LIFE
OF
JAMES MARS,
A SLAVE
BORN AND SOLD IN
CONNECTICUT.
SIXTH EDITION.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
HARTFORD:
PRESS OF CASE, LOCKWOOD & COMPANY.
1868.
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:
These will certify that the bearer, DEA. JAMES MARS, has
been known to me and to the citizens of this town for a long period of years,
as an honest, upright, truthful man,--a good citizen, an officer in his church,
and a man whose life and character have gained the approbation, the esteem, and
the good wishes of all who know him. Born a slave, the good providence of God
has long since made him free, and, I trust, also taught him that "where
the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty."
JNO. TODD.
PITTSFIELD, Mass., June 23, 1864.
INTRODUCTION
When I made up my mind to write this story, it was not to
publish it, but it was at the request of my sister that lived in Africa, and
has lived there more than thirty years. She had heard our parents tell about
our being slaves, but she was not born until a number of years after they were
free. When the war in which we have been engaged began, the thought came to her
mind that her parents and brothers and sisters were once slaves, and she wrote
to me from Africa for the story. I came to Norfolk on a visit at the time the
war broke out, and some in Norfolk remember that I was once a slave. They asked
me about it; I told them something about it; they seemed to take an interest in
it, and so as I was in Norfolk now, and having an opportunity to write it, I
thought I would write it all through. In telling it to those, there were a
great many things that I did not mention that I have written. After I had
written it out, I saw that my brother and my other sister would think that I
might give them the same; and my children had often asked me to write it. When
I had got it written, as it made more writing than I was willing to undertake
to give each of them one, I thought I would have it printed, and perhaps I
might sell enough to pay the expenses, as many of the people now on the stage of
life do not know that slavery ever lived in Connecticut.
A SLAVE BORN AND SOLD IN CONNECTICUT
THE treatment of slaves was different at the North from the
South; at the North they were admitted to be a species of the human family. I
was told when a slave boy, that some of the people said that slaves had no
souls, and that they would never go to heaven, let them do ever so well.
My father was born in the State of New York, I think in
Columbia county. He had, I think, three different masters in that State, one by
the name of Vanepps, and he was Gen. Van Rensaeller's slave in the time of the
Revolution, and was a soldier in that war; he was then owned by a man whose
name was Rutser, and then was owned in Connecticut, in Salisbury, and then by
the minister in North Canaan.
My mother was born in old Virginia, in Loudin county; I do
not remember the name of the town. The minister of North Canaan, whose name was
Thompson, went to Virginia for a wife, or she came to him; in some way they got
together, so that they became man and wife. He removed her to Canaan, and she
brought her slaves with her, and my mother was one of them. I think there were
two of my mother's brothers also. The Rev. Mr. Thompson, as he was then called,
bought my father, and he was married to my mother by him. Mr. Thompson
ministered to the people of Canaan in holy things;
his slaves worked his farm. For a short time things went on
very well; but soon the North and the South, as now, fell out; the South must
rule, and after a time the North would not be ruled. The minister's wife told
my father if she only had him in the South, where she could have at her call a
half dozen men, she would have him stripped and flogged until he was cut in
strings, and see if he would do as she bid him. She told him, You mind, boy, I
will have you there yet, and you will get your pay for all that you have done.
My father was a man of considerable muscular strength, and was not easily
frightened into obedience. I have heard my mother say she has often seen her
mother tied up and whipped until the blood ran across the floor in the room
where she was tied and whipped.
Well, as I said, the South and the North could not agree;
the South seceded and left the North; the minister's wife would not live North,
and she and her husband picked up and went South, and left my father and mother
in Canaan to work the farm, and they lived on the farm until I was eight years
old. My mother had one child when she came from the South; I was the first she
had after she was married. They had five children born in Canaan,--three died
in infancy. I was born March 3d, 1790.
Mr. Thompson used to come up from Virginia and talk about
our going South. He would pat me on the head and tell me what a fine boy I was.
Once when he was in Canaan, he asked me if I would not like to go with him and
drive the carriage for my
mistress. He said if I would go he would give me twenty-five
cents, or as it was then called, twenty-five coppers. I told him I wanted the
money first. He gave me a quarter, and then I would not agree to go, and he put
me in the oven; that I did not like, and when I got out I would not give him
the money, but his business I did not yet know. He had come to sell his farm
and to take us all South. My father said he would not go alive; the minister
told him he must go; my father said he never would. Well, the man that had
formerly ministered to the people in holy things, sold the farm, and stock, and
tools, and effects, with a few exceptions. He kept a pair of horses and
harness, a wagon, a bed, and a few such articles. The harness and wagon he kept
to take us to the South with. After he sold his place, he took us all to a
wealthy friend of his, until he had settled up all his affairs, so as to show
to the world that he was an honest and upright man. He would have them think
that he feared God and let alone evil; for he was born or raised in the State
of New York, and had taught the people of North Canaan the way to do, as you
will see, for in former days he spoke to the people from the pulpit morally,
and they thought much of the man. He had taught them slavery was right, and
that the Great Almighty God had sanctioned the institution, and he would
practice it. He now made his arrangements to set out on his journey; the day
was fixed to leave his much-loved people and home for his southern home, where
he had obtained a new home and friends and acquaintances.
My father, although a slave without education, was intensely
watching the movements of the teacher of the people, but kept all that he saw
to himself, yet he was steadily planning his escape. The set day had now within
about thirty-six hours come; all went on well with the man from the South. He
had had no thought but all was well; those fine chattels were his, and would
fetch him in a southern market, at a moderate estimate, two thousand dollars;
they would furnish him pocket change for some time, and also his loving wife
could have a chance to wreak her vengeance on my father for what she called
disobedience.
