What Alexander Hamilton’s deep connections to slavery reveal about the need for reparations today
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Nicole S. Maskiell, University of South Carolina
Alexander Hamilton has received a resurgence of interest in recent years on the back of the smash Broadway musical bearing his name.
But alongside tales of his role in the Revolutionary War and in forging the early United States, the spotlight has also fallen on a less savory aspect of his life: his apparent complicity in the institution of slavery. Despite being a founding member of the New York Manumission Society, which sought gradual emancipation of New York’s enslaved population, Hamilton benefited from slavery – both personally and by association.
Joe Sohm/Visions of America/Universal Images Group via Getty Images
As a historian of early America and Northern slavery, I study how Colonial-era figures like Hamilton fit into America’s long history of enslavement, and how slavery fueled networks of power that have lasted through the ages.
A life entwined with slavery
By Hamilton’s time in pre-revolutionary America, wealthy Northerners like him not only benefited from and propagated slavery, but enjoyed centuries of generational wealth built on the labor and lives of enslaved people.
Hamilton’s father-in-law had among the largest slaveholdings in the North. His mother-in-law was the daughter of Johannes Van Rensselaer and Angelica Livingston, both members of two of the largest slaveholding families in the North.
Hamilton’s early years in the Caribbean were also marked by slavery. He was born on the British West Indies island of Nevis in the 1750s into a household that held slaves. By age 11, he was working as a clerk for Beekman & Cruger, a firm based in New York that traded enslaved people and other commodities – like food products and wood for shipbuilding – that fed the slave economies.
After Hamilton moved to New York in 1773, he remained closely tied to slaveholding elites. His sister-in-law’s house, where he was married, was served and maintained by enslaved people. The house where he died, belonging to his close friend William Bayard Jr., was also staffed by enslaved people.
Views on reparations
Today’s debate about reparations for slavery dates back to Hamilton’s era. Except in the past, reparations were actively sought out by the owners of enslaved people.
Some Loyalists – those who opposed the American Revolution – received compensation from England for losses during the war.
The “Book of Negroes” was a register of over 3,000 escaped enslaved people who were evacuated from New York by the British as part of wartime commitments of freedom for service. It was compiled by British Commander Sir Guy Carleton as a safeguard against compensation claims by former slaveholders for the loss of what they considered their property.
Northern elite slaveholders sought and sometimes received reparations for losses they experienced during the Revolutionary War. Reparations ranged from restitution for the loss of enslaved people who escaped and gained freedom behind British lines to compensation for the expense of maintaining property (which included enslaved people) that were commandeered by Revolutionary forces.
Hamilton himself represented at least 44 Loyalists in lawsuits related to seizure or use of property, which sometimes included enslaved people, during the war. However, he objected to the return of runaways to their former enslavers.
Those on the Patriot side – who supported the Revolution – also received restitution for enslaved people they lost during the war. The Rhode Island General Assembly passed an act in 1778 that said since enslaved people were “deemed the Property of their Owners … Compensation ought to be made to the Owners for the Loss of their Service.”
What is owed?
But what of compensation to the descendants of formerly enslaved people for their ancestors’ free labor?
Since the mid-20th century, in Western Europe and the U.S., reparations to oppressed people have taken several forms: on an individual basis, within an institution or across an entire country. They’ve taken monetary and nonmonetary approaches, and pertained either to slavery alone or to slavery and its aftereffects.
Some of these modern reparations have historical precedent as well, such as when Britain compensated some Black Loyalists in the 1780s for unpaid labor provided during the war.
There is also the American Civil War’s Field Order No. 15 issued by Union Gen. William Sherman in 1865. It is popularly remembered as promising “40 acres and a mule” to formerly enslaved people freed along the coast of Georgia – though it was quickly overturned and did not originally include a mule.
Michael Robinson Chavez/The Washington Post via Getty Images
In recent years, universities and other institutions with ties to slavery have undertaken initiatives to uncover past atrocities, or established scholarships for descendants of enslaved people and other underrepresented groups.
Some cities, including Evanston, Illinois, and Asheville and Durham in North Carolina, are establishing their own approaches to reparations, and are working to define guidelines for the use and distribution of funds.
