The Lost German Slave Girl

by John Bailey

  Given its lack of proper sanitation, and its location in a swamp, it’s not surprising that New Orleans had the deserved reputation of being the unhealthiest city of any state in the Union. Periodic cholera, yellow fever, and smallpox plagues carried off hundreds. Although in most years the death rate of New Orleans exceeded its birthrate, the city continued to grow, all through immigration.

  Madame Hemm spent four years in the service of a family in Baton Rouge. One day she met Henry Müller in the streets of the city. He told her that he was serving a master in the nearby village of Bayou Sara. He asked her if she had heard anything of Daniel or his children. She hadn’t. Henry said he couldn’t understand what had happened to them. Daniel hadn’t written. No one seemed to know where they were. Madame Hemm asked Henry about his own children, and he proudly told her that they had grown so much she wouldn’t recognize them. They were no longer starved for food as they had been in Germany. They had shot up. He reckoned they were bound to be taller than he was.

  Years later Henry’s son Daniel gave evidence in the trial to free Salomé Müller. He said that his father, right up until his death in 1824, talked continually of finding his brother. If ever he met strangers, he would ask them if they knew anything of a German immigrant with a young boy and two girls. In 1820, or perhaps 1821 (Henry’s son wasn’t sure of the date), a man told his father that he had heard of two German orphan girls going by the name of Miller living up Natchez way. Although the man was vague about where they lived, Henry had bought a horse and wagon and set off north. He lost the horse attempting to cross the Homochitto River but walked on to Natchez. When he arrived he had asked people endlessly about the two orphan children, but no one knew anything of them.

  After serving as a domestic in Madame Borgnette’s school for young ladies for two years, Eva Kropp earned her right to freedom. At eighteen years, she married a fellow redemptioner, Francis Schuber, who had plans to open a butcher shop in the market of the Faubourg Marigny.

  Mrs. Fleikener spent a year and a half on Colonel White’s Deer Range Plantation in the southwest of the state. She returned to New Orleans in the early 1820s. Mistress Schultzeheimer, after completing her service on the Hopkins plantation, returned to New Orleans where she rented rooms near Beekman’s cotton and tobacco yard, and resumed her practice as a midwife. The Wagner brothers came out of service and set up a dry goods store on Chartres Street. Dorothy Kirchner married a man named Brown and went to live with him on a farm in Mississippi.

  Francis Schuber’s butcher shop opened, and customers came. The Wagner brothers’ dry goods store flourished, and there were plenty of babies for Mistress Schultzeheimer to deliver. The immigrants all learned English, and even more important, they learned how things were done in America. They shared in the growing fortunes of the city, and told themselves that if they were prepared to work hard, wealth would be sure to come their way.

  These were the ones who prospered. Many did not. Charles Seals-field, writing in 1828, told what happened to them:

  There are a great number of Germans in New Orleans. These people, without being possessed of the smallest resources, embarked 8 or 10 years ago, and after having lost one-half, or three-parts of their comrades during the passage, they were sold as white slaves, or as they are called, Redemptioners, the moment of their arrival. Thus mixed with the Negroes in the same kind of labor, they experienced no more consideration than the latter; and their conduct certainly deserves no better treatment. Those who did not escape, were driven away by their masters for their immoderate drinking; and all, with few exceptions were glad to get rid of such dregs. The watchmen and lamp lighters are Germans, and hundreds of these people fell victim to the fever, between the years 1814 and 1822.62

  FIVE

  SALLY MILLER

  You are hereby commanded to bring before me the body of one negro man, supposed to be forty or forty-five years old, with one leg off, rather dark complexioned, name unknown; also one negro man, supposed to be twenty-five or thirty years old, with one short leg, supposed to be occasioned by the white swelling, dark complexioned, name unknown; also one negro boy, supposed to be nine or ten years old, copper color, name unknown; also one negro woman, supposed to be forty or forty-five years old, copper color, name unknown; and also one negro girl, about five or six years old, copper color, name unknown; as it appears from an affidavit made before me that the above described persons are runaway slaves, and believed to be without free papers, and placed in the jail of the said county. Given under my hand and seal, this 16th day of January, A.D. 1850.

