Driving Nails into the Coffin: A True Story in The Slave’s Friend (1835-1838), the First Abolitionist Periodical for Children

The Slave’s Friend. New York: American Anti-slavery Society, 1836-1838. (Cotsen 6598)

Because The Slave’s Friend was a “first,” certain facts are well known.  The monthly issues for children between six and 12 cost just a penny.  The editor was Lewis Tappan, the brother of the abolitionist Arthur,  the printer Ransom G. Wilson, and the illustrator the well-known wood cutter Alexander Andersen.  It was one of four publications The American Anti-Slavery Society launched in the early 1830.  In order to publicize its activities, the early numbers of the Friend were distributed free through the Society’s postal campaign to flood the southern states with abolitionist literature.  Incidents like the burning of bags of AASS pamphlets in Charleston, South Carolina post office proved great publicity for the organization.

Until recently, commentary on the periodical’s miscellaneous contents has been fairly cursory, as if the ways Tappan used to persuade his readership to accept the Society’s advocacy of immediate emancipation by non-violent means were self-evident.  Like any abolitionist publication, anecdotes of cruelty suffered by enslaved people figure prominently.  Should their sources be identified?  Should they be queried for accuracy? When reprinted from elsewhere, to what extent are they differ from the source material?

I decided to use as a test case a story in the July 1835 issue of The Slave’s Friend about two little girls named Joggy and Lorina.

The Slave’s Friend. July 1835

The Slave’s Friend. July 1835

My assumption that their story was probably reprinted from an earlier source was wrong:  it was literally hot off the press, based on articles about Captain Caleb Miller of the brig America, who brought them to America, that were run in The New Bedford Mercury and Boston Morning Post in June and early July.  Tappan seems to have drawn on the July 3 article in the Boston paper, which announced that Miller was charged with kidnapping and piracy in order to sell the two girls as slaves.  His story that the girls were given to him and he planned to raise them as his own was not believed.  He held on $3000 bail.

The Slave’s Friend. July 1835

Miller’s trial was closely watched by the abolitionist community because it would be the first case arising from the violation of United States laws against the African slave trade (The New Bedford Mercury suggested that “certain abolitionist gentlemen” had brought the case to light precisely for this reason.)   Tappan’s follow up article, however, focuses almost entirely on the girls’ whereabouts and welfare as more compelling way to rouse his readers’ sympathies than the details of Miller’s trial.  He went so far as to state that President Jackson deported Joggy and Lorena to Africa, a claim probably made on the strength of Jackson being listed as a supporter of the American Colonlzation Society (later revealed as  without his consent).

Reportage of the trial says little about the girls in comparison with Miller.  The Mercury, which was not noted for abolitionist sympathies, gave him a good character. The brig’s owners, New Bedford merchants William H. Hathaway and William S. Swain, testified that the ship had been trading on the African coast since 1830, but Miller had no orders to take slaves.  Testimony revealed that when the America was anchored in the “Rio Danda,” Miller was asked to transport 30 Africans to an undisclosed destination and his employer Swain claimed “it is common practice to take passengers, who are slaves, from one port to another, on the Coast of Africa,” as well as observing that “domestic slavery” was as common there as in the South.

Additional testimony from the trial in the August 7th Mercury via the New York Herald offered more information about the girls, confirming that they were  two places and therefore not related, that one was older than the other, and they disembarked the America on different days.  Their names are given as Lorena and Joarkana.   A crewman of color claimed responsibility for alerting New York  authorities about them being on board.  During the trial the girls made an appearance to “excite sympathy and to prejudice the jury against the prisoner.  There was no earthly reason for their being brought into court—and it reflected no credit on those who had ordered it to be done.” The captain and the mate were acquitted in New York on the charged of receiving and transporting Africans with the intent to sell them as slaves; however Miller was found guilty of bringing them back to be “held to labor.”

My effort to determine if the story of Joggy and Lorina was real did not exactly lay the matter to rest.   In making the girls’ story known, the newspapers had their own agendas, as did The Slave’s Friend.  It seems pretty clear that they were being used to rouse the public’s feelings and they drop out of the accounts without readers learning what ultimately happened to them.  More research will be needed to fill the blanks and reconcile the discrepancies in the narratives of Joggy and Lorina—and perhaps other scholars will investigate the origins of additional anecdotes about enslaved children in The Slave’s Friend.

