Showing posts with label northern slavery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label northern slavery. Show all posts

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Telling A Slave's Story In Philadelphia



From the Philadelphia Inquirer, on 11 July 2002, Jane Eisner reported "How to tell Philadelphia slavery story" -- The story of slavery in Philadelphia will be told. That much seems certain.

Now that a House committee voted Tuesday to "appropriately commemorate" the eight slaves who toiled in President Washington's official residence near Independence Hall, the National Park Service is sure to comply.

This uncomfortable paradox of history - that, just steps away from the birthplace of freedom, the father of freedom owned other human beings - can no longer be brushed aside.

But as historians argue over how to tell the story of Washington's slaves, it's worth remembering another occasion on which controversy over slavery made headlines and jarred sensibilities in this Northern city. What happened a century and a half ago may have a telling message for today.


For about a month in 1855, John Hill Wheeler became perhaps the most famous slaveholder in the United States, all because of an escaped slave and a notorious trial in Philadelphia.

I read of Wheeler in the fascinating introduction written by Harvard scholar Henry Louis Gates to The Bondwoman's Narrative by Hannah Crafts. Gates purchased the narrative at auction and vigorously authenticated that it was, indeed, written by an escaped slave just before the Civil War. He concluded that the "Mr. Wheeler" in the narrative was John Hill Wheeler of Washington and North Carolina, a federal bureaucrat and plantation owner who was a staunch - and, in the end, foolhardy - defender of the entire system of slavery.

Wheeler, it turns out, was no match for Jane Johnson, the slave who accompanied him when he sailed into Philadelphia on July 18, 1855. Johnson, traveling with her two sons, had wanted to escape and sent a message to William Still, a free black man who ran the Underground Railroad. Still and Passmore Williamson, a white abolitionist, met Johnson and her sons on the boat and implored her to leave with them.


"If you prefer freedom to slavery, as we suppose everybody does," Still told her, "you have the chance to accept it now. Act calmly - don't be frightened by your master - you are as much entitled to your freedom as we are, or as he is."

Wheeler was the one who was frightened - and furious. When he tried to stop Johnson's escape, a minor scuffle ensued, and Williamson put his hands on Wheeler. That was enough to get them all charged with riot, forcible abduction, and assault.

Not only that, but Wheeler also filed a civil and a criminal complaint against the men who, he contended, violated the 1850 Fugitive Slave Act by "stealing" Johnson, his "property." The trial was a cause célèbre - especially when Jane Johnson made a daring appearance in court. In the end, Johnson stayed free, and Still was acquitted, though Williamson spent a much-publicized three months in jail.

Perhaps most important, Wheeler failed spectacularly in his claim that, even in Philadelphia, the slaves were his property. "The trial forced Northerners to address the troublesome issue of slavery brought onto Northern territories," says local historian William C. Kashatus.


It may also change the way we tell the Philadelphia story of slavery. It's not only a tale of victimization and indignity. It's also a tale of courageous human beings - slave and free - taking history into their own hands.

Years before Washington and his slaves came to live on Market Street, Benjamin Franklin carried a petition to the Continental Congress to abolish slavery. The antislavery society he helped establish in 1775 - the same one Passmore Williamson later belonged to - still is in existence today.

In fact, two of the eight slaves owned by Washington made daring escapes before their owner returned to Virginia.

David Moltke-Hansen, president of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania, says scholars have come a long way from viewing slaves merely as infantilized victims, stripped of personality and humanity. "There's a good deal of discussion now about how slaves negotiated space for themselves, asserted themselves," he says. "But the popular imagination hasn't caught up with that."

Now is our chance. (source: Philadelphia Inquirer)

Philadelphia Story: The Slaves At The President's House

Statue of President George Washington Outside of Independence Hall

From the New York Times, "Reopening a House That’s Still Divided," by Edward Rothsetin --  PHILADELPHIA — The convulsive currents that roil the telling of American history have become so familiar that they now seem an inseparable part of the story itself. Here is a nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to a proposition of human equality, that, for much of its first century of life, countenanced slavery, institutionally supported it and economically profited from it. The years that followed have been marked by repair, reform and reversals; recompense, recrimination and reinterpretation. Extraordinary ideals and achievements have been countered by extraordinary failings and flaws, only to be countered yet again, each turn yielding another round of debates.

Constance the Constitution Cow, Philadelphia, PA

And here, in this city where the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence were signed; where a $300 million Independence National Historical Park has been created, leading from the National Constitution Center to Independence Hall; and where the Liberty Bell, as a symbol of the nation’s ideals, draws well over a million visitors a year, a great opportunity existed to explore these primal tensions more closely on a site adjacent to the Liberty Bell Center in Independence park. Unfortunately, those opportunities have been squandered in “The President’s House: Freedom and Slavery in the Making of a New Nation” which opens on Wednesday.

It is almost painful, given the importance of this site, to point out that the result is more a monument to these unresolved tensions than a commemoration of anything else. After $10.5 million and more than eight years; after tugs of war between the city and the National Park Service and black community organizations; after the establishment of a contentious oversight committee and street demonstrations, overturned conceptions and racial debates, it bears all the scars of its creation, lacking both intellectual coherence and emotional power. On Wednesday the Park Service takes over the site with its work cut out for it, since rangers will have to weave the competing strands together.

