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How France Secured American Independence: The Yorktown Victory

Early American history, Virginia history, Virginia250

By Julian Sanders, B.A. in History, Christopher Newport University (’25), and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History, Christopher Newport University

While the Battle of Yorktown is well known for its role in ending the American Revolution, the French military’s contribution to this important victory is not always fully appreciated. The French military’s contributions went far beyond the French Navy’s naval blockade of the Chesapeake Bay, although this remained a critical factor in the victory at Yorktown. This exhibit explores the multiple dimensions of France’s support for the Battle of Yorktown, including leadership and troop reinforcements, engineering and operational support, tactical maneuvering on land, and the naval blockade at sea.

Leadership and Troop Reinforcements

By the time that General George Washington arrived at Yorktown on September 26, 1781, the French Navy had already blocked British General Charles Cornwallis’s potential escape by seizing control of the Chesapeake Bay after defeating the British fleet in the Battle of the Capes on September 5, 1781. Many people do not realize that nearly half of General Washington’s army of over 16,000 troops was comprised of 7,800 French soldiers. These troops were commanded by Lieutenant General Jean-Baptiste Donatien de Vimeur, comte de Rochambeau. This combined allied army was considerably larger than what Cornwallis had expected, greatly outnumbering his force strength of approximately 7,400 troops.

Major Generals Lafayette, Benjamin Lincoln, and Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben each commanded divisions of Continental troops. General Thomas Nelson Jr., governor of Virginia and a native of Yorktown, commanded the Virginia militia. Rochambeau commanded the French wing on the left, which consisted of seven regiments organized into three brigades. Both armies also had their own complements of engineers, cavalry, and artillery. Brigadier General Henry Knox commanded the Continental artillery brigade.[1]

The relationship between General Washington and Lieutenant General Rochambeau is particularly interesting when considering how the two armies learned to work together. In many instances, Rochambeau had to convince Washington to change his military plans. He did so by leveraging the long-standing collaboration and trust that had developed between the French and American forces. As stated by military historian Nicholas Marsella:

“Great confidence was therefore placed in the ability of the French commander, Rochambeau…to explain their point of view to Washington and make him accept it.”[2]

For example, Rochambeau advocated for additional ground and naval forces for any attack to be successful. He was instrumental in convincing Washington that they should shift their focus from attacking British-occupied New York to securing the Chesapeake, where the likelihood of military success was much greater.[3]

General Washington also maintained a close and highly respectful relationship with Admiral François Joseph Paul de Grasse. In fact, it was de Grasse’s fleet that helped facilitate the transport of Washington and his officers down the Chesapeake to Lynnhaven Roads. When Washington met de Grasse on the quarterdeck of the flagship Ville de Paris, the admiral flew to embrace him, imprinting the traditional French salute upon each cheek. General Washington was typically reserved with his emotions, but when de Grasse (who was six feet four inches tall, making him three inches taller than Washington) embraced him and teased, “Mon petit général!” (“My little general!”), both men immediately connected.

In this historic meeting, the two officers solidified their strategy for storming Yorktown. General Washington had many questions for de Grasse, and one by one they addressed the operational details. Washington left this meeting with a profound respect for de Grasse, later referring to him as possessing a “great mind.”[4]

Engineering and Operational Support

Great battles are typically won by great logistical planning and execution. The logistical requirements to lay siege to the British forces who were trapped inside the fortifications of Yorktown were complex and extensive. Success in the battle was contingent on placing a stranglehold on the British forces and weakening them through starvation, heavy bombardment, and gradual advancements toward their defensive lines.

The French forces constructed a variety of siege trenches, fortifications, and artillery positions from which they were able to bombard the British front lines. The tactical know-how to build and use these types of temporary fortifications dated back over 100 years prior to the French military engineer Sébastien Le Prestre de Vauban. Vauban designed and perfected a system for constructing earthworks and parallel trenches that could be used to safely encircle, strangle, and defeat a well-fortified enemy. This engineering expertise enabled the Continental and French forces to methodically encircle Yorktown and lay successful siege to the British forces within the encampment.[5]

Tactical Maneuvering on the Land

The French army made significant contributions to the land battle through innovative tactical maneuvering. Under the coordinated command of General Marquis de Lafayette and General Rochambeau, allied troops executed maneuvers that began with heavy bombardments of British positions on October 9, using over 150 artillery pieces.[6] French and American commanders combined their strategic knowledge to create a trap from which Cornwallis was unable to escape.[7]

On September 27, Washington ordered his troops to encircle Yorktown, moving within a mile of the British fortifications. The troops initially encountered very little British resistance because Cornwallis had abandoned his outer defensive line to consolidate his forces. The British forces were trapped inside their inner works and soon lacked food and supplies. It is estimated that they slaughtered 600 to 700 of their own horses simply to preserve forage and feed their starving troops.

On the evening of Saturday, September 29, the allied forces constructed advanced siege works without the British soldiers’ knowledge. That evening it was raining, and the sound of the storm muffled the noise of the construction. When the British forces discovered the new allied positions the next morning, they immediately recognized the threat to their lines. In response, the British cannoneers began a furious round of cannon and mortar fire. The allied troops continued their trench work despite the heavy fire, taking casualties but steadily tightening their encirclement. Soon, Cornwallis had no choice but to rely entirely on his inner fortifications.[8]

Cornwallis stationed some troops to the northwest of Yorktown at the Fusiliers’ Redoubt, and at Redoubts 9 and 10 close to the York River on the east side of the town. Cornwallis had recently received communications from the British Commander-in-Chief in New York, General Sir Henry Clinton, indicating that 5,000 British reinforcements would arrive within a few days. While this was welcome news for Cornwallis, he lacked full faith in General Clinton.[9]

Cornwallis believed that he only needed to hold his positions for a short time until these reinforcements arrived. Ultimately, the relief fleet never arrived in time because it was delayed in New York waiting for a favorable wind and tide. These British troops did not set sail from New York until October 19—the exact day that Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown.[10]

The Continental and French forces immediately occupied the abandoned outer fortifications and began additional construction on a first and second parallel siege line. The French advanced against the troops stationed at the Fusiliers’ Redoubt, but the position was too strongly defended to breach casually. Under heavy fire, French and Continental engineers continued to work on their siege lines, completing the first parallel in about four days.[11]

Naval Blockade on the Sea

The naval blockade orchestrated by the French fleet was a decisive factor in the success of the Siege of Yorktown in 1781. Commanded by Admiral de Grasse, the French navy took control of the Chesapeake Bay. To achieve this blockade, the French Navy first had to defeat the British Navy in the Battle of the Capes.[12]

The arrival of the French fleet in the Chesapeake Bay significantly impacted the outcome of the Battle of Yorktown by providing the naval superiority needed for the allied forces to engage the British effectively. The French fleet, under Vice Admiral de Grasse, played a crucial role in the maritime aspect of the campaign.

