Founding Myths (30 page)

       
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In Southern states during the American Revolution, other enslaved people, many more than those who found freedom by fighting for the Americans, escaped from patriotic masters to join the British.
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After the war, white masters, having witnessed a partial breakdown of their power over the people they held in bondage, cracked down, hardening the institution of slavery in the South.
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These are true statements, but the first set has considerable appeal for our times, while the second has none.

If we try to cast the American Revolution as a battle between good and evil, we are faced with the undeniable fact that many of the most prominent patriots owned slaves. Slavery is America's original sin—but when we stick to the story we like the best, we beautify this blemish on a perfect America. We preserve the good name of the founders by portraying the Revolution as a progressive force that dealt a serious blow to the institution of slavery.

The first story appears to absolve the Revolutionaries of their sins, while the second holds them fully accountable. But to tell the first
while ignoring the second requires mining the historical evidence selectively. This is done consciously, not innocently, for ever since the publication of Quarles's
Negro in the American Revolution
fifty years ago, the story of the black exodus at the moment of our nation's inception has been known and embraced within the scholarly community.

The simplest technique is to stonewall. Of thirteen textbooks for elementary, middle-school, and high-school students surveyed for the 2004 edition of
Founding Myths
, only one mentioned that more blacks sought their freedom with the British than with the patriots.
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None stated that some who fought for the patriots were sent back into slavery at war's end, or that patriot leaders in the South offered enslaved people as bounties to entice white recruits.
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Not one admitted that enslaved people fled from Washington's Mount Vernon plantation and from Jefferson's Monticello, or that white patriots used the fear of slave flight and slave uprisings to recruit for their cause (see
chapter 9
). As a partial concession to the facts, some did mention Lord Dunmore's proclamation, but none named any individuals who fought with the British, whereas they did feature particular individuals who fought with the patriots.

The record since that time is mixed. One high-school text published in 2013 makes clear distinctions between North and South, telling the story with great precision: “Because slaveholders led the revolution in the Southern colonies, their slaves saw the British as the true champions of liberty. Thousands of enslaved people sought their freedom by running away to join the British forces.” In the long run, the authors continue, the Revolution triggered emancipation in the North, “where slavery was not critical to the economy and slaves numbered only 5 percent of the population,” yet “although laws eventually banned slavery in the northern states, many northern masters sold their slaves to the South before they could become free. Emancipation failed in the South, where slaves amounted to about one-third of the population and were essential to the plantation economy.”
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This is refreshingly honest, yet several recent texts, published between 2012 and 2014, continue with skewed presentations. Through
selectivity of evidence, authors lead students to believe that more blacks found freedom with the Americans than with the British. A fifth-grade text, which emphasizes individuals, speaks of James Armistead (“a spy for George Washington”), Peter Salem (“among at least five African Americans who fought the British at the Battle of Concord”), and James Forten (“just 14 years old when he joined the Continental Navy”), but it features no enslaved people who went to the British, even though we know many names and several life stories. The same text also displays a dramatic illustration depicting the all-black First Rhode Island Regiment in combat. (The faces on individual soldiers do not look
too
black, however.) “Close to 5,000 enslaved African Americans fought for the Continental Army,” the authors explain. By contrast, when “the British governor of Virginia promised freedom to all enslaved people who fought for the British, “more than 300” responded, wearing “patches that said
Liberty to Slaves.
”
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Yes, both strands are included, but the numbers tell a story in themselves. Although many more than five thousand enslaved people would seek freedom with the British by war's end, fifth-grade readers, understanding that five thousand is greater than three hundred, will infer a conclusion based on the evidence presented: slaves preferred the patriots.

By taking facts out of context, authors present false impressions without making false statements. A middle-school text states, “Washington pleaded with the Continental Congress for more troops. He even asked that the Congress allow free African Americans to enlist.”
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This is true, but it ignores the fact that General Washington, upon taking command of the Continental Army in July 1775, had
banned
new enlistments of “any stroller, negro, or vagabond.” After that, in November, he proclaimed that even free blacks already serving in the army would be ineligible for reenlistment. Only when Lord Dunmore recruited slaves for the British, and when the Continental Army failed to attract enough white recruits, did Washington rescind his order. To relate the final act without providing the relevant background is not a forthright rendering of history.
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Even some college textbooks mislead. After telling of Dunmore's proclamation to liberate slaves willing to serve in the British army, one states categorically: “In fact, the British treated slaves as captured property, seizing them by the thousands in their campaigns in the South.” Again, this is partially true: enslaved people who worked plantations seized by the British were treated as property. But the phrase “in fact” leads readers to believe that those who responded to Dunmore's proclamation were not freed but treated as property, which is not true. (The text conflates and confuses three distinct scenarios: Dunmore's offer of freedom in 1775; General Henry Clinton's Philipsburg Proclamation in 1779, which did not actually promise freedom but still triggered a far greater flight than did Dunmore's proclamation; and the plight of enslaved people still working on plantations seized by the British in 1779–1781.) Then, after producing the impression that the British reneged on their deal, the text relates how the Revolution placed slavery “on its way toward extinction,” even in Virginia.
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By applying a double standard, these texts are able to tell one story and suppress the other. They pronounce proudly that the Revolution, with its rhetoric of “freedom” and “slavery,” cracked the institution that held half a million Americans in bondage. In 1777 Vermont stipulated that all slaves born thereafter would be freed upon reaching their maturity (age twenty-two for males and eighteen for females). In 1780 Pennsylvania followed suit with more conservative age limits (twenty-eight for men, twenty-one for women), and by the early nineteenth century all Northern states had taken steps toward the termination of slavery.
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The makers of
The Patriot
were so taken with the Northern version of the African American saga that they used it in South Carolina, where it has no place. They did not wish to tell the Southern story, even though their movie was set in the South. Slaves fleeing from famous patriots like Washington and Jefferson would not play so well to a modern audience. Imagine an alternate plotline: halfway through
the movie, Benjamin Martin's slaves run off to fight under Colonel Tavington, the film's sinister British villain; in the next battle scene, Martin, the patriot hero of the tale, kills three of his former bondsmen along with the usual seven Redcoats. This is not what we wish to see.

