Both Philadelphia and Ona Staines witnessed the slow growth of black freedom. For Ona Staines the experience was more dramatic, as slavery was near extinction in her Northern city by the time of her escape. When Philadelphia arrived in Georgetown, she must have taken quick notice of the small but growing number of free black residents. Close to three hundred free blacks lived in Georgetown and more than three hundred and fifty lived in Alexandria. Philadelphia would watch the number of free blacks in the District of Columbia grow steadily, but so too did slavery. Enslavement and liberty wrestled each other in the first two decades of the nineteenth century, with black bondage losing its might by the 1830s.
Just as Ona Staines found marriage and companionship with a husband, so too did Philadelphia. Both women selected free men as spouses, a decision that would help each of them hold on to the elusive grasp of freedom. Although the date is uncertain, Philadelphia eventually married a man named William Costin, who many believe was the son of Ann Dandridge, Martha Washington’s legendary interracial half sister. Dandridge was believed, by some, to be the offspring of Martha Washington’s father and an enslaved woman. Several oral histories and accounts state that Dandridge eventually gave birth to a son named William whose father was Jacky Custis, the son of Martha Washington. If these accounts and recent genealogy are accurate, William Costin was the nephew and the grandson of the first lady. Whatever Costin’s lineage may have been, he was considered a free man, never appearing on the slave inventories at Mount Vernon. Costin eventually moved from Virginia to the new Federal City, harnessing the limited power he possessed as a free black man. Over time, Costin would use his money and his relationships to secure the freedom of his family members and his friends.
As slavery’s laws grew more restrictive in Virginia and Maryland, free blacks took flight from these states, bolting for the Capital City. Slave resistance was on the mind of many, as white residents read about bloody slave rebellion in Haiti. Virginians shuddered as they learned of a failed insurrection by an enslaved blacksmith named Gabriel. The bondman from the Prosser estate planned to attack Capitol Square in Richmond, take the governor hostage, and negotiate for black freedom. Liberty became more difficult to secure and harder to maintain in Virginia, a likely reason for William Costin’s migration to the Federal City. Or perhaps it was Philadelphia’s presence in Georgetown that prompted a young Costin to follow his heart and relocate. The promise of a life in a new city must have been a welcomed option as the home he knew at Mount Vernon came undone.
Martha Washington died on May 22, 1802, and while her family, friends, and the public mourned her death, the dower slaves at Mount Vernon were likely consumed with fear. The day of reckoning had come. Martha Washington’s will mandated that all of her slaves were to be divided among her grandchildren, a plan that would break slave families apart.
The Custis grandchildren were all adults at the time of their grandmother’s passing, and all except George Washington Parke Custis (Washy) were married. The estate that George and Martha Washington had safeguarded for nearly half a century was to be transferred, and the division of property, including enslaved men and women, would increase the wealth of the Custis grandchildren. Eliza Custis Law was bequeathed forty-three slaves, including Philadelphia, who was assigned a value of eighty pounds. Eliza Law’s sisters also inherited a significant number of slaves; Martha Custis Peter received forty-eight enslaved people, and Nelly Custis Lewis was bequeathed thirty-three human souls.
George Washington Parke Custis, the only male grandchild, was allotted thirty-six slaves, one of whom was Elish, Martha Washington’s sole slave who was not a part of the Custis estate. A number of slaves who were willed to George Washington Parke Custis came as family units. A slave woman named Caroline and her four daughters, Rachel, Jemima, Leanthe, and Polly, managed to avoid separation and began their new assignment together. Philadelphia’s sister-in-law Charlotte, once married to the late Austin, managed to keep her sons, Billy and Tim and her daughters Elvey and Eliza by her side. Betty Davis was also among the fortunate, as she kept her nuclear family together. In 1797 Davis had given birth to a third daughter, named Lucinda, who along with her mother and two sisters, waited for word about their futures. With her sister, Philadelphia, assigned to Eliza Law and another sister (Ona Staines) still on the run, Davis clung desperately to her daughters. Betty Davis, Nancy, Oney, and Lucinda, were all transferred to the estate of George Washington Parke Custis, eventually residing at his home at Arlington. Davis was listed with a value of sixty pounds, Nancy fifty pounds, Oney thirty-five pounds, and Lucinda was worth twenty pounds.
