Chinatown Blues - Comrade Anna

Katherine invited me to meet her parents in Chinatown. I was apprehensive. It was Saturday morning in November, 2002. We had known one another for months. I was hoping it could last forever-a relationship with no parents, that is. It wasn’t what I expected. I thought Mrs. Lin Ming Lu, Katherine’s mother, would be warm and inviting, that she’d welcome me into her home, fawning over me and her daughter and pestering us with offerings of Chinese delicacies.

Comrade Anna: Resistance in the Warsaw Ghetto

5 COMRADE ANNA

Anna had dreamed of a united Poland whereby all its
various peoples would live together as brothers and sisters in
a workers’ state and everyone’s rights would be respected,
everyone would get a fair share of the social and political
fruits and the capitalistic profit system would be rendered an
anachronism.
She couldn’t wrap her mind around the agreement reached
by the Soviets and Germans. It made no sense to her how
one state, Communist, the other fascist, could be allies. How
could this be? Why did this happen? Still she hoped it would
turn out well.
All throughout September, 1939, Anna could not
understand why the Soviets were not joining the battle in
Warsaw against the Germans. Abandoned to her fate by
Britain and France, Poland-geographically sandwiched
between Germany and the Soviet Union-was ripe for the
taking. Stalin and Hitler had secretly agreed to split the spoils
in the 1939 Molotov-Ribbentrop accord. The Poles were
defeated after a heroic one-month war. The Soviets moved in
and swallowed up the eastern sections. The German army
moved in on the west. The Polish army inflicted heavy losses
on sections of the German army in the first few weeks of the
war but was unable to continue with the defense against all of
the forces lined up against her. Hitler taught the rest of
Europe a lesson about the consequences of resistance,
ordering the Luftwaffe to savagely bombard Warsaw from
the air into submission. An uneasy truce between those shortterm, unlikely allies-Germany and the Soviets-lasted until
June, 1941, when Germany invaded the Soviet Union with
3.9 million Axis troops who inflicted crushing defeats and
unprecedented mass murder.

German and Soviet officers shake hands at the end of the invasion
of Poland, public domain photo, the Soviet Tass Press Agency,
September, 1939.

On the day that the café was destroyed, Anna had been
telling Marcus and their university friends an hour before the
bomb hit that the Poles and Polish Jews should not meet
violence with violence. “That is not the way to deal with
them,” she had said. “We can successfully resist the Germans
if we stick together as comrades-not as Jews and not as Poles
but as comrades. We can show the world that there is a better
way than meeting violence with violence. Tolstoy had the
right idea-passive resistance is much more effective than
using violence.” They were all drinking beer, except Anna
because she had to go to class.

“Yes Comrade Anna. If a German fascist comes at me with his semi-automatic blazing away,” said Victor, a 21-year-old engineering student, “I’ll just show him your copy of Tolstoy and tell him, ‘Hey, please stop. There’s a better way than violence. Let me show you this book I’ve been reading.”
All of the group-about ten people, most of them drunk, laughed uproariously.
“You know, you guys should grow up,” Anna said. “And I
wouldn’t go off making fun of Tolstoy. If Germany attacks us
the Soviets may well help their good comrades in Poland. Just
because the Russians exploited us in the past doesn’t mean
it’ll happen again. They are our comrades now. We are all in
this together as good Communists. So you know something,
you can insult Tolstoy all you want but you get stupid
sometimes when you drink! I’ve got to get to class. Good-bye
Comrades.” The group roared with laughter. Victor stood up
and raised his glass prompting the rest of the group to stand
and raise their glasses. “To Comrade Anna, Comrade

Tolstoy and Comrade Stalin! May they save Europe and the    world from Comrade Hitler!” The group roared again and drank the full drought of beer in their glasses .

“Drunken fools!” Anna shouted.

“They’re just having fun,” Marcus said, beer foam running down his chin. “They don’t mean anything by it. They’re just
having a good time.” Marcus-now slurring his words-tried togive Anna a hug but she resisted and turned to leave.
“Oh? Just having fun? Have a good time!” Anna said
angrily. “And what about Sarah? Look at her. She’s as fucking
drunk as you are and I’m sure Mindy won’t want to see her
mom sloppy drunk like that! Doesn’t she have any sense
of responsibility?” Anna stormed out the door.

In the next several weeks, Anna continued to write
leaflets in her spare time, spreading the Communist word,
distributing aid from international Jewish relief agencies to
poor Jewish families-which were most of them-and finding
homes for orphaned Jewish children. Although Marxist in
ideology, she had been influenced by the great, Russian
writer and teacher, Leo Tolstoy, who advocated passive
resistance against oppressive forces and who influenced
such other luminaries as Mahatma Ghandi and Martin
Luther King, Jr.
But in those same weeks after Marcus’s death, Anna’s
passivity turned ice cold. She placed Tolstoy back on the
shelf. Running guns, sabotage and assisting in the killing
of German soldiers would creep into her daily life. She
decided to become an underground fighter, a resister.
Survival for Poland meant killing the murderous invader and
passively resisting the insatiable German Nazis who
dominated Germany and now much of Europe spelled
suicide, Anna concluded. “I will kill them now and fight for
my country.”

The Global Vibrations Blog: The Hot Foot and More

The Global Vibrations Blog: The Hot Foot and More

Book One (end)

Chapter 34 

The Story of the Runaway Slave

(Please visit my Wordpress site http://wp.me/p31AVa-6B  to view all chapters in Book One of the antebellum Charleston trilogy, Part One of which will be published as a Kindle and book version in May, 2013. Teachers: please email me at dorion9@gmail.com for discounts.) 

The Story of the Runaway Slave

Jack told Ginny and Molly what happened in school yesterday with master spewing out his poison about the darkies. They were not surprised. Jack said he wanted to do a report on slavery and said he was thinking of telling the story to the class about the runaway we was hiding. “Don’t you dare!” she said. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a jiff!” We attended to Molly’s stall while she went to get something. When she returned, she gave Jack a little book and made us promise never to reveal where we got it. “I’ll just say I found it on the road,” said Jack, “if ever I have to defend my having it.”

The next Monday, Jack brought the little book to the front of the classroom and told the class that he was going to read the story of John, a runaway slave who Jack said was now safe somewhere up in England where he was lecturing about the evils of slavery.

Master Whitemore grimaced as Jack had the attention of every one of the twelve girls and boys.

“What I’m a’gonna read to you was written down by John Andrew Jackson with the help of some white folks in England who wants his message to be heard by every child in America. So listen good and hear what this escaped slave, John Andrew Jackson, is a-sayin about freedom and how bad his life was at the plantation.”

Jack looked over at master who had the sourest look on his face any of us had ever seen. Jack cleared his throat a couple of times, and then picked up the short book that was Jackson's autobiography:

(The following account read by the fictional character Jack is an excerpt from the actual autobiography of John Andrew Jackson provided through the courtesy of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. In the novel, Jack, the John Andrew Jackson book appears as though it was in circulation in the 1850s - it may have been in circulation then - but it was not formally published until 1862. The author of Jack took license with the time in order to incorporate the Jackson book into the novel. Call number E445 .S7 J32 (Wilson Annex, UNC-CH) The electronic edition is a part of the UNC-CH digitization project, Documenting the American South.  Jackson’s Book is entitled, The Experience of a Slave in South Carolina. It originally was printed in London by Passmore & Alabaster, Wilson Street, FINSBURY. 1862. Entered at Stationer’s Hall.)

