I was honored to be the editor for the Northern Appalachia segment of this anthology on several counts. Firstly, the talent of our poets is on full display. Works by Brady Buchanan, Greg Clary, Byron Hoot, Jessica Manack, Wayne Swanger, Girard Tournesol, Karen Weyant and Kirke Wise grace these pages, and if their work is not known to you, then this book will readily address that oversight! (I likewise have three poems in the collection.) The Central and Southern Appalachian poets are similarly inspiring and worth exploring. Secondly, I got to collaborate with principal editor T. Byron Kelly, who is a talented poet, artist and musician, and thoroughly committed to advancing the causes of the arts in Appalachia. His forward about the notion of an Appalachian Renaissance is thoughtful and hopeful. Thirdly, the entire effort supports a worthy and important cause: Reconnecting McDowell. This not-for-profit organization is focused on educational improvement in McDowell County, WV.

I owe a great debt of gratitude to Dr. Christina Fisanick, co-founder of WANA (Writers’ Association of Northern Appalachia) for her willingness to write the blurb for the book. Her comment perfectly encapsulates the spirit of the North/South Appalachia collaboration.

To learn more about North/South Appalachia, visit their blog here. To buy their new anthology, visit here.

It’s been an embarrassingly long time since I’ve posted anything to my website, which means that several pages are due for an overhaul. Those of you following me on Facebook know that I have had some poems published in a few literary journals new to me, and I’ve been active in the group Poets Against Racism USA as a co-founder and poet. I continue to enjoy an interest in my last two books, “Inspired By Their Voices,” and “Cursed,” and for that I am grateful.

I have much more planned, and now that I’ve retired from my other career, have the time to bring those plans to fruition. I’ll be meeting shortly with the editor of Mammoth Books, the publisher of “Inspired,” to discuss which (if any) of my finished manuscripts might be a good fit for our partnership. One manuscript we’ll be discussing is a collection of poetry I’ve tentatively titled “Goddesses I have Known.” The collection is meant to celebrate all aspects of the Feminine experience. The other manuscript that is ready for publication is nonfiction, and tells the story of Gilbert Ball, a prominent African American politician in 1880s Philadelphia. Whether through Mammoth, or another publisher, I fully expect these two books to be available this year.

In the meantime, I’ve been busy editing a collection of poetry written by someone else– a young woman of color writing in the 1830s, also in Philadelphia. Her work has never been pulled together into one volume, and I am excited to be the first to do that. I’ve also written what I believe might be the most comprehensive biography of her life, to be included in the book. I’m committed to bringing her poetry to a wider audience.

Then, I’ll be back at work on my next nonfiction work, exploring the life of Nina Van Zandt, who fell in love with one of the Chicago Anarchists. That book, tentatively titled “The Anarchist’s Bride,” is most likely over a year away, as I want to be sure I do justice to her extraordinary story.

As these books come to fruition, I’ll be back to writing blogs highlighting aspects of their content, which I hope you will find edifying and thought-provoking. I thank you for your interest in these stories and appreciate your support. And, I’ll be updating my website pages with more awards, recent instances of my poetry, and where it has been published.

As they say, more to come!

Sydney Howard Gay (1814–1888)

This is another in a series of blogs about the abolitionists whose writings are included in my book, “Inspired by their Voices: Poems from Underground Railroad Testimonies” published by Mammoth Books. Sydney Howard Gay’s participation in New York City’s railroad dovetailed closely with William Still’s work in Philadelphia, whose story was covered in a previous blog entry.

Sydney Howard Gay did not come to the antislavery movement quickly or easily. Born in Hingham Massachusetts to an attorney father whose family had arrived on the Mayflower and a mother descended from Revolutionary War heroes, no one in his family embraced abolitionism.

Unsurprisingly, as a young adult, Sydney’s first concern was the need for a career. His father, who by all accounts was a dour and morose man, wanted a successor for his legal practice. When this path was rejected by his three older sons— Martin, Charles and Henry— Ebenezer Gay (1771-1842 ) turned to 15-year-old Sydney, who did attend Harvard for a year or two. His pursuit of a juris doctorate ended when he became ill and returned home to convalesce. Rejecting law, Gay was determined to become a merchant. None of the many entrepreneurial efforts that followed proved successful, and some were disastrous. The Panic of 1837 especially dampened any opportunity for success, and Sydney ended up in New Orleans in threadbare clothing and without a single customer.

While Syndey attempted to establish his mercantile business in New Orleans, his mother Mary Allyn (1780-1866) and sister Frances (1809-1893) attended a local lecture by the brilliant and passionate Angelina Grimké (1805-1879), who impressed them both. Learning of this, Sydney chastised Frances, calling abolitionists fanatics who should be avoided, and expressing the common and misplaced belief that enslaved people lived in comfort and were happy. When a local Anti-Slavery Society was formed, Frances had to assure Sydney that she would not join. Her brother wrote her, saying: “None with whom I am connected by blood or affection will, I trust, ever give their convictions to opinions the end of which will lay to waste a fair portion of our country and give up the inhabitants to civil war and all its horrid train.” (See “Secret Lives of the Underground Railroad,” pages 18-19.)

Desperate, and facing the upcoming cholera season in New Orleans, Syndey eventually returned home on a ticket paid by his disapproving father to find his mother and sister even more sympathetic to the abolitionist cause. Determined to convince them otherwise, he began a study of the subject as he searched for work in Hingham. In a letter he wrote recalling those times, he told of a change that came over him in the winter of 1839. He was living like a recluse in his family home, removed, as he said, from the vanities and temptations of the world. This state of mind stripped him of his insensitivity, his eyes were opened, and he became an abolitionist.

With this immense change of heart, Gay became as fanatical a believer as any he had criticized before. He opened a school in Hingham, became a vegetarian and gave up alcohol. Asked by his father to reconsider the possibility of taking up law, he again rejected the profession, realizing that he could never swear an oath to the Constitution since it permitted slavery. He began attending local anti-slavery meetings and writing abolitionist articles for the Hingham Patriot, which had been taken over by another abolitionist. This was his first involvement in a newspaper, and put him on a path to his career as a journalist and newspaper editor. His interest in the power of the printed word led to his work as an agent for other abolitionist newspapers such as William Lloyd Garrison’s Liberator, the American Anti-Slavery Society’s National Anti-Slavery Standard and the New Hampshire Herald of Freedom. Finally, he was earning a salary, and his father lived to see it. Sydney began attending national antislavery conventions, even traveling as far afield as Indiana with Frederick Douglass (1818-1895) on a One Hundred Convention tour. These tours featuring lecturers were designed to bring the abolitionist message to as many people as possible. During the trips, Sydney sent reports to Garrison, who was impressed with his writing ability. This led to an offer from Garrison to edit the Standard.

