Phelonise Haydel Dangluse Part III: 1868- 1885

Phelonise Haydel’s Creole heritage had always been a defining factor of her life. This was particularly true in her old age. By the time she was in her seventies, she was entirely reliant upon the charity of her adopted daughter Philomene and her grand nephews. She had no other means of supporting herself. The money brought in from the sale of the land given as a bounty to her husband for service in the War of 1812 was long gone. There was no way to have made it stretch over three decades. She had to find another way to survive. Once again Jean Baptiste Monplaisir Dangluse’s military service would prove beneficial.

She turned to an attorney named Clarke for assistance. He filed Phelonise’s application for a widow’s pension. J. D. St. Herman and Jacques Meffre Rouzan, Creoles of color who had served with her husband and been close to the family for over sixty years, acted as witnesses on her behalf. Phelonise anxiously awaited money from the federal government for her late husband’s participation in the Battle of New Orleans.

Unfortunately she had a hard fight ahead of her. Pension agents and the federal government were perplexed by Phelonise and her husband’s Creole names. On some records she was Felonise, on others Phelonise. Documents contained the name Monplaisir Dangluse and Jean Baptiste Dangluse. American bureaucrats’ ignorance of the French language and Creole customs jeopardized Phelonise’s chances of ever receiving a pension. Her illiteracy, common amongst elderly formerly enslaved individuals, also prevented her from effectively managing her case.

John Benton, special agent from the Pension Bureau, was tasked with determining the validity of Phelonise’s claim. With Felix Delille acting as his interpreter, Benton began making inquiries in 1881. Benton wrote the following about the case and his interactions with Phelonise Haydel Dangluse:

‘Phi’ in French (so says my interpreter) is pronounced ‘Fe.’ The applicant is old and very poor, and I may add very respectable, and will anxiously await the disposition of her case, hoping that it may be such as will enable her to get out of her present cheerless and uncomfortable quarters into something more befitting her age and enfeebled condition.

I will add that the applicant speaks and understands English so poorly that without the assistance of an interpreter it would be almost impossible to get anything like a correct understanding of her case from her; and this fact may account for the. . .confusion into which her case has been thrown by her attorney Mr. Clarke, who does not appear to understand French, nor engage the services of a clerk or interpreter who does.

This was post-war New Orleans, and the movement toward Americanization was almost complete. Creoles were outnumbered, and French was no longer the dominant language. Over the course of her lifetime, Phelonise had witnessed the flags of Spain, France, the United States, the Confederacy, and, once again, the United States fly over her home. She had observed the city’s evolution from Francophone and Catholic domination to a place where Creoles were struggling to hold on to their culture. They were outnumbered and no longer the cultural and political force they had once been.

Jean Baptiste Etienne Dangluse death certificate, showing that Phelonise was born a Haydel.

The American pension claims agents had been confused by Phelonise’s first name. When Benton questioned her further about her surname, Phelonise’s strong Creole heritage was once again revealed. “[I have] always been addressed and referred to by [my] friends and acquaintances as Madam Monplaisir, in accordance with the custom of the creoles to address a wife or widow by her husband’s Christian name,” Phelonise said on January 13, 1881. It is likely that translator Felix Delille confirmed this tradition.

After meeting with Phelonise, John Benton sought out her adopted daughter. Now forty-two and married for a third time, Philomene’s life had gone through its share of twists and turns. Shortly after her divorce, she began a relationship with a French immigrant named Louis Eugene Simonin. They were living together in 1870 when she gave birth to her last child, a daughter she christened Valentine. On February 19, 1874, when Louis Simonin was seriously ill, he and Philomene were married by a justice of the peace. Four days later, she was a widow. Fourteen months after Simonin’s death, Philomene wed Auguste Louis Ostalier. Also a French immigrant, Ostalier had resided with the Simonins, signed as a witness at their marriage, and was close friends with the family. Louis Simonin was the wine bottler at the Cosmopolitan Restaurant, an establishment on Royal Street near Canal that offered “all the delicacies of the season” and “also choice wines of all kinds.” Auguste Ostalier kept the wine cellar there and was involved in a professional organization for waiters and chefs. He soon had Philomene’s sons, George and Jean Baptiste, working in the industry. George was the “pantryman” at the Cosmopolitan, and Jean Baptiste worked there as a laborer.

Image from Richard Campanella. For his excellent article on the Cosmopolitan, see https://richcampanella.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/article_Campanella_Preservation-in-Print_2016_Feb_Cosmopolitan-1.pdf

Pension agent Benton visited Philomene Dangluse Ostalier at her home on Toulouse Street, just a few blocks from where her husband and sons worked. He had questions about her mother. She told him that she had known the Dangluses “from her earliest recollection. . .having been raised from infancy by them.” She remembered witnessing their wedding ceremony, which took place when she was around nine years old. Philomene also explained that since childhood Dangluse “had borne the ‘petit non’ [nickname] Monplaisir. When applying for a bounty he had [me] assist him as [I] could read names and dates both in print and in writing.” Philomene had to “look amongst his papers for his discharge.” She also revealed that his final resting place was in an unmarked grave at St. Barthlomew’s cemetery across the river.

Two months after Phelonise’s case was examined by the pension agent, she celebrated the marriage of her grandson George to Adele Texier. Adele’s mother was a free woman of color and her father a white man from France. He had two families; one with his French wife and children, and the other with Adele’s mother Josephine and her siblings. On January 15, 1882, Phelonise became a great-grandmother and Philomene a grandmother. Anna Bertha Lorenzo was born to George and Adele. Her parents’ birth certificates both had the word “colored” written after their names, but little Anna’s had the word “white.” Beginning in 1870, Philomene and her sons George and Jean Baptiste and daughter Valentine had crossed the color line. For over a decade, legal documents and census records had classified them as white.

Phelonise did not live long after meeting her first great grandchild. She died on May 27, 1882, at her grand nephew Arthur Gayaut’s home in Algiers. She had only been receiveing her pension for a little over a year. Gayaut inquired if the pension could cover some of her final medical bills and funeral expenses.