"This is part of the sad and scary tale of John Andrew Jackson - an escaped slave who made his way to freedom but was forced to escape from his new home in Massachusetts to England when the good ole USA passed the Fugitive Slave Law, " Jack explained.

"How am I a'doin' so far, Master Whittemore sir? I hope this is a'goin' to get me a good grade like ya promised sir! Cuz, as you can see Master, I put a lot of effort into this like you said you a'wanted to see there sir," said Jack.

"Just get on with it Mr. Stone and have your say - you cannot shut up an ignorant scheming abolitionist anyway," Whittemore replied. The children snickered to themselves as they knew now that Jack had tricked Master Whittemore.

"Okay master, thanks sir," said Jack, "I certainly do appreciate it sir. I want to be one of your best students sir so I really studied hard for this speech just like you told me." Jack proceeded to read to the class the following true story of this escaped South Carolinian slave:

“I was born in South Carolina. My grandfather was stolen from Africa. My father learned the African method of curing snake bites, and was in consequence, called Dr. Clavern. My mother's name was Betty. I had five brothers and five sisters. Of these, two brothers and two sisters were dead when I left the plantation. My earliest recollection was of my mistress, whom I feared above all persons, as she used every means in her power to spite me. The reason for this was as follows:—When I was about ten years old, I and her son were digging for hickory root to amuse ourselves with, when he, seeing that I was obtaining mine quicker than he, kicked me on the nose, upon which I wiped the blood upon him. He ran and informed his mother, who whipped me on my naked back, to console her son, till the blood ran down. After that, she always hated not only me but my family, and would even stint my mother's allowance; and since then, I had many whippings through her influence.

My mistress had four daughters, viz.:—Anne, Eliza, Jane, and Martha. Of Anne, the eldest, I knew but little, as she married when I was very young, and went to another plantation. Eliza, the next, was the worst of the three. She used to whip me almost as much as my mistress. Of Jane, the next, I also knew but little, as she married a minister named Brailly, when I was very young; but, as far as I know, she was the best of the three. Martha, the youngest, was very bad. I will give a specimen of her abilities.

One day, as she was returning from a walk in the garden, she saw my youngest brother, William, walking in the yard, and, from pure mischief, she picked some horse nettles, and, coming up to him, (he was quite naked) began to sting him with them, and, as he ran away, she ran after him, and kept up with him, stinging him on the sides and back, till at last he fell down through pain; nevertheless, she kept on stinging him, without any intermission; at last he got up and began running, and by that time I got up to him, (I was about ten years of age, and he being between five and six) and I cried out to him, "Run faster, William, run faster," whereupon she turned upon me, and I being able to run faster than she, I escaped her, and by that means my brother William effected his escape. When William got home, he was covered with large lumps all over his body. When she was married she had my sister whipped to death. The circumstances were as follows:

My sister was religious, and perhaps it stung her conscience, or it might have been for some other reason; but, at all events, she ordered my sister to leave off praying, and as she discovered my sister did not obey her commands, she asked her husband, Gamble M'Farden (a member of the Salem Brick Church, who was, if possible, worse than herself, and she was a member also) to give her a hundred lashes, and he took her and hung her up by the hands to the beef gallows, (an apparatus on which they hang oxen when they skin them) and called his negro slave Toney, and ordered him to give her a hundred lashes, and he commenced beating her incessantly; he then remonstrated with his master, because she fainted, and his brutal master, (who, though a member of a Christian church, was notwithstanding, equal to the devil himself) coolly ordered him to bring a pail of water and throw over her, to revive her; and when she came to, he ordered him to continue, which Toney did; but at length made a pause, and told his master that he had given her fifty lashes, but the brutal answer was, "Give me the whip, and I will give her the other fifty," which he did. She died at the end of three weeks, leaving two children, a boy and girl, who, with my father, I now hope to buy. My mistress also had four sons, James, Robert, Thomas, and Mack. James English, a member of Brick Church, was as bad as any of them; he was married when I was little. I worked on his plantation once, driving oxen, and I will relate what I saw there.

A slave, named Jack, was taken sick while working on the plantation, and he laid himself down in the fence corner. When his master came, he saw him lying down, and he told him to get up immediately and go on working. Jack replied, "O massa, I'm so sick." "Get up immediately, you lazy varmint," replied his master, and he commenced whipping him till he got up; but as soon as his master was off that field, he lay down again. The slaves, seeing his master returning, told him he had better get up, as master was coming, but he could not, and when the master returned he began to whip him again; but seeing, he could not get up, he went to the house and brought a tumblerful of castor oil, and forced him to drink it, and then said, "Now get up, you rascal, or I will whip you," and made him continue his work; but his conscience smote him, and he sent for a doctor, and upon his certificate allowed him to return home. I cannot leave off without relating another incident about him. On one occasion there were a hundred negroes to be sold, and James English went to buy. Among the negroes to be bought there was one named Willis; when he was put on the block, and the bidding began. James English began to bid, and Willis, seeing him bidding, jumped down from the auction-block. The auctioneer said, "Why do you jump down, you rascal?" He replied, "Because that man, (pointing to James English) is bidding for me." "Why do you not want him to bid for you?" "'Cause he's the baddest massa 'tween this an' hell fire." This scene was repeated twice, but James English at length bought him; and he went towards the plantation till within three miles of it, when the negroes of another plantation again told him that there was not a worse master in the whole district. His fears returning, afresh, he fled to the woods, but hunger compelled him to return. When he got back he was put into irons, and taken out next morning and hung up, and received a hundred lashes; and when the stripes were partially healed, they gave him twenty-five lashes every other morning as long, as they thought he could bear it.

Afterwards, James English was taken ill, but such were his savage propensities, that he got out of bed and dressed himself; and took his whip and went into the cotton field, and commenced quarelling with a slave named Old George, on the plea that he did not pick cotton fast enough. I will repeat his words: "Never mind, you old rascal, when I get better I'll give you sixty lashes,—never mind, you old rascal you." But from that time he began to get worse, and went home and sent for the doctor, Mr. Miller. The following conversation then took place:— "Doctor, I am very sick, can you help me?" The doctor, after feeling his pulse, replied, "I can't save you." "Why, doctor?" "You have mortification in the head." He did not believe this, and sent for Dr. Hainsworth. When Dr. Hainsworth came, he said also, "I can't save you, you will die in a few days." His terror on hearing this announcement was extreme. He prayed the doctors to save his life, but in vain. In five days that terrible hour drew nigh, and his agony and death struggles were such that he required to be held down. Thus ended the life of a member of a Christian Church. When the tidings of his death reached the negroes, they were overjoyed, and especially Willis, who went round to every hut, and shook hands with every negro, saying, "How d'ye do, brudder, de devil is dead an' gon' to hell, an' Old George got clear of his sixty lashes."

