THE ELEVENTH HOUR

Samuel D. Burris, Abolitionist

1848

Samuel D. Burris was stripped of his clothes and dragged nearly naked to the slave auction block in Dover, Delaware. Poked and prodded by potential buyers, the slave owners felt his muscles, checked his head for lice, looked at his back to see if he had been whipped, and probed in his mouth to inspect his teeth. His worst nightmares were coming true.

Samuel D. Burris was a free, educated black man. He had been born in Willow Grove, Delaware, in 1808. A black person in the state of Delaware was considered free unless proven otherwise, but ads offering rewards for runaway slaves appeared frequently in newspapers, and sometimes free black people were abducted because they resembled descriptions of runaways. They were kidnapped and taken back to slave states without the benefit of a trial.

The free state of Delaware bordered Maryland (a slave state) on the west and Pennsylvania (a free state) on the north. As an adult Burris had moved with his family to Philadelphia, where there was a vibrant community of abolitionists. He partnered with Thomas Garrett of Wilmington, Delaware, and John Hunn, a Maryland Quaker, in working on a system of secreting fugitive slaves to Canada.

In time Burris came to be recognized as an agent of the Underground Railroad. He would often go deep into Maryland to conduct a group of fugitives northward, stopping at various stations along the Underground Railroad. Burris’s belief in what he did and his success as both an agent and conductor may have allowed him to think he was invincible.

Proponents of slavery were suspicious of Samuel Burris, and no doubt kept a watchful eye on him. In 1848 he was apprehended in Dover, Delaware, while transporting a band of runaway slaves and was thrown in jail. When news of his capture reached John Hunn and Thomas Garrett, they contacted the Anti-slavery Society in Philadelphia. Though the members of the society had not always sanctioned Burris’s actions, they were well aware of his services in bringing slaves to freedom. They set out to do what they could for him.

Burris sat in prison for months while he awaited trial. Meanwhile, preparation for a legal battle was moving forward just one hundred yards away in the state capitol. James M. McKim of the Anti-slavery Executive Committee took particular interest in Burris’s case. McKim and his office, along with John Hunn and Thomas Garrett, implored the governor to intervene on Burris’s behalf. The governor turned a deaf ear.

At Burris’s trial it was determined that legislation enacted in 1837 should be upheld. The law clearly stated that any free black person convicted of assisting fugitive slaves would be sold into slavery himself for a period of time determined by the court. The judge gave Burris a sentence of seven years of servitude. A shocked and dejected Burris was led out of the courtroom. There would be no appeal.

In September of 1848 Burris was led down the steps of the Delaware State House to Dover’s town center. He was made to stand with the very people he had risked his life to save. Dejected and demoralized, no doubt stunned by man’s inhumanity to man, he was pushed roughly to the forefront. The auctioneer began to enumerate his fine physical attributes. Burris caught the eye of his friend John Hunn among the group of spectators, and Hunn’s sympathetic countenance said it all. There was absolutely nothing he could do.

Two slave traders from Baltimore were bidding against each other for Samuel Burris. Another trader, a Southern gentleman new to the area, seemed to have a particular interest in him. The man postured as if he had a great deal of money to spend. One of the Baltimore dealers was in the lead, with a bid of $500. The Southern buyer upped the ante to $600, giving the impression that he would be increasing the bid by increments of $100. The dealers from Baltimore hesitated. The slight pause gave the Southern buyer the advantage. The auctioneer cried “Sold!” and pounded his gavel. The sound reverberated in Burris’s ears.

John Hunn watched dejectedly as Burris was led off the block. Those who had come to witness Burris’s punishment for breaking the law had smug looks on their faces. Hunn only shook his head and sadly walked away.

But the Southern buyer who had purchased Burris seemed indifferent. He picked up his bill of sale and led his new slave property away. When they were out of sight of the slaveholders, his “owner” whispered into Burris’s ear, “You have been bought with abolition gold.” It must have been hard for Burris to believe. It had all been a ruse.

The “Southern slave owner” who bought him was none other than Isaac S. Flint, an avid abolitionist from Wilmington, Delaware. James McKim from Philadelphia’s Anti-slavery Society did not dare let John Hunn or Thomas Garrett pose as the slave trader, for fear of being recognized. Instead someone with a low profile was chosen. McKim had raised the necessary funds to buy Burris right out from under the nose of the slave traders. Under an assumed name, Flint had been studying the Baltimore slave traders until he could mimic them perfectly. Fortunately the bidding had stopped when it did; if the amount had been too high, Burris’s fate would have been sealed.

In a strange reversal of roles, Samuel D. Burris was now a passenger on the same Underground Railroad he had previously supported. He was conducted to Philadelphia and reunited with his family.

That same year, John Hunn and Thomas Garrett were tried and fined for assisting other fugitives. It nearly bankrupted the men, but they continued their work for freedom’s cause.

After a few years in Philadelphia, Burris took his family to California in 1852. He kept abreast of the Underground Railroad’s activities back East, however, and did what he could to help. He also assisted former slaves who had come to California looking for a better life. After the Civil War, when there was a particular need to assist the freed slaves seeking refuge in Washington, DC, Burris contacted the black churches in San Francisco to raise funds for the cause. In 1869 he died at the age of sixty-one, eulogized as a man who had devoted his entire life to the fighting of injustice.