Eliza Custis Law would not be the only one to select a husband and marry quickly. Ona Judge and Jack Staines would celebrate the Christmas of 1796 together, completely aware that the president might try to reclaim Judge at any moment. And by January of 1797, the two chose to marry one another. For Judge, this was another example of freedom’s possibilities.
Before the romantic notions of marriage became the established norm, men and women across the new nation married for reasons other than love, more specifically, for survival. Male farmers married young women with modest dowries and the physical capabilities to complete the hard domestic duties and fieldwork that often accompanied life on a small farm. Aside from a dowry, a woman could bring many things to a marriage, but children were the most-valued prizes of all. Ensuring that the family name would live on, children, male children in particular, offered small farmers an important nuclear family during an age in which subsistence farming was still the modus operandi for many. Children would grow into strong young men and women, capable of assisting fathers and mothers in the fields, the house, and the blacksmithing shops across the country.
Judge, of course, had no dowry to offer, but she was young and healthy. It was almost impossible to make a life for oneself without a family network, and Judge found a remedy to the ailment of poverty and isolation in a free black man. Whether it was a marriage of convenience or a true love affair that brought the two together, Ona Judge would begin the New Year with a legal marriage to a free black man—that she chose. The institution of slavery prohibited the legal marriages of enslaved men and women, and had Judge remained under the ownership of the Washington-Custis family, she may never have experienced the autonomy that came along with the selection of a spouse.
Like many other free black men who lived along the Northeast Seaboard, Jack Staines spent long periods of time working at sea. Black men who followed this employment path were known as “black jacks,” and although seafaring was viewed as an unstable and unseemly occupation for whites, it offered opportunity to black men incapable of finding decent wages elsewhere. While out at sea, black jacks suffered racial discrimination from their crew and sea captains, but the open seas also offered protection from corrupt slave catchers and kidnappers who lurked in the streets and alleys of Northern cities. Barred from jobs of distinction or respectability, black sailors were often catapulted into positions of honor in early free black communities. More, the lump sum payouts (which were on par with what white men received) that Jack Staines and other black seafaring men received at the end of their journeys were often applied to the purchase of land or a home, an unreachable goal for most black men at the turn of the nineteenth century.
Of course, there were risks: journeys to the South or to the Caribbean were dangerous. By the beginning decades of the nineteenth century, some Southern states imprisoned free black sailors. South Carolina’s 1822 Negro Seamen Act followed the foiled slave insurrection plotted by Denmark Vesey, a former slave and sailor. Free men such as Staines who sailed into the Charleston port of call were imprisoned during their stay, and the captains of vessels who used free black crewmembers were forced to pay for the prison lodging of their sailors until they departed. On longer voyages to places such as Jamaica and Barbados, free black sailors not only encountered the expected dangers of pirating, shipwrecks, and illness, but they also faced the fear of unlawful enslavement. Who would come to the rescue of Jack Staines if he were imprisoned and sold into Caribbean slavery? Although the risks were great and the pay was minimal, black sailors gambled with their lives to provide for themselves and their families.
Marriage would not free Judge from hard domestic labor; she would have to work, too. Judge was in the same position as many other married free black women of the era: her income was necessary. Whatever meager earnings she could collect from domestic work, laundering, or sewing would help the family survive between the long periods of time that spanned Jack Staines’s pay days. Ona Judge knew that being married to a black sailor would be filled with opportunities; in Staines she found a husband who was employable and who could provide for her and whatever children they might have. Yet she knew that marriage to a sailor would also mean a life of long absences and weeks of solitude. Judge would spend many months waiting for Jack Staines’s ship to appear in port, and while she waited, she would be left alone to fend off any would-be slave catchers.