It was a matter of doubt with my father what course to
take,--how he could get away with his family the best and safest; whether to go
to Massachusetts, which joined Canaan on the north, or to Norfolk, which joined
Canaan on the east. Very fortunately for us, there was at that time an
unpleasant feeling existing between the two towns or the inhabitants of Canaan
and Norfolk. He said that the people of Canaan would side with their former
pastor, and he found that the people of Norfolk would take sides against Canaan
and their pastor; then he thought the best that he could do would be to take
his family to Norfolk, where they would be the safest. He concluded to take
them to Norfolk, but how was he to get them there with what he wanted to take
with them? He came to the conclusion that the horses he had for a long time
driven might as well help him now in this hour of distress
as not. He got a colored man to help him that was stout and
healthy. They hitched up the parson's team, put on board what few things he had
and his family, in the still of a dark night, for it was very dark, and started
for Norfolk, and on the way we run afoul of a man's wood-pile, for it was so
dark he could not see the road; but we got off from the wood-pile without harm,
and arrived in Norfolk about one o'clock. I think we stopped at a tavern kept
by Mr. G. Pettibone, and in him we found a friend. We unloaded what we had, and
father and the man that was with him took the team back to Canaan, so that the
parson might set out on his journey and not have to wait for his team, and
father returned to where he had left his family. He felt that he had done all
for the parson that he well could, for he had taken away his family off from
his hands, so that the parson would be relieved from the care that must
necessarily occur in such a long journey with a family on his hands to see to,
and my father thought that the parson's old Jewel would be relieved from some
of her pardoned habits and from a promise she had so often made to him when she
got him South. Well, how the parson felt when he had got himself out of bed,
and found that he was left to pursue his journey alone, the reader can tell as
well as I, for he was a big and bristle man; but I will leave him for a while,
and see what is to be done with us.
It was soon known in the morning that we were in Norfolk;
the first inquiry was, where will they be safe. The place was soon found. There
was a man by the name of Phelps that had a house that was not occupied; it was
out of the way and out of sight. After breakfast, we went to the house; it was
well located; it needed some cleaning, and that my mother could do as well as
the next woman. We all went to work and got it cleaned, and the next day went
into it and stopped some time. Father did what work he could get out of the way,
where he would not be seen, and it was necessary for him to keep out of sight,
for Norfolk was the thoroughfare to Hartford. Days and weeks passed on, and we
began to feel quite happy, hoping that the parson had gone South, as we heard
nothing from him. At length we heard that he said he would have the two boys at
all hazards. It was thought best that the boys should be away. So one dark
night we heard that the parson was coming out with his men to find the boys,
for have them he would. A man that lived near to us said he would take the boys
where they would be safe. His name was Cady. It was agreed on, and he went with
us over a mountain, over rocks and logs. It was very rough and steep, and the
night was so dark that we could only see when it lightened. At last we got
through the woods on the top of what is called Burr Mountain. We could look
down in low grounds and see logs that were laid for the road across the meadow;
at every flash they could be seen, but when it did not lighten we could not see
anything; we kept on,--our pilot knew the way. At last we arrived at the place.
The name of the family was Tibbals. The family consisted of an old man, a
middle-aged man and his wife and four children, and a very pleasant family it
was. We had not been there long before it was thought best that my brother
should be still more out of the way, as he was about six years older than I,
which made him an object of greater search, and they were at a loss where to
send them, as he was then about fourteen years of age. There was a young man by
the name of Butler, from Massachusetts; he was in Norfolk at the time, studying
law; he said he would take him home with him, and he did so, as I supposed, and
I saw him no more for more than two years.
I stopped with the family a few days, and then went home, or
what I called home. It was where my parents and sister were. I found them very
lonely. I had not been home many days before our quiet was disturbed, for the
parson had his hunters out to find our whereabouts. He somehow found where we
were. My sister and myself were at play out at the door; we saw two men in the
woods, a little from the house, coming very fast, and they came into the house.
My father was not far from the house; mother was in the house. The men were
Captain Phelps, the man who owned the house, and Mr. Butler, the law student.
They told us that we must now say whether we would go with the parson or not,
and we must decide quick, for the parson was coming, and he would soon be on
the spot, and there was no time to lose. Mother had said she was not unwilling
to go herself, if it was not father and the children, and the parson had made
her such promises that she was somewhat inclined to go. The parson talked so
fair to her, he beguiled her, I suppose, somewhat as our first mother was
beguiled in the garden. The beguilers were both, I do not say preachers, but
they were both deceivers, and he talked so smooth to mother that he beguiled
her. He told her if she would go to Canaan and see to his things and pack them
up for him, then if she did not want to go, she need not. Mother talked with
father; he did not incline to go, but finally he consented. The parson ordered
a wagon, and it was soon on the spot; but where was Joseph?--he is not here.
"I want him to go with us, that we may be all together," said the
parson. Father saw what the parson's plan was: he told him the boy was on the
way,--he could get him when we got to Canaan. I should have said that those two
men that came to tell us that the parson was coming, hid in the barn before the
parson arrived, and were not seen by him. They had a few words with my father
while the parson went for his team. We set off for Canaan, and in the land of
Canaan we arrived that day. Where is Joseph? Father said he would go for him the
next day in the morning, or in the day. Father went, as the parson supposed,
for Joseph. The parson was loading; mother was packing; all was now going on
well. Night came, and when all was still, for father had told some one it would
be late before he got back, he came and took the parson's horses, and took
mother and the two children on horseback, and instead of going South, went to
Norfolk, and got there about two o'clock in the morning. We stopped at a tavern
kept by Captain Lawrence. The horses were sent back for the parson, for he said
he should start the next day; but it seemed that he did not start for old
Virginia, for we often heard of him after that day.
We stopped with Capt. Lawrence a few days. It was thought
best by our friends that we should not all be together, for it was found that
the parson was still in the land, and on the lookout for us. I was sent to a
woman in the neighborhood, by the name of Darby--a poor woman. I stopped with
her a few days, with instructions to keep still. The old lady had but one room
in her place; most likely it was thought she had so little room that she would
not be suspected of harboring a fugitive.
