The Bondwoman's Narrative (48 page)

In any event, on completing the manuscript—after replacing any folios and committing to final pagination—the author went through
the work and numbered each page at the top with her quill pen and ink. Sometimes, when there was writing close to the top
edge, she crowded in the page number as best she could (for example “135”).

As indicated, evidence shows that the present binding was done after some elapse of time. Kenneth Rendell (2001) had so suggested,
and he stated: “The black cover of this type”—referring to the black-cloth-covered pasteboard binding—“is much more commonly
seen on books and bound albums late in the nineteenth century. I don’t recall seeing one this size earlier than about 1880.”

Conservationist Craigen W. Bowen (2001) had noted that some “pages were slightly stuck together in the gutter as though adhesive
had been applied, perhaps for reason of repair.” Indeed visual and ultraviolet examination showed traces of what appeared
to be paste, and I obtained and tested a sample (using a cotton swab moistened with distilled water to remove a trace and
applying iodine reagent to it). This yielded a positive indication of starch, consistent with a flour paste. I suspect it
is the “wheat paste” of bookbinders and that it was used to help consolidate the pages, particularly considering the presence
of single leaves. (I do not think the author did the pasting: If she had a paste-pot, one wonders why she did not use it for
the pasteover slips rather than utilize wafers.)

The pasting was probably done before the sewing. It appears to me that small groups of stacked folios may have been stuck
together in sort of quasi-gatherings and then each sewn, stitching through the fold of one of the folios. (If desired, an
expert on books and binding could be consulted, although I think little would be added relevant to the major issues [the author’s
identity and date of composition].)

The volume was almost certainly put in a book press, because the halved paste wafers, being somewhat thick, have left their
half-moon shapes embossed into adjacent pages. I believe this would only occur to the extent seen with such pressing. (The
effect proved a nuisance in studying the stationer’s embossed crests, since the wafer imprints sometimes coincided with and
partially obliterated them.)

In addition to the writing materials, the text of
The Bondwoman’s Narrative
offers considerable information about the author and the date of composition.

The narrative is not that of an unread person. Polysyllabic words—like
magnanimity
(p. 94),
obsequious
(p. 24),
vicissitudes
(p. 6),
sagacity
(p. 31),
demoniacal
(p. 127),
unfathomable
(p. 139),
implacable
(p. 195),
ascertained
(p. 230), and
incipient
(p. 289)—flow from the author’s pen.

To be sure, there are many misspellings: “incumber” for
encumber,
“excelent” for
excellent
(p. 7), “secresy” for
secrecy
(p. 56), “meloncholy” for
melancholy
(p. 59), “inseperable” for
inseparable
(p. 117), “hedious” for
hideous
(p. 210), “benumed” for
benumbed
(p. 285), and others, including “your” for
you’re
(p. 109).

But some apparent misspellings—e.g. “connexions” (p. 12) and “life-time” (p. 19)—were actually appropriate at the time of
writing (the mid-nineteenth century) as indicated by the
Oxford English Dictionary.
And some—like “recognised” (p. 8) and “defence” (p. 94)—may be owing to the author’s reading of English literary works (frequently
acknowledged by her epigraphs at the beginning of chapters).

The admixture of good vocabulary skills and occasional poor spelling would seem consistent with someone who had struggled
to learn. In the course of the manuscript, the narrator progresses from illiterate slave girl to keeper of “a school for colored
children”—a progression that, if fictionalized, nevertheless seems a credible personal achievement (as witness, for example,
the accomplishments of Frederick Douglass [1845]).

The readability level of
The Bondwoman’s Narrative
is relatively high. This can be shown by analyzing a rather typical passage (like this one, p. 18, describing the protagonist’s
visit to a gallery of ancestral portraits in the mansion of Lindendale):

Though filled with superstitious awe I was in no haste to leave the room; for there surrounded by mysterious associations
I seemed suddenly to have grown old, to have entered a new world of thoughts, and feelings and sentiments I was not a slave
with these pictured memorials of the past They could not enforce drudgery, or condemn me on account of my color to a life
of servitude As their companion I could think and speculate In their presence my mind seemed to run riotous and exult in its
freedom as a rattional being, and one destined for something higher and better than this world can afford

I applied a common readability formula (from Bovée and Thill 1989) that is based on the number of polysyllabic words in combination
with the average sentence length. The readability level for the above passage is eleventh grade. Although this applies to
the potential reader rather than the writer, it does naturally suggest that the latter has achieved at least that level of
reading ability.