 

Thoroughly Modern Ogres

Gustave Dore’s rendering of the ogre’s discovery of little Thumb and his brothers.

The Oxford English Dictionary succinctly defines an ogre as “a man-eating monster, usually represented as a hideous giant” in folklore and mythology.  It comes from the French via Perrault’s fairy tales (its mate is an “ogress” and their offspring an “ogrichon” according to Mme d’ Aulnoy).   No ogre is welcome when scouring the countryside for its next meal, whether it happens to be a good supply of baby belly buttons, which by oni, the ogres of Japan, relish, or a brace of fat boys rolled in bread crumbs and fried in butter, the favorite dish of the giant Snap-‘em up in Uncle David’s nonsensical story from Catherine Sinclair’s Holiday House (1839).  The ogres I’ve found in picture books from the last ten years seem to belong to an altogether different subspecies.The title of Michael Morpurgo’s The Ogre Who Wasn’t (2023) gives fair warning.  A somewhat forced reinvention of Grimms’ The Frog Prince is odd place to invoke the presence of a monster.  Motherless Princess Clara discovers a teeny tiny ogre in the garden and stows him under the bed in a hot pink character shoe.  Because her father is away most of the time, the disagreeable servants try to constrain her but she defies them by keeping  an extensive  menagerie in her room and running wild barefoot in the garden in dirty shorts with uncombed hair. One evening she confides her pain to her best friend the loyal little ogre, who reveals that he is really the Toad King and has magical powers, which can be put at her service.  He grants her wishes to scrap the help and give her a stay-at-home dad with a nice new wife.  There is nothing more for the new racially blended family to do in this sweetly vapid story but live happily ever after.The creature in Peter McCarty’s 2009 picture book Jeremy Draws a Monster is quite satisfying–big, blue, and bulky with multiple horny protrusions, pinpoint eyes, big nostrils and bare earholes (funny preparatory drawings turn up on the endpapers).  But things go awry almost immediately.  It wants a sandwich, when it ought to threaten Jeremy, a much more substantial mouthful.  It wants consumer goods to help pass the time, including a television so it can watch the game.  Wearing a dandy red hat, it goes out on the town and hogs the single bed when it gets back very late. That is the last straw.  Jeremy draws a suitcase and one-way bus ticket and escorts the big blue pest to the station in the morning.  Then he joins the neighborhood kids in games for the first time.  Obviously the ogre is a projection of Jeremy’s imagination, which probably explains why his creation won’t eat him and goes without putting up a fight.  If it isn’t real and only looks dangerous, then the story deflates without any conflict between the two unequal characters. Even if the point were that monsters are all in your head, of which I’m unconvinced, the imagination demands the possibility of them being real.Leave it to David Sedaris to think up Pretty Ugly (2024), a typically weird story, the last to be illustrated by the late Ian Falconer.  Dedicated to Tiffany, Sedaris’s sister who committed suicide, he also pays tribute to the ability of sister Amy to make ghastly faces. Whenever the adorable little ogrichon Anna is awful, she is so good that her parents and grandmother coo that she really is “something.”  Her bad habit of making dreadful faces–adoring gran starts at the fuzzy bunny gran–prompts her mother to warns her quite correctly that if she doesn’t stop it, she’s going to be sorry.  Anna dismisses her concern, until the features of her most horrible face of all (shown to the left) cannot be reversed.  Even a medical intervention fails to restore her face to its original loveliness. While her loving family can live with their little monstrosity in a new guise, her peer group has no problem reminding how her how hideous she is now.  After secluding herself in the wood shed for a miserable three days, Anna remembers her grandmother’s consoling words about true inner beauty and sticks her hand down her throat to turn herself inside out, which solves the problem (below).  There is nothing traditional about this ogre story, but if they ever start creating picture books about family life, they could do worse than take Sedaris as their literary model. I’m not sure why authors and illustrators who have been busy reinventing Western folklore’s traditional baddies have smoothed off most of their rough edges. As monsters go, an ogre is terrifying, but otherwise uncomplicated. It stomps around, uses brute force to capture people, and devours them, sometimes with guests. Maybe it tosses the bones into a large, grisly, untidy heap outside its dwelling place. Still, a  brave and quick-thinking child like Little Thumb  has a shot at defeating one.  But perhaps the classic stand-off between big and small compares unfavorably with old and modern stories about Japanese yokai and requires big injections of horror and violence to hold its own in today’s media environment.  Time to clap if you believe in ogres?