The Carolina Mistress Who Sold Her Own Child.

Born From Her Slave

Welcome to this journey through one of the most disturbing cases recorded in the history of Charleston.

Before we begin, I invite you to leave in the comments where you’re watching from and the exact time at which you’re listening to this narration.

We’re interested in knowing to which places and at what times of day or night these documented accounts reach.

The summer of 1843 in Charleston had been particularly stifling.

Those who could afford to had already retreated to their country estates, seeking relief from both the heat and the epidemic of yellow fever that had begun to claim lives with alarming regularity.

Yet at number 17, Legar Street, the Bowmont residence remained occupied, its windows tightly shuttered despite the oppressive humidity that hung in the air like a burial shroud.

According to tax records of Charleston County, the property had been purchased by Gerald Bowmont in 1828, a merchant who had made his fortune in the textile trade between Charleston and Liverpool.

The records show that upon his death in 1841, the property passed to his only daughter, Eveine, then aged 26 and unmarried.

An unusual circumstance for a woman of her standing and age in Charleston society.

The Charleston Mercury Society pages from 1838 through 1842 make occasional mention of Miss Bowmont attending various functions, though several accounts describe her as reserved and particular in her associations.

The events that would later cast a shadow over Ligar Street began.

According to courthouse records, on June 27th, 1843, when Eivelyn Bowmont registered the purchase of a new enslaved person, a man named Marcus Reed.

What is known with certainty is that by 1843, Eveine Bowmont lived alone in the residence, saved for a household staff of seven enslaved individuals.

The transaction was handled by the firm of Grimald and Sons, one of the largest slave trading operations in the city.

What makes this purchase unusual was not the act itself, but rather the price paid.

County records indicate that Bowmont paid $480 for Reed, nearly double the typical price for an enslaved fieldworker at that time.

More curious still was that Reed was not a field worker at all.

Documents recovered from Grimaldan’s son’s ledgers describe him as literate, aged 29 years, suitable for domestic service, previously employed as manservant to Colonel James Weatherbe of Savannah, Georgia.

Why Miss Bowmont would pay such a premium for a domestic servant when she already maintained a full household staff remains one of the first questions in this troubling narrative.

It should be noted that in the social climate of 1843 Charleston, interactions between white women of standing and enslaved men were strictly governed by unwritten but rigid codes of conduct.

Enslaved men were almost never permitted to serve directly as valets or personal attendants to white women.

Yet parish records from Saint Michael’s Church indicate that Reverend Thomas Palmer during his regular pastoral visits to the Bowmont residence that summer observed that Reed appeared to serve as Miss Bowmont’s personal attendant, a fact he noted as unusual but not unprecedented given the lady’s eccentric nature.

Dr.

William Harrington’s medical log preserved in the Charleston Medical Society archives shows that he was called to the Bowmont residence on August 15th of that year.

The reason for the visit was recorded simply as female complaint, a common euphemism used by physicians of the era when treating women for any number of conditions that propriety forbade naming explicitly.

What makes this visit noteworthy is that it was the first of 23 visits Dr.

Harrington would make to the residence over the next 7 months.

According to testimony later given by Sarah Jenkins, an enslaved cook in the Bowmont household, Miss Bowmont began to withdraw from social engagements entirely by late August.

Jenkins account recorded during the subsequent investigation states, “Miss Eiveline ceased to receive callers entirely, save for the doctor and the reverend.

She gave instructions that the drapes were to remain drawn at all hours, and that no one was to enter the east wing of the house except for herself and the new man, Marcus.

” The Charleston Mercury Society pages from September through December of 1843 contain no mention of Eveine Bowmont at any social function, an absence that would have been noted in a community where social obligations were treated with the utmost seriousness, particularly for a woman of her standing.

A letter from Mrs.

Eleanor Pinkney to her daughter in Philadelphia dated October 12th makes passing reference to this absence.

The Bowmont girl has become positively reclusive these past months.

There is talk that she has developed some nervous condition, though Dr.

Harrington remains discreet on the matter.

Some speculate that her father’s passing has finally affected her mind, delayed, though such a reaction might seem.

Winter in Charleston brought no change to the strange stillness that had settled over the Bowmont residence.

The only regular visitors were Dr.

Harrington, whose visits increased in frequency to twice weekly by January 1844, and Reverend Palmer, whose parish records indicate he called upon the household every Sunday after services, to bring communion to Miss Bowmont, who remains indisposed.

What transpired within the walls of 17 Lagar Street during those months was the subject of much speculation among the neighboring households.

Rachel Cooper, an enslaved house servant at the adjacent property, would later testify that she often heard weeping late in the night, though whether it was Miss Bowmont or some other woman, I cannot say with certainty.

More troubling were the accounts of Peter Brown, a free black knight watchman who patrolled street.

In his statement to authorities in 1845, he claimed that on three occasions between November 1843 and February 1844, he observed a tall male figure moving between the main house and the carriage house in the dead of night, carrying what appeared to be a bundle of some weight.

