by Al Lacy
By the ninth day, some twenty-one slaves were down with dysentery and the water supply was getting seriously low.
The next day, three slaves died and were buried at sea. On the eleventh day, Robert and Nannie were at the point of death. Benjamin labored over them to relieve their suffering and gave them his meager share of water, trying to keep them alive until they reached Bermuda.
As he stood between their cots, he said, “Mother … Father … you would not have this sickness if we had not been forced at gunpoint to board this ship. If we could live free in Transvaal, as we wanted, you would not be lying here at the point of death. Slavery is a wicked and vile thing. If there is a God that lives above the sky and cares about people here on earth, why does He allow this?”
Nannie looked up at him with dull eyes and said weakly, “Please, my son … do not become bitter. It will only dry up your heart and take away the goodness in you. Some questions cannot be answered. Just go on being the good son you have always been since you were born to us.”
“Yes,” said Robert, hardly able to speak. “If we do not live to see America, please remain our kind and generous Benjamin.”
That day, more slaves died, and the water supply was now depleted.
On the thirteenth day, Nannie died, and Benjamin wept inconsolably. His father was so sick that he was unaware when Nannie’s body was carried out of the room. Neither did he know how Benjamin wept when he saw his mother dropped into the ocean.
The next day, Robert died only moments before the Bermuda islands came into view. Benjamin’s heart felt like stone as he watched his father’s body sink into the sea just ten miles from Bermuda’s main island.
Thomas Green brought two doctors aboard to examine his slaves. When the doctors had completed their examinations, they told Green there were one or two slaves who probably would die yet, but now that he had plenty of water, the others would have a good chance of pulling through.
As the ship steamed away from Bermuda and headed southwest toward South Carolina—still eight hundred miles away—Benjamin and a small group of young slaves sat on the deck and discussed their future in America.
A slave named Wasson told the group he had learned from one of the ship’s crew that most of the rice and cotton plantation owners treated their slaves well, and they fed, clothed, and housed them decently. But there were also those who beat their slaves for various reasons, fed them poorly, and made them live like animals in cheap and run-down quarters.
Benjamin ran his gaze over the faces of his fellow Africans and said, “I … I believe that if there is a God up there above the sky, someday this loathsome treatment of human beings will surely be brought to an end.”
THE WINTER OF 1855 was a mild one in South Carolina, and by the second week of March, spring had come with its balmy days and summery nights.
On the Finn Colvin plantation, a few miles inland from Charleston, the wealthy plantation owner stood between two of his barns, glowering at the twenty-nine-year-old slave who was being dragged toward him by Colvin’s two sons. A group of slaves stood looking on, fear evident in their widened eyes. Two of the younger women held small babies.
Twenty-three-year-old George and twenty-one-year-old Edward Colvin held the cowering slave as their father said, “Nathaniel, George told me you refused to work in the fields today! Don’t you realize we’ve got to get the spring planting done? What’s this stomach problem stuff?”
Nathaniel had been beaten several times during his years at the Colvin plantation. His lips quivered as he said, “Massa Finn, it’s true. My stomach is a-hurtin’ me bad today. I tol’ Massa George this when he come to the shack an’ asked why I wasn’t in the fields.”
Finn set cool eyes on George and said, “Give me the details.”
“Well, Pa, like I told you, when the slaves showed up to work their assigned places in the fields this morning, Matilda was there, ready to do her work, but she said her husband wasn’t feeling well … that his stomach was hurting him, so he stayed in the shack.”
“Go on.”
“I got the rest of them started to work, then went immediately to the shack and found Nathaniel, here, washing clothes. I asked him how he could do the wash if his stomach was hurting him. He told me he was doing it for Matilda to help relieve her work load. He said that doing the wash wasn’t as hard as working in the fields, so he could do it. That’s when I came and told you about it.”
Finn glared at Nathaniel with cruel eyes. His voice shook as he said, “If you could wash clothes, Nathaniel, you could plow ground. You need to be punished so this kind of thing doesn’t happen again. Take him to the barn, boys!”
