1838

 Year 1838

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“Vainly did the natives seek to resist this iniquitous legislation.” 

John Clark Ridpath

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Forced off their land and sent to Indian Territory (now Oklahoma).
Photo not in blogger's possession.

  

February: Angelina Grimke is the first woman in the United States ever to speak to a lawmaking body – in her case, the Massachusetts Legislature. Grimke, who had grown up in a slave-owning family in South Carolina, called on her listeners to fight for an immediate end to slavery. 

    At the same time, she appealed for greater rights for women, explaining that they had a natural interest in a moral government. Twenty thousand women had signed a petition calling for abolition. Was that not enough? 

    Ms. Grimke provided the answer: 

    These petitions relate to the great and solemn subject of American slavery – a subject fraught with the deepest interest to this republic, whether we regard it in its political, moral, or religious aspects. And because it is a political subject, it has often been tauntingly said, that woman has nothing to do with it. Are we aliens, because we are women? Are we bereft of citizenship, because we are the mothers, wives, and daughters of a mighty people? Have women no country – no interests staked in public weal – no liabilities in common peril – no partnership in a nation’s guilt and shame?

 

    She and Sarah, together with Theodore Weld, who would marry Angelina that same year, were leaders in the fight to free African Americans. 

    Back home, however, some of the sisters’ own family members were profiting handsomely off the backs of their slaves. Henry Grimke was a lawyer, married, with three children by his wife Selina. But he also had three children by his slave mistress, Nancy Weston. 

    Nancy was light-skinned herself, her sons the same – but they were still slaves – and still at the mercy of their owners. Montague, the boys’ white half-brother, often beat them viciously, to remind them of their “place.”

 

* 

A rosy view of slavery. 

February 6: John B. Gordon, born, in Upson County, Georgia, turns six. He will later describe his boyhood in the South. 

    His description of slavery is clueless in the extreme: 

    My birthplace was my father’s plantation in Upson County, Georgia, on the banks of the Flint River, and there my early boyhood was passed in the days before the war, when there were no railroads, no telegraphs, no daily newspapers, and few mails in that portion of the country. The cost of postage on a letter was five or ten cents, according to its size and the distance it was to go. The mails were carried in well-settled districts on horseback, and between important towns in stagecoaches. As the coaches, drawn by teams of four horses, with bugles sounding their approach, swept along the roads, they aroused in the country people more interest than would now be excited by the finest train of Pullman cars. The drivers, mounted on their lofty seats, were the envy of aspiring boys.

 

    On the plantations of that day there was no machinery for compressing cotton into bales. The long bag was hung under a platform with a large round hole in the floor, through which the lint cotton was thrown by hand into the swinging bag below. The packing was done by the most faithful and stalwart negro on the place, who stood inside the bag and tramped the cotton with his feet as it came down, and then pounded it with an iron bar. The packer on my father’s plantation was the negro foreman, known only as “Captain” – a very impressive personage, tall and straight, with side whiskers, and of austere bearing. He seemed to “boss” not only the negroes, but everybody and everything on the plantation. He would come out of this packing process covered from head to foot with a thin coating of lint cotton, looking like a man of snow with a black face. His habit was to get rid of the fine, fleecy lint by burning it off. Applied near his ankles the flame ran over him in a second, cleaning off the lint with no perceptible damage to his clothing.

 

    When about six years old I was standing by the fire when captain came out of the cotton bag covered with an unusual amount of lint, and ordered me, “Touch me off now!” I obeyed. The blaze swept over him, cleaning off the lint from foot to head – and the side whiskers, too! He was cured of that habit.

 

    Several years after this my father moved to north Georgia. Although plantation life there differed somewhat from that peculiar to the cotton belt, there were the same kindly relations between the master and his men, the same free intercourse between the white and black boys on our plantation. We felt ourselves responsible for the protection of our black followers in case of conflicts with other boys; and I may add that the black companions of my boyhood drew me into a larger number of pitched battles in their defense than I afterwards fought in my four years of service in the Confederate army.