When questioned further, Brown stated that he had assumed it was household business of no concern to me and had not reported the sightings at the time.

The most significant entry in Dr.

Harrington’s medical log comes on March 3rd, 1844.

The typically sparse notes contain an uncharacteristically detailed entry.

Attended Miss Bowmont for the final phase of her female complaint.

Mother and child appear in good health considering the circumstances have administered the usual tonic and recommended complete rest.

The situation remains confidential as per agreement.

This entry represents the first documented evidence that Eiveene Bowmont had been pregnant and had given birth to a child in the antibbellum south for an unmarried woman of Eiveine’s social position.

Such an event would have been ruinous, not merely to her reputation, but to her entire standing in society.

The father’s identity would have been a matter of grave concern, particularly in a community obsessed with bloodlines and racial purity.

No birth certificate or baptismal record exists for any child born to Everline Bowmont.

However, the parish registry of Saint Michael’s Church contains an entry dated March 10th, 1844 recording the baptism of infant male child Thomas, born to household servant Patience.

Patience was one of the enslaved women owned by the Bowmont household, described in property records as age 24 years domestic worker.

Here, the historical record offers the first of several deeply troubling contradictions.

Sarah Jenkins testimony given in 1845 explicitly states patients had not been with child.

There was no way she could have had a baby.

Miss Eiveene told us that patients would be caring for her sister’s child who had been sent from the country after the sister died of fever.

But we all knew patients had no sister.

By April 1844, according to the account of Elellanena Pinkney in a letter to her daughter, Eveine Bowmont had emerged from her mysterious seclusion, and had begun to make occasional appearances in Charleston society once again.

“Mrs.

” Pinkney noted that Miss Bowmont appeared altered somehow, thinner certainly, but with a strange intensity about her that some find discomforting.

The Charleston Mercury of May 7th, 1844 mentions Miss Bowmont’s attendance at a benefit concert for the orphans of the yellow fever epidemic.

The brief social note adds that Miss Bowmont has generously pledged $100 to the care of children left parentless by the recent epidemic, a substantial sum that reflects well on her Christian charity.

What happened behind the closed doors of the Bowmont residence between March and September of 1844 is largely a matter of conjecture.

The testimony of household servants provides only fragments of the reality.

Rachel Davis, an enslaved laress in the household, later testified that there was a baby in the house kept in the east wing, but we were forbidden to speak of it or to enter that part of the house.

Miss Eveine and Marcus were the only ones permitted to care for it.

According to household accounting books recovered during the subsequent investigation, Eveine Bowmont made a series of unusual purchases during this period.

Imported English baby clothes from Fraser and Company, a silver christening cup from Hayden Brothers Silvermiths, and perhaps most tellingly, a customized miniature portrait locket from Mano Jewelers.

The receipt for this last item dated June 18th specifies two portrait settings with inscription as directed.

On September 23rd, 1844, Eveine Bowmont made an unexpected visit to the offices of Preston and Whitfield, one of Charleston’s most prominent legal firms.

According to the firm’s appointment book, she spent over 3 hours in consultation with senior partner George Preston.

What transpired during this meeting would not become clear until much later.

2 days after this meeting, the Charleston Courier’s classified section contained a notice that would later prove significant.

For sale, healthy female domestic servant age 24 years with male infant child aged 6 months.

Excellent house servant trained in fine cooking and needle work.

Selling due to household reduction.

inquiries to be directed to Preston and Whitfield attorneys.

The female domestic servant was patients and the male infant was the child who had been baptized as Thomas 6 months earlier.

What makes this advertisement particularly significant is that it represents the first documented instance of what was known in the parliament of the time as a fancy sale.

the sale of an enslaved woman with her child, marketed specifically to buyers with certain proclivities.

According to the firm’s transaction records, patients and the infant were purchased on October 2nd by James Woodward, a wealthy planter from Colton County for the sum of $900.

an extraordinarily high price that, as several historians have noted, suggests Woodward understood he was purchasing something beyond mere domestic help.

What Evelyn Bowmont could not have anticipated was that her carefully constructed narrative would begin to unravel just weeks after the sale was completed.

The catalyst was Marcus Reed, who had remained in the Bowmont household throughout these events.

County Sheriff records indicate that on October 21st, 1844, Marcus Reed was apprehended attempting to board a northbound vessel bound for Philadelphia.

In his possession was found the sum of $215, a fortune for an enslaved person, and a letter addressed to the Pennsylvania Anti-Slavery Society.

The contents of this letter were suppressed at the time, but would later prove crucial to understanding the events at the Bowmont residence.

Reed was immediately imprisoned in the Charleston workhouse on charges of attempted escape and theft.

According to the jailer’s log, Eveine Bowmont visited him there on October 23rd and engaged in what was described as a heated exchange.

Following this visit, Reed was placed in solitary confinement, ostensibly for insolent and threatening behavior toward his mistress.

What happened next suggests a calculated attempt to silence Reed permanently.

Court records show that on October 25th, Eveine Bowmont filed formal charges against Reed, accusing him of theft of household valuables and attempted assault upon her person.

