American History Tellers - Revolution | The Free Man | 5

Episode Date: July 25, 2018

The Revolution was fought for freedom, at least in name. Calls for freedom filled the air. No taxation without representation! Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness!The Marquis de Lafayette, who had fought valiantly at Washington's side throughout the war, spoke for many when he wrote bitterly after the war:"I would never have drawn my sword in the cause of America if I could have conceived that thereby I was founding a land of slavery."This episode explores one man's experience of being a slave and then being free during America's founding decades.Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's 1798. You're a businessman passing through Connecticut. You've spent the night with your brother, a farmer who lives outside the rural town of Haddam. The two of you are riding into town, passing by houses that lie on the outskirts. And as you two often do, you're arguing politics. George Washington's eight-year presidency ended a year ago. The subsequent election of 1796 was fierce.

You supported John Adams. Like most farmers, your brother supported Thomas Jefferson. John Adams. Like most farmers, your brother supported Thomas Jefferson. John Adams won. One of his first moves was to sign the Sedition Act, making it a crime to oppose the federal government or speak out against it. How is it possible that you don't see the danger in this law? Did we not just fight a war over freedom of speech? Yes, but we have to protect our nation. We must have order. Order? You mean tyranny. If we can't speak or act except as we are told, then we are slaves. Slaves! That word

is still ringing in the air as you arrive at the center of town at the general store. You tie up your horses and enter. Inside are some tables where locals sit, talking over cups of coffee. You spot an unusual sight. An old black man conversing with a white man. A notepad and pencil lies on the table. Ah, Venture Smith. If you want to understand the difference between slavery and freedom, here is just the man. You look at your brother in surprise.

So you're an abolitionist now? Have you freed your own slaves then? Your brother looks a bit sheepish. Well, no. I have my finances to consider. But Venture has taught me a thing or two, not so much by words, but by example. Your brother marches over and introduces you.

Venture is half blind and stooped, but you can see that he was once tall with a powerful build. The white man with him introduces himself as Charles Holt, the owner of The Bee, a newspaper published in nearby New London. He's come to interview Venture about his life, to publish his story. Holt believes Venture's character and intellect to be such that, had he not been enslaved, he'd be seen as another Benjamin Franklin or George Washington. You're impressed. It must be quite a story. Venture shrugs modestly. We all have our stories. I've mostly kept my mouth

shut throughout my life, but I suppose I'm ready to talk now. I do wish I'd learned to read and write. Would you mind, sirs, if I sat with you to listen? I have no objection to listening. Listening is how you learn. But someone told me once, listen and silent are the same word, just jumbled up. His fingers wander to a scar on the edge of his forehead. It's an old wound, darkened with age, as wide and long as his finger. So I'll be done with listening for a while. Sir, that scar, did you get it? Mr. Holt, it appears this man wants a story just as you do. All right then, let's begin. You want to know about this scar?

I've got many, many more. From Wondery comes a new series about a lawyer who broke all the rules. Need to launder some money? Broker a deal with a drug cartel? Take out a witness? Paul can do it. I'm your host, Brandon Jinks Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Kill List is a true story of how I ended up in a race against time to warn those whose lives were in danger. Follow Kill List wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Kill List and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers.

Our history, your story. We're in episode five of our six-part series on the American Revolution, written by best-selling author Russell Shorto, following the lives of the six people featured in his award-winning book, Revolution Song. In the last episode, we considered the period from a woman's perspective. Through Margaret Moncrief Coughlin, we saw how perilous it was to take the call of freedom seriously as a woman and try to live independently. Now we delve into the great contradiction at the heart of America's founding, slavery.

This is Episode 5, The Free Man. The revolution was fought for freedom, at least in name. Calls for freedom filled the air. No taxation without representation, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. At least some of those involved in the war against the British believed that should America become an independent nation, all people would be free. But it didn't turn out that way.