Accepting the position after some trepidation, Sydney moved to New York City in 1843 and published his first edition of the journal on May 30, 1844. Syndey Howard Gay— once a failure in his father’s eyes and a worry to his mother— now had a calling. The job established his social circle, his sense of purpose, provided for his living expenses and assuaged long-standing feelings of inadequacy.

In 1845, Gay married Elizabeth Johns Neall (1819-1907), who was raised by prominent Quaker abolitionist and dentist Daniel Neall (1784-1846). Before her marriage, Elizabeth too was an activist involved in antislavery initiatives and the budding women’s rights movement. The couple had four children— Walter, Sarah, Martin and Mary— which ended Elizabeth’s activism. Her husband, however, found a way to increase his impact a hundredfold, at great personal risk.

During his 14 year tenure at the Standard, Gay used his office as an Underground Railroad depot, where escapees were interviewed to determine their needs, and aided. Most came from Philadelphia, sent by William Still and that city’s Vigilance Committee. Their desired destinations were either New England or Canada via upstate New York. Gay was joined in his efforts by an African American printer working at the Standard, William H. Leonard. Another key collaborator was a manumitted Black named Louis Napoleon— a porter who would meet escapees in New York, bring them to Gay’s office, shelter them at his own home, and then accompany them to the next station. Historians have estimated that Leonard accompanied 3,000 freedom seekers in total, an astounding number. Another famous conductor of the railroad came in contact with Gay during his tenure, too: Harriet Tubman. She passed through New York City at least twice as she accompanied runaways out of Maryland.

We know all of this because in 1855 and 1856, nearly ten years after he started his activities, Sydney began to record the arrival of freedom seekers to his office with all the attention to detail his editorial and journalistic experience brought to the table. The two volumes, which he titled “The Record of Fugitives,” go beyond simple notations about the escapee’s name and route. Like William Still in his impactful book, “The Underground Railroad” published in 1872, Gay’s records captured the stories of the runaways— their motivations, their experiences, their sorrows. The sheer volume of escapees assisted by the team reveal the important role New York City played in the railroad’s eastern seaboard activities.

Syndey’s motivations for starting his records are unknown. Perhaps the stories of the desperate people standing before him week after week finally drove him to document the injustices of their situation. Perhaps he sensed that his own tenure at the Standard was ending and he was driven to document his legacy. Perhaps someone asked him to start his journals in spite of the risks for some political or tactical reason. One thing Sydney never did record was his rationale.

Once he began his record-keeping, Gay’s approach was meticulous. He noted the escapee’s enslaved name, assumed name, former owner’s name, details about their escape, the names of agents along the railroad who assisted them, destinations they passed through, and how much money Gay put toward the next leg of their journey. Separately, he kept track of people making financial donations to the efforts coordinated by his group and the amount they donated. In the records that survive, over two hundred women, children and men are mentioned. More than half came from Philadelphia by train.

All of this activity was highly illegal. Gay’s records, in the wrong hands, could have resulted in severe financial penalties and jail time for himself, the donors and conductors, and recapture for the runaways. Unlike William Still, Gay never published his journals. Miraculously, his papers were preserved and now sit in the Rare Books and Manuscript Library of Columbia University as a treasure trove for historians studying the railroad and antebellum New York.

Gay’s contributions to the Underground Railroad did not end with the last entry in his journal. He continued assisting runaways through the newspaper’s offices until he resigned from the Standard in 1857. In a letter to his wife, Quaker and abolitionist Lucretia Mott (1793-1880) expressed her sorry at his resignation while encouraging Elizabeth to return to the public sphere. “Thou has had a long furlough in that beautiful Island-home— Come out now into public life & shew thyself, and help all the good causes along,” Lucretia wrote on May 7, 1858. “Sorry enough are we to lose Sydney’s able services in the Standard… how he will be missed at this coming Anniversary!”

Gay went on to editorial stints at the New York Tribune, the Chicago Tribune and the New York Evening Post. Given his accomplishments in his field, Harvard University— where he fell ill from stress and left a failure so many years before— awarded him with a diploma in 1877. Beyond his editing roles, he wrote historical nonfiction, collaborating with William Cullen Bryant on the multivolume “Popular History of the United States” published by Scribners in 1879, and authoring a respected biography of James Madison in 1884. It was published by Houghton, Mifflin and Company. In several chapters, Gay had the chance to comment on the history of slavery. Reflecting on the concessions made by the North during the Constitutional Convention, he wrote: ”Some hoped, perhaps, rather than believed, that slavery was likely to disappear ere long at the South as it was disappearing at the North. It is an impeachment of their intelligence, however, to suppose that they relied much upon any such hope. The simple truth is that slavery was then, as it continued to be for three quarters of a century longer, the paramount interest of the South… it can only be said for those who made [the concessions] that they did not see what fruitful seeds of future trouble they were sowing in the Constitution.”

Sydney Howard Gay died in 1888 after a fall left him paralyzed. He was in the midst of writing another book. Little did he know that the records he kept for those two years at the Standard would be his lasting legacy. Along with William Still’s narratives, Gay’s notes captured the stark realities of an institution that destroyed millions of lives, fractured a nation and led to its Civil War. They serve as a reminder to us all.

Sources

Foner, Eric. “Gateway to Freedom: The Hidden History of the Underground Railroad,” W. W. Norton and Co., 2015

Gay, Syndey Howard. “Record of Fugitives,” Columbia University Libraries. https://exhibitions.library.columbia.edu/exhibits/show/fugitives

__., “James Madison,” Boston: Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1891.

Papson, Don and Calarco, Tom. “Secret Lives of the Underground Railroad in New York City,” New York: McFarland & Company, Inc. 2015

Still, William. “The Underground Rail Road: A Record of Facts, Authentic Narratives, Letters &c. Narrating the Hardships, Hair-breadth Escapes and Death Struggles of the Slaves in their Efforts for Freedom, as Related by Themselves and Others or Witnessed by the Author; Together with Sketches of Some of the Largest Stockholders and Most Liberal Aiders and Advisers of the Road.” Philadelphia, 1872.

This is the fourth in a series of articles about the people whose testimony make up the poems in my book, Inspired By Their Voices: Poetry from Underground Railroad Testimony. In honor of Women’s History Month, this blog will highlight another female abolitionist and women’s rights activist: Sarah Moore Grimké (1792-1873). A blog can hardly do justice to the scope of Sarah’s life, dedicated as it was to activism over many decades.

When historians write about abolitionist efforts among women in the antebellum United States, Sarah Moore Grimké gets short shrift. She is most commonly mentioned in the same breath as her younger sister, Angelina. Angelina was passionately focused on antislavery, while Sarah became fiercely dedicated to the advancement of women’s rights. Generally, Angelina became the more prominent of the two, due in large part to her public speaking skills. But, as one learns more about these women, it becomes clear that there would be no Angelina without Sarah. Their combined importance to the abolitionist movement, and to the cause of women’s rights, cannot be overstated.

