The Plantation Owner Who Married His Daughter’s Slave: Mobile’s Sinful Pact of 1845

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

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

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

The winter of 1844 cast a peculiar shadow over the wealthy estates surrounding Mobile Bay.

The prosperous port city had grown into one of the south’s jewels, with its broad streets lined with oak trees draped in Spanish moss that seemed to watch over the daily business of cotton merchants and society ladies.

Yet beneath this veneer of gental prosperity lay something more insidious, something that would eventually come to light in the case that still haunts the archives of Baldwin County to this day.

Magnolia Hill stood as one of the most impressive plantations along the eastern shore of Mobile Bay in what was then part of Baldwin County.

The main house sat at top a gentle rise, commanding views across the water toward the city lights of Mobile.

Thomas Blackwood had established the plantation some 25 years prior, having arrived from Virginia with considerable wealth and ambition.

By 1844, Magnolia Hill boasted over 2,000 acres of productive land and was home to more than 60 enslaved individuals who worked the cotton fields that had made Blackwood one of the wealthiest men in the region.

The household consisted of Thomas Blackwood himself, a widowerower since 1839 when his wife Elellanena succumbed to fever, his daughter Margaret, then 23 years of age, and a small staff of house servants who maintained the sprawling mansion.

According to the parish records of Christ Church Episcopal, Elellanena Blackwood was buried in the small family cemetery behind the main house, though curiously no headstone bearing her name has ever been recovered by historians or archaeologists who studied the grounds in the 1960s.

What made Magnolia Hill unusual among the grand plantations of the area was not its size or success, but rather the peculiar atmosphere that seemed to permeate its walls.

Visitors often remarked on the unnatural silence that hung over the main house.

Even during elaborate dinner parties hosted by Blackwood for business associates and neighboring plantation owners, there remained a certain restraint, a tension that no amount of imported wine could fully dissolve.

According to the journal of Reverend James Thornton, who occasionally visited Magnolia Hill to perform services for the Blackwood family, the house itself seems to resist human warmth.

Even on the brightest summer day, the shadows within cast themselves long and deep.

Miss Margaret, though beautiful and accomplished, carries herself with an air of one much older, her eyes revealing little of her thoughts.

This journal, discovered during renovations to the rectory of Christ Church in 1958, provides one of the few contemporary accounts of life at Magnolia Hill during this period.

The reverend’s observations, while discreet, hint at the undercurrents that would later surface in the scandal that enveloped the Blackwood name.

Among the enslaved people at Magnolia Hill was a man called Solomon.

Unlike many others forced to labor in the fields, Solomon worked primarily in and around the main house, having been trained as a carpenter and occasional coachman.

County records from 1838 list the purchase of one negro man approximately 20 years of age named Solomon skilled in carpentry for the considerable sum of $1,800.

The unusually high price suggests Solomon’s valuable skills which Thomas Blackwood evidently sought to exploit for the ongoing expansion and maintenance of his estate.

Solomon’s position afforded him slightly better conditions than those consigned to field labor, but his life remained one of bondage nonetheless.

The few surviving accounts that mention him specifically note his uncommon literacy, a dangerous skill for an enslaved person to possess in Alabama at that time, where teaching slaves to read had been explicitly prohibited by state law since 1832.

Margaret Blackwood, the only child of Thomas and Elellanena, had been educated at one of Mobile’s finest femalemies, and according to contemporary accounts, was considered a desirable match for the sons of other prominent families.

Yet by the age of 23, she remained unmarried, unusual for a young woman of her station during that era.

Letters discovered in a hidden compartment of a writing desk that once belonged to Margaret, found during an estate sale in 1964 suggest she had rejected at least three suitors between 1840 and 1843.

In one such letter to her former schoolmate Katherine Hulkcom dated June 1842, Margaret wrote, “Father grows increasingly impatient with what he terms my willful rejection of suitable arrangements.

He cannot comprehend that I find these gentlemen as substantial as morning fog, present, but without form or character worth noting.

I fear his patience wears thin, yet I cannot bring myself to accept a lifetime shackled to such tedium merely to satisfy his desire for advantageous connections.