Public Restrooms on the site of the President's House in Philadelphia, PA

But consider what opportunities there were. The construction of a new $9 million exhibition space for the Liberty Bell drew attention to this adjacent site, where the nation’s first two presidents — George Washington and John Adams — had lived between 1790 and 1800, when Philadelphia was the nation’s capital.

The house had long ago been demolished — much of it in the 1830s — and in the 1950s the site, near Sixth and Market Streets, was the location of a public restroom. But the house was once one of the grandest mansions in Philadelphia. Its inhabitants included Richard Penn (grandson of the Pennsylvania colony’s founder); the British general William Howe (who occupied Philadelphia while Washington’s army licked its wounds in Valley Forge); Benedict Arnold (who may have begun his espionage here); and Robert Morris (a financier of the Revolution). All vanished history.

Then, in an illuminating 2002 article in The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, the historian Edward Lawler Jr. mapped out the house and its probable dimensions, and pointed out the irony that just steps from the new Liberty Bell Center was a site that had once sheltered Washington’s slaves.

George Washington's Statue, Outside of the Philadelphia Museum of Art

The Park Service contested some of his conclusions and refused to outline the footprint of the lost President’s House in its designs for the center. But the issue was soon taken up by scholars, including Gary B. Nash, author of the new book “The Liberty Bell,” as well as by political activists like the lawyer Michael Coard and his Avenging the Ancestors Coalition, who argued that the existence of slave quarters adjacent to the city’s paean to liberty demanded major commemoration.

There was a cascade of events, chronicled by The Philadelphia Inquirer, including Congressional legislation and financing, city oversight and funds, an expansion of the Liberty Bell exhibition, the establishment of an oversight committee and the solicitation of redesigns. In 2007 an archaeological dig began, revealing the foundation and the remains of a tunnel once used by servants and slaves. The dig, viewed by the public, ignited debate.

Washington ultimately took nine slaves to Philadelphia from Mount Vernon, where more than 200 slaves were held. And they were part of a household staff that may have numbered two dozen, including white indentured laborers and servants. Though the slaves were part of a population of nearly 4,000 others in Philadelphia, there were also more than 6,500 free blacks in the city in 1790, and Washington’s slaves were exposed to the experience of liberty.

George Washington's Statue, Outside of the Philadelphia Museum of Art

We know some astonishing details about the effects. Ona Judge (here called Oney), a servant to Martha Washington, and Hercules, the household cook, both escaped to freedom.

Some of Washington’s most unattractive characteristics also emerge. He and Martha Washington pursue Judge for years, though she later establishes herself with her own family in New Hampshire. And though Washington expressed his opposition to slavery, and freed his own slaves in his will, he went through bizarre machinations to ensure that the slaves he took to the nation’s capital would not be subject to local laws granting them freedom after six months. He exchanged them with others at Mount Vernon, issuing instructions: “I wish to have it accomplished under pretext that may deceive both them and the public.”

So here we not only have the father of our country showing his darkest side, we also see the foundations of the nation at their darkest. Yet here is where Washington invented the executive branch, conducting affairs of state. Here is where it became clear that a democratic ruler was no king, had no claim on his dwelling place and was himself meant to serve the people.




How, then, should such a site be developed? A 2005 call for designs stressed that it would have to pay attention to many themes: the house, its workers, the executive branch, African-American Philadelphia, escapes to freedom. In addition, it noted that community discussions led to five “cultural values” that should be clear: identity, memory, agency, dignity, truth. There was also a requirement that the site be open 24/7 to visitors.

As ultimately designed by Kelly/Maiello, the site is a space bounded by a low wall roughly outlining the footprint of the house (but often departing from it), marked by protruding rectangular slabs into which are inserted mock fireplaces and video screens. In the house’s heart, a transparent wall allows visitors to view the archaeological work in progress. And attached to the walls are either long panels surveying historical themes — the executive branch, slavery in the President’s House — or rudimentary illustrations. A few show the escape of Judge, a few give some glimpse of foreign policy in the house (protests over the Jay Treaty with England), and more give some sense of slavery (including Washington’s signing of the Fugitive Slave Act, which put all escaped slaves in danger).

“History is not neat,” we read. “It is complicated and messy. It is about people, places and events that are both admirable and deplorable.” And the President’s House, we are told, “exposes the core contradiction at the founding of this nation: enshrinement of liberty and the institution of slavery.”




But what precisely is being exposed? A few yards away, the Liberty Bell Center discusses abolition and slavery; the park’s visitor center has an exhibition about the Underground Railroad; the nearby African American History Museum has a powerful audio and video history of blacks in Philadelphia. Accounts of slavery are even found at Mount Vernon.

Here, though, we get neither a sense of the place, nor a sense of the issues (and much of the year, the open air will be inhospitable). We don’t learn about the differences between Washington and Adams. We don’t learn much about the pictured events. There is no real narrative. Illustrations can also be melodramatically contentious: we see a seemingly disdainful Washington dangling a “peace medal” before a suspicious Seneca Indian leader

As for slave life, it is also difficult to piece together. The video screens that come to life above the fake mantels give the impression of a half-finished 21st-century home. The videos themselves (with scripts by Lorene Cary), in which slaves and servants provide first-person accounts of experiences, at least provide some sense of life. But how do we put these experiences in context? What was Philadelphia’s free black community like? How did white workers and black slaves live together here?