A man by the name of Walter lived near by; he was in the
habit of coming in to see how his boy did, as he called me. He told me when any
one came there I must get under the bed. I used to sit in the corner of the
room, so that I should not be seen from the window. I stayed there a number of
days,--I do not now remember how many. One day I ventured to take a peep through
the key-hole; the door was locked. Some one came to the door; I made a bound,
and then a roll, and I was out of sight. The door was opened, and it was my
friend Mr. Walter. He was amused to hear the performance; he said he would take
me with him the next day, he was going to work in a back lot where it would be
out of sight. So the next day I went with him; it was quite a treat. At noon we
ate our dinner in the field; that was new to me. After dinner Mr. Walter lay
down on the ground; he told me he should go to sleep, and I must keep a
look-out to see if any one came in sight. If I saw any one, I must wake him. I
kept watch, but there was none came to disturb him in his repose. The day
passed away, and we returned home at night--all well, as I supposed; but it
seemed that the parson had his pickets out, and had got an idea that I was
somewhere in the street. That night I had to leave my place at Mrs. Darby's,
and went about a mile to a man's house by the name of Upson; he lived on a back
street. I thought him to be a friend; I do not know but he was,--but as I find
that men now act in relation to slavery, I am inclined to think otherwise. The
next morning the man went to his work; he was painting for the minister in
Norfolk. Mrs. Upson sent me to the brook, a little way from the house, to fetch
a pail of water. I did not like going into the street very much, but being
taught by my parents to obey, I went without any words. As I got to the brook,
a man rode into the brook with a cocked hat on. I did not much like his looks.
I did not know who he was. Said he,--"My boy, where is your father and
mother?" I said, "I don't know, sir." "Where is you
brother?" "I don't know, sir." "Where do you live?"
"I don't know, sir." "Whom do you stay with?" "I don't
know, sir." I did not then know the name of the man. He rode off, or
rather I left him asking questions. He looked after me till I got to the house,
and rode up. I asked Mrs. Upson who it was that came to the brook when I was
there. She said it was Mr. Robbins, the minister. I thought nothing of it, for
I thought all the people in Norfolk were our friends. In a few hours, the woman
sent me to the neighbor's to get some water from the well. It was a widow woman
where I went to get the water, and there I found my father. He said that Capt.
Lawrence had been there and told him that Mr. Robbins had sent his son to
Canaan to tell parson Thompson that he had seen one of his boys, and we must go
in the woods, for he thought the parson would come out to look for me. Father
took the water and went with it to the house that I brought the pail from. The
family where I went for the water, I shall always remember with the kindest
feelings. We have ever, from that day to the present, been on the best terms,
and I believe three of them are living now. Two of them live in that same house
that they then lived in, and the transactions of this narrative took place
sixty five years ago. Their name is Curtiss.
When father came back, we set off for the woods pointed out
by our friends; we went across the lots and came to a road, and crossed that
into another open field. The woods were in the backside of the field. As we
went on, we ascended a ridge of land, and we could see the road that led from
Canaan to
Norfolk. The road then went past the burying-ground, and we
could see it from where we were. We saw fourteen men on horseback; they were
men we knew; the parson was one of them. We hid behind a log that was near us
until they got out of sight; we then went into the woods, and there we found my
mother and sister; they had been sent there by the man that had told us of the
parson's information of where I was. We all remained there. This I should think
was about two or three o'clock in the afternoon. Very soon the thought of night
came to mind; how we were to spend the night, and what we should do for
something to eat; but between sundown and dark a man passed along by the edge
of the woods, whistling as he went. After he had passed on, father went up where
the man went along, and came back with a pail or basket, and in it was our
supper. We sat down and ate. The man we saw no more that night, but how were we
to spend the night I could not tell; it was starlight, yet it was out in the
woods, but father and mother were there, and that was a comfort to us children,
but we soon fell asleep and forgot all our troubles, and in the morning we
awoke and were still in the woods. In due time the man that passed along the
night before, came again with more food for us, and then went his way; his name
was Walter. We spent several days in the woods,--how many I do not remember. I
think it was the fore part of the week when we went into the woods; we were
there over the Sabbath, for I well remember a man by the name of Bishop had a
shop where he fulled and dressed cloth not very far from where we were, and he
came to the back door of his shop and stood and looked out a while, and went in
and shut the door. I felt afraid he would see us. We kept very still, but I
think he did not know that we were there; if he did, it did us no hurt. We were
fed by kind friends all the time we were in the woods.
One afternoon, or towards night, it was thought it would be
safe to go to a barn and sleep. After it was dark we went to a barn belonging
to Mr. Munger and slept, but left it while the stars were shining, and so for a
few nights, and then it was thought we might sleep in the house. The next night
after dark, we went in the house of Mr. Munger for the night. My sister and myself
were put up in a back chamber, behind barrels and boxes, closely put together,
out of sight for safe keeping. We had not been there long before mother came
and told us we must get up, for Captain Lawrence, our friend, had sent word
that the parson said he would have the boys at any rate, whether he got the
parents or not. His pickets were going to search every house within a mile of
the meeting-house that night, or search until he found them. But we went into
the woods again; we were there awhile again; when it rained, we went sometimes
into a barn when we dared. After a time it was rather still, and we were at one
house and sometimes at another. We had pickets out as well as the parson. It
was thought best that I should not be with the rest of the family, for the hunt
seemed to be for the boys. My brother, I have said, was out of the State. I was
sent to one family, and then to another, not in one place long at a time. The
parson began to think the task harder than he had an idea; it rather grew worse
and more perplexing; he did not know what to do. He was outwitted in all his
attempts; every effort or trial he had made, had failed. He now thought of
giving my father and mother and sister their freedom if they would let him have
the boys to take with him; this they would not do.
After some time was spent, the parson or his pickets had an
idea that we were all at Capt. Lawrence's house, shut up there; how to find out
if we were there or not, was the puzzle. They contrived various plans, but did
not succeed. Finally there was one thing yet. They knew that Mr. Lawrence loved
money; they thought they would tempt him with that; so they came to his house
and made trial. They met together one day and wanted to search his house; he
would not consent for a time; they urged and he refused. He finally told them
on certain conditions they might go into every room but one. They went into all
the rooms but one. They then wanted to go into the room that they had not been
into; they offered him money to let them go into the room,--how much he did not
tell, as I know of. He finally consented. The much-desired room was a chamber
over the kitchen. Mr. Lawrence opened the door at the foot of the stairs, and
called and said, "Jupiter! (for that was my father's first name,) you must
look out for yourself now, for I can not hide you any longer." He then
told the parson's pickets they must take care, for Jupiter says he will kill
the first man that lays hands on him. They hesitated some; they then went up stairs
still, and stopped a short time, and then with a rush against the door, it gave
way, and they all went in. They found the landlady sitting there as composed as
summer, with her knitting-work, unconscious of an arrest to go south as a
slave! but they found us not, although the room they last went into was the one
we had occupied all the time we were in that house, sometimes one night,
sometimes a week, and then in the woods or elsewhere, as was thought best to
keep out of the way.