The metaphor of being shackled is particularly striking given what would later transpire at Magnolia Hill.

The letter continues with a cryptic reference that has puzzled historians.

There are matters of the heart which I dare not commit to paper, even to you, my dearest friend.

Suffice to say that I have glimpsed something genuine amid the artificial constraints of our society, and having seen it, I cannot unsee it or settle for less.

The winter of 1844 brought unusually cold weather to the Gulf Coast.

According to meteorological records kept by the harbor master in mobile, temperatures dropped low enough to produce frost on more than 20 occasions between December and February, an anomaly that old-timers claimed precaged misfortune.

Whether by coincidence or cosmic design, it was during this bitter winter that the events at Magnolia Hill began their inexraable descent toward darkness.

On the evening of December 20th, 1844, Thomas Blackwood hosted what would be his last social gathering at Magnolia Hill.

The occasion was ostensibly to celebrate the engagement of the daughter of a neighboring plantation owner, but Blackwood had ulterior motives.

According to the later testimony of Abigail Wilson, who served as housekeeper at Magnolia Hill during this period, Blackwood had arranged for Judge Hamilton Porter and his son William to attend with the unspoken understanding that William would pay particular attention to Margaret during the evening’s festivities.

Abigail’s testimony recorded in 1868 as part of a legal dispute over the Blackwood estate describes what followed.

Miss Margaret was wearing her mother’s pearl necklace and a gown of deep green silk.

She performed several pieces on the pianoforte as requested by her father, but excused herself shortly after dinner was served, claiming a severe headache.

Mr.

Blackwood was visibly angered by her departure, but maintained his composure before the guests.

Later that night, I heard raised voices from the library, Mr.

Blackwood and Miss Margaret in heated disagreement.

The words were muffled, but the tone left no doubt as to the severity of the conflict.

What happened in the days immediately following this dinner party remains largely unknown.

The next documented incident occurred nearly two weeks later on January 2nd, 1845 when Thomas Blackwood made an unexpected visit to the office of Harmon Woodley, his attorney in Mobile.

According to Woodley’s meticulous records discovered during research for a 1959 thesis on antibbellum legal practices in Alabama, Blackwood requested several unusual changes to his will and the preparation of documents related to the manumission or legal freeing of an enslaved person.

Woodley’s notes from this meeting include the cryptic observation, “Client agitated beyond usual manner, requested papers with unusual urgency.

” When questioned as to purpose, particularly regarding the manumission document, became evasive, suggested matter related to household harmony, but declined further explanation, most peculiar.

The documents prepared by Woodley were collected by Blackwood the following day.

But what became of them remains unknown.

No official record of manumission for any of Blackwood’s slaves appears in the county archives from this period, suggesting the papers were never filed with the proper authorities.

Throughout January and February of 1845, Magnolia Hill withdrew further into isolation.

Thomas Blackwood, once a regular presence at business meetings and social functions in Mobile, ceased his visits to the city entirely.

Margaret was not seen in public at all.

Deliveries to the plantation continued as usual.

Supplies, food stuffs, and other necessities, but visitors were consistently turned away with various excuses offered by the house servants who guarded the entrance to the long drive leading to the main house.

It was during this period of strange seclusion that rumors began to circulate among the neighboring plantations and eventually into mobile itself.

The nature of these rumors varied, but most centered on Margaret Blackwood’s sudden disappearance from society.

Some suggested illness, others a secret engagement or even pregnancy.

The more malicious whispers hinted at madness, a condition that was said to have afflicted Elellanena Blackwood before her death.

None of these rumors captured the truth, which would not begin to emerge until early March when an enslaved woman named Ruth, who worked in the Magnolia Hill kitchen, managed to pass a message to her sister, who was owned by the neighboring Williams family.

This message, related years later by Ruth’s niece during an interview conducted by the Federal Writers Project in 1937, contained the first hint of the scandal.

Tell Mama, I’m scared for what’s happening here.

Master Dunn lost his mind.

I think Miss Margaret ain’t been herself.

And Solomon, Lord, help him.

I fear for his life.

Something ain’t right in this house.

The exact nature of what wasn’t right would become clearer following the events of March 15, 1845, a date that would later be referred to simply as the incident in the few documents that dared mention it directly.

