. Prince Albert is one of the handsomest men I ever saw. The like of the Prince’s popularity among the ladies of the Court cannot be equaled by any nobleman in England; but that popularity must be general, it cannot be in spots, for the Queen is not unlike other women under the influence of the “green-eyed monster.” Although Prince Albert’s virtue has never been dishonored by even a hint, still the Queen is not to be too trusty. Prince Albert is a model of a “true gentleman.” He could not suspect half as quick as the most virtuous Queen the world has ever been ornamented with.
The English people are alone in all things pertaining to domestic life. It would puzzle the double-width intellect of a hermit to tell what one was thinking about; and this nonchalence of air to surrounding circumstances is every moment blowing upon the object in their heart. France sets the fashion for the world, but what the morning paper say about the dress worn by the empress on the champs d’elysee yesterday, is not what the poorest maid servant is trying to find out to cut her calico by, but what her Majesty wore at Windsor or Buckingham. These people were wearing the skins of the beasts of their forests in the days of the Cæsars’ invasion, and barbarous as our Indians, but now they are the most civilized and christian power on this earth.
A German now sitting by my side tells me this is a gross subject for me to be writing upon. I asked what subject? He said Konigon (Queen). On reflection I find it true, and now retire from the beading of this chapter.
I am now all cap a pie for Paris. Ho! for Boston, is nothing to ah! Paris. I have been this morning to get my last view of the great Palace of the World’s Fair. I have since been to Greenwich to eat white bait, and I am now hurrying on to the station. Whoever wishes to see a good deal of the country, and a broken down route, had better take what is called the Brighton Route. If you leave London at 6 o’clock in the evening, you will stop at 8 o’clock at New Haven, a place with a name on the map, but in fact no place at all, save the destination of the train of this route. There you will, in all probability, have to wait about an old building an hour or two for the arrival of a boat to take you across the channel. Next morning, if you are lucky, you arrive at 8 o’clock at a little old French town called Dieppe, just in time to be too late to take the morning train for Paris. It is said that these little old half dead towns live off these tricks. I got a pretty breakfast a la carte