“The Overlook” appears on Tuesdays and Fridays. An overlook is usually a place from which one can see in many if not all directions, including where one has been and where one is going. There is no political or personal agenda at work here other than to tell stories that from time to time will have a particular relevance. If you enjoy the column, please like/share it with others and hit the ‘Subscribe’ button (it’s free). The more the merrier!
“I cannot but hate the declared indifference for slavery's spread. I hate it because of the monstrous injustice of slavery itself.”
-Abraham Lincoln, Peoria, Illinois, October 1854
The day this column is being posted is Abraham Lincoln’s 212th birthday, an appropriate time to tell a story about the first time he sort of freed a slave, an experience that had a profound effect on him. For source material, I am indebted to the Randolph Society in Illinois and Phil Luciano of the Peoria Journal Star. I also recommend the book titled Nance by Carl Adams.
The story of Nance Legins-Costley is largely unknown yet her life was significant in American history. Sadly, today there is not even a final resting place to visit and pay respects because her grave in Peoria, Illinois, has been paved over and sitting atop it is a muffler shop and other commercial buildings.
The Illinois constitution of 1818 banned slavery. However, the state government did not completely enforce the slavery prohibition. What were known as “French slaves” — descendants of the area’s original slaves during the 1700s — continued to be held in subjugation into the mid-19th century. And slaves could legally be brought to Illinois from slave states for annually renewable work contracts. The state also allowed indentured servitude which could extend as long as 99 years — in other words, slavery. And indentured-servitude contracts and the services of the servant could be sold like any sort of property, no consent necessary.
Nance Legins-Costley was born in 1813 in Kaskaskia, which briefly was Illinois’ first capital. She was the daughter of Randall and Anachy Legins, who had been bought as indentured servants with two others by Col. Tom Cox for $770. When Nance was seven, she and a younger sister were working at Cox’s Columbia Hotel. Though the capital had been moved to Vandalia, businessmen and other bigwig travelers would gather there and discuss issues of the day, including slavery. Though illiterate for a lack of schooling, Nance listened.
In 1822, the Cox household — including indentured servants — moved to Springfield, which would not become the state capital until 1839. In 1827, with Cox awash in debt thanks to bad land speculation fueled by drunkenness, a Sangamon County court ordered the sale of his possessions, including his indentured servants. In what amounted to a legal slave auction, Nance was sold to Nathan Cromwell. She resisted and was locked inside a windowless salt house for a week. After that, Cromwell forcibly took her from Springfield to his new home.
Despite the court-ordered sale, Cox kept filing petitions to keep hold of his possessions. During a hearing in Sangamon County, Nance testified, “It is not true that I, Nance, voluntarily and of my own free will, agreed to go with Cromwell to his house. Nor is it true I still live with Cromwell by my own choice.” The case went to the Illinois Supreme Court, which ruled against Cox, so Nance remained with Cromwell.
In 1829, he and his wife Ann Eliza took her along when they moved to Tazewell County, where they helped found a new city. Ann Eliza Cromwell gave the town its name, Pekin — the French spelling of the Chinese city Peking, thought at the time to be directly on the opposite side of the globe. But after his wife died a couple of years later, Cromwell decided in 1836 to move to Texas, hoping to strike it rich in land speculation. Nance Legins, by now 23, objected to moving again: She already had a baby, with another on the way.
Cromwell approached a merchant named David Bailey, a former business partner, to suggest Nance stay behind and work at his store. Bailey was amenable. He was an abolitionist whose father-in-law had been a conductor on the Underground Railroad. He thought helping Nance would be a step toward breaking her indentured servitude. And from a former business deal, Bailey already owed $400 to Cromwell. Cromwell offered to essentially cancel that debt if Bailey were to take in Nance. Bailey agreed but only upon the condition that Cromwell produce documentation of her indentured servitude. But Cromwell left for Texas without providing the paperwork. In St. Louis, far from his destination, he died. Immediately, Nance declared herself free, left Bailey’s service and lived independently.
