The Great Negro Plot

by Mat Johnson

  In the urban setting of New York, slaves lived largely in the wealthier sections of the city, being themselves one of the primary symbols of their captors' fortune. Inside these great homes, however, their accommodations were the opposite of luxury; they were usually forced to sleep on the floor of the same kitchen in which they'd spent all day working, or were vulnerable to the elements in narrow, poorly insulated attic crawlspaces. At the beginning of the eighteenth century, slaves in New York were used primarily as domestics—cleaning, cooking, and washing—held to make the lives of their enslavers easier. The gender breakdown of the population reflected this, with only 35.4 black adult males for every 100 women in 1703. Just five years before 1741, the census had the slave population of New York to be seven hundred strong, or 16.5 percent of New York's total population. By the eve of the Negro Plot, the primary purpose of slavery had changed from domestic to commercial, with slaves being trained in the trades and used to further the industry of their owners as well as their domestic needs. For additional profit, skilled and unskilled slaves were rented out to the various commercial companies that docked at Manhattan's major port. Therefore, the gender balance shifted accordingly as well, dramatically so. By 1737, the male to female ratio had sprung to no.7 males to 100 females. By 1746, it was 126.7 to 100.

  But with the increase of men came the increase in male problems. Men were more likely than women to socialize, get drunk, test the social order, and become violent. Men were also more likely to run away, or turn their frustration into armed resistance. To make matters more volatile on Manhattan isle, not only did enslaved African males significantly outnumber their female counterparts, but they also had difficulty visiting the homes of those few enslaved women that were in the colony.

  With small slave holdings of mostly three slaves or less, it was unusual for couples to share a master or quarters, and many slavers took exception to nocturnal visits to their homes by their female slave's slave husband. Given the circumstance, the improbable interracial union between Caesar and Peggy makes even more sense. It wasn't as if Caesar had many women of his own race to choose from; even the ones that were around were difficult to visit privately.

  The unfathomable harshness of the Africans' lives did not negate the fact that they were mortal, that they felt joy, and they felt pain, hunger, and loneliness. In the context of slavery, it was impossible for the Africans to publicly express their humanity, to live a life worth the price of it, without breaking the laws that bound them. Those laws became even tighter in 1730, when another supposed slave revolt (which was quickly proven to be a hoax) resulted in further tightening of the 1712 laws. By 1741, the slaves made up a sixth of colonial New York's population. Daniel Horsmanden accurately described the Africans as the enemies of the very households in which they lived.

  Add to this equation for chaos the difficult financial straits of most of the white colonists of New York at the time. In the spring of 1741, the colony was emerging from a particularly harsh winter, which had worsened an already shaky economic condition. A long freeze meant dead crops and halted commerce. After a decade of depression, the economy of this rude little agrarian trading town had yet to move forward. While the investigation into the fires continued, so did a strike by the city's bakers, who were protesting the cost of wheat. This left a good portion of the city without bread, its staple. The city was on edge, broke and hungry.

  The colony of New York was a backwater, dedicated completely to a "commercial-extractive" economy. Likewise, its citizens were largely dedicated to the pursuit of individual gain, as opposed to the building of a Utopia, or other nonsense. This was not a place of high culture. Although in the past there had been occasional theater productions, from 1734 to 1750 not one play was performed in the city. Education in New York was also severely lacking. Without a satisfactory elementary school, most children either went ignorant or were home trained. Illiteracy was widespread—Mrs. Kannady, for instance, would later sign her deposition with an X—her mark. It was embarrassing; visitors to the area made note of the absence of books among these philistines. If you wanted to read a book, you had to send off to England.

  This was not to say that New York didn't have ample sources of entertainment. They did, but they all involved getting drunk. Mostly these entertainments also involved animals fighting (bear-baiting, goose-pulling) to the bloody death, if the beast was unlucky, which it usually was. New Yorkers were known for being brutish and boorish, and they were so busy trying to make a buck that they didn't care.

  "To talk bawdy and to have a knack att [sic] punning passes among some there for sterling wit," observed Alexander Hamilton, a barrister, transplanted from Philadelphia. Dr. Hamilton remarked on one sterling member of New York society on an occasion when that stalwart individual decided to share his personal health anecdotes with lawyer Hamilton's party, over a drink at a local pub:

  "He told us he was troubled with the open piles and with that, from his breeches, pulled out a linnen [sic] hankercheff [sic] all stained with blood and showed it to the company just after we had eaten dinner."

  Perhaps, the man could be forgiven. New York's health-care system was in dreadful shape, suffering from backwoods doctors with little or no training. Even those with medical training had little actual worthwhile medical knowledge. Doctored to by these quacks, the colony was virtually defenseless against the measles outbreak of 1729, and the yellow fever outbreaks in both 1732 and 1733–1735.

  These, of course, were mere aftershocks compared to the great yellow fever outbreak of 1702, which laid to waste more than 10 percent of the population. The smallpox epidemic of 1731 killed six hundred colonists, coming back for seconds in 1738. Those that the disease left alive, it left pocked and scarred, as the many runaway slave notices attest.

