Cover
story Beneath the gentility, a harsh, hidden past
By JASON BERRY
Special to the National Catholic Reporter New
Orleans
Destrehan Plantation stands about 36
miles upriver from New Orleans -- a French colonial mansion with eight pillars
and a grand gallery facing the levee of the Mississippi in St. Charles Parish.
(In Louisiana, counties are called parishes.) The building and its grounds
symbolize a line of dynasties, the fortune of which turned on the toil of
enslaved Africans.
With the studied eccentricity of an actress, the tour guide in a
long gown, hat and veil, served pieces of a grand Southern past at Destrehan
that January Sunday. Her account of the house and its lineage was studded with
details about various owners, the antiques, furnishings, how meals were
prepared, how the mansion was built and subsequently restored. Slaves were a
minor theme woven through her remarks. They ate twice a day, lived out back and
had various duties. But slaves-as-people were shadows to the tale of the French
and Creole planter families. No slave dwellings or recreations appear on the
grounds. Although the gift shop carries a small assortment of books about
African-American history, slaves have a scant presence in Destrehans
persona. If African-Americans have won February as the month to celebrate their
history, much of their story remains buried.
Selling an idealized past
The beauty of the plantation houses can be so stunning as to seem
outside of time, in some aesthetic limbo without a whisper from the black
people who worked the fields and big houses and suffered in ways that most of
us can barely imagine. Perhaps the economic logic of tourism -- selling beauty,
an idealized past -- is why the tour guide never mentioned one of the major
episodes in Louisiana history. In 1811 a trial at Destrehan culminated in 21
slaves convicted of fomenting a revolt. They were sent back to plantations they
had escaped, shot to death, the bodies decapitated and heads posted on spikes
as a warning to other slaves.
Two of the slaves were executed on Jan. 15, 1811, in front of the
plantation house owned by Jean Noel Destrehan.
This was the largest slave revolt in America, said
Leon Waters, a New Orleans waiter who traces his ancestry to slaves in St.
James and St. Charles parishes. The Nat Turner rebellion in 1831 has been
made more popular, but this was the largest effort to overturn a slave system
[in the United States].
This was not a riot, not a spontaneous
uprising. It was a well-thought-out and disciplined attempt to bring down an
oppressive dictatorship, and it almost succeeded. A war is the highest level of
struggle, and thats what it was.
Waters, 50, a graduate of St. Augustine High and Xavier
University, is part of a group that has been researching the 1811 slave revolt
for years, trying to pressure historical and preservation groups along River
Road and elsewhere to enlarge an awareness of slaves in tours, museums and
other public forums. In 1995 the group, the African American History Alliance
of Louisiana, published a book by Albert Thrasher, On to New Orleans!
Louisianas Heroic 1811 Slave Revolt. The book includes a long
appendix with copies of 19th-century legal documents and newspaper ads for
slave sales or rewards for runaways.
How much of the memory of slaves should be reflected in the
stories told to tourists by plantation guides? Should the cruelty that slaves
endured, the splintering of families, the revolts, be presented in tours? Or
does it matter?
As protesters unearth new information, the past refuses to go
away. The souls of people once bought and sold find voices in the likes of
Waters and others who insist on being heard.
This month, Harvard University Press is publishing Soul by
Soul: Life Inside the Antebellum Slave Market, by historian Walter Johnson
of New York University. New Orleans is the focus of Johnsons book. He
describes in graphic, often wrenching detail how slaves lived in small houses
called holding pens before they were sold, how their bodies were touched and
groped, their orifices inspected by prospective buyers who saw them as a
species of property. Johnson writes of the harrowing journeys the slaves made
in coffles, long lines of people chained together, as the traders rode
horseback with guns and whips.
As they neared their destination, the traders shaved
mens beards and combed their hair, they plucked gray hairs or blackened
them with dye, writes Johnson. The rituals of preparation continued
once slaves had reached the market. In the slave pens the traders increased
rations of bacon, milk and butter, a fattening diet one trader referred to as
feeding up. To keep the slaves muscles toned, the traders set
them to dancing and exercising, and to make their skin shine with the
appearance of health, the traders greased the slaves faces with
sweet oil or washed them in greasy water.
Famous auction block
Although Johnson does not mention it, the most famous sales block
was the rotunda of the St. Louis Hotel, an ornate room in the building designed
by a noted French architect. (The hotel, since demolished, occupied the block
of St. Louis Street opposite the Royal Orleans.) This exchange not only
contained the finest barroom in the city, noted a 19th-century guidebook,
but the principal auction mart where slaves, stocks, real estate and all
other kinds of property were sold from noon to 3 p.m., the auctioneers crying
their wares in a multitude of languages, the English, the French and the
Spanish predominating.
