Standing up with a steeled, measured resolved, Charlie announced, “Then Hannah, we only have a few days. We need to tell our children what is going to happen. We need to prepare them so they will keep their emotions under control. I can’t let my boy be blindsided. I know my boy. Samuel will not be able to stand there quietly and let them shackle me and load me onto that wagon, without us talking to him first.”
“Charlie, our Samuel is a good boy and he will do whatever you tell him to. Little Ruby is my shadow. With her shy little ways, she would not think of going against what we tell her. It is Pearl that I am most worried about. She is only five years old, but that girl is already full of her own opinions and has a hard time letting things just be. She is stubborn, willful, and has a mind of her own. She is not going to stand by and let her daddy be hauled away without a fight.”
“Hannah, it is our job to get her ready. We cannot stop what is about to happen, but we must protect our children and keep them with their momma.”
That was the night I realized that loving people only brings me pain. I can’t do nothing about nothing, except try to make sure I protect me and my children from getting sold off. I tucked my love for Charlie deep down inside of me so I could survive his leaving. Then I pledged to myself, “You do everything in your power to keep Ms. Victoria happy so she will continue to fight for you and your children. That is your only way out of all this.”
The next day, I watched from the kitchen window as the photographer positioned Charlie beside the canning shed and took his picture. Charlie knew what this meant but he just stood where he was told and then walked back out to the orchard as if it was just another day.
I tried to stay busy so I would not get myself so riled up that I could not put on my slave-face. I had practiced that face for years, and it had served me well. It was getting towards mid-day and I needed to get lunch on the table. Ms Victoria had come through the kitchen around ten o’clock to inform me that the photographer would be joining them for lunch. Unaware that I knew what was going on, Ms. Victoria offered, “Hannah, Mr. Saint John is a wonderful photographer. He has taken all of our family photos. He is especially good with children.”
I wondered where she was going with this, when suddenly she stopped in midsentence, as if just getting an idea, and said, “Hannah, you don’t have a picture of your children, do you? Would you like Mr. Saint John to take Samuel, Pearl, and Ruby’s picture before he leaves today? That way you will always remember what they looked like as small children.”
Terror ran through me at the idea of my children getting their picture took. Slave’s pictures meant they were being sold. My face must have given me away because Ms. Victoria grabbed my arm and said, “Hannah, you know how much I care for your children. I just wanted to do this as a gift for you, really. I have gathered up some old, but very nice, clothes that my Charles and Elizabeth used to wear. While we are having lunch, you can clean up the children and get them all dressed up. Then, just before Mr. Saint John packs up his gear, I will ask him to take the children’s photo. He would not think of refusing my request.”
I agreed—what else could I do? But I had another reason for agreeing. Not knowing it would take too many days to get the picture back, I was hoping I might have it in time to give Charlie a picture of his children. I wanted him to have this to remember us, so I set aside the terror of seeing my children get their picture taken and thought about Charlie.
My Samuel hated that getup. Young Master Charles’ fancy Sunday clothes had been stored in the upstairs trunk for more than ten years and they smelled funny. How my Samuel hated that blue velvet suit with short pants and stiff white collar around his neck, but he always did as I said.
Pearl and Ruby loved the dresses Ms. Victoria picked out for them. They had never had such lovely clothes and Ruby spun around the kitchen feeling like a little queen that day. She squealed in delight, ‘Momma, do we get to keep these pretty dresses? Pearl, always much more in control, kept questioning why? ‘Momma, why are we getting dressed up? Momma, why are we getting our picture took? Momma, why is today different than every other day?’
Pearl was not built to be a slave. That girl always had too many ‘whys’ in her head, and asking ‘why’ will only get you into trouble.
Think’n back, I never did get that picture. It didn’t come in time to give it to Charlie and then I just forgot about it. Charlie was gone and life just went on. I put my slave-face back on and buried my loneliness for Charlie way down deep inside of me—and just kept going. That is what a slave does, if they want to survive.
SECTION FIVE
TOBIAS:
My Link To My Past
1951-1954
12. Putting Faces To The Names
CHAPTER 12
Putting Faces to The Names
REMEMBERING ALL THE terrible things little Hannah went through has always been difficult. Sitting here on the train all these years later, I can almost hear Ms. Pearl’s words of caution so long ago. Although hard to hear, Hannah’s story taught me a valuable lesson. Today, I want my Great-Grandma Hannah with me as I travel back in time and revisit these stories. I have always had her tin box, but recently, thanks to a timely newspaper article in the Atlanta Herald, I now possess three of my most precious gifts.
During my youth, when the Sisters told me all about life on the plantation and Momma Hannah, I had to imagine what she looked like because even the sisters did not have a photo of their momma or the plantation. There never were any photos of Momma Hannah, Samuel, or the sisters because slaves did not have cameras or the necessary funds to have their photos taken. Growing up, the only photo Grandpa Samuel ever had was his wedding photo.
Years later in the early 1920s, we had read with interest that the old plantation had finally been sold to some investors. We were all happy that the place no longer belonged to the Stewart family. The old place had been ransacked, boarded up, and left in ruins for more than sixty years. The newspaper article reported that some investors planned to gut the place and turn it into a grand hotel. However, before the major demolition could begin, the crash of 1929 hit; the place was boarded up again for another twenty years.