Such accusations, particularly the latter, were effectively a death sentence for an enslaved man in Antibbellum, South Carolina.

Yet the case took an unexpected turn when George Preston, the very attorney who had handled the sale of patients and the infant, came forward with a startling revelation.

According to court transcripts, Preston testified that Eiveline Bowmont had consulted him regarding the legal implications of a child born to a white woman, but claimed to be born to an enslaved woman for purposes of concealment and subsequent disposal.

Preston further testified that he had advised Miss Bowmont that such an action would constitute fraud in the sale of property as well as potentially more serious crimes depending on the circumstances of the child’s conception.

He claimed that he had refused to participate in the scheme, but that Bowmont had proceeded without his assistance, merely using his firm’s name in the newspaper advertisement.

This testimony immediately transformed what had appeared to be a straightforward case of an enslaved person’s attempted escape into something far more complex and scandalous.

Judge William Harper, presiding over the case, ordered an immediate investigation into the allegations regarding the child’s parentage and sale.

The investigation quickly focused on recovering the letter found in Marcus Reed’s possession when he was apprehended.

This document entered into evidence on November 3rd contained Reed’s account of the events at the Bowmont residence.

In it, he claimed that he had been purchased specifically because Eiveine Bowmont had developed an unnatural attraction to him and that she had compelled his intimate company through threats of severe punishment or sale to the sugar plantations of Louisiana.

Reed’s letter went on to state that Miss Bowmont had become pregnant and had concealed her condition from Charleston society.

After giving birth, she had forced patients to claim the child as her own, with the intention of later selling both mother and child to remove any evidence of her indiscretion.

Most damning of all, Reed’s letter claimed that the child born of this union bears upon his left shoulder a distinctive mark identical to one upon my own person passed down through my maternal line.

This claim of the identifying birthark provided investigators with a means of verifying Reed’s allegations.

Judge Harper issued a writ ordering James Woodward to produce patients and the infant for examination.

Woodward initially resisted but complied when threatened with charges of obstruction.

The medical examination conducted on November 12th, 1844 by Doctor Harrington, the same physician who had attended Eveine Bowmont during her confinement and two other doctors from the Charleston Medical Society confirmed the presence of a distinctive birthark on the infant’s left shoulder.

Dr.

Harington, when confronted with his own medical logs documenting his treatment of Miss Bowmont, acknowledged under oath that he had indeed delivered her child and had been paid a substantial sum to maintain silence on the matter.

The revelation that an unmarried white woman of high social standing had borne a child by an enslaved man and had then attempted to sell the child created what the Charleston Mercury described as a scandal unparalleled in the recent history of our society.

The case touched on the deepest fears and taboos of antibbellum southern culture.

Misagenation, the undermining of racial hierarchies, and the corruption of white feminine virtue.

The legal proceedings that followed were extraordinary.

Evelyn Bowmont was charged with fraud in the sale of the child, perjury in her accusations against Marcus Reed, and what court documents delicately termed moral crimes against the natural order.

Marcus Reed remained in custody, but was now held as a material witness rather than as an accused criminal.

The most significant legal question, one that had few if any precedents in American juristprudence at that time, concerned the status of the infant.

If the child was indeed born to Eveine Bowmont, a free white woman, then under the legal principle of Partus Sequita Ventrum, that which is brought forth follows the womb, the child would legally be considered free regardless of the father’s status.

Yet this same child had been sold as enslaved property, creating a profound legal contradiction.

As the case proceeded toward trial in early 1845, Charleston society found itself divided.

Some prominent families, including the Pinknney and the Rutigges, withdrew their support from Eveine Bowmont entirely.

Others, however, closed ranks around her, suggesting that she had been corrupted and coerced by Marcus Reed, inverting the actual power dynamic between enslaved and enslaver.

What might have become a landmark case never reached its full conclusion in court.

On January 17th, 1845, Eivelyn Bowmont was found dead in her bed chamber at 17 Lagar Street.

The coroner’s report listed the cause as consumption of lordnum in quantities sufficient to cause sessation of breathing, a common 19th century euphemism for suicide by opium overdose.

Found beside her body was a sealed letter addressed to Reverend Palmer of St.

Michael’s Church.

The contents of this letter have never been made public.

Church records indicate only that Palmer requested and received permission to place it under seal in the church archives to remain unopened for a period of 50 years after which time the persons named therein shall have passed from this earthly realm.

With Eveine Bowmont’s death, the criminal case collapsed.

Marcus Reed was returned to the status of enslaved property now belonging to Gerald Bowmont’s estate.

In what some viewed as an act of mercy and others as an attempt to bury the scandal deeper, Reed was purchased by a consortium of Charleston merchants and transported to Liberia as part of the American Colonization Society’s resettlement program.

No further record of his life exists in American archives.

The fate of patients and the infant Thomas proved equally complex.

James Woodward, perhaps sensing the legal ambiguities surrounding the child’s status, sold both mother and child to a planter in Georgia, effectively removing them from Charleston’s jurisdiction.