Reparations through representation
While numerous organizations and government bodies debate how reparations should take place in the modern era, “Hamilton” the musical provided real opportunities for actors of color to advance in a historically underrepresented field.
Yet the show is not without its critics, specifically as it relates to the exclusion of historical people of color who populated the world of Alexander Hamilton. These include noted spies Cato and James Fayette, Black brigade fighter Col. Tye and antislavery activist William Hamilton, purported to have been Alexander’s son with a free Black woman.
Historical and contemporary representation in popular tales like “Hamilton” is increasingly being used as a step toward correcting the imbalances from slavery’s legacy. And the key questions posed within the musical’s “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story” number are some of the same questions being asked within the reparations movement today.
Nicole S. Maskiell, Assistant Professor of History Peter and Bonnie McCausland Fellow of History, University of South Carolina
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
“Slavery, Wealth Creation, and Intergenerational Wealth”
Cicely was young, Black and enslaved – her death during an epidemic in 1714 has lessons that resonate in today’s pandemic
CC BY-ND
Nicole S Maskiell, University of South Carolina
What I believe to be the oldest surviving gravestone for a Black person in the Americas memorializes an enslaved teenager named Cicely.
Cicely’s body is interred across from Harvard’s Johnston Gate in Cambridge, Massachusetts. She died in 1714 during a measles epidemic brought to the college by a student after the summer recess of 1713. Another tombstone in the same burial ground remembers Jane, an enslaved woman who died in 1741 during an outbreak of diphtheria, or “throat distemper.”
Nicole Maskiell, CC BY-ND
When diseases struck in the Colonial era, many city residents fled to the safety of the country. Poor and enslaved people, like Jane and Cicely – the essential frontline workers of the time – stayed behind.
Why were Cicely and Jane memorialized when so many other enslaved people were not? The archival record doesn’t provide a clear answer, but the question of who should be remembered with monuments and commemorations is timely.
Throughout the United States, as COVID-19 affects frontline workers and communities of color far more than other demographic groups, and protesters agitate for racial justice, American society is wrestling with its racial memory and judging which monuments and memorials deserve a place.
Against this backdrop, I believe it’s important to look back at how a few marginalized and oppressed people who served on the front lines of prior epidemics have been treated and remembered. After all, those whom society chooses to memorialize reflect what accomplishments – honorable or horrific – society values.
Unsung sacrifices
The lives, labor and sacrifices of women and girls of color have been overlooked for centuries. Of the 3.5 million books in Widener Library – the centerpiece of Harvard’s vast library system – I found that not one was devoted to Cicely or Jane, and few focus on women like them.
For early-American historians of Northern slavery like me, such fragmentary and untold stories are both intriguing and challenging. But this particular story was also personal, because when I first stumbled on Cicely’s tombstone, I was also a Black teen.
I was a sophomore studying history at Harvard when I came upon the headstone while wandering in the Colonial-era graveyard adjacent to campus. It had a carving of a death’s head on top and winding vines down the sides. It was both ordinary and extraordinary – it looked like other tombstones in the graveyard, but this one memorialized a young Black girl.
I wondered about Cicely. She most likely did domestic work in and around Harvard, as her enslaver was a Cambridge minister and a tutor at the college. But what else did she do during her short life, and why did her enslavers memorialize her with a tombstone? These questions and the mystery of her life inspired me to become a historian. Over the years, I have been passionate about piecing together fragments of her and Jane’s lives.
Jane’s enslaver kept a diary that provided some details about her life, but I found little written about Cicely beyond her adult baptismal record, dated just two months before her death.
Racial unrest and disease
Cicely lived and died during a time of racial unrest and disease. A slave revolt in 1712 in New York City led to several brutal executions and deportations. News of the revolt spread throughout the Colonies, stoking concerns of a wider uprising. Colonists armed themselves in fear.
Slavery existed in every Colony, including the North. At the time of the revolt, the Northern Colonies – from Nova Scotia down to Delaware – were home to around 9,000 enslaved people, representing a third of the enslaved population of the British mainland colonies. New York City had 5,841 residents, of which 975 were held as slaves. Boston had roughly 400 enslaved people.
Racial unrest was quickly followed by contagion. A measles outbreak the next year followed the same path up the coast as news of the revolt had traveled.