  A writ issued by a justice of the peace in Illinois, 1850,

  for the apprehension of two men, one boy, one woman, and

  one girl, runaways from Missouri63

  Louis Belmonti was in no doubt where his slave had gone—she had fled to the house of that German butcher’s wife in Lafayette. He arrived there early one morning and began pounding on the door. Francis Schuber had already left for work, and Eva and Salomé Müller huddled inside as Belmonti shouted at them through the mail flap. Mary was his and he wanted her back, he yelled. He rattled the door and stamped his feet. She was his property. He kicked the door, and became even angrier when Eva Schuber told him to go away. He would have them both imprisoned, he yelled. The longer Mary defied him, the more he would make her suffer.

  After half an hour of shouting at a closed door Belmonti left, but not before threatening them that when he got his hands on Mary he would take her in chains to the public auctions and get rid of her for good. The episode badly shook the two women, especially the vow to auction her. They knew that if Belmonti reclaimed Mary Miller, he could sell her within hours and she would be on her way to some remote plantation, or out of the state, never to be heard of again.

  There was no squeamishness in New Orleans about slave auctions—they were conducted under the colonnades in front of the Supreme Court, in the garden behind St. Louis Cathedral and under the lofty rotunda of the St. Louis Hotel. According to the City Directory of 1842, there were 185 slave dealers operating in the city. The most famous of all the auctions was held in the opulent St. Charles Hotel in the American Quarter, where, after dining on the exquisite cuisine the hotel had to offer, men would bid for black men and women standing on blocks at each end of the bar. Over twenty slave pens were located within several streets of the hotel, and one, owned by Theophilus Freeman, was directly opposite. Solomon Northup was sold there in 1841. He described what happened:

  With an occasional kick of the older men and women, and many a sharp crack of the whip about the ears of the younger slaves, it was not long before they were all astir, and wide awake. Mr. Theophilus Freeman bustled about in a very industrious manner, getting his property ready for the sales-room, intending, no doubt, to do that day a rousing business.

  In the first place we were required to wash thoroughly, and those with beards, to shave. We were then furnished with a new suit each, cheap, but clean. The men had hat, coat, shirt, pants and shoes; the women frocks of calico, and handkerchiefs to bind about their heads. We were now conducted into a large room in the front part of the building to which the yard was attached, in order to be properly trained before the admission of customers. The men were arranged on one side of the room, the women on the other. The tallest was placed at the head of the row, then the next tallest, and so on in the order of their respective heights. … Freeman charged us to remember our places; exhorted us to appear smart and lively—sometimes threatening, and again, holding out various inducements. During the day he exercised us in the art of “looking smart,” and of moving to our places with exact precision….

  Next day many customers called to examine Freeman’s “new lot.” The latter gentleman was very loquacious, dwelling at much length upon our several good points and qualities. He would make us hold up our heads, walk briskly back and forth, while customers would feel of our hands and arms and bodies, turn us about, ask us what we could do, make us open our mouths and show our teeth, p
recisely as a jockey examines a horse which he is about to barter for or purchase. Sometimes a man or woman was taken back to the small house in the yard, stripped, and inspected more minutely. Scars upon a slave’s back were considered evidence of a rebellious or unruly spirit, and hurt his sale.64

  Now the Schuber family took precautions. Salomé was never let out of the house by herself, the front door was always catched, the back gate was padlocked, and Francis Schuber arranged for some young men in the street to have billy clubs ready in their hallway. So constant was the fear that Salomé might be taken that plans of her working as a domestic in one of the mansions along St. Charles Avenue had to be abandoned.

  These sorts of arrangements couldn’t be tolerated for long. Salomé paced the house like a caged animal, complaining that she had more freedom when Belmonti owned her. Eva and Francis sympathized and the three of them sought counsel from several elders in the German community. What was needed, they advised, was a declaration from a high-ranking official, a court, the legislature, some such body, the governor perhaps, saying that Salomé Müller was a free German woman. Only then could they rest in peace.