We are told that the President’s House “offers an opportunity to draw lessons from the past.” But what lessons? That Washington was flawed? That slavery was an abomination? Are these revelations? A memorial to the practice of slavery is mounted here, inscribed with the names of African tribes from which slaves derived, but it has no particular relationship to Philadelphia or this site. The need for some such memorial is keen, but here it seems thumped down as an intrusion.

So what is learned? Not what makes this site special, but what makes it ordinary; not the foundations of what led to the overcoming of slavery, but a sense of its enduring presence. Would this display be any different if presidents had not lived here? And would our understanding be any different without it?

“The President’s House” opens on Wednesday in Independence National Historical Park in Philadelphia; phila.gov/presidentshouse. [source: New York Times]


RON'S RANT:  Here is a presentation that exposes the disjointedly amateurishness of the Slaves at the President's House in Philadelphia.  Everything about this presentation is painful to watch, the lighting is bad, the audio is bad, the powerpoint is bad and preparation is a big WTF didn't ANYBODY prepare their remarks!

I visited this site a couple of weeks ago with my family (Middle of May in 2012).    The above New York Times article, expresses my disappointment in the execution and presentation of the narration.  George and Martha Washington's slaves follow the trajectory of American History.  They are like the "Forrest Gump" of slaves.  They served George Washington's family before the Revolution, his body servant was like his sidekick in all of the battles that George Washington fought.  They show-up in Martha Washington's correspondence with Abigail Adams and Dolly Madison.  George Washington kept impeccable records regarding his slave property.  Martha Washington's dowry slaves became the slaves of General Robert E. Lee in Arlington, Virginia.


The group that did the President's House Project needed to do more research at Mount Vernon and Arlington National Cemetery -- I'll bet that the remains of the dead slaves are buried at Arlington National Cemetery.    The slaves of George and Martha Washington are some of the most documented enslaved people in the USA.  How and Why the committee didn't do their research baffles me for sure.

The slaves of George and Martha Washington tell a great story of American History from the French and Indian Wars through the Civil War (remember Gettysburg is in Pennsylvania, too).  Why was this group chosen to tell their story so poorly?  Nobody can say it was about money.  I'm a nobody from nowhere, flat broke and I don't earn a freaken dime from this site, but it's a labor of love.  I do my homework and research to try to add heat as well as light to the story of slavery.  I do this for NOTHING, yet these clowns waste millions upon millions of dollars to produce a disappointing mishmash of history.  -- Ron Edwards, US Slave Blog

 History as Cultural Work: The President's House Project in Philadelphia

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Isabella, Sojourner Truth, and American Slavery By Nell Irvin Painter

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Sojourner Truth: A Life, A Symbol
By Nell Irvin Painter
Chapter One: Isabella, Sojourner Truth, and American Slavery

SOJOURNER TRUTH, born Isabella, is one of the two most famous African-American women of the nineteenth century. The other, Harriet Tubman, the "Moses" of her people, also came out of slavery. Many people confuse the two because both lived in an era shadowed by human bondage, but Truth and Tubman were contrasting figures. New York was Truth's Egypt; Tubman's was in Maryland, these respective places marking each woman with a regional identity that Truth, at least, later came very much to prize. Born in about 1797, Truth was a generation older than Tubman, born in about 1821. Tubman will walk these pages from time to time, but only as a guest.

A woman of remarkable intelligence despite her illiteracy, Truth had great presence. She was tall, some 5 feet 11 inches, of spare but solid frame. Her voice was low, so low that listeners sometimes termed it masculine, and her singing voice was beautifully powerful. Whenever she spoke in public, she also sang. No one ever forgot the power and pathos of Sojourner Truth's singing, just as her wit and originality of phrasing were also of lasting remembrance.


As an abolitionist and feminist, she put her body and her mind to a unique task, that of physically representing women who had been enslaved. At a time when most Americans thought of slaves as male and women as white, Truth embodied a fact that still bears repeating: Among the blacks are women; among the women, there are blacks.

We think of Truth as a natural, uncomplicated presence in our national life. Rather than a person in history, she works as a symbol. To appreciate the meaning of the symbol-Strong Black Woman-we need know almost nothing of the person. Because we are apt to assume that the mere experience of enslavement endowed Truth with the power to voice its evils, we may forget a shocking fact: No other woman who had been through the ordeal of slavery managed to survive with sufficient strength, poise, and self-confidence to become a public presence over the long term. Harriet Tubman spoke up occasionally at antislavery meetings, and the drama of her actions lent weight to her words. But she could not sustain appearance after appearance.


Only Truth had the ability to go on speaking, year after year for thirty years, to make herself into a force in several American reform movements. Even though the aims of her missions became increasingly secular after midcentury, Truth was first and last an itinerant preacher, stressing both itinerancy and preaching. From the late 1840s through the late 1870s, she traveled the American land, denouncing slavery and slavers, advocating freedom, women's rights, woman suffrage, and temperance.

Pentecostal that she was, Truth would have explained that the force that brought her from the soul murder of slavery into the authority of public advocacy was the power of the Holy Spirit. Her ability to call upon a supernatural power gave her a resource claimed by millions of black women and by disempowered people the world over. Without doubt, it was Truth's religious faith that transformed her from Isabella, a domestic servant, into Sojourner Truth, a hero for three centuries--at least.