In 1948 another investment group purchased the plantation and spent three long years turning it into a fully restored antebellum bed-and-breakfast resort. While doing the restorations, the new investors were given all of the old slave documents, photos and ledgers that had been held by the Stewart family. In 1951 while planning their grand opening, the local newspaper featured several articles about how these old documents were being displayed around the main house.
Knowing a black man would not be welcomed through the front doors of this fancy new resort, I almost talked myself out of writing a letter, explaining who I was and how I was connected to the Stewart family. Ruth kept after me to write that letter, and yet again, I owe one of my greatest gifts to her.
I asked if I might be allowed to come and look at the documents while the resort was still closed to the public. I did not hold out much hope for an answer, so I was quite surprised when Ruth and I received a gracious invitation to stop by the plantation a day or two before the grand opening.
Sitting on this train, bound for such an honorable event, Tobias could not help but let his mind drift back to three years earlier, on the day when he and Ruth had walked up the paved walkway to the grand front door of the former Stewart Plantation. He knew that he and Ruth would never be allowed to walk through those doors once they were opened to the public—at least not in his lifetime.
Standing nervously at the grand walkway that lead to the front steps, Tobias suspected his Great-Grandma Hannah had never been allowed to walk on this pathway, or walk through those front doors. A strange feeling came over him as he approached the house. He knew this house even though he had never before been here because he had spent many an evening walking through it via the great storytelling talent of his Great-Auntie Ruby.
“Ruth, I wish Aunt Ruby could have lived to
see this day.”
Ruth did not agree with his desire. “Tobias, I don’t believe Ruby’s returning here would be as special to her as it is to you. Her memories were not as sweet as yours are.”
As they climbed the entry steps, a gentleman opened the door and invited them to come in. As they walked around, Tobias’ mind could hear Ms. Ruby and Ms. Pearl describing each room to him. He wanted to run into the kitchen where Momma Hannah had spent her life, then into the pantry where Pearl sat listening to the school lessons, and he wanted to climb down into the secret cellar where Momma Hannah and Pearl had hidden the canned food. He whispered to Ruth, “I wonder if these men even know about the secret cellar?”
Upon walking into old Master Stewart’s office, which had been converted into an intimate dining room, Tobias was not prepared for what he saw. The investors had gone through old Master Stewart’s papers and discovered that he had truly conducted his business well. Unlike most sellers, Old Master Stewart always hired a photographer to come to the plantation and take photos of the slaves he was planning to sell. Each photo was printed on a Slave’s Bulletin, listing the slave’s age, his overall health, his abilities, and the price he wanted for him. At first Tobias thought he might find a photo of his Great-Grandpa Charlie Bascom, but then he noticed the dates were all 1828. He knew that would have been too early for Charlie.
Although disappointed, he continued to flip through the bulletins because these men deserved to be remembered. At the very bottom of this stack of bulletins was a single photo of a little girl sitting on the top step of the old kitchen door. Tobias noticed a caption scribbled below the photo that read: Little Hannah, age 5, Kitchen Helper, 1829.
Tobias stood looking at the photo with tears streaming down his face. He was seeing the sweet little face of his great-grandmother Hannah when she was only five years old. Whispering to Ruth, he lamented, “Oh, how much my Grandpa Samuel and the Sisters would have loved to have seen this photo of their momma.”
The gentleman standing by the doorway could see Tobias’ reaction and came over. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, sir,” Tobias quickly answered. “See this photo of the little girl, Hannah? She was my great-grandmother.”
“Are you sure?” the gentleman asked in amazement. “We have been trying to do research about everyone who ever lived on this plantation, but after the Civil War, everyone had scattered. These people are long since dead, and we have no idea how to contact their families.”
“Well, sir,” Tobias said with great pride, “I lived with her son, my grandpa Samuel until I was seven. He was born and reared as a slave on this plantation. At seven, I was sent to live with his sisters, Pearl and Ruby, who were also born on this plantation.”
With an urgent, but excited, tone in his voice, the gentleman said, “Wait right here, Tobias.”
A few minutes later, the gentleman returned with a file dated 1853. “Tobias, I have spent the past three years archiving every photo, legal document, slave ledger, and Slave Auction Bulletin the Stewart Family had in their possession. Most of them were incomplete, and because the Stewarts tended to rename their slaves and often reused names, I could not do anything but put them in some kind of date order. The name Hannah seemed to be a name Old Master Stewart liked, so when I saw this picture in the file, I could not assume it had anything to do with the photo of Little Hannah from 1828. But you mentioned that your great-grandmother Hannah had three children by the names of Samuel, Pearl, and Ruby, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” confirmed Tobias with so much emotion he could hardly contain himself.
“Tobias, in 1853, twenty-five years after little Hannah’s photo was taken, young Master Stewart ordered several Slave Auction Bulletins printed. Talk of war was making it difficult to sell slaves, not knowing if their purchases could remain secure.” Then opening the file, the gentleman handed Tobias a bulletin, “Might these be Hannah’s children?”