The Marquis de Lafayette, who had fought valiantly at Washington's side throughout the war, spoke for many when he wrote bitterly after the war, I would never have drawn my sword in the cause of America if I could have conceived that thereby I was founding a land of slavery. What was an African's experience of America during its founding decades? What was it like to be a slave and then to become free? Venture Smith told his story in 1798. It was published by the newspaperman Charles Holt, in part to remind Americans of the work yet to be done in the cause of freedom. Venture's narrative covers the period of the

nation's founding, but it isn't a tale of generals and armies, of men in powdered wigs writing bold documents. Venture Smith's story gives an altogether different view of America's founding. I was born at Dukandara in Guinea, about the year 1729. My father's name was Songfuro, prince of the tribe of Dukandara. By the 1730s, Venture was a 10-year-old boy living in a West African village. Only his name wasn't Venture then. It was Brottier. He grew up living on the savannah, under a broad sky.

In the dry season, he moved the animals in search of water. Life was hard, but fulfilling. He tended his cows and goats and followed seasonal rituals. The grunting and bleating of the animals, the wind in the brush, the music of the villagers, these were the sounds of his life. Brottier's father was the prince of the village. Polygamy was common in Guinea at the time, and his father already had two wives. The first was Brottier's mother, a position that gave her status in the village.

But one day, a fight broke out between his parents. Brottier was old enough to understand the situation. His father had decided to take a third wife, normally as the first wife. His mother should have been consulted first, but his father had decided on his own. The move humiliated Brottier's mother. To save face, she took Brottier and his siblings and left the village. They walked for days, crossing the dry savanna. Eventually, they came to a rich, fertile region alongside a river.

Brottier's mother brought him to a farm and introduced him to the man who ran it. And then she left. She would be back, she promised. Brottier was devastated, but the farmer turned out to be a kind man. In the months that followed, he taught Brottier how to tend the animals and crops and how to follow the rhythms of life along the river. Even so, Brottier longed for his old life. And finally, the day came.

His father sent word to the farmer that his parents had reconciled. The farmer was to bring Brottier home. He was overjoyed to be back. At last, it seemed life could get back to normal. But soon that world would come to an end. His life wased to be back. At last, it seemed, life could get back to normal. But soon that world would come to an end. His life was about to change violently. Permanently. It's about six weeks after Brottier's return to his family.

He is working in the village, preparing to lead sheep out for grazing on the savannah. Suddenly, a man runs into the village. Brottier recognizes him from his time staying with the farmer. This man lived in the savannah. Suddenly, a man runs into the village. Brottier recognizes him from his time staying with the farmer. This man lived in the surrounding countryside. The messenger goes straight to Brottier's father. He can't hear what's being said, but he senses danger. The man is explaining something, gesturing urgently in the direction of his village, and he runs off. Brottier turns to his father. He's never seen his father look so serious. What is it, father? What did that man want?

An army to the north has destroyed their village. A white nation sent them. We must go. But before his family can evacuate, the invaders arrive. The African army sweeps into the village, firing muskets. Rottier's never seen a gun before. He's startled by the loud cracks they make in the quiet air. His father seizes his arrows and begins firing at the invaders. Village women run to hide in a thicket of reeds on the edge of town, and one of them grabs Brottier by the hand. She pulls him after her, and the two of them sink behind the reeds for safety, watching his father fight. But his arrows are no match for the invaders'

guns. Soon, Brottier's father is surrounded. They force him to surrender and lay down his arrows in the dirt. Rottir watches as they roughly tie a rope around his neck, and then what they want becomes clear. Where is the gold? Your father doesn't say anything. One of the soldiers punches him in the face. We know you have it. We know you hid it. The man pulls a knife. Rottir can't look away as the man cuts his father. The first drops of his blood are bright in the dust. Rottier almost cries out, but the village woman covers his mouth and pulls him to her. His father grits his teeth, but he does not say anything. The men are getting frustrated. They want the gold. They cut deeper. You watch as your father's eyes slowly

roll back into his head. He finally slumps over and comes to a rest in the dust. At that, Rotir really does cry out. And the invaders hear. Before anyone can flee, they have captured him and all the other villagers. They march them hundreds of miles to the coast, to the town of Anamabo. Rotir and the other villagers are herded into a dank stone building, and then onto a ship waiting in the harbor. Rotir had never been on a ship before. He and the villagers are thrown below decks to a damp

