Read Online Slavery by Another Name by Douglas A. Blackmon - Free Book Online
Authors: Douglas A. Blackmon
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brothers, and the hundreds of
thousands of other southern men who had taken up arms during the
war, had been wrong.
Before Union troops arrived in Bibb County, the night hours had
permit ed Henry his one limited taste of freedom within the
con nes of chat el life. It was after sundown that the slaves of
Riverbend and other farms could slip quietly through the forests to
see and court one another.
Now freedom had turned darkness into light. Henry young and
Now freedom had turned darkness into light. Henry young and
strong at the very moment of the rebirth of his people, no longer
had to wait for the passage of the sun into the horizon. His feet
could carry him ying down the dusty track to the Bishop place, in
plain daylight for al to see, past old Elisha's cabins, past the store
at Six Mile, past the broken iron furnace at Brierfield, to Mary.
For Henry and Mary, freedom was a tangible thing, and January
was a ne time for a wedding. Both raised on the banks of the
Cahaba, they were as at uned to the seasonal swel s of the river and
the deep soil on its edges as the great stretches of spidery white
lilies that crowded its shoals each spring and retreated into its
depths every winter.
Picking last fal 's crop of cot on in the val ey had gone on until
nearly Christmas. In another two months, it would be time to begin
knocking down the brit le cot on stalks left from last year,
harnessing the mules and plows, and breaking the crusted soil for a
new crop. Planting season came hard on the heels of that, and
before long it would be summer, when mule hooves and plow
blades and bare black feet, slavery or no slavery, would march
between the furrows, without rest, for nearly every hour of every
day. So that January, bit er as was its wind, arrived for them sweet
and restful.
Like Henry and Mary al of Alabama, and the South—indeed at
one level al of the United States—was set ing up housekeeping in
the winter of 1868. Rede ned by war, grief, deprivation, death, and
emancipation, America was faced with the chal enge of repairing
and reordering a col ective household.
Some of the old slaves said they too weren't sure what "freedom"
real y was. Henry likely couldn't explain it either, but he had to
know. This wedding day was emancipation. It was the license from
the courthouse and big leather-bound book that listed his marriage
right beside those of the children of the old master. It was his name
on the piece of paper, "Henry Cot-tinham." No more was he one of
the "Cot ingham niggers."
To Henry Cot inham and Mary Bishop there could be no bet er
To Henry Cot inham and Mary Bishop there could be no bet er
time to marry They marched the few steps to the house of Rev.
Starr, down to the Cot ingham chapel around the curve, and took
their vows as free citizens.58 Henry Cot inham was a man, with a
name, spel ed just the way he had always said it. Freedom was an
open eld, a strong wife, and time to make his mark. Mary's
"increase," like the product of al their labor, would be theirs—not
Elisha Cot ingham's. Henry would plant his seed, in soil he knew
and in Mary his wife. In a few years, they would have a son named
Green. Henry would raise up the o spring of the land and of his
blood.
Surely, that was freedom.
I
AN INDUSTRIAL SLAVERY
"Niggers is cheap."
Across the South, white southerners were ba ed. What to do with
.freed slaves like Henry Cot inham and his grandfather Scip?
They could not be driven away. Without former slaves—and
their steady expertise and cooperation in the elds—the white
South was crippled. But this new manifestation of dark-skinned
men expected to choose when, where, and how long they would
work. Those who could not nd employ wandered town to town,
presumptuously asking for food, favors, and jobs.
To get from place to place, or to reach locations where work had
been advertised, they piled onto the empty freight cars of what few
trains stil ran. They
thousands of other southern men who had taken up arms during the
war, had been wrong.
Before Union troops arrived in Bibb County, the night hours had
permit ed Henry his one limited taste of freedom within the
con nes of chat el life. It was after sundown that the slaves of
Riverbend and other farms could slip quietly through the forests to
see and court one another.
Now freedom had turned darkness into light. Henry young and
Now freedom had turned darkness into light. Henry young and
strong at the very moment of the rebirth of his people, no longer
had to wait for the passage of the sun into the horizon. His feet
could carry him ying down the dusty track to the Bishop place, in
plain daylight for al to see, past old Elisha's cabins, past the store
at Six Mile, past the broken iron furnace at Brierfield, to Mary.
For Henry and Mary, freedom was a tangible thing, and January
was a ne time for a wedding. Both raised on the banks of the
Cahaba, they were as at uned to the seasonal swel s of the river and
the deep soil on its edges as the great stretches of spidery white
lilies that crowded its shoals each spring and retreated into its
depths every winter.
Picking last fal 's crop of cot on in the val ey had gone on until
nearly Christmas. In another two months, it would be time to begin
knocking down the brit le cot on stalks left from last year,
harnessing the mules and plows, and breaking the crusted soil for a
new crop. Planting season came hard on the heels of that, and
before long it would be summer, when mule hooves and plow
blades and bare black feet, slavery or no slavery, would march
between the furrows, without rest, for nearly every hour of every
day. So that January, bit er as was its wind, arrived for them sweet
and restful.
Like Henry and Mary al of Alabama, and the South—indeed at
one level al of the United States—was set ing up housekeeping in
the winter of 1868. Rede ned by war, grief, deprivation, death, and
emancipation, America was faced with the chal enge of repairing
and reordering a col ective household.
Some of the old slaves said they too weren't sure what "freedom"
real y was. Henry likely couldn't explain it either, but he had to
know. This wedding day was emancipation. It was the license from
the courthouse and big leather-bound book that listed his marriage
right beside those of the children of the old master. It was his name
on the piece of paper, "Henry Cot-tinham." No more was he one of
the "Cot ingham niggers."
To Henry Cot inham and Mary Bishop there could be no bet er
To Henry Cot inham and Mary Bishop there could be no bet er
time to marry They marched the few steps to the house of Rev.
Starr, down to the Cot ingham chapel around the curve, and took
their vows as free citizens.58 Henry Cot inham was a man, with a
name, spel ed just the way he had always said it. Freedom was an
open eld, a strong wife, and time to make his mark. Mary's
"increase," like the product of al their labor, would be theirs—not
Elisha Cot ingham's. Henry would plant his seed, in soil he knew
and in Mary his wife. In a few years, they would have a son named
Green. Henry would raise up the o spring of the land and of his
blood.
Surely, that was freedom.
I
AN INDUSTRIAL SLAVERY
"Niggers is cheap."
Across the South, white southerners were ba ed. What to do with
.freed slaves like Henry Cot inham and his grandfather Scip?
They could not be driven away. Without former slaves—and
their steady expertise and cooperation in the elds—the white
South was crippled. But this new manifestation of dark-skinned
men expected to choose when, where, and how long they would
work. Those who could not nd employ wandered town to town,
presumptuously asking for food, favors, and jobs.
To get from place to place, or to reach locations where work had
been advertised, they piled onto the empty freight cars of what few
trains stil ran. They
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