The pickets returned to the land of Canaan to see what was
to be the next move. The parson then proposed to give my father and mother and
sister their freedom, if they would let him have the boys. That they would not
do; but the boys he said he must have. As my brother was away, it was thought
best that I should be away. I was sent to Mr. Pease, well-nigh Canaan, and kept
rather dark. I was there for a time, and I went to stay with a man by the name
of Camp, and was with him a time, and then I went to stay with a man by the name
of Akins, and stayed with him a few days, and went to a man by the name of
Foot, and was with him a few days. I went to another man by the name of Akins,
and was there some time. The parson was not gone south yet, for he could not
well give up his prey. He then proposed to sell the boys until they were
twenty-five, to somebody here that my parents would select, for that was as
long as the law of Connecticut could hold slaves, and he would give the other
members of the family their freedom. It was finally thought best to do that if
the purchasers that were acceptable could be found. Some friends were on the
lookout. Finally a man by the name of Bingham was found; it was a man that my
father was once a slave to; he would take my brother,--then a man by the name
of Munger would buy me if they could agree. Mr. Bingham lived in Salisbury, Mr.
Munger lived in Norfolk; the two men lived about fifteen miles apart, both in
Connecticut.
The trade was made, and we two boys were sold for one
hundred pounds a head, lawful money,--yes, sold by a man, a minister of the
gospel in Connecticut, the land of steady habits. It would seem that the parson
was a worshiper with the Athenians, as Paul said unto them when he stood on
Mars Hill, he saw an inscription on one of their altars; and it would seem that
the parson forgot or passed over the instruction of the apostle that God made
of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth.
The parson was a tall man, standing six feet in his boots, and
had no legitimate children to be heirs to his ill-gotten gains. The bargain was
made on the 12th of September, 1798. Then I was informed that I was sold to Mr.
Munger, and must go and live with him. The man I did not know, but the thought
of being sold, not knowing whether I was ever to see my parents, or brother, or
sister again, was more than I could endure; the thought that I was sold, as I
did not then know for how long, it was hard to think of; and where were my
parents I knew not: It was a sad thought, but go I must. The next morning (I
was to go the morning of the 13th) was a sad morning to me. The morning was
clear, without a cloud. I was told where the man lived, and I must go, for he
had bought me. I thought of my parents; should I, oh! should I never see them
again? As I was taught to obey my superiors, I set out; it was a little over a
mile. The way was long. I went alone. Tears ran down my cheeks. I then felt for
the first time that I was alone in the world, no home, no friends, and none to
care for me. Tears ran, but it did no good; I must go, and on I went. And now
sixty-five years have passed away since that time; those feelings are fresh in
my memory. But on my way to my new home I saw my father; I will not attempt to
describe my feelings when he told me he had taken rooms in the same
neighborhood, and should be near me. That made the rough way smooth. I went on
then cheerful and happy. I arrived at the place. I found a man with a small
family; it consisted of himself and wife and three daughters. The oldest was
near my age. The family appeared pleasant. I ate a bowl of bread and milk, and
was told to mount a horse that was at the door with a bag of rye on his back,
and ride to the field; that was about a mile off. The man went with me, and on
the way we passed the house of Mrs. Curtiss, where I mentioned in the former
part of this narrative of going for well-water for Mrs. Upson. We went to the
field and worked that day; went home at night. The family appeared very pleasant,
and I felt pleased to think that the parson had gone, for I was told that he
went the same day that I went to my new home. In a short time my father and
mother and sister came into the neighborhood to live. I was allowed to go and
see them one evening in two weeks. They lived about sixty rods from where I
lived. Things went on well. I was very contented, and felt glad that the fear
of being carried south was at an end. The parson was out of town and out of
mind. I soon became acquainted with Mrs. Curtiss' boys, for I passed the house
where they lived every day, as Mr. Manger's farm was beyond where they lived. I
soon was feeling contented and happy. There was one thing that was unfortunate
for me; Mr. Munger was not a stout, strong man, and not very healthy, and had
no other help but me, and of course I had many things to do beyond my strength.
I do not complain of many things, yet there are two things more I will mention.
One of them I feel to this day, and that I feel the most is that I did not have
an opportunity to go to school as much as I should, for all the books I ever
had in school were a spelling-book, a primer, a Testament, a reading-book
called Third Part, and after that a Columbian Orator. My schooling was broken
and unsteady after the first second winters, as Mr. Munger had no help, and had
to go something like two miles for his wood. He would take me with him to the
woods, and he would take a load and go home, and leave me to chop while he was
gone. The wood was taken off from a fallow where he had sowed rye. It was in
piles. Some had to be cut once, and some twice, and some three times. I went to
school the most of the first winter; after that my schooling was slim. The
other thing was, he was fond of using the lash. I thought so then, and made up
my mind if I ever was the strongest I would pay back some of it. However,
things went on, and I thought a good deal of Mr. Munger; yet I wonder sometimes
why I was not more contented than I was, and then I wonder why I was as contented
as I was. The summers that I was thirteen and fourteen, I was sick; they began
to think I had the consumption. They sometimes would say to me, "If you
should die we should lose a hundred pounds." I do not know as Mr. Munger
ever said that, but it was said to me. But I will pass on with my story.
I soon found out that I was to live or stay with the man
until I was twenty-five. I found that white boys who were bound out, were bound
until they were twenty-one. I thought that rather strange, for those boys told
me they were to have one hundred dollars when their time was out. They would
say to me sometimes, "You have to work four years longer than we do, and
get nothing when you have done, and we get one hundred dollars, a Bible, and
two suits of clothes." This I thought of.
Some of the family or friends of the family would tell me
what a good boy I should be, because Mr. Munger saved me from slavery. They
said I must call him Master; but Mr. Munger never told me to, so I never did.
If he had told me to, I should have done so, for I stood greatly in fear of
him, and dreaded his displeasure, for I did not like the lash. I had made up my
mind that I would not stay with him after I was twenty-one, unless my brother
did with the man he lived with. My brother had been home to see us, and we went
once to see him. I asked my brother how long he was going to stay with Mr.