SOJOURNER TRUTH was one born again, not only in the evangelical sense of the phrase and not merely because Isabella Van Wagenen rechristened herself Sojourner Truth. She was, all through, a self-made woman, and that was so much the case that beginning to write her biography becomes a challenge to definition as well as genealogy.


Biographies normally set the stage for the appearance of the protagonist by examining ancestors for portents of greatness. I will do what I can along those lines, though the track leading backward from Isabella quickly grows faint. Tracing the genealogy of any slave is a difficult thing to do. I know Isabella's parents' names but can go back no further into her family history with any certainty. The genealogical task is also complicated by the relationship between Isabella Van Wagenen and Sojourner Truth, each of whom has her own separate birth date. Isabella's is in the late 1790s on a day that cannot be designated exactly; Sojourner Truth's is 1 June 843.

We know that Isabella created Sojourner Truth by reinventing herself and leaving her old vocation and habitat, but Isabella is not all there is to Truth's ancestry. The symbols of American history come into play here, for Sojourner Truth presented herself as a former slave, and we still identify her with the movement to abolish slavery in the United States. The allegorical territory of American slavery is always situated somewhere--everywhere--in the South. Thus, to a great extent, Sojourner Truth appears to emerge out of a generalized southern setting. Here lies a conundrum--separating person from symbol and Isabella from Sojourner--for Isabella was a slave in New York State, one of tens of thousands of enslaved New Yorkers. The history and human geography of Isabella's New York were worlds away from the mythic South we associate with American slavery and with Sojourner Truth.


ISABELLA was born in the village of Hurley, in Ulster County, New York, about seven miles west of the Hudson River. Hurley (its first Dutch name was Niew Dorp) lies about ninety miles north of New York City and sixty miles south of Albany. The county's original inhabitants were Waroneck (Mohawk) Indians, who called a creek that empties into the Hudson River "Esopus," meaning small river. After much struggle in the mid-1610s that came to be known as the Esopus Wars, Dutch settlers overwhelmed the Indians without entirely displacing them. For more than a hundred years afterward, large numbers of Indians remained in a region that, with the arrival of Africans, would become tri-racial.

A hilly region of frigid, fast-running streams and rivers, Isabella's birthplace belongs to the New England upland of forested mountains, and lies west and slightly to the north of Hartford, Connecticut; Providence, Rhode Island; and Cape Cod, Massachusetts. A cold, rocky place of long winters and short summers, Ulster County is covered with northern flora: spruce, balsam fir, hemlock, red cedar, yellow birch, as well as the oak, hickory, and pine that are found throughout the eastern United States. If she stood in a field with time to enjoy the scenery to the west, Isabella would have been able to see the Catskill Mountains, whose highest peak, Slide Mountain, rises to 4,180 feet.

U.S. First Lady Michelle Obama applauds at the unveiling of the Sojourner Truth bronze bust in Emancipation Hall in Washington,  D.C., April 28, 2009 (Photo: Manuel Balce Ceneta, AP)

Ulster County was one of New York's original counties, organized m 1683 and named after the Irish title of the Duke of York. At the turn of the nineteenth century it was overwhelmingly rural, producing wheat that was fair-to-middling in quality and lots of decent wool. When Isabella was born, before the advent of railroads and before New York City became a lucrative market, Ulster County was a backwater. Beautiful in a cold and craggy fashion akin to New England, it was not easy to traverse by road. Travelers used the river or bogged down trying to cross difficult terrain.

In rural counties like Ulster--in the Hudson Valley, on Long Island, and in New Jersey--the culture of local blacks was likely as not to be Afro-Dutch, although some blacks were Afro-Indian. They worked for Dutch farmers in areas where as many as 30 to 60 percent of white households owned slaves. At the turn of the nineteenth century Ulster County's total population was 29,554, of whom more than 10 percent, 3,220, were black people scattered widely across the countryside.

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Thomas Jay Warren. Sojourner Truth Memorial Statue, 2002. Northampton Board of Public Works, Florence, Massachusetts.

Most slaveholding New York State households owned only one or two slaves; a large slaveowner, like Isabella's first master, might have six or seven at a time, but New Yorkers who owned more than twenty slaves could be counted on the fingers of one hand. In the late eighteenth century, of course, no stigma attached to the trafficker in people, and masters did not hesitate to break up slave families through sale. But all was on a much smaller scale than the southern system of slavery.

Several factors, including the wide distribution of slaves among white families, combined to give rural black New Yorkers a singular culture. The contrast was especially sharp in comparison with southern blacks, often living in much larger homogeneous communities, who developed a vibrant Anglo-African culture revolving around plantation slave quarters. Half of all black southerners lived in communities of twenty or more African Americans, large concentrations that allowed them to learn their culture from other blacks and to create a distinctive way of life.


In New York State, by contrast, there were large numbers of blacks only in New York City. On the farms of rural New York, where slaves like Isabella lived and worked, one or two Africans commonly lived with a Dutch family and remained too isolated and scattered to forge any but the most tentative separate culture. Surrounded by Dutch speakers, rural black New Yorkers grew up speaking the language of their community. A good 16 or so percent, perhaps more, of eighteenth-century black New Yorkers, like Isabella and her family, spoke Dutch as their first language.