Of Robert, the next brother, I knew nothing, as he died when very young. Thomas, the next, was, if possible, worse than James. He was also a member of Mount Zion Chapel. He was articled to a lawyer. While studying the law, he used to whip the negroes on the plantation exceedingly. I will give you an instance of it. He had just bought a new whip, and wished to try it, and, seeing me go by, he called me and told me to bring him some water to wash his hands in. I went and got it as quickly as possible. When I brought it to him, he said, "You have been too slow, now pull off your jacket," and he then commenced whipping me, having first shut both doors, but I pushed open one of them and ran. I was then between ten and twelve years of age. He ran after me, and soon caught me, and whipped me again till the blood ran. When a young man, he went to Tennessee, and married. The lady's name was Livinia. At his marriage his father gave him twelve negroes. He had then a son named West, and after ten years he returned to South Carolina. His father bought him a plantation five miles from his own, and gave him another slave girl as a nurse for his boy. The boy was very cross, and his mother asserted that the girl pinched the baby, which was not true. This girl was continually being whipped upon that false accusation, so that at length she ran away and went back to her old plantation. But the master tied a rope round her neck and sent her back to his son, who immediately ordered two flat irons to be put on the fire, and had her laid down on a log, and made three negroes, by the names of Frank, Save, and Peter hold her down. He then took the first iron and pressed it to her body on one side; and when he removed it the skin stuck to it. He repeated the same with the other iron, on the other side of the body. She then left him, and started that night for the old plantation: her pain was so great that she was all night going that little distance. The old master, on seeing the burns, declared she should not go back any more. The following conversation took place when Thomas came to see his father: "Thomas, did you burn this girl so?" "Yes, pa, I did, because she ran away." "Well, you shan't have her any more." But, in this case, Thomas was a true son of his father, and the old proverb remained unshaken, viz., "The chip off the old block don't fall far from the stump." About this time he became a minister. He preached his first sermon in Mount Zion Chapel, and the negroes flocked to hear him, and were so overjoyed to think that now he had experienced true religion, he would be more merciful to them, but he was the same devil still. He owned a slave whose name was January, who could not pick cotton as fast as the other negroes. For this reason, this minister of religion gave him from twenty-five to one hundred lashes, and fifty blows with the paddle, which so frightened the negro that he ran away into the woods; but was caught, and again whipped, and put into the stocks, and was taken out every other morning, and received twenty-five lashes for a time, and then put to work with a lock and chain round his neck. At that time, his son West was overseer and whipping the negroes for his father. At that time I left slavery he often whipped the slaves severely. In the Southern States of America, any negro found out at night after nine o'clock, without a pass, is liable to be taken up and receive thirty-nine lashes; and it is a common amusement for young men to go out at night in parties patrolling. This minister, Thomas English, one night joined a party, and they came upon a slave named Isaac, on Dr. Grag's plantation, and they gave chase, but he outran them, and this minister was leading them on, shouting at the top of his voice,  with horrid oaths, "Catch the rascal." We will now pass on to Mack, the youngest brother, he was worse than either of the others, and was the one who kicked me when I was digging for hickory root. He had not finished his schooling, before he was put to oversee his father's plantation. He used to whip the slaves more than his father. Among the atrocities which he committed, he knocked my mother down with the butt of his whip, while I stood by feeling as if I had been struck myself, when he suddenly turned round and said, "Go on with your work, you——rascal." His whip spared neither old nor young. This youth ordered every negro to pick one cwt. of cotton each day—which was almost impossible for them to do—and on their not presenting that amount of cotton at the machine, he gave them from twenty-five to fifty lashes each; so that during the cotton- picking season, the place was filled with screams of agony every evening. There was a slave named Isaac, who could not pick cotton so fast as the others, and the consequence was, that he was flogged every night by this youth. This tyrant was going to give him fifty lashes again one evening, on the scaffold where they weigh the cotton, about ten feet high; and Isaac jumped down in the dark on a snaggy stump and ruined his feet, and could not work for more than a month. He used often to call the negroes up at midnight to screw cotton, and to move fences in the sweet potato fields.

The time of killing hogs is the negroes' feast, as it is the only time that the negroes can get meat, for they are then allowed the chitterlings and feet; then they do not see any more till next hog-killing time. Their food is a dry peck of corn that they have to grind at the hand-mill after a hard day's work, and a pint of salt, which they receive every week. They are only allowed to eat twice a-day. Mack English once tied down a slave named Old Prince, and gave him one hundred lashes with the whip, and fifty blows with the paddle, because he could not work fast enough to please him. A slaveholder named Mr. Wilson, having died in debt, my master bought two of his slave girls, named Rose and Jenny. Jenny was forced to have Adam who was already married; also her sister Rose was married to March, before she came on our plantation. Mack English, having turned a wishful eye on Rose, wrapped himself up in his big cloak, and went to the nigger-house in the night, and called a slave named Esau, and told him to tell Rose to come to him as he wanted her. She sent back to say, "I'm nursing my baby and can't come." "Go and tell her I don't care about her baby, she must come," answered Mack, "and if she does not come, I'll give her twenty-five lashes to-morrow morning." "Go and tell him, Esau, my husband will be coming, and I can't come," answered she. The next morning he tied her up and cut her naked back all over; the further particulars are too revolting to tell.

We will now relate his death. He went with his father one summer to the White Sulphur Springs. There he was taken ill, and death took place in five days. His death-bed was a scene of heartrending agony. He swore, and he cursed, he shrieked "Murder! Murder!! Murder!!! Pa, you stand here and see all these doctors hunching and punching me. Murder! Murder!!" Then, as he expired, he shrieked with fearful agony, "God to blast." This I heard from Old Bob, the carriage driver, who was his nurse till his death. The following conversation I overheard when his father returned:—"Wife, our son is dead and gone to hell." "Hush! hush! talking so before the niggers." "Well, he is, he died cursing and swearing." Just then, Mack's playmate, named Davey Wilson, entered and inquired for him. "Your playmate is dead and gone to hell," was the answer he received. His wife immediately replied, "Hush! hush! shut your mouth, you old fool, what are you telling him that for." Davey Wilson went and told his mother, who told the minister, Mr. Reed, of Mount Zion Church, who preached a sermon to the young about his death. After that, none of the English's family attended Mount Zion Chapel. When he went to the White Sulphur Springs, I prayed that I might never see him again, and thus was my prayer signally answered. I remembered when he and his father both whipped me at the same time, about sunrise, on my naked back, and then made me work till twelve o'clock without eating anything. I also remember that when he was going to the springs, he said, "When I get back, my father will give me the Creek Swamp plantation and fifty niggers, and then I will buy a cowhide whip, well corded, five feet long, and I'll make all the niggers take Ephraim by force, and tie him to an oak tree, and I'll make Adam give him one of the hardest hundred lashes that ever man put on nigger." I, myself, was willed to that tyrant, but God had willed me to myself. Surely the words of the Psalmist came true in this case: "They search out iniquities; they accomplish a diligent search; both the inward thought of every one of them, and the heart, is deep. But God shall shoot at them with an arrow; suddenly shall they be wounded."