Despite efforts by some members of the Charleston Anti-Slavery Society to locate them, they disappeared into the vast brutal system of American cattle slavery.

17 Lagara Street remained unoccupied for nearly a decade following Eivelyn Bowmont’s death.

Local law recorded by folklorist Eliza Pinkney in 1860 claimed that no Charleston family would consent to reside in a home marked by such unnatural occurrences.

The property was finally purchased in 1854 by a merchant from Boston who, being new to Charleston, was perhaps unaware of its history.

In 1895, during renovations to the east wing of the house, workers discovered a small sealed compartment behind a false panel in what had been Eivelyn Bowmont’s bed chamber.

Inside was found a silver locket containing two miniature portraits, one of Eveine Bowmont herself and one of a male infant with striking eyes that, according to the contractor’s written account, bore an unsettling resemblance to the portraits of the lady herself.

The inscription inside the locket read simply, “My heart divided against itself, EB and TB.

” 1844.

The locket and its contents were donated to the Charleston Historical Society where they remained on display until 1932 when they were removed from public view at the request of descendants of the Bowmont family.

Their current whereabouts are unknown.

Perhaps the most disturbing epilogue to this narrative comes from an unexpected source.

In 1893, a man named Thomas Wilson published a brief memoir in a Philadelphia newspaper claiming to be the son of Marcus Reed and Eiveline Bowmont.

Wilson, then in his late 40s, stated that he had been taken north by members of the Underground Railroad after being sold to Georgia and had been raised by a Quaker family in Pennsylvania.

Wilson’s account contained details about the Bowmont residence that historians have confirmed could only have been known by someone familiar with the house or through detailed secondhand accounts.

He claimed to possess the letter written by Eiveine Bowmont on the night of her death passed to him through a chain of individuals connected to Reverend Palmer.

Wilson wrote that the letter contained a full confession of Bowmont’s actions, as well as her express wish that her son should one day know that in her final hours she recognized the grave injustice she had committed in treating her own flesh and blood as property to be disposed of.

Historians and archivists remain divided on the authenticity of Wilson’s claims.

No conclusive evidence has emerged to either confirm or refute his assertion that he was the infant Thomas.

What remains undisputed, however, are the official records documenting Eiveene Bowmont’s pregnancy, the birth of a child, the fraudulent attribution of that child to an enslaved woman, and the subsequent attempt to sell the child into slavery.

The case of Eveine Bowmont and Marcus Reed stands as a stark illustration of the profound moral contradictions inherent in the institution of American slavery.

A system that not only permitted the commodification of human beings, but created conditions in which even the most intimate human connections could be distorted by the brutal logic of property and ownership.

To this day, some residents of Charleston claim that 17 Lagar Street remains haunted by the echoes of its past.

Night watchmen and passers by have reported hearing the sound of a woman weeping or glimpsing the figure of a woman in 19th century dress standing at an upstairs window looking out as if searching for someone long lost.

Whether one gives credence to such accounts or not, what cannot be disputed is that within those walls, a woman once made the unfathomable decision to sell her own child rather than face the social consequences of having crossed the rigid boundaries of race and class that defined her world.

In doing so, she embodied the darkest contradictions of a society built upon human bondage.

Contradictions that would eventually tear a nation apart.

The 50-year seal placed on Eveene Bowmont’s final letter expired in 1895.

By that time, Reverend Palmer had long since passed away, and St.

Michael’s Church had suffered significant damage during the Civil War.

Church archives from that period are incomplete.

And despite extensive searches by historians, the letter has never been found.

Like so many voices from that troubled era, Eveine Bowmont’s final testimony has been lost to time, leaving us with questions that may never be fully answered.

However, in 1962, during the restoration of St.

Michael’s Church, workers discovered a hidden compartment beneath the floorboards of what had once been Reverend Palmer’s office.

Inside was a small tin box containing several documents that had apparently been concealed there sometime before the Civil War.

Among these papers was a sealed envelope bearing Eveine Bowmont’s distinctive handwriting.

Whether this was the infamous final letter or some other communication remains a matter of debate among historians as the church authorities immediately transferred the documents to a private collection without allowing scholars to examine them.

Doctor Margaret Thornton, a historian specializing in antibbellum Charleston society, claimed in a 1968 monograph that she had been granted brief access to these documents and had viewed what appeared to be a confession written by Evelyn Bowmont.

According to doctor Thornton, the letter confirmed the relationship between Bowmont and Reed, but also contained allegations that Reed had been manipulating Bowmont from the beginning with the intention of securing his own freedom and that of his child.

Thornton’s account has been disputed by other scholars, and without access to the original documents, the truth remains elusive.

What we do know with certainty comes from the journal of doctor William Harrington discovered among his papers after his death in 1858.

In entries he never intended for public view.

Harrington described the birth of Eveine Bowmont’s child in clinical detail, noting that the infant bears unmistakable evidence of its mixed parentage, though not so pronounced as to immediately draw notice from casual observers.

He further recorded that Miss Bowmont had initially shown appropriate maternal affection toward the child, but had grown increasingly distressed as the reality of her situation became clear.

