Freed Slave tell Master to go fuck himself

ImTheKangRoundHereImTheKangRoundHere Posts: 4,649 ✭✭✭✭✭
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Isn’t it great when you can put a picture to a story! You may recall the story we did last year about a sarcastic slave who wrote to his former master basically telling him to go to HELL!

The famed letter was written by an ex-slave JORDON ANDERSON in response to his former master’s (SEEN BELOW) request that he return to the plantation, soon after the end of the Civil War.

Check it out below:

Dayton, Ohio,
August 7, 1865

To My Old Master, Colonel P.H. Anderson, Big Spring, Tennessee

Sir: I got your letter, and was glad to find that you had not forgotten Jordon, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again, promising to do better for me than anybody else can. I have often felt uneasy about you. I thought the Yankees would have hung you long before this, for harboring Rebs they found at your house.

I suppose they never heard about your going to Colonel Martin’s to kill the Union soldier that was left by his company in their stable. Although you shot at me twice before I left you, I did not want to hear of your being hurt, and am glad you are still living.

It would do me good to go back to the dear old home again, and see Miss Mary and Miss Martha and Allen, Esther, Green, and Lee. Give my love to them all, and tell them I hope we will meet in the better world, if not in this. I would have gone back to see you all when I was working in the Nashville Hospital, but one of the neighbors told me that Henry intended to shoot me if he ever got a chance.

I want to know particularly what the good chance is you propose to give me. I am doing tolerably well here. I get twenty-five dollars a month, with victuals and clothing; have a comfortable home for Mandy,—the folks call her Mrs. Anderson,—and the children—Milly, Jane, and Grundy—go to school and are learning well. The teacher says Grundy has a head for a preacher. They go to Sunday school, and Mandy and me attend church regularly.

We are kindly treated. Sometimes we overhear others saying, “Them colored people were slaves” down in Tennessee. The children feel hurt when they hear such remarks; but I tell them it was no disgrace in Tennessee to belong to Colonel Anderson. Many darkeys would have been proud, as I used to be, to call you master. Now if you will write and say what wages you will give me, I will be better able to decide whether it would be to my advantage to move back again.

As to my freedom, which you say I can have, there is nothing to be gained on that score, as I got my free papers in 1864 from the Provost-Marshal-General of the Department of Nashville. Mandy says she would be afraid to go back without some proof that you were disposed to treat us justly and kindly; and we have concluded to test your sincerity by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you. This will make us forget and forgive old scores, and rely on your justice and friendship in the future. I served you faithfully for thirty-two years, and Mandy twenty years.

At twenty-five dollars a month for me, and two dollars a week for Mandy, our earnings would amount to eleven thousand six hundred and eighty dollars. Add to this the interest for the time our wages have been kept back, and deduct what you paid for our clothing, and three doctor’s visits to me, and pulling a tooth for Mandy, and the balance will show what we are in justice entitled to.

Please send the money by Adams’s Express, in care of V. Winters, Esq., Dayton, Ohio. If you fail to pay us for faithful labors in the past, we can have little faith in your promises in the future. We trust the good Maker has opened your eyes to the wrongs which you and your fathers have done to me and my fathers, in making us toil for you for generations without recompense. Here I draw my wages every Saturday night; but in Tennessee there was never any pay-day for the negroes any more than for the horses and cows. Surely there will be a day of reckoning for those who defraud the laborer of his hire.

In answering this letter, please state if there would be any safety for my Milly and Jane, who are now grown up, and both good-looking girls. You know how it was with poor Matilda and Catherine. I would rather stay here and starve – and die, if it come to that – than have my girls brought to shame by the violence and wickedness of their young masters. You will also please state if there has been any schools opened for the colored children in your neighborhood. The great desire of my life now is to give my children an education, and have them form virtuous habits.

Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me.
From your old servant,

Jordon Anderson


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WHO IS JORDAN ANDERSON?

Anderson was a former slave who was freed from a Tennessee plantation by Union troops in 1864 and spent his remaining 40 years in Ohio. He lived quietly and likely would have been forgotten if not for a remarkable letter
written by the ex-slave in response to his former master’s request that he return to the plantation, soon after the end of the Civil War. It was published in a Cincinnati newspaper shortly after the Civil War.

Treasured as a social document, praised as a masterpiece of satire, Anderson’s letter has been anthologized and published all over the world. Historians teach it, and the letter turns up occasionally on a blog or on Facebook.

Anderson’s words, a timeless kiss-off to a hated boss, are also a puzzle: How could an illiterate man, newly released from bondage, produce such a work of sophisticated satire?

From documents and in interviews with scholars, Anderson emerges as a very real person and the very real author of his story — though, from the beginning, it was reported to have been “dictated.” His letter is an outstanding testament to the ability of slaves to turn horror into humor.

“It is that wonderful combination of serious thought and satirical chastisement,” said Yale University history professor David Blight, who loves to read the letter during a lecture class on Reconstruction. “It represents so many definitions of freedom — dignity, access to education, family. And in the end, it also meant wages.”