 

    Constant and free intercourse from early childhood to mature years developed between the young white boys and their black companions a bond of true sympathy which the abolition of slavery has not wholly broken; and these ties of real affection between boys of both colors, between the white girls and their black maids, between the very young white children and their black “mammies” and nurses, ought to be a sufficient explanation of that wonderful loyalty of the slaves to the defenseless women and children left on the plantations during the Civil War.

 

    In the fall season there were “corn shuckings,” when the negroes from adjoining plantations met, first on this place and then on that, and shucked the great piles of corn, singing as they worked. When the work was finished at night, they seized the young master of the place, and hoisting him on their shoulders bore him triumphantly around the premises to the great supper table, still singing their “corn songs.”

 

    On the Fourth of July the great plantation barbecues marked the day for the darkies. The entire expense was of course borne by the owner of the plantation. The negroes, old and young, male and female, assembled and roasted pigs and lambs and kids, ending with a frolic of strange games and dancing at night.

 

    The great holiday of the year was the “Chris’mas time,” as it was then called. At this festive occasion there was scarcely any restriction put upon the slaves; no limit to the liberties they were permitted to take with “ole marster” and “missus” and the younger members of the household. The excited darkies felt at liberty to creep silently into “the white folk’s house” at earliest dawn, and often before the dawn, on Christmas morning, and startle every member of the household by shouting, “Chris’mas gif’, ev’ybody!” Of course all responded with a gift.

 

    Inbred as is hospitality among the Southern planters, their ruined fortunes have now rendered impractical such visiting as was common fifty years ago. At that time large numbers of people of wealth, education, and refinement lived upon the plantations, and the hospitality was boundless. When a planter paid a visit he frequently carried wife, children, servants, carriages, and horses, and settled down for an indefinite period of social enjoyment.

 

    The building of the first school that I attended stood in a woodland not far from the main highway. It was built of hewn logs, but was well finished inside and out. At each end of the room there was an immense chimney, and in those broad fireplaces during the winter months great log fires were kept burning. The logs for this purpose were cut and brought in by details of the larger boys.

 

    At another school there were “composition days” and “speaking days” in each week. On the former the larger girls and boys were required to read aloud before the whole school what were supposed to be original compositions or essays on subjects sometimes selected by themselves and sometimes by the teacher. And on the speaking days all except the smallest boys were required to declaim from the stage some selection committed to memory.

 

    During these declamatory exercises the school was permitted to applaud successes and laugh at failures, which not only added interest and piquancy to the occasion, but stimulated the boys to perfect themselves in juvenile oratory, and was most helpful in developing self-control. The teacher himself would occasionally add to the school’s amusement by some good-natured remark at the expense of the declaimer.

 

    A friend of mine named Peter had selected for his speech that extract from Patrick Henry’s famous oration which begins with the words, “I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience.”

 

    Peter confidently mounted the rostrum; but although he had quietly memorized his piece in his own room, he had not, as was the habit of more experienced boys, gone to the woods, thundered away at the trees, and so accustom his ears to his own voice and declamation. Hence, startled by his own tones as he shouted from the stage, “I have but one lamp – lamp – lamp –,” he could get no further. His speech had gone from his memory. He passed his left hand across his forehead in a vain effort to recall it, while with his right he pulled at his trousers as if he thought it might have slipped down into his pocket; but it came not. He began again, “I have but one lamp – lamp – lamp –,” and then the teacher, amidst roar of laughter from the school, said, “Come down, Peter; your lamp has gone out.”

 

NOTE TO TEACHERS: To make matters even worse, this description of life in the South appeared in the Jones Readers by Grades: Book Four (1904), used by elementary schools. 

    I think a question that would elicit a lot of comment from students today would be, “What does Gordon miss in his description of life, in Georgia, during the days of slavery?” 

   What reactions would students have to the picture of slavery shown – in a textbook from the 1920s?

 

* 

March 23: The deadline for the Cherokee people to move West arrives. Thousands are driven from their ancestral homes. Writing in 1895, Ridpath is not unsympathetic in his telling. 