  It was a harsh environment, populated largely by harsh people with coarse ways. Altogether, between the fear of disease and the general fear that ignorance engenders, New York's transplanted European population was on edge and ripe for pushing. The Africans among them not only had to suffer the same ills of this dysfunctional society, but they also were left to live on the lowest margin of it. The enslaved were subjugated to the will of an ignorant, insecure majority population, and dependent on these crazy white folks to be rational for their own survival.

  A THING TO BE FEARED

  FIRE, FIRE, MORE FIRES. And with repetition, fear. Leading to terror. Each building upon the last. Until it felt as if the island itself was ablaze.

  Fear that multiplied by the day. Hogsheads of fear. So much fear that it appeared to be evidence in itself.

  The logic of the colonists was simple: With this much anxiety, surely there must be a hidden cause whose evil was equal in magnitude. Clearly, there was something grand afoot. That the need for action was dire, any action, to stop it—or at least stop their anxiety of what it might be. Some gesture to calm the nerves and give back the illusion of security. Obviously, it was the Negroes—so many rumored whispers was damn near the same as incontrovertible fact. The Negroes must be conspiring, it was all but proven. But weeding them out one by one would prove a greater task. The Africans were everywhere, integrated into the fabric of the elite's daily lives. That said, there was already one known slave crime ring in custody, one that in the light of this new treachery seemed even more sinister: The African and European underclass coming together could do a lot more damage to the city's social order than a few petty thefts if the culprits set their mind to it. And who was to say they hadn't already done so?

  Some fires. A theft. A rowdy bar on the edge of town. Until now, these are really just separate, isolated realities, individual pieces. It should be noted: If history today links these two separate affairs—the Hogg robbery and the fires—it is because in Daniel Horsmanden's account he relates them as such. Yet, peering back through time, they can also easily be seen as entirely unrelated events. In fact, if we ignore most of the colony's coerced, contemporary chorus, it makes sense that they are completely un
related events. Horsmanden might have had reason to see them as linked even years after their occurence—to him, they were the foundation of all that was to follow. If, in fact, they were linked, Horsmanden was the great savior of his race and country. If not, he was a murderer.

  Was there a plot at all? It is here, at this point in the narrative, that we must ask if this wasn't all just a horrific tale of coincidence and circumstance, one event piled upon another, and concocted to look connected by timing. The question must be asked now because it is at this point in the course of events that the difference between fact and fear become forever blurred, where accusation, confession, and pure terror take control.

  * * *

  On April 23, 1741, the informant, Mary Burton, stood before the court to continue her testimony in regard to the gang of thieves working out of Hughson's tavern. But the incident of the Hogg theft had already become a rather mundane, secondary affair to the court. While young Mary sought to continue her detailed account of the thievery, the grand jury's minds had moved on to the "burning" issue of the day. In fact, it was not what Mary said about the Hughson crime ring in her testimony that interested them and aroused their suspicion, but what she didn't say concerning the myriad arsons that were now gripping the city. What was she holding back?

  That morning, when first summoned to the court, Mary sent a message via the constable that she had decided she would not be sworn in. Nor would she be giving any evidence. In response to this annoyance, the court ordered the constable to seek a summons from the magistrate to force the impetuous Burton to stand before them. When Mary finally arrived hours later, her demeanor had changed considerably since she had last come before the court. Despite the obvious gravity of her situation, she stood there, refusing to be sworn in, displaying what the judges took as "great uneasiness, or terrible apprehensions." In the many days since her last appearance, it seemed, Mary had had the opportunity to rethink her testimony.

  Seeing Mary Burton's apprehension, however, did not put the grand jury in mind of the perils of being the sole witness to a significant organized crime ring. The court saw Mary's discomfort, yet it reminded them not of the task at hand, but of their own fears, their own suspicions during this anxiety-provoking time of arson. Here was a young white girl who had worked daily in the illicit lair of the Negroes, and had already admitted to being witness to their hidden guile and machinations. If there was a conspiracy among these black-skinned blackhearts (and surely there was) then Mary Burton would have been the one to see it in action. She was, after all, but a common servant girl whose presence was barely noticed by even the lowest of this society. Quickly, the judges' questions began to veer away from the theft at Hogg's, focusing on the more pressing matters at hand: What did Mary know of the fires? Was it this knowledge that had now stilled her once-jumping tongue?

  To this line of inquiry, Mary Burton was silent, arousing the grand jury's suspicion even further. Her confused silence seemed to affirm their fears louder than any words could manage, so they pressed harder. But still she said nothing. Convinced now that they had found their first lead into the fires, the grand jury read to her the proclamation promising indemnity as well as one hundred pounds for any information. Such sum was five times what most New Yorkers could make in a year, but still Mary disdainfully refused them what they wanted so badly to hear. Threats followed. Mary Burton hadn't even opened her mouth in regard to the plague of fires, yet in the course of their one-sided inquisition the grand jury had become absolutely convinced of her knowledge of the crime. Their minds already made up, the grand jury commanded Alderman Bancker to lock up the girl for further questioning. The constable immediately took her to a cell.

