North Carolina Slaves And Free Persons Of Color: Chowan County, Volume I ? William L. Byrd III. These pages contain a wealth of information transcribed from obscure and fragile, original documents housed at the North Carolina State Archives. Chowan County, named in honor the Chowan Indians, was established in 1670. It was originally a precinct in Albemarle County, and is bound by Albemarle Sound, Chowan River, and Bertie, Hertford, Gates, and Perquimans counties. Part of Tyrell, Hertford and Gates counties were formed from Chowan. Interactions between Blacks and Whites are displayed on both an antagonistic and intimate level. Criminal cases are filled with intrigue?murder, felonies, trading with slaves and harboring slaves. Records are grouped by category, including: Magistrates Court Records, Civil Actions, Criminal Actions, Gun Permits, Patrol Records, Bills of Sale, Free Persons of Color, Hiring of Slaves, Division of Slaves, and Miscellaneous Records. A table of cases for criminal and civil actions augments this work.--Amazon.com.
The march of civilization is attended by strange influences. Providence which directs the advancement of mankind, moves in such mysterious ways that none can sense its design or reason out its import. Frequently the forces of evil are turned to account in defeating their own objects. Great tragedies, cruel wars, cataclysms of woe, have acted as enlightening and refining agents. Out of the famines of the past came experiences which inculcated the thrift and fore-handedness of today. Out of man's sufferings have come knowledge and fortitude. Out of pain and tribulation, the attribute of sympathy—the first spiritual manifestation instrumental in elevating the human above the beast. Things worth while are never obtained without payment of some kind. Individual shocks stir the individual heart and conscience. Great world shocks are necessary to stir the world conscience and heart; to start those movements to right the wrongs in the world. So long as peace reigned commerce was uninterrupted, and the acquisition of wealth was not obstructed, men cared little for the intrigues and ambitions of royalty. If they sensed them at all, they lulled themselves into a feeling of security through the belief that progress had attained too far, civilization had secured too strong a hold, and democracy was too firmly rooted for any ordinary menace to be considered. So insidious and far reaching had become the inculcation of false philosophies summed up in the general term Kultur, that the subjects of the autocratic-ridden empires believed they were being guided by benign influences. Many enlightened men; at least it seems they must have been enlightened, in Germany and Austria—men who possessed liberated intellects and were not in the pay of the Kulturists—professed to believe that despotism in the modern world could not be other than benevolent. The satanic hand was concealed in the soft glove; the cloven hoof artistically fitted into the military boot; the tail carefully tucked inside the uniform or dress suit; fiendish eyes were taught to smile and gleam in sympathy and humor, or were masked behind the heavy lenses of professorial dignity; the serpent's hiss was trained to song, or drowned in crashing chords and given to the world as a sublime harmony. Suddenly the world awoke! The wooing harmony had changed to a blast of war; the conductor's baton had become a bayonet; the soft wind instrument barked the rifle's tone; its notes were bullets that hissed and screamed; tinkling cymbals sounded the wild blare of carnage, and sweet-throated horns of silver and brass bellowed the cannon's deadly roar.
“I’ve finally pretty much decided what to write next—a novel based on Nat Turner’s rebellion,” twenty-six-year-old William Styron confided to his father in a letter he wrote on May 1, 1952. Styron would not publish his Pulitzer Prize–winning The Confessions of Nat Turner until 1967, but this letter undercuts those critics who later attacked the writer as an opportunist capitalizing on the heated racial climate of the late 1960s. From 1943 to 1953, Styron wrote over one hundred letters to William C. Styron, Sr., detailing his adventures, his works in progress, and his ruminations on the craft of writing. In Letters to My Father, Styron biographer James L. W. West III collects this correspondence for the first time, revealing the early, intimate thoughts of a young man who was to become a literary icon. Styron wrote his earliest letters from Davidson College, where he was very much unsure of himself and of his prospects in life. By the last few letters, however, he had achieved a great deal: he had earned a commission in the Marine Corps, survived World War II, published the novel Lie Down in Darkness (1951) and the novella The Long March (1953), and won the Prix de Rome. He had also recently married and was about to return to the United States from an expatriate period in Paris and Rome. The letters constitute a portrait of the artist as a young man. They read like an epistolary novel, with movement from location to location and changes in voice and language. Styron was extremely close to his father and quite open with him. His story is a classic one, from youthful insecurity to artistic self-discovery, capped by recognition and success. There are challenges along the way for the hero—poor academic performance, a syphilis scare, writer’s block, temporary frustration in romance. But Styron overcomes these difficulties and emerges as a confident young writer, ready to tackle his next project, the novel Set This House on Fire (1960). Rose Styron, the author’s widow, contributes a prefatory memoir of the senior Styron. West has provided comprehensive annotations to the correspondence, and the volume also has several illustrations, including facsimiles of some of the letters, which survive among Styron’s papers at Duke University. Finally, there is a selection of Styron’s apprentice fiction from the late 1940s and early 1950s. In all of American literature, no other extended series of such letters—son to father—exists. Letters to My Father offers a unique glimpse into the formative years of one of the most admired and controversial writers of his time.
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