The death of the matriarch ended almost fifty years of tradition at Mount Vernon. Feelings of deep uncertainty touched all who were connected to the estate of the Washingtons; however, for Eliza Law, there were additional matters that troubled her. Aside from losing her grandmother, Mrs. Law observed the deterioration of her marriage, a relationship that had steadily grown more troubled. The whirlwind romance that developed into a marriage had come undone over the course of eight years. Family members and friends commented upon the demise of the Law marriage, suggesting that both parties involved created a host of marital problems. During Martha Washington’s last years, the couple stifled their unhappiness in order to spare the family’s matriarch from pain or concern. But following Martha Washington’s death, Thomas Law traveled to Europe and shortly after his return, the couple made the decision to separate. On August 9, 1804, Thomas and Eliza agreed upon a legal separation, with Thomas Law offering real estate and a $1,500 annuity to his estranged wife. Eliza Law left the District of Columbia for Maryland, where she spent an extended period of time with her aunt and uncle. Rosalie Stier Calvert, Law’s aunt, placed the blame of the failed marriage on both Thomas and Eliza, writing, “It is a sad thing to see two people with a child separate without good reason. You know what an odd man [Thomas Law] has always been. She had a disposition completely opposite to his, and she wasn’t sensible enough to put up with his peculiarities. The result is that they are both at fault, which is usually the case. . . .”
Just as Eliza and Thomas Law’s marriage changed the lives of both Ona Staines and Philadelphia, so too did their eventual divorce. The Laws lived estranged from one another for close to six years, with Law eventually filing a bill of divorce in 1810. Thomas Law was granted custody of their young daughter Eliza, who would eventually attend boarding school in Philadelphia, but what remains unclear was the fate of all the bound laborers who served the Law family. As Eliza Law reclaimed her Custis surname, she began a nomadic life. Custis purchased a small home in Alexandria that she named “Mount Washington” and lived there from 1805 to 1809. At some point during the Law’s legal separation, Eliza Custis gave her estranged husband permission to emancipate some of her slaves. On June 13, 1807, Thomas Law gave Philadelphia her freedom, signing her manumission papers in consideration of one dollar.
He may have emancipated her because the maintenance and taxes on slave labor exacerbated his already cash-strapped affairs. And, like Washington, Law had a change of heart about the probity of slavery. Certainly, Law was no strident abolitionist, and while married to Eliza Custis, he lived with and profited from slave labor. But bound labor must not have settled well with Thomas Law, and his belief in gradual emancipation and the eventual relocation of black people emerged after the end of his marriage.
We do know that by the time of her emancipation, Philadelphia was close to twenty-eight years old and was married to William Costin. The couple did not wait for freedom to begin their family, a risky decision given the inheritable slave status that could have locked their children into bound labor. Thomas Law not only emancipated Philadelphia Costin, but he also set free her two children, two-year-old Louisa and four-month-old Ann. That same year, Thomas Law released additional members of the Costin family, most of whom were women and children. Among those emancipated was William Costin’s mother, Ann Dandridge, who had married and taken the surname Holmes. The
Costins took advantage of their free status and became well-known members of the free black community in Washington, DC. They expanded their family, purchased property, and assisted men and women who looked desperately for an exit from human bondage.
Although emancipated, Philadelphia Costin understood just how tenuous her free status was. Slavery would live on in the District of Columbia for more than another fifty years, and as long as it existed, Philadelphia Costin could never rest without concern. Kidnappers surveyed the streets of the Federal City, instilling fear and vulnerability into the hearts of men and women who possessed freedom papers—papers that were meaningless to unscrupulous slave catchers. The former slave needed to stay vigilant and not let her family’s newly found opportunity take down her guard.