and foul-smelling hold. Around him, the boat groans and creaks. The captain gives the order, and the charming Susanna sets sail. Unbeknownst to him, Brottier was now caught up in the so-called triangle trade of transatlantic slavery. Under this system, Europeans sent ships to coastal Africa, where they had built slave castles, forts for imprisoning captured slaves. They would buy Africans there and transport them to the American colonies. It was a rotating exchange, rum, sugar,

manufactured goods, and human beings. From its beginning in the 1500s until the year 1875, a total of 12.5 million people were forcibly shipped across the Atlantic. Of that number, though, only about 400,000 went to North America. Most were sent to South America and the Caribbean, and that was the destination of the charming Susanna. After he purchased 87 slaves at Onamabo, Captain James Collingwood made his way to Barbados to sell them. They would work in brutal conditions in the sugar cane fields, probably for only a few years. Life expectancy was short for Caribbean slaves. But Brottier was lucky in at least one respect. The steward of the charming Susanna, a young man named Robinson Mumford, took a liking to him.

He saw that Brottier was young and strong and smart. He told the captain he wanted to purchase the boy for himself. They agreed on a price, four gallons of rum and a piece of calico cloth. Sailors called goods like these, which they used to barter with, their venture. So Robinson Mumford decided to rename his new slave. Henceforth, he would be called Venture. The boy didn't speak English yet, so he didn't understand what was going on at first when the ship reached Barbados. But as the other slaves were unloaded, he came to understand.

He was now a slave. His owner lived in a land called America, and that would be his new home. The vessel then sailed for Rhode Island. Here, my master sent me to live with one of his sisters. After staying with his sister some time, I was taken to my master's place to live. Venture started out life as the son of an African prince. Now he was Mumford's slave. He discovered that the first act of his American life would take place in the city of Newport, Rhode Island. Mumford left him in that city at his sister's home. There, Venture learned English. He was taught household chores and the etiquette and behaviors that white people expected of their slaves. When he had the chance, he observed the way life unfolded in an American seaport. There was a lot to take in. Newport was one of the

busiest port cities in the colonies. Its dozens of wharves outfitted hundreds of ships, many of which were destined for the slave trade. Venture wasn't alone. In New England, enslaved Africans made up 2 to 3 percent of the population. Along the coast, the portion was considerably higher. In Newport, slaves accounted for 10 percent of the residents. In the South, slavery was a mass enterprise, with plantations holding hundreds of human beings in captivity. In the North, households usually employed one or two. Those who were enslaved generally preferred life in the north to that in the south, but slavery in the north was still difficult. In some ways, it was worse. On a southern plantation, large numbers of Africans would live and work together, allowing for a sense of community. The slaves in a northern

household would live in close quarters with their white owners, usually in the kitchen or attic, and they had the constant feeling of being watched. There was no social life, no moments of gathering or celebration. The boy venture accustomed himself to his new life. In his village, he had learned to be honorable and treat others with respect. Slavery had existed where he was from. He grew up with an understanding that both the slave and the owner had obligations in the relationship to behave with honor, loyalty, and respect. Once he had learned enough English, his owner came to fetch him. Mumford brought him to Fisher's Island off the Connecticut coast in Long Island Sound. The island was owned by the famous Winthrop family, which had produced two of Connecticut's early governors. Mumford's family leased the land from them. The Mumfords were seafaring folk, sailors, and slavers too. On

Fisher's Island, they raised sheep and cattle. Much of the meat went to feed slaves working in the Caribbean. So in his teens, Venture tended animals, the same work he had done in Africa. But now he was supporting the Anglo-American slave industry, at the same time that he himself was part of it. For all that, it was a quiet, bucolic life. He showed himself to be loyal, independent, and intelligent. So gradually, he was given more and more responsibility. He was sent off on errands across a large, rugged island. With few people around and even fewer children, he spent time with the youngest sister of his owner. Rebecca Mumford was about five years older than Venture. She was probably his best friend.

