MOSANA (THE UNION) - PART XV
EPISODE 15
It was the year 1858. I had been at the MacGregors for a little over two years. Bored with mere slavery work, I wondered why none of the MacGregor slaves didn’t try to escape. As I pondered the question, the answer came.
The quickest way out of Missouri was through Kansas. Going through any other border would lead you deeper into the South. The territory of Kansas had once been part of Missouri until it was carved out into its own state. The new Kansas was also a slave state, and home to some of the most brutal anti-slavery versus pro-slavery fights in the South, which spilled over into Missouri. To escape from Missouri, you had to go through Kansas and risk getting caught. If you were caught, you wouldn’t be brought back to your master, you would be hanged. And there were worse ways to die.
The fights in Missouri/Kansas began as far back as 1855, when a pro-slavery settler shot and killed a Free-Stater in Douglas County. Then instead of the murderer to be arrested, the county sheriff imprisoned another Free-Stater. The Free-Staters got together and broke their comrade out of prison, only for the pro-slavery settlers to become enraged. It started an armed standoff that resulted in the death of yet another Free-Stater.
Then in 1856, the pro-slavery settlers started another fight by burning hotels, destroying offices and ransacking the homes of Free-Staters. That same year, the Brooks-Sumner affair happened, where Brooks, a pro-slavery Democrat attacked and almost killed Charles Sumner, an abolitionist for speaking out against slavery in Kansas. The violence continued to increase, and Free-Staters could take it no longer. That’s when the Society decided to retaliate.
For long, there had been debates about how the Society should conduct its operations in the rescuing of slaves. Some, like Araminta Ross, the greatest conductor on the Railroad, advocated for peace, choosing non-violent means to free slaves from the South. Others, like John Brown, a hardened freedom fighter who had seen all the ugly sides of slavery, felt violence was necessary, especially since the other side wasn’t afraid to take lives.
After the attack on Sumner, John Brown led his sons and other followers to plan the murder of settlers who spoke in favor of slavery. At a pro-slavery settlement at Pottawatomie Creek on the night of May 24, 1856, the group seized five pro-slavery men from their homes and hacked them to death with broadswords.
Hacked them to death and left the pieces on the dirt road for all to see.
Still, Brown and his men weren’t caught and began plotting a full-scale slave insurrection to take place at Harpers Ferry, Virginia. I knew that because I received a letter from the Society saying as much, and I knew it was going to happen because they had the financial backing of the Boston abolitionists, who had sponsored the Society’s moves for years.
I remember that day clearly. The news spread quickly and shocked everyone in the South, slave and slaver. I noticed the change in Angelia and their father, and I saw that they hated us and feared us at the same time. It brought a satisfaction to me I didn’t know I craved. It was about time. Black people had been eating shit for years, and it was time we smeared their faces with some of it. Still, every slave in the MacGregor household moved like the ground was made entirely of eggshells. There was a disquiet in the house, and it took a few weeks for it to pass. I didn’t care. I nursed my satisfaction and struggled to hide a smile each time Angelia or her father gave me a wide berth as I passed by them.
So, while the fights intensified, I stayed in the MacGregor fields and occasionally reported back to the Society on my observation of things from here. In August of that same year, thousands of pro-slavery men formed into armies and marched into Kansas. That month, Brown and several of his followers engaged 400 pro-slavery soldiers in the Battle of Osawatomie.
It was glorious. Inside me, I wanted to join the fight; pick up an arm and blast away at those bastard pro-slavers. But I kept my cool and pretended to be jittery like the rest of the slaves at the MacGregor’s. They thought the war would get to us, or worse, that our owners would take it out on us and pick us off one by one. It wasn’t uncommon then. A woman named Celia, was killed for correcting her owners on who had sustained more casualties in the Battle of Osawatomie. Apparently, armed white slavers were not too happy about losing to black guerilla fighters.