One of the most important sea battles fought during the war was the Battle of the Capes. Although some contemporary British accounts downplayed it as a mere skirmish, the battle was a strategic victory for the French Navy, causing the British fleet to withdraw to New York and leaving Cornwallis isolated and vulnerable to the combined French and American land forces.[13]

By preventing naval reinforcements and supplies from reaching Cornwallis, the French fleet ensured that the American and French armies could mount a concerted siege, ultimately leading to Cornwallis’s surrender. The French naval presence was essential for establishing control of the waterways surrounding Yorktown, and it demonstrated temporary French naval superiority in North American waters.[14]

The presence of a large French naval force in the Chesapeake, along with additional ground forces, facilitated close inter-service collaboration. The French victory at the Battle of the Capes allowed them to secure control of the Chesapeake, which was crucial for the allied plan to trap Cornwallis at Yorktown. The effective communication and coordination between the French and American commanders were essential in planning the siege that followed, which involved American and French siege guns and artillery targeting British positions. This collaboration ultimately led to the successful siege and surrender of Cornwallis.[15]

An Unexpected and Disappointing French Departure

While the Battle of Yorktown was a monumental military and diplomatic success, after the battle General Washington discovered the clear limits of French cooperation. At the conclusion of the Siege of Yorktown in late 1781, Washington faced the ongoing challenge of securing key Southern cities like Charleston and Savannah, which were still controlled by British forces.

After the battle of Yorktown, Washington asked French Admiral de Grasse to assist him in retaking these southern ports. However, de Grasse informed Washington that due to prior instructions from the French government, he was required to depart immediately for the West Indies to protect France’s Caribbean interests and could not provide further naval support.[16]

Without this crucial assistance, Washington recognized the considerable operational challenges ahead of him, believing that without victories in those cities, the war could drag on for many years. In response, Washington reorganized his land forces. On November 4, while de Grasse departed with the French fleet, Washington’s remaining Continental troops—including those from Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia—moved southward to reinforce Major General Nathanael Greene’s command.

The American militia units that had remained at Yorktown were disbanded. The French army, under General Rochambeau, retained a temporary presence in Virginia; a small contingent, including the Régiment Soissonnais, remained to guard the Yorktown area through the winter, while the main body of the French forces established their winter headquarters in Williamsburg, remaining there until the following summer.[17]

Historical Discoveries About French Participation in Yorktown

Although the Battle of Yorktown occurred nearly 250 years ago, new details are still being discovered today. In a recent study published in Early American Studies, author and researcher Iris de Rode explains how little was historically known about the daily lives of average French soldiers or officers during the American Revolution. However, the family of François-Jean de Chastellux (1734–1788), an influential major general who served directly under Rochambeau, preserved his private papers for more than 240 years in their ancestral home, the Château de Chastellux.

The private papers of Chastellux and the Antoine Charles du Houx, baron de Vioménil, provide detailed, eyewitness accounts of the Battle of Yorktown, including day-to-day descriptions and military orders. These papers contain several critical documents related to the siege, including the original military orders issued by Vioménil for the famous storming of Redoubts 9 and 10 on the night of October 14, 1781. Another document provides Chastellux’s daily, detailed descriptions of the Battle of Yorktown. Some descriptions are written by Chastellux himself, but he also included accounts by two unknown authors, providing historians with multiple perspectives on how events unfolded.

Another newly examined document highlights the contributions of French officers such as Louis-Marie, vicomte de Noailles, who served as a primary representative for the French military during the surrender negotiations.[18]

Archaeological discoveries also continue to shed light on French participation:

Gloucester Point Artifacts (2017): Artifacts from the Revolutionary War were found in the cellar of a home in Gloucester Point, Virginia, directly across the river from Yorktown. The discoveries included distinct French infantry buttons belonging to the Régiment de Gatinais and the 47th regiment.[19]
York River Shipwrecks (2020): By the time the Revolutionary War ended, approximately 40 British ships had been sunk by enemy fire or intentionally scuttled near the shores of Yorktown to prevent the French from landing on the beaches. In 2020, researchers finished mapping a shipwreck in the York River believed to be a transport vessel that collided with a British warship. This research was led by marine archaeologist Dr. John Broadwater, who has worked on high-profile underwater surveys including the Titanic. Thousands of objects recovered from these shipwrecks will eventually be displayed for the public.[20]
Williamsburg Barracks (2023): Barracks from the American Revolutionary War were discovered near the visitor center in Colonial Williamsburg. Historic maps and documents suggest that these barracks were constructed between 1776 and 1777, housing up to 2,000 soldiers during the war. Artifacts discovered include lead shot, gun hardware, and officer ceramics.[21]

Want to Learn More About the Battle of Yorktown?

Come visit the many historical sites and exhibits associated with the Battle of Yorktown. Be sure to visit the American Revolution Museum at Yorktown. In the museum, you will see artifacts that commemorate the French military’s deep involvement in securing American independence.

Historic Sites to Visit:

Yorktown Battlefield: Part of Colonial National Historical Park, this site of the 1781 siege allows visitors to drive or bike through the battlefield, view authentic fortifications and cannons, and stand on Surrender Field. NPS Yorktown Website
Moore House: The historic home where the formal Articles of Capitulation were negotiated between British, French, and American officers in October 1781. NPS Moore House Website
Nelson House: The beautifully restored home of Thomas Nelson Jr., a signer of the Declaration of Independence and Virginia militia commander whose home was occupied by British forces during the siege. NPS Nelson House Website
Poor Potter Archaeological Site: The archaeological ruins of an 18th-century industrial potter who operated in Yorktown in open violation of English mercantile trade laws. NPS Poor Potter Website
Yorktown Victory Monument: Commissioned by the Continental Congress in 1781 to commemorate the allied victory over Great Britain, the monument was physically constructed between 1881 and 1884. NPS Victory Monument Website
Cornwallis’s Cave: While local folklore long held this natural cave to be Cornwallis’s bombproof headquarters, research suggests his actual headquarters was located further inland. Virginia Tourism Cave Listing
Historic Town of Yorktown: Features original and carefully reconstructed 18th-century buildings alongside preserved earthworks from the 1781 siege. NPS Historic Yorktown Website