Most revealing was Harrington’s entry from February 1844 in which he wrote, “Miss B confided to me today her growing terror that her secret will be discovered.

The child’s features, initially indistinct, as with all newborns, have begun to resolve themselves into a countenance that bears marked resemblance to the father.

” She speaks of hearing whispers among the household staff, and imagines accusatory glances from the few visitors she still receives.

I have prescribed Lordum to calm her nerves, though I fear she may be developing a dependence on the preparation.

This entry provides a glimpse into the psychological deterioration that Evelyn Bowmont experienced as she attempted to maintain her deception.

The pressure of concealing not only the child’s existence, but also its parentage clearly took a devastating toll on her mental state.

In this light, the decision to attribute the child to patience and then sell both mother and child appears less as a cold, calculated act, and more as a desperate attempt by a woman trapped within the rigid constraints of her society and her own mounting paranoia.

Sarah Jenkins, the enslaved cook in the Bowmont household, provided additional insights into the psychological dynamics at play during this period.

In testimony given after Bowmont’s death, Jenkins described how Miss Eveine would sometimes sit for hours in the nursery, holding the child and weeping.

Other times she would refuse to look at it for days, ordering patients to keep it out of her sight and hearing.

Her moods swung like a pendulum, from tender to terrified to cruel.

Jenkins also recounted a particularly disturbing incident that occurred in August 1844, approximately 5 months after the child’s birth.

Miss Eiveline had the child brought to the dining room during an evening when she had invited Reverend Palmer to dine.

She presented the infant as patients child and watched the reverend’s face intently as he blessed the child.

Later that night, I heard her pacing in her room, repeating over and over.

He knows.

God help me.

I could see it in his eyes.

He knows.

This incident suggests that Bowmont’s psychological state had deteriorated to the point where she was testing the effectiveness of her deception, perhaps unconsciously seeking either reassurance that her secret remained hidden or absolution through discovery.

The fact that she chose a man of the cloth as the subject of this test indicates the degree to which her actions had become entangled with questions of moral and spiritual judgment.

Reverend Palmer’s own diary, portions of which were published by the South Carolina Historical Society in 1922, contains oblique references to the Bowmont situation.

In an entry dated September 5th, 1844, Palmer wrote, “Visited the Bean household today.

The lady of the house appears increasingly agitated and speaks in circles about divine judgment and the inheritance of sin.

I fear for her spiritual well-being, but am constrained by the seal of confidence from seeking additional counsel on her behalf.

I can only continue to direct her towards scripture and prayer, though I question whether she truly seeks redemption or merely relief from her conscience.

The relationship between Eveine Bowmont and Marcus Reed remains perhaps the most complex and ambiguous aspect of this narrative.

The power dynamic between enslaver and enslaved fundamentally precludes the possibility of genuine consent or balanced emotional exchange.

Yet the testimony of household servants suggests something more nuanced than simple coercion occurred between them.

Rachel Davis theress testified that Miss Eiveline and Marcus often spoke together in low voices in the library.

Sometimes I would hear them laughing.

Other times there would be heated words, though always too quiet to make out clearly.

He had ways of moving in that house that no other enslaved person would dare.

entering rooms without knocking, speaking without being spoken to first.

This unusual degree of familiarity and apparent autonomy granted to Reed suggests that the relationship had evolved beyond the typical boundaries that governed interactions between white women and enslaved men in Antibbellum Charleston.

Whether this represented a genuine emotional connection, a calculated manipulation on Reed’s part to improve his condition, or some complex combination of the two remains impossible to determine with certainty, what is clear is that Reed possessed a degree of literacy and worldliness unusual for an enslaved person of that era.

The letter found in his possession when he attempted to flee was written in what court records described as an educated hand with sophisticated vocabulary and grammatical construction.

This suggests that Reed had received education well beyond what was typically permitted for enslaved individuals for whom literacy was often actively discouraged or legally prohibited.

The question of how and why Marcus Reed came to be purchased by Evelyn Bowmont in the first place remains one of the most intriguing aspects of this case.

Court records indicate that Reed had previously been owned by Colonel James Weatherbe of Savannah, who had employed him as a personal manservant.

During the investigation following Bowmont’s death, investigators attempted to interview Colonel Weatherbe regarding Reed’s character and background, only to discover that Weatherbe had died 3 months after selling Reed to the Bowmont household.

Weatherbee’s widow, however, provided a statement that raised further questions.

According to her testimony, Marcus Reed had been a troublesome influence in our household and had been sold after Colonel Weatherbe discovered him attempting to ingratiate himself with female members of the family.

She further claimed that Reed had ideas above his station and had once been caught reading books from her husband’s library without permission.

What makes this testimony particularly interesting is that it suggests Reed may have established a pattern of seeking relationships with white women in positions of power or influence over him.

Whether this represented a genuine romantic or sexual preference or a calculated strategy for improving his circumstances is impossible to determine.