None of this bothered me. I was war-ready. Gods knew if anyone turned on me, I wouldn’t hesitate to send them to their ancestors. Besides, I knew there was something bigger coming – Operation Harpers Ferry, and part of John Brown’s strategy was distracting the pro-slavers by flitting across the borders so that they wouldn’t see him coming. The very thought of it excited me.
The hostilities between anti-slavery settlers and pro-slavery settlers raged for another two months until a new territorial governor took office and managed to broker peace between both sides, making Brown leave the Kansas Territory with his people.
I knew I could escape if I wanted to. I knew the path of the Underground Railroad, and how I could navigate through Missouri to find my way back to the North. I knew what stations to stop at, and when to travel to avoid the bounty hunters. This was a benefit from all my years of working at the Society. I knew I would never be able to steal slaves and escape with them through the Railroad like Araminta did, but the least I could do was learn the names of every major station in the South in case I needed it.
The Society had written numerous times to ask me if I needed safe passage, but I always declined. Partly because I could give live reports of the warfare going on between abolitionists and slavers (information which I stole from reading Mr. MacGregor’s telegraphs), partly because I had begun to teach some of the young slaves here how to read, and partly because of… Flint.
I knew it was a stupid reason to stay, but we had begun to get some of our old ease back. Sometimes, I would catch myself looking at him and seeing the young man I met in the Russell household. In the months after he told me that he was married, he didn’t stop trying to make it up to me. Each night, he would come to the kitchen and pretend to talk to Sue. He would then find a way to include me in the conversation somehow and wouldn’t stop till I had said something. Because Sue didn’t know we had history, she also pressured me into speaking. She said I needed to “open up”. Then one day Flint said something funny, I laughed, and that was it. We were back. But he was still married. I couldn’t forget that. Only that this time, I could look at him without hurting so much.
And so it was that Flint and I became friends again, to put it simply. Each night he came to the kitchen to talk with me and Sue, or watch me teaching the young ones how to read and write. Soon, he started sitting down with them, and I began teaching him too. Sometimes, when I was taking a break from Sue’s fast tongue or the children’s rowdiness and had nothing to do, Flint would still come to sit with me. We talked about the only thing we could talk about – our time at the Russells. I didn’t like to talk about that because it reminded me of what I’d lost, but it was better than talking about him and Angelia. Flint seemed to want to tell me about her, to make me see her with his eyes, so he could get me to like her. He wanted my blessing.
It was cute, but frustrating. Frustrating because I already saw what he wanted me to see. Believe me, I hated to find out that Angelia was actually nice. Even her father was alright, as long as you didn’t get him angry. I had observed Flint and Angelia’s relationship from afar, trying to find out only God knows what. I berated myself for caring, but I couldn’t help it. She treated him well. However, I noted that while Angelia was nice to Flint and spoke to him civilly, she still carried the air of ownership. She was Mr. MacGregor’s only daughter, and therefore a typical slaveholder, trained like a man. Her affections for Flint came secondary to that. He was her husband, but also her property. Flint never went against anything she said unless he could get away with it.
Which was why it started to piss her off that he was extra nice to me even when she protested against it. Soon, she stopped me from serving them at the dining table. I heard her tell Flint, “if you’re not going to let the slave work, then she shouldn’t be here at all.” I didn’t care; I was relieved. She started to notice all the evenings he came into the kitchen, and while it seemed he was there to talk to Sue or learn with the children, I don’t think she missed the ease with which Flint and I carried a conversation. She started following Flint to the kitchen to openly listen in on our conversations, but then she saw how uncomfortable she made the children feel. They weren’t used to being this close to the mistress of the house.
Somehow, she misinterpreted that and asked to teach them herself sometimes. I saw the horrified look on the children’s faces but obliged her. I could only take them once a week, while she handled the remaining two times. Then she noticed Flint wouldn’t come for her classes; he only came for mine. When it was her turn to take the children, he always had some excuse. But when it was my turn to teach, he was always somewhere close by.
Soon, she stopped me completely from teaching them, saying she could handle it. The children started to drop out of her classes, choosing to accompany the men to the fields. Angelia stopped coming to the kitchen when she saw no one was interested in her classes.