Sarah and Angelina Grimké were born thirteen years apart into a life of privilege and comfort in the heart of the southern slave economy: Charleston, South Carolina. The sisters were born to Mary (née Smith) and John Faucheraud Grimké, the chief judge of the state’s Supreme Court, and a wealthy cotton plantation owner. The couple were married in 1784, and had fourteen children. Only eleven survived to adulthood; Sarah was the oldest surviving daughter, born in 1792. The Grimké children experienced the realities of slavery first-hand— their household in Charleston had as many enslaved workers as family members. Some of Sarah’s earliest memories involved the increasing intolerance that her mother had for her “servants,” leading to cruel canings for even minor mistakes. One of these beatings led to four-year-old Sarah running away to the docks and begging a surprised ship’s crew to be taken away to a place where there was no slavery.

An intelligent and precocious child, Sarah bemused and challenged her parents, showing an early and dogged interest in scholarly pursuits. Her brother Thomas, five years her senior, was a singular inspiration. He shared his schoolbooks, worked on his Latin assignments with her, and after enrolling in the College of Charleston, spoke about his coursework. This common love of learning led them to discussions about law, politics and religion, and spirited debates at the dinner table. Sarah’s father often found her in his library, reading his law books. But Sarah’s destiny was predetermined for a different path: that of a genteel, elegantly dressed Southern woman who, while she may be pleasantly conversant in history and geography, was to marry, raise a family and keep a well appointed house. Chafing at this expectation, Sarah wanted the education afforded her brother, who went to Yale in early 1805. Like Thomas, she wanted to be a lawyer.

It was not to be.

Beyond her own desire for education, Sarah was determined to share it with others— especially the enslaved residents of the household. When she was almost twelve, she was caught reading to an enslaved ten year old girl named Hetty. Sarah taught Hetty the alphabet and phonics, to the point that Hetty could read children’s books.

This was against the law in South Carolina.

Retribution was swift and resolute. John Grimké went into a rage, and Hetty was removed from Sarah’s sphere. Although she was frightened, this experience planted the seeds of Sarah’s determination to educate enslaved children. Later, in her diary, she remembered, “I took an almost malicious satisfaction in teaching my little waiting-maid at night, when she was supposed to be occupied in combing and brushing my locks. The light was put out, the keyhole screened, and flat on our stomachs before the fire, with the spelling-book under her eyes, we defied the law of South Carolina.”

Her father’s stern lecture aside, Sarah found other ways to work around the restrictions of her circumstances. In a brave subterfuge, she taught the Bible to enslaved workers at a Sunday school that she started, but encouraged them to follow the words on the page along with her. Clearly, Sarah Grimké’s intensity was not easily dimmed.

Another focus of intense dedication in Sarah’s life was her sister, Angelina.

In a book sharing his memories of Sarah after her death, her brother-in-law Theodore Dwight Weld (1803-1895)— who lived with her for much of her adult life— wrote: “When Angelina was born Sarah who was not yet thirteen years old, entreated her parents to let her stand sponsor at the babe’s baptism. They, thinking it only a childish impulse that would soon pass, waived the question. But Sarah, nothing daunted, plied them again and again, with an intensity which excited their wonder.” In fact, Sarah became more than a godmother— she became a surrogate mother to Angelina. As she grew up, it was not uncommon for Angelina to call Sarah “Mother.”

Sarah instilled the same disgust of slavery in Angelina that she had cultivated over years of witnessing the cruelty of the South’s slave laws. Years later, both sisters wrote testimonies in the book “American Slavery As It Is,” published in 1839 by the American Anti-Slavery Society. Their stories of beatings, deprivations and travesty were unflinching.

A watershed moment in Sarah’s life happened in 1818, when Judge Grimké became ill. His doctor recommended a specialist in Philadelphia, in the free state of Pennsylvania. One year later, Sarah accompanied her father to the country’s second largest city. John Grimké and his oldest daughter stayed in Philadelphia for months, where Sarah encountered the Society of Friends, or Quakers, and their antislavery activities.

Even after taking in the sea air in Long Branch, New Jersey, Judge Grimké did not recover, and died with his daughter as his only companion— the daughter he once said could have been the most brilliant legal mind in the state of South Carolina, if she weren’t a woman. On her journey from the port of Philadelphia back to Charleston, Sarah met a wealthy Quaker family who began supplying her with books and pamphlets. This led to her conversion from her Episcopalian faith to the beliefs of the Society of Friends. She adopted their plain dress and resolved to leave her home and return to Philadelphia. In 1821, at the age of 29, she did just that. Joining the Fourth and Arch Street Meeting house, Sarah would have heard Lucretia Mott preach first-hand— an opportunity given to women unmatched in other denominations. Sarah began to develop theories on the rights of women, and briefly considered becoming a minister herself.

Meanwhile, Angelina remained in Charleston, believing that she had a role to play speaking out against slavery in her community. She, too, converted to Quakerism, after meeting Anna Braithwaite, an influential Quaker minister who visited the Grimké home. After failing to change the minds of her family, much less her friends and community members, Angelina left Charleston and joined Sarah in Philadelphia in 1829. They lived on the income from their inheritance, and did some teaching.

Becoming more emboldened by the abolitionist movement, both sisters published critical writings in 1836. Angelina issued her “Appeal to the Christian Women of the South.” “Respected Friends,” it began, “it is because I feel a deep and tender interest in your present and eternal welfare that I am willing thus publicly to address you.” The book went on to point out the immorality of slavery. It was burnt by the Postmaster when it arrived in Charleston.

While Angelina addressed Southern Christian women, Sarah wrote her “An Epistle to the Clergy of the Southern States.” Although banned and confiscated throughout the South, it struck a nerve, as some Southern ministers had begun to question slavery as an institution. Sarah used the penchant for logical argument she had honed at family debates to demonstrate that slavery was not blessed in the Bible. Remarkably, she claimed a credibility based on her ability to correctly translate the Bible from its original language.

Along with issuing their two inaugural publications, Sarah and Angelina relocated to New York in 1836, determined to become agents in the abolitionist cause. They attended a 19-day training session given by the American Anti-Slavery Convention, and began offering public lectures to female antislavery societies. Their call to action was that Northern women begin to root out prejudice in their lives and communities. These early lectures were just the start of years of public speaking, writing and testimony that exemplify the contributions of the Grimké sisters to the abolitionist movement. At the same time, Sarah began writing on the topic of women’s rights, publishing “Letters on the Equality of the Sexes and the Condition of Women” in 1838. In it, she claimed, “Men and women were created equal. . . whatever is right for a man to do, is right for a woman. . . I seek no favors for my sex. I surrender not our claim to equality. All I ask of our brethren is that they will take their feet from off our necks and permit us to stand upright on that ground which God destined us to occupy.” In letters written to fellow activists, Sarah always ended with the salutation, “Thine in the bonds of womanhood.” Clearly, the word ‘bonds’ is a double-entendre.