  To Mary Burton's credit, it was the forced march to imprisonment that broke her, not the money, nor the base need to please the powerful. The constable, given the task of escorting Mary to her cage, only made it part way, when she gave in.

  Her opening act behind her, imagining full knowledge of what would happen to her if she didn't cooperate, Mary began to talk. After being brought back in front of the court and sworn in, she repeated what she knew about the burglary, about the Hughsons' involvement in the crime, along with their co-conspirators, Caesar and Prince. But what about the fires, the court asked, the burglary remaining but a prelude in their minds.

  Fires?

  Again Mary Burton stood silent, confused by the line of questioning. Again, the grand jury took this as concrete evidence of knowledge, or as Horsmanden put it:

  "They naturally concluded, it did by construction amount to an affirmative, that she could give an account of the occasion of the several fires."

  There was, of course, another way to look at Mary Burton's reaction to this inquisition: She had no idea what they were talking about. Why, for instance, would a witness who was willing to protect her own skin by testifying to the guilt of others, now arbitrarily draw a line in regard to what she would and would not disclose at the risk of her own freedom? Regardless of her motive, it would take still more and graver threats by the court, denouncements of her religious soul, entreaties that giving the confession they desired, she would not only save valuable property but the eternal souls of those who would surely lose their lives if the fires continued.

  Exhausted and wanting to please, Mary Burton finally gave in.

  The first article of her deposition offered nothing new: that Prince and Caesar had stolen the goods from Hogg, that the Hughsons and Peggy Kerry received them.

  It was in the second article that the focus began shifting away from the original crime:

  "Caesar, Prince, and Mr. Philipse's Negro man [Cuffee] used to meet frequently at my master's house," Mary testified. "And I heard them talk frequently of burning the fort. They would go down to the Fly and burn the whole town. My master and mistress said they would assist as much as they could."

  With the third article of Mary Burton's deposition, we see her offer the beginning of an element that would enter into many of her depositions to come—the absurd:

  "That in their common conversation they used to say, that when all this was done, Caesar should be governor, and my master, Mr. Hughson, should be king."

  One can almost hear the liquor in those words if they were ever uttered, the tone of idol humor muttered in taverns everywhere.

  The fourth article in her testimony, outlined by Daniel Horsmanden in his account, brought attention closer to the heart of the matter, relating to the courtroom of wealth and privilege that the lowly slave, Cuffee, often was heard to make the point that "a great many had too much, and others too little," particularly his own master.

  The fifth article provided more minor details of the theft, Mary's last-ditch effort to appease with the details she could reasonably deliver.

  It was with the sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth articles, however, that Mary Burton delivered the information that the grand jury had insisted she tell them:

  6. That at the meetings of the three aforesaid negroes, Caesar, Prince, and Cuffee, at her master's house, they used to say, in their conversations, that when they set fire to the town, they would do it in the night, and as the white people came to extinguish it, they would kill and destroy them.

  7. That she has known at times, seven or eight guns in her master's house, and some swords, and that she has seen twenty or thirty negroes at one time in her master's house; and that at such large meetings, three aforesaid negroes, Cuffee, Prince, and Caesar, were generally present, and most active, and that they used to say, that the other negroes durst not refuse to do what they commanded them, and they were sure that they had a number sufficient to stand by them.

  8. That her master [Hughson] and her mistress used to threaten, that if she, the deponent, ever made mention of the goods stolen from Mr. Hogg, they would poison her; the negroes swore, if she ever published, or discovered the design of burning the town, they would burn her whenever they met her.

  9. That she never saw any white person in company when they tal
ked of burning the town, but her master, her mistress, and Peggy.

  And there it was. The outline of a revolution. Now the court had exactly what it was looking for. The Negroes were armed, scheming, lusting to rob, and murder their white captors. Serving them exactly what they asked, Mary Burton both satisfied the grand jury and left it seriously unsettled.

  On the Thursday morning of April 23, the judges gathered, joined by all of the lawyers in the city. What should be done? was the question. What should be done? All of those present would be needed to further investigate the terror, build the case that would prosecute the guilty.

  It was a crowded turnout. While the attorney general was otherwise disposed, it seemed everyone else was present, and action was soon taken. The good British and Dutch men quickly agreed that Negroes in revolt posed a heinous reality warranting their immediate attention. What struck far more nefarious about the affair for the assembled judiciary was the implication this massive plot implied. All of the men present considered themselves well acquainted with the Negro. The Negro is a passive creature by nature, created by God to serve the white man. Made by him to be naturally childlike and docile, just as he made the sheep, or cow. How is it possible? If this conspiracy existed on the level of which it had been hinted, if it was an organized thing as described, then there was no question that it must be a twisted yet brilliant white mind behind it all. It could be no other. A durst and dastardly bastard who would manipulate the childlike Negroes out of their nature and into chaos.