School, Happy, John, Fountain and Cedar streets comprise a section of Norwich called Jail Hill, a choice location with commanding views of the harbor. The area might have become a tony enclave for some of Norwich’s many millionaires, but the city built a jail there around 1830. This depressed property values, but gave black residents a rare opportunity for the times: a chance to have a home of their own.

Among these enterprising African Americans were Charles and Mariah Harris who lived on Cedar Street and ran a restaurant on Water Street. Charles’ brother, William, lived next door and earned his living as a ship’s cook. James Spelman, the son of a minister, was born on Jail Hill and became a journalist for the New York Tribune. James Lindsay Smith rose from being a fugitive slave to owning a home on School Street; this is his story.

James was born on a plantation in northern Virginia and was orphaned at a young age. A childhood accident left him with a permanent limp that made him unfit for heavy field labor, so his owner hired him out to work on a fishing boat. Over the course of two years the ship’s captain whipped James so often and so viciously that at one point he tried to drown himself. Eventually James was returned to the plantation and worked as a shoemaker for his master. The conditions were better, but he dreamed of freedom.

In 1838 James seized the opportunity to escape. He stole a sailboat, crossed Chesapeake Bay, and, after a harrowing journey made difficult by his damaged leg, reached Philadelphia. Here sympathetic abolitionists paid for his passage to New York and gave him a letter of introduction to David Ruggles.

Ruggles was the leader of African American activists in New York City and had assisted hundreds of fugitives including Frederick Douglass. (Ruggles grew up in Norwich; perhaps he influenced James’ later decision to settle there.) Ruggles arranged passage for James on a steamship that took him up the Connecticut River to Springfield.

James stayed in Springfield for several years and then moved to Norwich where he established a thriving shoe business, preached in the Methodist church, and ran a Bible study school. He and his wife had four children, all graduates of Norwich Free Academy. His life was a success story, although achieved with immense effort.

James wrote a powerful autobiography that’s still a gripping read almost 150 years later. In it he tells of visiting Virginia after the Civil War and reuniting with his brother whom he hadn’t seen for 30 years. The men wept and rejoiced, marveling that they were standing together, free men on free soil.

On this same trip James went to see the widow of his former master. The woman, who’d been accustomed to staying indoors and having slaves wait on her, was outside doing yard work in the hot sun. Lesser men would have gloated, but James’ attitude was objective, even kind. Former mistress and slave had tea and reminisced. As they parted, James gave her a pair of shoes, reflecting both his generosity of spirit and just how dramatically their circumstances had changed.

We know a lot about James because of his autobiography, but all his Jail Hill neighbors had important stories to tell. They overcame enormous odds and not only survived but in many cases prospered. They were abolitionists who circulated anti-slavery newspapers and were almost certainly linked to the Underground Railroad. Dozens of men of color from the community fought for the Union during the Civil War, often serving as proxies for white men.

Jail Hill also had connections to a controversial school for young ladies of color in Canterbury and to a tiny village called Glasgo. We’ll explore that story next month.

Carol Sommer of Waterford is a self-proclaimed history nut. She writes a monthly history column inspired by local street signs.