According to the account given by Abigail Wilson years later, the day began like any other at Magnolia Hill.

The household staff went about their duties.

Meals were prepared and served.

and Thomas Blackwood spent the morning in his study reviewing accounts with his overseer.

Margaret remained in her rooms as had become her habit.

Solomon was working on repairs to the stables, having been instructed to replace several damaged support beams following recent heavy rains.

What happened next is best described in Abigail’s own words.

It was midafter afternoon when we heard Mr.

Blackwood shouting, not calling out, but truly shouting with a rage I’d never heard from him before.

He was striding across the back garden toward the stables, his hunting rifle in hand.

Several of us gathered at the window, frozen in shock.

We could see Solomon standing very still at the stable entrance, his hands raised slightly.

Words were exchanged, though we could not hear them clearly from that distance.

Then Miss Margaret appeared, running from the direction of the rose garden.

Her dress muddied at the hem.

She placed herself between her father and Solomon, her back to the latter.

What she said to Mr.

Blackwood, I cannot say, but his reaction was immediate and terrible.

He struck her across the face with such force that she fell to the ground.

What followed next was described by Abigail as a confusion of movement and shouting.

Solomon apparently helped Margaret to her feet, then faced Blackwood again.

According to Abigail, Mr.

Blackwood raised his rifle, but before he could take aim properly, Solomon lunged forward and grappled with him.

The weapon discharged, but the shot went wide.

They struggled for control of the rifle for what seemed an eternity, but was likely only moments.

Miss Margaret was screaming now, pleading with them both.

Then came a second shot.

Thomas Blackwood fell to the ground, blood spreading across his waist coat from a wound to his abdomen.

Solomon stood over him, still holding the rifle, while Margaret knelt beside her father.

By this time, the overseer and several other men had been alerted by the gunfire and were racing toward the scene from the fields.

What happened in the immediate aftermath has been pieced together from various accounts.

Solomon was seized and imprisoned in the tool shed behind the carriage house with armed men standing guard.

Thomas Blackwood was carried to his bedroom where the plantation’s doctor, hastily summoned from a neighboring estate, attempted to treat his wound.

Margaret was confined to her rooms, reportedly in a state of extreme distress.

Blackwood lingered for 3 days, drifting in and out of consciousness.

During one of his lucid periods, he insisted on speaking privately with Judge Porter, who arrived from Mobile on March 17th.

Their conversation lasted nearly an hour, after which Porter requested writing materials and drafted a document that Blackwood signed with considerable effort.

The nature of this document would not become public knowledge for many years.

Thomas Blackwood died in the early hours of March 18th, 1845.

According to church records, he was buried beside his wife in the family cemetery the following day in a ceremony attended only by household staff Judge Porter and Margaret.

The latter described as veiled and silent throughout.

Notably absent from the attendees were the various business associates and neighboring landowners who would normally have paid their respects to such a prominent member of society.

What followed was a period of eerie calm at Magnolia Hill.

No charges were immediately filed regarding Thomas Blackwood’s death.

Solomon remained confined, but was not turned over to civil authorities, as would have been expected for an enslaved person accused of killing a white man, particularly his owner.

Margaret did not leave the estate, and few were admitted.

Judge Porter visited on several occasions, always arriving after dark and departing before dawn, according to accounts from residents of neighboring properties.

6 weeks after Thomas Blackwood’s death on the morning of May 1st, 1845, the residents of Magnolia Hill awakened to find Margaret Blackwood and Solomon both gone.

Their disappearance was discovered by Abigail Wilson, who reported that Margaret’s room showed evidence of careful packing.

Missing were clothes, jewelry, and personal items, though much remained.

More puzzling was the discovery that Solomon’s confinement had apparently been voluntary, at least toward the end.

The padlock on the shed door was found unlocked with the key placed neatly on a shelf inside.

The overseer immediately organized a search, assuming that Solomon had escaped and perhaps taken Margaret as a hostage.

Horses were missing from the stable, and wagon tracks led from the back of the property toward the north away from mobile.

The alarm was raised in surrounding communities and men set out to track the fugitives.

