Adding to the History of Enslaved People in Princeton
I applaud both Robert Durkee ’69’s and Bill Hewitt ’74’s opinions, as expressed in the December Inbox.
As a former Princeton Public Schools classroom history teacher, we who taught under the principalship of William Johnson, former U.S. Marine, were proud to hear him recall that our school “was named John Witherspoon after the only clergyman to sign the Declaration of Independence.”
An argument can be made that Witherspoon was the savior of the fledgling College of New Jersey before, during, and after the American Revolution, and specifically, the Battle of Princeton, which left Nassau Hall (the architecture and the institution itself) a war-torn remnant of itself, some 21 years after the building was completed.
Further, the flight of the Confederation Congress from unpaid American soldiers from urban Philadelphia to rural Princeton was directly related to the then legislators’ knowledge of John Witherspoon’s loyalty the cause of the Revolution and the warfare’s damage to its surviving building. Congress’ three-month encampment at Nassau Hall, from June to October 1783, reestablished the College’s legitimacy, prominence, and allowed its rebuilding as the 18th century drew to a close.
Those who are concerned about the legacy of John Witherspoon as an enslaver would do well to continue to research the biographies of his two enslaved men and to add their names to Witherspoon’s statue. To date, this historian has found only one: Fortune, the hero of a recovery of a lost mail bag of during Congress’ seat at Nassau Hall. Historians Wanda Gunning and Constance Greiff documented scant information about Fortune Witherspoon in “Tusculum: The History of a House,” (Princeton History, No. 15, 1998, pp. 37-40, 54). Apparently, this bag of lost mail, contents intact, was found by Fortune Witherspoon (mistakenly named a “servant” and “a negro boy”) “lying in Doctor Witherspoon’s meadow.” Further, Gunning and Greiff reported an important detail of this enslaved man’s life: “Fortune Witherspoon” appears as a free man in the Somerset County (Western Precinct) tax ratables from 1792-1794 (microfilm at NJSA).” Although this historian had found no manumission of Fortune by Witherspoon, evidence points to John Witherspoon’s having freed Fortune, his enslaved man, before the president’s death in 1794. For example, such a document exists for Marcus Marsh, given by Annis Boudinot Stockton, for an enslaved male born at Morven, and freed by Stockton via signed letter, on March 2, 1798, in Philadelphia.
The Naming Committee might attach Fortune Witherspoon’s biography on the plinth supporting Witherspoon’s statue in front of East Pyne Hall. It might offer an open invitation to scholars to recover the name and biography of Witherspoon’s second enslaved individual, allowing us a clearer picture of John Witherspoon, the man.
Sadly, by subtracting Witherspoon’s name from Princeton Public Schools’ middle school on Walnut Lane, the community lost the recognition of a national historical figure. Here was the opportunity to name the school for Shirley Satterfield, our indefatigable historian, or for Betsey Stockton (1798-1865), another educator whose lifework established the early foundation of the Princeton’s Witherspoon-Jackson Historical District. Alas, wiser heads did not prevail.
I applaud both Robert Durkee ’69’s and Bill Hewitt ’74’s opinions, as expressed in the December Inbox.
As a former Princeton Public Schools classroom history teacher, we who taught under the principalship of William Johnson, former U.S. Marine, were proud to hear him recall that our school “was named John Witherspoon after the only clergyman to sign the Declaration of Independence.”
An argument can be made that Witherspoon was the savior of the fledgling College of New Jersey before, during, and after the American Revolution, and specifically, the Battle of Princeton, which left Nassau Hall (the architecture and the institution itself) a war-torn remnant of itself, some 21 years after the building was completed.
Further, the flight of the Confederation Congress from unpaid American soldiers from urban Philadelphia to rural Princeton was directly related to the then legislators’ knowledge of John Witherspoon’s loyalty the cause of the Revolution and the warfare’s damage to its surviving building. Congress’ three-month encampment at Nassau Hall, from June to October 1783, reestablished the College’s legitimacy, prominence, and allowed its rebuilding as the 18th century drew to a close.
Those who are concerned about the legacy of John Witherspoon as an enslaver would do well to continue to research the biographies of his two enslaved men and to add their names to Witherspoon’s statue. To date, this historian has found only one: Fortune, the hero of a recovery of a lost mail bag of during Congress’ seat at Nassau Hall. Historians Wanda Gunning and Constance Greiff documented scant information about Fortune Witherspoon in “Tusculum: The History of a House,” (Princeton History, No. 15, 1998, pp. 37-40, 54). Apparently, this bag of lost mail, contents intact, was found by Fortune Witherspoon (mistakenly named a “servant” and “a negro boy”) “lying in Doctor Witherspoon’s meadow.” Further, Gunning and Greiff reported an important detail of this enslaved man’s life: “Fortune Witherspoon” appears as a free man in the Somerset County (Western Precinct) tax ratables from 1792-1794 (microfilm at NJSA).” Although this historian had found no manumission of Fortune by Witherspoon, evidence points to John Witherspoon’s having freed Fortune, his enslaved man, before the president’s death in 1794. For example, such a document exists for Marcus Marsh, given by Annis Boudinot Stockton, for an enslaved male born at Morven, and freed by Stockton via signed letter, on March 2, 1798, in Philadelphia.
The Naming Committee might attach Fortune Witherspoon’s biography on the plinth supporting Witherspoon’s statue in front of East Pyne Hall. It might offer an open invitation to scholars to recover the name and biography of Witherspoon’s second enslaved individual, allowing us a clearer picture of John Witherspoon, the man.
Sadly, by subtracting Witherspoon’s name from Princeton Public Schools’ middle school on Walnut Lane, the community lost the recognition of a national historical figure. Here was the opportunity to name the school for Shirley Satterfield, our indefatigable historian, or for Betsey Stockton (1798-1865), another educator whose lifework established the early foundation of the Princeton’s Witherspoon-Jackson Historical District. Alas, wiser heads did not prevail.