News of the Staineses’ marriage engagement traveled around Portsmouth, even finding its way to the information-hungry Whipple, who had, reluctantly, agreed to continue to help Washington. He learned that Jack Staines and Ona Judge celebrated the Christmas season by carefully planning their impending matrimony. The couple visited the county clerk in Portsmouth and applied for a marriage certificate, careful to follow the law and make certain that their marriage was legally recognized by the state. The document that certified the union between Jack Staines and Ona Judge was not only a symbol of choice, but also one that was legally binding. If something happened to Jack during one of his long voyages out at sea, Judge would be the legal beneficiary of any owed wages or land that had been purchased by her husband. Legal proof of marriage was not simply a luxury for the fugitive; it was another form of protection.
Once Whipple caught wind of the couple’s application for a marriage certificate, he felt compelled to communicate with Portsmouth’s clerk. Although he was uncomfortable with his involvement in Washington’s slave catching, Whipple confided in the clerk, probably telling him about the bride-to-be, her powerful owners, and their deep desire to reclaim their property. Whatever words were shared between the clerk and the customs collector resulted in delayed paperwork, and the couple would soon learn that claiming a marriage certificate in Portsmouth would be next to impossible.
This roadblock was disappointing to the young couple, but Jack Staines and Ona Judge would not give up on their dream of a legal marriage. They simply couldn’t. The two must have spoken with friends, collected advice, and planned their next strategic move, deciding to bypass the clerk in Portsmouth altogether. Staines and Judge traveled to nearby Greenland, a few miles outside the city, where county clerk Thomas Philbrook provided the couple with the required documents. On the very same page of the New-Hampshire Gazette that reported George Washington’s words of appreciation to the nation, the newlyweds announced their marriage to the New Hampshire community. The small section of the paper that announced recent marriages listed only two couples on January 14, 1797. Attorney Thomas Thompson announced his nuptials to Miss Eliza Porter in Haverhill, New Hampshire, and listed directly below them was the fugitive and her new free husband. A simple ten words publicly announced their union: “In this town, Mr. John Stanes, to Miss Oney Gudge [sic].” Samuel Haven, reverend of Portsmouth’s South Church, married them.
With no extra money to purchase a new wedding dress, Judge would have selected to wear something from her existing wardrobe. For months, the fugitive dressed inconspicuously, wearing plain clothing appropriate for a domestic. But on her wedding day she would have pulled out one of her nicer dresses, one that she used to wear while serving the Washingtons. Many women placed small flowers in their hair to mark the special occasion, but January’s heavy snow left Ona Judge with no such embellishments. Perhaps she attached a few scraps of lace to her wedding attire, but a veil would have been too costly and impractical. Jack Staines probably dressed in a tailcoat and his nicest pair of trousers (typical pants for sailors and working men) instead of costly knee-length silk breeches. There would be no expensive wedding bands or elaborate celebratory meals, but instead the newlyweds probably shared a simple dinner of fish or oyster stew, brown bread, and maybe a bit of Indian pudding for dessert.
The couple spent their first year together settling in, securing work, and trying to forge ahead. As was custom, Ona Judge adopted her husband’s last name, becoming Ona Staines, and continued to acclimate to her new life. With her husband’s sailing income and her wages from domestic work, the two were able to move
into their own home. The census listed Jack Staines (who also used the first name John) as the head of household, along with three other people in the Staines home. No slaves were recorded in their dwelling, a reminder that the fugitive Mrs. Staines passed as a free woman. Early census records offered much more detail for white families, such as the gender and age of all household occupants. Records concerning people of color were far less descriptive, simply noting the free status of an individual and the number of people who belonged to a specific household. Many black women who served as domestics lived with their employers, but Staines did not fall into this category. Not only did she live in a separate space from her employer, she lived with her husband and two other people.
One of these roommates might have been someone in need, a boarder who couldn’t afford to live alone, who appealed to the young black family for help. It was likely that this person could share in a few household expenses, easing the financial responsibilities that continued to grow in the Staines household. Plus a boarder provided her the opportunity to give back. A family had taken her in during her time of need; now it was her turn to reciprocate. Extra money was always welcome, especially once Ona Staines told her husband the exciting news: she was expecting a child.