Philadelphia’s emancipation was not surprising and was most likely due to the valued relationship between her husband and Martha Washington’s grandchildren. William Costin became one of the pillars of early black society in Washington, amassing property and moderate wealth over the course of his lifetime. Landing a job as a porter at the Bank of Washington, a title that he kept for more than twenty-five years, Costin’s free status and financial security allowed him to agitate for the rights of free blacks and to help those who were still enslaved. Eliza Custis Law trusted William Costin, calling on his carriage-driving services, and, on occasion, even asking for financial help. Costin obliged whenever he could, which in turn helped to secure his own family’s freedom.
Costin must have been a charismatic man, but when natural charm failed him, he could be a force to be reckoned with. When black codes grew tighter in Washington, Costin sued the city. Black codes required that every free black person appear before the mayor with documents signed by three different white citizens, attesting to good character. But white references were not enough for the mayor, so an imposed twenty-dollar peace bond was mandated, requiring free blacks to offer advance payment as a commitment to good behavior. Although the judge believed that Costin should be exempted from the new requirement, the laws remained intact. The personal exemption for Costin was in no way a victory for all free blacks.
When Costin couldn’t fight the law and win, he simply used it to his favor. Committed to helping friends and family find their way to freedom, Costin had to play the game; he became a slave owner. Throughout the 1820s, William Costin purchased and emancipated a number of enslaved men and women, many of whom had a direct connection to Mount Vernon. Twenty-eight-year-old Leanthe Brannin, daughter of Caroline, was one of the beneficiaries of Costin’s moral compass. She too had been a slave at Mount Vernon, but by 1820, Costin purchased her from George Washington Park Custis and then offered the woman a chance to buy her own freedom for five dollars.
Perhaps Custis’s participation in the colonization movement made him more amenable to emancipating Brannin? More likely it was the mutually beneficial relationship between Custis and Costin that allowed for deals to be struck. Costin’s work with the Bank of Washington and entrepreneurial spirit placed him in a favorable light with the Custis heirs. On occasion, the grandchildren wrote to Costin, asking him for help with transportation from his hack business. But more important than a carriage ride was Costin’s position at the bank, one that allowed for the Washington grandchildren to borrow money when necessary. The agreeable relationship between William Costin (often referred to as Billy) and the Custis heirs placed him in the perfect position to become an agent of change. He leveraged this relationship in order to purchase his family and friends.
As William Costin slowly led his family and friends out of slavery’s grasp, Ona Staines remained tucked away in Greenland’s seclusion. Perhaps had she known that her younger sister, Philadelphia, lived a good life as a free woman, it would have offered her peace of mind and a temporary salve to the difficult life she lived as a fugitive. If she knew that some of her old friends had managed to make it out of slavery, it might have eased her suffering that came with the loss of a husband and desperate poverty. Certainly, Ona Staines would have rejoiced at the news that her namesake and niece, Oney Fortune, was one of the lucky family members purchased and emancipated by William Costin. Had she known all of this information, it might have erased the only remorse, the only regret she carried with her to the grave. Ona Staines had walked away from her family at Mount Vernon, seizing an opportune moment, and she never looked back. To know that her family would eventually prosper as free people would have confirmed that her choice to escape had been a good one.
Her life had been difficult, but for fifty-two years Ona Staines never lost faith in herself. Every day that the fugitive opened her eyes, she knew one thing to be true: she would “rather suffer death” than return to slavery.
Acknowledgments
ACADEMICS ALMOST ALWAYS THANK THEIR family or their “village” at the end of their acknowledgments, but I’d like to break from that tradition. It takes a long time for historians to write books, and my family has supported me for many years. I have dedicated this book to two people: my mother, Frances C. Armstrong, and my husband, Jeffrey K. Dunbar. My mother was the first person to read my manuscript, and she did so many times over. She asked good questions and helped me to think about what a more “general” audience expects to read when they pick up a book. Her advice was invaluable. My husband is an incredibly supportive partner. Jeff not only picked up the slack when I was off on research trips or secluded in my office, but he is a closet historian who was just as mesmerized by Ona Judge Staines as I was. His patience and deep pride in my work helped me to make it to the finish line.