Soon after the passing of her mother, Philomene became ill with uterine cancer. She died on October 27, 1885, at the age of 47. The deaths of their mother and grandmother severed any connection George, Jean Baptiste, and their little sister Valentine had with slavery and the plantations where their family had been enslaved in St. John the Baptist parish. All three children chose to identify as white. Soon one was contemplating leaving behind family and old memories in Louisiana and making the move to a place where he could leave all trace of his past behind him.

Phelonise Haydel Dangluse Part II: 1850- 1868

The next decade held great challenges and struggles for Phelonise Haydel Dangluse and the grandniece she had adopted. Phelonise and Philomene remained loyal to each other in the midst of desperate circumstances. Their strong bond carried them through violence and suffering.

Mother and daughter’s return to the city was at first fortuitous and filled with promise. Phelonise purchased a lot in Faubourg Franklin (now St. Roch) on April 14, 1856. She paid $350 in cash to John Lorenzo Jr. Five days later, Philomene married Lorenzo.  

At the time, it seemed like a good match. Philomene and John had similar backgrounds. Both were of mixed race. John’s father, John Lorenzo Sr., was a fruit merchant from Italy. He owned property on Decatur Street, several slaves, and had accumulated personal wealth. Originally his surname was Lorenchiti, but to adapt to the Creole city, he began referring to himself as Lorenzo, a Spanish surname. He had relationships with two different free women of color, which produced a son and daughter. Unlike Philomene, John Lorenzo Jr. was born free. He was also acknowledged by his father as his natural son and inherited property from him. John was employed as a clerk for his father’s business.

Philomene’s emancipation was formally acknowledged under law less than two months after her marriage. Marcian Belfort Haydel appeared before the Police Jury in St. John the Baptist parish and asked for a special allowance for Philomene and her sister Germine to remain in the state after they were freed. Haydel and his son George were also preparing to free Philomene’s mother and siblings. Yet she would always consider herself to be Phelonise’s daughter.

Marcien Belfort Haydel spent years trying to emancipate Phelonise and Germine. Here is the notice of the emancipation in both English and French.

Any optimism that Phelonise had felt at her adopted daughter’s marriage soon faded. John Lorenzo did not seem interested in working or supporting his growing family. Philomene, eighteen years old at the time she wed, became a mother within her first year of marriage. She had three children in four years. George was born in 1857, Jean Baptiste joined the family in 1859, and Leandre soon followed in 1861.

In addition to being a layabout, John Lorenzo abused Philomene. Every day she endured physical violence and abusive language. She struggled to raise her three young children and support them financially through her own labor. Her mother Phelonise was also subjected to ill treatment at the hands of John Lorenzo. Mother, daughter, and grandsons lived in turmoil, fearing for their lives. While the nation was in the midst of a Civil War, Philomene found herself fighting a daily battle in her own household.

Finally Philomene had enough. On July 25, 1864, she filed for divorce. She appeared before the Sixth District Court in New Orleans and presented her case, telling Judge Charles Lamont that Lorenzo had “abused [her] with shameful words,” making their continued living together “unsupportable,” and that the “brutal Acts. . .lately committed by her husband upon her person in beating and seriously wounding her” compelled her to seek the protection of the court by applying for a divorce.

While her suit was pending in court, Philomene made her home with her adopted mother Phelonise at 224 Columbus St. She also retained the custody and guardianship of her children. The court ordered John Lorenzo to pay Philomene $20 per month in alimony to support herself and their children.

Lorenzo’s response was typical of that era. He attempted to defile Philomene’s character. He told the court that he had been a “kind and affectionate husband and father and that his said wife had been false and unfaithful and disregarding her marriage vows.” He claimed she had acted in ways “unbecoming a wife and mother,” that she abused and abandoned him and their children. He even went so far as to claim that she had “frequented a house of ill fame” and been guilty of adultery. He wanted custody of the children and for Philomene to pay for all court costs.

The suit came before the Sixth District Court for a final hearing in November 1864. Philomene appeared in a public courtroom and stood before the judge. The desperation of her situation certainly motivated her. Yet it’s important to remember that countless women were in her situation and never spoke up. She showed remarkable courage and strength at a time when society would have preferred her to remain a victim.

Her testimony focused particularly on an incident that took place that summer. At six o’clock in the morning of July 5th, Lorenzo beat Philomene, leaving her face and nose covered with blood. She said, “He struck [me] so violently that the blood flowed from [me.] Previous to this he insulted [me], grossly accusing [me] of unchastity and told [me] [I] was a whore and a maquerelle [French for brothelkeeper].”

Philomene revealed that for five years, almost her entire marriage, and certainly years that were formative for her children, “the house [was] continually in an uproar.” Witnesses testified to Lorenzo’s violent behavior and aggression.

The court sided in favor of Philomene. They allowed her a separation of bed and board from Lorenzo. Yet Philomene did not adhere to the ruling. “Yielding to the obsessions of her husband. . .who continually beset her with the most flattering promises of good behavior and affectionate and tender deportment for the future,” on February 12, 1865, Philomene gave Lorenzo another chance. “She consented to wipe out the past and return to the cohabitation with her husband.  . .he was not long in breaking most faithlessly his vows and protestations and resumed his former bad and shameful conduct, daily abusing her with the most shameful and unbecoming words.”

According to Philomene, John Lorenzo’s “conduct daily grew worse and threats took such a menacing appearance that fearing to be submitted to the maltreatments already committed by her said husband on her person and being subjected to the beatings received by her, and fearing for the safety of her life,” she left him on April 18, 1866. She “sought refuge” at the home of her aunts, the Misses Haydels. These ladies were actually her great aunts, sisters of her adopted mother Phelonise and grandmother Celeste, all born at Evergreen Plantation and now residing in New Orleans. This demonstrates the deep and abiding connections that remained long after they left the plantation and the continued importance of family that dominated the Creole experience, both slave and free.

Her Haydel aunts took her in as well as her children George, age nine, Jean Baptiste, age seven, and Leandre, the baby at five years old. Just a few months later, in September, her youngest song Leandre. Not only did she have to endure the loss of her young son, but she also continued to receive threats and abuse from her estranged husband. The situation had become unbearable. In November 1868, she again sought protection from the court when things reached a breaking point.