Both women habitually bore the brunt of ridicule as their actions challenged the conventional roles of women. Angelina was the target of mob violence as she spoke to a conference of women held in May 1838 at Pennsylvania Hall in Philadelphia. The mob was offended that women were speaking to an audience of both genders, and that Blacks were present. The next day, the rioters burned the building to the ground. Additional censure came when the Grimkés were disowned by the Society of Friends after Angelina married Theodore Dwight Weld that same year.

Sarah Grimké never married. She lived with Angelina and Theodore for the rest of her life. Withdrawing from the lecture circuit in 1839, she and her sister focused on publishing antislavery treatises and teaching. In 1850, they discovered that they had two nephews— Archibald Henry and Francis James Grimké— who were the children of their brother Henry and an enslaved woman named Nancy Weston. Sarah and Angelina began assisting the brothers, who were enrolled in Lincoln University. With their support, Archibald attended Harvard Law School and Francis matriculated at the Princeton Theological Seminary. Both went on to distinguished careers in fields that Sarah had at one time wished she herself could pursue.

By 1870, living to see slavery abolished through the 13th Amendment, Sarah and Angelina had moved to Hyde Park, Massachusetts, where Sarah was fond of handing out the book “Subjection of Women” by John Stuart Mill (1806-1873). She stayed true to the cause of women’s equality until her death in 1873 at the age of 81.

While Sarah saw the end of slavery, it would be another 46 years before women were granted the right to vote. The Equal Rights Amendment to the Constitution of the United States has yet to be ratified.

Sources

Baycora, Fidan. “From Charleston to Philadelphia,” Historic America, 2021. https//historicamerican.org

Birney, Catherine. “The Grimké Sisters, Washington City. 1885.

Grimke, Angelina. “Appeal to the Christian Women of the South,” 1836.

Grimké, Sarah. “Letters on the Equality of the Sexes and the Condition of Woman,” 1838.

Perry, Mark. “Life Up Thy Voice: The Grimké Family’s Journey from Slaveholders to Civil Rights Leaders,” New York: Penguin Books, 2001.

Whipps. Judy,. “Sarah Grimké and Agelina Grimké Weld,” Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, https:\\iep.utm.edu.

Weld, Theodore Dwight. “In Memory,” Boston: Press of George H. Ellis, 1880. https://archive.org/details/inmemoryangelin00weldgoog/page/n73/mode/2up.

__, compiler, “American Slavery As It Is,” New York: American Anti-Slavery Society, 1839.
 http://www.worldculture.org/articles/12-Grimke Letters, 1-3.pdf

Graceanna Lewis (1821 – 1912)

This is another article in a series highlighting some of the voices in my poetry book INSPIRED BY THEIR VOICES. This time, I’ve chosen another Pennsylvanian, and a Quaker woman, further illustrating the diversity of what became the Underground Railroad. Graceanna Lewis is another remarkable person whose accomplishments beg to be rediscovered.

Graceanna’s first love was observing the natural world. Her second, and equal passion, was social justice. In both she was encouraged by her mother, Esther Fussell Lewis (1782-1848), the daughter of Quaker abolitionists with their own inspiring stories of courage and resistance. Graceanna’s parents supported the anti-slavery cause from their farm, Sunnyside, in West Vincent Township, Chester County, which served as a safe house for freedom seekers. Esther had been a teacher before her marriage to Graceanna’s father, John Lewis, opening a school when she was just sixteen. The combination of her passion for teaching, and the Quaker belief in education for women, meant that Esther’s four daughters— the only children to survive past infancy— enjoyed a thorough grounding in literature, art and natural history at home, further developed at the nearby Kimberton Boarding School. The school was run by Abigail Kimball, herself a botanist and a mentor to the young girls. Graceanna’s early introduction to the rigors of scientific thinking, the discipline of observation, and the inherent belief in the ability of women to perform in realms traditionally unavailable to them, led to the legacy she is best known for, as a respected and published ornithologist. Anyone curious to learn more about Lewis will easily find a plethora of articles about her many contributions to her chosen field. She even has a bird named after her— the White-Edged Oriole, Icterus graceannae. It is found in Ecuador and Peru.

As tempting as it is to share all the details of Graceanna’s extraordinary life-long accomplishments in ornithology and zoology, it was the family’s participation in the Underground Railroad that led to Graceanna’s inclusion in the book INSPIRED. The Lewis family is mentioned in every important book about the railroad in Pennsylvania, from R.C. Smedley’s tome written in 1883— which devotes an entire chapter to Esther, who was widowed in 1824, and her daughters— to Wilbur Siebert’s comprehensive investigation published in 1898. A letter from Graceanna, written on April 17, 1896, is in the collection of correspondence that Siebert used to write his history. In it, she shares, “it was work done in secrecy for humanity’s sake. In most cases, no record was kept, because in those times records were dangerous— and in the memory, one case soon obliterated another where they were of daily, weekly, or monthly occurrence.” She went on in her letter to explain how the railroad worked:

The system was a regular sending from one family to another known to be opposed to slavery. The means such as each individual might choose to adopt. Generally an unwritten word given to the fugitive to be delivered to the next host; more commonly perhaps the fugitives were driven by the entertainer, to the next home, often many miles distant. I should say the period covered at least 150 years, and the practice became heredity in families.

In this passage, Graceanne is surely speaking of her own family’s heredity. Several branches and several generations had worked to oppose slavery over many decades. Beyond their faith, the location of the family’s homesteads was an important factor. As she described to William Still in a coded letter dated October 28, 1855, Sunnyside was located along a central route of the railroad running from Kennet Township to Downingtown through Chester:

This evening a company of eleven friends reached here, having left their homes on the night of the 26th. They came into Wilmington [Delaware], about ten o’clock in the morning of the 27th and left there, in the town, their two carriages, drawn by two horses. They went to Thomas Garrett’s by open daylight and from thence were sent hastily onward for fear of pursuit. They reached Longwood meeting-house in the evening…after remaining all night with one of the Kennet friends [probably the home of Graceanna’s uncle, Dr. Bartholomew Fussell], they were brought to Downingtown early in the morning, and from thence, by daylight, to within a short distance of this place… the case seems to us one of unusual danger. We have separated the company for the present, sending a mother and five children, two of them quite small, in one direction, and a husband and wife and three lads in another…

The Lewis women did more than shelter freedom seekers. They publicly supported the movement using all their talents and resources. One of Graceanna’s earliest publications, written in 1848, was “An Appeal to Those Members of the Society of Friends Who Knowing the Principles of the Abolitionists Stand Aloof from the Anti-Slavery Enterprise”.  It implored fellow Quakers to join the Anti-Slavery movement. She was certainly a role model: she served as an officer of the Pennsylvania State Anti-Slavery Society at the time of the pamphlet’s release. Ten years earlier, she was a 16-year-old delegate to the 1838 Anti-Slavery Convention of American Women.