She found out some weeks later that the children had been sneaking into my quarters to continue their learning when she saw one of them hurrying late to my class with a book. It was the first time I saw her truly angry. She threatened that if she caught me teaching them again, there would be consequences. If the children didn’t want to learn with her, then they wouldn’t learn at all.
I acquiesced, but those children had a hunger for learning like I had never seen. I kept teaching them. Partially because I couldn’t say no to them, and partially because I hated being told what to do by Angelia.
“I warned you to stop.”
Everyone jumped including me. I was with the children in Sue’s quarters this time, secretly teaching them how to form five-letter words. None of us knew when Angelia had snuck up on us. Sue was supposed to keep watch.
“Get out,” Angelia spoke. It wasn’t hard to guess who she was talking to. Quickly, all my students scrambled out of the tiny room, leaving only me and her face to face. She looked me up and down, probably expecting me to defend myself. I kept mute and waited for her next sentence.
“You think you are untouchable simply because my husband favours you?”
I flinched when she called Flint her husband, but I maintained my silence.
“I’ve always told him not to take pity on you lot. Just because he shares the same skin colour with you doesn't mean he's like the rest of you. But he won't listen to me. You only turn it to disrespect, as you have done now.”
Maybe it was my stance, or my expression and the lack of fear she saw there, but something shifted in her eyes, and she came to a decision. “I don’t scare you, do I?”
Silence on my part.
“Wait here,” she said, and left.
She returned with Flint, and my heart settled. I thought she had gone to call her father, and I had spent the last few minutes what Mr. MacGregor would say to me teaching slaves when his daughter had asked me not to. He didn’t care much for Angelia’s frivolities. As long as his slaves were working, any other matter was beneath him.
The next words that came out of Angelia’s mouth unsettled my heart instantly. I stared at Flint like I hadn’t heard right, but from the look on his face, I knew I had heard correctly.
“Joshua!” Angelia yelled. “Take this slave to the trees and whip her!”
It was the year 1858. I had been at the MacGregors for a little over two years. Bored with mere slavery work, I wondered why none of the MacGregor slaves didn’t try to escape. As I pondered the question, the answer came.
The quickest way out of Missouri was through Kansas. Going through any other border would lead you deeper into the South. The territory of Kansas had once been part of Missouri until it was carved out into its own state. The new Kansas was also a slave state, and home to some of the most brutal anti-slavery versus pro-slavery fights in the South, which spilled over into Missouri. To escape from Missouri, you had to go through Kansas and risk getting caught. If you were caught, you wouldn’t be brought back to your master, you would be hanged. And there were worse ways to die.
The fights in Missouri/Kansas began as far back as 1855, when a pro-slavery settler shot and killed a Free-Stater in Douglas County. Then instead of the murderer to be arrested, the county sheriff imprisoned another Free-Stater. The Free-Staters got together and broke their comrade out of prison, only for the pro-slavery settlers to become enraged. It started an armed standoff that resulted in the death of yet another Free-Stater.
Then in 1856, the pro-slavery settlers started another fight by burning hotels, destroying offices and ransacking the homes of Free-Staters. That same year, the Brooks-Sumner affair happened, where Brooks, a pro-slavery Democrat attacked and almost killed Charles Sumner, an abolitionist for speaking out against slavery in Kansas. The violence continued to increase, and Free-Staters could take it no longer. That’s when the Society decided to retaliate.
For long, there had been debates about how the Society should conduct its operations in the rescuing of slaves. Some, like Araminta Ross, the greatest conductor on the Railroad, advocated for peace, choosing non-violent means to free slaves from the South. Others, like John Brown, a hardened freedom fighter who had seen all the ugly sides of slavery, felt violence was necessary, especially since the other side wasn’t afraid to take lives.
After the attack on Sumner, John Brown led his sons and other followers to plan the murder of settlers who spoke in favor of slavery. At a pro-slavery settlement at Pottawatomie Creek on the night of May 24, 1856, the group seized five pro-slavery men from their homes and hacked them to death with broadswords.