Such sound from black folk astonished those who were not from New York. A southern slave, accompanying his owner on a trip to New York, grew frustrated trying to extract directions from an Afro-Dutch woman. To his query about the way to New York, she answered: "Yaw, mynheer," pointing toward the town, "cat is Yarikee." Isabella as a young woman would have spoken in just this way. Over her lifetime she learned to speak English fluently, but she lost neither the accent nor the earthy imagery of the Dutch language that made her English so remarkable.


It is not possible to know exactly how Sojourner Truth spoke, for no one from her generation and cultural background was recorded. Isabella was the slave of the Dumont family from about twelve until about thirty, and many years later the daughter, Gertrude Dumont, protested that Truth's speech was nothing like the mock-southern dialect that careless reporters used. Rather, it was "very similar to that of the unlettered white people of [New York in] her time." As an older woman, Truth took pride in speaking correct English and objected to accounts of her speeches in heavy southern dialect. This seemed to her to take "unfair advantage" of her race.

Living so closely with tigers, Afro-Dutch New Yorkers imbibed other aspects of Dutch culture. If Afro-Dutch New Yorkers went to church--and in the countryside most, like their poor white neighbors, did not--they might join churches that were Dutch Reformed (as did Isabella's oldest daughter, Diana) or Methodist (as did Isabella). In Ulster County in the very early nineteenth century, young Isabella learned the Lord's Prayer in Dutch from her mother, and she may have attended Reformed churches as a child and young woman. This Afro-Dutch world was distinct, first culturally, then economically, from the slaveholding South.


ISABELLA'S birth coincided with a climactic invention--the cotton gin--which made slave-grown, short-staple cotton the economic underpinning of the American South. During the antebellum era of cotton as king, the economic and political interests of elite southerners increasingly diverged from those of elite northerners. This polarization was as yet embryonic in the late 1790s, because the political tensions that finally led to civil war had not yet acquired the agonizing sharpness that would dominate the middle of the century and bring Sojourner Truth into the public eye. When Isabella was born, the American North as well as the American South was a land of bondage.

The effacement of the memory of northern slavery has skewed American regional identities by exonerating white northerners and blaming white southerners. This erasure complicates the task of situating Isabella's life history, for by the mid-nineteenth century, when Sojourner Truth was a familiar presence in antislavery circles, New York belonged to the metaphorical land of liberty. With southern slavery as the symbol of American slavery, Truth's early life automatically migrated into a vague, composite antebellum South, a Southern Nowhere that for all its lack of specificity is definitely south of the Mason-Dixon line.

This metaphorical slave South appears in c lassie form in Harriet Beecher Stowe's phenomenally popular 1851-52 novel, Uncle Tom's Cabin. Its types and themes had arisen in the antislavery press and slave narratives in the generation before Stowe published, supplying her with a stock of characters familiar in outline: the long-suffering, Christian slave, the cruel master with his whip and his mulatto concubine, the outraged slave mother, the slave trader, even the kind master and the jealous mistress. By the time Sojourner Truth became an antislavery speaker, this South had become a taken-for-granted setting antithetical to the free North.

Though foreign to northerners, the metaphorical slave South was at the same time familiar by dint of having so often been described. In this South, slavery was everlasting; slaves could not marry, own property, or learn to read or write. Their masters' powers were absolute, with the corruption that accompanies absolute power. Sex and violence suffused the entire institution. This slave South was a purgatory from which only the strongest, bravest, and most intelligent of slaves could flee, men and women like Frederick Douglass and Harriet Tubman. Even these exceptional figures came from Maryland, right next door to the North. The Deep South was a hell that allowed no escape. In the far-away states of Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, unspeakable atrocities seemed to occur on a routine basis. Nothing was too awful to happen there.

The Dinner Party by Judy Chicago (Sojourner Truth place setting), 1974–79. Mixed media: ceramic, porcelain, textile. Brooklyn Museum [Photograph by Jook Leung Photography]
Such a facile symbolic opposition: slave South and free North. But realities in Isabella's time were not so neat.

Slavery was an important part of northern life before 1800, however latter-day historical symbolism may have erased its stigma from the North. When Isabella was born, only Charleston among American cities had a larger black population than New York, and New York City's 5,865 blacks (including five slaves owned by Founding Father John Jay) accounted for about 10 percent of the total population. Almost 1,000 of the 6,281 black people in Connecticut and 12,422 of the 16,824 black people in New Jersey were still enslaved; black people were scattered throughout the North, and former slaves were to be found even in Massachusetts.

In the nineteenth century--as in our own times, mutatis mutandis--northerners preened themselves in their moral superiority to the slave drivers of the South, as though their own section had remained innocent of involuntary servitude. Such self-righteous censure of the South exempts northerners from their own slaveholding legacy, for when Isabella was born a slave, a commonplace national institution bound her. (© 1996 Nell Irvin Painter, Norton)

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Slave Quarters in Medford, Massachusetts

Hugh Howard writes in Tufts Magazine, "Slavery in Our Midst: The remains of a New England plantation reveal a side of Colonial life the history books forget to mention," by Hugh Howard: The advertisement read, “to be sold, a likely negro girl, fit for Town or Country.” The girl’s age, place of birth, and personal details are lost. Not even her name has come down to us, although we do know in which eighteenth-century newspaper the notice appeared. It was the Boston Gazette.