Beyond their organized activities, the Lewis women were nurturers. Esther, who had the natural healing instincts of a physician, would care for injured and sick runaways for weeks until they were strong enough to continue their journey north. The family hired runaways to work at the farm and in the house. R. C. Smedley recounts an incident that deeply affected the young Lewis girls when they saw two men bound with ropes, eschewing resistance, and taken away to be returned to their owners. These men had been working on the farm and were never heard from again. In another passage, Smedley asserts that in one week, the family passed forty freedom seekers on to the next safe house. Some runaways were put on the Reading Railroad, going directly through to Canada. To pass as free Blacks, the runaways had to be dressed well, and this clothing was provided by the Lewis and Fussell families.

The Lewis women and their relatives continued their activism, but Graceanne left home in the 1850s to study at the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia. There she worked with renowned ornithologist John Cassin, who mentored her. During her work with Cassin at the Academy’s museum, she discovered a new bird species. By 1865, Lewis was teaching ornithology, although she was unable to land a college-level position because of her gender and lack of secondary education. Undeterred, in 1868, she published “Natural History of Birds,” generally considered to be the first comprehensive monograph on North American birds. In 1870, Lewis became one of the first three women admitted as members to the Academy. She never married, and remained active in her field well into her eighties.

One of the most fascinating intersections of Graceanna’s two passions— social justice and ornithology— came at the 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia. Her “Chart of Natural History,” accompanied by a wax model illustrating relationships in the animal kingdom, won an award from the Centennial Judges for its important and original approach to zoology. Her botanical paintings garnered the praise of leading scientists including the English biologist Thomas Henry Huxley. At that same centennial, William Still’s groundbreaking book, “The Underground Railroad: Authentic Narratives and First-Hand Accounts,” was showcased. The book included letters written to him by Graceanna Lewis all those years ago. It is entirely possible that they met on the grounds of the exhibit, reliving their dangerous collaboration decades before. He certainly was on her mind years later. In her letter to Siebert written on April 17, 1896, she mentions the passage in Still’s book about her family, and encourages Siebert to contact Still, who was still alive. They were some of the last of that generation of abolitionists who knit together the life-saving connections of the Underground Railroad.

Travelers through East Pikeland Township in Chester County will find a historical marker commemorating Graceanna Lewis:   

An early female scientist considered one of the best educated female naturalists of her day, Lewis dedicated her life to the study of botany and zoology. She exhibited her Chart of the Animal Kingdom at the Centennial Exposition in 1876, and won awards for her natural science drawings at the Columbian and Louisiana Purchase Expositions. A Quaker abolitionist, she was active in Underground Railroad activities at her family’s farm nearby.

Sources:

Bonta, Marcia. “GRACEANNA LEWIS: PORTRAIT OF A QUAKER NATURALIST.” Quaker History 74, no. 1 (1985): 27–40. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41947033.

Lapansky, Phillip S., “Afro-Americana: Frank Webb and His Friends.” Library Company of Philadelphia: 1990 Annual Report. N.p.: The Library Company of Phil, (n.d.).

Lewis, Graceanna. Letter to Wilbur H. Siebert, April 17, 1896.
https://ohiomemory.org/digital/collection/siebert/id/22997

Siebert, Wilbur. “The Underground Railroad: A Comprehensive History.” Ohio State University, 1898.

Smedly, R. C. “History of the Underground Railroad in Chester and the Neighboring Counties of Pennsylvania.” Lancaster: The Journal, 1883.

Still, William. “The Underground Railroad,” Philadelphia: 1872.  

Switala, William J. “Underground Railroad in Pennsylvania, Second Edition.” Mechanicsburg: Stackpole Books, 2008.

The Lewis-Fussell Family Papers Collection, Swarthmore College, Swarthmore, Pennsylvania

Warner, Deborah Jean. Graceanna Lewis, Scientist and Humanitarian. United States: Smithsonian, 1979.

Websites:

sierracollege.edu/ejournals/jscnhm/v6n1/lewis.html

paconservationheritage.org/stories/graceanna-lewis/

blog.library.si.edu/blog/2021/03/22/graceanna-lewis/#.YhpWsy-B1QY

On this day, 121 years ago, a young mother lost her battle against puerperal fever. Marion Alsobrook Stahlman, 33 years old, fell ill just days after giving birth to her second son. Her doctor, Andrew P. Letherman, kept her alive for nearly a month– until her husband returned to her bedside in Valparaiso, Indiana from Chicago. A member of a cult that advocated faith healing over medical care, Douglas Stahlman dismissed her doctor and threw away her medicines. She died shortly afterward. On her death certificate, Dr. Letherman noted that “abuse and neglect by husband” was a contributory cause of death.

My book, CURSED, tells Marion’s tragic story. Find it on Amazon here.

Rest in peace, Marion.

Dear Readers– I wanted to be sure and let you know of a few activities coming up as part of my launch of CURSED, Marion Alsobrook Stahlman’s story. The first is an official book launch at my favorite local bookstore, Watershed Books, at 194 Main Street, Brookville, PA (upstairs). Join me at 3:00 PM where I’ll be signing copies, talking about how the book came to be, and answering questions.

On Tuesday, February 8 at 8:08 AM, I’ll be Brittany Madera’s guest on Connect FM, broadcasting from DuBois PA on 96.7 and 99.7 FM, or 1420 AM. The show will also be broadcast on their website, connect.fm. Five minutes of fame for Marion! I hope you listen in.

This is the second in a series of sketches about the men and women found in my book, Inspired By Their Voices: Poetry From Underground Railroad Testimonies, published by Mammoth Books in December of 2021.

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“Here are introduced a few– out of a very large number– of interesting letters . . . the originals, however ungrammatically written or erroneously spelt, in their native simplicity possess such beauty, and force as corrections and additions could not possibly enhance.” So wrote William Still in his milestone book, The Underground Railroad, published in 1872. The subtitle aptly describes its content: Facts, Authentic Narratives, Letters &c., Narrating the Hardships Hair-breadth Escapes and Death Struggles of the Slaves in their efforts for Freedom, as related by Themselves and Others, or Witnessed by the Author. The self-published book was the only first-person account of Railroad activities written by an African American, and went through three editions before being exhibited in 1876 at the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition. The stories— from more than 1,000 interviews— highlight the agency, courage and persistence of the runaways and the community that supported them.