At the same time Finn Colvin was dealing with Nathaniel, Martha Colvin was on the front porch of the stately mansion, watching the carriage from the Moore plantation wind its way down the lane toward her.
Her heart leapt with joy at the thought of the weekly visit with her friends Evelyn Moore and Catherine Johnson. The Moores were the Colvins’ nearest neighbors to the north, and the Johnsons were their nearest neighbors to the south. Today the ladies would spend their time at the Johnson plantation. Although Martha would have loved to entertain Evelyn and Catherine in her own home, Finn objected because the women were Christians.
Martha recognized Evelyn Moore’s favorite male slave at the reins of the carriage as it pulled to a halt. “Good morning, Malcolm,” she called.
Malcolm flashed his white teeth in a smile and said, “Mornin’, Miz Colvin.” Immediately, he was out of the carriage and opening the door for Martha.
Inside were Evelyn’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Priscilla, with Priscilla’s personal slave, sixteen-year-old Dorena. In the seat just ahead of them, Evelyn sat beside a middle-aged woman who was a stranger to Martha.
“Good morning, everybody,” Martha said.
“Good morning,” echoed a chorus of greetings.
The ladies and young Priscilla were prettily dressed in spring pastels, and each held a dainty parasol. White lace gloves adorned their hands. Martha was dressed in like manner.
“Martha,” Evelyn said, “I want you to meet my cousin from Delaware, Earline Faulkner.”
Martha smiled amiably. “I’m so glad to meet you, Earline. Evelyn has mentioned you to me several times.”
“Earline is leaving tomorrow,” Evelyn said. “She could only stay three days.”
“Well, then, I’m glad she could be here today.”
“My husband is in New York on business,” Earline said, “so I took a train down to Charleston.”
Martha nodded, then looked behind her. “So how are you girls doing?”
“Just fine,” said Priscilla.
Setting her eyes on Dorena, who was strikingly beautiful, Martha said, “Dorena, that’s a pretty dress you are wearing.”
Dorena looked down at the dress that had been given to her by Priscilla. “Thank you, ma’am.”
As the carriage rolled along the lane toward the road, Evelyn and Martha chatted about the visit they were going to have with Catherine Johnson and her seventeen-year-old daughter, Angeline.
Although Martha Colvin was not a Christian, she loved to spend time with Evelyn and Catherine. The ladies had caused her to think much about her need to know the Lord, but they spoke in a kind and tender manner, never trying to push salvation on her.
The Moores had one heavy heartache in their lives—their twenty-two-year-old son, Lewis, who was not a Christian and was somewhat of a rebel. Talk in the community was that Lewis was living for the day when he would inherit the plantation and run it the way he wanted to. Lewis, Martha told herself, was much like her own husband and two sons. He thought slaves should be kept in fear by frequent beatings, whereas Charles Moore treated his slaves kindly.
The carriage was turning onto the road when Evelyn said, “Earline, I haven’t told you this, but Martha and her husband are the most wealthy plantation owners in Charleston County. They are very successful in the cotton business.”
“Now,
Evelyn …” Martha said, shaking her head.
“Well, it’s true. Earline, they have the largest plantation … eighty-five hundred acres, and they have the most slaves. How many now, Martha? Three hundred and fifty?”
A bit embarrassed, Martha said, “No. Right now, we have three hundred and thirty-one.”
Evelyn chuckled again. “So I missed it by a few.” Turning to her cousin, she said, “The second most wealthy plantation owners in the county are the Johnsons. Zack and Catherine have eight thousand acres and just under three hundred slaves. No other plantation owners in Charleston County can come close to their wealth.”
“Well, now, Evelyn,” said Martha, “you and Charles aren’t doing so bad. After all, you haven’t been in the cotton plantation business near as long as the Colvins and the Johnsons. One day you will pass us up.”
“I doubt that, Martha. Both Finn and Zack are hardworking men. They will continue to prosper.”
