American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

  “But, massa,” said Malachi Shaw, who, along with Moses, had been longest at Greenwood, “we don’t know nuffin’ ’bout all dat. How’s we gwine know what ter do?”

  “Don’t worry, Malachi. Carolyn and I and Cynthia and the boys will help you. We want this to be an exciting time for you, and we will help you learn to use money. We will teach you to go into town to buy what you need. Please, have no anxiety—those of you who stay will be taken care of. We will make sure that all your needs are met and we will help you with everything. We want to help you begin learning to live on your own, as free men and women, just like white people and blacks in the North do. We will help you with everything. We will no longer be your owners, but your employers. We hope that you will consider us your friends as well. In the end, it is our sincere hope that this change will prove profitable for us all, that we as landowners will continue to make money from our crops, and that you will be able to save money from your wages after your expenditures as well. But there is one legal technicality you must know. The law says that any freed slave must leave Virginia within one year. Those of you who choose to remain here will not find that a problem. If anyone contests your freedom, you can voluntarily become our slaves again until the threat is past. But any of you who do leave should plan to leave Virginia, and I would suggest you go to the North.”

  Gradually as it began to sink in that they had nothing to fear, a few smiles and murmurs of pleasure began to filter around the room.

  “To begin with,” Davidson went on, “we will pay you each twenty dollars per family, or eight dollars to each single adult. That will be your very own money to keep or spend. You might want to buy new clothes with it, or save it. For those of you who do decide to leave and start new lives for yourselves elsewhere, this will, we hope, be enough to get you situated.”

  Nineteen

  The troop of former Davidson slaves filed out of the plantation house with words of thanks and nods of appreciation to the master and his wife, clutching almost in bewilderment the documents and money that had been distributed among them.

  They made their way to their own homes in complete silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts, still not quite sure what had happened and whether to believe it or not. The instant they were back to the slave quarters, however, their tongues were loosed. A few whoops and shouts of delight echoed back toward the big house. Within minutes several clusters formed in several of the houses, and the feverish discussion and intense examination of the papers by those who could read did not cease for the rest of the day nor long into the night.

  Most of the Davidson slaves, including every one of the two-thirds or so who had been at Greenwood all their lives and recognized how good conditions for them had always been, declared themselves content to stay and work for the master and mistress.

  “Ain’t no amount er money gwine make me leab da mistress no how,” said Nancy Shaw emphatically, her husband Malachi standing by nodding his head in agreement. “She’s learnin’ us outta da Good Book, an’ she says I’s kin read it myse’f sumday, an’ I figure dis be bout as good a place ter work as any fo’a slave or a free colored. Where else we gwine fin’ whites who’d pay us an’ help us an’ treat us wif respeck. My mama an’ papa raised me here. Dey loved massa’s papa and mama. Dis be where I’s raised my Phoebe an’ Isaiah an’ Aaron, an’ dis be where I stay.”

  “Ain’t you a mite curious ter see more ob da worl’?” asked Jarvis Nance.

  “No I ain’t,” replied Nancy. “I may not know much. But I knows enuf ter know dat da worl’ ain’t none too kind ter free blacks wanderin’ ’roun’ about. No suh, we’s be stayin’ right here.”

  Once the full implications of the change began to dawn on the collective Greenwood Negro community, however, there were several who began making preparations to pack their belongings and seek their fortunes elsewhere.

  One young single man in his late twenties known only as Willie shared the sentiment of several. “Da massa an’ da missus, dey’s been good enuf ter me,” he said, “an’ ah’s grateful dey ain’t whupped me eben once. But ah’s got me a bruder up norf who’s been after me ter run away an’ cum work wif him. He dun run away years ago, an’ he hid out an’ kep’ outta sight an’ he made it all da way norf till he wuz safe an’ cud git himse’f sum work. He’s a blacksmif, an’ he say a colored man kin make good money in da norf effen he’s willin’ ter work, an’ ah’s gotter take dis chance ter make sumfin’ ob myse’f afore massa be changin’ his min’.”

  With his eight dollars and the clothes on his back and what food he could carry, he was gone three days later, talking about nothing else all the way to the Pennsylvania border one hundred miles away, proudly displaying what he called his “paper ob freedom” to any and all who cared to listen to his story.

  An event so momentous as for one of Virginia’s well-known plantation owners to free every one of his slaves lock, stock, and barrel—not to mention actually handing them a handful of cash to boot—was not something to be kept quiet. How the news spread so rapidly, neither Richmond nor Carolyn ever knew. Everyone recognized that invisible communications networks existed among the slaves throughout the South that extended to the Negro populations in the North and West as well, though how exactly news made its way from plantation to plantation remained a mystery to whites. Most slaves were not mobile and traveled little. Yet somehow word among them always seemed to move with uncanny speed.

  Doubtless Willie’s tales did much to ignite the initial spark which soon fanned into flame and led within weeks to accounts, some accurate and some greatly exaggerated, of the story in most major newspapers up and down the eastern coast of the nation.