Local Museums & Exhibits:

American Revolution Museum at Yorktown: This state-of-the-art museum tells the story of the nation’s founding with indoor galleries, rare artifacts, immersive films, and outdoor living-history areas—including a re-created Continental Army encampment and a Revolution-era farm. Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation Website
Yorktown Battlefield Visitor Center: Serves as the primary orientation point for the national park, featuring original artifacts, field exhibits, and an introductory film detailing the siege. NPS Visitor Center Website
York County Historical Museum: Located in the lower level of York Hall, this museum highlights York County’s local history spanning the Revolutionary and Civil War periods. Visit Yorktown Museum Listing

Notes

Norman Desmarais, America’s First Ally: France in the Revolutionary War (Havertown, PA: Casemate Publishers, 2016), 223–25.
Nicholas R. Marsella, “First Alliances: The Importance of Allies and Partners during the American Revolution,” Military Review Online Exclusive (2025): 4, https://www.armyupress.army.mil/Journals/Military-Review/Online-Exclusive/2025-OLE/First-Alliances/.
Marsella, “First Alliances,” 6–8.
Larrie D. Ferreiro, Brothers at Arms: American Independence and the Men of France and Spain Who Saved It (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2016), 265–72.
Desmarais, America’s First Ally, 223–25.
Stanley J. Idzerda, “Indispensable Allies: The French at Yorktown,” The Wilson Quarterly 5, no. 4 (1981): 166–77.
Maurice Ross, “Teaching the Reasons for France’s Participation in the American Revolution,” The French Review 36, no. 5 (1963): 491–98.
Desmarais, America’s First Ally, 223–25.
Ibid.
John Ferling, “The Myths of the American Revolution,” Smithsonian Magazine, January 2010, https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/myths-of-the-american-revolution-10941835/.
Desmarais, America’s First Ally, 223–25.
Idzerda, “Indispensable Allies,” 166–77.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Jerome A. Greene, The Guns of Independence: The Siege of Yorktown 1781 (Savas Beatie, 2005), 319–25.
Greene, The Guns of Independence, 319–25.
Iris de Rode, “Finding the American Revolution in France,” Early American Studies: An Interdisciplinary Journal 22, no. 1 (2024): 156–93, https://doi.org/10.1353/eam.2024.a920463.
“The Thrill of Discovery at Gloster Point,” Fairfield Foundation, last modified January 31, 2017, https://fairfieldfoundation.org/the-thrill-of-discovery-at-gloucester-point/.
“Newest ‘Siege of Yorktown’ Shipwreck Survey Complete,” Chesapeake Bay Magazine, last modified September 22, 2020, https://www.chesapeakebaymagazine.com/newest-siege-of-yorktown-shipwreck-survey-complete/.
“Revolutionary War Barracks Found in Virginia,” Archaeology Magazine, last modified June 11, 2024, https://archaeology.org/news/12437-240611-revolutionary-war-barracks/.

Black Veterans and Their Legacy of Resistance in the American Revolution

Black history, Early American history, Virginia250

By Allison Silverman, B.A. in History and Museum Studies, Christopher Newport University (’25), and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History, Christopher Newport University

When you think about the Revolutionary War, what historical figures come to mind? Typically, people envision famous Patriots like George Washington, Alexander Hamilton, and Paul Revere. However, these famous Founding Fathers were not the only people who fought in the conflict. One often-overlooked group was enslaved Black men. Enslaved individuals fought on both sides of the war, and many used their military service to seek freedom. Among these individuals were Ned Streater, Harry Washington, William “Billy” Lee, Cesar Tarrant, and James Armistead Lafayette.[1]

Ned Streater: Reserved Resistance and the Quiet Power of Legal Action

Ned Streater fought in the American Revolution on the side of the Patriots. In his early twenties, he was sent to serve in the Nansemond County Militia as a substitute for his enslaver, Willis Streater. He served with the militia during the Battle of Great Bridge in 1775 and again during the Virginia campaign of 1780–1781. From 1780 to 1781, he served under Captain Elvinton Knott in the counties of Nansemond and Norfolk for twelve months before receiving an honorable discharge.

During his service, he fought in the Battle of Great Bridge in Norfolk County (December 9, 1775) and in a skirmish at “Pip Pot Swamp” in Nansemond County. Streater was wounded at Pip Pot Swamp, leaving his leg severely deformed and permanently disabled. After his discharge, he remained enslaved by the Streater family until Willis Streater’s death in 1792. Afterward, he was enslaved by Stephen Graham until Graham’s death in 1810.[2]

Ned Streater sued for his freedom in 1814, leveraging his honorable Revolutionary War service under an Act of Assembly passed in October 1783. This act emancipated enslaved people who had served successfully as substitutes for free persons but had been forced back into bondage after the war. Streater won his case, secured his emancipation, and was awarded $165 in damages. In 1824, he sued for compensation for the years he was unlawfully enslaved after the passage of the 1783 act, winning an additional $105 for the years 1783 to 1792. The court also awarded Streater $210 for his unlawful enslavement from 1792 to 1810. Finally, in 1833, his pension application was approved, granting him $112.55. He passed away just one month later at the age of 78.[3]

Choice, Resistance, and Individual Legacy

Streater was given no choice in his initial military service, as he was forced to take his enslaver’s place. However, he chose exactly how to resist his condition after the war. By leveraging his military record in the courtroom, he successfully fought for his emancipation. He then continued his legal battle to secure financial compensation for the decades of his life stolen by unlawful enslavement. Ultimately, Streater’s legacy is defined by his honorable wartime service and his relentless determination to use the American legal system to secure the freedom and restitution that were rightfully his.