It was written by a remarkable man.

William Still was born near Medford, New Jersey to a father who had purchased his own freedom, and a mother who had escaped from her owner and was still considered enslaved by the laws of the country. William was the youngest of eighteen children born to Charity (originally named Sydney) and Levin Still (originally named Steel). The family— even though they had changed their name — lived under the very real threat of being recaptured by Charity’s enslaver— a potato and corn farmer from Maryland’s eastern shore named Saunders Griffin. Charity had already run away twice— the first time she brought her four children, but was captured and returned to her enslaver. The second time, she brought her two daughters and successfully escaped to join her husband, but had to leave her two young sons behind. William had heard the heartbreaking account of the moment she said her goodbye. They were sold further south and lost to the family. In New Jersey, the Stills kept a farm, and when old enough, young William found work in the area as a wood cutter. In the meantime, he taught himself to read and write. His literary abilities would later enable him as a compelling spokesperson for abolitionist and social justice causes.

In 1844, the twenty-three year old moved to Philadelphia— the second largest city, and home to the largest, and wealthiest, free Black community in the country. Its location across the Delaware River from the slave states of Delaware and Maryland, and its active Underground Railroad, made the city a beacon of freedom to escapees. Three years after his arrival, William found work first as a janitor, and then as a clerk with the Pennsylvania Society for the Abolition of Slavery. An organization with a venerable history, it was founded in 1775 by early Quaker abolitionists and still exists today. While working for the Society, Still married Letitia George in 1847. The couple had four children:  Caroline Matilda, William Wilberforce, Robert George, and Frances Ellen. It was during this time that Still began his involvement in the Underground Railroad.

One of the most extraordinary stories from this period of Still’s life opens his book. The story starts as a tribute to a man named Seth Concklin, whose “noble and daring spirt” was unmatched in the effort to deliver the oppressed. After reading in the Pennsylvania Freeman about a man named Peter, who had been torn away from his mother at the age of six and remained enslaved for forty years, Seth became interested in his plight. Peter sought to be reunited with the family he lost. He had saved the sum of five hundred dollars to purchase his freedom so he could begin the search for his lost mother and brothers, knowing only the vaguest details of their lives. In doing so, he had to leave his own wife and children in bondage in Alabama.

Concklin read that Peter had made his way to Philadelphia and the offices of the Society for the Abolition of Slavery. There he was interviewed by William Still. As the two conversed it became clear that William was one of Peter’s long-lost brothers. Their joy in finding one another was only overshadowed by concern for Peter’s family. Alabama’s 1833 slave code prohibited an enslaved person from purchasing his or her own freedom. Slave owners could not free their enslaved within the borders of the state. This meant that, even should the brothers find a way to raise funds, they could not purchase the freedom of Peter’s wife Vina and their children.

Learning of the Still brothers’ dilemma, Seth Concklin decided it was up to him to rescue Peter’s family. In his book, Still goes on to describe the danger and ultimate tragedy of Concklin’s mission. The story, told through letters written by those involved, and William’s first-hand experience, is gripping. It is this authenticity that makes Still’s contribution to our understanding of the Railroad, its operatives, and its freedom seekers, so meaningful.

All of the letters and narratives that Still published had been gathered during his direct involvement in the Underground Railroad. Beyond his work at the Society, and the use of his home as a safe house, Still was elected chairman of Philadelphia’s Vigilance Committee after the draconian Fugitive Slave Law — nicknamed the Bloodhound Act— was passed in 1850 and signed into law by then President Millard Fillmore. The Committee worked in a variety of ways to support freedom seekers and those that aided them. Still also joined the fight to desegregate Philadelphia’s public transportation system, publishing letters in the local papers and authoring pamphlets.

After the Civil War, Still carried on as a businessman, channeling his resources toward philanthropic and social justice causes. Those resources were considerable: Still enjoyed great success as a businessman. His early purchases of real estate throughout Philadelphia soon after his arrival generated significant income, as did his coal yard and delivery enterprise, and stove business. He also sold his book using agents, public advertising and his considerable business acumen.

He died a wealthy man.

Still’s ongoing contribution to the welfare and education of Black youth, literacy among the Black population, and extensive involvement in the advancement of his community influenced his children. Caroline (1848-1919) became a pioneer in the medical field, graduating from Oberlin College and the Women’s Medical College of Philadelphia. William Wilberforce (1854-1932) graduated from Lincoln University and practiced law in his native city. Robert (1861-1896) was a journalist and owned a print shop. Frances (1857-1943) became a kindergarten teacher.

The testimonies in Still’s watershed book resonate today. In 2017, an oratorio composed by Paul Moravec called Sanctuary Road featured a libretto by Mark Campbell drawn from Still’s book. In it, the character William Still sings, “Write it down. Write it. Write. Record. Recount. Chronicle. Write. Write it down, every word. Every word they say, every detail. . .
From cities and plantations,
rice swamps and cotton fields,
kitchens and mechanic shops,
from cruel masters and kind masters,
they arrived.
By steamer, by skiff,
by train, on foot,
shipped in a crate,
they arrived.”

The message of the oratorio, and Still’s book, can be summed up in this line: “Our stories cannot be forgotten.” It was in this spirit that Still’s narratives are included in poems found in Inspired By Their Voices.

We cannot forget.

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To Learn More:

Siebert, Wilbur H. The Underground Railroad from Slavery To Freedom, 1898.

Still, William. The Underground Rail Road: A Record of Facts, Authentic Narratives, Letters &c. Narrating the Hardships, Hair-breadth Escapes and Death Struggles of the Slaves in their Efforts for Freedom, as Related by Themselves and Others or Witnessed by the Author; Together with Sketches of Some of the Largest Stockholders and Most Liberal Aiders and Advisers of the Road. Philadelphia, 1872.

Hall, Stephen G. To Render the Private Public: William Still and the Selling of the Underground Rail Road. Historical Society of Pennsylvania. http://still.hsp.org/still/essay/render-private-public-william-still-and-selling-underground-rail-road#_ftn12

This is the first in a series of articles about the people featured in Inspired By Their Voices: Poetry from Underground Railroad Testimonies. Although the work, published by Mammoth Books, includes some biographical information, the articles will go into more depth about these courageous and principled individuals who risked their personal freedom, social standing and financial well-being to do what they knew was right.

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“Do you know this man Gildersleeve of Wilkesbarre?” 