Slaves were decked out rather formally -- the men in dark suits
and top hats, the women in blouses with long sleeves, as shown in a famous
magazine drawing from the 1850s. None of the poverty and toil that
characterized the daily life of American slaves, none of the bareness that
contributed so powerfully to the historical sexualization of black bodies, was
immediately apparent in the slave market, writes Johnson. These
people were dressed as ideal slaves, exaggerated in the typicality of their
appearance, too uniform, too healthy, too clean
individual slaves were
turned into physical symbols of their own salability.
The slaves created a culture in order to resist the dehumanizing
tactics used upon them. More than mere entertainment, their songs and folk
tales, music and dance became survival rites. As separated lovers,
grieving parents or orphaned children, as resigned victims or angry
rebels, writes Johnson in Soul by Soul, slaves in the trade
made themselves known by telling their stories. During the weeks they spent in
the ship holds, in coffles and in the slave pens, the once anonymous slaves
built a network of mutual recognition through communal remembering of the
past.
Hearing about the revolt
OK, the story begins with me, said Waters, who
spearheaded the 1811 revisionist project. I was nine or 10 when my cousin
Kizzy, an elderly lady, told me about the revolt.
Kizzys name was Clara Duncan. She was born in 1880. Her
parents had been slaves; her father had fought in the Civil War against the
Confederacy. She told Waters, We would take advantage of every
opportunity to tear up, rise up to destroy things. The we of
whom she spoke were ancestors; we was a connective tissue to the
past. As a 10-year-old, Waters didnt grasp the implications.
But in time, as he began seeking out older relatives in an effort
to understand her comments, he found corroboration in two articles on the 1811
revolt, one by James H. Dormon, a University of Southwestern Louisiana
professor, in a 1978 anthology, Readings in Louisiana History; the other
by the late Thomas Marshall Thompson in the winter 1992 edition of Louisiana
Quarterly.
Waters research took him to the National Archives in
Washington, where he combed the pension files of soldiers who had fought in the
Union Army. In the late 19th century, federal investigators conducted extensive
interviews of many men and widows seeking military pensions; the interviews
were done to determine whether people were who they claimed to be, if they had
fought in the Civil War (or had been married to a war veteran), thus assuring
eligibility for a pension. In assessing the pension claims of ex-slaves, said
Waters, the investigators would go from house to house, naming people
they interviewed, with detailed information on how different people were
related.
New Orleans fell to Union forces in 1862. Several thousand
Louisiana slaves and free men of color enlisted in the Northern army.
Scouring the pension archives helped Waters trace his kin line
several generations, identifying people who made the transition from slavery to
freedom in the river parishes. He is convinced he had ancestors in the 1811
revolt.
Waters found an ally in Malcolm Suber, who operates a printing and
photocopy store on Canal Street. Suber, who grew up in South Carolina, did
community organizing in Appalachia before moving to New Orleans, where he has
been involved for years in social protests. Among other things, Waters and
Suber wanted to understand how an army of slaves could rise up virtually
overnight. Eventually they enlisted Albert Thrasher, an independent researcher
and writer, to take on a book. As more information comes in, says
Waters, we will update future editions.
As Marxists, Waters, Suber and Thrasher view the slave revolt in a
global context of class struggle. Thrashers narrative sags with
ideological polemics, but the breadth of research is impressive. The narrative
enlarges the scope of small uprisings, attacks on plantation crops and
livestock, and occasional killings of whites: They began long before 1811 and
continued for years thereafter.
Outside the city lay communities of maroons -- fugitive slaves.
The police came to the levee between Bienville and Iberville streets to
arrest a runaway slave named Jeff. They found him there with about 30 comrades
engaged in a Congo dance. When the police sought to arrest him,
the whole of his colored companions assailed the officers with bricks and
other missiles and rescued him, writes Thrasher, quoting an 1840
newspaper.
Network of spies
On a rainy afternoon in late January, Waters and Suber sat in the
latters photocopy shop and discussed the revolt. They are convinced that
the timing was strategic. Governor Claiborne was worried about Spanish
troops fighting in Florida and was about to send soldiers to fight over
there, says Suber. Charles Deslondes [leader of the slaves] knew
the U.S. was about to go to war with Spain.
The only way the planning could have worked, says Suber, was with
slaves who worked in the military garrison passing information through a
network of spies out to Deslondes who lived at another plantation in St.
Charles Parish. The distance of 36 miles was a days ride by horse or
carriage.
It was Christmas season, continues Suber.
Planters were having big balls after the successful harvest, parties in
one house after another. It was the right time to strike.
Deslondes was a mulatto who had come to Louisiana from St.