Bingham. He said Mr. Bingham said he should have his time when he was twenty
one. Well then, I would have my time, I said to myself. Things went on, and I
found Mr. Munger to be a very good sort of a man. I had now got to be fifteen
years of age. I had got my health, and had grown to be a big boy, and was
called pretty stout, as the word is, yet I was afraid of Mr. Munger. I actually
stood in fear of him.
I had now got to be in my sixteenth year, when a little
affair happened, which, though trivial in itself, yet was of consequence to me.
It was in the season of haying, we were going to the hayfield after a load of
hay. Mr. Munger and I were in the cart, he sitting on one side and I on the
other. He took the fork in both of his hands, and said to me very pleasantly,
"Don't you wish you were stout enough to pull this away from me?" I
looked at him, and said, "I guess I can;" but I did not think so. He
held it toward me with both his hands hold of the stale. I looked at him and
then at the fork, hardly daring to take hold of it, and wondering what he
meant, for this was altogether new. He said, "Just now see if you can do
it." I took hold of it rather reluctantly, but I shut my hand tight. I did
as Samson did in the temple; I bowed with all my might, and he came to me very
suddenly. The first thought that was in my mind was, my back is safe now. All
went on well for two months or more; all was pleasant, when one day he--or Mr.
Munger, I should have said-- was going from home, and he told me, as was usual,
what to do. I went to my work, and did it just as he told me. At night, when he
came home, he asked me what I had been doing. I told him, but he did not seem
satisfied. I told him I had done just what he told me. He said I had not done
what I ought to have done. I told him I had done what he told me. That was more
than I had ever said before. He was angry and got his horsewhip, and said he
would learn me. He raised his hand and stood ready to strike. I said, "You
had better not!" I then went out at the door. I felt grieved to see him in
such a rage when I had done just as he told me, and I could not account for it.
If he had been a drinking man, I should not have wondered; but he was not, he
was a sober man. I could not get over my feeling for some time, but all was
pleasant the next day. I said to his daughters that I would not stay there a
day after I was twenty-one, for I did not know what their father meant. I did
just as he told me, and thought I was doing what he would be satisfied with.
They told me not to mind it. Things went on from that time as well as I could
wish. From that time until I was twenty one, I do not remember that he ever
gave me an unpleasant word or look. While I lived with him, after that time, I
felt that I had now got as good a place as any of the boys that were living
out. I often went with his team to Hartford and to Hudson, which the other boys
did not that lived in the neighborhood. I now felt that I could do anything for
the family; I was contented and happy.
The year that I was eighteen, Mr. Munger was concerned in an
iron establishment, manufacturing iron. He had a sister living in Oneida county,
and he learned that iron was high or brought a good price there. He told me he
thought he would send a load out there and get a load of wheat, and asked me if
I would go out with a load. I told him I would if he wished me to; he said he
did. He got every thing ready, and I set out the 17th day of October, and
thought it would take me about two weeks or thereabouts. On I went, and when I
got there I could exchange my iron for wheat readily, but none had their wheat
out, and their barn-floors were so full that they could not thrash. I had to
wait a week. As soon as I got my load, I set out for home. I was gone a day or
two over three weeks. After I got to Norfolk, I passed the house where my
parents lived. They told me that it was very current with the people that I had
sold the horses and wagon, and was seen by some one that knew me, and was on my
way to Canada. They said that Mr. Munger said he did not believe it,--he said
he should not trouble himself. Yet I went on home. He was glad to see me; asked
if I had any bad luck. I told how it was, and he was satisfied, and said when
he saw the team that they were in better condition than they were when I left
home. "Now they may talk as much as they please; you and the team, wagon
and load are here." And when I told him what I had done, he said he was
perfectly satisfied, I had done well; he had no fault to find. Everything went
on first-rate. I did my best to please him, and it seemed to me that the family
did the same. I now took the hardest end of the work. I was willing to do what
I could. I was willing to work, and thought much of the family, and they
thought something of me. Mr. Munger was receiving his share of offices of the
town, and was from home a portion of his time. I felt ambitious to have our
work even with others. He said his work went on as well as if he was there.
When I was in my twentieth year, a nephew of Mr. Munger came
to board with him; he was studying law. Mr. Munger and I were accustomed to
talk about my term of service with him. I told him I did not mean to stay with
him until I was twenty-five. He said he thought I would if I meant to do what
was fair and just. I told him that my brother had his time when he was
twenty-one, and I wanted my time. He finally had some talk with his nephew, who
said that he could hold me. But finally Mr. Munger made me an offer of what he
would give me if I would stay. I thought the offer was tolerably fair. I had
now become attached to the family. I told him that I would stay, as he had
often said he thought I ought to stay after I was twenty-one. I thought I would
divide the time with him in part, as the offer he made would not cover the
whole time. All was fixed, and I worked on. Nothing more was said for a long
time about it; then the thing was spoken about, and the same mind as in us
both, and I felt satisfied. The fall previous to my being twenty-one came; all
was right, as I thought. The winter came and nothing was said. The last of
February came. I heard it hinted that Mr. Munger had said that that he should
not make any bargain with me, but if I left him he would follow me. The thing
was understood by us, and I paid no attention to it. March came, and nothing
was said. The third of March was my birthday. All was quiet, and I kept on as
before until the first of April. It was told me that Mr. Munger said that his
nephew had examined the law and found that he could hold me, and what he gave
me would be his unless he was bound by a written agreement. As there were no
writings given, I began to think it was time to know how it was. There was
another thing now came to mind.