    Still, his wording can sound off to the modern ear: 

    Difficulties next arose with the Cherokees of Georgia. These people had risen to the civilized life, and were perhaps the most humane of all the Indian races. They had adopted many of the manners and customs of the whites. Farms had been opened, towns built, schools established, printing presses set up, and a code of laws prepared in the civilized manner. It will be remembered that the government of the United States had given a pledge to Georgia to extinguish the title of the Indian lands within her borders – this in compensation for her cession to the government of the territory of Mississippi. The pledge on the part of the United States was not fulfilled; and the Legislature of Georgia, weary of the delay in the removal of the Indians, passed a law abrogating the Indian governments within the limits of the State, and extending the laws of that commonwealth over all the Indian domains.

 

    Vainly did the natives seek to resist this iniquitous legislation. The Cherokees and the Creeks sought the privilege of using the State courts in the attempt to maintain their rights; but such privilege was denied and the petitioners were outlawed. The Supreme Court of the United States, however, refused to ratify the acts of Georgia, declaring the same to be unconstitutional. The Indians appealed to the president, but he refused to interfere. On the contrary, he recommended that the Cherokees be removed to new lands beyond the Mississippi. Such was the contingency which led to the organization of the Indian Territory as a sort of reservation for the broken tribes. With great reluctance the Cherokees yielded to the necessity of removal. Though they had been paid more than five million dollars for their homes, they clung to the land of their fathers. Only when General Scott was directed Two remove then by force did they yield to the inevitable and take up their march for their new homes in the West. (1219/323-324)

 

* 

ONE OF THESE DAYS, I may get around to providing a lengthy sample from Theodore Weld’s book, American Slavery as It Is. Working with the Grimke sisters, and using almost entirely Southern sources, he painted a horrific picture of the institution of slavery. I did provide examples in a reading for my classes. The words in brackets were added where I suspected most of my students would otherwise be confused. 

    The book can be found online: 

…a slaveholder “offered a white man of my acquaintance twenty dollars for every one of his female slaves he would get in the family way [pregnant]…” 

“Many masters whip until they are tired – until the back is a gore of blood – then rest upon it … they sometimes leave them tied for hours together, bleeding at every wound. Sometimes after being whipped, they are bathed with a brine of salt and water.” 

“…one slave who was under my care, was whipped, I think one hundred lashes, for getting a small handful of wood from his master’s yard without leave [permission]…” 

“I looked in the direction he pointed, and saw a human head stuck up on a high pole. On inquiry, I found that a runaway slave … had been shot there, his head severed from his body, and put upon the public highway, as a terror to deter [stop] other slaves running away.” 

“In Goochland County, Virginia, an overseer tied a slave to a tree, flogged [whipped] him again and again with great severity, then piled brush around him, set him on fire, and burned him to death…” 

“I have frequently seen those of both sexes who have not attained the age of twelve years go naked. Their punishments are invariably cruel. For the slightest offence, such as taking a hen’s egg, I have seen them stripped and suspended by their hands, their feet tied together, a fence rail of ordinary size placed between their ankles, and then most cruelly whipped, until, from head to foot, they were completely lacerated [cut]…” 

“I frequently saw Mrs. Ruffner flog her [slave girl] with the broom, shovel or any thing she could seize in her rage. She would knock her down and then kick her and stamp her most unmercifully…” 

“I never saw slaves seated around a table to partake of any meal … no lights of any kind, no firewood – no towels, no basins, or soap, no tables, chairs, or other furniture, are provided [by the master for the comfort of the slaves]…”

 

*

 

    WHITTIER publishes the poem:

 

THE FAREWELL OF A VIRGINIA SLAVE MOTHER 

TO HER DAUGHTERS SOLD INTO SOUTHERN BONDAGE.

 

GONE, gone, – sold and gone,

     To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

     Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,

     Where the noisome insect stings,

     Where the fever demon strews

     Poison with the falling dews,

     Where the sickly sunbeams glare

     Through the hot and misty air;

     Gone, gone, – sold and gone,

     To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

     From Virginia’s hills and waters;

     Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

 

     Gone, gone, – sold and gone,

     To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

     There no mother’s eye is near them,

     There no mother’s ear can hear them;

     Never, when the torturing lash

     Seams their back with many a gash,

     Shall a mother’s kindness bless them,

     Or a mother’s arms caress them.

