While surfing the internet looking for stories about either the "runaway scrape" or "Rita forces Texas massive evacuation," I came across this little gem connecting my mother's people to the story at hand.
"Slept in the woods last night on my blankets. Our boat being finished, they put us across this morning, about 10 o'clock, swimming our horses, and we commenced our journey through the swamp, our guide, Green, leading the way. We had to swim a number of little bayous, running out from the Naches, which is now so full as to overflow its banks, and run out towards Sabine Bay. This is the first instance of this kind of overflow I have seen in Texas. Arrived at Ashworth's ferry, we expected to find a boat, but there was none. The family had left the place. Here we started three runaway Negroes, who fled and plunged through a bayou at our approach. One of them had a gun, which he discharged in the woods, in our hearing, probably because he had got it wet.[13]
"We went on, and at a wide and deep bayou Green and Catlett swam over with their horses, expecting to find a boat at a landing above, in which our baggage could be ferried. But here again we were disappointed; the boat was gone. Both parties now set to building rafts. We failed for want of tools and loose timber. Green succeeded in making one on which he returned to us, but it was too frail. We now determined to go back to Ashworth's, and take the rails and planks there and build a raft. In this we ultimately succeeded, having to tote the timber two or three hundred yards, to a place where it would float. When it was completed it would carry only two men and a small portion of the baggage, so we had to make four trips, and paddle with sorry paddles against a strong current to a landing from which we could get out of the swamp. [Editors Note: "determined to go back to Ashworth's, and take the rails and planks there and build a raft." That's plundering and looting.]
"While engaged in building our raft, a large alligator, some twelve or fifteen feet long, was discovered cautiously approaching us. One of the party fired a rifle at him. It struck but did not hurt him. He slowly moved off, and remained in sight, as if watching our proceedings, for some time. As our provisions were short, Fleury took his rifle and shot a fine calf which was with a herd of cattle, at the ferry. I took it on my horse and carried it to our raft. [Editors note: The calf was most certainly not theirs to kill and butcher. In New Orleans that was called looting. Since by their own admission, the calf was part of a small herd of cattle that had gathered at the ferry landing, the one belonging to the Ashworths, it presumably belonged to those same Ashworths, my relatives. That makes it personal. When desperate people steal from you or yours, it's personal. If you don't know them or if they belong to a different race, then it's looting and plundering.]
"All these operations took us until 8 o'clock at night, when our last raft load reached the landing. We had our veal cleaned and some of it cooked, which we ate with good appetite, without bread, salt or pepper. We also had coffee, but no sugar nor milk. Having finished our supper and spread our clothes to dry as well as we could, we lay down on wet ground and amidst briars, and I slept well. My coat and pants were nigh getting burnt up in the night by the fire spreading through the grass, which became dry from the heat."
From the Diary of William Fairfax Gray, participating in the Runaway Scrape. Editors note: Why Mr. Gray was busy stealing from my family, the Ashworths, rather than heading towards General Houston's forces to help the Texans at a time surely every gun counted, is beyond me.
This is an aside, but it is one of the reasons I hate Texas.
13. [p.160] William Ashworth, a free black man of a large family of Ashworths from Louisiana, operated a ferry across Lake Sabine and up the Neches River toward Beaumont. One scholar concluded that the "runaway" blacks seen by Gray were actually part of the Ashworth family. However, during the most tumultuous days of the Texas Revolution, the incidence of slave runaways increased substantially, and group ventures became common. After the San Jacinto battle, many gained refuge with the retreating Mexican army and fled to Mexico, in spite of treaty provisions for their return. Andrew Forest Muir, "The Free Negro in Jefferson and Orange Counties, Texas," pp. 185-86; Lack, Texas Revolutionary Experience, pp. 244-46.
Mr. Gray unequivocally said that he and his party saw three "Negroes." The Ashworths were considered Black by their fellow Texans, but looked Indian. So much so, that when Sam Ashworth was charged and found guilty for "talking sass to a White person" in 1856, the prosecution had to bring in witnesses to testify that they knew the Ashworths had Black blood despite their lack of physical characteristics. The "one scholar" referenced in the footnote based all of his conclusions about the Ashworth family based on the trail of lawsuits brought by my family challenging the determination of Texans that we were indeed, Black. In Louisiana we were "Free Persons of Color [but not Black]." Louisiana had a much more subtle way of looking at race. In Texas, there was only White and Black. Oh yeah, Mexicans and Indians, but neither of those group had any value to White Texans.
When the Texas Revolution began, Ashworth men volunteered with their neighbors to go fight the Mexicans, but were told they weren't needed or welcome because they were Black. One of my relatives was determined to serve so he hired someone to go in his stead. We supplied the Texans with supplies and when we claimed our land bounties later with all the rest of the Texans, we were told our claims were not valid because we were Black. In 1839, the Texas Legislature passed a law saying free people of color had two years to leave the Republic or be sold back into slavery. Our neighbors in Jefferson County were so outraged that they passed a petition signed by almost all of the prominent men of the area, demanding that an exception be made for the Ashworth family. In December of that same year, the Legislature passed the Ashworth Act, specifically naming and excluding my family from the earlier-passed law.
Here we are 169 years later and Texans are still calling us Black. I have written to almost every historical body in Texas asking them to reconsider their conclusions about our being Black, and write a more accurate story about our being American mestizos--White-identified, mixed-blood people. So far they prefer to keep us Black.
Blacks also like keeping us Black. They like to brag about the richest, most successful family in Texas prior to the Texas Revolution was Black. When we argue with them, they simply accuse us of being in denial. While there's no shame in being Black, there's no great honor in it either. We are who we are and we have our own story.
Texans and Southerners, like all Americans I think, teach the myth of their history rather than history itself. Maybe all history is myth. It only becomes annoying when your story gets told wrong or ignored. Blacks have their story. They call it the Black Experience. I can appreciate that. By the laws of the Republic of Texas up until 1845, codified into law as a new state in the United States of America, I could go around calling myself Black today. After all, I am 3 percent Black determined by my DNA. How preposterous would that be? Three percent is roughly equivalent to having one great-great-great-grandparent of sub-Saharan African origin. (That's how the DNA people express it.) Since my source of color is presumed to be Minnie Ashworth, she would probably be about half native-American and about one-eighth Black. That's equivalent to one great-grandparent. Seems to be one would presume her to be native-American, not Black.
They did in Louisiana. In historical Texas and modern-day Texas, we are still seen as Black.
Yeah, I know. You've heard this story before--especially if you know me personally or have been a regular reader of my blog over the past three years, but each time I tell it, I tell it better. Each time I tell it, I increase the odds of Steven Spielberg hearing about it and making it a great movie. Each time I tell it, I increase the odds of a serious historical writer getting interested in the story and accepting the challenge to tell it better. While it's not the only story in my repertoire, it's an important story about the my people and their experiences. So, I guess I'll just keep on telling it until everyone, even the ignorant ones in Texas, know it. I've got nothing better to do for the moment.
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