What is clear is that Reed possessed both the intelligence and the interpersonal skills to navigate the dangerous social terrain of the antibbellum south with a degree of agency unusual for an enslaved person.

The question of how Evelyn Bowmont became aware of Reed’s existence and decided to purchase him specifically has never been definitively answered.

However, a letter discovered in the papers of Elellanena Pinkney offers a tantalizing clue.

Written in May 1843, approximately 1 month before Bowmont purchased Reed, the letter mentions that Miss Bowmont was quite taken with the handsome manservant who attended Colonel Weatherbe at the Simpson wedding breakfast.

She inquired most particularly about his background and training.

I thought little of it at the time, assuming she sought to improve the quality of her own household staff, but in light of subsequent events, one wonders if her interest was of a more personal nature from the very beginning.

If this account is accurate, it suggests that the initial attraction may have been Bowmont, and that she deliberately sought out Reed after their first encounter.

This inverts the traditional narrative of the enslaved man as predator or seducer of white feminine virtue that was propagated by some of Bowmont’s defenders after the scandal broke.

The conception and birth of the child that would be named Thomas represents the physical embodiment of the boundary crossing that occurred within the Bowmont household.

Dr.

Harrington’s medical logs indicate that the pregnancy progressed normally, though he noted that Miss B displays none of the common maternal anticipation one typically observes in women of her station.

She speaks of the child as a problem to be managed rather than a blessing to be welcomed.

The birth itself, which occurred on March 3rd, 1844, was attended by Dr.

Harrington and a midwife named Ruth, an enslaved woman borrowed from a neighboring household specifically for this purpose.

According to later testimony, Ruth was returned to her owners immediately after the birth and was sold to a plantation in Florida within the week.

Another loose end tidily eliminated from the narrative Bowmont was constructing.

The decision to attribute the child to patience appears to have been made well in advance of the birth.

Sarah Jenkins testified that patience was kept largely confined to her quarters for several months before the child was born with meals brought to her.

When anyone from outside the household called, it was mentioned that patients was in a delicate condition.

Meanwhile, Miss Eiveline remained largely in her rooms, claiming to suffer from nervous exhaustion that required complete rest.

This careful choreography suggests a level of premeditation that complicates any attempt to view Eveine Bowmont merely as a victim of circumstances or her own emotions.

The deliberate construction of a false narrative around the child’s parentage involving the effective imprisonment of patients and the manipulation of social expectations demonstrates a calculated approach to preserving Bowmont’s social position at the expense of those she held in bondage.

The period between the child’s birth and the decision to sell both patients and the infant represents perhaps the most psychologically complex chapter of this narrative.

Mary Wilson, an enslaved housemaid, described finding Miss Eiveline seated in the nursery in the middle of the night, holding the child and singing lullabies, tears streaming down her face.

On other occasions, Bowmont would fly into a rage if the child was brought into her presence, ordering patients to remove it immediately and keep it quiet, as though the very sight and sound of it was unbearable to her.

These dramatic mood swings suggest a profound ambivalence toward the child, a a simultaneous emotional connection to it as her offspring, and a horror of what its existence represented in terms of her transgression of social and racial boundaries.

Household servants testified to Bowmont’s erratic behavior during these months, alternating between periods of intense maternal attention to the child and episodes of what appeared to be disgust or rejection.

This psychological conflict appears to have intensified as the child developed and, as Dr.

Harrington noted, began to display features that more clearly indicated its mixed parentage.

The decision to sell the child alongside patients as its purported mother appears to have crystallized sometime in early September 1844.

This timing coincides with Bowmont’s visit to the law offices of Preston and Whitfield, suggesting that she sought legal advice regarding the sale.

George Preston’s later testimony that he advised against the scheme, but that Bowmont proceeded anyway indicates her growing desperation to resolve the increasingly untenable situation in which she found herself.

The actual mechanics of the sale reveal the extent to which the human trafficking system of American slavery facilitated Bowmont’s attempt to erase her transgression.

The advertisement placed in the Charleston Courier presented patients and the infant as a package, a common practice in slave sales that often had the effect of preserving family units, however perversely, within a system designed to treat human beings as property.

The high price paid by James Woodward, $900 for a domestic servant and infant, has been interpreted by historians as indicating that Woodward understood he was purchasing something more than mere labor.

The term fancy sale, used in some contemporary accounts of the transaction, was a euphemism in the slave trade for the sale of enslaved women who were intended for sexual exploitation by their purchases.

Whether Woodward’s interest was in patience, the unusual-looking infant, or both remains a matter of speculation.

What is clear is that the sale was designed to remove both patients and the child from Charleston, effectively eliminating the physical evidence of Bowmont’s transgression.

The choice of a buyer from Collatin County, some 50 mi distant from Charleston, ensured that the child would be unlikely to be observed by members of Bowmont’s social circle as it grew older, and its features became more distinct.

The unraveling of this carefully constructed scheme began with Marcus Reed’s attempted escape in October 1844.

The timing of this attempt coming just weeks after the sale of patience and the child suggests that Reed may have been motivated by concern for his offspring’s fate, the substantial sum of money found in his possession, $215, raises questions about its source.