According to available records, Jordan Anderson was born in Tennessee about 1825 and by age 7 or 8 had been sold to a plantation owned by Gen. Paulding Anderson in Big Spring, Tenn. Patrick Henry Anderson was one of the general’s sons and by the mid-1840s owned Jordan and other slaves. Jordan Anderson married Amanda McGregor in 1848 and they apparently had 11 children.

Union troops camped on the plantation, and Jordan was freed in 1864 by the Provost-Marshall-General of the Department of Nashville.

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HyenaKillaFuriousOneCopperTonyDubbzBarryHallsYoung_Chitlin

Replies

  • ImTheKangRoundHereImTheKangRoundHere Posts: 4,649 ✭✭✭✭✭
    Roy E. Finkenbine, a professor at the University of Detroit-Mercy (holds a print showing Mr. Anderson) who is planning a biography of Anderson, thinks it’s likely Jordan was given to Patrick (born in 1823) as a playmate and personal servant when they were young.

    Finkenbine says Jordan appears to have been the oldest male slave of working age and that might be why the plantation owner was so eager to entice him back. Many of the slaves had fled, and Anderson was mortgaged to the hilt.

    “Harvest is coming on. Jordan’s a guy who’s played … sort of a quasi-managerial role in the past,” Finkenbine says. “And if he can convince this guy to come back, here’s a guy who can not only maybe get the harvest in, but convince some of these other slaves that have gone … get them to come back and be workers on the plantation. It’s kind of his last-ditch effort to save it.”

    But he doesn’t save it. In September 1865, Finkenbine says, Anderson sold the nearly 1,000-acre estate to his attorney for a pittance, in an apparent attempt to get out from under his crushing debt. Just two years later after the sale, Patrick Henry Anderson died at the age of 44. He is buried in Lebanon, Tenn

    Screen-shot-2012-07-17-at-8.25.03-AM.png

    That’s what’s known of the famous letter’s recipient. What of its writer?

    Jordan Anderson’s collaborator — to whom he reportedly dictated the letter — was a Dayton banker named Valentine Winters.

    An abolitionist who once hosted Abraham Lincoln at his mansion, Winters regarded the letter as excellent propaganda, according to Finkenbine. It was originally published in August 1865 by the Cincinnati Commercial, a paper with Republican leanings.

    Regarding questions about whether the letter was really Anderson’s, Finkenbine says: “It’s kind of a racist assumption … that when someone is illiterate, we make the assumption they’re stupid.” Enslaved people had deep folk wisdom and a rich oral culture, he adds. “I think the letter is clearly his ideas and, for the most part, his own words.”
    HyenaKillaCopper
  • aladdin1978aladdin1978 Poo Poo Jenkins West coastin'Posts: 2,734 ✭✭✭✭✭
  • CopperCopper The WickPosts: 35,458 ✭✭✭✭✭
    Can we get a summary here?

    just read the shit...its worth it nigga..
    hueyOya_HusbandInglewood_BFocal Point
  • DarcSkiesDarcSkies Shut Up Kat =) Posts: 11,201 ✭✭✭✭✭
    loch121 wrote: »
    LOL how you gonna ask somebody to come back to be your slave?
    crackaz gonna crack
    Oya_HusbandInglewood_B
  • Inglewood_BInglewood_B OG Bobby Johnson Inglewood niggaPosts: 6,107 ✭✭✭✭✭
    edited January 2013
    Can we get a summary here?

    an elegant and eloquent "fuck you, pay me.".

  • Swiffness!Swiffness! Posts: 7,150 ✭✭✭✭✭
    Here's a better story IMO:

    say hello to Jarm Logue

    Jarm.jpg

    he finally ran away because one night.....

    ----

    Blazing with alcohol and Hell within, he (Massa) picked up the long wedge, and swore the boy should swallow it. As if to compel him to do so, he ordered Jarm to open his mouth. Jarm instinctively demurred to the absurd proposition, but Manasseth was inflexible. So soon as Jarm hesitated, his enemy struck him a blow on the side of the head, with his fist, which brought him to the ground.

    The brute, with increased passion, leaped on him, and held him down--and in that condition charged the boy to open his mouth, on peril of his life--at the same time pressing the wood against his lips and teeth. Jarm, fearing he would break in all his teeth, opened his jaws, and the wretch immediately crowded the wedge in until it reached the roof of his mouth, before he could stop it with his teeth. He began to pound it in with his heavy fist. Not withstanding Jarm held on with his teeth, the wedge driven into the roof of his mouth, and mangled it frightfully. The blood flowed down his throat, and profusely from his mouth.