SEEKING FREEDOM ANY WAY THEY CAN

There is another way of looking at these stories. If we focus on the black experience rather than how the stories portray whites, the two suddenly blend into one.

African Americans in both the North and South used the Revolution to foster the cause of black freedom. In a war between whites, they sided with whichever side offered the best hope of emancipation. They acted strategically in their own best interests, not from any prior commitment to the Americans or the British. In the North, where the British were weak and where the patriots were looking for soldiers, they cast their lot with the Americans. In the South, where the British offered them new lives and appeared (at least in the later years) to be able to make good on that promise, they flocked to the royal standard. Freedom was the name of the game, and they played it however they could.

That's the simple version; the actual plotline has many twists and turns. In the North, slaves had to negotiate carefully to ensure that their contributions to the patriots' cause would actually result in their freedom; in many cases, whites tried to renege on their promises after the war.
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In the South, the risks were far greater and more difficult to assess. Enslaved people in 1775–1776 and again in 1779–1781 were under the general impression that if they could escape and offer their services to the invading British army they would be freed. They had no assurances, however, nor was it certain that the British would prevail. What if they ran to the British army but were later defeated and returned to their original owners? What if the British proved not to be liberators
after all, but just one more set of white men ready to exploit black labor? Perhaps they would free some but not all of those who came to them. Perhaps families would be torn apart.

On the other hand, what would happen if enslaved people decided
not
to join the British? Patriot masters, fleeing the British army, might haul them away to places unknown, where they would be sold or hired out to strangers. If their masters ran and left them behind, they would have to survive on their own amid economic chaos. Even worse, how would they be treated if they were
captured
by the British, rather than joining them willingly? As prizes of war, they would belong to the conquerors. Very likely, they would be sold and sent to the West Indies.

Perhaps they should just run away without seeking support from either side. They could try to blend in with the small communities of free blacks in Savannah, Charleston, Wilmington, or Williamsburg. But in such numbers? How would they make a living? Maybe they'd do better in the backwoods of the Dismal Swamp, but wherever they went, they would have to support themselves, and settling in one place to raise food would increase the risk of being captured.

Their fates were in the balance: they might wind up free or dead. In the fields or huddled in small groups at night, wary of informers among their peers, they pondered the alternatives, projecting the possible consequences of their actions, trying to predict the most likely outcomes. They considered various outcomes and evaluated strategies. Such decisions to make—and with such consequences!
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As it turned out, many trying to escape were captured by patriot slave patrols. Sometimes, when the British were inundated with runaways, fugitives were turned away. Thousands succumbed to diseases—primarily smallpox, to which they had no immunity. Those who reached the British and survived were often turned into laborers, servants, or soldiers. They toiled on plantations not unlike the ones they had left; they served the personal needs of British officers, who became their new masters; they joined the king's army for indefinite terms of service—some later served in the West Indies and even
the Napoleonic Wars. Many were given as slaves to white loyalists in compensation for lost property.

On the other hand, many did find freedom. At the close of the war, the British transported three thousand men, women, and children, formerly enslaved, from New York to Canada. As free persons, they were granted plots of land—the worst available, of course. Others went to London, where they faced hard times. Some managed to escape to deep woods and dank swamps, where they survived for years in their own Maroon communities. (Despite what we see in
The Patriot,
there are no records of white gentry putting on elaborate wedding ceremonies in these enclaves of black refugees.) Many eventually wound up in Sierra Leone, the African colony established for formerly enslaved blacks.

From the black perspective, such stories are indeed “epic,” as reflected in the title of Cassandra's Pybus's book
Epic Journeys of Freedom: Runaway Slaves of the American Revolution and Their Global Quest for Liberty
, which chronicles a mass black exodus from slavery that preceded the more famous Underground Railroad of the mid–nineteenth century.
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But where are they in our textbooks? We hear about James Armistead Lafayette, Peter Salem, and James Forten, so why not Boston King, David George, Thomas Peters, or other refugees whose journeys are well documented and whose stories we could relate if we chose to?
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Liberty!
(the book and PBS series) features James Armistead Lafayette as one of the five key “portraits” to represent the American Revolution; the others are King George III, George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, and Abigail Adams.
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Enslaved to the Virginian William Armistead, James volunteered for the army and worked as a double agent under the Marquis de Lafayette; after the war, he petitioned the Virginia Assembly for his freedom and received it. His story, a good one, is certainly enhanced by the prestige of the officer he served, but we could paint an even broader canvas by featuring the pursuit of freedom by Harry Washington, who had worked involuntarily for a man of even greater renown, George Washington.