  The next day, Eva hurried off to consult an attorney who had been recommended to her. He was Mr. L. J. Sigur, principal of the firm of Sigur, Caperton & Bonford, which had its offices in Customhouse Street in the First Municipality. Mr. Sigur listened patiently as Eva described how her goddaughter had been discovered after being held in bondage for twenty-five years. It is truly a strange story, he said, when Eva had finished. She then told him how her owner had been threatening to seize Salomé and auction her. His face clouded in concern. But Madame Schuber, you and your husband are harboring an escaped slave. I must tell you, it is a most serious offense. The courts treat offenders most harshly.

  A few days later, Sigur journeyed to Eva Schuber’s house to interview Salomé Müller. He was admitted to the front parlor, where waiting for him was an olive-skinned woman, dressed in the clothing of a German frau. This is Miss Müller, said Eva. Salomé gave him a welcoming smile. While Eva busied herself in the kitchen, they exchanged pleasantries. With an easy grace Salomé thanked Sigur for handling her case. He noticed immediately that she had no trace of a German accent. He said he was pleased to be of service. She said that she hoped her freedom could be quickly settled. Nor was there any slave’s deference in her demeanor. Eva returned from the kitchen carrying a tray of coffee and oatmeal biscuits. Sigur dipped his pen in the silver inkwell he had brought with him and opened a fresh page in his journal. And where have you been for the past twenty-five years? he asked.

  And so Sigur learned of John Fitz Miller’s involvement in the story of Salomé Müller.

  He knew Miller. Everyone in New Orleans knew Miller. He had a number of business interests in the city and several plantations across the state. He used to own a stable of horses. Sigur remembered seeing him riding along the levee in the mornings with important men in politics and in the military. Sigur also knew Miller as a man with an irascible temper. He was not someone to be lightly crossed.

  Mr. Belmonti had only owned her for five years, Salomé told him. Before that, Miller had held her as a slave for as long as she could remember. He had a sugar plantation in Attakapas. She had been there once. He had his own racecourse and a large house.

  It was there that Miller took her, said Eva.

  Sigur asked her what she meant. Eva told him that the last time she had seen Salomé she was a little girl. Her father, Daniel Müller, had brought Salomé and her brother and sister to where she was working as a domestic in Madame Borgnette’s boarding school. Daniel had said that he was going to Attakapas where the family had been engaged by a landowner. After that, they were never seen again. It was there, on his plantation in Attakapas, that Miller had made Salomé into his slave.

  The vehemence of her words took Sigur’s breath away. Was she suggesting, he asked, that Miller had knowingly enslaved a young white girl? She was. But it was an extraordinary thing to say. He could think of few accusations against a Southern gentleman as foul. But that is what happened, insisted Eva. He urged caution. They would have to petition the court to seek Salomés freedom, and Miller would be bound to fight such a charge. No one could say what would happen.

  This wasn’t what Eva wanted to hear. Salomé was white, she insisted. The judge must see that. Sigur interrupted to say that she must be realistic. Why would someone as wealthy as Miller need to take a white girl as a slave? He had many slaves already.

  But not a pure, white one, retorted Eva. Not a German girl.

  Sigur looked at her in astonishment. But where did he keep this German girl?

  At his plantation in Attakapas, of course, replied Eva.

  Sigur paused for a moment. It would be a difficult case, he warned. Eva Schuber and her husband could well be found guilty of enticing Salomé Müller from her owner and be ordered to pay damages. The legal expenses would be substantial. Who would pay?

  Eva didn’t hear his question; instead, in a tumble of words, she told how she had recognized Salomé the moment she saw her on her doorstep. So had others. People who had been on the same ship with her. There was Mrs. Fleikener, Madame Hemm, Madame Koelhof-fer, and Mistress Schultzeheimer. All of them had recognized her. So had Madame Carl. They had all known Salomé’s mother. Mistress Schultzeheimer had been at Salomé’s birth. They had all come from the same village. They knew her. They couldn’t be mistaken. How could there be any doubt?

  Sigur shrugged his shoulders. He was willing to take on the case, he said, so long as Madame Schuber understood that he would be looking to her to pay his legal fees, not the woman to be freed from slavery.

