The ‘B’ is for Box

The ‘B’ is for Box

To Whom it may concern:

I know what they say about me; only some of it is true. Some say I mailed myself to Pennsylvania. Other say I received aid from a free Colored man and a sympathetic shoemaker. Some of it is rooted in truth; the rest is simply a figment of gossip. They call me Henry ‘Box’ Brown, and I have a story to tell. Don’t expect me to get straight to the notorious box, that’ll come later. First, I need you to understand why I’m Henry B. Brown and why the ‘B’ is for Box.

Eliza was the most beautiful soul ever created by God’s hands. I remember when my former master, Master William Barret, brought her to the plantation. She was intended as a gift to Mrs. Barret for whatever superficial occasion; it’s hard to recall as time has faded that part of the memory. Although, I’ve never quite been able to comprehend what sort of occasion would warrant gifting one human being to another, who is under the misguided impression of false superiority for the sole intention of the barbaric physical and mental degradation and humiliation that accompanies the horrors packed within enslavement. She was no animal, no object to be subjected to the cruelties that she endured. Her eyes, so heavy with knowing; knowing of pain and criminal abuse, were yet so full of beauty and hope. When our eyes locked, it was if we were the only two human beings left in the world. No one and nothing even dared to exist except the two of us. In that moment, our souls became intertwined, never to be satisfied without the other. This was not a singular feeling; Eliza had felt its warmth swell within her as well.

It didn’t take many stolen moments with hushed voices for us to know we were to be together. Reverend Ben married us in secret right there on the plantation under the cover of darkness, and Eliza fell pregnant not too long after that. The happiest moments in my life were being overshadowed by the ever-looming anxiety that our union and Eliza’s pregnancy would be discovered. We were very diligent and meticulous in keeping our arrangement unobtrusive so as not be forced into separation by the cold hands of slavery. However, we could only hide that pregnancy but for so long being that Eliza worked in the ‘Big House’. When the time came for Eliza to deliver the baby, she was torn open and it became a dire situation. If it hadn’t been for Sara, The Hermitage medicinal worker being willed to William at the same time as I was, there wouldn’t be an Eliza or Priscilla to acknowledge.

Eliza had been in such great pain and agony, and wailing so much so that William had descended upon our cabin with such rage that he appeared to foam at the mouth! In his true wickedness, he snatched Priscilla from Eliza’s arms and hurried her away further north to Maryland; unbeknownst to us, William had observed our situation and secretly promised our darling Priscilla to be sold to a plantation in Maryland- The Brodess Farm. When Eliza procured the knowledge of the necessary route, she ran north to that farm and rescued our daughter. Without my knowledge, my wife not only escaped, but the details regarding Priscilla’s rescue will be told throughout Maryland as something like folklore among the enslaved as it was truly something to be held!

From the moment when William found out that Eliza had escaped, he had me summoned from the factory with the sole purpose of a torturous interrogation, if one would call it that. I was standing accused of aiding a runaway- my wife. I was dumbfounded as I knew of no previous arrangements Eliza had made in preparation for an escape. The beating delivered that day was one of the worst of my life; I narrowly escaped it. As odd as it might sound, I felt no part of said beating; I was numb. My Eliza, my air, was gone and I was suffocating. My body was incapable of enduring even an ounce more of pain.

Months later, in 1849, I was walking home from a grueling twelve-hour shift at the tobacco factory when I heard the voice. It was a voice that boomed with strength and pain. I was shocked to stillness, stopping dead in my tracks. I assumed the owner of this voice to be a myth. Her legend was known well as one of realized freedom. It was Moses, and it was her message that made my heart leap with joy and sparked a motivation within me I had never before known. Eliza and Priscilla were in Pennsylvania and were free. Moses said she would deliver me to them but now was not the time- the routes were blocked by patrollers. She would send someone to me to show me the way when the time was right.

The most infuriating part of that wait was having the idea of freedom so close it was almost tangible yet having to continue waiting for the most opportune moment. I understood the risk and the benefit, so I waited. Finally, that moment arrived. Originally, I found it odd that it had come in March; the weather was bitter and gnawed at the bones. Moses sent Levi, a friend from Hermitage who was also willed to William that worked alongside me in the tobacco factory. Levi had been a strong field hand and because of his brawn, was now tasked with loading and unloading factory shipments. Levi gave the word that Ben was filling in for Tom as driver for Adams Express Company because Tom had fallen ill. The idea was for me to enter a 3x2.5x2 wooden crate with the intentions of being shipped north with company orders. The crate was one we often shipped our product in and I was familiar with it although I never envisioned myself inside of one. This box had been lined with woolen cloth and equipped with discreet air holes to accommodate its unique contents. Someone had prepared small containers of biscuits and water for the journey. Levi’s cadence as he sealed me into this space was the last thing I remember after contorting myself into that inhumanely small space which would serve as my temporary accommodations.

Inside the crate was dark and stuffy. The cloth kept the winter air out but held onto my breaths. At times the confinement produced a massive panic within me that I could only attribute to complete disorientation. I tried to hold onto Levi’s face and Ben’s voice as I tumbled and flipped like fallen leaves in the autumn winds. My mind surged with the fear of being caught. When these fears became too great to bear, Eliza was there in my mind’s eye to quell them again; forever being my better half.

I endured this constant disorientation traveling by wagon, railroad and steamboat for what seemed like days. I nibbled my bread and sipped my water and tried to calm my mind. Somehow, while being transferred between the railroad and steamboat, my wooden cell had been turned completely upside down. I endured the final leg of my journey perched precariously upon my head. When I felt as if my brain would explode and seep out of my ears, I fell unconscious. Even in this unconscious state, my mind could not be deterred from the goal. I dreamt of Eliza and Priscilla; of our reunion. I held my sweet daughter close to my heart as I took Eliza into my arms and swayed in each other's embrace. Again, nothing mattered in that moment more than the sounds of our soul’s reuniting and Priscilla’s infantile laughter.

I was awakened by rapping on the exterior of the box. I recognized it to match the cadence Levi had used to seal my crate. I responded with “Alright” and before I knew it, I was being freed from my confinement, and the dreams of my unconscious mind were at last becoming a reality. I had successfully been smuggled to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania from Richmond, Virginia by ‘box’.

I was told I spent approximately twenty-seven hours in that tiny wooden crate. As I sit here watching Eliza tend to Priscilla as free Negroes of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, I realize that I would spend one hundred more hours confined in a wooden crate if it would lead me back here, to the air I breathe.

Signed,

Henry B. Brown, and the ‘B’ is for Box.

Written by k.delaine (Keedra Jones)