On October 15, 1840, in Pekin, she married a free Black man named Benjamin Costley. In addition to two girls, Amanda and Eliza Jane, the household would include a son in 1841, William Henry Costley. Meanwhile, a relative of Cromwell went to court, suing for Bailey’s $400 in the deal. Bailey claimed he owed no money because the sale had been nullified by the lack of the agreed-upon indentured servitude documents. When a judge disagreed and deemed Nance a possession, Bailey took the case to the Illinois Supreme Court in Springfield. For legal help, Bailey contacted an attorney friend who he’d served with in the Black Hawk War: Abraham Lincoln.
Lincoln, then 32, was serving his fourth term in the State Legislature. He was wary of extreme abolitionists, some of whom would burn flags and decry the constitution. Lincoln did not want to be seen as an anarchist. Still, in principle, Lincoln opposed slavery. In addition to wanting to help his friend Bailey, he saw merit in the case, especially as it related to Legins-Costley’s long fight for freedom. She and Lincoln would discuss matters of the case, which in time would push him toward a firm anti-slavery stance.
On July 9, 1841, Lincoln appeared before the state’s high court, his arguments leaning heavily on anti-slavery language of the Northwest Ordinance and the Illinois Constitution. Justices agreed and ruled in favor of Bailey and Lincoln, stating, “In the State of Illinois, every person is free, without regard to color. The sale of a free person is illegal.” Legins-Costley was freed from indentured servitude, as were her children. This made her infant son, William, the first male freed from bondage by Abraham Lincoln.
Legins-Costley and her husband remained in Pekin, where they would have five more children. Though bereft of an education herself, she made sure all of them attended school. The family lived in a log cabin along the Illinois River. Even before the high court’s ruling, she had become a valued, contributing member of the Pekin community. In the mid-1830s, Pekin was struck by cholera, malaria, and scarlet fever. One of the first victims was the lone doctor, leaving medical care mostly to townsfolk. Nance, despite no medical training, rose to the occasion and helped care for the ailing, with little regard for her own safety. She enjoyed the community’s respect the rest of her days.
The family served at the forefront of another key event in the fight for racial equality. William Costley left Pekin in 1864 to join the 29th Illinois Regiment of U.S. Colored Troops, the only Black regiment from Illinois and the largest of all the state's regiments. After battles elsewhere, the regiment was sent to Texas in June 1865. Because Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee had surrendered April 9, Union troops never had invaded Texas, leaving 250,000 slaves there still unfreed. On June 19, with Costley and his regiment among federal troops sent into Galveston, Gen. Gordon Granger announced, “The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the executive of the United States, all slaves are free.” A celebration followed, one that continues annually today on what is known as Juneteenth.
In 1883, Legins-Costley's husband, Ben Costley, died of unspecified injuries. After that, Legins-Costley went to live with daughter Amanda and her husband in Peoria. She died in Peoria at age 79 on April 6, 1892.
Where she had been buried remained a mystery until four years ago when amateur researcher Bob Hoffer of Peoria found the site of Moffatt Cemetery. While tracing family roots, he delved into records showing that the graveyard had thrived in the late 19th century. But in 1905, the city shuttered the cemetery, possibly for overcrowding. Abandoned, the site fell into disrepair and became almost unrecognizable. Later, the city announced plans to develop the area, promising to move the graves to other cemeteries. Research revealed that only 100 graves were relocated. The rest — as many as 3,000, including those of 48 Union soldiers — were covered by asphalt. One of those graves contained the remains of Nance Legins-Costley and most likely her husband was also buried there. Efforts are underway by Hoffer and others to somehow erect a permanent marker to the couple in the parking lot.
Tom Clavin is the bestselling author/co-author of 18 books, including, most recently, “Tombstone: The Earp Brothers, Doc Holliday, and the Vendetta Ride From Hell.” The next collaboration with Bob Drury, “Blood and Treasure: Daniel Boone and the Fight for America’s First Frontier,” will be published in April by St. Martin’s Press. There is a pre-order promotion underway which includes a specially made bookmark. Please click here for more info.
Thank you for this thoughtful piece. Tragic about the parking lot. Underscores the importance of caution and transparency in development processes and racial equity in preservation efforts.