It was during this search that the first truly shocking discovery was made.

A search party following the wagon tracks approximately 15 mi north of Magnolia Hill came upon an abandoned farmhouse.

Inside they found evidence that someone had stayed there recently, perhaps for several days.

Among the items left behind was a leather portfolio containing several documents, including a marriage certificate.

This certificate, supposedly issued by a justice of the peace in a small settlement near the Florida border, recorded the marriage of Margaret Blackwood and Solomon.

The document bore a date of April 28th, 1845, just 3 days before their disappearance from Magnolia Hill.

The signature of the justice of the peace was illeible and subsequent investigations failed to identify the official who had performed such a controversial and illegal ceremony.

Also found in the portfolio was the document signed by Thomas Blackwood on his deathbed.

This proved to be a new will witnessed by Judge Porter which revoked all previous testaments.

The will contained several extraordinary provisions.

First, it acknowledged that Solomon had acted in self-defense and was not to be prosecuted for Blackwood’s death.

Second, it granted Margaret her inheritance with minimal restrictions.

Third, and most astonishingly, it included the manu mission papers for Solomon, legally freeing him from slavery.

The document had been properly filed with the county by Judge Porter 2 days after Blackwood’s death.

The discovery of these papers caused immediate sensation throughout mobile society.

Judge Porter, when confronted, acknowledged witnessing the will, but claimed no knowledge of Margaret and Solomon’s subsequent actions or whereabouts.

He further stated that Thomas Blackwood had in his final hours shared information that had altered his understanding of certain matters, though the judge refused to elaborate on what these matters might have been.

The search for Margaret and Solomon continued for several weeks, but yielded no further trace of them.

It was as if they had simply vanished beyond the boundaries of Alabama society.

Rumors circulated that they had fled to the north, or perhaps to Europe or the Caribbean, where their unusual union might find greater acceptance.

Magnolia Hill itself fell into an odd limbo.

According to the terms of Thomas Blackwood’s will, the estate belonged to Margaret, but in her absence, it could neither be sold nor significantly altered without her authorization.

The enslaved people who had worked the plantation were maintained in their usual conditions with operations continuing under the oversight of the estate manager appointed by Judge Porter as executive.

This arrangement persisted for nearly 2 years until a letter bearing Margaret’s signature arrived at Judge Porter’s office in January 1847.

The letter postmarked from Boston contained instructions for the gradual dissolution of Magnolia Hill Plantation.

Over the next 5 years, portions of the land would be sold, and provisions were outlined for the enslaved people, some to be purchased and freed, others to be sold to specifically named individuals who were known for less harsh treatment of their slaves.

The letter included a personal note to Judge Porter.

You who knew my father’s secret understand why I cannot return.

Solomon and I have established a new life where our union, while still looked upon with curiosity and often disdain, does not place us in peril of our lives.

I ask that you honor my father’s final wishes, not out of love for him, but in acknowledgment of the truth he finally faced in his last moments.

This reference to Thomas Blackwood’s secret has been the subject of much speculation by historians studying the case.

The most compelling theory emerged in 1966 when a researcher examining parish records from St.

Paul’s Episcopal Church in Mobile discovered a baptismal record dated December 1822.

The record documented the baptism of male infant Solomon, born to house slave Ruth, property of tea, Blackwood.

What made this record remarkable was a notation in the margin apparently added years later in different handwriting, Father Thomas Blackwood.

If this notation was accurate, and considerable circumstantial evidence suggests it was, then Solomon was Thomas Blackwood’s unagnowledged son, making him Margaret’s half-brother.

This relationship would explain Thomas Blackwood’s extreme reaction upon discovering Margaret and Solomon together, as well as his subsequent change of heart on his deathbed when he chose to free Solomon and effectively condone the relationship through his revised will.

The discovery of this baptismal record caused a minor sensation in academic circles when it was published in the Journal of Southern History in 1967, but the full implications were considered too controversial for wider discussion in Alabama at that time.

The article was quietly removed from many library collections, and the researcher who discovered the record found himself unable to secure academic positions within the state.

What became of Margaret and Solomon after their letter to Judge Porter remains largely unknown.

No further correspondence from either of them exists in any archive or collection yet discovered.