  So, money would be needed. Eva Schuber started to collect it.

  When, many months later, Eva told her story to the court, she said she hadn’t left New Orleans since her arrival twenty-five years earlier and had never been into the Third Municipality until the day she asked Belmonti to return her goddaughter. Yet now, in her search for contributions to Salomé’s legal expenses, she traveled the length and breadth of the city, seeking out Germans in Carrollton, the Faubourg Marigny, and across the river in Algiers and Gretna. She knocked on the door of all the German businesses she could find, starting at Jackson Avenue and moving toward the city, then downriver and beyond. She pleaded with German bakers with flour on their hands, impatient to be away, as she explained to them the story of the lost German slave. She spoke to laborers on the wharves, and carpenters at their turning machines. She waited outside the Kaiser Dance Hall on a Saturday night and the Clio Street German Church on Sunday mornings, cajoling, pressing, and shaming. The story was too fanciful for some, but if they attempted to walk off they found Eva at their side, chattering into their ears, imploring them for help. A pure German woman had been taken by an American. Her fate depended on them.

  Sigur completed drafting the petition in the last few weeks of January 1844 and arranged for Salomé to come to his office to sign it. Because the terms of the petition had such an important influence on the course of the subsequent trial, the substantive parts are reproduced below:

  Sally Miller

  vs.

  Louis Belmonti

  To the Hon. the First Judicial District Court of the State of Louisiana.

  The petition of Sally Miller, a free white woman, residing in the City of Lafayette, respectfully represents:

  That she was born of Bavarian parents, who emigrated to this country some time about the year 1817, that her mother having died on the passage, her father, brother, sister and herself, she then being not much above the age of three years, were sold or bound to service as Redemptioners to one John Miller, who took them into the Parish of Attakapas, and that her father died before they arrived at their place of destination, all of which Petitioner having among other things since learned, she being then of too early an age to have them deeply impressed on her memory.

  She further represents that being deprived then of her parents and entirely in
the power and under the control of said Miller, he, in violation of all law human and divine, converted Petitioner into his slave, and as such, did for a long series of years, compel her to perform all the work, labor and services which slaves are required to perform, reducing her in all things to the level and condition of that degraded class.

  She further represents, that in the year—she was sold by said Miller to Louis Belmonti, the defendant in this suit, residing within the jurisdiction of this Court, to wit: in the City of New Orleans, who has retained her in the bonds of slavery up to a very late period, she having but a short time since left the service of said Belmonti and gone to live with her relations who reside in the City of Lafayette, and she expressly charges that at the time she was sold to said Belmonti as aforesaid, he well knew she was free, it being then a matter of common notoriety that she had been illegally reduced to slavery.

  She further represents, that since the time when she manifested her intention of pursuing her rights judicially, said Belmonti has adopted a cruel system of persecution against her, threatening to throw her into prison, to force her to work in the Chain Gang, and even to expose her for sale at public auction, said Belmonti having had ample means of ascertaining that she is a white person, and having devised these means of torturing her from the most malignant motives, and for the purpose of throwing every possible obstacle in the way of her recovery of her rights, and she has good reason to believe that said Belmonti intends to remove her out of the jurisdiction of this Court during the pendency of this suit.

  In the closing paragraph, Sigur, with the customary flourish of the times, prayed that Belmonti be cited to appear “and condemned to pay one thousand dollars damages on account of the illegal and vexatious treatment of the Petitioner.”

  Oddly, there wasn’t one word in the petition about the moles on her inner thighs. Perhaps Sigur wasn’t told about them. Perhaps he was, but decided that the petition was no place to reveal all his evidence. Instead, what was included was a vitriolic attack on Miller and Belmonti. The charge against Miller was vicious—he “in violation of all law human and divine, converted [the] Petitioner into his slave, and as such, did for a long series of years, compel her to perform all the work, labor and services which slaves are required to perform, reducing her in all things to the level and condition of that degraded class.” These words set the scene for the bitterness that characterized the litigation that followed. They made it inevitable that Miller would join the action to defend his character—he would be shunned in Southern society unless he did so. Compromise became impossible in the face of such allegations.