Harry Washington: Resistance on the Run

Harry Washington was purchased by George Washington in 1763 and worked for a time on his Mount Vernon plantation. In 1771, Harry made his first attempt to escape, but he was captured and returned to the plantation within a few weeks.[4]

In late 1775, Lord Dunmore, Virginia’s British colonial governor, issued a proclamation offering freedom to enslaved people belonging to rebellious colonists if they were willing to fight for the Crown. The proclamation stated:

“And I do hereby further declare all indentured Servants, Negroes, or others, (appertaining to Rebels,) free that are able and willing to bear Arms, they joining His Majesty’s Troops as soon as may be…”[5]

Within a month of the proclamation, a Black loyalist regiment known as “Dunmore’s Ethiopian Regiment” was formed.[6]

In the summer of 1776, Harry escaped from Mount Vernon again, and this time he did not go back. He successfully reached British lines and enlisted in the Ethiopian Regiment to secure his freedom. Not long after, Patriot forces pushed the British out of Virginia. Many members of the Ethiopian Regiment were left behind due to a deadly smallpox outbreak, but Lord Dunmore’s remaining forces, including Harry, evacuated to New York to join the main British army. Following the disbandment of the Ethiopian Regiment, Harry became a corporal in the Black Pioneers, a British military unit dedicated to engineering, building fortifications, and providing vital logistical support.[7]

When the war ended, Harry evacuated to Nova Scotia alongside other British loyalists. Though granted his freedom and a plot of land, he and other Black Loyalists faced severe discrimination and poor conditions from white loyalists. Seeking a better life, Harry and about half of the Black Loyalists in Nova Scotia chose to migrate to Sierra Leone in West Africa to establish a new settlement. Harry flourished there for a time, but when he participated in a rebellion to liberate the inhabitants from the oppressive rule of the British Sierra Leone Company, he was captured and exiled.[8]

Choice, Resistance, and Individual Legacy

Harry Washington chose to flee his enslaver and join the British Army to seize his independence. This choice set him on a historic trajectory where he built fortifications for the Crown, actively opposed the military forces of his former enslaver, George Washington, and helped establish a colony of free Black settlers in Africa. Harry resisted slavery by directly dismantling his own bondage and taking up arms against the society that oppressed him. Though his resistance did not bring about a British victory, it secured his personal emancipation and left a legacy of unyielding resistance in the global fight for human liberty.

William “Billy” Lee: Relationships as Resistance

William “Billy” Lee was purchased by George Washington in 1768 from Mary Ball Lee, the widow of Colonel John Lee. Billy served as George Washington’s valet and personal servant. When Washington assumed command of the Continental Army, Billy accompanied him to the front lines, remaining by his side for nearly the entire war. In addition to his duties as a valet, Billy was entrusted with managing Washington’s important military papers and equipment. This service kept Billy away from Mount Vernon for eight long years.[9]

Following the war, Billy returned to Mount Vernon in 1783 to continue his service. Over time, he became a well-known figure, and visitors to the estate often requested to meet him due to his famous wartime service. Later in life, Billy suffered an unfortunate series of accidents that broke both of his knees, leaving him permanently disabled. Despite these severe injuries, Billy insisted on traveling with Washington to New York for his presidential inauguration. However, the rigorous journey aggravated his condition, forcing him to halt in Philadelphia to recover. Washington eventually had him sent back to Mount Vernon. Though Billy partially recovered and received specialized leg braces that allowed him to walk to a limited degree, he was ultimately unable to keep up with the fast-paced demands of the presidential household and returned permanently to Mount Vernon.[10]

Because of Billy’s long-standing loyalty, George Washington grew deeply appreciative of his service and found it difficult to deny his requests. For instance, when Billy asked if his wife, Margaret Thomas—a free Black woman from Philadelphia—could live with him at Mount Vernon, Washington agreed to arrange her travel despite his personal reservations about her. Washington noted that he could not deny the request since Billy had “lived with me so long and followed my fortunes through the War with fidility.”[11]

This enduring gratitude was officially codified in Washington’s will. While Washington directed that the enslaved people he owned be freed only after the death of his wife, Martha Washington, Billy was the sole exception. He was granted immediate freedom upon George Washington’s death, along with an annual annuity of thirty dollars. Washington wrote:

“…this I give him as a testimony of my sense of his attachment to me, and for his faithful services during the Revolutionary War.”[12]

Billy’s final years were plagued by health problems and severe alcoholism, which he likely used to cope with the chronic pain in his knees. He began to suffer from fits of delirium tremens, and one morning in 1810, a servant sent to assist him during a fit discovered that Billy had passed away.[13]

Choice, Resistance, and Individual Legacy

William “Billy” Lee chose to stay by Washington’s side through the hardships of the war, intentionally forging a close, indispensable relationship with the Commander-in-Chief. This strategic closeness provided him with autonomy, influence, and leverage unavailable to other enslaved people. Billy left a unique legacy of working toward his independence within the narrow margins of his reality, utilizing his proximity to power to secure personal freedom and economic stability.

Commander Cesar Tarrant: Freedom for One, the Separation of a Family

Cesar Tarrant was an enslaved Virginian who fought on the Patriot side during the American Revolution. During the war, the Virginia State Navy frequently employed enslaved maritime laborers as pilot-boat captains, and Cesar became one of their most accomplished commanders. Before the war, his enslaver had trained him as a ship’s pilot, a common practice in the coastal Hampton Roads area. When the conflict began, Cesar entered the naval service and was stationed aboard the state schooner Patriot, engaging British vessels near Hampton. While commanding the Patriot, he famously captured the Fanny, a British brig carrying vital military supplies intended for the British forces occupying Boston.[14]

In 1789, several years after the war ended, the Virginia General Assembly officially purchased Cesar from his enslaver and manumitted him in recognition of his “meritorious services” as a naval pilot.[15] While this was a monumental victory for Cesar, his freedom was bittersweet: his wife and children remained enslaved. Cesar spent the remainder of his life working to purchase his family’s freedom. He successfully bought the freedom of his wife and his daughter, Nancy. Sadly, he passed away before he could secure the funds to free his other daughter, Liddy, and her young son, Sampson.[16]

Choice, Resistance, and Individual Legacy

Cesar Tarrant chose to deploy his exceptional skills as a maritime pilot to advance the Patriot cause, guiding the Patriot to strategic victories and eventually earning his legal freedom. His resistance was defined by his tireless effort to build a secure life for his family. Unfortunately, his story highlights the brutal realities of the post-war era: despite his heroic naval service, the institution of slavery kept his family fractured. Tarrant leaves a legacy of extraordinary bravery at sea, tempered by a poignant reminder of the enduring structural battles enslaved veterans faced to protect those they loved.