Her pregnancy would cement the young couple’s relationship, reminding Jack and Ona Staines that they had more than themselves to think about. She continued with her domestic work, though that became more difficult as the months elapsed and her belly swelled. Scrubbing floors and lifting heavy containers of water became almost impossible as she approached the end of her pregnancy, but she did not have the luxury of unemployment. An aching back and swollen feet were symptoms that simply couldn’t interfere with the collection of wages, so Ona Staines most likely relied upon home remedies to ease her discomfort. A vinegar and rosewater solution was believed to reduce the inflammation of feet and ankles, and swathing bands were tied around the bottom of the abdomen and the back of the neck to offer back support. She grew up watching enslaved women in Virginia remain in the fields up until the delivery of their babies. These women returned to their work assignments shortly after giving birth, never giving their bodies time to heal from the trauma of birth. She’d have to do the same.
When the time came, Ona Staines would have relied upon her small circle of friends for help with delivering her baby. Labor was usually long and dangerous, often taking the lives of both mother and child. Perhaps she had saved enough money to pay for a midwife, someone who would guide Mrs. Staines through delivery as friends and neighbors supported her on a birthing stool. Although we do not know that exact date, sometime in 1798, Ona Staines delivered a healthy baby girl. They would name her Eliza.
The birth of this child served as another marker of freedom. Ona Staines reared Eliza according to her own will—and, with the help of her husband, the young family directed its own future. Yet Staines had to temper her happiness with a realistic fear. She could never lay her worries about capture to bed. Every day and every night, Staines knew that her world could be turned upside down by a forced return to her legal master. Now the stakes were higher; she had to think about her baby daughter, Eliza, as well. Staines had passed the disease of slavery to her daughter. Even though she was born in Portsmouth, Eliza was the legal property of the Custis estate. Jack Staines’s status as a free man made no difference when it came to the condition of his daughter.
Some five hundred miles away, the Washingtons were becoming reacquainted with their beloved Mount Vernon. John Adams became the second president to lead the nation, and George Washington retired to a life as a private citizen. When Martha Washington made her final return home in May of 1797, she was elated to leave public life and to reconnect with her family. The past fifteen months had been nothing short of a whirlwind, a period that began with the news of the impetuous engagement and marriage of Eliza Parke Custis and was followed by her bondwoman’s escape.
After the excitement of the presidential election, the Washingtons prepared for additional life-changing news. Now married, granddaughter Elizabeth Parke Custis Law prepared to give birth to her first child, the first Custis-Washington great-grandchild who would survive childhood. On January 19, 1797, little Eliza was born, marking a new era in the Washington family. Thomas and Elizabeth Law’s fast and furious nuptials were now strengthened by the birth of a child. Coincidentally, both Ona Staines and Elizabeth Custis Law began their lives as newly married women with daughters named Eliza.
For the first few years of the Staineses’ life in New Hampshire, the young family found a way to survive and to avoid money-hungry slave catchers. But the president’s interest in reclaiming Staines reemerged with a vengeance in a relatively short time. By July of 1799, Washington had occupied the space of private citizen for a little more than two years and decided that it was time to pursue his runaway property again. During a visit with Martha Washington’s nephew, Burwell Bassett Jr., the president rekindled the search for Staines, this time relying upon his nephew to handle this very personal and discreet piece of family business.
In the president’s mind, Burwell Bassett Jr. was the perfect person to negotiate the return of the family’s slave woman. As a member of the Virginia Senate, Bassett Jr. could travel to New Hampshire on business and while there, find an opportunity to interact with Senator John Langdon, the former ally and friend of the president.
As the final preparations for the trip were made, the president gave Bassett a letter in which he made clear that Martha Washington was still in need of her “body servant” and he offered his nephew additional details about Staines’s escape. Not that he used or ever would use her married name. Three years later, and despite Whipple’s report to the contrary, the president still maintained that Mrs. Staines had been “enticed away by a Frenchman” and that she had considered returning to the Washingtons but decided to remain in New Hampshire when her demand for freedom was denied. Washington’s views had not changed. Under no circumstances would he allow Mrs. Staines to negotiate for her own freedom, stating that it would set an impolitic “& dangerous precedent.”