Domingue, or Haiti as the island republic was renamed in 1804 after the slave
revolt that culminated in a humiliating defeat for the French. Deslondes,
writes Thrasher, convinced his comrades that New Orleans could be
captured by a two-pronged assault: A large mass of slaves would march down on
the city from upriver until they reached the city gates, while at the same
time, a detachment of African collaborators inside the city would seize the
arsenal and transfer the large stocks of weapons and ammunition to the
advancing slave army. Then, jointly, both forces would capture the other
institutions, including the governing bodies and the banks.
On the rain-chilled night of Jan. 8, Deslondes led a group at what
is now Norco, wounding the plantation owner, one Col. Manuel Andry, and killing
his son. Deslondes was the slave driver -- an overseer of other
slaves -- who turned his people around, seized guns, swords, several horses,
some liquor and set off, marching in parade formation, singing songs, and
chanting the war cry, on to Orleans! wrote Thompson in
Louisiana History.
As word spread along the River Road plantations, white families
began fleeing in carriages, loaded with belongings, heading toward the city.
Slaves from other plantations and maroons from the swamps and wooded hideaways
joined Deslondes shock troops. They killed another planter, Francois
Trepagnier, and fortified their ranks with cane knives, axes, hoes and sharp
tools. The rebel force surged to some 500, according to press reports. In the
meantime, Col. Andry pulled himself up and rallied a militia with help from
federal troops.
When the white troops attacked on Jan. 10, the insurgent slaves
had reached a plantation 16 miles from New Orleans. They had moved 20 miles in
two days. The attack by the white troops was a massacre, with 66 slaves killed
and no white casualties. Numerous uncounted bodies remained scattered
through the woods, victims of a shooting spree that continued until no other
suspected blacks could be found in the vicinity, wrote Thompson.
The next day local planters hired Indians to search out and kill or
capture all blacks who were still hiding in the woods. After the slaughter was
over, the authorities held about 75 captives for questioning and returned the
rest of the slaves to their owners.
Neither Thrasher nor the two white historians estimate how many
slaves got away; but from the various accounts, it seems clear that a fair
number were not caught. Perhaps as many as 200 slipped into maroon communities
or surreptitiously returned to the plantations they had fled.
On Jan. 13 the trial began at Destrehan Plantation. The judge
appointed a tribunal of five planters to interrogate the 27 captured slaves and
render justice. In the end, Deslondes and 18 others were returned to their
owners, executed by bullets and beheaded. Jean Noel Destrehan had two of his
slaves killed.
Eight more were tried at the Cabildo and executed at nearby sites,
including Congo Square and what is now Jackson Square. Since so few
records have come to light, writes Thrasher, there is little known
about the work of the slave owners tribunal in St. John the Baptist
Parish. It is known that at least seven slaves were executed on the orders of
this panel.
That would bring the combined total -- including the Orleans and
St. Charles tribunals -- to 36 executed.
Cant cover everything
The River Road Historical Society has owned and operated Destrehan
Plantation since 1971. Similar foundations own some of the antebellum houses
along the river and elsewhere in the state; others are family-owned and run as
tourist businesses. Marathon Oil Company owns San Francisco Plantation. The
houses along River Road are nestled among oil and petrochemical refineries, the
economy that long ago supplanted sugar cane as the states major
export.
Whatever we have documented, we do share, says Nancy
Roberts, the manager of Destrehan, regarding the story of the 1811 slave
revolt. She did not know Waters or members of his group. We try to give
as complete a picture of plantation life as possible. Roberts cited a
pamphlet that Destrehan published on the 1811 revolt as an example of the
historical societys accounting of the past.
Why isnt the revolt and trial discussed by the tour
guides?
We have an extensive history, said Roberts. The
slave revolt was a period of a couple of weeks. Unless a specific question is
asked, our tours cant in any way cover everything. We try to give as
complete a history as possible. We get people from all over the world, and they
have questions; but to address all areas of 200 years of history is just not
possible.
We would like the truth to be told at these plantations, or
they should be shut down, said Leon Waters.
As is often the case when symbols of history (like South
Carolinas flag) rise into the stratosphere of issues, the
clash comes down to narrative, the form of the story, its emphasis and
tone.
Those tour guides give a presentation thats really
romanticist, said Waters. In terms of class forces, who produced
the wealth? What class benefited from this unfair labor? This is not
overstated. To me its a crime -- theyre doing a real disservice.
They should tell the truth.
Look, these [houses] are tourist attractions
and the
people who run these operations are doing harm, providing sham
propaganda.
So is there any hope for a middle ground?
Were willing to sit and talk with them, said
Waters. Theres been some motion on their part and thats
definitely a good thing. Its a small gain, but a gain. In terms of the
larger issue, there has to be a continuing debate, more research and
discussion, so that an honest and authentic interpretation of the past is
provided at all of these plantation tour sites. When that is done, I think
society will have made some significant gains. This is a beginning.
A longer version of this article appears in Gambit
Weekly and can be accessed at bestofneworleans.com
National Catholic Reporter, February 25,
2000
|