Quintus Swanson died in March 1775, and the property of his modest estate was sold at a public auction. To their distress, the slaves were sold individually. They were torn apart tearfully, with hopes that someday they could be reunited. At the auction, Quanimo noticed that most bids for the men were about £45, for women £25, and £10 for children old enough to be separated from their parents. She couldn’t tell if the same man bought both of her parents, and she wept silently when she realized that she would never see her mother and father again. When she was led to the center of the platform, she could hear some ribald comments from the men—that she wasn’t old enough to do much work but would be good for other things. She couldn’t understand the exact amount paid for her, because the auctioneer’s words were a cacophony, but the length of the bidding indicated that it was as much as an adult price. Quanimo decided then that she would never reveal her familiarity with the English language.

Although it was not necessary, an iron bracelet was put on her right arm and she and three black men were secured to the back of a two-wheeled cart and instructed by their purchaser to follow it. They soon arrived at dockside and were herded aboard a large flatboat, about twelve feet wide and thirty feet long, containing a number of empty hogsheads. From the scattered grains of rice on the bottom, she surmised that this crop had been brought to market in Savannah. There was a square sail furled near the bow, and she soon counted eight slaves carrying supplies onto the vessel, obeying the unequivocal orders of another black man.

As soon as the loading was complete, the boat was shoved away from the dock, and the men rowed it clumsily to the middle of the stream, where the outgoing tide helped with the movement of the vessel. The men rowed steadily, except when the fitful westerly wind permitted the sail to be used. The four newly acquired slaves were used to spell the crew when they were tired, but Quanimo was never asked to do anything. She sat near the stern leaning against a barrel and listened intently to her new owner, Mordecai Singleton, talking to the black “driver,” whom he called Big William. Their destination was Hopewell plantation, on the north bank of the Ogeechee River. She stayed in her place, except when she moved behind the pile of hogsheads and squatted to urinate. She watched the men drink dipperfuls of water from a barrel near the mast, but refrained from doing so herself, since she was not working.