She told the judge that she had “always behaved as a dutiful wife and in the most tender and becoming manner towards her husband but to no avail---and that it is absolutely necessary that the bonds which unite her to. . .John Lorenzo be forever dissolved.” She asked that the court approve of her residence at her Haydel aunts’ home on Burgundy Street in the French Quarter. Philomene was in destitute circumstances, and John Lorenzo was ordered to pay $30 a month to support her and their children. She also asked that he pay all court costs.

Stanislaus Arnould, a neighbor of the Lorenzos, appeared as a witness for Philomene. He said that during supper one evening he heard a noise and commotion in the rooms occupied by Phelonise Dangluse, Philomene, and the Lorenzo family. Phelonise and Philomene were shrieking and crying for help. Arnould and the landlord hurried to the scene and found John Lorenzo beating and maltreating Phelonise and Philomene. Arnould had to use violence against Lorenzo to stop him from further harming his wife and mother-in-law. Arnould threw Lorenzo out of the house, but he continued to abuse his wife and mother-in-law “publicly on the banquette [sidewalk] applying to them the most abusing and insulting epithets, and it was only on the threat of the landlord to have him arrested that said Lorenzo went away.”

Arnould spoke of numerous occasions of Lorenzo disturbing the peace. Philomene always “politely requested him to go away. . .that she would have nothing to do with him since he could neither support her and his children, when he would abuse and insult her, repeatedly, even at night” coming around and banging on the door and threatening her. Arnould described Philomene as “a hardworking woman” with becoming conduct who “supported herself and children by her own exertions.”

Philomene’s brother Arthur Gayaut also appeared before the court and spoke of daily threats of violence, constant insults, and beatings.  He made it clear that Philomene worked to maintain the family. Lorenzo “did not support his wife and children. . .it was [Philomene] who by her own exertions and work provided for his wants and those of their children and her own ones.” Gayaut shed even more light on Philomene’s experience. He said he had “never heard any person insult another more violently than [Lorenzo] did insult his sister.”

Once again the court found in Philomene’s favor. She was granted a divorce and custody of her children. Philomene’s ability to obtain a divorce can be traced back to the influence of French and Spanish civil law. While the rest of the country’s legal system was based on British common law, Louisiana still adhered to most of the tenets of civil law established in its colonial days.

According to Sara Brooks Sundberg’s study of women and property in early Louisiana, the state “contradicts accepted ideas about early American women’s ‘enforced dependence’ under the law.” Women in Louisiana had legal recourse against grievances from their husbands. They could go before the court and request a separation of property if their husbands mismanaged or endangered their inheritance. They could also sue for a separation of bed and board if abuse or adultery could be proven. However Sundberg’s study found that Anglo American women were less likely to benefit from these Louisiana laws due to ethnicity and custom. Creole women, aware of the laws and products of a culture that accepted the use of them, were far more likely to take advantage of the protections the law provided them. Many would assume that because she was a free woman of color, Philomene’s circumstances were more limited than a white woman’s. While this may be true in some cases, the reality is that because of her Creole heritage, she was more likely to use the court system to her benefit than her Anglo American counterparts.

The fact that Philomene was able to obtain a divorce in the 1860s was remarkable. In 1867, there were only 0.3 divorces for every 1000 marriages in the United States, totaling 10,000 divorces nationwide. Some states like Louisiana and Indiana allowed for divorce, but many others did not. South Carolina did not permit divorce of any kind. New York granted divorces only on the condition that neither spouse could remarry.

In fact, many judges across the country would have been unmoved by Philomene’s situation. In 1861, a New York judge refused to grant a divorce to a wife whose husband had beaten her unconscious, stating that “one or two acts of cruel treatment” were not proper grounds for divorce. The New York Times ran an article entitled “Wives Be Obedient Unto Your Husbands,” followed the next month with another piece called “Is a Black Eye Sufficient Ground for Divorce?” It featured an incident in which a husband tried to cut his wife’s throat.

Not only was Philomene educated and savvy enough to understand the law and utilize the court system, she also proved to be truly courageous. There was a serious stigma attached to divorce in that era. She was of limited means in a society in which men were expected to work and provide for their families. She also had young children depending upon her. Philomene must have truly feared for her life. She took the steps necessary to remove herself and her children from a brutal and terrifying situation. Philomene chose to live and to have a future even when the society around her at the time might have condemned her for it. Standing by her through it all, providing comfort, support, and refuge, were her adopted mother Phelonise, her biological mother Pamela, and her Haydel aunts. She came from strong women who had endured slavery and made new lives for themselves. She would not be broken.

Phelonise Haydel Dangluse. Part I: 1800-1850

Phelonise was born into slavery around the year 1800 at Evergreen Plantation. Her mother, Jacinte, was one of the first people enslaved on the plantation. Jacinte had also been born on there and baptized at the nearby Catholic Church in 1780. She and her mother Marianne were the property of Christophe Haydel. Records indicate that Marianne may have been from St. Domingue (present-day Haiti). Thus when Phelonise was born, multiple generations of her family had lived on the plantation. Her family and the family that owned hers---the Haydels---had been the first to establish the plantation on the banks of the Mississippi River during the colonial era, a time fraught with disease, warfare, famine, and constant labor. Not only had the two families been inextricably linked from the beginning, they were now in fact each other’s family, related by blood. For Phelonise’s father was a Haydel. Whether her father was Christophe’s son George, his brother Jean Jacques, or his nephew Jean Jacques Jr. has not yet been determined. Phelonise adopted the surname Haydel, as did her siblings, just as any daughter would take her father’s name.

Though all her life she was called Phelonise by her family, she appeared on plantation inventories and other documents as Arthemise. This was a common naming trend during an era when plantation owners often gave the enslaved Greek and Roman classically inspired names. Slaves often rejected these names when associating with their own families and communities.