The epidemic started in Newport, Rhode Island, in the summer of 1713 and hit Cambridge, Massachusetts, that September. It broke out at Harvard before spreading to Boston. More than 400 Bostonians died – about 18% of them people of color – at a time when Black people were only 4% of the total population.
Racial discord and disease continued throughout the Colonial period. Between Cicely and Jane’s deaths in 1714 and 1741, a smallpox crisis gripped Boston, inflaming racial tensions. An enslaved person named Onesimus helped introduce an early form of inoculation called “variolation.” This technique was practiced on both white and Black Bostonians, to the consternation of many. On its heels, a five-year diphtheria outbreak ravaged New England, killing 5,000 people, including Jane.
History repeats
Much like today, Colonists received mixed messages during disease outbreaks, with some leaders touting the value of inoculations while others stood fast against them. As Jane toiled in the shadow of Harvard in 1740, the male landowners of Cambridge held a contentious election that saw very high voter turnout amid a diphtheria epidemic.
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History can show us how diseases disproportionately harm vulnerable and marginalized populations; how discord and strife lead to racial antipathy; and how epidemics are managed and mismanaged.
Cicely’s and Jane’s lives mattered outside of the value they provided to their enslavers. In a time of disease and racial unrest that echoes the experiences of generations past, the lives of oppressed people like Cicely and Jane are worthy of remembrance.
Nicole S Maskiell, Assistant Professor of History Peter and Bonnie McCausland Fellow of History, University of South Carolina
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
Carolina Barbados Connection Symposium
Slavery’s Sentinel: Rethinking Memorialization in Stuyvesant Square
The statue of Peter Stuyvesant in New York’s Stuyvesant Square was erected on the grounds of his old bowery. In the 17th century the bowery (bouwerij) was a compact village described by its resident minister as “a place of relaxation and pleasure, whither people go from the Manhattans, for the evening service.” It was also a place of work and enslavement for “forty negroes, from the region of the negro coast” who toiled there. [1] Like all such monuments, Stuyvesant’s statue and the ground beneath it tells a story of settlement and belonging that purposely ignores conquest. In the wake of the removal of statues that valorize slaveholders and invaders, calls have been made to remove this statue of Peter Stuyvesant. Yet the uniqueness of the space offers an opportunity to tell a different story and to excavate the lives of those bondspeople who toiled on the site for over 120 years.
Peter Stuyvesant, known during his lifetime as “Petrus,” was the colony’s last Dutch Director-General and the progenitor of a family marked by wealth, political power, and influence. Although Petrus arrived in the Americas nearly 400 years ago, his bronze likeness only started to proliferate in places claiming connections to him within the past 100 years. In the early 19th century, his descendant Peter Gerard Stuyvesant, then President of the New-York Historical Society, donated the land for the park, and by the turn of the 20th it had become a popular gathering place. The statue was created by Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney, and installed in the park in 1941. The land and the statue are intended to be read together as lasting memorials to the Stuyvesant family. The New York City parks department website describes the statue as representing “the spirit of a great leader, the last governor-general of the Dutch colony of New Amsterdam” and “preserving the legacy of both men of the Stuyvesant family.”[2]
But what legacies should the park embrace? Petrus Stuyvesant has been described in many ways, portrayed in early works as a brash, autocratic leader, whose disability leant an ableist physicality to English narratives that emphasized his threatening “foreignness.” In others he was a keenly political, cosmopolitan, deeply pious man of his time, who weathered the fall of the colony.[3] Petrus was, as many critics have pointed out, stridently anti-Semitic and anti-Catholic, even when allowing for the prejudices of his own day. He was also a slaveholder, who was deeply committed to the expansion of slavery. His bowery’s estimated 40-person enslaved workforce was the largest population of bondspeople in New Amsterdam under the control of a private person.[4] Although Petrus did grant full freedom to some petitioners during his tenure, including a group of “half-free” enslaved people who had been owned by the Dutch West India Company and petitioned for their freedom during the siege of the colony by the English, he remained a slaveholder.[5] On October 6, 1664, in the wake of the colony’s surrender to the English and his own tenuous position, Petrus made time to issue a “hue and cry” for the re-capture of “4 Negroes” who had escaped his grasp.[6]