  It was doubtful that the expanding revelation of the affair was in any way helped along by the firm Harland Davidson, Attorney at Law, Richmond, Virginia, in that the proprietor of said firm was anything but anxious to circulate knowledge of his own involvement. Indeed, he would have done almost anything to keep his name out of it. Yet the documents he had drawn up were of public record, and once that fact was known, inquisitive newsmen from half a dozen states began appearing at his door. The younger Davidson vigorously maintained that he had not been influential in the affair, indeed that he had vehemently opposed and had counseled against it. Yet as his cousin’s attorney, he had had no alternative but to comply with his wishes. Complicit or not, however, through a series of such interviews, not always willingly nor graciously granted, the details of the case were not long in coming out, and along with them a more thorough sketch—cast in what could hardly be denied was a generally unfavorable light—of the man at the center of the tempest of sudden curiosity, Richmond Davidson.

  Approximately one week after the distribution of the freedom papers, a strange sight was witnessed in Dove’s Landing that if they had not seen it with their own eyes, those who spread the story about the community on the authority of their own eyewitness account would not have believed it themselves.

  Carolyn and Cynthia walked into Baker’s Mercantile with three Negro women who were dressed up in their finest. One look at the strange assembly told the story—the three black women were not waiting on mother and daughter. If anything, just the opposite appeared to be the case. There had already been a few scattered rumors of some strange shake-up at Greenwood. This sight seemed to confirm the worst.

  Slowly they made their way about the store, Carolyn showing the black ladies where things were, explaining about fabric and how much things cost and about different denominations of money.

  At last Mrs. Baker approached.

  “Hello, Mrs. Davidson,” she said tentatively, unconsciously glancing at Nancy Shaw, “is there anything I can help you with?”

  “These ladies are thinking of buying material for new dresses, Mrs. Baker,” replied Carolyn. “They will be your customers from now on, so you should know their names—this is Nancy Shaw, and this is Mary Nance, and this is Wilma Brady. Ladies, I would like you to meet the shopkeeper, Mrs. Baker.”r />
  All three of the black women smiled a little nervously, and extended their hands. Reluctantly, the storekeeper, taken aback by the turn of events and temporarily without words, shook each in turn as if it were an eel rather than a hand. The moment the ordeal was over, she turned again to Carolyn.

  “But… but, Mrs. Davidson,” she said, lowering her voice, “how will they pay?”

  “Just the way any customer pays, Mrs. Baker—with money.”

  “They have money… of their own?”

  “Indeed they do, and I am helping them learn how to manage it. We are going to the bank next, where each of them will open an account in their very own names.”

  Just then the door opened and the bell above it tinkled to announce the entry of two more ladies, giving the relieved Mrs. Baker the excuse she needed to absent herself. The hushed tones and glances from the opposite side of the store indicated clearly enough that she lost no time in giving the newcomers an earful, as she proceeded to give everyone who came into her shop for the next several days. By then most of the townspeople had seen similar occurrences for themselves, either Carolyn with her black women, or Richmond doing the same with some of the black men at the feed and hardware store.

  Twenty

  In Boston, though news was his business, James Waters did not hear of what his acquaintance from a year earlier had done until perusing a copy of his own newspaper one morning and chancing upon a piece that had been picked up from one of the Philadelphia papers.

  The caption above the small article caught his eye immediately: Virginia Plantation Owner Releases Slaves, Issues Documents of Freedom.

  “In a move that not only stunned the thirty-four Negro men, women, and children listening to the announcement,” Waters went on to read, “but has had repercussions throughout the South, Virginia landowner Richmond Davidson recently gave all his slaves their freedom in addition to a small cash settlement reportedly amounting to approximately $10 for each adult. According to several former slaves who have since left the Davidson plantation, after informing them of his decision, Davidson went on to offer any who chose to remain work at a fair wage and housing at a fair price, hoping, he said, to establish the finances of the plantation for the first time on a foundation of market capitalism between employer and employees rather than upon the institution of slavery. All but a handful reportedly decided to remain. These are now employed as hired workers—receiving a wage thought to be thirty cents per day for men working ten hours a day—and are responsible for their own food, housing, and other expenses.

  “While abolitionists signal the ‘Davidson experiment’ as the wave of the future, pro-slavery sentiment through the South dubs it instead the ‘Davidson folly,’ insisting that it is doomed to fail even before it begins. Virginia senatorial candidate Winston Everett, when reached for comment, had nothing but derision for both Davidson and his experiment.

  “‘This is the one thing the North consistently fails to grasp,’ the former congressman was quoted as saying, ‘—the economics of the South are vastly different than elsewhere. To upset the delicate balance between many complex economic factors could have serious repercussions in the North as well as in the South. Mr. Davidson’s experiment is one that cannot but fail. When bankruptcy results and creditors are forced to move in, what good will the freedom of his slaves do either them or him? It is not merely a folly, it is a dangerous precedent that will accomplish nothing but raise false hopes and expectations, and may exacerbate far more than ameliorate the tensions between pro-slavery and antislavery constituencies. In the end this experiment will reveal Richmond Davidson as no hero, but as the laughingstock of Virginia.’

  “Davidson himself has remained persistently unavailable for comment, answering all inquiries only with the cryptic statement: ‘We have done what we felt was right to do. Let each judge truth for himself, and let the eternal results in lives and in hearts speak for themselves.’”