Even as Evelyn spoke, Malcolm turned the carriage off the road and headed toward the Johnson mansion, which could barely be seen from the road. They found themselves driving through a canopy of trees laden with Spanish moss. The sun was lifting higher in the eastern sky, and they were beginning to feel its warmth and the humidity it emphasized.
Soon the Johnson plantation came into view as they passed through a heavy stand of trees. The house stood on a small knoll, glistening white in the bright morning sun. Huge white columns supported the balcony off the second-floor rooms, and each sparkling window was open to catch what errant breeze might come along.
Wide steps led to the wraparound porch adorned with colorful pots of budding flowers and green ferns. Comfortable padded chairs and white linen-covered tables extended their invitation to family and visitors to sit and rest a while.
The grounds were manicured to a fair-thee-well and dotted here and there with magnificent rose gardens, lush shade trees, stone benches, and a pair of stone lions that guarded the wide porch at the base of the steps. Over all, the breath of spring was on the massive Johnson yard. It was a grand scene and a treat to the eye.
When Malcolm drew the carriage to a halt in front of the porch steps, a male slave came through the ornate doors and descended the steps to help the ladies and Priscilla down. Dorena alighted without help.
As they ascended the porch steps, the Johnsons’ youngest son, Alexander, came through the door. At sixteen, the youth was tall and handsome.
Alexander greeted them with a smile. “Please come in, ladies. Big brother Dan took Mother and Angeline into town quite early this morning. I know they expected to be back before you arrived. I’m sure they will be here soon.”
Evelyn introduced Alexander to her cousin Earline, and the young man welcomed her, saying that he was glad she could come along with Mrs. Moore.
Earline was all eyes as Alexander guided his mother’s guests inside the mansion. An atmosphere of serenity greeted them. When they were ushered into the lush sitting room, Alexander told them he was to meet his father at one of the fields quite soon and politely excused himself, saying that he would send his mother’s personal slave, Daisy, to take care of any needs they might have.
The ladies made themselves comfortable on richly upholstered couches and chairs. It was a lovely room, full of treasured pieces collected over many years and placed carefully on mantel, small tables, and coffee table. The tapestried walls were adorned with exquisite paintings of outdoor scenes and eye-catching still-life paintings.
As Earline was commenting on a particular painting, Daisy entered the room with a warm smile. “May I bring you ladies coffee and cookies?”
“No, thank you, Daisy,” said Evelyn. “We will wait until Miss Catherine and Miss Angeline arrive.”
Daisy curtsied politely and left the room.
Less than ten minutes had passed when above their light conversation they heard a carriage draw up in front of the mansion. Dorena hurried to the front window and peeked through the lace curtains. “It is them, Miss Evelyn.”
“Thank you, Dorena.”
The young slave girl returned to the small couch where she sat beside her mistress. Priscilla smiled at her and patted her hand affectionately. The love Dorena felt for her mistress shone from her dark eyes.
Seconds later, they heard the mansion’s front door open, and Daisy’s voice telling Catherine that her guests were in the sitting room. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and presently Catherine Johnson entered the room with Angeline at her side. Dan Johnson followed close behind, and Daisy brought up the rear.
Dan was in his midtwenties, just over six feet tall, with dark brown hair and eyes to match. Like his younger brother, he was quite handsome. Blond Angeline showed a close resemblance to her mother … tall, slender, and pretty.
Greetings were offered and introductions made, then Dan excused himself and left the room.
“Ladies, I’m sorry to be late,” Catherine said as she removed her hat and handed it to Daisy, “but we were detained on the road in front of your place, Martha.”
“What was it?”
Catherine’s voice was a bit shaky as she said, “Just as we were passing your plantation, we came upon your slaves, Henry and Trevor. They were repairing fence near the gate, right by the road. They were weeping.”
Martha’s brow furrowed. “Weeping?”
“Yes. I had Dan stop and ask them what was wrong. Martha, they told us that one of their fellow slaves died this morning, just minutes before we came along. They said you couldn’t have known about it … that it happened after you left to come over here.”
“Did. did they say who it was?”
