“The torching and destruction of planter homes was sometimes but not always random violence. One stated goal was to make them uninhabitable, to prevent mistresses from ever returning and occupying them. As one mistress made her way back to her plantation, a slave woman she had trusted sent word that she should keep moving. With the defeat of the Confederacy in sight in late March 1865, slaves at Cherry Grove plantation in South Carolina begged Union soldiers to burn the great house to keep their mistress, Catherine Marion Palmer, from returning. Louisa, the slave of a Georgia state legislator, wanted Sherman's troops to burn her master's newly built home, explaining, “It ought to be burned,” because it was linked to “so much devilment…whipping niggers most to death to make ‘em work to pay for it.” The burning continued for months after the war ended. At Richfield plantation in South Carolina, former slaves torched the big house in January 1866 after being ordered off the plantation for refusing to sign contracts.
In the making of freedom, the destruction of slavery and the destruction of planter homes were of a piece. “The burning, slashing and punishment,” writes Charles Royster, “were inseparable from the freedom – a single memory.” Slaves linked the two explicitly. Savilla Burrell remembered claiming her freedom when the Yankees arrived and “burnt de big house, stables, barns, [and] gin house.” Sherman's Georgia and South Carolina campaigns helped to forge this single memory. An ex-slave who followed Sherman's troops into Atlanta from a nearby Georgia plantation described the burning of Atlanta as a “grand sight.” The “people of the South needed some such a dose as that – they needed to learn that war is a serious thing – no boys play at all, nor fooling. And Sherman seemed to be the man for that kind of teaching,” another ex-slave explained. At Newberry, South Carolina, as rumors of the Emancipation Proclamation circulated in 1863, it “did not affect us,” a former slave recalled. “We work on, til Sherman come and burn and slash his way through the state in de spring of 1865. I just reckon I member dat freedom to de end of my life.” They then gathered at his grandmother's cabin to hear her speak the words that they were indeed free.”
Notes: Rooted in contemporary voices, this book blows away the historiographic fog of the “kind plantation mistress,” firmly establishes southern domestic spaces as public arenas of political and economic action, and articulates the agency of millions of black women who were less freed than took their own freedom. “…another mistress wrote in a seeming state of shock: ‘The negroes are worse than free, they say they are free.’”