The instructions for Magnolia Hill were carried out as directed with the last portion of the estate sold in 1852.

The main house itself burned under mysterious circumstances in 1854 with only the stone foundation and chimneys remaining.

These ruins were still visible until the 1930s when the land was cleared for other development in 1868 during reconstruction.

A man matching Solomon’s description briefly appeared in Mobile inquiring about certain records at the courthouse.

The cler who assisted him later described him as wellspoken, well-dressed, and bearing the demeanor of one accustomed to respect.

The man examined several documents related to the former Blackwood estate, made some notes, and departed.

He gave his name simply as Mr.

S.

Freeman, a surname that could be interpreted as a statement of his liberated status.

There is one final tantalizing piece to this dark puzzle.

In 1959, during an inventory of uncataloged materials in the special collections department of Harvard University’s library, an archavist discovered a slim volume of handwritten poetry.

The book contained no author’s name, but the inscription on the fly leaf read Boston 1853 for s who taught me the true meaning of liberty.

The poems themselves were reflections on identity, belonging, and the heavy burden of family history.

One poem in particular, titled Simply Alabama, contains these haunting lines.

The moss-draped oaks still whisper there of blood and secrets in the air.

What father did, what brother knew, what lovers sworn would dare pursue.

The shadow of that twisted tree grows long across both you and me.

While there is no definitive proof that Margaret Blackwood authored these poems, stylistic analysis and the circumstances of the volume’s discovery strongly suggest her hand.

If so, it represents the only known creative work she produced after leaving Alabama, a ghostly echo of a woman who chose to vanish from her world rather than abandon a forbidden love.

The story of Magnolia Hill and the Blackwood family remained largely forgotten until the discovery of the baptismal record in the 1960s brought renewed interest to the case.

Even then, it was treated more as an academic curiosity than as the profound human drama it represents.

The true nature of Margaret and Solomon’s relationship, whether romantic love, familial loyalty, or mutual desperation for freedom, will likely never be known with certainty.

What we do know is that in the spring of 1845, two people connected by bonds, both visible and invisible, chose to defy the rigid structures of their society and vanish into history rather than submit to its judgment.

The shadow of that choice, like the shadow of the twisted tree in Margaret’s poem, continues to stretch across time, a reminder of how easily human lives can become entangled in the darkest branches of family trees.

The ruins of Magnolia Hill were finally bulldozed in 1968 to make way for a housing development.

During excavation, workers discovered a small sealed metal box beneath what had been the foundation of the main house.

Inside was a miniature portrait of a young woman, presumably Margaret, and a carved wooden figure of intertwined hands, one pale, one dark.

There was no note, no explanation, just these two objects buried beneath the house where so many secrets had once dwelled.

Today, if you drive along the eastern shore of Mobile Bay, you’ll pass the site where Magnolia Hill once stood.

There is no historical marker.

No commemoration.

Only the descendants of those old oak trees remain.

Their branches still heavy with Spanish moss that sways in the gulf breeze like silent watchers.

Guardians of stories that most have forgotten or chosen not to remember.

Some residents of the housing development that now occupies the land report occasional inexplicable cold spots, even in the height of Alabama’s sweltering summers.

Others claim to have heard whispers at night when no one else is present, whispered conversations between a man and a woman, their words indistinct, but their tone urgent, secretive.

Most dismiss these claims as imagination or the natural creeks and groans of houses settling.

But if you should find yourself there as twilight fades into night when the cicadas fall briefly silent before resuming their chorus, listen carefully.

In that moment of perfect stillness, some say you can hear the faint sound of horses hooves on packed earth.

two riders moving away from Magnolia Hill forever, carrying with them a truth too dangerous for their world to bear.

The land where Magnolia Hill once stood has yielded numerous archaeological discoveries over the decades.

Each layer of soil revealing new dimensions to the troubling Blackwood family saga.

These findings have significantly altered historians understanding of life at the plantation and the complex relationships that existed there.

The 1960s excavation in 1964 when the property was being surveyed for potential development.

University of Alabama archaeologists conducted the first formal examination of the Magnolia Hill ruins.