Over time, the Mumfords acquired a few other slaves. One was a girl named Meg. Meg and Venture fell in love. When they were about 20, they got permission to marry. Sometime after, they had their first child, a girl they named Hannah. Sometime later, Venture's owner, Robinson Mumford, died. His new owner, Robinson's father, was 65 years old. He was worn out from a brutal life spent working as the skipper of a slave ship, so he decided to downsize the Fisher's Island farm. He had a friend who lived across Long Island Sound on the Connecticut coast. The man, Thomas Stanton, needed a capable worker. And by this time, Venture had grown tall and powerfully strong. In fact, he was beginning

to make a name for himself, performing feats of strength. So old man Mumford sold him. But there were no laws facing slave owners to keep families together. Some owners felt it was the right thing to do, or that it was simply better for the slaves' morale. But the elder Mumford was not one of them. He sold Venture, but he kept Meg and their one-month-old daughter. For the second time in his adult life, Venture was torn away from those he knew and loved, and sent to a new home he did not choose. This time, he was also forced to leave his wife and child behind. But Venture made a promise to reunite with them. He would do whatever it took. Are you in trouble with the law? Need a lawyer who will fight like hell to keep you out of jail?

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Listen to the Pitcairn Trials exclusively on Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Venture Smith's new owner Thomas Stanton and, Robert, had just inherited their father's farm. They divided it into two. Venture's job was to help Thomas run his half. Venture continued to be a loyal servant and hard worker. Running a farm involved hundreds of jobs, and he seemed to excel in all of them. Meanwhile, his master's brother, Robert, was having a harder time of it.

He fell into debt. When Venture heard them talking about Robert's financial troubles, he offered Robert a loan. While in the service of the Mumford family, Venture had worked on the side to save money. The arrangement wasn't common, but owners sometimes did allow their slaves to work for other people as long as they received a cut of the earnings. Venture wrote of performing a whole host of odd jobs, cleaning gentlemen's shoes and drawing boots, catching muskrats and minks, raising potatoes and carrots, and fishing in the night. By the time he came to the Stantons, he had saved about 21 pounds in New York currency,

a good deal of money, and this he offered to loan to Robert Stanton. The men may have been surprised by the gesture, but maybe not. Time and again, Venture had demonstrated intelligence and resourcefulness that were rare to find in anyone, let alone a slave. Stanton took the money and gave Venture a promissory note in return. As a reward for his extraordinary service, Thomas Stanton agreed to buy Meg and their daughter, giving Venture the joy of being reunited with his family and fulfilling his promise. But then came a brutal turn of fate.

Imagine it's 1755 on a Connecticut farm. By this time, Venture is a large, broad man in his late 20s. He is working in the barn one day when he hears from inside the house the shrill sounds of a violent argument. He runs inside and finds his young wife, Meg, locked in a fight with the mistress of the house. Meg, what are you doing? Are you crazy, Meg? Stop!

She beat me for not cleaning out the chamber pot, but I did clean out the chamber pot. Then why is it filthy? Because your son used it. I can't run around after him. Insolent girl, I'll whip you to death. Venture steps between them and tells his wife to

apologize. But as he does, the mistress grabs a whip and then begins lashing him with it. Acting instinctively, he catches her arm, yanks the whip out of her hand, and tosses it into the fire. The mistress turns white, but she doesn't say anything. She leaves the room. An eerie quiet falls over the household for the next few days until the husband returns from work on the island. That day, as Venture was stooped to place a log on the fireplace, his owner comes up behind him. The man cracks Venture over the head with a heavy club.

Venture staggers and falls to his knees. But when the owner raises the club to strike again, Venture snatches it out of his hands and drags his owner out the door. He takes the club, his head bleeding, and marches into town to the office of the Justice of the Peace. The man looks up in surprise when he enters. Venture, what on earth are you doing here? I've come to report a crime, sir. What happened to your head? That is the crime. I have been mistreated by my master, sir. He struck me with this club when I was bent down. And just then, Venture's owner and his brother show up. They

have followed him here. I apologize, your honor, for the insolence of this slave. He has gotten above himself. I will take him home and give him a good beating. Mr. Stanton, slaves have rights too. The owner goes pale at this, but the justice softens. However, we also don't want them getting too many ideas. I'll let you go with a word of warning, but remember, Stanton, you are to treat your Africans with decency. The brothers had no intention of doing so. On the way back to the farm, they moved to beat Venture for his insolence. But Venture fought back. Because of his greater size, he held them off.

But that only made the brothers more determined to punish him. Later, a constable showed up at the farm with two men. They wrapped Venture in heavy chains and fastened them with padlocks. They left him that way for days. At one point during his confinement, his mistress came to smile and gloat at his fate. He looked up. His owner's brother was standing before him with a piece of paper. It was the promissory note, the brother's official promise to repay Venture the money he had lent him, his life savings. Robert Stanton tore it up.

