Latrobe was himself an exceedingly complex man. He shared the widespread belief among Maryland whites that the state’s growing population of free blacks constituted a serious threat to Maryland’s peace, stability, and prosperity. Like other supporters of colonization in Maryland, he envisioned removing free blacks and recently emancipated slaves to West Africa as a way of whitening the state, and he hoped that national colonization efforts would give America what he called “a homogenous white population.” Convinced that blacks could not survive in freedom in America, Latrobe thought that colonization afforded a “refuge for the weaker” African race. It was not that he feared a race war, as many did, but he believed that the natural superiority of whites would mean a “dwindling away” of free blacks “under the force of circumstances” that neither blacks nor whites were able to control. Yet Latrobe also believed—unlike most whites—that blacks were fully capable of governing themselves, and in the coming years he worked tirelessly to promote black leadership in the Cape Palmas colony. He also welcomed blacks into his home as his guests, and on occasion he challenged conventional lines of separation between blacks and whites in Baltimore. But many blacks in Baltimore were quick to point out that even his benevolence and good intentions were undergirded by the deepest racism.21
William Watkins, a free black teacher, led the opposition in the city to colonization. “Why,” he asked, “should we abandon our firesides and everything associated with the dear name of home?” Two years before Leighton’s visit to Baltimore, Watkins had written in William Lloyd Garrison’s Liberator that he and other blacks in the city would “rather die in Maryland under the pressure of unrighteous and cruel laws than be driven, like cattle, to the pestilential clime of Liberia, where grievous privation, inevitable disease, and premature death, await us in all their horrors.” Colonization, Watkins argued, was simply deportation—a way to strengthen slavery by insisting that “our natural color” is an “obstacle to our moral and political improvement in these United States.”22
But a minority of strong voices in Baltimore’s black community supported colonization. They believed that the racism of white America was so deep, so entrenched in every aspect of American society, that blacks—whether free or slave—had no true home in the United States. They were convinced that to escape from daily insults and harsh physical subjugation, and to be free from the assaults upon their sense of self-worth and dignity, they had to leave the land of oppression and return to Africa, their Motherland. Already a small number of blacks had left the city for Liberia. Most prominent among them was George R. McGill, a teacher and Methodist minister. He had quickly established himself as a leading merchant in Monrovia and had been back in Baltimore promoting colonization a short time before Leighton began his conversations with Latrobe. In contrast, he said, to being demeaned in America for their skin color, “colored men [in Liberia] from the United States, being thought by the natives to be men of information, are received and treated as white men, and denominated by the same epithet.”23
Leighton was consequently entering deeply disputed territory when he began his conversation with Latrobe. Some whites, like the rabble in Columbia and radical proslavery elites, thought colonization was an attack on slavery. Others, like Latrobe, thought colonization was an answer to what they regarded as the problem of free blacks in American society and a way to whiten the nation. And the blacks were themselves divided between those who believed that colonization was nothing more than deportation—one more indication of the racism of whites—and those who thought colonization was the only means of escaping white oppression and racism. Wilson was clearly aware of these competing claims, their emotional power, and how they could be a distraction from his intended missionary efforts—especially if his mission station was to be located in the midst of the new Maryland colony. But, much to his later regret, he felt that Latrobe’s offer provided an opportunity for establishing a base in a land that was to him unknown. At least he could go on the ship that was to carry the first colonists to Cape Palmas. Once there, he could see for himself if the new colony of Maryland in Liberia was the place to establish an American missionary presence in West Africa.