Phelonise was raised to be a domestic, cleaning the house ,serving her white relatives, and catering to their every need. Phelonise and all of her siblings were of mixed racial ancestry and worked in the big house. When she was fourteen years old, she served as godmother at her sister Germine’s baptism. Her brother died in infancy, but her five sisters lived to adulthood and were all known as the Misses Haydels.

Christophe Haydel died shortly after Phelonise’s birth. The plantation, as well as Phelonise, her mother, and her siblings, were inherited by Christophe’s daughter, Magdelaine Haydel Becnel. Magdelaine ran the plantation for the next three decades, until her death in 1830, when the property went up for sale. The proceeds were to be divided amongst her heirs. This meant that Jacinte and her children would be sold apart. Phelonise and her sisters were each purchased by a different Haydel or Becnel family member. Phelonise became the property of Jean Jacques Haydel Jr., Magdelaine’s first cousin as well as son-in-law, for he was married to her daughter Clarisse. He purchased Phelonise for $400. She was described as a Creole mulatto domestic slave. She spoke French, was a member of the Catholic Church, and was both culturally and genetically connected to the man who owned her. She left Evergreen Plantation, where she had been born and raised, the only home she had known for thirty years, and was brought to Jean Jacques Haydel’s nearby plantation. But she would not remain there long.

Four years after she left Evergreen, Phelonise was freed by Jean Jacques Haydel. It was 1834, and she was around 34 years old. Though she had no children of her own, she remained very close to her sisters and especially her niece Pamela, the daughter of her sister Celeste. Records indicate that it is likely that Pamela was the daughter of Marcien Belfort Haydel. Their relationship illustrates the tangled web that characterized the Haydel and Becnel family trees, both free and enslaved. Marcien Belfort Haydel was Jean Jacques Haydel Jr.’s son. Like his father before him, he owned his own daughter. Pamela had a relationship with a man named Jean Gaillot, who had also married into the Haydel family. The couple had many children together. They could not marry, because interracial marriage was illegal in Louisiana and because slaves could not enter into a marriage contract. Even though their father, Jean Gaillot, was free, Pamela’s children remained enslaved, for all slave children had to take the status of their mother.

After she gained her freedom, Phelonise moved to New Orleans. This urban center had the largest population of free people of color in the South. The majority of them were Creoles like Phelonise. In this community, she found a sense of belonging. She began a relationship with Jean Baptiste Montplaisir Dangluse, a native of St. Domingue (present-day Haiti) who had arrived in New Orleans after the revolution there. Dangluse was a veteran of the War of 1812 and fought at the Battle of New Orleans. On December 19, 1814, he joined Major Louis Daquin’s Second Battalion of free men of color from Haiti. These soldiers played a crucial role in the victory on the plains of Chalmette. Their commanding officer urged them forward, calling out, “March on! March on, my friends, march on against the enemies of the country!” in French. They surprised the British force and weakened them in preparation for the major battle to come, prompting General Andrew Jackson to tell them, “You surpass my hopes.” In the midst of the actual battle, they were commanded to stay in reserve but pushed forward to the British line and proved themselves once again. Recalling the performance by the Second Battalion and the death of British General Edward Packenham on the battlefield, Andrew Jackson said, “I have always believed he fell from the bullet of a free man of color.”

For the rest of his life, Dangluse spoke frequently of his military service in defense of the city at the time of the British invasion. It was clearly a defining moment in his life. He was particularly proud that he had been accepted into the grenadier’s company because he was so tall. Dangluse was closely tied to the Haitian Creole community in the city, further expanding Phelonise’s contacts in the community of free people of color. Yet she never lost touch with her niece Pamela and her grand- nieces and nephews in the country.

A decade after her own manumission, Phelonise succeeded in freeing her grand- niece and namesake. Marcien Belfort Haydel was willing to emancipate Pamela’s daughter Phelonise, likely his own granddaughter. Though the little girl was named after her great aunt, she was called Philomene all her life, possibly her middle name. Philomene was described in the sale and emancipation documents as a six-year-old quadroon, indicating ¼ African ancestry. Phelonise purchased her for $120, with the understanding that she would care for the child while Marcien Belfort Haydel sorted out the bureaucracy required to emancipate her. The laws were always changing, making it harder to free slaves, and at only six years old, Philomene did not meet the age requirement.

By entering into a contract for Philomene’s freedom and taking in the child, Phelonise essentially adopted her. Her grandniece became the child she never had and was raised in her home. Philomene considered Jean Baptiste Dangluse to be her father and took on his surname. She was present when her adoptive parents were married on March 29, 1847, at Annunciation Catholic Church on Marais Street in New Orleans. The Dangluses lived just blocks away from the church on Spain Street. But soon they would move across the river to Freetown, an area settled by free people of color that would later be called McDonoughville.

The reason for the move was a result of Dangluse’s military service. He received a bounty from the federal government, which he used to obtain the land in McDonoughville. By 1850, the small family had established a home there, and Philomene was attending school. She would be the first generation of her maternal line to be literate. It was forbidden by law to teach a slave to read and write. Now that she was free, Philomene could have an education.

Jean Baptiste Dangluse died on May 27, 1851, at three o’clock in the afternoon. He was around fifty-seven years old. Phelonise reported her husband’s death at the recorder’s office and made her mark on the death certificate as she was unable to sign her name. On this document, as on all legal documents, she declared her maiden name as Phelonise Haydel, an indication that her father was one of the white Haydel men related to the woman who had owned her.

Now in addition to being free, Phelonise Haydel Dangluse was a widow of property. For the first time in her life, she owned land and a house. Along with the forty- acre bounty that her husband had received, Phelonise was given an additional 120-acre bounty as a widow of a veteran of the War of 1812.  Unfortunately a crevasse, a break in the river levee, inundated the property and caused such significant damage that Phelonise chose to sell the land to a broker. She and Philomene moved back to the city in the 1850s in reduced circumstances.

To be continued in Part II.

CATHERINE Part Four: PRESENCE OF MIND

On March 9, 1864, Edward Telfair Wilkinson appeared before the recorder of births and deaths for the city of New Orleans to report the death of his four-month-old son. The child, called E.T. Wilkinson after his father, had died at eleven o’clock that morning. The father had not even waited until the next day to register the death. Perhaps he needed to get out of that house full of grief and painful memories.

