Centreville

Like one of my favorite Presidents of the United States, the under-sung James K. Polk, I pulled off quite a bit of work in just four expressions of the sun’s effect on the Earth. In four years Polk facilitated one of the grandest land grabs in American history by seizing swaths of Mexico and settling the Oregon question, and managed to satisfy northern and southern, slave and free, interests at the national level by lowering tariffs but re-establishing a national bank, balancing slave and free lands, and would have been a model for future presidents keeping the balance of power; in four days I co-presented a public program at the Centreville Public Library in Queen Anne’s County, joined my colleagues to visit the War of 1812 exhibit at the Maryland State House, and significantly re-wrote, re-researched, and substantiated my Robert Moody case study in preparation for another talk in Centreville next week.

Centreville

Eastbound but not down

Tanner and I took our show even further afield on February 20 when we crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and gave a similar presentation to a crowd of 19 during the lunch hour.  Just like in Stevensville

The audience mills about

I felt a moment of ignorance when locals spoke of their surroundings, apparently expecting me to know

what they were talking about. One man spoke of a yellow brick home that previously belonged to an Eastern Shore judge who resisted Union laws and was manhandled because of it. My ears perked when he said the judge’s name was Carmichael, the same surname of a lawyer common in my freedom petition project. Although names are oft repeated in this region, I knew the lawyer William Carmichael had a son Richard Bennett who served as a judge. I asked the librarian about this home in hopes she knew its famous former resident. She brightened and said it was “Adam’s home”; my confusion must have been obvious because she quickly explained that she meant Adam Goodheart, the contemporary author of the popular history book 1861. Upon returning to Annapolis I checked the Maryland State Archives biography of Richard Bennett Carmichael, which confirmed my suspicion.

R.B. Carmichael

It stated “In February 1861, he served as chair of the Resolutions Committee of the Southern Rights Convention held in Baltimore. Under his leadership, the delegates unanimously adopted resolutions recommending that “if a disruption could not be avoided, Maryland should cast her lot with Virginia and the South.”  He received national attention in 1862 when his outspoken pro-Southern sentiments led him to be charged with treason. In late May 1862, Secretary of State William H. Seward ordered General John A. Dix, in Baltimore, to send federal troops to Easton to arrest Carmichael. When Dix’s men arrived at the Talbot County Courthouse in Easton, Carmichael refused to recognize their authority. The agents pistol-whipped him and forcibly dragged him from the bench in the middle of court proceedings, stirring indignation throughout the Eastern Shore and the South.”

Since his father was the lawyer for many of the slaves who are subject to my upcoming presentation, this will add some interesting local interest.

War of 1812

Barney’s appointment

In many ways the war of 1812 is Maryland’s war. Its

most emotionally resonating events occurred in Maryland; the Star Spangled Banner was composed during the bombardment of Fort McHenry in Baltimore and the British soldiers fought in Maryland before reaching the capital, land formerly belonging to Maryland, and burned it. This month saw the debut of a Maryland State

Barney spots the fleet with his “excellent glass”

Archives exhibit in the State

House. The Capital Gazette did brief but decent write-up about the exhibit. My favorite part of the

exhibit as a whole is the astounding mural version of a painting by historical painter Richard Schlect, which depicts  Major William Barney spotting the British fleet on their way to Baltimore. They easily could have chosen Annapolis instead and its people sighed in relief.

Robert Moody

I resumed working on case studies. After the thrill of the Negro Susan’s kidnapping from Virginia and the politics of Robert Moody and the Paca family, it was disappointing when my newest subject Negro Adam was so plain; the judge dismissed his petition, which seems based on flimsy probate rules and his mistress having left the state. In preparation for my return to Centreville, I finally decided to turn the single Robert Moody case study into four (see previous posts “Moody Moments” and “Perils of Leadership…”). Meaning rather than briefly describe the three petitions that Moody’s lawyer William Carmichael submitted into evidence in 1812, I chose to compose one for each petitioner. This also meant I needed to go back to supportive records like censuses, court records, and land records to flesh out details about these slaves and their owners.

This occasioned a visit to the Prerogative Court records. From a record keeping standpoint the Prerogative Court was excellent; a centralized department of the provincial government that tracked wills, inventories, and other necessary things that are the life blood of historical scholarship and genealogy. Following its abolition in 1777 most records of this type were retained at the county level; this makes quite a headache if you are searching for a name but do not know the county. In this case I examined the 1760 will record of Philemon Lloyd Chew, the man whose free Indian servant caused so much fuss when her descendents sued their owners for freedom. The records do not circulate to the general public because of their age so PDFs of the deteriorated pages were microfilmed, scanned, and are accessible online. Unfortunately the book containing the will I needed was 1700 pages long and so was the PDF. Fortunately the page number of the book (473) was near the page number on PDF (474) however my computer struggled to load the complete image or even scroll. Instead I examined the original record.

As I expected the record was, probably after scanning, sent to conservation for stabilization and re-binding. The original pages were encased in a non-reactive, mostly transparent white sheath that prevents harm from human debris but also allows rebinding without further damaging the original pages. Unfortunately the will of Philemon Lloyd Chew was less than a page and told me information I already knew or was not relevant to my research. Unfortunately again Chew did not have an estate inventory that may have spelled out the names servants or slaves.

I checked various indices for other slave owners and slaves associated with the Moody case studies but I was flummoxed by Negro Tom Carver. I realized much to my embarrassment that Carver was not awarded a settlement in his 1794 petition and thus apparently did not win. It was not a horrible assumption because sixteen of his relatives went on to free themselves with at least one, his cousin (Moody), submitting Carver’s transcript into evidence. I reexamined my notes at the beginning and end of Carver’s transcript in Moody’s petition’s judgments record.

A newly remembered reference, which confused me when I first read it and hoped would make sense by the end, stated that both Carver’s attorney and his owner Samuel Lloyd Chew’s attorney consented to have the damning testimony of Elizabeth Chew submitted into evidence for the General Court of the Western Shore; she was the linchpin of Carver’s defense. She stated unequivocally that Carver was free because his mother Margaret was the granddaughter of a free Indian woman named Mary. Even more confusing, the transcript (which I corroborated with the General Court of the Western Shore’s docket and vide minutes) stated that Carver’s attorney asked the petition to be dismissed.

I brought this record to Owen Lourie who was similarly bemused. He stated the judicial system at the time was very cordial, with lawyers often making side deals as friends rather than as opponents. It was very possible that Carver’s attorney agreed to drop the petition, which was certain to succeed, if Chew manumitted him in a separate agreement. This would have insulated Carver’s freedom so not to cascade across most of his family tree and affect Chew’s family’s slave interests. This hypothesis is somewhat supported by William Carmichael’s statement upon entering Carver’s case, and thus Elizabeth Chew’s testimony, into evidence: The transcript was not intended to argue a relationship of Moody to Tom’s mother Margaret, and thus his connection to Indian Mary, but rather to establish a “pedigree.” Assuming Carver did settle out of court I suspect Carmichael would not need to be so timid.