What began as a standard documentation of antibbellum architecture quickly evolved into something more revealing.

Behind the crumbling foundation of the main house, the team discovered the remains of the family cemetery.

While historical records indicated that both Thomas and Elellanena Blackwood were buried there, only one grave marker with legible Blackwood family identification was found.

Several other stones had been deliberately defaced with names and dates chiseled away.

More puzzling was the discovery of a small secondary burial ground approximately 50 yard from the main cemetery concealed within what had been a dense grove of trees.

This area contained three unmarked graves estimated to date from the 1830s to 1840s.

Forensic analysis revealed that one contained the remains of a woman in her 30s, another a child of approximately 3 years of age, and the third an infant.

None matched the documented deaths at Magnolia Hill.

Dr.

Elizabeth Hulcom, who led the excavation, noted in her field journal.

The placement and treatment of these burials suggest individuals of significance to the household, yet deliberately separated from the family plot.

The careful arrangement of the graves and presence of personal items indicate respect and attachment, not the casual disposal one might expect for enslaved people during this period.

Among the items recovered from these graves was a silver locket containing a braid of hair, blonde and dark intertwined, and a small wooden toy horse painted with unusual care.

Laboratory analysis of the woman’s remains indicated multiple pregnancies and evidence of a European genetic background, challenging initial assumptions that these might be graves of enslaved individuals.

The hidden room.

Perhaps the most significant discovery came in 1968 when demolition crews preparing to clear the last structural elements of the house foundation uncovered a concealed basement room not indicated in any architectural plans of Magnolia Hill.

The room approximately 10 ft square had been deliberately sealed off with bricks that when dated proved to have been placed around 1840.

A year after Elellanena Blackwood’s official death date, the sealed room contained a narrow bed frame, a small writing desk, and numerous personal effects preserved in the dry enclosed space.

Most notable among these was a leatherbound journal with the initials EB embossed on the cover.

While water damage had rendered many pages illeible, portions remained readable, revealing what appeared to be the private thoughts of Elellanena Blackwood herself.

The journal entries dating from 1837 to 1839 documented Elellanena’s growing distress over her husband’s conduct.

One partially legible passage reads, “Te continues to visit the quarters at night.

When confronted, he grows cold and threatens to have me sent away.

I fear for my sanity in this house of secrets.

The child born last spring bears his unmistakable features, yet I am expected to observe propriety and silence.

Another entry dated just 3 weeks before her reported death states, “I have found proof at last.

His own records of lineage kept hidden in the study.

Not just one child, but three at least.

And s whom he keeps in the house and favors with training above his station.

The resemblance grows clearer as the boy matures.

How many more of his blood work these fields? The shame is too much to bear.

These writings suggested that Elellanena had discovered Thomas Blackwood’s paternity of multiple enslaved children, including Solomon, and that her fever may have been a convenient explanation for removing her from the household, whether through actual death or through confinement.

The sealed room itself presented a disturbing possibility that Elellanena might have been kept imprisoned there for some period either before her death or instead of it.

Forensic examination of the bed frame revealed traces of restraints attached to the posts, though these could have been added after Elellanena’s time for other purposes.

The overseer’s cash.

In 1975, an unusual spring flood eroded part of the riverbank near where the plantation’s overseer’s cottage had stood.

A local resident walking the property discovered a metal box that had been exposed by the wash out.

Inside were financial records and personal papers belonging to James Haywood, who had served as overseer at Magnolia Hill from 1835 until 1846.

Among these papers was a private ledger documenting payments made to Haywood beyond his official salary.

Several entries corresponded to dates of significance in the Blackwood timeline, including a substantial payment of $50, equivalent to several months wages.

On the day after Elellanena Blackwood’s reported death, another large payment was recorded on the day following Thomas Blackwood’s burial.

Most tellingly, the ledger contained an entry dated January 1840 that simply read, “Special service regarding Mrs.

B.

Transport to Griffin property.

Discretion assured.

” The Griffin property was a smaller holding owned by Thomas Blackwood, approximately 30 mi north of Magnolia Hill, rarely visited and primarily used for timber harvesting.