Latrobe’s offer held particular appeal for Leighton because he was deeply impressed by the appointed governor of the new colony—Dr. James Hall, a white physician who already had extensive experience in West Africa. “He is,” Leighton wrote Jane, “a small man, lame and uses a crutch—appears to be good natured and has a good deal of philanthropy, but not pious.” Leighton thought his chief characteristic was his “good common sense.” He knew the Africa fever and how to treat it—indeed, he had suffered recurrent bouts of it himself. The opportunity to accompany such an accomplished physician helped Leighton decide to sail with the colonists.24
The board in Boston agreed with Leighton’s decision, and he began to make immediate preparations for his departure. He contracted with a builder in Baltimore to construct a house to carry out in parts. He began to purchase necessary supplies for himself and for Joe Clay, who had arrived after a detour through New York. And he greeted with delight the decision of an old Union college classmate, Stephen Wynkoop, to join him on the exploratory trip.25
While making his preparations for the trip, Leighton preached to large congregations in Philadelphia, Washington, and Baltimore. His mission to West Africa had caught the imagination of many and evoked growing support for the cause of mission. “What an interest is now felt in the welfare of Africa,” he wrote Jane. “No part of the world is attracting half the same interest. God grant that it may increase, not exclusively, until all the injuries inflicted for ages shall be repaired and the light of the gospel pervade the whole continent.”26
ONE PRESSING QUESTION remained before Leighton left for West Africa—What were he and Jane to do about the African American slaves they had inherited? They had apparently been discussing this question since they first met in Savannah. Perhaps Jane’s maid, Charlotte, had entered the room as the young couple talked together about the “poor benighted Africans,” and they had suddenly realized that their commitment to foreign missions had deep implications for this young black woman who stood before them. Or maybe they had seen Paul bring his carpenter’s wages to Nicholas while they were discussing the practical matters of marriage. Or perhaps, when they talked about leaving behind family and friends to go to some unknown place on the coast of Africa, they had realized that they would also be leaving behind black men, women, and children who were legally their property—human beings for whom they felt a burden of responsibility. Whatever the particular occasion that first raised the issue for them, Leighton and Jane knew they had to make some decisions about their slaves. Most immediately pressing was the question of what to do about those who lived in the settlement on Hutchinson Island and in the quarters behind the Bayard home in Savannah. This question was pressing not only because Leighton and Jane were making plans to go to West Africa, but also because Margaret and James were preparing to leave shortly for Ceylon. As co-owners of the slaves they had inherited through their mother, Jane and Margaret—together with their husbands—needed to reach some agreement about the life and destiny of those who were theirs.27
Leighton went to Philadelphia to say his goodbyes to Margaret and James and to discuss this daunting question with them. Both of the couples knew that, even if they wanted to, they could not manage slaves from some distant place. Selling them was out of the question. The couples felt that such an act would be morally abhorrent. Furthermore, if they sold their slaves, their own character would be deeply tarnished in the eyes of many—perhaps especially in Boston and among supporters of the American Board. None of the four wanted to undermine their future work as missionaries. But freeing slaves was no easy thing—Georgia had passed laws that required any freed slave to leave the state, and many free states had made it very difficult for freed persons to enter. And what about the slaves themselves? Were they willing to leave Savannah, if given the choice, and say goodb
ye forever to family and friends left behind?28
Margaret had already been seeking Leighton’s advice—as a Southerner from Pine Grove he knew better than James both the possibilities and the difficulties owners faced when thinking about the future of their slaves. Jane also wrote to Leighton wondering if anything should be done about the slaves before he sailed for Africa. Already their friend Thomas Clay, who was traveling in the North, had advised Margaret to free her slaves and have them join the new colony at Cape Palmas. Leighton agreed tentatively—he would have no legal say until after his marriage to Jane—but he was clear about several things. “Every human being,” he wrote Jane, “who is capable of self-government and would be happier in a state of freedom than in bondage ought to be free.” He was, however, not “a friend to immediate and universal emancipation and for the simple reason that all Negroes are not ready for freedom and would be worse in that than in their present conditions.”29
Leighton did believe that Jane and Margaret’s slaves should be freed and helped to settle in Africa. But, he said, the decision must depend on three things. First was their willingness to go. “No Negro,” he wrote, “ought to be forced to go to Africa.” Since it was now almost impossible to free slaves and let them remain in Georgia, he advised that if they could not be persuaded to emigrate, she should “let them be continued in the hands of some kind master.” Second, the freed slaves would need to be fit for the demands of colonizing under very difficult conditions. Thinking of the deep privation that many settlers were reporting from Liberia, he wrote that “I do not conceive that all Negroes are fit to colonize—not having been accustomed to provide for themselves, they may suffer, as many have in Liberia.” Like most other whites, he thought of the houses the slaves lived in, the food they ate, and the clothing they wore as things that slave owners provided for their slaves. He seemed strangely unaware that the houses were built by the slaves themselves, the food largely raised by slaves, and most of the clothing sewn by slaves. He shared the widespread belief that blacks needed whites to look after them. Third was the issue of where they would settle in Africa, which had not yet been determined and might influence the decision. He had heard such discouraging reports about turmoil in Monrovia and the Liberian settlements around it that he was unwilling to recommend Liberia proper. The new settlement at Cape Palmas was a possibility, but if the Bayard slaves went there, Jane and Margaret would have to bear the cost of transportation and of providing the necessary supplies for an extended period. “You know the character of your Negroes,” he concluded, “and can judge best whether they are fit subjects for colonization. Upon the whole I think you had better let things remain just as they are and say nothing about the subject until I return to this country or until you hear from me after I have returned to this country or until you hear from me after I have reached Africa. And after all, I want you to act entirely according to your own feelings and judgement. Do what is right and I promise to be satisfied.”30
In this way Margaret, James, Leighton, and Jane discussed and began to make decisions about the life and destiny of those who lived in the Hutchinson Island settlement and in the quarters behind the Bayard home. So Paul continued his carpentry in Savannah; his sister, Charlotte, continued to see after Jane’s needs; and his mother, Mary, continued to bring vegetables to the market while they and all those known as Bayard slaves waited and no doubt wondered.