“Yes. Nathaniel.”
“Oh, no!” Martha began to wring her hands. “Did Henry and Thomas say what happened?”
“I asked them, but they seemed frightened. Trevor said that Nathaniel wasn’t feeling well this morning, and one of the other slaves had come to tell them he had died.”
Martha put trembling fingers to her face and tears filled her eyes. “If whatever was ailing Nathaniel took his life, that would be no reason for Henry and Trevor to be frightened.”
Catherine moved to where Martha was sitting and eased down beside her. She looked toward Evelyn and gave her a meaningful look.
Immediately Catherine turned to Priscilla and Angeline and said, “Why don’t you girls go up to Angeline’s room for a while? We’ll let you know when coffee time is on.”
Dorena sprang to her feet and offered her hand to Priscilla. When her mistress was up, she offered her hand to Angeline. All three girls left the room quietly. Daisy followed them and headed down the hall toward the kitchen.
When they were gone, Catherine took hold of Martha’s hand. “You’re afraid it’s happened again, aren’t you?”
Martha closed her eyes and nodded.
Evelyn left her chair and knelt in front of Martha. “Honey, we know about your strong aversion to the way Finn and your sons treat the slaves.”
Martha looked into Evelyn’s eyes and said, “The only thing you don’t know is how strong my aversion is. Every time this happens I feel like something has died inside of me.”
Earline rose from her chair, pale of face. “Maybe I should go elsewhere.”
“There’s no need for that, Earline,” said Martha. “It won’t make any difference if you know that my husband and my two sons have beaten slaves to death in the past. The slaves are afraid to tell it to anyone. Case in point … Henry and Trevor. Catherine says they would only say that Nathaniel was not feeling well and now is dead. They know what killed him, but they were too frightened of Finn, George, and Edward to tell her. They probably know who did the beating, too.”
Earline’s shocked face grew even paler. “I … I’ve heard about plantations here in the South where this kind of thing happens, but I’ve never been this close to it. Do people in the community suspect what’s going on?”
“Not that I know of,” said Martha. “It’s no secret in the community that Finn be
ats on his slaves and often works them too hard, but I’ve never heard it said that they think Finn and my sons have killed any slaves.
“Neighbors around usually know when a slave has died. We all have special burial grounds for the slaves, and some neighbors can see them from the roads or from their own places. Most slaves die before they’re fifty, so there are many burials. Anyone observing services on our plantation wouldn’t know the difference between a slave being worked to death or beaten to death.
“It wouldn’t do any good to report my husband and my sons to the law, either. Neither the county sheriff nor the town constables would do anything about it. Like so many white people here in the South, they look at the Negroes as no different than animals. For a plantation owner to kill a slave is no worse than if he decided to kill one of his horses. The cotton growers own their horses and they own their slaves. So, in the eyes of the law and in the eyes of so many people, it’s nobody’s business what they do with them.”
Earline pressed a hand over her eyes and shook her head. “Oh, Martha, how do you stand it?”
“It’s horrible, Earline. I was raised on a rice plantation in North Carolina, but my father, his foreman, and his overseers always treated our slaves well. When I married Finn, I didn’t know he had a cruel side. And now my sons are the same way. It’s almost more than I can bear. But I love my husband and my boys. I can’t just up and leave them.”
“I understand that,” said Catherine. “But I don’t know how you can take it when those poor slaves die unnecessarily.”
Martha squeezed her friends’ hands. “Sometimes I think that if another slave dies from a beating or overwork, I’ll lose my mind. Evelyn … Catherine … what will it take to change Finn and my boys?”
Catherine glanced at Evelyn, then bent close to Martha and said, “Honey, if they were to open their hearts to Jesus, He would change them so they wouldn’t want to be that way with the slaves. Only Jesus can do a work within us that will make us different.”
Evelyn nodded and said, “Just this past Sunday, Martha, our pastor preached a wonderful sermon about the change that takes place in a lost sinner when he or she is born again. He used Saul of Tarsus as an example.”