This entry lends credence to the theory that Eleanor Blackwood may not have died in 1839 as officially recorded, but was instead removed to this remote property, perhaps due to her deteriorating mental state, or her threatening to expose Thomas’s relationships with enslaved women.

The overseer’s papers also contained a crude map marking the location of what he labeled necessary disposal sites, one of which corresponded to the location of the unmarked graves discovered in the 1960s.

A note in the margin reads, TB instructs these matters not to be discussed with anyone, including future overseers.

Additional compensation reflected in special accounts.

The children’s remains.

The most disturbing discoveries came during construction work in 1982 when excavation for a drainage system unearthed human remains in what would have been the far corner of the Magnolia Hill property, well away from any known burial grounds.

Initial forensic examination indicated the remains belonged to two children estimated to be between 8 and 12 years of age who had died in the 1830s.

More troubling was evidence that both children had suffered significant physical trauma before death.

The medical examiner noted multiple healed fractures consistent with ongoing abuse.

Genetic testing, though primitive by today’s standards, suggested a mixed racial heritage.

Among the few artifacts found with the remains was a small carved wooden figure of a bird with a broken wing, similar in craftsmanship to items later attributed to Solomon’s woodworking style.

This raised the possibility that these children might have been known to Solomon, perhaps even related to him other unacknowledged offspring of Thomas Blackwood, who had met with misfortune or deliberate harm.

No records exist of these children in the plantation inventories or parish registers suggesting their existence had been deliberately omitted from official documentation.

Their burial in unconsecrated ground without markers or ceremony indicates they were considered outside the bounds of acknowledged humanity in the Blackwood household.

The baptismal font.

In 1991, during renovation work at Christ Church in Mobile, workers discovered a hidden compartment beneath the baptismal font.

Inside was a small leather pouch containing several folded papers and a lock of dark hair tied with blue ribbon.

The papers included a handwritten note from Reverend James Thornton dated 1843 addressed to his successor.

It read in part, “I place these records here, separate from parish books, as they pertain to baptisms I performed in secret at the request of certain mothers who feared consequences should these sacred acts become known.

I leave it to your conscience whether to maintain this separate account or to incorporate it into official records.

May God guide your decision.

” Accompanying this note was a list of 12 names with dates of birth and baptism.

Three of the entries bore the notation MH, likely indicating Magnolia Hill, and included children with only first names.

Solomon, 1822, Grace, 1825, and William 1828.

Next to Solomon’s name was a further notation.

Mother Ruth, Father, Master of House.

This document provided additional confirmation of Thomas Blackwood’s paternity of Solomon and suggested he had fathered at least two other children with enslaved women at Magnolia Hill.

The presence of the lock of hair when tested in 2003 using advanced DNA methods showed genetic markers consistent with European ancestry supporting the claim of white paternity.

The hidden correspondence, perhaps most revealing, was a discovery made in 2008 during restoration of an antique secretary desk that had once belonged to Judge Hamilton Porter, the legal authority who had been involved in the aftermath of Thomas Blackwood’s death.

Craftsmen working on the desk discovered a hidden compartment containing a sealed package of letters tied with black ribbon.

These letters exchanged between Porter and Thomas Blackwood between 1838 and 1844 revealed a disturbing agreement between the two men.

In these letters, Porter appears to have helped Blackwood manage various delicate situations, including arranging for Elellanena’s confinement following what is described as her unfortunate mental deterioration.

One letter makes reference to securing the necessary medical opinions to support this action, suggesting a deliberate effort to declare Elellanena incompetent, perhaps to prevent her from revealing what she knew about Thomas’s activities.

In it, Blackwood expresses concern about Margaret’s growing attachment to S and asks Porter for advice on separating them permanently without raising questions that might lead to unfortunate revelations.

Porter’s response recommends selling Solomon to a plantation in Mississippi or Louisiana, noting that distance will resolve such inappropriate attachments, and suggesting that the young man’s unusual aptitudes make him valuable enough that the financial sacrifice would be minimal.

This correspondence suggests that Thomas Blackwood was aware of a developing relationship between Margaret and Solomon nearly a year before the fatal confrontation and had been actively seeking ways to prevent it, not just out of the racial prejudices of the time, but potentially because he knew they were half siblings.