James Armistead Lafayette: Reconnaissance, Risk, and Reward

James Armistead was an enslaved man who became one of the most successful spies of the American Revolution. Originally enslaved by William Armistead in New Kent County, James received his enslaver’s permission to enter the service of the Marquis de Lafayette in 1781. As the war entered its final phase in the South, Patriot commanders desperately needed to know whether British General Charles Cornwallis would march north to New York, head south to reinforce British troops in the Carolinas, or fortify a position in Virginia. Operating as a double agent, James risked his life by entering the British camp at Portsmouth under the guise of a runaway slave looking to assist the Crown. Because the British did not suspect him, James moved freely through their camps and gathered critical intelligence. He successfully conveyed detailed information regarding Cornwallis’s movements and eventual fortification of Yorktown to Lafayette, enabling the allied French and American forces to trap the British and win the decisive Battle of Yorktown.[17]

In 1786, James Armistead petitioned the Virginia General Assembly for his freedom. He detailed his extensive service to the Patriot cause, emphasizing that he had gathered essential intelligence “at the peril of his life.”[18] Supported by a strong letter of recommendation written by Lafayette himself, the legislature granted his petition, purchasing him from his enslaver and declaring him a free man. In honor of his commander and friend, James adopted the general’s surname, presenting himself to the world as James Armistead Lafayette.[19]

Choice, Resistance, and Individual Legacy

James Armistead Lafayette chose to undertake a highly dangerous espionage mission that directly altered the course of global history. He brilliantly turned the racial biases of the British military against them, using his status as an enslaved man as the perfect cover to gather intelligence without arousing suspicion. Without his actions, the decisive victory at Yorktown might never have happened. He left a legacy as a master of intelligence operations and a pivotal figure in securing American independence.

Seeking Freedom on Both Sides

Whether by choice or by coercion, enslaved individuals were active participants on both sides of the Revolutionary War. Thousands of individuals accepted Lord Dunmore’s offer to join British lines, while others cast their lot with the Patriots, using their military records to demand their natural rights from post-war legislatures. Regardless of the uniform they wore, these men shared a common objective: navigating a brutal war to escape the institution of slavery.

Collective Legacy

These individuals leave behind a collective legacy of tactical resistance against human bondage. While their political allegiances differed, their true battle was always for personal autonomy and the preservation of their families. Their contributions proved vital to the operational success of both armies, demonstrating that the story of American independence cannot be fully understood without acknowledging the Black veterans who fought for a freedom of their own.

What would you have done if you had been placed in their position? Would you have joined the British or the Patriots? How would you have navigated the narrow paths available to resist slavery?

Their stories remind us that there are many ways to fight against oppression. Though the individuals in this exhibit fought on opposing sides of a geopolitical war, they were ultimately allies in the same human cause: the pursuit of liberty.

Learning More

This exhibit was created in partnership with the Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation, The American Revolution Museum at Yorktown, the Great Bridge Battlefield and Waterways Museum, and the Fort Monroe Authority. We encourage you to explore this history further by visiting these institutions and examining their collections.

About the Author

Allison Silverman graduated with a B.A. in History and minors in Museum Studies and Leadership Studies from Christopher Newport University in 2025. Allison completed this exhibit as a service-learning project in partnership with the Christopher Newport University Public History Center. During her time at CNU, she also completed an internship with the Poquoson Museum, gaining experience in collections care, historical research, and artifact cataloging. She plans to pursue a career in public history.

Notes

[1] Willard M. Wallace, “American Revolution: Conflict Begins in Massachusetts,” Encyclopædia Britannica, April 21, 2025.

[2] Will Graves, “Pension application of Ned Streater S7645,” Southern Campaigns Revolutionary War Pension Statements & Rosters, 1–3, Historical Text Archive.

[3] Graves, “Pension application of Ned Streater S7645,” 1–3.

[4] Judith L. Van Buskirk, Standing in Their Own Light: African American Patriots in the American Revolution (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2017), 56.

[5] Woody Holton, Black Americans in the Revolutionary Era: A Brief History with Documents (Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2009), 53–55.

[6] Van Buskirk, Standing in Their Own Light, 54.

[7] Van Buskirk, Standing in Their Own Light, 55–56; Alan Gilbert, Black Patriots and Loyalists: Fighting for Emancipation in the War for Independence (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012), 37; Simon Schama, Rough Crossings: Britain, the Slaves, and the American Revolution (New York: HarperCollins, 2006), 9.

[8] Van Buskirk, Standing in Their Own Light, 56; Schama, Rough Crossings, 9.

[9] Mary V. Thompson, “William Lee & Oney Judge: A Look at George Washington & Slavery,” Journal of the American Revolution, June 19, 2014, JAR Archive; Gilbert, Black Patriots and Loyalists, 108.

[10] Thompson, “William Lee & Oney Judge.”

[11] Thompson, “William Lee & Oney Judge.”

[12] Thompson, “William Lee & Oney Judge.”

[13] Thompson, “William Lee & Oney Judge.”

[14] Gilbert, Black Patriots and Loyalists, 170; Kolby Bilal, “Black Pilots, Patriots, and Pirates: African-American Participation in the Virginia State and British Navies during the Revolutionary War in Virginia” (master’s thesis, William & Mary, 2000), 13–14, W&M ScholarWorks.

[15] “An act for the purchase and manumitting negro Caesar,” in Hening’s Statutes at Large, ed. William Waller Hening (Richmond: Samuel Pleasants, 1823), 13:102, VAGenWeb Archive; Van Buskirk, Standing in Their Own Light, 187.

[16] Gilbert, Black Patriots and Loyalists, 170; Van Buskirk, Standing in Their Own Light, 173, 187.

[17] Gilbert, Black Patriots and Loyalists, 169; Van Buskirk, Standing in Their Own Light, 187.

[18] Van Buskirk, Standing in Their Own Light, 187.

[19] Van Buskirk, Standing in Their Own Light, 187; Gilbert, Black Patriots and Loyalists, 169.