Only now, years after he was first taken from his homeland, did Venture truly understand what slavery was. There may have been laws protecting slaves, but in practice, the system protected itself. Like other whites, his owner's greatest fear was an uprising. More than anything, these people who owned other human beings lived in dread that those they enslaved would overpower them. They feared the latent fury inside their slaves. The slave owner's nightmare came true in 1739. That year, the first major slave uprising took place on the Stono River in South Carolina. About 100 slaves rebelled, killing dozens of whites and even cutting off some heads for good measure. Then they set off for Florida toward what they hoped would be freedom. But in the end, most of the rebels ended up dead. The reality of an organized

uprising set terror in the hearts of slave owners. That same fear was in the minds of New Yorkers two years later when a fire swept through the city. A rumor spread that slaves had started it, there were 7,000 in the city, and that their plan was to go on a murderous rampage. Although the cause of the fire was never determined, 30 Africans were nonetheless hanged or burned at the stake for the arson. This was the reality of slavery. Those who were enslaved faced vicious reprisals and violent crackdowns at the mere thought of their rebelling against their status. Once Venture experienced this reality firsthand, he vowed to get out of his position. He would find a way to buy his freedom and that of his family.

Shortly after their altercation, Thomas Stanton sold Venture to another man. He kept Meg and the children, who now included their daughter and two little boys. Venture and his family were separated once again. Venture stopped back at the Stanton farm whenever he could to see his wife and children. Throughout the 1760s and 1770s, white Americans, grieved over British taxes, were clamoring for freedom. But all the while, Venture was working himself like a dog. When he wasn't doing chores for his owner, he was working nights and in the pre-dawn hours, chopping wood, growing crops to sell, and fishing for eels, all to raise money to buy himself and

his family out of slavery. In this time, Venture was sold yet again to a new owner, someone whose sense of decency appealed to him. Oliver Smith, a local businessman, agreed in advance that he would let him buy his freedom. The price? Eighty-five pounds. Energized, Venture redoubled his efforts. He worked furiously, day and night, depriving himself of every luxury as he worked to earn the money. Finally, after five years, the day came when he had earned almost all of it, but not quite. At night, I lay on the hearth, with one coverlet over and another under me. I returned to my master and

gave him what I received of my labor. My master liberated me, saying that I might pay what was behind if I could ever make it convenient, otherwise it would be well. The amount of money which I had paid my master towards redeeming my time was seventy-one pounds, two shillings. Seventy-one pounds, two shillings, toward buying his freedom. He was still thirteen pounds, two shillings. 71 pounds, two shillings, toward buying his freedom. He was still 13 pounds, 18 shillings short, but to his astonishment and delight, his master agreed to sell him his freedom at the lower price. His new life, free, could begin. Being 36 years old, I left Colonel Smith once for all. I had already been sold three different times,

made considerable money with seemingly nothing to derive from it, been cheated out of a large sum of money, lost much by misfortunes, and paid an enormous sum for my freedom. The first move Venture made on leaving slavery was to claim a last name. This was a matter of pride. Most slaves had only one name. A last name was a sign of status.

Now, as a free man, he would be Venture Smith. It may seem surprising that he would choose his last owner's name, but doing so was fairly common among freed slaves. Freedom was a perilous state for African people living in the colonies. You needed to ground yourself, vouch for yourself. Colonel Oliver Smith was a man of renown in the local area. Aligning himself with the colonel helped give venture legitimacy. The next step was to go right back to work. He labored for another 10 years until he had enough money to return to Thomas Stanton and buy first his young sons, then his wife, and finally his daughter. And then he had done it. At 46 years old,

four decades after the charming Susanna had captured him off the coast of Guinea and sold him into slavery, he and his family were finally free human beings, free to determine their own futures. They would never again be slaves. Intoxicated by the feeling, Venture bought a boat, loaded his entire family into it, and sailed away up the Connecticut River. He was leaving life on the coast. It was dangerous there. There was a war on now. The white Americans had finally chosen to fight for their own freedom. In some of their writings, they referred to their status as that of slaves to Great Britain. If Venture Smith had heard any of that talk,

he didn't choose to express his own feelings on it, though. And he didn't allow himself much time to revel in his state of freedom, because he was not safe. He knew well that freed slaves were in a dangerous position. Whites mistrusted them. Communities throughout the American colonies had passed laws forbidding them from settling. Slavery, for all its evils, was a recognizable institution. A freed slave was a concept only vaguely understood.