US Supreme Court Justice Grier asked this question of an associate, John Butler, sometime in 1851. Butler replied that indeed he did, that Gildersleeve was a respectable merchant, and a conscientious, good man.  Grier said he understood Gildersleeve harbored enslaved fugitives and gave them arms, to which Butler replied, “He may harbor negroes, but I think he would not arm them.” Grier then gave Mr. Butler a chilling message for Gildersleeve: “If he, Gildersleeve, should ever be brought before me, I will hang him.” Since Judge Grier presided over the 3rd Circuit Court, which included Pennsylvania, the threat was real.  

Butler delivered the Judge’s ominous message to William Camp Gildersleeve. Two years later, Butler attested to this extraordinary conversation through an affidavit taken by the Luzerne County Justice of the Peace, just as Gildersleeve was preparing to testify before that very same Judge in the matter the papers had dubbed “The Wilkesbarre Fugitive Slave Case.” The timing was deliberate: Gildersleeve’s allies wanted to show that Judge Grier was not impartial.

There was a lot at stake — even more than Gildersleeve’s personal safety.

The court case requiring Gildersleeve’s presence had garnered national attention, dramatically highlighted the controversy of the draconian Fugitive Slave Law passed in 1850. It concerned the actions of three US marshals — Deputies John Jenkins and James Crossin, and Marshal George Wynkoop — who had crossed into the free state of Pennsylvania and proceeded northeast to Wilkes-Barre. They had a warrant for the capture of a runaway, William Thomas, on behalf of his owner, a Virginian named Isham Keith.

* * *

It is easy to see why the dramatic events taking place on September 3, 1853, captured the attention of the increasingly divided country. It all started in the restaurant of the Phoenix Hotel, on River Street overlooking the Susquehanna. Thomas, who had settled in the town, was clearing tables when the marshals attempted to capture him. What happened next was reported in several papers, but not unlike media today, the facts were slanted depending on the political alignment of the editors. Papers sympathetic to the Southern Democratic defense of slavery and supportive of the Fugitive Slave Law downplayed any mention of the force used by the marshals and emphasized the efforts that Thomas made to avoid capture. He armed himself with a knife and fork from one of the set tables, and violently resisted arrest, they reported. On the opposite end of the spectrum, readers of abolitionist papers, African American journals and sympathetic Republican presses were told that the federal officers used extreme force, handcuffing and severely beating the fugitive, before he broke away, half-shackled, and fled to the river, where he waded out up to his neck.

While all versions of the confrontation agreed that the marshals discharged their pistols, some said they only shot in the air to warn Thomas as he waded out into the Susquehanna. Others claimed that they shot at him, and that he suffered a bullet wound to the neck.

A crowd quickly gathered, some clearly hostile to the efforts of the officers. Bleeding, Thomas began to wade upstream, encouraged by supporters on shore. The federal agents, sensing that their effort was futile, and probably concerned about the growing and disapproving audience, left the scene.

But that was not the end of the story.

On October 4, a warrant of arrest was served on Deputies Jenkins and Crossin, charging them with a riot, and assault and battery against William Thomas, with the intent to kill him. (Wynkoop was not served, as he was not in the immediate area.) The warrant was issued by Gilbert Burrows, a Justice of the Peace for the borough of Wilkes-Barre, on the oath of none other than William Camp Gildersleeve.

Instead of being tried in a Pennsylvania State courtroom as the borough had hoped, the men were brought before Grier’s US Circuit Court in Philadelphia through a writ of habeas corpus, used to wrest control of the case from the State and bring it into the jurisdiction of the federal government. The case became a test of the Fugitive Slave Law and state sovereignty.

It also meant that Gildersleeve again came to the Judge’s attention, who made it known:

“If this man Gildersleeve fails to make out the facts set forth in the warrant of arrest,
I will request the prosecuting attorney of Lucerne county to prosecute him for perjury.
I know that the United States have a limited authority, but where they have it, it is clear,
undoubted and conclusive that theirs is a sovereign authority. If any two-penny
magistrate… can come in and cause to be arrested the officers of the United States
whenever they please, it is a sad state of affairs.”

Unsurprisingly, Grier dismissed the charges against the deputies on the grounds of insufficient evidence. There were those that believed the Judge should have recused himself from presiding, since he had threatened Mr. Gildersleeve with hanging a few years prior.

The drama didn’t end there. There were further legal machinations that are not critical to this story. In the meantime, after recovering from his wounds with help from neighbors, William Thomas escaped to Canada. Mr. Gildersleeve remained a household name for at least a period of time, until the “Wilkesbarre Fugitive Slave Case” faded from the front page. The great orator Frederick Douglass memorialized the actions of the townspeople who had interfered with thedeputies’ actions, nursed William Thomas to health, and orchestrated his escape. “There, in immortal splendor, Wilkes-Barre will remain,” he penned, “until the Almighty has allowed us to work out the most glorious triumph of Liberty in America.”

A visitor to Wilkes-Barre today can read a plaque erected on East Ross Street near the site of Mr. Gildersleeve’s dry goods store: “Prominent merchant and ardent abolitionist significant to the Underground Railroad in Wilkes-Barre. He provided refuge to fugitive slaves at his home and business near here. In 1853, Gildersleeve testified in a U.S. Supreme Court case, Maxwell vs. Righter, in which a fugitive, William Thomas, was shot and wounded by deputy U.S. marshals. The case and his testimony received national attention, especially in African American newspapers.”

* * *

As compelling as they were, the circumstances surrounding the highly charged and divisive Fugitive Slave Case, and Gildersleeve’s role in it, are not what led me to write the poem about Wilkes-Barre’s ardent abolitionist in the book Inspired By Their Voices. Instead, his poem draws from stories going back nearly twenty years earlier, and speaks to Gildersleeve’s unwavering anti-slavery activism over many decades. In fact, the poem named for William C. Gildersleeve combines two stories; one in 1837, and the other two years later.

In the 1830s, tensions between slave and free states had been steadily building, with abolitionist organizations becoming increasingly active in the courts, on the pubic lecture circuit and in print. In January of 1837, abolitionists in Wilkes-Barre invited a prominent anti-slavery speaker, Reverend John Cross (1797-1885) to give a lecture. Cross was active in the American Anti-Slavery Society.

He was not welcomed, as this letter to a local newspaper demonstrated:

“Having understood that a Mr. Cross, professing himself to be a minister of that Gospel 

proclaims peace on earth and good will to men, had arrived as an agent or missionary 

from a society of fanatics called Abolitionists…the people of the county assembled to 

express their abhorrence and detestation of the doctrines of the Abolitionists, and their

utter content of the individual who has been so base and depraved as to undertake

such an agency… We assure the slave holding states that our warmest feelings and 

sympathies are enlisted on their behalf…

The Anti-Abolitionists met to determine what actions they would take to squelch Reverend Cross’s activities. Enter Mr. Gildersleeve, who offered Reverend Cross the use of his home. This led to what Gildersleeve would call a “disturbance” in a letter to the papers, but what amounted to a destructive mob taking paintings from his walls and furniture from his rooms. 