Could Eve everine Bowmont have provided these funds, perhaps as compensation or inducement for his silence? or had Reed been slowly accumulating this money through some other means, biding his time until he could make his escape? The letter addressed to the Pennsylvania Anti-Slavery Society found in Reed’s possession represents the most direct evidence of his perspective on the events that had transpired.

According to court records, the letter provided a detailed account of his relationship with Eiveine Bowmont, the birth of their child, and the subsequent deception regarding its parentage.

Most significantly, the letter requested that the society attempt to locate and purchase the freedom of my son Thomas sold alongside the woman patients to James Woodward of Collatin County, South Carolina.

This explicit acknowledgment of paternity along with the attempt to secure the child’s freedom suggests that Reed felt some degree of paternal responsibility toward the infant.

This complicates the narrative of Reed as merely a calculating manipulator using the relationship with Bowmont as a means to secure his own advantage.

The willingness to risk his chance of escape by carrying such incriminating documentation indicates the depth of his concern for the child’s welfare.

Evelene Bowmont’s reaction to Reed’s attempted escape as recorded in the jailer’s log suggests a sense of betrayal.

The heated exchange witnessed by the jailer, followed by Bowmont’s formal accusations against Reed, paints a picture of a woman lashing out in fear and anger at the man whose actions threatened to expose her most closely guarded secret.

The accusations themselves, theft and attempted assault, were clearly fabricated, designed to ensure that Reed would face the harshest possible punishment and would not be believed if he attempted to reveal the truth about their relationship and the child.

In the context of Antibbellum, South Carolina, such accusations against an enslaved man by a white woman of standing would typically have been accepted without question, leading to severe punishment or execution.

The intervention of George Preston, the attorney who had advised Bowmont against her scheme to sell the child, represents a remarkable breach of the solidarity typically shown by white society in matters involving racial boundaries and the system of slavery.

Preston’s testimony that Bowmont had consulted him regarding a child born to a white woman, but claimed to be born to an enslaved woman directly contradicted Bowmont’s narrative and lent credibility to Reed’s account.

What motivated Preston to come forward remains unclear.

In his testimony, he claimed to be acting out of professional ethics and Christian conscience, but some historians have suggested that other factors may have been at play.

Records indicate that Preston’s law firm had represented the Bowmont family for decades, managing their business affairs and property transactions.

The decision to publicly contradict and potentially destroy the reputation of a longstanding client would not have been taken lightly.

Whatever his motivations, Preston’s testimony transformed what might have been a routine case of an enslaved person’s attempted escape into a scandal that threatened to expose the hypocrisies and contradictions at the heart of Charleston’s social order.

The investigation ordered by Judge William Harper, himself a member of the planter class with a vested interest in maintaining the system of slavery, suggests the degree to which Bowmont’s actions were viewed as a threat to established social boundaries.

The medical examination that confirmed the presence of the distinctive birthark on the infant’s shoulder, matching one on Marcus Reed, provided physical evidence that supported Reed’s claims of paternity.

This physical marker passed down through Reed’s maternal line, according to his letter, represented an indelible sign of the child’s ancestry that could not be erased or obscured through Bowmont’s elaborate deceptions.

Dr.

Harrington’s confirmation under oath that he had delivered Eveine Bowmont’s child and had been paid to maintain silence on the matter completed the collapse of the narrative she had constructed.

The physician’s testimony coming from a respected member of Charleston Professional Society carried particular weight and could not be dismissed as the fabrications of a desperate enslaved man seeking to escape punishment.

The legal and social fallout from these revelations was immediate and devastating.

The Charleston Mercury’s description of the case as a scandal unparalleled in the recent history of our society understates the profound shock that rippled through Charleston’s upper classes.

The case touched on the deepest anxieties of white southern society.

The fear of racial mixing, the potential for enslaved men to exert agency even within a system designed to deny it to them, and the capacity for white women, the symbolic repositories of racial purity and social virtue, to transgress the very boundaries they were meant to embody.

The division of Charleston society in response to the scandal reveals the extent to which the case threatened established social narratives.

Those who withdrew support from Evelyn Bowmont entirely were acknowledging the gravity of her transgression against the racial order.

Those who closed ranks around her, suggesting that she had been corrupted and coerced by Marcus Reed, were attempting to preserve the fiction of white female vulnerability and black male predation that underpinned so much of the ideology justifying slavery.

The legal questions raised by the case, particularly regarding the status of the infant Thomas, represented a fundamental challenge to the system of property rights that defined American slavery.

If the child was legally free by virtue of having been born to a free white woman, then its subsequent sale constituted not merely fraud, but a form of kidnapping or false imprisonment.

Yet acknowledging this legal reality would require the courts to recognize and legitimize the product of a relationship that the entire social order was constructed to prevent and condemn.

Evelyn Bowmont’s suicide on January 17th, 1845 provided a convenient resolution to these legal contradictions.

With her death, the primary witness and perpetrator of the alleged crimes was removed from the equation, allowing the case to be quietly set aside without the need to address its more troubling implications for the legal and social system.