People didn't trust them. Venture Smith knew how he would win people's trust and forge a foundation for his family. White people respected property and status. He would sail inland with his family until he reached the rural town of Haddam. He knew a white man there. He could work for him and earn enough money to buy safety and security for his wife and children. He would be smart. He would study his employer's property and his neighbors. Because he didn't just want to earn money, he wanted land. A place at long last to put down roots and call home. His own stake in the land of the free. How did Birkenstocks go from a German cobbler's passion project 250 years ago to the Barbie movie today?

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Are we excited for this moment? Ah! I cannot believe it. Woo! Buy It Now. Stream free on Freeview and Prime Video. Imagine you're in a low-ceiling parlor room in the town hall of Haddam, Connecticut. Candles provide the light. Heavy portraits line the walls. You're a resident of the town and a landowner, and you're about to get a new neighbor. You've been asked by the Justice of the Peace to step in and witness a transfer of land.

The new owner is Venture Smith. You know Venture. Enough to nod hello, at least. You know he works hard to support his family, and he's loyal to his wife. You have nothing against him. You figure he's done pretty well for himself, considering. But that's different than having him for your neighbor. You've never known of a free black man buying land in town, and you've lived here your whole life. What if he starts putting ideas in the heads of other slaves? Your town doesn't need that kind of aggravation. Perhaps Venture can sense what's in your head, because he avoids looking at you.

You speak aloud to no one in particular. Well, this is surely a first. The men before you take turns stating what they're signing their names to. I, Abel Bingham of East Haddam in the state of Connecticut, receive to my full satisfaction of venture, a free Negro of Haddam, 150 pounds lawful money for a certain piece of land lying in the bounds of Haddam. He watches your neighbor, Abel Bingham, signs the paper. The justice nods to Venture.

Your turn. Then Venture Smith makes an X where his name is written. On this 14th day of March, 1777, before me, Jabez Chapman, Justice of the Peace. You watch as the justice signs. Finally, he indicates where you are to sign. Go ahead, Thomas. Last step to make it official. You step forward, but you pause for a moment. Then you bend forward and sign your name. Venture flashes a broad smile. Thank you, gentlemen. I look forward to being your neighbor. He shakes hands with a justice, an able, and then turns to you. You straighten up so you're face to face with Venture. He's about the same age as you, and tall, too. The two of you are standing almost eye to eye. He's smiling and

holding out his hand. After a moment, you reach out and take it, the hand of your new neighbor. Venture Smith wasn't finished with that first small purchase of land. He kept buying. When all was said and done, he owned 134 acres, more than most well-to-do white farmers in Connecticut. The purpose was simple. The only way he could think of to win the respect of white people, to force them to see him as a man in his own right, was through property. It was a large estate, and Venture needed help running it. And help arrived. He was by now known far and wide, and other freed blacks came to him seeking work. A community gathered around him, tilling, threshing, chopping, hauling, and living as they chose. The war, meanwhile, raged on.

His son Cuff went off to fight in a regiment under George Washington. In 1781, Cuff headed southward toward what would be the last major theater of the fight, the Battle of Yorktown. Venture stayed well clear of the Revolutionary War. He kept his eyes on his own free territory, the one he had created himself. Finally, the country won its freedom from England. Some people had expected, or at least hoped, that that victory would include the freedom of slaves. During the war, some blacks, like Cuff Smith, had joined the Continental Army, hoping that the freedom they were fighting for would be extended to them. Others fled their

owners and signed up to fight on the British side, enticed by offers of freedom. But once the nation had secured its independence, the institution of slavery remained. It was too much of a part of the economy for leaders to seriously consider ending it. Instead of a true land of freedom, America became a land of contradiction. Still, there were differences between northern and southern states. While the South was firmly committed to slavery, northern abolitionists made headway in arguing that it was immoral and should be banned. One by one, northern states passed laws to dismantle the institution. But even these statutes were rarely what they appeared to be. Connecticut passed the Gradual Abolition Act in