     Gone, gone, – sold and gone,

     To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

     From Virginia’s hills and waters;

     Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

 

     Gone, gone, – sold and gone,

     To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

     Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,

     From the fields at night they go,

     Faint with toil, and racked with pain,

     To their cheerless homes again,

     There no brother’s voice shall greet them;

     There no father’s welcome meet them.

     Gone, gone, – sold and gone,

     To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

     From Virginia’s hills and waters;

     Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

 

     Gone, gone, – sold and gone,

     To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

     From the tree whose shadow lay

     On their childhood’s place of play;

     From the cool spring where they drank;

     Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;

     From the solemn house of prayer,

     And the holy counsels there;

     Gone, gone, – sold and gone,

     To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

     From Virginia’s hills and waters;

     Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

 

     Gone, gone, – sold and gone,

     To the rice-swamp dank and lone;

     Toiling through the weary day,

     And at night the spoiler’s prey.

     Oh, that they had earlier died,

     Sleeping calmly, side by side,

     Where the tyrant’s power is o’er,

     And the fetter galls no more

     Gone, gone, – sold and gone,

     To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

     From Virginia’s hills and waters;

     Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

 

     Gone, gone, – sold and gone,

     To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

     By the holy love He beareth;

     By the bruised reed He spareth;

     Oh, may He, to whom alone

     All their cruel wrongs are known,

     Still their hope and refuge prove,

     With a more than mother’s love.

     Gone, gone, – sold and gone,

     To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

     From Virginia’s hills and waters;

     Woe is me, my stolen daughters! 

 

* 

September: Emma Willard, the school reformer, marries Dr. Christopher Yates. Nine months later, she separates from her husband. Later, they divorce.

 

* 

Psalm of Life

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

   Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

   And things are not what they seem.

 

Life is real! Life is earnest!

   And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

   Was not spoken of the soul.

 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

   Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

   Find us farther than to-day.

 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

   And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

   Funeral marches to the grave.

 

In the world’s broad field of battle,

   In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

   Be a hero in the strife!

 

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

   Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act,— act in the living Present!

   Heart within, and God o’erhead!

 

Lives of great men all remind us

   We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

   Footprints on the sands of time;

 

Footprints, that perhaps another,

   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

   Seeing, shall take heart again.

 

Let us, then, be up and doing,

   With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

   Learn to labor and to wait.

 

* 

Fall: The Cherokee are not the only people who are about to be driven from their homes. In Missouri there has been growing trouble between members of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints and their neighbors. 

    As Bernard DeVoto explains, Governor Boggs had unleashed 6,000 militia to attack the Mormons. 

    In one instance, Joseph Smith and five other leaders of the Latter-Day Saints were captured, court-martialed, and ordered shot. Alexander Doniphan, a militia commander, and a lawyer refused. “It is cold-blooded murder. I will not obey your order,” he told his general. “My brigade shall march for Liberty tomorrow morning at 8:00 o’clock and if you execute these men I will hold you responsible before an earthly tribunal, so help me God.” (5/82)

 

* 

The Mormons must be exterminated. 

October 27: Tension had been growing, between Mormon and “Gentile” settlers, as the Mormons called their neighbors. Boggs issues an executive order calling on authorities and state militia to take action: “The Mormons must be treated as enemies, and must be exterminated or driven from the State if necessary for the public peace – their outrages are beyond all description.”

 

* 

October 30: The Haun’s Mill Massacre takes place when a Mormon settlement is attacked by a force of about 240 militia. Seventeen Mormons are killed, including two children. A third child later dies of his wounds, and a seven-year-old girl is wounded. Fifteen Mormons are injured, with another wounded man later succumbing. One of the attackers justified the murder of Sardius Smith, 10, saying, “Nits will make lice, and if he had lived he would have become a Mormon.” (General Chivington will echo such thinking at Sand Creek in 1864.)

Joseph Smith, leader of the Mormon church.