I am a'gonna skip a lot of the book now and read you something that will make your hair stand up:

On one occasion I saw my brother Ephraim tied up and blindfolded with his own shirt, and beaten with fifty lashes before his own wife and children, by a wretch named Sam Cooper, because he was falsely accused of having stolen a yard of bagging. Fathers! think of being tied up and stripped before your wife and children, and beaten severely for nothing at all; and then think that it is a daily, nay, hourly, occurrence in the Slave States of America, and you will begin to have some idea of what American slavery is. But to proceed with my life. Just as I was beginning to be settled at Salem, that most atrocious of all laws, the "Fugitive Slave Law," was passed, and I was compelled to flee in disguise from a comfortable home, a comfortable situation, and good wages, to take refuge in Canada. I may mention, that during my flight from Salem to Canada, I met with a very sincere friend and helper, who gave me a refuge during the night, and set me on my way. Her name was Mrs. Beecher Stowe. She took me in and fed me, and gave me some clothes and five dollars. She also inspected my back, which is covered with scars which I shall carry with me to the grave. She listened with great interest to my story, and sympathized with me when I told her how long I had been parted from my wife Louisa and my daughter Jenny, and perhaps, forever. I was obliged to proceed, however, and finally arrived in safety at St. John's, where I met my present wife, to whom I was married lawfully, and who was also an escaped slave from North Carolina. I stayed there some time and followed the trade of whitewasher, and at last I embarked for England.”

"So there you have it! You see, master’s been lyin’ to you all these months," said Jack. The students cheered wildly and applauded.

“Nonsense!” cried Whittemore. Master stared at Jack coldly and tried to smile at the class. But he had finally lost the war with Jack -- and with me too -- and he knew it.

“Master lies,” Jack continued, “because he never mentions the real story which is the truth! You wouldn’t want to see your family broken up and sold off to some cruel lady or man who beats you all the time or kills someone close to you just cuz they feel like it. But you also need to remember that John was helped out on his road to freedom by some good-hearted white people-there are enough of them who do care. They don’t see things the way master sees them. The times are changing down here in the south. It’s time we all woke up to see what misery we are causing to fellow human beings. This is what master should be teaching us and I’m a’gonna make y’all a promise right here and now-that I’ll never set foot again in this here place until master starts telling us the truth.”

Havin' had his say finally and havin' perfectly executed his plan with tricking master into allowing him to make his speech for a good grade and even some extra credit, Jack said, "So long Master, it's been fun and educational. Addressing the students, he simply said,  "Bye kiddies,” and walked out. I walked out with him. Unbeknownst to me then, we were headin' for the biggest adventure of our lives and we had not seen the last of Master Whittemore. In fact we had not, until a little later, seen the real Master Whittemore.

END of BOOK ONE

Jack told Ginny and Molly what happened in school yesterday with master spewing out his poison about the darkies. They were not surprised. Jack said he wanted to do a report on slavery and said he was thinking of telling the story to the class about the runaway we was hiding. “Don’t you dare!” she said. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a jiff!” We attended to Molly’s stall while she went to get something. When she returned, she gave Jack a little book and made us promise never to reveal where we got it. “I’ll just say I found it on the road,” said Jack, “if ever I have to defend my having it.”

The next Monday, Jack brought the little book to the front of the classroom and told the class that he was going to read the story of John, a runaway slave who Jack said was now safe somewhere up in England where he was lecturing about the evils of slavery.

Master Whitemore grimaced as Jack had the attention of every one of the twelve girls and boys.

“What I’m a’gonna read to you was written down by John Andrew Jackson with the help of some white folks in England who wants his message to be heard by every child in America. So listen good and hear what this escaped slave, John Andrew Jackson, is a-sayin about freedom and how bad his life was at the plantation.”

Jack looked over at master who had the sourest look on his face any of us had ever seen. Jack cleared his throat a couple of times, and then picked up the short book that was Jackson's autobiography:

(The following account read by the fictional character Jack is an excerpt from the actual autobiography of John Andrew Jackson provided through the courtesy of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. In the novel, Jack, the John Andrew Jackson book appears as though it was in circulation in the 1850s - it may have been in circulation then - but it was not formally published until 1862. The author of Jack took license with the time in order to incorporate the Jackson book into the novel. Call number E445 .S7 J32 (Wilson Annex, UNC-CH) The electronic edition is a part of the UNC-CH digitization project, Documenting the American South.  Jackson’s Book is entitled, The Experience of a Slave in South Carolina. It originally was printed in London by Passmore & Alabaster, Wilson Street, FINSBURY. 1862. Entered at Stationer’s Hall.)

"This is part of the sad and scary tale of John Andrew Jackson - an escaped slave who made his way to freedom but was forced to escape from his new home in Massachusetts to England when the good ole USA passed the Fugitive Slave Law, " Jack explained.

"How am I a'doin' so far, Master Whittemore sir? I hope this is a'goin' to get me a good grade like ya promised sir! Cuz, as you can see Master, I put a lot of effort into this like you said you a'wanted to see there sir," said Jack.

"Just get on with it Mr. Stone and have your say - you cannot shut up an ignorant scheming abolitionist anyway," Whittemore replied. The children snickered to themselves as they knew now that Jack had tricked Master Whittemore.

"Okay master, thanks sir," said Jack, "I certainly do appreciate it sir. I want to be one of your best students sir so I really studied hard for this speech just like you told me." Jack proceeded to read to the class the following true story of this escaped South Carolinian slave:

“I was born in South Carolina. My grandfather was stolen from Africa. My father learned the African method of curing snake bites, and was in consequence, called Dr. Clavern. My mother's name was Betty. I had five brothers and five sisters. Of these, two brothers and two sisters were dead when I left the plantation. My earliest recollection was of my mistress, whom I feared above all persons, as she used every means in her power to spite me. The reason for this was as follows:—When I was about ten years old, I and her son were digging for hickory root to amuse ourselves with, when he, seeing that I was obtaining mine quicker than he, kicked me on the nose, upon which I wiped the blood upon him. He ran and informed his mother, who whipped me on my naked back, to console her son, till the blood ran down. After that, she always hated not only me but my family, and would even stint my mother's allowance; and since then, I had many whippings through her influence.

My mistress had four daughters, viz.:—Anne, Eliza, Jane, and Martha. Of Anne, the eldest, I knew but little, as she married when I was very young, and went to another plantation. Eliza, the next, was the worst of the three. She used to whip me almost as much as my mistress. Of Jane, the next, I also knew but little, as she married a minister named Brailly, when I was very young; but, as far as I know, she was the best of the three. Martha, the youngest, was very bad. I will give a specimen of her abilities.