Back at 197 Canal Street, the home she shared with Wilkinson, Catherine mourned the loss of yet another son. It seemed her sons would not live. This was the third she had buried. Her eldest daughter Virginia Becnel, a seamstress, worked at the basket of mending she had to finish while taking breaks to show four-year-old Lelia a stitch. Her younger sister was supposed to be learning, but her mother’s distress proved a distraction. Catherine held two-year-old Georgiana, another daughter. At least her daughters lived.

Edward Telfair Wilkinson was the son of Captain Nathaniel Green Wilkinson and Georgiana Blanchard of Rapides parish, Louisiana. After attending the College of St. James in Maryland, Wilkinson had followed his father’s calling and was now a Red River boatman himself. He held the important position of pilot, responsible for safely guiding the steamboat along the river. Wilkinson was expected to have an encyclopedic knowledge of the rivers he navigated. He needed to be intimately aware of the shifting sand bars and passages. The Mississippi River in particular was constantly changing, and pilots had to be licensed to show that they were knowledgeable enough to guide steamboats through its many twists, turns, and jetties. A pilot had to be decisive and immensely confident, especially in bad weather or the when blinded by fog. Explosions, wrecks, and constantly moving from one port to another made life on a steamboat a precarious existence. Returning home to Catherine and the children was the one stable factor of Wilkinson’s life.

Lelia and Georgiana’s names honored Edward’s family. His younger sister was called Lelia, and his mother, Georgiana, had died when he was only five years old. Whether or not he was the biological father of Lelia, or if he considered her his own since he had been with Catherine from the time of her birth, remains a mystery. Census records indicate that Lelia was born in September 1859, yet when Catherine went to the register as a free woman of color she included only her daughter Virginia and not Lelia, likely because the child had not yet been born. Lelia was alive and well by May 1860, able to be counted by census takers. Whether Captain Parker was her father or Edward Wilkinson seemed irrelevant to her; she always used the name Wilkinson, after the only father she had ever known.

Shortly after the end of the Civil War, Wilkinson was away on one of his many river trips when tragedy struck. His steamer the Colonel Cowles was on the Mobile River on May 25, 1865, when men on deck noticed black smoke rising up from a warehouse in the city, a depot containing 200 tons of confiscated Confederate gun powder, ammunition, and explosives. Flames soon filled the sky, and all of Mobile shook. A New York Times correspondent reported, “The shock made the city tremble like an aspen, shaking every building to its foundation. The crash of broken glass was heard in every direction, and falling walls made the earth resound like the rumbling of an earthquake.”

J. E. Lockwood, clerk on board Wilkinson’s steamer the Colonel Cowles, described the scene:

Capt. Tucker of the steamer stepped on the wharf and was engaged in conversation with Capt. Southard, to whose ship the cotton was to be taken. The pilot, Mr. Wilkinson, and Mr. Brotherton, Chief Engineer, was sitting on the railing of the boiler deck. I had just taken a chair down stairs to set in, and put it in front of the boilers on the larboard side. Suddenly, without any previous warning, the terrific explosion occurred. It raised me from my chair. I fell down on one knee, picked myself up, but seemed propelled by some invisible power and went headlong overboard. The air seemed filled with infernal missiles. I struck for the pier. Having got up I went back on the steamer and advised the first mate to cut the head line, which he did, I not knowing at the time that the boat was on fire, and with steam already up, we supposed that we could get away from the infernal missiles which were still flying about us. . .At the time of the explosion both the pilot and engineer threw themselves down on the boiler deck, supposing that one of the steam pipes had exploded, but were soon undeceived. Just as soon as the first shock was over, Mr. Wilkinson went up into the pilot house, Mr. Brotherton went down to the engine room. Although missiles were still flying around them, they stood bravely to their posts. Immediately on my informing the mate that the steamer was on fire, he informed the pilot who, only with one engine---one being disabled---brought her in by the steamer N. Thomas, when the balance of the crew, together with Mr. Tucker who was badly wounded, and Mrs. Tucker, his wife, were taken on the wharf, where, surrounded by burning hay, they made signals to a gunboat, which immediately sent a boat to their rescue and took them from their perilous position. Too much credit cannot be given to Mr. [Wilkinson], the pilot, for showing so much nerve in going into the pilothouse at that time, when it was shot almost to pieces---one tiller rope was cut---and through his presence of mind none of the crew was lost with the exception of one cabin boy. 

Conflagration at Mobile, caused by the explosion, May 25, 1865, sketched by George Watters. Harper’s Weekly Magazine, June 24, 1865.

Edward’s “presence of mind” in a crisis seemed akin to that shown by Catherine during the many times of turmoil she had endured. The Colonel Cowles was utterly destroyed.  The entirety of north Mobile was devastated. Five hundred souls were buried under rubble. The explosions and falling debris claimed the lives of more than three hundred people. The crew received assistance from the captains of two nearby steamers, and printed a card of thanks in the newspaper “for their kindness manifested to us in providing for our immediate wants after escaping from the terrible explosion to which we were exposed, and having lost everything.” The clerk, chief engineer, and pilot E.T. Wilkinson signed. Wilkinson must have been relieved to return home to Catherine and the children. Catherine would have received the news in horror. Shock and relief must have overwhelmed her; she was seven months pregnant, left home alone caring for three children.

On July 23, 1865, Catherine again gave birth to a son. They called him Nathaniel Telfair Wilkinson, after his grandfather Nathaniel and father Edward Telfair. After all they had endured, the couple was due some good fortune. This was the son who would live.  Yet he would not be considered the legitimate son of his father. Under Louisiana law, Catherine and Edward could not marry, for it was illegal for a white man to have a woman of mixed race as a wife.