Smallpox and the American Revolution: A Hidden Enemy

Early American history, Medical history, Virginia250

By Anna Tingley, B.A. in History and Museum Studies, Christopher Newport University (’26), and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History, Christopher Newport University

Smallpox—one of the most feared and lethal pathogens in human history—was deeply intertwined with the birth of the United States and its war for independence. The disease is caused by the highly contagious Variola virus, spreading rapidly through close personal contact, respiratory droplets, and contaminated surfaces. This viral nature turned densely populated military environments into ideal breeding grounds. Continental Army camps, housing soldiers in tight, unsanitary quarters, faced a constant threat of ruinous outbreaks. As the virus swept through the colonies, it sparked widespread terror. Early efforts to control the contagion culminated during the Revolutionary War under General George Washington. In 18th-century military history, Washington’s eventual mandate to immunize the Continental Army marked a critical turning point, one that preserved the rebellion and laid early conceptual foundations for the global eradication of smallpox centuries later.[1]

Marked by Disease: Symptoms and Spread

The progression of smallpox was agonizingly distinctive. Victims were first incapacitated by a sudden high fever, splitting headaches, and severe body aches. Within days, a painful rash evolved into deep, fluid-filled pustules covering the body. For those fortunate enough to survive, these sores dried into crusts that left behind permanent, pitted scars known as pockmarks. The virus thrived in the era’s limited hygiene and crowded living conditions. It spread easily via respiratory droplets from coughing or by contact with fomites—contaminated objects such as clothing, bedding, or even a shared household rouge pot. For military communities, where men slept shoulder to shoulder, these pathways turned smallpox into an invisible, devastating enemy that rivaled British bayonets.[2]

A Forming Nation Under Siege

The American colonies were exceptionally vulnerable to epidemic disease while simultaneously navigating deep political upheaval and material scarcity. Stretched thin by the war, colonial society lacked the infrastructure to contain sudden biological crises. Smallpox swept through towns and villages in waves, fracturing communities and draining vital resources. Several factors accelerated this domestic crisis. Intercolonial trade networks created a continuous movement of goods, merchants, and teamsters, unintentionally establishing transit lines for the virus. Simultaneously, the constant march of the Continental Army and local militias carried the virus into previously unexposed rural communities, while compact, multi-generational colonial homes made household isolation virtually impossible.[3]

With limited biological understanding of how viruses operated, colonists adjusted their daily routines out of sheer survival. Social gatherings dwindled, and fear of the “speckled monster” shaped the collective psychology of the revolutionary generation, turning public health into a secondary front of the war.[4]

Invisible Warfare and the Devastation of Indigenous Communities

The colonial population did not suffer alone. Indigenous nations across North America faced catastrophic consequences from smallpox outbreaks that far exceeded the mortality rates of Euro-American communities. Because the Variola virus had circulated in Europe for centuries, many white colonists possessed varying levels of acquired immunity. Native populations, however, had no prior exposure and lacked these biological defenses. Introduced through trade, diplomacy, and warfare, the virus ran rampant through Indigenous villages, leading to massive population collapse. Beyond accidental transmission, smallpox was occasionally weaponized, such as the documented 1763 incident at Fort Pitt where British officials sanctioned distributing smallpox-inflicted blankets to Delaware and Shawnee delegates. This demographic collapse decimated tribal leadership, fractured social structures, and severely hindered the ability of Indigenous nations to resist aggressive Euro-American land expansion during and after the Revolutionary War.[5]

Cosmetics as Concealment: Living with Scars

Surviving the infection was only the first hurdle; living with its physical aftermath was a lifelong reality. To hide the deep facial pockmarks left by the disease, members of colonial polite society turned to heavy cosmetics. Men and women applied thick layers of powders and tinted pastes, using items like the rouge pots recovered in modern archaeological excavations to smooth over their altered complexions. Ironically, these 18th-century cosmetics were frequently laced with toxic ingredients, including lead and mercury. While offering temporary concealment, the makeup often corroded the skin further, anchoring a deeply personal reminder of the epidemic within the daily vanity of the era.[6]

Early Disease Control: Washington’s Strategy

Long before Edward Jenner pioneered the safer cowpox vaccine in 1796, doctors utilized an older, riskier preventative method known as inoculation, or variolation. This required a physician to lance an active smallpox pustule from an infected patient and scratch the live matter into the arm of a healthy person. The patient would contract a localized, typically milder version of the disease. Though it carried the terrifying risk of triggering a fatal infection or starting a fresh outbreak, it dramatically reduced mortality rates if managed correctly.

General George Washington understood the stakes intimately, having survived a personal bout with smallpox as a teenager in Barbados in 1751, leaving him immune. He recognized that an outbreak could dissolve his army faster than British forces. In a crucial February 1777 letter to John Hancock, Washington articulated this exact strategic anxiety, stating that if the smallpox should spread and get into the army, “we should have more dread from it, than from the Sword of the Enemy.” Breaking through widespread public fear and legal restrictions against variolation, Washington made the bold executive decision to mandate the secret inoculation of all Continental troops entering camp. This systemic medical campaign stabilized his ranks, ensured a resilient fighting force, and marked one of the earliest state-mandated public health initiatives in American history.[7]

The Continuous Thread of Public Health

The medical challenges of the American Revolution laid an early blueprint for state involvement in disease prevention, a trajectory that eventually led to the global eradication of smallpox in 1980. The structural tensions of the 1770s mirror modern public health crises, including the COVID-19 pandemic. Modern debates over vaccine mandates, individual liberties, and collective community safety are not unique to our time; they are direct descendants of the anxieties that played out in colonial church steeples, army camps, and town squares. From the revolutionary soldier undergoing risky variolation to the modern citizen managing infectious disease, the pursuit of public safety remains an enduring test of societal resilience.[8]

Notes

[1] Alan D. Watson, “Combating Contagion: Smallpox and the Protection of Public Health in North Carolina, 1750 to 1825,” The North Carolina Historical Review 90, no. 1 (2013): 26, [suspicious link removed]; Ann M. Becker, “Smallpox in Washington’s Army: Strategic Implications of the Disease during the American Revolutionary War,” The Journal of Military History 68, no. 2 (2004): 389–390.

[2] Becker, “Smallpox in Washington’s Army,” 384–389.

[3] Whitman M. Reynolds, “Inoculation for the Smallpox in Colonial America,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 22, no. 3 (1948): 273, [suspicious link removed]; Watson, “Combating Contagion,” 26.

[4] Reynolds, “Inoculation for the Smallpox in Colonial America,” 273; Elizabeth A. Fenn, Pox Americana: The Great Smallpox Epidemic of 1775-82 (New York: Hill and Wang, 2001), 24–25.

[5] John Duffy, “Smallpox and the Indians in the American Colonies,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 25, no. 4 (1951): 324–325, 340–341, [suspicious link removed]; Fenn, Pox Americana, 135–137.

[6] Becker, “Smallpox in Washington’s Army,” 384; Caroline Palmer, “Brazen Cheek: Face-Painters in Late Eighteenth-Century England,” Oxford Art Journal 31, no. 2 (2008): 204.