PART II
Journey to a West African Cape
Chapter Five
Testing the Waters
On a cold, rainy morning in late November 1832, the pioneer settlers of Maryland in Liberia struggled up the gangplank of the brig Ann. William Cassell, a freeborn barber and saddler, came on board with his wife, Frances, and their two-year-old son, Charles. Jacob Gross, a farmer, along with his wife, Rosanna, and their five children, had been freed by a Maryland planter in order to emigrate. They, too, came on board as part of the little band of emigrants, only eleven adults in all, who carried with them bundles of their carefully gathered possessions together with ducks and cackling chickens, stubborn goats, and squealing pigs. After securing all amidships, the emigrants assembled on the deck with their children. They were, no doubt, both excited and anxious, for they were leaving all that was familiar, all those places and memories they had known as home, for a distant homeland, for what they believed was a better country. As sons and daughters of Africa, they believed they were on their way to a promised land to receive and possess an inheritance, a freedom and dignity they had only seen from afar.1
Leighton, Joe Clay, Stephen Wynkoop, and Dr. James Hall, all filled with their own emotions and hopes, joined them on deck. The new flag of the colony, heavy with rain, hung above them all. A crowd gathered on the wharf. Speeches were made. Prayers were said. And a hymn, composed by Latrobe, was sung: “For Africa, For Africa, our way lies o’er the deep / For Africa, For Africa!—oh who would stay behind?” Musically it was an inauspicious beginning, and the hymn apparently faded quietly into oblivion. But the embarkation marked a new moment in the colonization movement and the beginning of Leighton’s journey to Africa.2
The Ann was a wretched little ship, hard to handle even as it left port. “The Ann fairly rolled down river,” wrote Dr. Hall. “It could scarcely be called sailing.” It took two weeks to get out of the Chesapeake. From the outset, the vessel seemed designed for seasickness. Leighton shared a little cabin—seven feet by ten—with five others, including Stephen Wynkoop, James Hall, and the ship’s crusty, cursing captain. The settlers were lodged in even more crowded quarters amidships, where families had to share the little space that was theirs. Joe Clay found a place among them and must have heard during the coming weeks not only the crying of the children and the sounds of seasickness, but also their stories about life in Maryland and their hopes for life in Africa.3
In this way they tossed and rolled out into the Atlantic following winds and currents that for three centuries had provided highways for sailing ships. The Ann and its passengers were riding a world in motion, an Atlantic world that moved clockwise with winds, with currents sweeping eastward in the north and westward in the south linking four continents in great, complex networks of human activity. As the Ann rolled through the waters of the open ocean, it was riding a world with a past, a world with a human history. Along these Atlantic highways had come traders and settlers, priests and preachers, soldiers and government officials. And with them had come plants and animals, diseases and medicines, religious beliefs and social systems, gold and guns, and the products of human ingenuity. But, above all, what had ridden these highways in the holds of ships had been African slaves and the sugar, tobacco, rice, and cotton that had been drawn from their labors and sorrows. The passengers on the Ann knew that they were traveling a highway of bitter memories, and that they were, in some small way, trying to reverse the flow and direction of a brutal history.4
After eight weeks at sea and what seemed an interminable time of tossing and seasickness, the ship became becalmed off the coast of Sierra Leone. Now her only movement was a dead, heavy roll in the swells of the sea. The heat seemed unbearable. “No awning or deck-house,” wrote Hall. “The sun pouring down upon the deck, the pitch frying out of the seams, all felt that the voyage must end there, and we suffer the fate of sundry cockroaches, brought occasionally on deck with fire wood and ship stores, who failing to reach shadow or shelter, would keel over and die.”5
With the mainland not yet in sight, Hall and Leighton could not bear the waiting any longer, and so they determined to take the little sailboat Hall had brought along and launch out on their own for Monrovia. The decision was uncharacteristically impetuous for men who were ordinarily prudent, but the captain provided a seaman to help with the sail and four equally impatient settlers volunteered to go and help row if the wind failed.
The group set out on Wednesday evening, January 22, 1833, with a light breeze and beautiful moonlight and soon went out of sight of the ship. They sailed all day Thu
rsday without seeing land, but they did obtain soundings in the evening. On Friday they passed in the distance Sherbro Island, where there had been a disastrous attempt to establish an American colony in 1818, but they saw no sign of habitation. Early on Saturday morning, they discovered two ships bearing down on them. They feared they might be “Guineamen,” ships of the infamous slave trader Pedro Blanco, for their little sailboat was passing almost within sight of Gallinas, where Blanco had a thriving slave depot. The Cuban and Brazilian slave markets were booming, and the Guineamen must have seemed sinister reminders of the fate of those who fell into Blanco’s hands. So the travelers from the Ann set their sails directly before the wind and soon were out of sight of the pursuing ships. That afternoon, they hauled in near to the land, where they could see numerous towns and villages along the beach. Leighton noted their diversity—some were laid out with much uniformity, others consisted of nothing but clusters of thatched houses.6
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