The readability scale, however, perhaps does not quite do justice to the impressive range of the author’s seeming erudition.
She refers to “the laws of the Medes and Persians” (p. 23), suggests appearances that “were enough to have provoked a smile
on the lip of Heraclitus” (p. 173), and speaks of “the meaning of nature’s various hieroglyphical symbols” (p. 252). She uses
alliteration— “two weak[,] weary [,] wandering women” (p. 70)—and many other literary devices and conventions. If she has
indeed become a schoolteacher, as her account says, that would certainly have further motivated her to read historical, literary,
and other works.

A full discussion of the narrative’s content is beyond the scope of this report, but there are many indications that the work
is a novel, despite the protestations in the Preface that “Being the truth it makes no pretensions to romance….” There are
gothic elements, for example, in the shadowy gloom of the mansion, the “legend of the linden” with its reputed curse, and
the suggestion of various supernatural elements. In contrast is the true slave narrative of Frederick Douglass (1845) which,
while containing the occasional quotation, lacks the lengthy exchanges of dialogue common to
The Bondwoman’s Narrative,
as well as the elaborate scene-setting descriptions and other conventions.

However, the novel may be based on actual experiences. There are changes that may be due to fictionalization of real persons
or events, such as the change of “Charlotte” to “Susan” (pp. 55 and 56). More telling, perhaps, is the fact that the name
“Wheeler” in the narrative was first written cryptically, for example as “Mr Wh— —r” and “Mrs Wh——r,” but then later was overwritten
with the missing letters “eele” in each case to complete the name (pp. 184–190).

Beyond the fictionalization, geographical references may be evidential. Such phrases as “educated at the north” (p. 7), “in
the southern states” (p. 62), “the North” (p. 184), and “A northern woman” (p. 187) indicate a southern perspective that would
be appropriate for the mid-nineteenth century. References to Virginia— notably, mention of “the shores of the Old Dominion”
(p. 15) and “the steamboat landing on the James River” (p. 58)—suggest familiarity with that state, as mention of “the public
slave market in Wilmington” (p. 259) suggests knowledge of North Carolina.

Numerous words and phrases throughout the narrative that seem odd or quaint by today’s usage are in fact quite correct for
the mid-nineteenth century (according to the
Oxford English Dictionary,
1971). For example, “superscription,” meaning the name and address on a letter (p. 41), was used by Thackeray in 1840; “converse”
for conversation (p. 8), was employed by George Eliot in 1863; “apartments” to describe single rooms (pp. 13–15) was used
by various writers, e.g. in 1824 and 1879; “Madras handkerchiefs,” describing colorful silk-and-cotton kerchiefs worn by West
Indian blacks as headdresses (p. 29), was in common use from at least 1833 to 1881; “the piazza” as used, erroneously, for
a colonnade (p. 182), was so employed from 1638 and as late as 1861 and 1864 (the latter source acknowledging it as “a misnomer”);
and so on and on.

A reflection of the time period in which Hannah was supposedly in Washington—which she refers to credibly as “the Capital”
(p. 246), “the Federal Capital” (p. 254), and “Washington, the Federal City” (p. 195)—comes from the descriptions of talk
by office seekers. They “would have a rail-road to the Pacific, and a ship Canal across the Isthmus,” and “would quell the
Indians and oust the Mormons …” (p. 247). In fact, railway construction westward from the Mississippi River began in 1851,
and transcontinental travel was eventually made possible in 1869 (“Railways” 1860); focus on the Isthmus grew after the discovery
of gold in California in 1848 (“Panama Canal” 1960); and the Mormons became especially controversial after their clashes with
settlers in Illinois in 1846 (
World
1999). Similarly, the mention of “vagabond Irishmen” (p. 248) might well have been prompted by the increased immigration
that resulted from the great Irish famine of 1846–1847 (
World
1999).