When I was thirteen years old, Mr. Munger bought a calf of
my father, and gave it to me, and said he would keep it until it was two years
old, and then I might sell it and have what it brought. He kept it. He had a
mate for it, and when the steers were two years old he sold them for
twenty-four dollars. He then told me that he would give me a heifer of the age
the steer was, and when she had a calf he would take her to double in four
years. When I was seventeen he gave me a heifer, and she had a calf that
spring, and the first of April he said he would take her, and at the end of
four years from that time he would give me two cows and two calves. That was
agreed on. The next year, in March or April, one of his oxen hooked my cow; it
hurt her so that the cow died. Well, now, what was to be done? He said at the
time agreed on I should have my cows. I was content with that and worked on,
feeling that all would be made right. I thought I should have two cows with
those calves when I was twenty-one, and that would be a beginning. Afterward I
agreed to stay with him until I was twenty-five; I could let them until that
time. I will now go on with my story. I asked him for my cows and calves. He
said he should not let me have any. He said if I stayed and did well perhaps he
would give me a cow. I asked him if that was all that I was to have if I stayed
until I was twenty-five. He said he would see. I asked when he would see. He
said when the time came. I then told him I had been told that Warren (that was
the name of his nephew) had told him not to give me what he had agreed to, and
I wanted to know if he would do as he had agreed to or not. He said I belonged
to him, and I could not help myself. I told him I would stay with him as I had
said if he would give me a writing obligating himself to give me the sum we had
agreed upon. After hesitating a short time, he said he would not give a
writing; he would not be bound. I told him I had got that impression, "and
if you say you will not give me what you said you would, I will not work
another day." He then said if I left him he would put me in jail and keep
me there a year at any rate. This was on Saturday. The next day I picked up
what few duds I had, and at evening, as it was the Sabbath, I told him I had
done all the work for him that I should do. I then bade him good night I and
left his house, and went to my father's. The next day in the afternoon, Mr. Munger
and nephew came to my father's with a sheriff. I was not in the house. He told
my father that he would pay my board in jail for one year, and I could not help
myself. They took what few clothes I had, and went away before I got home. It
was well it was so. I told my father that I would stay in jail as long as Mr.
Munger would find money. I sent the word to Mr. Munger. He sent me word that I
should have an opportunity to. My people wanted to have me go away for a time.
I thought at first I would. Then I saw that I had nothing to go with, and had
no clothes for a change. I would not leave. I told them I would go to jail. I
thought perhaps I could get the liberty of the yard, and then I could earn
something to get some clothes, and then I would leave for Canada or some other
parts.
A few days after, I heard that Mr. Munger said he would
leave it to men how it should be settled, and he sent me such word. I sent word
to him, no, I was going to jail, if he would keep his word. He finally said as
I had always been faithful, he would not or had rather not put me in jail. My
parents said so much, they did not want to have me go to jail, that I finally
said I would leave it to three men if they were men that I liked: if they were
not, I would not. He said I might name the men; their judgment was to be final.
The men were selected, the time and place specified. The day came, the parties
met, and the men were on hand. Mr. Munger had his nephew for counsel; I plead
my case myself. A number of the neighbors were present. Mr. Munger's counsel
began by saying that his uncle had bought me, and had paid for me until I was
twenty-five, and that he had a right to me. I then told his nephew that I would
have a right to him some day, for he was the cause of all the difficulty. He
said no more. The arbitrators asked Mr. Munger if he had anything against me.
He said he had not. They asked him, in case they gave him anything, if he
wished me to work it out with him; he said he did. They went out a few moments,
and returned and said that I must pay Mr. Munger $90. He then asked me to go
home with him, and he would hire me. I told him I would go and get my clothes,
for that was in the decision. He said I could have them. His nephew did not
want me to live with his uncle, if he boarded with him. I told Mr. Munger that
I would not work for him. I hired to another man, and went to work in the same
neighborhood. This nephew kept an eye on me for a long time, and always gave me
the road whenever he saw me coming. Mr. Munger and family always treated me
with attention whenever I met them; they made me welcome to their house and to
their table. If that nephew had not interfered, there would have been no
trouble.
Things all went on pleasantly. In about four years I went
there again to work, and in a short time Mr. Munger and his two daughters
joined the church of which his wife was a member. I joined the same church, and
was often at his house. Mr. Munger was unfortunate and lost his property, not
as people lose their property now. He was poor and not very healthy, and his
wife and the daughter that was not married, not being healthy, and he being a
man advanced in life, it wore upon him and his family, and his daughter went
into a decline. I went west, and was gone about three months, and on my return
went to see the family, and found the daughter very much out of health and
wasting away. I called again the next day but one. As I had been accustomed to
take care of the sick, she asked me to stop with her that night. I did so, and
went to my work in the morning. The second day after, I called again to see
her, and she made the same request. I staid and watched with her that night.
She asked what I thought of her; I told her I feared she would never be any
better. She then asked me to stay with her if she did not get any better, while
she lived. I told her I would. A cousin of hers, a young lady, was there, and
we took the care of her for four weeks. I mention this because it was a time to
be remembered and cherished by me while I live. We were in the daily habit of
speaking of her prospects and how she felt. She would speak of death with as
much apparent composure as of any other subject. She said very little to her
friends about her feelings. The day that she died was the evening of the
Sabbath. About six o'clock in the afternoon, or rather all that day, she did
not appear to be as well; but at the time just mentioned she sunk away and
seemed to be gone for a short time, when she revived as one out of sleep, suddenly,
and seemed surprised, and said, "There is nothing that I want to stay here
for; let me go." She then bade her friends farewell, and told them not to
weep for her, for she was going. Her countenance seemed as if lit up with
heavenly love, and for a short time she seemed to be away from the world, and
then was still and said but little. About eleven o'clock she wanted to be
moved. She was moved. She then wanted to drink. I gave her, or put the glass to
her lips. She did not swallow any. I saw there was a change, and before her
friends could get into the room her spirit had fled.
That was a scene that I love to think of. It makes me almost
forget that I ever was a slave to her father; but so it was. I staid until she
was buried, and then I went West again. Her parents were broken-hearted indeed.
I returned from the West, and spent a part of the summer with Mr. Munger. I
afterwards worked where I chose for a few years. I was frequently at Mr.
Munger's house. He seemed depressed, his health rather declined, and he finally
sank down and was sick. He sent for me; I went to him, and he said he wished to
have me stay with him. I told him I would, and I staid with him until he died,
and closed the eyes of his daughter when she died, and his also. And now to
look back on the whole transaction, it all seems like a dream. It is all past,
never to be re-acted. That family have all gone, with one exception.
APPENDIX.