Royall House, Medford, MA

Many Americans have found it convenient to believe that slavery was a phenomenon of the Old South, a regional aberration linked to cotton and the Civil War, but slaves were hardly uncommon in Colonial New England. Even today people suffer from what Tufts anthropology professor Rosalind Shaw has called “social amnesia about the role of the slave trade and the presence of slaves” in the North. The truth is that for more than a century and a half, every colony in the New World was a slave colony. In fact, much of Tufts’ Medford/Somerville campus sits on what was once Ten Hills Farm, a six-hundred-acre plantation presided over by the man who placed that long-ago Gazette ad, one Isaac Royall. His mansion, known as the Royall House, still stands, a two-minute walk from Cousens Gym.


The Royall House and Slave Quarters were built in 1732-1737. The House is one of the finest 18th century buildings in New England; the Slave Quarters is the only such structure in the Northern United States. Both the buildings and grounds are a National Historic Landmark. Together, these unique structures tell the intertwined stories of liberty and bondage, independence and slavery, as they have been played out not only in Colonial times, but throughout American history.
The Royalls reigned in what was then the hamlet of Mystick for two generations. Isaac Royall’s father, the son of a Maine carpenter, had made his fortune on the West Indian island of Antigua. As a slave trader—in one year he sold 121 slaves—he accumulated substantial holdings, including a sugar plantation, a refinery, and a rum distillery. When slave uprisings spread across the Caribbean, he determined to bring his family home to New England. He purchased Ten Hills Farm in 1732.

Cousens Gym and grounds at Tufts University, Medford, MA

The existing saltbox farmhouse was beneath his grandee standards. By the time the family arrived in 1737, together with twenty-seven slaves, a major remodeling campaign had doubled the footprint and raised the roof to enclose three full stories. After his death, his namesake son carried on his ostentatious ways, updating the garden front in a Classical style that incorporated pilasters, pediments, and wood shaped and painted to resemble stone.


Royall Family

Isaac Royall the younger would lose his splendid American assets in the days after Paul Revere’s ride, when, loyal to the king, he left for England. But before that, everything about him and his family’s home conveyed a sense of wealth, taste, and power; he even insisted that the property be known as Royallville. In 1750, a ship’s captain venturing north from Boston noted in his diary that it was “a Fine Country Seat . . . One of the Grandest in N. America.” Had he knocked on the Royalls’ door, he would likely have received a warm welcome. For Isaac Royall, hospitality was “almost a passion,” according to one nineteenth-century historian. “No house in the colony was more open to friends; no gentleman gave better dinners, or drank costlier wines.”

Antigua West Indies Sugar Plantation

Perhaps the visitor would have been offered a draft from the three-gallon silver punch bowl that Royall is said to have kept filled with rum at all times to refresh arriving guests. Looking around, the captain would have marveled at newly paneled walls and carved chimney pieces. The rooms of the elegant interior were furnished with the finest of imported objects, including marble and mahogany tables, peer glasses (mirrors), and a cherished rug, a “Turkey Carpitt” worth the princely sum of forty pounds. In an era when families were fortunate just to own a Bible, the Royalls had a library of more than a hundred volumes, including works by John Locke, Tacitus, and Shakespeare.


The home of one of the richest families in New England and the enslaved Africans who made their lifestyle possible. Architecture, furnishings, and artifacts bear witness to their entwined stories.
Today, the Royalls are remembered thanks to the artifacts that survive them. Their portraits have appeared in the slide trays of American art historians for generations. And their house, designated a National Historic Landmark in 1962, has long been maintained as a house museum. For more than a century, it has offered both a view of Colonial life among the genteel and a look at the Revolutionary era in general (after Royall abandoned his Medford home, the Continental Army moved in, and George Washington not only visited but probably slept there).

In recent years, however, the more complicated story of master and slave has begun to emerge. The organization charged with preserving the property, the Royall House Association, has begun to focus on a half-forgotten wood-and-masonry building just across the courtyard from the main residence. This was the slave quarters (known as the “out kitchen” in the Royalls’ time), once home to an ever-changing population of more than sixty men, women, and children held in bondage during the forty-odd years of the Royalls’ habitation. Historians believe it is the only structure of its kind still standing in the northern United States, and an archeological dig conducted between 1999 and 2001 unearthed thousands upon thousands of telling artifacts from the area around it.
The manner in which the Royalls lived was dependent upon slavery, and the new interpretation at the property poses a jarring contrast between English gentry and African slaves. For anyone visiting the site, the story of slavery in Massachusetts is no longer deniable.


Massachusetts became the first colony to legalize human bondage when it established the Body of Liberties, its first code of laws, in 1641. From that time until the state proscribed slavery in 1783, the slave trade was big business in the North, particularly in Boston and Rhode Island. Fully three-quarters of all New England exports circa 1770 were linked to it. Most slave ships were built in the region, and the bulk of the exported livestock, sawn boards, and grains went to the Caribbean to support the production of sugar, the raw material essential to the making of rum, the favored medium of exchange for buying slaves. More than four-fifths of the rum distilled went to Africa.


Among these stories is that of Belinda, one of the enslaved Africans owned by the Royalls; after their departure, she successfully petitioned the Massachusetts Legislature in 1783 for a pension. Of course, these stories played out in the context of the American Revolution. After the departure of the Royalls to England, General John Stark made the Royall House his headquarters in the first days of the Revolutionary War. General George Washington helped plan the siege of Boston from here
In some respects, slavery in New England differed from that in the South. Slaves were a common presence in the homes of middling householders as well as the gentry in the North, though the region’s mercantile economy meant fewer slaves were required (the typical slaveholder had between one and five bondsmen). Without a single cash crop like tobacco or rice to plant and harvest, the slaves were more likely to learn trades.