[7] George Washington to John Hancock, 5 February 1777, Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/03-08-02-0266; Becker, “Smallpox in Washington’s Army,” 385–390.

[8] Lynette Mtimkulu-Eyde et al., “Mandatory COVID-19 Vaccination: Lessons from Tuberculosis and HIV,” Health and Human Rights 24, no. 1 (2022): 85.

Alchemy: The Science Behind Early Spirits

Early American history, European History, Scientific history, Virginia history

By Caleb Foca, B.A. History and Museum Studies, Christopher Newport University (’25), and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History, Christopher Newport University

Alchemy, the spiritual and experimental practice of transforming raw materials into something greater, was woven into the fabric of Virginia’s earliest settlers. Today, we know of its presence through physical evidence: crucibles, cupels, and glass stills unearthed by archaeologists. Interestingly, the very same laboratory equipment used to hunt for gold was also employed to distill medicinal elixirs and aqua vitae (spirits), establishing an early American tradition of distillation. This exhibit explores the roots of alchemy, its presence in early colonial America, and how its quest to turn the ordinary into the extraordinary, whether transforming base metals into gold or agricultural crops into spirits, laid the groundwork for modern chemistry and shaped the American identity.

What is Alchemy?

When you hear the word alchemy, what comes to mind? For many, it evokes images of magic, wizards, and witchcraft. However, while early alchemical endeavors were rooted in mysticism and religion, their practical execution was remarkably scientific. The rigorous experimentation with metals pioneered by alchemists ultimately laid the foundation for modern chemistry.[1]

Alchemy operates on the premise that humans can manipulate natural elements to create entirely new substances. This is the principle of “material alchemy,” or transmutation, most famously exemplified by the attempt to turn “base” metals such as lead into silver or gold. While this objective seems impossible given our modern understanding of atomic structures, it aligned perfectly with contemporary 17th-century science. Alchemists believed that physical matter could be altered by subjecting it to extreme conditions, utilizing the four classic elements: earth, water, air, and fire. By mixing, heating, or freezing materials, they sought to trigger dramatic chemical reactions. These theories were often inspired by real-world metallurgy, such as compounding copper and tin to make bronze, which led alchemists to wonder just how far these metallic transformations could go.[2]

Additionally, there was a deeply spiritual side to the craft. Spiritual alchemy was molded by early modern religious ideas. Many alchemists believed that the natural world had been corrupted by human sin, but that pure-hearted practitioners could manipulate the material world to restore a divine, perfected order. This labor was known as the Opus alchymicum (the Alchemy Work), and practitioners believed that a pure soul was required to succeed.[3]

The Early History of Alchemy

The origins of alchemy can be traced back to ancient Egypt, where it began as part of the sacred rituals of the priesthood. To distinguish themselves from the lower classes, priests claimed they possessed the divine power to emulate the gods’ creative works. Over centuries of trade and cultural exchange, this “divine art” spread. As European thinkers engaged with these ancient texts, the practice evolved into the Western tradition of alchemy that flourished from the medieval period through the 18th century. Alchemists viewed the world as an ordered system that could be intentionally disrupted and reordered through violent physical processes—most notably, extreme heat—to forge something entirely new.[4]

In 17th-century England, alchemy played a prominent role in intellectual life. Alchemists were not isolated mystics; they were often astronomers, mathematicians, and physicians who mingled in the highest academic circles. It is important to note that alchemy was never a monolithic practice. It frequently absorbed local pagan traditions, and during the Renaissance, it became heavily Christianized. A notable example from this era is John Dee, Queen Elizabeth I’s personal astrologer and adviser. Dee was one of the most famous minds of his time, straddling the line between alchemy and early chemistry. His work epitomized the Christianized view of the craft; he firmly believed that alchemy belonged in a practical laboratory rather than just in books, and that alchemical knowledge was a divine gift bestowed by God.[5]

By the 1700s, open research and discussion of alchemy had declined sharply in England. As the Enlightenment took hold, newly formed scientific institutions like the Royal Society began excluding pseudo sciences and occult practices (such as palmistry, divination, and alchemy) from their official publications. While institutional support vanished in Europe, interest did not disappear overnight; across the Atlantic, colonial American practitioners continued to study and experiment with alchemical traditions.[6]

Alchemy Comes to Jamestown

Historical records show that four named “refiners” sailed on the original 1607 voyage to Jamestown. Because Jamestown was founded primarily as a profit-driven enterprise by the Virginia Company, historians deduce that these men were sent specifically to locate and process precious metals. The English were acutely aware of the vast wealth the Spanish Empire had extracted from the Americas, and they wanted the necessary expertise on hand to exploit any gold or silver they might find.[7]

Beyond written records, the strongest evidence of alchemical practice in Virginia comes from the ground. Archaeologists working with Jamestown Rediscovery have unearthed a vast array of industrial artifacts from the early fort site. Chief among these are ceramic vessels known as crucibles, which were specifically designed to withstand the intense heat of a furnace needed to melt, refine, and test metals.[8]

Archaeologists have also found chemical residues and raw materials, including sulphur. In the 17th century, sulphur had dual purposes. It was used by apothecaries to compound medicinal cures, but in alchemy, it was revered as one of the Tria Prima (the three primary substances, alongside salt and mercury). In spiritual alchemy, sulphur symbolized the human soul.[9]

Alchemists also relied on various liquid reagents to provoke chemical reactions. One prominent import found at the site is aqua vitae (Latin for “water of life”), a high-proof distilled spirit. Imported in specialized glass vessels from the Netherlands, aqua vitae was used as a solvent in alchemical research, a base for medicine, and occasionally enjoyed by the colonists as a strong drink.[10]

To help modern visitors visualize this work, the Spirits Museum displays a replica of an alembic, a specialized glass hood used in the distillation process. This piece was meticulously reproduced through a collaboration between the Jamestown Rediscovery project and the Corning Museum of Glass. Based on glass fragments excavated from the Jamestown fort, a master glassblower recreated a historically accurate circa-1607 alembic. When additional apothecaries and refiners arrived in the colony in 1608, tools like this alembic were vital to both the search for local metals and the distillation of medicinal cures and alcohol.