Stuyvesant’s bowery included his immediate family — wife Judith, and sons Balthazaar and Nicholas — who lived in daily contact with a multiracial free and enslaved population. A village of enslaved and free Africans and African-descended people were settled near Stuyvesant’s bowery along the wagon road.[7] Such people, created a community bound together through friendship, marriage, and ties of godparantage. People, like Franz Bastiaensz secured land from the Stuyvesants and built connections across lines of freedom and enslavement that served as lifelines out of bondage.[8] Such ties were, nonetheless, tenuous. Several enslaved children who had been baptized on the bowery, were traded down to the island of Curaçao where they were then auctioned off to plantations in South America.[9] Even those who managed to secure freedom, understood that it came with a lifelong pledge of continued service. Three elderly black women identified in the court record as Mayken Van Angola, Lucretia Albiecke van Angola, and the wife of Peter Tamboer, received their freedom from the Dutch West India Company after 34 years of enslavement with the stipulation that they must “take turns doing the housework of the Lord General Peter Stuyvesant one day every week,” or be re-enslaved.[10]
By the turn of the 18th century, the Stuyvesants retained and expanded their bowery property, sometimes leasing it to tenants, and offering the services of enslaved people, as was the case with “John and Samson” who were leased along with the property on October 24, 1704.[11] Such enslaved suffered whippings, hard labor and forced separations. [12] By the middle of the 18th century, the Stuyvesants were members of the New York Corporation and oversaw the implementation of strict slave codes, strengthened in the wake of the 1712 slave revolt and 1741 slave conspiracy, which featured the brutal torture and deaths of enslaved people.[13] Their prodigious wealth was due to a diversified portfolio that included slavery and they utilized local papers to advertise the sale of enslaved men, women and children and chase down runaways.[14] They remained slaveholders into the 19th century. Indeed, Peter Gerard grew up in a household that included 14 enslaved people.[15]
Another statue stands in Stuyvesant Square, that of Czech composer Antonín Dvořák who, as a result of his friendship with African American musician and composer Harry T. Burleigh, argued that: “The future of this country must be founded upon what are called the Negro melodies.” Public spaces like Stuyvesant Square offer unique opportunities to widen the audience for exploring the lives of African descended people in three dimensions, honoring different “melodies” of commemoration. Names such as Mayken van Angola, Frans Bastiaensz, John, and Samson, should be as associated with the space as much as that of Stuyvesant. The stories of bonded and free people of color whose labor built the bowery should be memorialized at the site where they lived, labored, loved and suffered.
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[1] Rev. Samuel Drisius to the Classis of Amsterdam, 5 August 1664, in Hugh Hastings, et al, eds., Ecclesiastical Records of the State of New York (Albany, NY: J.B. Lyon, 1901), 1: 555.
[2] Stuyvesant Square, https://www.nycgovparks.org/parks/stuyvesant-square/monuments/1516, accessed August 17, 2020.
[3] For an overview of the different perspectives to Stuyvesant see the introduction to Donna Merwick, Stuyvesant Bound: An Essay on Loss Across Time (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013).
[4] P.C. Emmer, The Dutch Slave Trade, 1500-1850 (New York: Berghahn Books, 2006), 27; Edwin Burrows and Michael Wallace, Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898 (1999; repr., Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000)56; Jaap Jacobs, New Netherland: A Dutch Colony in Seventeenth-Century America (Boston: Brill, 2005), 381-382
[5] Certificate that the half slaves who petitioned for manumission had been fully emancipated and made free, 21 December 1664, NYSA_A1809-78_V10_pt3_0327. Internet. Available from http://digitalcollections.archives.nysed.gov/index.php/Detail/objects/55730
[6] Petrus Stuyvesant’s Hue and Cry, 6 October 1664, in “Pretends to Be Free”: Runaway Slave Advertisements from Colonial and Revolutionary New York and New Jersey, eds. Graham Russell Hodges and Alan Edward Brown (New York: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1994), 324.