Burwell Bassett set out for New Hampshire, where he lodged with Senator John Langdon, the father of Elizabeth Langdon, the first person to notify the Washingtons of their fugitive’s presence in New Hampshire. While Langdon did not count himself among the early antislavery agitators, he had shifted his position regarding many issues since the beginning of his relationship with the president. Although he began his career in politics in the new republic, his political beliefs and alliances had changed by the time Washington left office. No longer a staunch Federalist, Langdon switched parties, and during the Adams presidency he labeled himself a Democratic Republican. Even though the Langdon family had a long history of slave ownership, the senator expressed reservations about the inclusion of slavery in the United States Constitution and suggested that the transatlantic slave trade be abolished earlier than 1808. Slaves who were previously owned by the Langdon family were emancipated and rehired as paid laborers, yet Senator Langdon did not refer to himself as an abolitionist. Burwell Bassett Jr., therefore, assumed that he could rely upon the senator for help and advice during his travels to Portsmouth. By all accounts, his trip should have been a quick one. After all, he already knew where she lived. There would be no time wasted searching for the runaway.
Now twenty-five years old, Ona Staines heard a knock at the door and unknowingly opened her home to her worst nightmare. Standing in front of her was a familiar face from the past, one that she had never wanted to see again. She must have felt the blood drain from her head and neck as familiar stomach-turning fear temporarily stopped her in her tracks. Baby Eliza, now about one year old, would have been close by, probably teetering around the Staines home with unsteady legs and an unrelenting curiosity to touch anything within sight. She would have looked at Bassett without fear, for she had no idea just how dangerous this smooth-talking visitor really was. A mother’s instinct would have prompted Mrs. Staines to s
coop her baby up into her arms, holding Eliza tight as she faced Washington’s nephew for what would be the battle of her life. She couldn’t run and hide—Staines had to confront the slave catcher. How she wished she hadn’t answered the door.
The timing couldn’t have been worse, as Bassett’s visit coincided with one of Jack Staines’s lengthy voyages at sea, leaving the fugitive to take care of herself and their small child. Her husband’s absences were always difficult, but the appearance of Washington’s slave catcher reminded Mrs. Staines that she would always have to rely upon her own abilities and the resourcefulness and kindness of friends to elude her owners’ grasp.
Bassett followed the advice offered to him before leaving Mount Vernon; that is, he tried to convince the fugitive that she would face no retaliation if she voluntarily returned to Virginia. He was not abusive or rough in his tone, a tactic used to show the runaway that she could return to Virginia with little reason to worry. But Mrs. Staines knew that the Washington family slave catcher offered nothing but falsehoods and that his words were empty promises. Even if Bassett spoke the truth, Mrs. Staines had no intentions of marching her baby into the death trap of slavery while leaving her husband behind in Portsmouth. Staines told Bassett she would not go with him. She simply refused.
As a Virginian, it must have been abnormal if not offensive for Bassett to have to negotiate with the slave. Yet it became apparent that the fugitive would not cower. Bassett sweetened the deal, promising that the Washingtons “would set her free when she arrived at Mount Vernon,” but Mrs. Staines saw right through the slave catcher’s threadbare lies as he continued with saccharine-sweet language and promises for a gentle return to Virginia. Perhaps he tugged on her heartstrings, reminding Staines of the family that she had left behind at Mount Vernon, or maybe he described a devastated Martha Washington who simply couldn’t find another person to take the fugitive’s place. But as Bassett prattled on, the fugitive found her resolve. Ona Staines looked the president’s nephew in his eyes. Righteous indignation and a belief in her right to be free prompted her final and fierce response to Bassett, telling him, “I am free now and choose to remain so.”
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