One day, as she was returning from a walk in the garden, she saw my youngest brother, William, walking in the yard, and, from pure mischief, she picked some horse nettles, and, coming up to him, (he was quite naked) began to sting him with them, and, as he ran away, she ran after him, and kept up with him, stinging him on the sides and back, till at last he fell down through pain; nevertheless, she kept on stinging him, without any intermission; at last he got up and began running, and by that time I got up to him, (I was about ten years of age, and he being between five and six) and I cried out to him, "Run faster, William, run faster," whereupon she turned upon me, and I being able to run faster than she, I escaped her, and by that means my brother William effected his escape. When William got home, he was covered with large lumps all over his body. When she was married she had my sister whipped to death. The circumstances were as follows:

My sister was religious, and perhaps it stung her conscience, or it might have been for some other reason; but, at all events, she ordered my sister to leave off praying, and as she discovered my sister did not obey her commands, she asked her husband, Gamble M'Farden (a member of the Salem Brick Church, who was, if possible, worse than herself, and she was a member also) to give her a hundred lashes, and he took her and hung her up by the hands to the beef gallows, (an apparatus on which they hang oxen when they skin them) and called his negro slave Toney, and ordered him to give her a hundred lashes, and he commenced beating her incessantly; he then remonstrated with his master, because she fainted, and his brutal master, (who, though a member of a Christian church, was notwithstanding, equal to the devil himself) coolly ordered him to bring a pail of water and throw over her, to revive her; and when she came to, he ordered him to continue, which Toney did; but at length made a pause, and told his master that he had given her fifty lashes, but the brutal answer was, "Give me the whip, and I will give her the other fifty," which he did. She died at the end of three weeks, leaving two children, a boy and girl, who, with my father, I now hope to buy. My mistress also had four sons, James, Robert, Thomas, and Mack. James English, a member of Brick Church, was as bad as any of them; he was married when I was little. I worked on his plantation once, driving oxen, and I will relate what I saw there.

A slave, named Jack, was taken sick while working on the plantation, and he laid himself down in the fence corner. When his master came, he saw him lying down, and he told him to get up immediately and go on working. Jack replied, "O massa, I'm so sick." "Get up immediately, you lazy varmint," replied his master, and he commenced whipping him till he got up; but as soon as his master was off that field, he lay down again. The slaves, seeing his master returning, told him he had better get up, as master was coming, but he could not, and when the master returned he began to whip him again; but seeing, he could not get up, he went to the house and brought a tumblerful of castor oil, and forced him to drink it, and then said, "Now get up, you rascal, or I will whip you," and made him continue his work; but his conscience smote him, and he sent for a doctor, and upon his certificate allowed him to return home. I cannot leave off without relating another incident about him. On one occasion there were a hundred negroes to be sold, and James English went to buy. Among the negroes to be bought there was one named Willis; when he was put on the block, and the bidding began. James English began to bid, and Willis, seeing him bidding, jumped down from the auction-block. The auctioneer said, "Why do you jump down, you rascal?" He replied, "Because that man, (pointing to James English) is bidding for me." "Why do you not want him to bid for you?" "'Cause he's the baddest massa 'tween this an' hell fire." This scene was repeated twice, but James English at length bought him; and he went towards the plantation till within three miles of it, when the negroes of another plantation again told him that there was not a worse master in the whole district. His fears returning, afresh, he fled to the woods, but hunger compelled him to return. When he got back he was put into irons, and taken out next morning and hung up, and received a hundred lashes; and when the stripes were partially healed, they gave him twenty-five lashes every other morning as long, as they thought he could bear it.

Afterwards, James English was taken ill, but such were his savage propensities, that he got out of bed and dressed himself; and took his whip and went into the cotton field, and commenced quarelling with a slave named Old George, on the plea that he did not pick cotton fast enough. I will repeat his words: "Never mind, you old rascal, when I get better I'll give you sixty lashes,—never mind, you old rascal you." But from that time he began to get worse, and went home and sent for the doctor, Mr. Miller. The following conversation then took place:— "Doctor, I am very sick, can you help me?" The doctor, after feeling his pulse, replied, "I can't save you." "Why, doctor?" "You have mortification in the head." He did not believe this, and sent for Dr. Hainsworth. When Dr. Hainsworth came, he said also, "I can't save you, you will die in a few days." His terror on hearing this announcement was extreme. He prayed the doctors to save his life, but in vain. In five days that terrible hour drew nigh, and his agony and death struggles were such that he required to be held down. Thus ended the life of a member of a Christian Church. When the tidings of his death reached the negroes, they were overjoyed, and especially Willis, who went round to every hut, and shook hands with every negro, saying, "How d'ye do, brudder, de devil is dead an' gon' to hell, an' Old George got clear of his sixty lashes."

Of Robert, the next brother, I knew nothing, as he died when very young. Thomas, the next, was, if possible, worse than James. He was also a member of Mount Zion Chapel. He was articled to a lawyer. While studying the law, he used to whip the negroes on the plantation exceedingly. I will give you an instance of it. He had just bought a new whip, and wished to try it, and, seeing me go by, he called me and told me to bring him some water to wash his hands in. I went and got it as quickly as possible. When I brought it to him, he said, "You have been too slow, now pull off your jacket," and he then commenced whipping me, having first shut both doors, but I pushed open one of them and ran. I was then between ten and twelve years of age. He ran after me, and soon caught me, and whipped me again till the blood ran. When a young man, he went to Tennessee, and married. The lady's name was Livinia. At his marriage his father gave him twelve negroes. He had then a son named West, and after ten years he returned to South Carolina. His father bought him a plantation five miles from his own, and gave him another slave girl as a nurse for his boy. The boy was very cross, and his mother asserted that the girl pinched the baby, which was not true. This girl was continually being whipped upon that false accusation, so that at length she ran away and went back to her old plantation. But the master tied a rope round her neck and sent her back to his son, who immediately ordered two flat irons to be put on the fire, and had her laid down on a log, and made three negroes, by the names of Frank, Save, and Peter hold her down. He then took the first iron and pressed it to her body on one side; and when he removed it the skin stuck to it. He repeated the same with the other iron, on the other side of the body. She then left him, and started that night for the old plantation: her pain was so great that she was all night going that little distance. The old master, on seeing the burns, declared she should not go back any more. The following conversation took place when Thomas came to see his father: "Thomas, did you burn this girl so?" "Yes, pa, I did, because she ran away." "Well, you shan't have her any more." But, in this case, Thomas was a true son of his father, and the old proverb remained unshaken, viz., "The chip off the old block don't fall far from the stump." About this time he became a minister. He preached his first sermon in Mount Zion Chapel, and the negroes flocked to hear him, and were so overjoyed to think that now he had experienced true religion, he would be more merciful to them, but he was the same devil still. He owned a slave whose name was January, who could not pick cotton as fast as the other negroes. For this reason, this minister of religion gave him from twenty-five to one hundred lashes, and fifty blows with the paddle, which so frightened the negro that he ran away into the woods; but was caught, and again whipped, and put into the stocks, and was taken out every other morning, and received twenty-five lashes for a time, and then put to work with a lock and chain round his neck. At that time, his son West was overseer and whipping the negroes for his father. At that time I left slavery he often whipped the slaves severely. In the Southern States of America, any negro found out at night after nine o'clock, without a pass, is liable to be taken up and receive thirty-nine lashes; and it is a common amusement for young men to go out at night in parties patrolling. This minister, Thomas English, one night joined a party, and they came upon a slave named Isaac, on Dr. Grag's plantation, and they gave chase, but he outran them, and this minister was leading them on, shouting at the top of his voice,  with horrid oaths, "Catch the rascal." We will now pass on to Mack, the youngest brother, he was worse than either of the others, and was the one who kicked me when I was digging for hickory root. He had not finished his schooling, before he was put to oversee his father's plantation. He used to whip the slaves more than his father. Among the atrocities which he committed, he knocked my mother down with the butt of his whip, while I stood by feeling as if I had been struck myself, when he suddenly turned round and said, "Go on with your work, you——rascal." His whip spared neither old nor young. This youth ordered every negro to pick one cwt. of cotton each day—which was almost impossible for them to do—and on their not presenting that amount of cotton at the machine, he gave them from twenty-five to fifty lashes each; so that during the cotton- picking season, the place was filled with screams of agony every evening. There was a slave named Isaac, who could not pick cotton so fast as the others, and the consequence was, that he was flogged every night by this youth. This tyrant was going to give him fifty lashes again one evening, on the scaffold where they weigh the cotton, about ten feet high; and Isaac jumped down in the dark on a snaggy stump and ruined his feet, and could not work for more than a month. He used often to call the negroes up at midnight to screw cotton, and to move fences in the sweet potato fields.