[7] Jaap Jacobs, The Colony of New Netherland: A Dutch Settlement in Seventeenth-Century America (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2009), 205
[8] Two years after her husband’s death in 1672, Judith conveyed land to a free black man named Frans. He was the son of one of New Netherland’s first free blacks, Sebastiane de Britto, who was also known as the “captain of the Negros.” Conveyance of Judith Stuyvesant to Frans Bastiaensz, 24 September 1674, New York City Deeds, MS 1972, 23, New-York Historical Society, http://www.nyhistory.org/community/library-blog?page=8 (accessed November 11, 2012). For an English translation of the record, see Original Book of New York Deeds, January 1st 1672 to October 19th 1675 in Collections of the New-York Historical Society for the Year 1913: The John Watts De Peyster Publication Fund (New York: Printed for the Society, 1914) 46: 42-43.
[9] Peter Stuyvesant to Vice-Director Beck, 30 January 1664, in Documents Illustrative of the History of the Slave Trade to America, Elizabeth Donnan, ed. (Washington, D.C.: Carnegie Institution of Washington, 1930)2: 431.
[10] Freedom Petition of Mayken Van Angola, Lucretia Albiecke van Angola and the wife of Peter Tamboer, December 28, 1662. New York State Archives. Translation by Eric Ruijssenaars, https://wams.nyhistory.org/early-encounters/dutch-colonies/fighting-for-freedom-in-new-amsterdam/.
[11] George and Elizabeth Sydenham (Elizabeth was Petrus youngest son Nicholas’ widow) leased the property to Christopher Rousby for a nine-year period agreeing to an annual rent of £102 2. They two man were listed as part of the included rent alongside “10 milch cows, 8 working horses, 10 young cattle, 170 sheep, 1 sow & her pigs, 16 geese & other fows, 2 waggons, 1 plow, 1 harrow, 1 wood sleigh,” as part of the rent. NY Co., NY Deeds on Microfilm, Hall of Records, N.Y.C., 25: 250, quoted in Evelyn Sidman Wachter, Sidnam-Sidnam Families of Upstate New York (Baltimore, Gateway Press, Inc, 1981), 49.
[12] Peter Stuyvesant frequently requested more enslaved people from Africa and the Caribbean and had no qualms about trading children. He clearly articulated his vision for the future of the colony to the directors in Amsterdam, writing: “We shall take care, that [in future] a greater number of negroes be taken there.” Letter from the Directors in Amsterdam to the council of New Netherland, 26 June 1647, in Correspondence 1654-1658, trans. and ed. Charles T. Gehring (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2003), 5. Three enslaved children sent up from the island of Curaçao — one girl and two little boys — had been set aside specifically for Petrus Stuyvesant by the slave trader, Franck Bryn. The children were assessed coldly by the ship’s skipper, Jan Pietersen van Dockum who judged them ‘all dry and in good condition,’ their skin ‘marked with this distinguishing mark.’ Jan Pietersen van Dockum, 24 August 1659, in Charles T. Gehring, trans. and ed., Curaçao Papers, 1640-1665: Translation (Albany, NY: New Netherland Institute, 2011), 150. In a court testimony given against her husband, Elizabeth recalled abuse at the hands of George Sydenham who threatened her, withheld food and “tied the negroes up and whipped them for nothing.” Undated “Memoranda van Klaverack” signed by Elis [Elizabeth] Stuyvesant.” New-York Historical Society. Mss Collection AHMC – Stuyvesant Family Non-circulating. A printed version can be found in Wachter, Sidnam-Sidnam, 52.
[13] Charles Alexander Nelson, Austin Baxter Keep, and Herbert L. Osgood, eds., Minutes of the Common Council of the City of New York, 1675-1776, (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1905), 2: 402-404, 429-430, 4: 150, 185, 497-498, 5: 16-18, 7: 314, 401-02.
[14] Advertisement, New York Gazette, page 3, 1 April 1765, Advertisement, New York Gazette and Weekly Mercury, 19 December 1768, Advertisement, New York Gazette and Wekkley Mercury, 11 Oct 1777, Reprinted on Oct 27. Advertisement, Loudons New York Packet, Page 3, 03 July 1786, reprinted on 10 July (page 4) and 13 July (page 4). Advertisement, Daily Advertiser, Page 3, 4 September 1789, reprinted on 17 December (page 4).
[15] “United States Census, 1790,” database with images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:33SQ-GYB6-7LL?cc=1803959&wc=3XT9-92F%3A1584070828%2C1584071633%2C1584071639: 14 May 2015), New York > New York > New York City Out Ward > image 11 of 12; citing NARA microfilm publication M637, (Washington D.C.: National Archives and Records Administration, n.d.).