Many became shipwrights, carpenters, tailors, printers, blacksmiths, bakers, or coopers. For their masters, this meant added value, as a slave trained as an artisan or craftsman could be hired out.

At Ten Hills Farm, slaves produced wool, cider, and hay and tended livestock. Some worked as field hands, while others had higher status as boatmen, domestic servants, cooks, and “body slaves” (valets and ladies’ maids). A liveried coachman drove the Royalls’ fine carriage, with its team of four horses. Some of the servants slept in the kitchen, a few in an upstairs chamber, others in an attic garret. The rest probably inhabited the slave quarters, which provided rudimentary accommodations, including a hearth for preparing meals. Beyond this handful of details, little is known about the lives of the enslaved at Royallville. Until 1999, in fact, all such information had to be inferred from vague and fleeting transactions noted in the Royalls’ ledgers, inventories, and probate records.

Then came the meticulous three-season dig masterminded by the archaeologist Alexandra A. Chan, then a graduate student at Boston University. Among the roughly 65,000 artifacts excavated were pottery, sewing implements, tableware, coins, metal, animal bones, buttons and buckles, and shards of glass. As Chan points out in her book Slavery in the Age of Reason (University of Tennessee Press, 2007), such “mundane refuse” is invaluable, because through it, “the historically invisible can come vibrantly to life.” The record of those who labored at Ten Hills Farm is to be found largely in “overlooked places,” she explains. “Artifacts lend heft, depth, and texture to historical narratives; they document the past as much as any deed, letter, or newspaper can.”

Some of the finds complement documents already in the hands of historians, allowing us to envision the gentrified life of the Royalls in more vivid detail. For example, an inventory of the family’s possessions specifies wine glasses, decanters, tumblers, and various items of “chiney” (china). And the dig did indeed turn up fragments that were once teacups, stemware, chocolate cups, wine bottles, pharmaceutical containers, and liquor bottles imprinted with the Royall seal.




In his will of 1779, Isaac Royall left land to Harvard College to establish the first professorship in law at the school. His heirs subsequently inherited the Medford estate and used the proceeds from its sale to endow Harvard Law School itself.

Contrasting with such finds are numerous bits and pieces of plain, homely crockery. While the Royalls drank port, chocolate, tea, punch, and coffee from an array of purpose-made and imported vessels, those who served them ate off coarse earthenware. The dig uncovered thousands of shards of crude redware storage jars, relics of the hard work that was the slaves’ lot: growing produce, cooking and preserving foods, laundering their owners’ clothes, making soap and candles, maintaining the house and horses, and performing the thousand other duties that gave the Royalls the leisure to read, socialize, and pose for paintings.


A 2011 re-creation of a bed for an enslaved member of the Royall household.

Still, the relics illuminate more than the slaves’ travails. There are also crude tobacco pipes, handmade children’s marbles, and gaming pieces shaped from shards of porcelain. Chan believes that a decorative stone bead discovered in a foundation was worn by a slave woman as part of her “garments of gladness,” clothing for times of spiritual celebration. Another object that resembles an arrowhead may be an amulet of the sort that the Akan people of West Africa thought to be magical. The evidence is tantalizing: because of Chan and her colleagues, enslaved people about whom so little is known can now be considered during moments of relaxation and ritual.


The Royalls’ “Negroes” were just “sundry goods,” to be sold along with barrel staves, “very good hay,” West Indian rum, and “Molases.”

Artifacts like these are in poignant contrast to slavery’s more brutal realities. Slave families in the North, like those in the South, lived with a terrible uncertainty: their owners could, and often did, sell individuals or shift them at a whim to other properties. Enslaved parents, children, and siblings could be separated forever. They were assets, plain and simple, and family ties were irrelevant. To judge by trade notices of the time, the Royalls’ “Negroes” were just “sundry goods,” to be sold along with barrel staves, “very good hay,” West Indian rum, and “Molases.” When the elder Isaac Royall died in 1739, the female slaves Ruth, Trace, Sue, and Jonto and the male slaves Fortune, Barron, Ned, Robin, Quamin, Cuffe, Peter, and “house Peter” (so named to distinguish him from the other Peter) were listed in his probate inventory along with the cattle, oxen, and swine. In the 1739 Probate Inventory, each man was valued at a hundred pounds, each woman at seventy-five.



Upon expatriating himself in 1775, the younger Isaac Royall left behind more than porcelain and portraits. One household member—Belinda, an elderly slave—is unique among Royall’s retinue in that she is survived by a fairly detailed life story.

Captured at age twelve by slavers on the banks of the Volta River in what today is Ghana, Belinda Royall served the family for some fifty years, in both Antigua and Medford. She was left penniless with an invalid daughter, Prine, when the younger Royall fled Ten Hills Farm. In his will, her master (who was remembered as “kind to his slaves”) gave Belinda a choice: she could be bequeathed to his daughter as chattel or be set free. She chose freedom, and went to Boston to join the growing free black community. In 1783, she filed the legal document, a petition, that is the source for virtually all we know about her. Wishing to avoid the poorhouse, she sued the Royall estate for support, citing a promise in Royall’s will to provide her “security that she shall not be a charge in the town of Medford.”


