Working on a land of women post for tomorrow. Meanwhile enjoy a singular obsession with another chronicler of Black life.
Posted some cultural references to Still here. Meanwhile, the real Still is even more fascinating. First off, several versions of Still’s Underground Railroad exist in the public domain including this one at Project Gutenberg which is a TEI/XML document which means you can search, cut, copy, and paste like it is just a regular web page. But this version misses the texture and some material from the original (like the “What Has Been Said About It” blurbs by other writers and community leaders) that you can find in this version at the Internet Archive.
Second, Still himself represents so much of what we do and do not understand about the bridge from slavery to freedom. Still was born free in New Jersey. His father, Levin, purchased himself from his owner, securing his manumission that way. His mother, Chariy, ran away from her owner with all four of her children, was recaptured, and then ran away again, this time with only two her children. Peter, one of those left behind, actually made his way North eventually, searching for his family and found his brother, William, when he told his own story.
His parents changed their name from Steel to Still. This is fascinating to me. The phonetics of it, but also the call for peace in it. A call to stay still. Or to be able to be still, be rested, be left alone in one place and with the ones you love. Still. A wish of rest for us that can time travel to the future and meet us here.
When I think of the portrayal of Valentine in the Underground Railroad TV series, I think of Still’s father as Mingo, a free black man who secured his own freedom by (the luck of) self-purchase and who has certain ideas about what the journey to freedom should be. But Still’s mother is the one who bears the brunt of the institution—running away, recaptured, running away again successfully but leaving children behind.
A thing I cannot imagine. Leaving either #SunBaby or #WitchBaby behind. The thought is too devastating. The things our foremothers went through. The things our relatives are going through now—from boarding schools to the concentration campus of undocumented children. The past is present is now.
Still becomes a chronicler of the experiences of slavery and the journey to freedom in the North. He was, in other words, a historian, an archivist. He was also a disciple of radical media. He self-published and sold the stories of freedom by subscription.
Some of the stories (all of the links are from the Gutenberg version) told to Still by enslaved people.:
On Peter, William Still’s brother that his mother had to leave behind:
“Levin and Peter, eight and six years of age respectively, were now left at the mercy of the enraged owner, and were soon hurried off to a Southern market and sold, while their mother, for whom they were daily weeping, was they knew not where. They were too young to know that they were slaves, or to understand the nature of the afflicting separation. Sixteen years before Peter's return, his older brother (Levin) died a slave in the State of Alabama, and was buried by his surviving brother, Peter.”
Letters by Underground Railroad organizers like:
“DEAR FRIEND, WILLIAM STILL:—Since I wrote thee this morning informing thee of the safe arrival of the Eight from Norfolk, Harry Craige has informed me, that he has a man from Delaware that he proposes to take along, who arrived since noon. He will take the man, woman and two children from here with him, and the four men will get in at Marcus Hook. Thee may take Harry Craige by the hand as a brother, true to the cause; he is one of our most efficient aids on the Rail Road, and worthy of full confidence. May they all be favored to get on safe. The woman and three children are no common stock. I assure thee finer specimens of humanity are seldom met with. I hope herself and children may be enabled to find her husband, who has been absent some years, and the rest of their days be happy together.”
The finding freedom from the box meme is repeated in the WGN Underground TV series (S1E2) and in Kaitlyn Greenfield’s beautiful novel Libertie. It is a thing. William Peel Jones was the real thing:
“But the size of the box was too large for the carriage, and the driver refused to take it. Nearly an hour and a half was spent in looking for a furniture car. Finally one was procured, and again the box was laid hold of by the occupant's particular friend, when, to his dread alarm, the poor fellow within gave a sudden cough. At this startling circumstance he dropped the box; equally as quick, although dreadfully frightened, and, as if helped by some invisible agency, he commenced singing, "Hush, my babe, lie still and slumber," with the most apparent indifference, at the same time slowly making his way from the box. Soon his fears subsided, and it was presumed that no one was any the wiser on account of the accident, or coughing. Thus, after summoning courage, he laid hold of the box a third time, and the Rubicon was passed. The car driver, totally ignorant of the contents of the box, drove to the number to which he was directed to take it—left it and went about his business. Now is a moment of intense interest—now of inexpressible delight. The box is opened, the straw removed, and the poor fellow is loosed; and is rejoicing, I will venture to say, as mortal never did rejoice, who had not been in similar peril. This particular friend was scarcely less overjoyed, however, and their joy did not abate for several hours; nor was it confined to themselves, for two invited members of the Vigilance Committee also partook of a full share. This box man was named Wm. Jones. He was boxed up in Baltimore by the friend who received him at the wharf, who did not come in the boat with him, but came in the cars and met him at the wharf.”
Harry Grimes described the act of violence that led to his absconding:
“"I have been treated bad. One day we were grubbing and master said we didn't do work enough. 'How came there was no more work done that day?' said master to me. I told him I did work. In a more stormy manner he 'peated the question. I then spoke up and said: 'Massa, I don't know what to say.' At once massa plunged his knife into my neck causing me to stagger. Massa was drunk. He then drove me down to the black folk's houses (cabins of the slaves). He then got his gun, called the overseer, and told him to get some ropes. While he was gone I said, 'Massa, now you are going to tie me up and cut me all to pieces for nothing. I would just as leave you would take your gun and shoot me down as to tie me up and cut me all to pieces for nothing.' In a great rage he said 'go.' I jumped, and he put up his gun and snapped both barrels at me. He then set his dogs on me, but as I had been in the habit of making much of them, feeding them, &c. they would not follow me, and I kept on straight to the woods. My master and the overseer cotched the horses and tried to run me down, but as the dogs would not follow me they couldn't make nothing of it. It was the last of August a year ago. The devil was into him, and he flogged and beat four of the slaves, one man and three of the women, and said if he could only get hold of me he wouldn't strike me, 'nary-a-lick,' but would tie me to a tree and empty both barrels into me.”
The escape (with a gunfight) of Thomas Sipple, his wife Mary Ann, Henry Burkett, his wife Elizabeth, John Purnell and Hale Burton from Maryland:
“Near Kate's Hammock, on the Delaware shore, they were attacked by five white men in a small boat. One of them seized the chain of the fugitives' boat, and peremptorily claimed it. "This is not your boat, we bought this boat and paid for it," spake one of the brave fugitives. "I am an officer, and must have it," said the white man, holding on to the chain. Being armed, the white men threatened to shoot. Manfully did the black men stand up for their rights, and declare that they did not mean to give up their boat alive. The parties speedily came to blows. One of the white men dealt a heavy blow with his oar upon the head of one of the black men, which knocked him down, and broke the oar at the same time. The blow was immediately returned by Thomas Sipple, and one of the white men was laid flat on the bottom of the boat. The white men were instantly seized with a panic, and retreated; after getting some yards off they snapped their guns at the fugitives several times, and one load of small shot was fired into them. John received two shot in the forehead, but was not dangerously hurt. George received some in the arms, Hale Burton got one about his temple, and Thomas got a few in one of his arms; but the shot being light, none of the fugitives were seriously damaged. Some of the shot will remain in them as long as life lasts.“
As Still said himself: “The race must not forget the rock from whence they were hewn, nor the pit from whence, they were digged.”
More on William Still at this digital archive including letters he and his wife wrote: William Still: An African American Abolitionist http://stillfamily.library.temple.edu/stillfamily/exhibits/show/william-still
Includes this timeline of his life against major events in American history.
All images via Still’s Underground Railroad volume and can be found in the Project Gutenberg version.
always learning,
jmj