But Gildersleeve was not so easily dissuaded from his anti-slavery passion.  Two years later, he invited another prominent abolitionist, Charles C. Burleigh (1810-1878) to speak on March 11.  A room had been reserved in the county courthouse for the event.  After the lecturer and his supporters arrived, they were confronted by a gang determined to disrupt Burleigh’s speech. The meeting ended abruptly with Burleigh hastily retiring to a tavern a mile out of town.  When he returned the next day to Wilkes-Barre at Gildersleeve’s request, he was accosted, and held at a local establishment until his stagecoach arrived.  The locals even paid his fare to make sure of his departure. 

Or course, Mr. Gildersleeve too became a target of the anti-abolitionist crowd.  According to some press accounts, Gildersleeve was enticed from his home by a note the dissenters forged as if it was from Burleigh.  As Gildersleeve made his way to meet Burleigh, the gang seized him, dumped tar and feathers on his head, and “road him on a rail,” parading him for ridicule and abuse around the town.   Other accounts claimed that the mob broke into his home and seized him there.  All accounts agreed that he was subjected to punishing physical abuse and derision.

None of this mattered.  Gildersleeve continued his anti-slavery and abolitionist activities, turning his home and store into one of two Underground Railroad stations in Wilkes-Barre and famously providing the oath that led to the arrest of US Marshals on the grounds that they intended to kill a fugitive from slavery.

When William Gildersleeve died in 1871, the Black community of Wilkes-Barre met and passed a series of resolutions praising the “noble deeds of [their] true friend.”  Their resolutions were published in the Scranton Republican and elsewhere.  The ardent abolitionist had lived to see the emancipation of the enslaved and the end of the institution of slavery.  Reflecting on his life, one wonders what was at the heart of his steadfast commitment to the cause he had adopted in spite of the obvious perils. The answer lies in the recollections he shared with anti-slavery activist Theodore Dwight Weld in the book, American Slavery As It Is, published in 1839.  

Gildersleeve was born in Liberty County, Georgia, deep in the heart of slave country.  His father, Cyrus, who was a Presbyterian minister, had moved there from South Orange, New Jersey in 1792, after the Church in Midway was left without a pastor.  Cyrus married a twice-widowed woman and plantation owner, Amarinthia Renchie Norman (1770-1807), becoming a slaveowner himself.  William was their second child out of six that lived past their birth year.

Slavery was all around young William. In his testimony recorded by Weld, Gildersleeve recalled:

Acts of cruelty, without number, fell under my observation while I lived in Georgia. I will mention but one. A slave of a Mr. Pinkney, on his way with a wagon to Savannah, ‘camped’ for the night by the road side. That night, the nearest hen-roost was robbed. On his return, the hen-roost was again visited, and the fowl counted one less in the morning. The oldest son, with some attendants made search, and came upon the poor fellow, in the act of dressing his spoil. He was too nimble for them, and made his retreat good into a dense swamp. When much effort to start him from his hiding place had proved unsuccessful, it was resolved to lay an ambush for him, some distance ahead. The wagon, meantime, was in charge of a lad, who accompanied the teamster as an assistant. The little boy lay still till nearly night, (in the hope probably that the teamster would return,) when he started with his wagon. After traveling some distance, the lost one made his appearance, when the ambush sprang upon him. The poor fellow was conducted back to the plantation. He expected little mercy. He begged for himself, in the most supplicating manner, ‘pray massa give me 100 lashes and let me go.’ He was then tied by the hands, to a limb of a large mulberry tree, which grew in the yard, so that his feet were raised a few inches from the ground, while a sharpened stick was driven underneath, that he might rest his weight on it, or swing by his hands. In this condition 100 lashes were laid on his bare body. I stood by and witnessed the whole, without as I recollect, feeling the least compassion. So hardening is the influence of slavery, that it very much destroys feeling for the slave.

Weld’s compilation includes other observations by Gildersleeve on the topics of food, clothing, housing and working conditions.  All tell of the horrors he witnessed, leading to his lifelong determination to end the institution of slavery, and help runaways find freedom.  He had this to say about the clothing provided:

It is an everyday sight to see women as well as men, with no other covering than a few filthy rags fastened above the hips, reaching midway to the ankles. I never knew any kind of covering for the head given. Children of both sexes, from infancy to ten years are seen in companies on the plantations, in a state of perfect nudity. This was so common that the most refined and delicate beheld them unmoved.

His mother Amarinthia died in 1807, and Cyrus married another widow, Francis Caroline Wilkinson (1783-1856). The couple added seven children to the growing family, although not all lived to adulthood.  William must have been relieved when the Gildersleeves moved away from Georgia in 1811 to the free state of New Jersey. They lived in Bloomfield, where Cyrus was pastor of the Presbyterian Church from 1812 to 1821.  Cyrus’s final ministry was in Wilkes-Barre, as pastor of the Presbyterian church there. Along with his father, William settled in the town, became an elder of the church, and opened his dry goods store, where he was known to hire formerly enslaved people.  Eventually that store became an important stop on the Underground Railroad, along with the nearby Bethel African Methodist Episcopal (A.M.E.) Church.  

History is a harsh winnower.  The names of the mob leaders who raided Gildersleeve’s house in 1837, who paraded him around the town with tar and feathers in 1839, or castigated him in the newspapers during the Fugitive Slave Case, are long forgotten. None have a plaque acknowledging their contributions to the history of Wilkes-Barre.  But of Gildesleeve, the Scranton Tribute said, “He was one of our oldest and best citizens, known and honored by all men.”  

I honor his memory.

Note: Footnotes with sources for all references and quotes are available upon request.  Email me for a PDF of this post with all footnotes.  I can be reached at patriciathrushart@gmail.com.

After three years of research, and two years in the publishing cycle, my historical nonfiction book, CURSED, is up on Amazon from Adelaide Books! You can find it on Amazon, here.

When young Marion Alsobrook Stahlman falls ill after giving birth to her second son, her husband Douglas is hundreds of miles away, working for a cult that advocates faith healing over medicine. He returns to her side in February of 1901 and makes a series of draconian decisions, with the national press eagerly reporting on every aspect of the controversy.

Who was Marion Alsobrook Stahlman, the center of this tragedy? How did she come to be the focus of intense press coverage and the subject of protests outside her sickroom window? This book explores Marion’s family saga, from her ancestor landing in Jamestown in 1609 to the death of her youngest son in 1962. Using a combination of narrative nonfiction and fictional vignettes, the stories explore the changing role of women, the tensions between the growing medical profession and faith, Southern slavery, yeoman farming and more.