Hacked them to death and left the pieces on the dirt road for all to see.
Still, Brown and his men weren’t caught and began plotting a full-scale slave insurrection to take place at Harpers Ferry, Virginia. I knew that because I received a letter from the Society saying as much, and I knew it was going to happen because they had the financial backing of the Boston abolitionists, who had sponsored the Society’s moves for years.
I remember that day clearly. The news spread quickly and shocked everyone in the South, slave and slaver. I noticed the change in Angelia and their father, and I saw that they hated us and feared us at the same time. It brought a satisfaction to me I didn’t know I craved. It was about time. Black people had been eating shit for years, and it was time we smeared their faces with some of it. Still, every slave in the MacGregor household moved like the ground was made entirely of eggshells. There was a disquiet in the house, and it took a few weeks for it to pass. I didn’t care. I nursed my satisfaction and struggled to hide a smile each time Angelia or her father gave me a wide berth as I passed by them.
So, while the fights intensified, I stayed in the MacGregor fields and occasionally reported back to the Society on my observation of things from here. In August of that same year, thousands of pro-slavery men formed into armies and marched into Kansas. That month, Brown and several of his followers engaged 400 pro-slavery soldiers in the Battle of Osawatomie.
It was glorious. Inside me, I wanted to join the fight; pick up an arm and blast away at those bastard pro-slavers. But I kept my cool and pretended to be jittery like the rest of the slaves at the MacGregor’s. They thought the war would get to us, or worse, that our owners would take it out on us and pick us off one by one. It wasn’t uncommon then. A woman named Celia, was killed for correcting her owners on who had sustained more casualties in the Battle of Osawatomie. Apparently, armed white slavers were not too happy about losing to black guerilla fighters.
None of this bothered me. I was war-ready. Gods knew if anyone turned on me, I wouldn’t hesitate to send them to their ancestors. Besides, I knew there was something bigger coming – Operation Harpers Ferry, and part of John Brown’s strategy was distracting the pro-slavers by flitting across the borders so that they wouldn’t see him coming. The very thought of it excited me.
The hostilities between anti-slavery settlers and pro-slavery settlers raged for another two months until a new territorial governor took office and managed to broker peace between both sides, making Brown leave the Kansas Territory with his people.
I knew I could escape if I wanted to. I knew the path of the Underground Railroad, and how I could navigate through Missouri to find my way back to the North. I knew what stations to stop at, and when to travel to avoid the bounty hunters. This was a benefit from all my years of working at the Society. I knew I would never be able to steal slaves and escape with them through the Railroad like Araminta did, but the least I could do was learn the names of every major station in the South in case I needed it.
The Society had written numerous times to ask me if I needed safe passage, but I always declined. Partly because I could give live reports of the warfare going on between abolitionists and slavers (information which I stole from reading Mr. MacGregor’s telegraphs), partly because I had begun to teach some of the young slaves here how to read, and partly because of… Flint.
I knew it was a stupid reason to stay, but we had begun to get some of our old ease back. Sometimes, I would catch myself looking at him and seeing the young man I met in the Russell household. In the months after he told me that he was married, he didn’t stop trying to make it up to me. Each night, he would come to the kitchen and pretend to talk to Sue. He would then find a way to include me in the conversation somehow and wouldn’t stop till I had said something. Because Sue didn’t know we had history, she also pressured me into speaking. She said I needed to “open up”. Then one day Flint said something funny, I laughed, and that was it. We were back. But he was still married. I couldn’t forget that. Only that this time, I could look at him without hurting so much.
And so it was that Flint and I became friends again, to put it simply. Each night he came to the kitchen to talk with me and Sue, or watch me teaching the young ones how to read and write. Soon, he started sitting down with them, and I began teaching him too. Sometimes, when I was taking a break from Sue’s fast tongue or the children’s rowdiness and had nothing to do, Flint would still come to sit with me. We talked about the only thing we could talk about – our time at the Russells. I didn’t like to talk about that because it reminded me of what I’d lost, but it was better than talking about him and Angelia. Flint seemed to want to tell me about her, to make me see her with his eyes, so he could get me to like her. He wanted my blessing.