1784. The key word was gradual. Legislatures were fearful of stepping on economic rights of slaveholders, so they decided that freedom would come only for slaves born after March 2nd of that year. And even then, they would become free only when they turned 25. The abolition law freed no slaves at all in that year, nor for many years to come. Venture Smith was probably not surprised. He'd seen a lot of human nature over the years. He knew that when it came down to it, most men chose money and opportunity over ideals. In many ways, he had become bitter in his old age. As his children grew up, he disapproved of their choices and fought with all of them. After his son Cuff returned home from the Revolutionary War,

he eventually married and had children, but he disappointed Venture by becoming a drinker and a thief. When he was found guilty of stealing wood and sentenced to a public whipping, he deeply wounded Venture, who had worked hard on his reputation in the community. His daughter Hannah, meanwhile, married a man named Isaac, and Venture didn't trust him. Sure enough, when Hannah fell ill, Isaac left her. Venture brought his daughter back home and hired a doctor to care for her, but she died anyway. In his bitterness, Venture complained about the money he had spent on the doctor to save her. Then, as his own health began to decline, Venture signed ownership of his

precious estate over to his youngest son, Solomon. He hoped that the young man would tend it as he had. Instead, he watched in sadness as Solomon began to divide up the land and sell it off as parcels. In the general store in Haddam, Connecticut, the old former slave Venture Smith is winding up his story. The newspaper man Charles Holt has been scribbling furiously, taking it all down. He's eager to provide evidence to support the abolitionist cause. He wants to show how Americans who came from Africa are just as full of grit and determination and decency as those who came from Europe. Holt doesn't know, of course, that it will be another six decades before slavery in America ends. You and your brother listen to Venture's narrative.

As he reflects on how slavery and age have humbled his body, his words have a tinge of resentment. Though I was once straight and tall, measuring without shoes six feet one inch and a half, in every way well proportioned, I am now bowed down with age and hardship. My strength, which was once equal, if not superior, to any man whom I have ever seen, is now enfeebled so that life is a burden.

And it is with fatigue that I can walk a couple of miles, stooping over my staff. My eyesight has gradually failed till I am almost blind. And whenever I go abroad, one of my grandchildren must direct my way. Besides, for many years I have been much pained and troubled with an ulcer on one of my legs. Then, almost near the end, he surprises you. He changes his tone. Notwithstanding all the losses I have suffered by fire, by the injustice of knaves, by the cruelty and oppression of false-hearted friends,

and by the perfidy of my own countrymen, whom I have assisted and redeemed from bondage, I am now possessed of more than 100 acres of land and three habitable dwelling houses. It gives me joy to think that I have and that I deserve so good a character, especially for truth and integrity. Pushing back from the table, Venturemith stands to go. Gentlemen, you wanted to know how I got this scar. I got it and many more fighting for my freedom. My freedom is a privilege which nothing else can equal. And nothing will take it from me. On the next episode of American History Tellers,

a Dutch-English immigrant began his life in America as a cobbler's apprentice. But soon, he would be a formidable politician, fighting for populism and squaring off against Alexander Hamilton. Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. I hope you've enjoyed this episode of American History Tellers. American History Tellers is hosted, sound designed, and edited by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Additional production assistance by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by Russell Shorto, edited and produced by Jenny Lauer,

produced by George Lavender. Our executive producer is Marshall Louis, created by Hernán López for Wondery. In a quiet suburb, a community is shattered by the death of a beloved wife and mother. But this tragic loss of life quickly turns into something even darker. Her husband had tried to hire a hitman on the dark web to kill her. And she wasn't the only target. Because buried in the depths of the internet is The Kill List,

a cache of chilling documents containing names photos addresses and specific instructions for people's murders this podcast is the true story of how i ended up in a race against time to warn those who lives were in danger and it turns out convincing a total stranger someone wants them dead is not easy follow kill list on the wandry app or wherever you get your podcasts you can listen to kill list and more exhibit c true crime shows like morbid early and ad free right now by joining wandry plus check out exhibit c in the wandry app for all your true crime listening