CHAPTER 1Letter to the Future
Ellicott’s Mills, Maryland, 1791
BENJAMIN BANNEKER TIPPED back his chair and rubbed his eyes. It had been a four-candle night. When his final candlestick guttered out, he set his quill in the inkpot. He stood up, but his feet had fallen asleep in the long hours of sitting, so he hobbled a bit on them, rocking from his toes to his heels.
Benjamin stepped onto the porch and looked out over his land. The world was awakening, coming on in birdsong and rooster calls, in sunlight burning off the mist over the orchard. He had spent many nights lying in those fields, looking up through a telescope, jotting down notes. He had tracked the stars and planets as they passed the meridian, and had made the equations necessary to predict the precise times of an eclipse, as well as equinoxes and solstices, sunrises and sunsets. He had drawn out the phases of the moon and had projected all the major astronomical events for the coming year. His almanac for 1792 was finally complete.
Benjamin took a quick walk around the orchard, clearing his mind. He twisted the stiffness out of his back and stretched his arms up toward the sun. He knew that being in relationship with the sun and the stars had always been a matter of survival. His people in Africa had followed the stars in their sky maps, and now he had the mathematical skills to track celestial events on paper, in an almanac that would be of practical use. The almanac would help farmers plan the best time to plant their crops, and fishermen to safely cast out into the tides.
Benjamin checked his beehives and plucked some chives from the garden. Then he walked to the chicken coop and pulled two warm eggs from a nest. He stood at his kitchen hearth, stirring the eggs and chives into a skillet, preparing his breakfast while preparing his thoughts. He knew what he had to do next.
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BENJAMIN CLEANED THE nib of his quill and smoothed out a fresh piece of paper. As he addressed the letter to Thomas Jefferson, Secretary of State, he felt his hand tremble and clench a bit. His practiced, elegant penmanship was boring down on the page. He began cordially, acknowledging the fact that Jefferson had probably never received a letter from a Black man:
Sir,
I am fully sensible of the greatness of that freedom which I take with you on the present occasion, a liberty which Seemed to me Scarcely allowable, when I reflected on that distinguished, and dignifyed station in which you Stand; and the almost general prejudice and prepossession which is so prevalent in the world against those of my complexion.
Benjamin reminded Jefferson that he was a free man, endowed with the same liberties as Jefferson himself. Then he contrasted his own situation with that of most African Americans, who were still enslaved.
By the third page of the letter, Benjamin was directly addressing the founders’ hypocrisy. He reminded Jefferson of the Revolution and began quoting his most famous written work—the Declaration of Independence—back to him, writing:
This, Sir, was a time in which you clearly saw into the injustice of a State of Slavery, and that you publickly held forth this true and invaluable doctrine, which is worthy to be recorded and remembered in all Succeeding ages. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, and that they are endowed with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”
… but Sir, how pitiable it is to reflect, that although you were so fully convinced of the benevolence of the Father of mankind, and of his equal and impartial distribution of those rights and privileges which he had conferred upon them, that you should at the same time counteract his mercies, in detaining by fraud and violence so numerous a part of my brethren under groaning captivity and cruel oppression, that you should at the Same time be found guilty of that most criminal act, which you profoundly detested in others, with respect to yourselves.
Benjamin Banneker sat back in his chair. He was surprised by his own clarity, by the way the words had flowed out on a rhythm of truth. He concluded the letter to Jefferson by admitting that he had not set out to write such a long message, but his “sympathy and affection” for his enslaved brethren had caused the letter’s “enlargement.”
Benjamin put the almanac and letter into an envelope, addressed it to Thomas Jefferson, and walked the three miles to the Ellicott & Co. Store so it could be posted. As he left the package and walked back over the stone bridge, along the wooded paths beside the Patapsco River, he took long, deep breaths of the fresh air. He felt expansive, almost elated. He felt that one of the central purposes of his life had been completed.
BENJAMIN BANNEKER AND US. Copyright © 2022 by Rachel Webster.