She was unlettered (she signed her name with an X), and the petition may have been prepared for her by Prince Hall, a black freeman active in the freemason and abolitionist movements in Boston. Nonetheless, it is impossible to read the petition without imagining the spirited woman behind the words. It recounts Belinda’s kidnapping by “men whose faces were like the moon,” her trans-atlantic journey (in “a floating world” with “three hundred Affricans in chains”), and her fifty years of “ignoble servitude for the benefit of an Isaac Royall.” It concludes with a plea: “Your Petitioner, [her face] now marked with the furrows of time” asks “the just return of honest industry—she prays, that such allowance may be made her out of the estate of Colonel Royall, as will prevent her and her more infirm daughter from misery in the greatest extreme, and scatter comfort over the short and downward path of their Lives.”


The Massachusetts House and Senate award Belinda 15 Pounds, 12 Shillings per annum.

She was awarded the sum of fifteen pounds annually, but had to seek redress four years later when the money went unpaid. The date and circumstances of her death were unrecorded.

Now that the acknowledged ghosts at 15 George Street in Medford include Belinda and her fellow slaves, visitors to the Royall House and Slave Quarters confront the fact that bondage was once an accepted way of life in New England. But as they set foot inside the slave quarters—as they file past the multiple cases filled with artifacts from Alexandra Chan’s dig—something else happens as well. The stratified world of the eighteenth century, in all its racial and economic complexity, becomes more tangible.



Enslaved People at the Royall House: When the Royalls moved to Medford from Antigua, they brought 27 slaves with them. New England slavery was not benign

The addition of the archaeological finds, says Alexandra Chan, “invites people to engage in the debate. Rather than coming in to be talked at and given a cold, factual narrative, we invite people to ask questions, to try to think about the physical world. In that way you make the study of history more personal, and it extends its interest to a wider audience.”


Now that it has changed its mission, revised its tour, and added the archaeological exhibit, the Royall House receives more visitors—“particularly group tours, teachers, and college classes,” says Thomas Lincoln, executive director of the Royall House Association. Lincoln has observed a generational shift, too, especially in the African American community. “For some the slave quarters used to be almost embarrassing,” he says, “but the current generation has a real yearning to know more.” That is reflected in the people of color who take the tour: some are locals viewing a neighborhood landmark for the first time, while others arrive from much further afield, being of Caribbean origin and even Africans visiting the United States.


Henry Billings, "The Golden Triangle of Trade,"
Medford, MA Post Office, 1938
Scholars have shown a renewed interest as well. “You see all these dimensions of history happening all at the same time and place,” explains Steven Cohen, a lecturer in education and American studies at Tufts. “You have the buildings at one level. You have the way the house used to be interpreted when the slaves were almost always referred to as ‘servants.’ Now you have the present interpretation based on Chan’s work, which adds a different take. Going there is much more powerful than reading a text or having a teacher talk about slavery.”



Billings' mural consists of three panels and is titled The Golden Triangle of Trade. Two side panels depict economic activities of eighteenth-century Medford, specifically shipbuilding and the production of rum. On the left panel, a still alludes to "Distill House Lane" where rum was produced into the early twentieth century; the ship's hull represents Foster's Shipyard whose vessels carried the necessary sugar cane from the West Indies. (source:Art and Muralism )

The new, more candid look at the past provokes many questions. Penny Outlaw, who is African American, is co-president of the Royall House Association and sometimes acts as a docent. She says she detects little hesitation among visitors, white or black, to ask questions about New England’s slave days. “Visitors typically ask about the extent of slavery in Massachusetts,” she says. “They ask, ‘What happened to the Royall House slaves after the Royalls decamped for England?’ ‘Why don’t we hear more about slavery in the Northeast?’ They also wonder about the daily lives of the slaves, given the harsh New England climate.” The answers to such questions can be conjectural. But even the uncertainties serve the discussion.



This transaction is reflected in the right panel's rendering of a West Indian sugar shack and cane press, with the ship in the background presumably bound for Massachusetts. The central panel bridges these two worlds, literally connecting Guinea, Africa, the West Indies and New England with a golden triangle. (source:Art and Muralism)
If, in the twenty-first century, we find ourselves unable to conscience the social and racial wound that was slavery, historical sites like the Royall House may move us beyond merely separating out slaveholder and enslaved. We must recognize that the identities of all who inhabited Ten Hills Farm were inseparable and interdependent. We do ourselves a disservice if we dismiss the players as merely monsters and victims. It may be discomfiting to imagine oneself as either slaver or slave but, as Alexandra Chan says, “No mattd Slave Quarters is located at ie many of the seeds of our modern American society.”

Penny Outlaw puts it another way. “At the Royall House, slavery has become part of the conversation.”

The Royall House and Slave Quarters is located at 15 George Street in Medford, Massachusetts. Visit www.royallhouse.org for admission information.

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HUGH HOWARD, A74, has written about the past for more than twenty years. In addition to authoring a number of books, the most recent being The Painter’s Chair: America’s Old Masters Paint George Washington, he has written for the New York Times, Smithsonian, the Washington Post, House Beautiful, Traditional Home, Adirondack Life, Travel and Leisure, Esquire, Preservation, and Early American Life.

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