  Waters set down the paper and smiled.

  That is Davidson, all right, he said to himself. Still speaking about eternity and truth!

  But he had to hand it to the man—he backed up his talk with deeds and action. That was not something he was prepared to say about most church people he had been acquainted with. Or any that he was acquainted with for that matter! And apparently Davidson didn’t care what anyone thought of him—another admirable quality.

  Perhaps he had misjudged the man. In spite of an annoying propensity to turn every discussion toward God and religion and truth, the man was certainly no hypocrite. That was no small praise for James Waters—who as a newsman, it might be said, was paid to be cynical—to extend to any man.

  “What are you smiling at, Daddy?” said a spirited girl of fifteen as she bounded into the room. She had been home from boarding school for a week since the end of the spring term.

  “Ah, Cherity,” replied James, glancing up, “I was just reading a small article in the paper that struck me as humorous, I suppose, in an ironic sort of way. Do you remember Mr. Davidson?”

  “Oh, yes! The man with the horses who visited last year!”

  “Well, it seems he has made the news. You might even say he is famous.”

  “Really! Why, Daddy—what did he do?”

  “It seems he set all his slaves free.”

  “That’s wonderful! I’m so glad.”

  “He has created quite a stir, from the sound of it.”

  “Then we must go see him, Daddy. When can we go for a visit? He invited us… remember? He said I could ride his horses.”

  “I don’t know!” laughed Waters. “Virginia is a long way, Cherity.”

  “Daddy… please!”

  “You are not an easy young lady to refuse!” laughed Waters. “But I doubt the doctor would allow me to take such a long trip.”

  “He can’t tell you what to do.”

  “Perhaps not… but still I need to heed his advice. That’s what doctors are for—to keep old men like me alive long enough to see their daughters grow into women.”

  “Daddy, you’re not old!”

  “I am older than most fathers of fifteen year olds. In any event, we shall see what the doctor says.”

  “It’s not as far as Kansas.”

  “You’re right about that,” he laughed.

  “And besides, isn’t Virginia where Mary lives?”

  “You’re right—of course! Why hadn’t I thought of that? We were going to see Mary anyway before long. What do you say we stop by the Davidsons’, then, for a visit on our way to Norfolk?”

  “Oh, yes! Do you think I will be able to ride Mr. Davidson’s horses?”

  “I don’t know, Cherity,” laughed her father. “We shall have to wait and see.”

  “But what did the doctor say about us taking the train to Norfolk?”

  “Actually… I didn’t ask him. I want to see my new grandson, and I wasn’t about to let him say no!”

  He handed her the paper.

  “Here is the article about Mr. Davidson. I think you will find it interesting. The front-page news is all about the violence in Kansas, by the way. Things are not good there these days. I do not imagine us returning to see our friend Ellis anytime soon.”

  “What’s the fighting all about?”

  “Since Congress decided that the people of Kansas and Nebraska will each decide for themselves whether to be free states or slave states when they enter the Union—if and when they become states, that is—both pro-slavery and antislavery forces are trying to send as many of their own people as they can to settle there. At the same time, they are trying to drive out people of the opposing view. So there is bloodshed all over the state.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “That’s how far both sides are willing to go to get their way. I doubt if Kansas will be the end of the fighting.”

  Reaction among Southern politicians, landowners, and pro-slavery advocates was swift in its denunciation of the Davidson move. Economic chaos, social upheaval, a
nd a disruption of the natural order of creation were just a few of the calamities predicted to follow if such trends were allowed to continue. Though hailed in the North as a progressive display of courage, a move was set in motion in the Virginia state legislature to block the action in the courts on the basis of certain obscure legal technicalities stemming from the fact that Davidson was keeping his former slaves in his own employ, thus rendering them, after a year, free to be enslaved by another. The bill was not expected to gather much support but was indicative of the stir the move had caused.

  Why the Davidson news should cause a virulent reaction among such men as Denton Beaumont, Jefferson Davis, Abraham Seehorn, Watson McNeil, Congressman Jeeves Hargrove, and other leaders and landowners throughout the South would have made an interesting inquiry. That men of power feel threatened when the status quo of their creation is disrupted by free-thinking men and women of individualism and courage, has been a plague against progress in all ages.

  Suffice it to say that throughout the North there were those who championed Richmond Davidson as a hero, while throughout the South there were yet more who branded him the worst traitor since Benedict Arnold. If the man’s bold actions were allowed to gain a widespread foothold in the public consciousness, they said, they could have catastrophic repercussions and lead to a groundswell of favorable sentiment in certain quarters. That this was the very man they had offered to raise to the highest levels of national leadership only added to their sense of injury and anger. That he had become a fool in their eyes did little to moderate the stupidity they felt at having nearly been taken in by him, and coming so close to making such a disastrous blunder as installing him as their representative in the United States Senate.

  They could not allow Davidson to become a hero or spokesman for the abolitionist cause, nor a hero-savior figure to blacks. But neither could they crucify him publicly and allow him to become a martyr. Such publicity was not good. The matter had to be handled carefully.