This Appendix is by request of those that have read what is
before it:--
After the death of Mr. Munger, I married a wife and lived in
Norfolk a few years; we had two children. We went to Hartford after awhile; I
worked for the then known firm of E. & R. Terry. There was a man came to
Hartford from Savannah, with his family; he came to school his daughter. He
brought a slave girl with him to care for the smaller children. My wife washed
for the family. All went on well for about two years. The Southern man's name
was Bullock, and the slave's name was Nancy. One day when I was at work in the store,
a gentleman came where I was; he asked if this was deacon Mars. I said
"Yes, sir." He said Mr. Bullock was about to send Nancy to Savannah,
"and we want to make a strike for her liberty, and we want some man to
sign a petition for a writ of habeas corpus to bring Mr. Bullock before Judge
Williams; they tell me that you are the man to sign the petition." I asked
him who was to draw the writ; he said Mr. Wm. W. Ellsworth. I went to Mr.
Ellsworth's office with the man. I signed the petition. I then went to my work.
I told Mr. Ellsworth that it would cause an excitement; if he wanted me at any
time, I would be on hand. The writ was served on Mr. Bullock, and he was
brought before Judge Williams, but Nancy could not be found. The court adjourned
till eight o'clock the next morning. At night Nancy came to the house where
they were boarding; she had been out as she was accustomed to go with the
children. Mrs. Bullock told Nancy to go to bed. She somehow had an idea that
all was not right; she opened the door, and gave it a swing to shut, but it did
not shut, as she said afterwards. She thought she would see what they were
talking about. She said Mrs. B. told Mr. Bullock to start in the morning at 4
o'clock with Nancy for New York; "never mind the bond, and send Nancy
South." I omitted to mention that the court put Mr. Bullock under a bond
of $400 to appear the next morning at 8 o'clock. The plan to send Nancy South
was fixed on. Nancy said to herself, "When you come where I be, I wont be
there." She went out of the house, and went to the house of a colored man
and stopped for the night. The next morning the court sat; master and slave
were both there. The court said it was the first case of the kind ever tried in
the State of Connecticut, and the Supreme Court of Errors was to meet in ten
days, and was composed of five judges; he would adjourn the trial until the
session of that court.
During those ten days I had a fair opportunity to see how
strong a hold slavery had on the feelings of the people in Hartford. I was
frowned upon; I was blamed; I was told that I had done wrong; the house where I
lived would be pulled down; I should be mobbed; and all kinds of scarecrows
were talked about, and this by men of wealth and standing. I kept on about my
work, not much alarmed. The ten days passed away; the Supreme Court of Errors
sat; Judge Williams was chief judge. The case was argued on both sides. When
the plea was ended, then came the decision:--two of the court would send Nancy
back to slavery; two were for her release; we shall hear from Williams
to-morrow at eight o'clock.
At the time appointed all were in attendance to hear from
Judge Williams. The Judge said that slavery was tolerated in some of the
States, but it was not now in this State; we all liked to be free. This girl
would like to be free; he said she should be free,--the law of the State made
her free, when brought here by her master. This made a change in the feelings
of the people. I could pass along the streets in quiet. Nancy said when she
went into the court-house on the last day she had two large pills of opium; had
she been sentenced to go back, she should have swallowed both of them before
she left the court house.
Now to my family. I have said I had two children born in
Norfolk, and six in Hartford. One died in infancy. I lived in Hartford about
sixteen years. I took a very prominent part in the organization of the Talcott
Street Church. I moved from Hartford to Pittsfield, Mass. When I had been there
three years and a half, my wife died in November; the May following I lost a
son sixteen years of age. My oldest son enlisted in the U. S. Navy when he was
eighteen, and has followed the sea ever since. I had another that went to sea,
that I have not heard from for eight years. My oldest daughter went to Africa,
to Cape Palmas; she went out a teacher, and has been there five years. I have a
son who, when the war broke out, when the first gun was fired on Sumter, wanted
to enlist, and did enlist in the navy, and went out on the brig Bainbridge, and
served until she was stopped for repairs. He then went on the Newbern and
served his time, and has an honorable discharge. Another, and the last one,
enlisted in the artillery and went to New Orleans, but never, no, never came back,
nor will he ever come again. I have a daughter in Massachusetts, of a frail
constitution. She has a family to care for. I have none to care for me that has
anything to spare, yet my children are willing to help as far as they are able.
As they are not able I feel willing to do all that I can to help to get my
living. The question is sometimes asked me if I have not any means of support.
The fact is, I have nothing but what I have saved within the last three years.
I have spent a portion of that time with my book about the country. I am now in
my seventy-ninth year of age, I cannot labor but little, and finding the public
have a desire to know something of what slavery was in the State of
Connecticut, in its time, and how long since it was at an end, in what year it
was done away, and believing that I have stated the facts, many are willing to
purchase the book to satisfy themselves as to slavery in Connecticut. Some told
me that they did not know that slavery was ever allowed in Connecticut, and
some affirm that it never did exist in the State. What I have written of my own
history, seems to satisfy the minds of those that read it, that the so called,
favored state, the land of good morals and steady habits, was ever a slave
state, and that slaves were driven through the streets tied or fastened
together for market. This seems to surprise some that I meet, but it was true.
I have it from reliable authority. Yes, this was done in Connecticut.
August 22d, 1866, I had a fall and uncapped my knee, that
laid me by ten months, so that I was unable to travel or do anything to help
myself, but by the help of Him that does all things well, I have got so as to
be able to walk with a staff. During the time that I was confined with my knee,
I met with kind treatment, although I was away from home. I was in the state of
New York at the time of my misfortune, away from any of my relations, still I
was under the watchful care of a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother. He
has thus far provided for me, and I feel assured that He will if I trust Him,
with all my heart and soul and strength, and serve Him faithfully, which is my
duty, the few years or days that are allotted to me, and it is my prayer that I
may have grace to keep me, that I may not dishonor the cause of Christ, but
that I may do that which will be acceptable in the sight of my Heavenly Father,
so that I may do good to my fellow-men.
One thing in my history I have not mentioned, which I think
of importance. Although born and raised in Connecticut, yes, and lived in
Connecticut more than three-fourths of my life, it has been my privilege to
vote at five Presidential elections. Twice it was my privilege and pleasure to
help elect the lamented and murdered Lincoln, and if my life is spared I intend
to be where I can show that I have the principles of a man, and act like a man,
and vote like a man, but not in my native State; I cannot do it there, I must
remove to the old Bay State for the right to be a man. Connecticut, I love thy
name, but not thy restrictions. I think the time is not far distant when the
colored man will have his rights in Connecticut.