By 1870, Catherine and Edward were still together, yet she did not take his name. The census taker recorded her as Kate Becknell; she was listed first, almost as head of household, yet her occupation was “keeping house.” Edward Wilkinson was still working as a pilot. Virginia, Kate’s daughter with Lezin Becnel, was now seventeen years old and, like her mother, still using her biological father’s name. At ten years old, Lelia attended school, while younger siblings Georgiana, age eight, and Nathaniel, age five, remained at home. The most significant element of this census record was that the entire household’s race was listed as white. At the time in Louisiana, even a person with only one-quarter African ancestry, like Catherine’s children, were still considered black, and trying to “pass” as white could have serious consequences. Yet the family chose to cross the color line, probably in an effort to receive better educations, housing, treatment, and jobs.

Once she had been a slave. Then she was a free person of color. Now on an official federal document she was a white woman, which was for her an elevation in status and freedom. The opportunities available to her children by crossing the color line cannot be downplayed. Being black in Louisiana would have affected almost every aspect of their lives, from where they sat in the streetcar to the schools they attended to whether or not they had to step aside when someone who was of a supposed superior race came walking by. Catherine’s conscious choice to ensure that her children beat the system must have made her both anxious and hopeful. If they covered their tracks and carefully obfuscated their pasts, Catherine’s children could have a future she had never dreamed possible. Did her thoughts ever return to her mother back in Virginia, whose dark hands had held and comforted her? Did the memories bring her guilt and ambivalence, or did they further instill in her the determination that the choice she was making was the right one for her family? We will never know the inner-workings of Catherine’s heart.

CATHERINE Part Three: KEEPER OF FURNISHED ROOMS

On a day that was “uninterruptedly serene, seasonable and delicious,” Catherine and her seven-year-old daughter made their way to City Hall.  The Greek-Revival edifice was imposing, but Catherine knew their task must be completed.  The Picayune extolled the day’s “true autumn weather” calling it, “genial, bracing, and inspiring.”  Still Catherine found it a far cry from the autumn days of her girlhood in Virginia.  Those days were so long ago she could barely remember them.  She was born a slave.  Now she was a free woman and had to appear at City Hall to register in the mayor’s office as such.

Atlas of the City of New Orleans Louisiana (Robinson Atlas) - Plate 7 , Part of 2nd District New Orleans

For decades free people of color arriving in New Orleans from outside the state had to put their names in the books kept at City Hall.  Now that the state legislature was intent upon stripping free people of color of their rights and did its best to make life difficult for them, officials were cracking down on those who violated regulations.  So to be in compliance with the law Catherine and her daughter needed to register.  It was just the two of them; like the older brother he never met, Edgard had died in infancy. 

The clerk recorded the date: September 26, 1859.  Mother and daughter were listed under different names.  Mary Virginia Becnel, a seven-year-old quadroon born in St. John the Baptist parish, had the court case that freed her written beside her name.  Lezin Becnel’s name was there as her former owner, not as her father, but the reality would have been obvious to the clerk.  She was employed as a seamstress, probably trained by her mother, whose value as an expert seamstress had taken her far.  Catherine gave her own name as Catherine Parker, a mulatto woman and keeper of furnished rooms.  Having done what they came to do, they stepped out onto Lafayette Square to the sight of a brilliant rainbow.  If only it were a harbinger of good things to come.

Lezin’s death had left her in a precarious situation.  Though never legally married, she considered him her husband.  After all, it was against the law for them to wed; a woman of color, even if she were free, could not become the wife of white man in antebellum Louisiana.  The law even prevented him from leaving money to her in his will, as she would be considered his “concubine” and Virginia alias Eugenie his illegitimate daughter, not entitled to a share of his estate.  Lezin’s sons, Lezin III and Michel, inherited the plantation.  There was no place for her there.  She would seek opportunity in New Orleans, a place where she and her daughter could blend in while pursuing means of employment lacking in the rural parishes.

While Eugenie took in sewing, Catherine was no longer employed as a seamstress.  Instead she had become a keeper of furnished rooms.  She rented rooms out to lodgers from 9 Basin Street. It would seem that Lezin Becnel must have given her some money to enable her to do this, although it would not have been included in the succession but given as cash.  New Orleans in the 1850s was booming, and transients constantly passed through the city on business.  They needed a place to stay, so hotels, boardinghouses, and furnished rooms were always full.  Hotels and boardinghouses required licenses and had to adhere to certain regulations, whereas furnished rooms did not, making it an ideal occupation for free women of color with limited resources.  Boardinghouses involved serving meals, whereas furnished rooms were exactly as they sounded: a room with a bed and other furniture.  Even though Catherine did not have to provide meals to her lodgers, she did have a significant amount of work to do to maintain her business.  She would have a spent a great deal of time sweeping and scrubbing floors, changing and laundering linens, emptying chamber pots, cleaning windows and beating carpets, and performing the day to day tasks that kept the home clean and comfortable.  It was not easy work, but it was certainly better than work in the sugar cane fields of the plantation she had left behind.  She was a free woman and was paid money in exchange for her work for the first time in her life.

The third volume of the Register of Free Colored Persons Entitled to Remain in the State was produced by the New Orleans Mayor's Office between 1859 and 1861. Free people of color who were not born in the City of New Orleans, or who were born in the Parish of Orleans and were emancipated after birth, were required to register with the Mayor's Office as free people of color. See Louisiana Digital Library.

Catherine had help with her business, free labor in the form of an enslaved woman.  How Catherine came to own a slave remains unclear.  Perhaps Lezin Becnel gave her the twenty-year-old enslaved woman before his death.  Or did Catherine purchase her herself?  The 1860 slave schedule recorded that Catherine, a former slave, now owned a twenty-year-old woman and a one-year-old girl, presumably the woman’s daughter.  In Catherine’s world, there was nothing unusual about free people of color owning slaves.  This was part of the reality of life in antebellum New Orleans.

Courtesy of the Louisiana State Museum

The home Catherine occupied and from which she rented rooms was located at Number 9 Basin Street just across from the railroad station, situated between Canal and Customhouse [now Iberville] Streets.  The property was described as a “large and comfortable two-story frame residence. . .having a large hall, double parlors, dining-room, kitchen, pantry, washroom below; large and comfortable bedrooms, halls, and servants’ room above; cistern, large yard, etc.”

