In March 1860, Rev. Jermain Wesley Loguen, a formerly enslaved man turned abolitionist, received a shocking letter from Sarah Logue, the wife of his former enslaver. In the letter, Sarah demanded that Loguen either return to her as a slave or compensate her with $1,000 for her “loss.” The audacity of this demand was met with an equally audacious and scathing reply, one that has since become a powerful symbol of resistance against the institution of slavery.
Early Life in Slavery
Jermain Loguen, famously known as the “King of the Underground Railroad,” was born into slavery in 1813 in Davidson County, Tennessee, to Cherry, an enslaved woman who had once been free but was kidnapped and sold into bondage. His father, David Logue, was the man who enslaved them. Loguen’s childhood was marked by the brutality of slavery, yet he exhibited an early resolve for freedom.
At 21, Loguen made his escape with the help of his mother. Stealing his enslaver’s horse, he fled north along the Underground Railroad, eventually crossing into Canada. There, he began to rebuild his life, changing his name from Logue to Loguen to symbolize his break from the man who had enslaved him.
Freedom ignited a passion for education in Loguen. He learned to read, attended the Oneida Institute in New York, and began teaching. He opened schools for Black children across New York State, becoming Utica’s first African-American teacher.
In 1841, Loguen moved to Syracuse, where he and his wife, Caroline Storum Loguen, transformed their home into a station on the Underground Railroad. Publicizing their address in local newspapers, the Loguens openly defied the Fugitive Slave Act, providing food, shelter, and assistance to runaway slaves. Syracuse soon became a hub for abolitionist activity, largely thanks to Loguen’s efforts.
The Letter That Shook the Abolitionist Movement
In 1860, Jermain Loguen received a letter from Sarah Logue, the wife of his former enslaver. In her audacious letter, she demanded that he either return to her as a good slave or pay her $1,000 in compensation for his escape.
Loguen’s reply was published in abolitionist newspapers like The Liberator and remains a masterwork of moral clarity and righteous defiance.
“You are a woman,” Loguen wrote, “but, had you a woman’s heart, you never could have insulted a brother by telling him you sold his only remaining brother and sister.”
Loguen condemned Sarah Logue for her cruelty, pointing out the hypocrisy of accusing him of theft when she had stolen his family and life. He declared that his freedom was worth more than her life and the lives of all slaveholders combined:
“Be it known to you that I value my freedom, to say nothing of my mother, brothers, and sisters, more than your whole body; more, indeed, than my own life: more than all the lives of all the slaveholders and tyrants under heaven.”
He further argued that stealing a horse to escape bondage was incomparable to the theft of human lives.
“Have you got to learn that I had a better right to the old mare, as you call her, than Manasseth Logue had to me? Is it a greater sin for me to steal his horse, than it was for him to steal my mother’s cradle, and steal me?”
Loguen’s letter not only rejected Sarah’s demands but also served as a public denunciation of slavery.
Legacy of Resistance
Jermain Loguen’s influence extended beyond his letter. He was a tireless abolitionist, an eloquent speaker, and the author of The Rev. J. W. Loguen, as a Slave and as a Freeman, a Narrative of Real Life (1859). His home became a symbol of hope for countless fugitives, and his leadership made Syracuse a sanctuary for the enslaved seeking freedom.
Loguen’s personal life reflected his dedication to justice and education. He and his wife, Caroline, raised six children, including Sarah Loguen Fraser, one of the first African-American female doctors, and Amelia Loguen Douglass, who married the son of Frederick Douglass. Jermain Loguen passed away in 1872.
MR. LOGUEN’S REPLY TO HIS FORMER ENSLAVER
Syracuse (N.Y.), March 28, 1860
Mrs. Sarah Logue: Yours of the 20th of February is duly received, and I thank you for it. It is a long time since I heard from my poor old mother, and I am glad to know that she is yet alive, and, as you say, “as well as common.” What that means, I don’t know. I wish you had said more about her.
You are a woman; but, had you a woman’s heart, you never could have insulted a brother by telling him you sold his only remaining brother and sister, because he put himself beyond your power to convert him into money.
You sold my brother and sister, Abe and Ann, and twelve acres of land, you say, because I ran away… Now you have the unutterable meanness to ask me to return and be your miserable chattel, or, in lieu thereof, send you $1,000 to enable you to repurchase the land, not to redeem my poor brother and sister. If I were to return, you would sell me again to get the money, and not that you might get paid.
You say, “I am your property,” and you doubtless say this to stir up my pride, for I was susceptible in that direction. I do pity you from the bottom of my heart. Nevertheless, I am indignant beyond the power of words to express, that you should be so sunken and cruel as to tear the hearts I love so much all in pieces; that you should be willing to impale and crucify us all, out of compassion for your foot of ice. Wretched woman! Be it known to you that I value my freedom, to say nothing of my mother, brothers and sisters, more than your whole body; more, indeed, than my own life; more than all the lives of all the slaveholders and tyrants under heaven.
You say you have offers to buy me, and that you shall sell me if I do not send you $1,000, and in the same breath and almost in the same sentence, you say, “You know we raised you as we did our own children.” Woman, did you raise your own children for the market? Did you raise them for the whipping-post? Did you raise them to be driven off, bound to a coffle-gang? Where are my poor bleeding brothers and sisters? Can you tell? Who was it that sent them into sugar and cotton fields, to be kicked and cuffed, and whipped, and to groan and die; and where no kin can hear their groans, or if they did, sympathize at their dying bed, or follow to their funeral? Wretched woman! Do you say you did not do it? Then I reply, your husband did, and you approved the deed—and the very letter you sent me shows that your heart approves it all. Shame on you!
But, by the way, where is your husband? You don’t speak of him. I infer, therefore, that he is dead; that he has gone to his great account, with all his sins against my poor family upon his head. Poor man! gone to meet the spirits of my poor, outraged and murdered people, in a world where Liberty and Justice are Masters.
But you say I am a thief, because I took the old mare along with me. Have you got to learn that I had a better right to the old mare, as you call her, than Manasseth Logue had to me? Is it a greater sin for me to steal his horse, than it was for him to rob my mother’s cradle, and steal me? If you deny it, and infer that I forfeit all my rights to you, shall I not infer that you forfeit all your rights to the horse? Have you got to learn that human rights are mutual and reciprocal, and if you take my liberty and life, you forfeit your own liberty and life?
If you or any other speculator on my body and rights, wish to know how I regard my rights, they need but come here, and lay their hands on me to enslave me. Did you think to terrify me by presenting the alternative to give my money to you, or give my body to slavery? Then let me say to you, that I meet the proposition with unutterable scorn and contempt. The proposition is an outrage and an insult. I will not budge one hair’s breadth. I will not breathe a shorter breath, even to save me from your persecutions. I stand among a free people, who, I thank God, sympathize with my rights, and the rights of mankind; and if your emissaries and venders come here to re-enslave me, and escape the unshrinking vigor of my own right arm, I trust my strong and brave friends, in this city and State, will be my rescuers and avengers.
Yours, &c.,
J. W. Loguen
Source:
https://www.newspapers.com/article/the-liberator-wretched-woman-reply-from/25857868/
