Historical Romance of the American Negro — John Shaqi
Historical Romance of the American NegroFowler, Charles Henry
History
Historical Romance of the American Negro
Fowler, Charles Henry
African Americans -- History
Once more I found myself at one of the railway stations, and took my
departure for Cincinnati, by way of Cleveland and Columbus, Ohio. It was
most delightful traveling to speed over the rails along the shore of
Lake Erie, to see once more the lovely foliage of the forests of the
beautiful state of Ohio, and then at last to skim away, and away down
the smooth and level banks of the Little Miami river, where I could
hardly hear or feel the train in motion at all. At last the "beautiful
river," as the French called the Ohio, hove in sight once more, with the
delightful hills of Kentucky and Ohio, on opposite sides, running up
from the water’s edge, all clad with forest trees.
I next came to Cincinnati, and the "Public Landing" was crowded with
passengers and traffic going up and down the river, and as neither Tom
nor myself were millionaires, and I was desirous of cheapening things as
much as I could, I went aboard one of these floating palaces of the
Mississippi, and engaged myself as a waitress for the voyage down the
Mississippi. The "Natchez" was to leave at 4 P. M. the same day, so I
got my trunk on board, and reported myself for duty.
I gave a shout for joy as we left the Public Landing and floated out on
the mighty and splendid Ohio. Owing to the recent heavy rains all along
the head branches of this beautiful river, the stream was swollen from
bank to bank, and presented a grand appearance as we plunged into the
high-rolling waves and surges in the centre of the river. The glorious
sun danced upon the silvery tide, and covered all the forests, the hills
and dales on each side of the great and rushing flood. Huge barges were
floating down from Pittsburg, and the far North, and large and small
craft of every description were dancing and whirling away, whistling and
screaming and advancing towards us, or retreating around the bends.
So far as my duties on the boat permitted, my eyes were never off the
river, the hills, woods and forests, and the wild, fast-flowing traffic
that was going up and down, and which seemed to have no end. The red and
fiery sun went down in the wild waters of the beautiful river that
looked like heaving, molten gold; then up came the silver moon, and
turned all things visible into silver sheen.
The great Creator, indeed, was on the waves, and the Natchez drove on at
a rapid rate. We had now the Indiana shore on our right hand, having
passed the Ohio state line at Lawrenceburg, Indiana. In the early
morning we came to Louisville, Ky., where we remained for a few hours.
Here we passed through the Portland canal, and soon went by Riverside
Hall, and the little cabin on the opposite side of the river. It stands
two or three miles below New Albany, and I could see some of our dear
friends standing before the door. It was here that Tom and I had crossed
the Ohio.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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