James Mars, b. 1790
Life
of James Mars, A Slave Born and Sold in Connecticut. Written by Himself
Hartford: Case, Lockwood & Company, 1864.
Summary
James Mars
(1790-1880) was a Connecticut slave who, with his family, refused to follow his
master, a minister named Thompson, to Virginia, where he would have been denied
the emancipation guaranteed him at age twenty-five under Connecticut law. With
the help of the white citizens of Norfolk, Connecticut, Mars successfully
evaded his master's attempts to kidnap and smuggle him across state lines. In
his later life, he enjoyed a prominent place in New England's African American
community. During the 1830s, Mars worked in a dry goods store in Hartford,
Connecticut, and served as a deacon in the local Congregational church. He also
played an important part in the African American enfranchisement and temperance
movements. Mars was a principal in the 1837 landmark case Jackson v. Bulloch,
in which the Connecticut Supreme Court granted slave Nancy Jackson her freedom
after two years of residency in the state with her Georgia master, James
Bulloch. Around 1845, Mars moved his wife and eight children to Pittsfield,
Massachusetts, where he stayed for twenty years before returning to Norfolk and
publishing Life of James Mars (1864). Life went through at least
six editions, and the 1868 edition provides a more detailed summary of his
later life. Even in his old age, Mars prided himself on being self-sufficient.
At "seventy-four years of age" he boasted that in "the hay
season that is just passed I took my scythe and went into the hay field and
took my turn with the hands, day after day, with the same pay" (p. 35).
Mars moved to Ashley Falls, Massachusetts, where he died in 1880.
The Life of
James Mars centers around a struggle between northern and southern ideas of
slavery, a struggle embodied by the marriage of Mars's master, the Reverend
Thompson of Canaan, Connecticut, to a Virginia woman. Thompson's marriage leads
to the marriage of Mars's own parents (his father is the New York-born property
of Thompson, and his mother is the Virginia-born property of Thompson's wife)
and his birth, but it also leads Thompson and his wife to disagree over where
they should live. Describing Thompson and his wife as embodiments of their
respective regions and figures of the subsequent Civil War, Mars explains that
"the South and the North could not agree; the South seceded and left the
North; the minister's wife would not live North, and she and her husband picked
up and went South, and left my father and mother in Canaan to work the
farm" until 1798 (p. 6).
Because Connecticut law prohibited the removal of slaves from the state,
Thompson originally leaves the couple behind in the hope that their continued labor
would be more valuable to him than their sale.
Eventually,
Thompson wants to divest himself of his Connecticut interests and demands that
Mars and his family come to Virginia. The Mars family escapes to neighboring
Norfolk in the night instead, because "at that time an unpleasant feeling
existing between the two towns or the inhabitants of Canaan and Norfolk"
convinces Mars's father that "the people of Norfolk would take sides
against Canaan and their pastor" (pp. 8-9).
The people of Norfolk harbor Mars and his brother, who hide apart from their
parents and sister because Thompson's primary interest is in the boys, who are
more profitable to him.
Eventually,
Thompson tracks down Mars's parents in Norfolk and tries to persuade them to
relocate. He succeeds in persuading Mars's mother by speaking so kindly and
making such promises to her that "he beguiled her, I suppose, somewhat as
our first mother was beguiled in the garden," and she agrees to help him
pack for the move to Virginia (p. 12).
After packing Thompson's belongings, Mars's father is able to dissuade his wife
from moving south, and the two again escape to Norfolk in the night. Thompson
next tries to bargain with the parents, offering to give "my father and
mother and sister their freedom if they would let him have the boys to take
with him" but "this they would not do" (p. 18).
Unable to discover
where Mars is hidden or convince his parents to move to Virginia, Thompson
eventually sells his rights to Mars to a local farmer named Munger for a
hundred pounds on September 12, 1798. Mars enjoys his life with the Mungers,
regretting only that "I did not have an opportunity to go to school as
much as I should, for all the books I ever had in school were a spelling-book,
a primer, a Testament, a reading-book called Third Part, and after that a
Columbian Orator." He also discloses that Munger is "fond of using
the lash" (pp. 23-24).
Mars compares his
life with the Mungers until age twenty-one with that of contemporary white
boys, who were often bound to local farmers or artisans by their parents and
subject to the whims of their masters. When Mars is sixteen, he engages in a
friendly contest of strength with Munger and "did as Samson did in the
temple. I bowed with all my might, and he came to me very suddenly. The first
thought that was in my mind was my back is safe now" because Munger is no
longer able to whip Mars without his consent (p. 26).
When Mars turns twenty-one, he wishes to be treated in the same manner as an
indentured white boy who typically received "one hundred dollars, a Bible,
and two suits of clothes" when his term of service ended on his
twenty-first birthday (p. 24).
But Connecticut law stipulated that the children of slaves remained the
property of their masters until turning twenty-five, and Munger refuses to
release Mars, despite earlier promises.
Munger eventually
agrees to settle the question of Mars's freedom through arbitration, and a
panel rules that Mars must pay Munger ninety dollars to be released from the
remainder of his service. Mars earns the necessary sum by working for another
farmer in Norfolk until he turns twenty-five, when he returns to the Munger
household of his own free will. Mars frequently visits "the West,"
but he returns to Munger's side when his last owner's "health rather
declined, and he finally sank down and was sick" (p. 35).
Mars cares for Munger and his sick daughter until they both die, and the
positive emotion this experience promotes "makes me almost forget that I
ever was a slave" in the Munger household (p. 34).
Works Consulted:
Hinks, Peter, "James Mars," Encyclopedia of African American
History, 1619-1895: From the Colonial Period to the Age of Frederick Douglass,
Ed. Paul Finkelman, New York: Oxford University Press, 2006; Menschel, David,
"Abolition Without Deliverance: The Law of Connecticut Slavery
1784-1848," The Yale Law Journal 111.1 (October 2001): 183-222;
White, David, "The Real Life of James Mars," Connecticut History
43 (Spring 2004): 28–46.
UE9s3wEg+wBRQ8yNLIZ!~~60_57.jpg)
QE9s3HE3FfBQ54e2(E-g~~60_57.jpg)
6q0yvbBQ4NBLvM7!~~60_57.jpg)