The location brings with it some possible implications. In March 1857, just a couple of years before Catherine moved to New Orleans, the City Council passed “An Ordinance concerning Lewd and Abandoned Women,” also known as the Lorette Law.  This ordinance was meant to limit prostitution by taxing brothel keepers in certain areas, making prostitution not as visible but still legal.  There were sixteen acts in this ordinance, but the most important aspect of the law was that it sought to contain prostitution within certain accepted vice areas.  The Lorette Law attempted to push prostitution and vice from the riverfront and most of the French Quarter into “Back of Town.”  One of the most significant areas in which prostitution was legal was on the lakeside (then known as the swamp side) of Basin Street between Canal Street and Toulouse, with a concentration around Customhouse [now Iberville].  This was the exact location in which Catherine had chosen to establish herself as a keeper of furnished rooms.  “Furnished rooms” could sometimes be a euphemism for a brothel, but not always. Whether or not Catherine was involved in this activity is unknown, but even if she herself did not participate, she would have been in a hotbed of prostitution, surrounded by brothel keepers and women who plied their trade.  Part of this area would later be known as Storyville, New Orleans’s notorious red light district and the birthplace of jazz.

Why had Catherine assumed the surname Parker?  Records indicate that she had begun a relationship with Edward Parker, captain of the steamboat Piota.  Parker was over fifty and a native of London.  Catherine probably met Parker when he applied to her for lodging.  As a steamboat captain, he would not have needed to maintain a regular residence, since he was continually traveling.  A Baton Rouge newspaper described him as “one of the oldest and best of our steamboat captains.” He owned half a share of the steamboat Piota.  Captain Parker supervised its construction in Louisville, having it built expressly for the Red River trade.  It cost almost $50,000, had a 190 foot long hull, 26-feet boilers, and was capable of carrying 2,500 bales of cotton.  The papers described the Piota as a potential “New Candidate for Public Favor,” as the boat had “one of the richest and rarest carpets, with splendid curtains and linen sheeting.”  According to the New Orleans Crescent, “Her state-rooms are all large, and with every convenience attached to them.” The vessel would make regular trips from New Orleans to Grand Ecore, Natchitoches, Alexandria, and other landings along the Red River.

In June 1859, just a few months before Catherine registered as a free woman of color at the mayor’s office, Captain Parker’s fortunes took a heavy loss.  The Piota caught on fire at twelve o’clock in the afternoon just below Carrollton.  Captain Parker was up on the hurricane deck facing a furious wind.  Sparks from opening the furnace doors had been blown by the wind onto a large quantity of dry pinewood they had just taken aboard.  Disaster ensued.  The strong winds rapidly spread the flames, and Captain Parker ordered the Piota to be run ashore.  According to the Picayune, “so rapid was the sweep of the flames and dense and stifling the smoke, that all that could be done was to save the lives of those on board.”  Parker watched as his investment burned at the water’s edge; it had cost close to $50,000 and was insured for only $15,000.  Of the forty passengers on board, only one was lost: Andrew, the enslaved pastry cook belonging to Captain Parker, who jumped overboard and drowned.

Perhaps the harrowing experience and the financial loss were all too much for him.  Captain Edward Parker died on November 20, 1859.  His time with Catherine had been short-lived.  Her life seemed to consist of almost constant burials and grief.  Yet she was a resourceful woman, had adapted time and time again during the many sales she endured while enslaved, and she would continue to support herself and her child through her own intelligence and hard work.  She had garnered the attention of Edward Telfair Wilkinson, the pilot and part-owner of the Piota.  It was possible another relationship was on the horizon.

Part Four will continue Catherine’s story and introduce her children.

CATHERINE Part Two: Emancipated from the Bonds of Slavery

One month after her son Charles’s death and less than a year after arriving at Evergreen Plantation, Catherine became pregnant with her second child.  She had not married anyone in the enslaved community on the plantation.  Her child’s father was the man who legally owned her and her unborn baby.

Lezin Becnel, forty-two years old and the proprietor of Evergreen Plantation, had lost his first wife Josephine in 1842.  He was left a widow with two young sons and soon remarried.  His second wife, Fanny de Baconnais, died just two years into their marriage in 1848.  In six years time, Lezin had been widowed twice.  Did he send his factor and agent Christoval Toledano to the slave market that fateful day to purchase a woman for companionship or something more?  Or did Lezin merely tell him he was in need of a skilled seamstress and was surprised by the connection that developed between them?  Catherine’s relationship with Lezin will be forever marked by the fact that she was enslaved.  As his property, she did not possess the right to consent.  He could do with her as he wanted.  Yet further evidence shows that whatever the origins of their relationship, Lezin grew to deeply care for her and the children they had together.

On October 17, 1852, at four o’clock in the afternoon, Virginia was born.  Catherine held her new daughter in her arms while out in the fields the enslaved laborers were beginning to harvest the cane crop.  Grinding season was the busiest time of year on the plantation.

Julian Vannerson, Unidentified Girl, likely Mary Mildred Botts Williams, 1855. Daguerrotype. Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston.

The little girl would be known by several names, each a variant of the other.  It appears her mother named her for the home she had once known long ago, perhaps in remembrance of the family she had forever lost.  Records have her as Marie Virginie, Mary Virginia, Virginia, Marie Eugenie, and Eugenie.  The connecting link is “Ginny” or “Jenny,” a nickname for both Virginia and Eugenie.  This is probably the name most people called her, just as her mother was also known as Kate.

Catherine returned to St. John the Baptist Catholic Church, the place where she had baptized and buried her son Charles, on April 7, 1853.  It is quite possible that this was not the first time she had entered the church’s doors since laying to rest her son, for that day she was prepared to be baptized into the Catholic faith along with her six month old daughter.  Had she gone willingly, embracing Catholicism as part of her new life and culture in Creole Louisiana?  Or had Lezin insisted on her conversion?  Was she persuaded, coerced, or wholly satisfied with her choice? 