The time of killing hogs is the negroes' feast, as it is the only time that the negroes can get meat, for they are then allowed the chitterlings and feet; then they do not see any more till next hog-killing time. Their food is a dry peck of corn that they have to grind at the hand-mill after a hard day's work, and a pint of salt, which they receive every week. They are only allowed to eat twice a-day. Mack English once tied down a slave named Old Prince, and gave him one hundred lashes with the whip, and fifty blows with the paddle, because he could not work fast enough to please him. A slaveholder named Mr. Wilson, having died in debt, my master bought two of his slave girls, named Rose and Jenny. Jenny was forced to have Adam who was already married; also her sister Rose was married to March, before she came on our plantation. Mack English, having turned a wishful eye on Rose, wrapped himself up in his big cloak, and went to the nigger-house in the night, and called a slave named Esau, and told him to tell Rose to come to him as he wanted her. She sent back to say, "I'm nursing my baby and can't come." "Go and tell her I don't care about her baby, she must come," answered Mack, "and if she does not come, I'll give her twenty-five lashes to-morrow morning." "Go and tell him, Esau, my husband will be coming, and I can't come," answered she. The next morning he tied her up and cut her naked back all over; the further particulars are too revolting to tell.

We will now relate his death. He went with his father one summer to the White Sulphur Springs. There he was taken ill, and death took place in five days. His death-bed was a scene of heartrending agony. He swore, and he cursed, he shrieked "Murder! Murder!! Murder!!! Pa, you stand here and see all these doctors hunching and punching me. Murder! Murder!!" Then, as he expired, he shrieked with fearful agony, "God to blast." This I heard from Old Bob, the carriage driver, who was his nurse till his death. The following conversation I overheard when his father returned:—"Wife, our son is dead and gone to hell." "Hush! hush! talking so before the niggers." "Well, he is, he died cursing and swearing." Just then, Mack's playmate, named Davey Wilson, entered and inquired for him. "Your playmate is dead and gone to hell," was the answer he received. His wife immediately replied, "Hush! hush! shut your mouth, you old fool, what are you telling him that for." Davey Wilson went and told his mother, who told the minister, Mr. Reed, of Mount Zion Church, who preached a sermon to the young about his death. After that, none of the English's family attended Mount Zion Chapel. When he went to the White Sulphur Springs, I prayed that I might never see him again, and thus was my prayer signally answered. I remembered when he and his father both whipped me at the same time, about sunrise, on my naked back, and then made me work till twelve o'clock without eating anything. I also remember that when he was going to the springs, he said, "When I get back, my father will give me the Creek Swamp plantation and fifty niggers, and then I will buy a cowhide whip, well corded, five feet long, and I'll make all the niggers take Ephraim by force, and tie him to an oak tree, and I'll make Adam give him one of the hardest hundred lashes that ever man put on nigger." I, myself, was willed to that tyrant, but God had willed me to myself. Surely the words of the Psalmist came true in this case: "They search out iniquities; they accomplish a diligent search; both the inward thought of every one of them, and the heart, is deep. But God shall shoot at them with an arrow; suddenly shall they be wounded."

I am a'gonna skip a lot of the book now and read you something that will make your hair stand up:

On one occasion I saw my brother Ephraim tied up and blindfolded with his own shirt, and beaten with fifty lashes before his own wife and children, by a wretch named Sam Cooper, because he was falsely accused of having stolen a yard of bagging. Fathers! think of being tied up and stripped before your wife and children, and beaten severely for nothing at all; and then think that it is a daily, nay, hourly, occurrence in the Slave States of America, and you will begin to have some idea of what American slavery is. But to proceed with my life. Just as I was beginning to be settled at Salem, that most atrocious of all laws, the "Fugitive Slave Law," was passed, and I was compelled to flee in disguise from a comfortable home, a comfortable situation, and good wages, to take refuge in Canada. I may mention, that during my flight from Salem to Canada, I met with a very sincere friend and helper, who gave me a refuge during the night, and set me on my way. Her name was Mrs. Beecher Stowe. She took me in and fed me, and gave me some clothes and five dollars. She also inspected my back, which is covered with scars which I shall carry with me to the grave. She listened with great interest to my story, and sympathized with me when I told her how long I had been parted from my wife Louisa and my daughter Jenny, and perhaps, forever. I was obliged to proceed, however, and finally arrived in safety at St. John's, where I met my present wife, to whom I was married lawfully, and who was also an escaped slave from North Carolina. I stayed there some time and followed the trade of whitewasher, and at last I embarked for England.”

"So there you have it! You see, master’s been lyin’ to you all these months," said Jack. The students cheered wildly and applauded.

“Nonsense!” cried Whittemore. Master stared at Jack coldly and tried to smile at the class. But he had finally lost the war with Jack -- and with me too -- and he knew it.

“Master lies,” Jack continued, “because he never mentions the real story which is the truth! You wouldn’t want to see your family broken up and sold off to some cruel lady or man who beats you all the time or kills someone close to you just cuz they feel like it. But you also need to remember that John was helped out on his road to freedom by some good-hearted white people-there are enough of them who do care. They don’t see things the way master sees them. The times are changing down here in the south. It’s time we all woke up to see what misery we are causing to fellow human beings. This is what master should be teaching us and I’m a’gonna make y’all a promise right here and now-that I’ll never set foot again in this here place until master starts telling us the truth.”

Havin' had his say finally and havin' perfectly executed his plan with tricking master into allowing him to make his speech for a good grade and even some extra credit, Jack said, "So long Master, it's been fun and educational. Addressing the students, he simply said,  "Bye kiddies,” and walked out. I walked out with him. Unbeknownst to me then, we were headin' for the biggest adventure of our lives and we had not seen the last of Master Whittemore. In fact we had not, until a little later, seen the real Master Whittemore.