Most shocking was a letter dated January 1844, just months before the final confrontation at Magnolia Hill.

Porter’s final letter in the collection dated March 19th, 1845, the day after Thomas Blackwood’s burial, is addressed not to Blackwood, but to Margaret.

In it, he writes, “What your father revealed to me in his final hours changes everything.

I will honor his last wishes as directed, though I cannot pretend to fully comprehend the circumstances that led to them.

The documents are being filed as we discussed.

When the time comes for your departure, I will ensure no pursuit follows.

Some secrets are best carried far from where they were born.

The foundation stones.

The most recent archaeological discovery came in 2017 when ground penetrating radar surveys conducted as part of an environmental assessment of the property revealed anomalies beneath what had been the foundation of the Magnolia Hill main house.

Careful excavation uncovered a series of stones arranged in a pattern beneath the house’s central hallway.

Each stone was carved with a single symbol, designs that anthropologists identified as having West African origins, specifically from regions where many enslaved people had been captured.

These stones placed deliberately during the construction of the house in the 1820s appeared to be a form of spiritual protection or remembrance created by the enslaved workers who built the house.

More significant was the discovery that one of these stones had been modified years after its initial placement.

Turned over and recarved on its hidden side was a name and date.

Ruth, mother of Solomon, 1836.

This suggests that Ruth, Solomon’s mother and presumably one of Thomas Blackwood’s victims, had died in 1836 when Solomon would have been about 14 years old.

The secret memorial hidden literally in the foundation of the house built by enslaved labor represented a profound act of resistance and remembrance.

Soil samples taken from around the stones revealed traces of various substances, including what appears to have been blood and hair, suggesting ritual offerings had been made at this hidden shrine over many years, perhaps by Solomon himself, maintaining connection with his mother, even while living under the roof of the man who had exploited her.

These findings collectively paint a picture of Magnolia Hill as a place where power, exploitation, and blood ties created a web of secrets and suffering that extended far beyond the central figures in the documented scandal.

They suggest that Thomas Blackwood’s relationship with Solomon’s mother, Ruth, was not an isolated incident, but part of a pattern of abuse that produced multiple unagnowledged children and left lasting trauma across generations.

The archaeological evidence also raises the possibility that Elellanena Blackwood’s fate was far darker than the official record indicates, that she may have been confined against her will for discovering her husband’s actions, either at Magnolia Hill itself or at the remote Griffin property.

Whether she died of natural causes, took her own life, or met with foul play remains uncertain, but the evidence strongly suggests that the fever recorded as her cause of death was at minimum a convenient simplification.

For Margaret and Solomon, these revelations cast their relationship in an even more complex light.

If Margaret had discovered that Solomon was her half-brother, perhaps through the same proof Elellanena had found before her disappearance, this knowledge would have added another dimension to the already forbidden nature of their connection.

Their flight from Alabama might then be understood not just as an escape from racial prejudice and legal jeopardy, but as an attempt to outrun the shadow of their shared blood.

In this light, their decision to adopt rather than bear children takes on new significance.

If they were aware of their biological relationship, they may have chosen adoption out of concern for the potential consequences of consanguinity, a choice that would reflect both their understanding of their complicated heritage and their determination to build a family outside its limitations.

Each layer of soil at Magnolia Hill, when carefully examined, has yielded new pieces of a puzzle that may never be completely assembled.

What remains clear is that beneath the manicured facade of antibbellum prosperity lay currents of exploitation, violence, and secrecy that continued to resonate long after the plantation itself had crumbled to dust.

As archaeological work continues sporadically on the site, researchers approach each new finding with the awareness that they are uncovering not just historical artifacts, but the physical evidence of lived experiences that official records sought to obscure or deny.

In this sense, archaeology serves as a form of belated witness, giving material presence to voices that were systematically silenced in their own time.

The land itself becomes a text to be read alongside the written records, often challenging the narratives constructed by those with the power to shape official history.

In the soil of Magnolia Hill, in its hidden graves and secret spaces, in the objects preserved through decades of silence, the fuller truth of the Blackwood family continues to emerge, a truth far more complex and disquing than the sanitized accounts that long prevailed.