Throughout the narrative, references to slavery are in the present tense (as in the Preface’s mention of “that institution
whose curse rests” over the nation). This would make no sense if written after the war. Neither would the author’s claim to
being “A Fugitive Slave” who had “Recently Escaped from North Carolina.” Mentions of “a deed of manumission” (p. 53), “a slave
state” (p. 104), and “an Abolitionist” (p. 202) are all correct for the pre–Civil War period. To have omitted any mention
of secession or the outbreak of the war itself would have been counterproductive if written after 1861. Following the war,
the story would have seemed passé, perhaps thus helping to explain why it went unpublished.

Had the author wished to publish it as a retrospective, then surely she would have at least rewritten the title page and preface
accordingly. Doubtless the same would be true even if the novel were actually composed after the war (which the evidence anyway
strongly argues against).

A very specific date indicator—mention of “the equestrian statue of Jackson” in Washington (p. 246)—provides a date before
which the narrative could not have been completed. According to an internet source (http://thatman.homestead.com/jackson.
html), that sculpture was done by Clark Mills in 1853.

Considering all this evidence, a date of circa 1853–1861 is indicated, consistent with the evidence from the writing materials.

The author’s point of view and insights as a woman, a black, and a Christian ring true. As indicated earlier, the handwriting
is consistent with that of a relatively young person writing at the middle of the nineteenth century.

If I am correct in identifying the impressions over the wafers (at the corners of the pasteovers) as those of a thimble, and
in suggesting that the scissors used were perhaps sewing scissors and that needle and thread were employed in an amateurish
earlier binding by the author—if indeed these speculations are correct, they offer further evidence that the writer was a
woman.

She seems often to be writing out of her own experience. Interestingly, she tells of an unusual dream (pp. 280–281) following
the death of a fellow escaped slave. She relates the characteristics of what is known as a “waking dream”—i.e. a hypnopompic
hallucination that occurs in the twilight between being asleep and awake. She experiences the bizarre imagery typical of such
waking dreams (people often see ghosts, demons, angels, extraterrestrials, etc.) together with “sleep paralysis” (she specifically
says she is “unable to move”). So accurately does she describe such a waking dream that it seems likely she actually experienced
one. (For a discussion of the phenomenon, see Baker and Nickell 1992.)

The Bondwoman’s Narrative,
a bound 301-page manuscript about 20 x 25 cm high is ostensibly “By Hannah Crafts / A Fugitive Slave / Recently Escaped from
North Carolina” according to its title page. Its provenance can be reliably traced back to the 1940s.

Examination by a variety of techniques reveals it was written in modified round-hand script (a style of ca. 1840–1865) in
a natural, if not notably elegant or swift fashion. It was written with a quill pen, using an ordinary iron-gall ink, on machine-made
rag paper consisting of four types of stationery folios (folded sheets). Two of these bear an embossment of the Southworth
paper manufacturing company, one type known in examples of 1856 and 1860.

Extraneous pinholes in the inside margins represent an apparent early attempt at binding, probably with ordinary needle and
thread by the author. Originally this amateur binding lacked covers, because the first (title) page and the last are soiled
and abraded. Much later the manuscript was professionally bound, not in the usual gatherings but—due to the writing having
been done on a stack of folios—these were apparently consolidated with paste and then sewn, with covers affixed consisting
of black cloth over pasteboard.

The manuscript was a work in progress and contained many revisions. There are numerous “wipe erasures” (the wet ink having
been wiped off with the little finger), erasures made with an ink-eraser knife (occasional resulting blobs being blotted with
sand), and pasteovers (scissors-cut slips affixed with halved, vermilion-colored paste wafers, the paper over which was impressed
with, apparently, a thimble). As well, a few folios were replaced and there are a few single leaves.