It was cute, but frustrating. Frustrating because I already saw what he wanted me to see. Believe me, I hated to find out that Angelia was actually nice. Even her father was alright, as long as you didn’t get him angry. I had observed Flint and Angelia’s relationship from afar, trying to find out only God knows what. I berated myself for caring, but I couldn’t help it. She treated him well. However, I noted that while Angelia was nice to Flint and spoke to him civilly, she still carried the air of ownership. She was Mr. MacGregor’s only daughter, and therefore a typical slaveholder, trained like a man. Her affections for Flint came secondary to that. He was her husband, but also her property. Flint never went against anything she said unless he could get away with it.
Which was why it started to piss her off that he was extra nice to me even when she protested against it. Soon, she stopped me from serving them at the dining table. I heard her tell Flint, “if you’re not going to let the slave work, then she shouldn’t be here at all.” I didn’t care; I was relieved. She started to notice all the evenings he came into the kitchen, and while it seemed he was there to talk to Sue or learn with the children, I don’t think she missed the ease with which Flint and I carried a conversation. She started following Flint to the kitchen to openly listen in on our conversations, but then she saw how uncomfortable she made the children feel. They weren’t used to being this close to the mistress of the house.
Somehow, she misinterpreted that and asked to teach them herself sometimes. I saw the horrified look on the children’s faces but obliged her. I could only take them once a week, while she handled the remaining two times. Then she noticed Flint wouldn’t come for her classes; he only came for mine. When it was her turn to take the children, he always had some excuse. But when it was my turn to teach, he was always somewhere close by.
Soon, she stopped me completely from teaching them, saying she could handle it. The children started to drop out of her classes, choosing to accompany the men to the fields. Angelia stopped coming to the kitchen when she saw no one was interested in her classes.
She found out some weeks later that the children had been sneaking into my quarters to continue their learning when she saw one of them hurrying late to my class with a book. It was the first time I saw her truly angry. She threatened that if she caught me teaching them again, there would be consequences. If the children didn’t want to learn with her, then they wouldn’t learn at all.
I acquiesced, but those children had a hunger for learning like I had never seen. I kept teaching them. Partially because I couldn’t say no to them, and partially because I hated being told what to do by Angelia.
“I warned you to stop.”
Everyone jumped including me. I was with the children in Sue’s quarters this time, secretly teaching them how to form five-letter words. None of us knew when Angelia had snuck up on us. Sue was supposed to keep watch.
“Get out,” Angelia spoke. It wasn’t hard to guess who she was talking to. Quickly, all my students scrambled out of the tiny room, leaving only me and her face to face. She looked me up and down, probably expecting me to defend myself. I kept mute and waited for her next sentence.
“You think you are untouchable simply because my husband favours you?”
I flinched when she called Flint her husband, but I maintained my silence.
“I’ve always told him not to take pity on you lot. Just because he shares the same skin colour with you doesn't mean he's like the rest of you. But he won't listen to me. You only turn it to disrespect, as you have done now.”
Maybe it was my stance, or my expression and the lack of fear she saw there, but something shifted in her eyes, and she came to a decision. “I don’t scare you, do I?”
Silence on my part.
“Wait here,” she said, and left.
She returned with Flint, and my heart settled. I thought she had gone to call her father, and I had spent the last few minutes what Mr. MacGregor would say to me teaching slaves when his daughter had asked me not to. He didn’t care much for Angelia’s frivolities. As long as his slaves were working, any other matter was beneath him.
The next words that came out of Angelia’s mouth unsettled my heart instantly. I stared at Flint like I hadn’t heard right, but from the look on his face, I knew I had heard correctly.
“Joshua!” Angelia yelled. “Take this slave to the trees and whip her!”
---------------------------------------------------------
Yooooo! Sorry this is late. That's why I made it extra long. So enjoy!
There will be no episode next week; I'll be taking a break, so see you in two weeks!
xoxo,
Ava.
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