The sealed letter addressed to Reverend Palmer, found beside Bowmont’s body, represents one of the most tantalizing loose ends in this narrative.

The decision to place it under seal for 50 years suggests that its contents were considered too sensitive or damaging to be made public in the immediate aftermath of the scandal.

By the time the seal was set to expire in 1895, most of the individuals directly involved in the case would have been deceased and the social and legal context would have been transformed by the civil war and the abolition of slavery.

The fate of Marcus Reed, sold to a consortium of merchants and transported to Liberia, represents another attempt to remove a problematic element from the narrative.

The American Colonization Society’s resettlement program, which transported formerly enslaved people to the colony of Liberia in West Africa, was often presented as a humanitarian initiative, but frequently served as a means of removing free black individuals whose very existence challenged the racial hierarchies of American society.

The disappearance of patients and the infant Thomas into the vast system of American cattle slavery in Georgia illustrates the ease with which human beings could be made to vanish within this system.

Their identities and histories erased as they were bought, sold, and transported across state lines.

James Woodward’s decision to sell them shortly after purchasing them suggests his awareness of the legal complexities surrounding the child’s status and his desire to avoid becoming entangled in the scandal.

The discovery of the hidden locket in 1895 containing portraits of Evelyn Bowmont and the infant with the inscription, “My heart divided against itself,” provides a poignant glimpse into the emotional reality behind the legal and social narrative.

The choice of words suggests that Bowmont experienced her feelings for the child as a form of internal conflict, a division between her natural maternal attachment and the social imperatives that demanded she reject and conceal that attachment.

The removal of the locket from public display in 1932 at the request of Bowmont family descendants indicates the lingering power of the scandal to affect reputations even decades after the events themselves.

The desire to control the narrative around Bowmont’s actions and to limit public access to physical evidence of her transgression demonstrates how deeply the case continued to resonate with questions of family honor and social standing.

The emergence of Thomas Wilson in 1893, claiming to be the son of Marcus Reed and Eveine Bowmont, represents yet another twist in this complex narrative.

Wilson’s claim to possess Eveine Bowmont’s final letter in which she allegedly expressed remorse for having treated her own flesh and blood as property to be disposed of suggests that she may have experienced a moral reckoning in her final hours.

Whether Wilson was indeed the infant Thomas, somehow rescued from slavery and raised in Pennsylvania cannot be definitively proven.

The details he provided about the Bowmont residence, which historians confirmed could only have been known by someone familiar with the house, lend some credibility to his account.

However, such information could potentially have been obtained through other means, including conversations with individuals who had been connected to the case.

What remains clear is that the case of Eveine Bowmont and Marcus Reed continues to resonate as a powerful illustration of the human costs of the system of American slavery and the racial ideologies that supported it.

Within this system, even the most intimate human connections between lovers, between mother and child were distorted by the brutal logic of property and racial hierarchy.

The reports of supernatural occurrences at 17 Lagar Street, the weeping woman, the figure at the window, represent the transformation of historical trauma into folklore, a process by which communities attempt to process and make sense of events that challenge their fundamental understanding of social order.

Whether one gives credence to such accounts or not, they speak to the lasting impact of Eveine Bowmont’s actions on the collective memory of Charleston.

In the end, what makes the case of Evelyn Bowmont and Marcus Reed so disturbing is not merely the transgression of social boundaries that it represents, but the light it sheds on the moral contradictions inherent in the society that produced it.

A system that defined human beings as property created the conditions under which a mother could sell her own child rather than acknowledge its existence.

A society built upon rigid racial hierarchies created the context in which love or desire across those hierarchies became not merely forbidden but unthinkable.

The true horror of this narrative lies not in any supernatural element or graphic depiction of violence, but in the human capacity to compartmentalize, to divide the heart against itself in service of social convention and personal advantage.

It is a horror that continues to echo in American society today as we reckon with the long shadows cast by the institution of slavery and the ideologies of racial difference that sustained it.

As for 17 Legar Street, the property changed hands numerous times in the decades following the scandal.

By the midentieth century, it had been converted into a museum of Charleston history with no mention in its official literature of the events that had unfolded within its walls in 1843 and 1844.

Only in 1968, as part of a broader movement toward a more honest reckoning with the city’s complex past, was an exhibit installed that acknowledged the Bowmont Reed case.

Today, the House stands as a silent witness to a chapter in American history that many would prefer to forget.

A chapter that reveals how systems of oppression corrupt not only those who are oppressed, but also those who benefit from the oppression.

The case of Eveine Bowmont and Marcus Reed reminds us that the most profound horrors are not those that can be easily relegated to the realm of superstition or fantasy, but those that emerge from the darker corners of human nature when shaped by unjust social systems.

As the evening shadows lengthen across Lagar Street, one might imagine Eiveline Bowmont still standing at that upstairs window, searching the horizon for something forever lost to her.

Her child, her moral compass, or perhaps the person she might have become in a different society, one that did not require her to choose between her heart and her place in the world.