It appears Catherine had been able to select her own godparents.  Adam and Pauline, both Creole slaves, stood beside her as she received the sacrament.  She forged bonds and made friends amongst the enslaved domestics.  Like Catherine, Adam and Pauline were both of mixed race and had always worked in the big house. 

Father Mina recorded the baptism of Lezin and Catherine’s daughter in the parish’s baptismal record book for slave and free people of color : “Marie Eugenie mulatresse born 17 October 1852 at 4 pm. . . Lezin Becnel is master of her and her mother and has declared her free.”  Her godparents were white cousins of her father’s, Irma and Pierre Roussel.  Lezin chose to acknowledge his daughter and take steps to free her.

Lezin and Catherine had second child together in December 1855.  They named him Edgard.  Is it mere coincidence that the daughter was named for her mother’s place of birth---Virgnia---and the son was named for his father’s---Edgard, Louisiana? 

After Edgard’s birth, racial tensions heightened in Louisiana and across the South.  Free people of color were held in increased suspicion, and a movement to strip them of their rights began.  There was a push to make any slave who was emancipated leave the state.  In an effort to limit the free black population of Louisiana, the state legislature prepared to enact legislation that would prohibit emancipation.  This new law would take effect on March 6, 1857.  Lezin would have been aware of this impending threat to the future of Catherine and his children.  He decided to take prompt action.

Lezin Becnel was required to publish his petition for emancipation in the official newspaper of the parish.

On March 4, 1856, the suit Lezin Becnel vs. The State of Louisiana came before the court in his home parish.  S. M. Berault represented him, and Emile Legendre, district attorney, acted on behalf of the state.  Lezin presented a petition for the emancipation of three slaves: Catherine, a mulatto woman age 24, Marie Virginie, a Creole quadroon age 3, and Edgard a 3 month old Creole quadroon boy.  The case was taken up for trial.  Twelve jurors deliberated on it, including several with the surnames Becnel and Haydel, Lezin’s relatives.  Lezin put up three bonds of $1000 each---one for each slave---and his first cousin Pierre A. Becnel acted as his security on the bonds.  The court also required the testimonies of two witnesses “as to good character and sober habits of said slaves.”

The jury delivered a verdict in favor of the emancipation of Catherine, Marie Virginie, and Edgard, and gave them permission to remain in the state.  The foreman delivered and read in open court in the now long gone original St. John the Baptist parish courthouse that Catherine and her babies were “hereby emancipated from the bonds of slavery and declared free.” 

The seemingly unimaginable had occurred.  Catherine, torn apart from her family and sold first as a young child, examined and analyzed like a beast of burden on the auction block, then later sold seven times in three and a half years---she was free.  The law recognized her as a human being, not a piece of property.  Catherine, who had held her baby son Charles in her arms as he died, enduring unspeakable loss, could now go to sleep at night knowing that her living children were free.  They could never be sold away from her, as she had been taken from her mother.  They would have a future with opportunities she could never have imagined. 

Then just nine months later, at the very end of grinding, when what was left of the cane was frozen to the ground due to temperatures in the thirties, Catherine awoke to discover that Lezin was dead.  On December 28, 1856, at the age of forty-six, the man who had given her freedom had died.  They had doted on their children together; she had known that he would always take care of them and provide for them.  With his death came not only sorrow but an ominous and uncertain future.

Survivors of the Middle Passage: Marie Joseph and Macré

Marie Joseph and her husband Macré survived the Middle Passage and were brought to Louisiana in the late eighteenth century. Marie Joseph, born around 1760, was of the Mina nation. Macré came from Senegal. They were purchased by Pierre Becnel and brought to St. John the Baptist parish. When Becnel died in 1791, Marie Joseph was the mother of four children, two sons and two daughters. Because they were born in Louisiana, her children were considered Creoles.

Macré, Marie Joseph, and their children became the property of Becnel's widow, Magdelaine Haydel. They spent several decades on what is now Evergreen Plantation. During their lifetimes, they witnessed the Becnels and Haydels evolve from subsistence farmers to indigo planters to sugar planters.

In an inventory of the estate made after the death of Magdelaine Haydel Becnel in 1830, Macré and Marie Joseph were listed together as husband and wife. This was a rare acknowledgement in a legal document of an marital relationship among the enslaved. Slave marriages were not considered legal unions by the state of Louisiana, and couples could be sold apart and separated at any time. Yet the Becnels recognized the bond between Macré and Marie Joseph, possibly because they were now elderly and infirm. At ages 75 and 70, their appraised values were only around $100 each, and they could do very little work.

Pierre Aime Becnel, Magdelaine’s grandson, purchased Macré and Marie Joseph for $300 with the intention of freeing them. On June 2, 1832, he presented a petition for this purpose before the Police Jury, the governing body of the parish. He informed these elected officials that Macré and Marie Joseph “had always led a regular and honest life and conduct without having runaway or committed any robbery or having been guilty of any crime or misdemeanor.” During two meetings that summer, the Police Jury unanimously approved the emancipations.

The next step in the process involved the Sheriff. Pierre Aime Becnel had to make a decree of his intention to emancipate to the sheriff. In February 1833, this decree was written in both English and French and posted at the church and the courthouse. Anyone who objected to freeing these slaves could notify the parish and halt the process, possibly even stop Becnel from manumitting them. Fortunately no objections were made.

On April 3, 1833, Pierre Aime Becnel appeared before Judge Terence Leblanc and in the presence of witnesses, declaring that he wished to reward his slaves Macré, age 75, and Marie Joseph, age 70, for their good conduct and service by giving them their freedom. He acknowledged that he had gone through all the steps of the process designated by law in emancipating the enslaved. There was no opposition from the court. Macré and Marie Joseph were now legally free.

The couple continued to live together on Pierre Aime Becnel’s plantation. On April 22, 1836, Macré's body was brought to the priest of St. John the Baptist Church. Pierre Aime Becnel asked the priest to perform funeral rites for him. Marie Joseph survived a little over a year after her husband's death. She died on the morning of September 14, 1837, on Pierre Aime Becnel's plantation and was buried at St. John the Baptist Church cemetery.