    So soon as Jarm found his teeth were likely all to be broken, and that there was no hope of sympathy from the intoxicated wretch, he obeyed the instincts of nature, and by a sudden and powerful effort, he seized the wedge and the hand that held it, and turning his head at the same time, delivered his mouth from the instrument, and turned it towards the ground--resolved, if he was to be murdered, he not be murdered in that way. The heartless man then commenced punching the boy with the sharp end of the wedge, on his head and mouth, making bloody gashes--Jarm dodging, as well as be could, to avoid the blows...

    ----

    smh

    He suffered a speech impediment for the rest of his life, but became a great Abolitionist.

    Later, the wife of his old owner wrote him a sob story demanding him to come back:

    ----

    I now take my pen to write you a few lines, to let you know how well we all are. I am a cripple, but I am still able to get about. The rest of the family are all well. Cherry is as well as Common. I write you these lines to let you the situation we are in--partly in consequence of your running away and stealing Old Rock, our fine mare. Though we got the mare back, she never was worth much after you took here, and as I now stand in need of some funds, I have determined to sell you, and I have had an offer for you, but did not see fit to take it.

    If you will send me one thousand dollars, and pay for the old mare, I will give up all claim I have to you. Write to me as soon as you get these lines, and let me know if you will accept my proposition. In consequence of your running away we had to sell Abe and Ann [HIS FAMILY SMFH] and twelve acres of land; and I want you to send me the money, that I may be able to redeem the land that you was the cause of our selling, and on receipt of the above-named sum of money, I will send you your bill of sale.

    If you do not comply with my request, I will sell you to some one else, and you may rest assured that the time is not far distant when things will be changed with you. Write to me as soon as you get these lines.

    ----

    Jarm wrote back and eloquently told this bitch to FUCK OFF:

    ----

    You sold my brother and sister, ABE and ANN, and 12 acres of land, you say, because I run away. Now you have the unutterable meanness to ask me to return and be your miserable chattel, or in lieu thereof send you $1,000 to enable you to redeem the land, but not to redeem my poor brother and sister! If I were to send you money it would be to get my brother and sister, and not that you should get land. You say you are a cripple, and doubtless you say it to stir my pity, for you know I was susceptible in that direction. I do pity you from the bottom of my heart.

    Nevertheless I am indignant beyond the power of words to express, that you should be so sunken and cruel as to tear the hearts I love so much all in pieces; that you should be willing to impale and crucify us out of all compassion for your poor foot or leg. Wretched woman! Be it known to you that I value my freedom, to say nothing of my mother, brothers and sisters, more than your whole body; more, indeed, than my own life; more than all the lives of all the slaveholders and tyrants under Heaven.

    You say you have offers to buy me, and that you shall sell me if I do not send you $1,000, and in the same breath and almost in the same sentence, you say, "you know we raised you as we did our own children." Woman, did you raise your own children for the market? Did you raise them for the whipping-post? Did you raise them to be drove off in a coffle in chains? Where are my poor bleeding brothers and sisters? Can you tell?

    Who was it that sent them off into sugar and cotton fields, to be kicked, and cuffed, and whipped, and to groan and die; and where no kin can hear their groans, or attend and sympathize at their dying bed, or follow in their funeral? Wretched woman! Do you say you did not do it? Then I reply, your husband did, and you approved the deed--and the very letter you sent me shows that your heart approves it all. Shame on you.


    But, by the way, where is your husband? You don't speak of him. I infer, therefore, that he is dead; that he has gone to his great account, with all his sins against my poor family upon his head. Poor man! gone to meet the spirits of my poor, outraged and murdered people, in a world where Liberty and Justice are MASTERS.

    But you say I am a thief, because I took the old mare along with me. Have you got to learn that I had a better right to the old mare, as you called her, than MANASSETH LOGUE had to me? Is it a greater sin for me to steal his horse, than it was for him to rob my mother's cradle and steal me? If he and you infer that I forfeit all my rights to you, shall not I infer that you forfeit all your rights to me?

    Have you got to learn that human rights are mutual and reciprocal, and if you take my liberty and life, you forfeit me your own liberty and life? Before God and High Heaven, is there a law for one man which is not law for every other man? If you or any other speculator on my body and rights, wish to know how I regard my rights, they need but come here and lay their hands on me to enslave me.

    Did you think to terrify me by, presenting the alternative to give my money to you, or give my body to Slavery? Then let me say to you, that I meet the proposition with unutterable scorn and contempt. The proposition is an outrage and an insult. I will not budge one hair's breadth. I will not breath a shorter breath, even to save me from your persecutions. I stand among a free people, who, I thank God, sympathize with my rights, and the rights of mankind; and if your emissaries and venders come here to re-inslave me, and escape the unshrinking vigor of my own right arm, I trust my strong and brave friends, in this City and State, will be my rescuers and avengers.

    Yours, &c.,
    J. W. Loguen.

    ----

    "the unshrinking vigor of my own right arm" lol damn, he said 'try me bitch'

    http://www.theatlantic.com/personal/archive/2012/10/the-hyperlinked-ballad-of-jarm-logue/263425/
    Inglewood_BFocal PointPlutarch
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