END of BOOK ONE

Master’s Slavery Lesson: Continuing the Serialization of "Jack," the Charleston Antebellum Novel

Chapter 33           

Charleston, S.C., Civil War Era Lithograph copy by Harper's Weekly

 “Good morning girls and boys. Well let’s see what do we have here? Look at this why don‘t you, I see that Jeremy is with us today as is Jimmy, Jack, and Mr. Brooks! What do you know? Well boys, I hope you had a nice little vacation-I hear you all did such a marvelous job on the church grounds. I can’t say as though I’m particularly charmed to see any of you, especially after last weekend, but we’ll address that later. Perhaps some of you at least can start with a clean slate. I sincerely hope you’ve all learned the error of your ways and will make a considerable effort to abide by our school rules from now on and that you will lend your mind to the exalted lessons I have prepared for you this day. One of them involves our most cherished traditions and values which have made Charleston the great center of the south and, indeed, which has established Southern gentry at the great height of advanced civilization making it the envy of the world.

 “Do you know what I am referring to Mr. Stone?”

 “Well Masta Whittemore, sir, I think I do. You is referring to what you always like to talk about sir, the darkies, and how their suffering and misery is a good thing cuz it is necessary for the good of us all.”

 “Hmm,” master said as he walked one way in front of the class, then turned, and walked back with his hands clasping one another behind his back. His long pointed nose seemed to move up a little, then down, like a chicken pecking in a barnyard. He seemed to peck, peck, peck with each step he took with his long skinny legs attired with high leather boots which were a’creakin’ the floorboards. “Very good, Mister Stone. Very nicely put. I don’t think I’d have put it quite that way myself but the principle is the same. I’m surprised at your sudden attention, Mr. Stone, but do admit that I’m glad-quite glad-to have your participation and, uh, cooperation, in this most important lesson which is so essential to the development of the character of our youth. 

 “Class, it is easy for the Northern abolitionists who are a vicious lot and a scourge and even a disease in our land to advocate doing away with slavery. These selfish agitators are only interested in profiteering and at our expense and are jealous of our economic and social system. They want to tear down all that’s good. They don’t care a twit abut the black man. What galls them is that they hate that we have more liberty than they do. They are led by their misguided politicians in Washington, D.C., and the equally misguided newspaper editors in many of the northern cities like that high-faluttin, bombastic know-nothing, Mr. Horace Greeley, of the New York Tribune. The man should be tarred and feathered and dragged through the streets by his toes by a team of wild asses for agitating the people of this good land toward calling for the Negroes to rise up against their masters. They talk about us as being against the union when it is they who are attempting to break up the union. This great country of ours was built and unified upon the proud principle and sound institution of slavery and the Constitution has protected it for more than fifty years. These northern good-for-nothing abolitionists want to make the African equal to the American-to the Englishman, the Frenchman, the Scot and the Spaniard, the German. This is clearly preposterous. No Negro was ever the equal of a white man or woman. God made the world this way. He made the black man to serve the white man, this is the natural way of things. Color is the great division, not poverty and wealth. For every white man is already wealthy compared to any black man. Even the poorest white man is an aristocrat compared with the Negro and so he feels himself to be part of the upper class. And it’d be unnatural to mix them up and give the Negro the same rights which he would little know what to do with anyway. The white man is wealthy by nature, which God created, endowed with beauty, endowed with white skin, with superior intelligence and, not least, with great ability in architecture, art and science, with a natural power over the primitive black man who so obviously lacks natural wealth because the aristocratic impulse does not exist in the black man who is a low breed who is more like the apes than the humans. The black man is fit for the lowest work, he being of lowest endowment, and he is far happier in this natural state than in trying to be something he cannot be.”

 “What an idiot,” Jack whispered to me. “Leroy could give a much better lesson about slavery than Whittemore ever could. That’s just a load a crap he’s tryin’ to sell to these kids. Hey that gives me an idea.”

 “Here we go again,” I whispered. “What you goin to do now?”

 “Get Leroy’s story down on paper and read it to the class and then see if they agree with this knumbskull,” Jack whispered. “Gonna need ya to help with the writin, maybe the readin too.”

 “Mr. Stone, you have a further comment that the rest of us should hear?”

 “Well, not yet Master sir, I was a‘tellin Jeremy here something, an idea I had about doing a project on your fine lesson sir, but I really wanted to hear all of what you have to say first before I say anything myself. It’s only the polite thing to do. You do have a way with your words, Master Whittemore.”

 “Well son, nicely spoken. And I’m glad to see that you have come here today to get an education and to show the interest in the lesson that you have so far, but you need to quit commenting to Mr. Foster and wait, politely as you so aptly put it, until I’m finished. But know that I’m impressed with this change I see in you, Mr. Stone, and with this turn in your behavior. Yes, maybe you’ll turn out well after all. Just proves what I’ve always said-that there’s good in every child but that it takes patience and sometimes severity on the part of a superior educator to bring that good out of him. And certainly you may do such a project Mr. Stone-do you intend to be sharing it with the class?”

 “Oh yes sir, especially if it’d a’git me some extra credit cuz I need all the credit I can get to pass sir.”

 “Well I can’t wait to see it, Mr. Stone. I’ll expect it later in the week and we all look forward, I’m sure, to learning about your views on the subject.”

 “Bein that I’ll be a’puttin a lot of work into it sir, so as I can git extra credit and all, would you, sir, kindly make me a promise that I git to read the whole thing out loud to the class sir, and that I git extra credit for both a‘writin it and a‘readin it out loud?” asked Jack.

 “Certainly. certainly, you may certainly have such a promise. You do impress me, Mr. Stone, so that I am beginning to wonder if also I should not forget about your past transgressions, and even your most mischievous ones the weekend past sir.”

 “Weekend master? I guess I haven’t been very good have I sir? I’m going to try to make it up and do a good paper for you, Mr. Whittemore.”

 “I await it with pleasure, Mr. Stone. “Well now, isn’t this a pleasant surprise. Who would have ever thought? A magnificent change brought about by my persistence and great effort because I never lost hope sir, never, and that’s what the best educators do-they do not lose hope but they see the light in every student and every situation. And that brings us to the topic of secession.

 “And so now my good students, the southern states are becoming weaker and weaker because these know-nothing abolitionist fanatics have convinced the country through false and evil argument that the California Territory should be a free state, which it now has become, and all the rest of the western territories that numerous fine southern heroes died for in the war with Mexico are sure to follow. The abolitionists are bleeding the South to death and we must stop it before it is too late. Soon the anti-slavery states will overwhelm us and the south will have to submit to each and every bill the north shoves down our throats. I’m talking about the United States legislature who schemes against us every day!” Whittemore, nearly foaming at the mouth, thundered. It is becoming clearer and clearer that establishment of a Confederate States of America-yes the south’s own country to run as it sees fit-is the only choice left. Secession, my good fellows, separation from the union, is the only answer and Charleston will have to take the lead as it always has so ably done in our glorious past. The South will sink or swim depending upon what we do. What would become of our cherished civilization if we had the Negro living right next to us and having the same vote that the white folks have and having their pickaninnies go to the same schools and churches as the children of the white folks? It would be the end of civilization and the country would lapse into the dark ages and chaos. It’d be like giving the country back to the Indians. That‘s what the northern abolitionists are handing to us on a plate!”

