“They spread inside without a sound. The others wanted Nat...to strike the first blow and kill Joseph Travis. With [fellow slave] Will close behind, Nat entered the master bedroom where Joseph and [his wife] Sally lay sleeping. Now. Nat swung his hatchet in the darkness - a wild blow that glanced off Travis's head. Instantly Joseph bolted upright and screamed for his wife in deranged, incomprehensible terror. But Will moved in and hacked Joseph and Sally to pieces, bringing his ax down again, and again, and again. In minutes Will and the others had slaughtered the four whites they found in the house, including Joel Westbrook and Putnam Moore. With the deaths of Putnam and Joseph Travis, Nat had no earthly masters left. After thirty years in bondage, he was free at last. Yes, free at last…”
- Stephen B. Oates, The Fires of Jubilee: Nat Turner’s Fierce Rebellion
The deadliest slave revolt in U.S. history took place in the early morning hours of August 21, 1831, in Southampton County, Virginia. It was led by a slave-turned-mystic named Nat Turner, who claimed to have received his orders from God. The fury unleashed by Turner killed approximately 60 white people, including women and children.
By August 23, the rebellion had been suppressed by local militia units. Eventually, Virginia executed 56 black people for taking part in the short-lived uprising. As many as 200 more were killed in spasms of violence perpetrated by vengeful militiamen. Nat was captured, placed on trial, convicted, and sentenced to death. On November 11, 1831, he was hanged from “a gnarled old tree” northeast of the town of Jerusalem. The body was given to surgeons for dissection. “They skinned it,” wrote 19th century historian William Sidney Drewry, “And made grease of the flesh.”
It is hard to measure the actual effects, be they large or small, that Turner’s Rebellion had on the course of history, given that the Civil War took another 30 years – and another failed uprising – to begin. Still, there’s no question as to the insurrection’s emotive power. Nearly two centuries later, it still resonates with people. Like the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, it has become a vivid symbol of defiance in the face of oppression.
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Turner’s Rebellion is also exceedingly controversial.
From William Styron’s novel The Confession of Nat Turner to Nate Parker’s film The Birth of a Nation, artists have wrestled with Turner’s legacy, and his meaning.
Thus, perhaps the most surprising thing about Stephen B. Oates’s The Fires of Jubilee is how non-controversially it is presented. Oates plays this one straight down the middle, delivering a short (154 pages of text) narrative that delivers the facts – as they are documented – without any additional commentary, steering clear of any interpretations of the tale he’s just delivered.
This results in a book that satisfyingly delivers the history, without any argument as to why it matters or endures.
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Oates begins The Fires of Jubilee with a prologue that sets the scene of Southampton County in 1831. From there, he takes us through what is known of Nat Turner’s life before he attained his historical immortality. The bulk of this book is devoted to a painstaking recreation of Turner’s brief, vicious killing spree. The slaves who took part in the uprising used the tools at hand for weapons, making for unavoidably gruesome assaults that played into white fears and propaganda forever after.
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Turner’s path is related in narrative fashion by Oats, which makes for gripping, white-knuckled reading, especially during the rebellion itself.
I am not convinced, however, that this is the best way to tell the story. There is a lot about Turner’s short rebellion to unpack, and Oates doesn’t even bother.
To take just one example, we have the issue of Nat Turner hearing voices from God. This – at least to me – seems like something worth exploring.
Obviously, I understand why Oates would steer clear of this tricky issue. Turner is a hero who took the freedom that belonged to him by natural law. It would be wrong – given his circumstances – to simply reduce him to a mental health diagnosis. Yet he also displayed the kind of hyper-religiosity that modern psychiatrists or psychologists would question.
Other moral complexities of the rebellion stem from Turner’s conduct, especially with regard to the killing of non-combatants. Again, a person attempting to secure their freedom in a world that does not recognize him as human exists in an ethical universe very different from the one that we move through every day. Nevertheless, Oates should have at least aired these issues, even if answers cannot be provided.
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Oates's choice to write in a novelistic fashion also obscures the dearth of hard historical fact underlying Turner’s Rebellion.
The bulk of Turner’s story comes from his alleged “confession” to a local attorney named Thomas R. Gray. Gray later published his interview with Turner in book form. To Oates’s credit, he does include a quick analysis as to why he feels that Gray’s The Confessions of Nat Turner is a credible source, though other historians disagree. My edition of the book even includes Gray’s work in its entirety.
That said, I wanted more discussion of the various sources included within the text. Given the explosive atmosphere, and the way that whites used the rebellion for their own ends, it’s important to know where the evidence came from, and what credibility it deserves. Oates relies heavily on trial records, for instance, yet never explains whether the testimony adduced during those trials came as the product of coercion or force.
Narratives are seamless by their nature. They give you the illusion of something generally agreed upon. General agreement certainly does not define the Turner legacy.
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Oates concludes The Fires of Jubilee with an epilogue set in Southampton County in 1973, two years before the original publication date. For the only time in the book, Oates writes in the first-person. He describes doing research in the Southampton County Courthouse. He details a road trip that followed in Turner’s path, visiting the few sites that still exist.
It adds up to a fascinating essay, a vision of the South in the midst of the Civil Rights movement, where blacks and whites shared an uneasy existence. Oates astutely observes a region of superficial politeness and gentility that acted as a veneer for simmering racial tension. I think The Fires of Jubilee would have been far more effective and memorable if Oates used this style throughout. We may be through with the past – as the saying goes – but the past is not through with us.
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If you study the American Civil War long enough, you start to hear people questioning – under their breaths – why more enslaved persons did not rebel. The same kind of mutterings come from the dark corners of Second World War historiography, directed at Jewish people who were sent to the camps.
The answer – for both the black enslaved and the Jewish people of Europe – is that they were part of a vast system designed to blunt that very thing. This is why state laws in the South worked to prevent literacy, kept abolitionist materials from filtering down from the North, and reacted with extreme severity to any signs of revolt. This is why the severed heads of those who rebelled decorated the roadsides in Southampton County.
Nat Turner tried to overcome all that. In so doing, he is a resonant reminder of generations of people whose lives were lived for the profits of others. Ultimately, the Turner Rebellion is one of those historical moments where deriving a symbolic meaning seems far more important than a strict chronological retelling.
Good as it is, The Fires of Jubilee is not quite up to the task of capturing the elusive spirit of Nat Turner. Indeed, the gaps in the historical record mean that Turner’s story belongs more naturally to the fiction writer and the filmmaker. Tethered to sources that are too few in number, and subject to numerous biases, Oates simply cannot harness the underlying power of Nat Turner’s saga.