An exhibit of records drawn from the collections of the Municipal Archives lines the basement corridors at 31 Chambers Street. One grouping holds particular interest—three documents related to black people living in New York City—both free and enslaved in the early 19th century. The grouping includes replicas of the cover sheet for the 1810 census, an 1811 certificate of manumission for Lecretia Dixon signed by Mayor DeWitt Clinton, and an 1816 letter issued by Mayor Jacob Radcliff to a free woman named Nancy.

*Certificate signed by Mayor Jacob Radcliff regarding Nancy, August 31, 1816. Common Council Papers Collection, 1670-1831. NYC Municipal Archives.*

The exhibit, installed in 1989, offers highlights from the Archives extensive collections ranging from the early regulations proposed by Governor Petrus Stuyvesant in 1647, to a photograph of Mayor David N. Dinkins in the Yankee dugout on April 15, 1991. By 2014, time had taken its toll, with faded images and grimy frames. Staff painstakingly removed all of the exhibit items, rescanned images, and re-hung approximately 30% of the content including the three documents.

Each item documents government activity. But they also raise questions about the individuals named in the records. Who were they? Where did they live? What happened to them? This blog was spurred by recent remarks to the volunteers and contributors to our Neighborhood Stories program whose personal stories add a human dimension to the institutions operated by City government: schools, hospitals, streets, etc. Those short histories will add human context to records documenting government decisions. That gave rise to the questions: who was Nancy and could we use the various historical records in the Municipal Archives to learn more about her?

Nancy is a name on a document. She was approximately 60 years old and had the wherewithal to pay $2 for a letter from the Mayor stating she was free.

*1810 Census Coversheet. Common Council Papers Collection, 1670-1831. NYC Municipal Archives.*

The cover sheet to the 1810 census shows who lived in the City (only Manhattan at this time) by a variety of categories. The data indicates that a total of 8,915 Black people lived in the City, approximately 9% of the population, including 7,319 free people and 1,596 enslaved people. Women comprised more than half of the residents. The fifth ward was home to the largest number of free people—702 men and 1,002 women. Would Nancy be among these residents? The 1816 census lists, organized by ward, might provide an answer.

One would think that searching for a person using only a first name would be impossible. That may have been the situation prior to 2021 when researchers used the microfilmed records and scrolled through page after page of cursive writing. But, in March 2020, in preparation for working from home, the Head of Collections Management had the foresight to put together a transcription project in which agency staff entered information from hand-written lists, including the census, into a database. This made a first name search possible. (Currently in the quality-assurance phase, the databases will be added to our online collections).

Searching the index showed there were seven women named Nancy living in the Fifth Ward. The ward covered a good chunk of what we now call Tribeca and our subjects lived on Broadway, Chambers, Reed (sic), Duane, Thomas and Jay Streets. A review of the hand-written entries for all seven women named Nancy in the Fifth ward eliminated each either because of race or age. The Tenth ward in 1816 is what is now the Lower East Side with streets named Orchard, Essex and Delancey. A name search for “Nancy” in the index produced two people named Nancy in this ward: Nancy Sleet and Nancy Thorp. They, too did not meet the search criteria. Unfortunately, the census, while fascinating, yielded no clues to Nancy.

Since the letter had been issued by Mayor Jacob Radcliff (whose two terms alternated with those of DeWitt Clinton) searching the Mayoral Collections for back-up correspondence made sense. That proved a dead end since the Mayor’s papers in the Archives begin in 1826—a decade later. Where did Mayor Radcliff’s letter come from?

Interestingly, records from mayors preceding 1826 can be found in another collection: the Records of the Common Council spanning 1670-1831. During that time in the City’s history, the Mayor presided over the Council, so records documenting mayoral activities are in the Council Collection which is organized chronologically by subject. Pulling the three boxes dated 1816 provided information on many topics including manumission and slavery.

The “Manumission” folder contained one completed and several blank manumission forms to be filled-out when a person was released from bondage. Generally, records from this period are hand-written in ink on heavy paper. Whether it is a petition to open a street or close a bawdy house or applications to be named the grain weight-master or inspector of public wood, the documents are written in cursive with brown, iron-gall ink. The Manumission records are different. Most are pre-printed forms that begin with the title:

Know All Men by these Presents, That…

A statement to “fully and absolutely manumit, make free and set at liberty” is followed by blanks to enter the gender, the name of the formerly enslaved person and language to relinquish and release all rights, titles and property. None of the documents in this folder related to Nancy.

The folder titled “Slavery” contained four documents including the original of the letter in the exhibit. One is a manumission certificate for Hetty Davis. Another, sadly, contains various statements documenting an appearance before Radcliff by John Cumberland who planned to move to Kentucky from New York City and was asking to take with him an enslaved woman named Charity. A 1813 State Law meant to protect servants from being sold/moved into slavery required that municipal officials review such plans.

*Statement of John Bancker regarding Nancy, to Mayor Radcliff, August 31, 1816. Common Council Papers Collection, 1670-1831. NYC Municipal Archives.*

The fourth document, however, transcribes a statement by John Bancker that provides a little information about Nancy. Bancker stated that he had been acquainted with Nancy for approximately sixteen years “last past” and that Nancy had been a free woman for at least five years. She had been sold for “a period of service which hath long since expired and on the expiration of which she was to be free and that she hath always since enjoyed her freedom.”

How did Bancker know Nancy? Would finding him produce more information about her? Efforts to locate Bancker in the census indices proved futile (as did efforts to locate Mayor Radcliff). Perhaps they resided in Wards 4 and 6 for which the Archives does not have 1816 census records.

The next step was to try the City Directories. Various companies printed directories listing the names of individuals, businesses individuals and institutions. Two volumes in the Municipal Library for 1811 and 1815-16 were issued by David Longworth “from the Old Established Directory Office Shakespeare.”

Bancker appears in each. In 1811 there is an entry for Bancker jun. John residing at 9 Harison (sic). The 1815 volume lists Bancker junr. John, merchant, Jones n. Broadway. Nothing here provides any information about Nancy. The street address was confusing because neither Jones Lane nor Jones Street are anywhere near Broadway. Apparently, there was a short alley running behind numbers 48 and 50 Broadway named Jones Court. But, alas, none of this leads to Nancy.

A search of the Proceedings of the Common Council produces various entries for John Bancker and John Bancker Jr. But none provide further information about Nancy.

And the trail ends there.

Searching for Nancy

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