 “So what’s the matter with that?” I suddenly asked, surprised at my own boldness.

 “Mr. Foster, you are joking, I hope!”

 “No sir, the Indians were here first. And my daddy says the white man pushed them out cuz they thinks they’re better than the Indians and they thinks they have a right to anything the Indians have because they thinks they’re better. And what right do white people have to sell a Negro mother away from her children? They is people just like us and they need a home, food, a family just like us and it is simply wrong for whites to sell’em and treat them lower than their dogs.”

 “You’ve made your point, Mr. Foster, but I do think that you will see the necessity of separating the races and the importance to the advance of civilization in elevating the white race at the expense of the naturally inferior dark race, this I believe you’ll come to see as you mature, Mr. Foster.”

 I raised my hand again and master looked at me icily and then called upon me again.

 “Sir, I beg to disagree with you. But I also think the Negroes should get an education just like us so they could learn to be citizens. Right now, it seems to me, the whites want to keep them as stupid as they can and won’t give ‘em a chance because they’re probably scared of them. Whites bring the Negroes in from Africa or Jamaica or something and force ‘em to be slaves and sell their wives and children and don’t give’em no education and now they’re afraid of what they’ve done.”

      Master’s face went grey momentarily and then his neck got red and redder and his face too and he gritted his teeth and blinked his eyes and he looked like he wanted to strangle me but I intended to have my say for once.

      “And how do you know that the slaves don’t like the comfort of having work, food, and a home provided by his master, Mr. Foster? Had you ever given any thought to that? Not all slaves are separated from their families! Most of them wouldn’t know how to care for themselves anyway if they were freed! Where would they go? Who would feed them? They’d have to steal their food! Then steal everything else they could get! It would be utter chaos, Mr. Foster, the end of civilization I declare! Look at how beautiful our city is-it is the shining light of the south with excellent buildings, its people excel in the arts, in mercantile occupations, our society consists of the brightest and the best all because the venerable and time-honored institution of slavery is the foundation of our great culture! All great cultures from ancient Rome to ancient Greece and Egypt had slaves that were on the bottom rung of the social ladder! It is the natural order of things! The best and the brightest-that being the white race-naturally occupies the top! You cannot give the black man an education and a vote because you would be destroying the great culture we have built up now for some two centuries! And the Negroes don’t really want to be free-it’s those darn northern abolitionists who wants them to be free and puts idiotic ideas in their heads so they can pull down our civilization and make it into a hodgepodge like their own!”

      Master was glowering now and his eyes a’bulging and his blood pressure must have raised a notch or two cuz he was redder in the face than before, just like he was at the trial when the kids got on top their benches and shouted that master was a cheat. I was scared but I wasn’t about to let up.

      “But sir, my daddy said the Negroes wants to be free just like any other human being. He said that, when he was a boy, there was a slave uprising right here in Charleston led by Denmark Vesey. Was in 1822, he done told me, and that there were thousands of slaves-both free Negroes and slaves-who were involved. And Daddy said they hung Vesey and thirty-six others down at Blacke’s Landing after a house Negro betrayed him. My daddy said Vesey was a good carpenter and was a free Negro cuz he’d bought his freedom from his master. Said he made his daddy a nice mahogany chest once. Daddy said Mr. Vesey had a lot of money and still he risked everything he had to help other Negroes to get free of the white masters. Daddy also said he knew different languages-that’s smarter than most whites folk I know. He don’t sound to me like he is a bottom-of-the-ladder human at all. Sound to be like he was up the top. So, what I was wonderin’ sir is, how come you never teach us about Denmark Vesey?”

      Master Whittemore glared at me like I was a venomous snake about to bite him between his eyes.

      “That’s not the kind of thing they wants to teach us,” Jack whispered.”

      “Please end this discussion now, Mister Upstart! And you too Mister!”

master hollered. “I can tell you this-that the reason we don’t study that kind of uppity nonsense- is because that darn nigger was a criminal and disobeyed the law and so did the other niggers who were punished along with him! And they got exactly what was coming to them!” 

     Master was yelling now. Sweat was beading on his forehead and he looked furiously annoyed, slappin ‘his own face, when one bead ran into his eye. He was mad. And this, I knew, was not the time to continue with my line of reasoning. So I didn’t.

 “It is not properly the goal of education to study what a bunch of contemptuous nigger criminals did or didn’t do!” he screamed. “Now let’s move on to geography!”

 I figured I should stop while I was ahead, so that’s what I did.

I looked at Jack. He seemed to agree as he tried to hide his mirth, bowing his somewhat flat head with the dark curls in front. His big brown eyes smiled mischievously-perhaps maliciously is the right word-as he stole a sidelong look at me. Then he whispered, “Nice goin’ sonny boy! But just you wait ‘til ya see what the big fellow ’s got in store for that horse’s ass!”

Ginny: Continued Serialization of the Antebellum Charleston Novel, "Jack"

Chapter 32

Charleston, S.C., Civil War Era Lithograph copy by Harper's Weekly

It was decided after talkin’ to Leroy that Jack and me would continue to keep our ears alert for any more talk about runaway slaves between Molly and her friend, Virginia. But nothin’ came up. So Jack did what he did best: get information he wanted on the sly.

“How come we don’t see no more auctioning of the slaves,” Jack asked Virginia one fine June morning in 1852.

“It’s done behind closed doors now so the good Charleston folks don’t have to see what they’re doin’ to those po’ people. But please call me Ginny like I asked you to.”  Ginny was, I later learned, referring to city ordinances Charleston passed into the 1850s prohibiting the sale of slaves out in the open and apparently many of Charleston’s residents were disgusted with the trade in their fair city.

“Sorry Ginny. But is that a fact? Are you one of those abolitionists?” Jack boldly asked.

Jack Gets a Job: The Continuing Serialization of the Novel

Chapter 32

Jack and me went back to Molly that afternoon and I was shocked when Jack told her that he had done stolen a pile of fruit and vegetables from her but said it was for a good cause and he wanted to work it off and pay her back. At first Molly was angry but then she smiled at Jack and said she had been right about him anyway, that even though he had taken things from her, she was greatly affected by his telling her the truth and offering his services. So she said he could certainly help her and that the next time Jack needed food to just ask and she’d give him all he wanted and she’d even give him a little job if he wanted. So she gave Jack a job helping her sell at the market and said I could help too if I wanted which I said I would. So that’s what we did. I must admit, Jack was the smoothest talker in Charleston and knew how to win people over to his side. And he sold twice as much food in a day as she could so she was all smiles every time Jack showed up for work, which was two or three times a week.

So we had a job all that summer and we made a little money and we had more than enough food for Leroy who was living like a king he said. Jack said he heard Molly talkin' one day to another woman who had a stall nearby where ladies’ bonnets were being sold-pink ones and yellow ones and big blue ones-and that he overheard them talkin' about a secret way to the north for runaways. Jack said he was a'goin' to ask Molly about it to see if she could help Leroy go north but first he wanted to get Leroy’s permission. “Wouldn’t be fittin’ to ask her without Leroy consentin’,” Jack said, “cuz he’s the one takin’ the risk.”