Long Island in the Black Atlantic World Roundtable
Philip’s Wet Nurse: Uncovering Race, Gender, and Community in a 1783 New Jersey Freedom Case
In 1748 a little boy named Philip arrived in Somerset County New Jersey wrapped in a blanket. [1] He was passed from the hands of James van Horne, an elite New Jersey man of Dutch heritage, into those of van Horne’s housekeeper, a woman named Margaret Wiser who resided at the Rocky Hill plantation year-round. Tasked with finding a wet nurse for the infant, Wiser decided on Jane Furman, a local woman of Welsh descent. Elite infants were sometimes suckled by such wet nurses, a practice that was hotly debated by the middle of the eighteenth century with a discourse that linked the wrong wet nurse with conveying disagreeable qualities. [2] The child in Wiser’s care added another dimension to the search: his mother was white and his father, black. Jane Furman agreed to nurse him after Wiser stressed the pedigree of Philip’s mother, that she was likely related to the van Horne’s and that (perhaps as proof) she would visit her newborn child shortly. The woman, whose name remains a mystery, did visit Philip, eighteen months later.
Thirty-five years later, Philip returned to his origin story as the son of an elite white woman in his appeal for freedom against the claim of two elite men: James van Horne, a man who might well have been Philip’s uncle and Dirk Ten Broek. [3] The elite in New Jersey counties such as Somerset and Bergen were, like the van Hornes and Ten Broeks, overwhelmingly of Dutch ancestry with roots that dated back to New Netherland and slaveholders. The testimony on Philip’s behalf was given by Gabriel Furman, his wet-nurse Jane’s nephew. The Furman’s were of Welch descent, were not members of the local elite and had arrived in the area by way of Massachusetts. This ethnic and social difference might very well have translated into differing political ideals as well, and in a state recently recovering from the trauma of the American Revolution, such political divisions were not perfunctory. Gabriel detailed Philip’s birth and early childhood, a tale that emphasized Philip’s mother’s racial and social status, as well as Margaret’s efforts to find a wet nurse and Jane’s role in nursing him. In the process, his testimony uncovered the multiethnic white network that Philip leveraged in the Rocky Hill community for his defense.
Philip’s case for freedom is undoubtedly unique, and I would not have ever stumbled upon had it not been for Ted O’Reilly, reference librarian at the New-York Historical Society who directed me to the case, which is located in the Alexander Papers. Although compelling, how can such an example shed light on a broader understanding of the place of race, kinship and gender in colonial and early national constructions of race? Philip’s case offers more than just the story of one man’s struggle for freedom but gives a unique view into the gendered aspects of how such notions changed over time and shaped ethnic communities in the North. Philip’s story also points to another dimension in the enduring legacy of New Netherland’s Dutch families.
Nicole Maskiell received her Ph.D. from Cornell University in 2013 Her dissertation was entitled “Bound by Bondage: Slavery Among Elites in Colonial Massachusetts and New York.” She is currently Assistant Professor of History at University of South Carolina, Columbia.
This article was featured on the New Netherland Institute’s website. Read the original here.
References:
[1] The State against Tierke Tenbroeke on habeas corpus of Negro Philip, 17 May 1783, Alexander Papers, Court Papers New Jersey Supreme Court—Criminal Cases, N.B, 1723-1777, Box # 47, New-York Historical Society.
[2] M. Michelle Jarret [Morris] points out that the Pennsylvania Gazette ran several notices for women advertising their services as wet nurses or of families looking for wet nurses. Michelle M. Jarrett, “An Act of Flagrant Rebellion against Nature,” Winterthur Portfolio 30, no. 4 (Winter 1995): 281, 281n12, 282, 282m16. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4618517.
[3] The State against Tierck Tenbroeck on Habeas Corpus of Negro Philip for Manumission, in Cases Adjudged in the Supreme Court of New-Jersey relative to the Manumission of Negroes: And Others Holden in Bondage (Burlington, NJ: Printed for The New-Jersey Society for Promoting the Abolition of Slavery by Isaac Neal, 1794), 13. Link