Tobias took hold of the bulletin, and there was Grandpa Samuel standing beside his sisters, Pearl and Ruby. By the date, it must have been about the time Great-Grandpa Charlie had been sold. Tobias fought back tears as he confirmed the man’s belief. “Yes, these are Hannah’s children—my Grandpa Samuel, and his twin sisters, Pearl and Ruby. Pearl is standing, and Ruby is sitting.”
Once Tobias had indeed established the identities of those in the photo, the gentleman handed him the original photo from which the Auction Bulletin had been created. “Turn it over, Tobias, and read what is written on the back.”
Tobias turned it over and in a clear hand it said, “Photo ordered by Mrs. Victoria Stewart as a gift to Hannah, the cook, for selling Charlie Bascom. At the bottom of the photo was a second note: Auction Bulletin of children ordered by Master Stewart.”
As Tobias and Ruth studied the photo, the gentleman again opened the file and pulled out a second auction bulletin. “Using the year 1853, I went through all the Stewart records to find an Auction Bulletin for any slave by the name of Charlie Bascom, and I found this.”
Unable to contain her emotions, Ruth cried out, “Oh, Tobias, I wish Pearl and Ruby could have seen this.”
Tobias dared not respond. Gripped with emotion, he studied the photo of his great-grandfather Charlie and carefully read the history that accompanied so many of these seller’s bulletins.
Charlie Bascom is thirty-three years old, in good health, and a good strong worker. He was born in 1820 on the Bascom Plantation in Monroe, Louisiana, to a healthy twenty-seven-year-old female purchased in 1798 from a ship transport from Upper Guinea. His birth papers note that the mother was from the Yoruba people. Master Bascom trained this slave to do orchard keeping; however, this slave is a fast learner and can be used for nearly any type of heavy labor. Being of sound body, this slave has never been beaten for running away or causing problems. Having purchased him directly from his original owner, this seller can attest to this slave’s background and merit. Asking $4,500.
Tobias stared at the information provided about his great-grandfather’s lineage—the Yoruba people of Upper Guinea, and the name of the Bascom Plantation. After all these years, on one single sheet of paper, he now knew where his name came from and where his great-grandpa came from and what he looked like.
As Tobias stared into the eyes of his grandpa’s daddy, he knew he had to do something to get this man to give these photos to him. “Sir, did you know that there is a secret cellar under the floor of the back room—right beyond the kitchen?”
Surprised, the curator asked, “Really? Would you be willing to show it to me?”
Tobias smiled. “Sir, this is the first time I have been inside this house, but my Great-Auntie Ruby was a great storyteller and included many details. I believe I know exactly where to find it.”
“Then let’s go,” encouraged the gentleman.
Tobias was excited to learn that the secret cellar was news to this gentleman, and he was happy to see that the investors had left the room as they had found it. In their desire to maintain as much authenticity as possible, they had not gutted this backroom. They simply cleaned it up and placed a sign at the door, “House-slaves quarters.”
Tobias walked in and stopped for a moment as he thought, “I knew the people who lived in here.” Then he quickly requested, “Sir, if you would take the end of the bed, I will take the top and we can move the bed across the room.”
As they did so, Tobias could almost feel Ms. Pearl and Momma Hannah doing this same thing so many years earlier. Once the bed was moved, Tobias put his finger in the small hole in the floor and lifted the hidden hatch. Even though the curator was wearing his suit, he quickly laid down on the floor so he could look around the hidden cellar. “We had absolutely no idea this room was here. Do you happen to know what they used it for?”
“Yes, sir,” Tobias smiled. “I know a great story about this secret cellar. By the way, do you know about the caverns?”
“What caverns?”
Tobias grinned like a Cheshire c
at. He knew he had a bargaining chip that just might secure those family photos for him. “Sir, if you would be willing to give me those three photographs of my family members, I will tell you everything I know about this plantation.”
As he stretched out his hand, the curator smiled. “You have a deal.”
Over the next few months, Tobias kept his promise and did tell the curator all about the Bascoms’ family stories; in turn, he was given the photos he had requested.
Lifting out the envelope from the tin box, Tobias remembered how very selective he had been about which stories he had planned to share with that curator. Although that gentleman was appreciative and gracious, he was not interested in a slave’s point of view. But today, while on this train ride to Washington, Tobias intended to review every last detail of the accounts he had been told. This time though, instead of having to imagine what each person looked like, he now had real images so he could easily put a face to all of the stories.
One by one, the photos were lifted out of the envelope; Great-Grandma Hannah at the age of four, Great-Grandpa Charlie, Grandpa Samuel, Great-Auntie Pearl, and Great-Auntie Ruby.
Tobias smiled as he held these photos and allowed his mind to return to their hiding place during the Atlanta riots, when the sisters told him what it was like after their daddy was taken away.
SECTION SIX
THE SISTERS:
Life Without our Daddy
1853-1865
13. Pearl Remembers When our Daddy was Sold
14. Ruby Remembers Life with Ms. Elizabeth
15. Pearl Remembers Back at the Stewart Plantation
Treasure in a Tin Box (Wall of Silence Book 1) Page 10