My son, Christian A. Dunbar, has grown up with Ona Judge Staines. Thank you for sharing your time with her and for your deepening respect for African American history. My father, Jacob R. Armstrong, my sister, Nicole E. Armstrong, and my niece, Leah G. Armstrong, have supported me in various ways, but remind me of the importance of family. Thank you to my “chosen family”—Raymond, Tracey, Amber, Christian, and Christopher Johnson who loved on me and my family when we needed it the most. I offer special thanks to Tracey, who was always there to help me with my son. You gave me peace of mind, a necessity for all writers.
To my “girls” who continue to entertain and love me—Marjorie DeLaCruz, Lisa Langhart, Rhea Williams, Jessica Davis Ba, Robin Watkins, Dana Baxter, Dawn Baxter Woodhouse, Nichelle Bussey, Christine Bussey Singleton, Dana Thomas Austin, Kysha Harris, Maria Schindler, and Tara Williams—thank you for the energy, the fun, and the memories.
To my “Sistah Scholars” who continue to do “the work”—Gabrielle Foreman, Tiffany Gill, Carole Henderson, Carol Rudisell, Daina Ramey Berry, Jessica Millward, Crystal Feimster, Krystal Appiah, Jessica Johnson, Farah Griffin, Kali Gross, Amrita Chakrabarti Meyers, Barbara Krauthamer, Martha Jones, Thavolia Glymph, Leslie Harris, and Barbara Savage—your work and commitment to the field make academia a better place.
I have benefitted from the careful draft readings, comments, and support from a number of scholars and friends. I offer my deepest appreciation to Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham, Jennifer Morgan, Barbara Savage, Leslie Harris, Mia Bey, Duchess Harris, Krystal Appiah, Annette Gordon Reed, Eric Foner, Susan Strasser, Wunyabari Maloba, Avery Rome, and Jennifer Torpie.
There are many institutions that have offered assistance while I wrote this book. I would like to thank the staff at the Fred W. Smith Library for the Study of George Washington at Mount Vernon. Douglas Bradburn was welcoming and Mary Thompson shared her vast knowledge of all things related to the enslaved at Mount Vernon. Archivist Wendy Kail at Tudor Place sent along helpful information, and the staff at the New Hampshire Historical Society and the Pennsylvania Historical Society were always friendly and helpful. I am fortunate to work with great people at the Library Company of Philadelphia. My “partner in crime,” Krystal Appiah, makes directing the Program in African American History an absolute pleasure. I have enjoyed working with scholar Rich Newman, and I offer a special thanks to Nicole Joniec for her help with the images for Never Caught. I wou
ld be remiss if I did not also thank my graduate student Michael Dickinson for all of his help at very important moments during the production of this book. I can’t wait for you to join me on the other side of the profession.
Vicky Avery did what few people do, that is, she accepted a phone call from a stranger and offered her goodwill and assistance. I called upon Vicky a few times during my research trips to New Hampshire, and each time, she was kind enough to point me in the right direction. Most memorable was our trekking through the woods (and poison ivy) to visit what is believed to be Ona Judge’s final resting place.
On a cold day in November 2014, I sat shivering on the bleachers at my son’s soccer game. I was miserable, but quickly forgot my discontent once I began a delightful conversation with writer Kathy DeMarco Van Cleve. As we suffered through the soccer game together, she asked what I was working on, and I told her about Ona Judge Staines. She immediately said, “you should talk to my agent.” It was one of the best pieces of advice I have ever received. Not only did Kathy serve as my compass, but she also read my manuscript and offered a critical eye and thoughtful comments. Thank you for your friendship, encouragement, and for introducing me to Laura Dail.
I tell everyone that I know that “my agent is a beast” . . . but in the best of ways. Laura Dail is quick, bold, extremely savvy, and ethical. She is as much an editor as she is an agent, and I thank her for taking care of me and Ona Judge Staines. She led me to my editor, Dawn Davis, and the Simon & Schuster and Atria team.
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