Alchemy in Colonial America

Alchemy was not isolated to Virginia; it spread throughout the thirteen colonies during the 17th century, becoming a major intellectual pursuit for the colonial elite. By the turn of the 18th century, only wealthy individuals possessed the leisure time and capital required to import expensive books and maintain private laboratories. Though the New England colonies are often remembered as strictly puritanical, they were actually home to some of America’s most prominent alchemists. Foremost among them was John Winthrop Jr., the governor of Connecticut. Winthrop was an avid scholar who amassed a massive personal library of alchemical and scientific texts. He used his knowledge to treat the sick, establish early chemical industries, and fund the creation of new ironworks and townships. Winthrop even authored alchemical treatises that circulated widely in Europe, some of which were translated into Italian.[11]

Winthrop belonged to an active network of colonial intellectuals that included figures like Robert Child and George Starkey (an American-born alchemist who later moved to England and became internationally famous under the pen name Eirenaeus Philalethes). The popularity of alchemy among the elite mirrored a broader acceptance of folk magic, astrology, and divination among everyday colonists. While we often look back at early America as a uniformly orthodox Christian society, everyday religious practices up until the Great Awakening were frequently blended with deep-seated mystical traditions.[12]

From Alchemy to Chemistry

If alchemy was once a cornerstone of early colonial life and global trade, what caused its demise? First, and most practically, its core premise did not work. As experimental science advanced, it became clear that the classical elements (earth, air, fire, water) did not accurately reflect the building blocks of matter. Thinkers grew disillusioned when centuries of attempting to transmutate base metals failed to yield gold. Second, institutional gatekeeping in the 18th century effectively ended the publication of alchemical texts, and the old guard of practitioners gradually died out.[13]

However, the empirical methodology of alchemy did not vanish; it evolved. The centuries spent testing metals, cataloging acids, and designing laboratory equipment birthed the field of modern chemistry. New generations of researchers stripped away the spiritual allegories of the craft and applied rational, systematic theories to the elements. As alchemy was discredited, chemistry gained academic legitimacy. Former alchemists redirected their skills toward understanding genuine chemical properties, permanently disproving transmutation while unlocking the secrets of the periodic table.[14]

While alchemy failed to produce literal gold, its core philosophy left a lasting mark on the American identity. A direct intellectual line connects the early refiners of Jamestown to the founders of the United States. At its heart, alchemy is the belief that human effort can transform something ordinary into something extraordinary. Through grit, heat, and hard labor, a dull metal could become something precious, just as raw ingredients could be distilled into potent spirits. In much the same way, early American colonists believed they could take the raw, ordinary materials of the New World and forge a distinct, self-made nation.

About the Author

Caleb Foca graduated with a B.A. in History and Leadership Studies and a minor in Museum Studies from Christopher Newport University in 2025. He completed this exhibit as part of his internship with the Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation, in partnership with CNU’s Public History Department. While at CNU, Caleb also volunteered at The Mariners’ Museum and Park and the Spirits Museum. After graduation, he plans to work in public history and eventually pursue a Ph.D. in History.

Notes

Matthew Moncrieff Pattison Muir, The Story of Alchemy and the Beginnings of Chemistry (London: George Newnes, 1902; reprint, Project Gutenberg, 2004), chap. 1, “The Alchemy of the World.”
Gary Patterson, Chemistry in 17th-Century New England (Cham, Switzerland: Springer, 2020), 14–18; David A. Katz, An Illustrated History of Alchemy and Early Chemistry (Published by the author, 1978–2008), 3–5.
Jon Butler, “Magic, Astrology, and the Early American Religious Heritage, 1600–1760,” The American Historical Review 84, no. 2 (1979): 319.
A. Tramer et al., “What is (was) alchemy?,” Acta Physica Polonica-Series A General Physics 112 (2007): S5; Katz, An Illustrated History, 12.
Patterson, Chemistry in 17th-Century New England, 22–25.
Butler, “Magic, Astrology, and the Early American Religious Heritage,” 324–27.
Katz, An Illustrated History, 31.
Umberto Veronesi et al., “Testing the New World: Early Modern Chemistry and Mineral Prospection at Colonial Jamestown, 1607–1610,” Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences 11 (2019): 6853.
Veronesi et al., “Testing the New World,” 6858–59.
Historic Jamestowne, “Case Bottle,” Historic Jamestowne Artifact Collection, accessed April 21, 2025, https://historicjamestowne.org/collections/artifacts/case-bottle/.
Patterson, Chemistry in 17th-Century New England, 45–49; Muir, The Story of Alchemy, chap. 10, “The Transition Period.”
Patterson, Chemistry in 17th-Century New England, 54; Muir, The Story of Alchemy, chap. 11, “The Dawn of Chemistry.”
Butler, “Magic, Astrology, and the Early American Religious Heritage,” 339–41.
Patterson, Chemistry in 17th-Century New England, 88–92.

Through Mud and Fire: Revolutionary Women Who Followed the Fight for Freedom

Early American history, Military history, Virginia250, Women's History

By Rosemary Johnson, B.A. in History and Museum Studies, Christopher Newport University (’26), and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History, Christopher Newport University

In June 1775, the Continental Congress created the Continental Army by bringing together local militias and volunteer soldiers. Commander-in-Chief George Washington faced the massive challenge of turning these everyday citizens into a disciplined fighting force. To succeed, the army required more than just weapons and strategies; it needed a daily support system. Thousands of women, known historically as “camp followers,” stepped up to fill this role.[1]

While they held no official military rank, these women kept the army running. They cooked meals, washed uniforms, and nursed sick and wounded soldiers. Meanwhile, the wives of wealthy officers visited winter camps to boost morale, and a few exceptionally brave women even disguised themselves to fight on the front lines. This exhibit will explore the essential roles, daily hardships, and extraordinary bravery of the camp followers and hidden female soldiers who sustained the American fight for independence.

Behind the Front Lines: The Daily Lives of Camp Followers

Most women who marched alongside the troops came from poor or working-class backgrounds. For them, joining the army was a mix of patriotism and survival. In the 1700s, society expected women to manage the household, raise children, cook, clean, and provide medical care. When the war disrupted the colonial economy and forced families from their homes, many women brought these exact skills to the military camps. While official records rarely counted these women, surviving letters and food logs show that camp followers made up about three percent of the Continental Army’s total numbers.[2]

Life on the road was incredibly harsh, and women received no special treatment. Regulations often banned camp followers from riding in baggage wagons, forcing them to march on foot behind the soldiers while carrying heavy gear, tools, and young children. Despite their hard work, many officers viewed camp followers as a nuisance that slowed down military movements. General George Washington addressed this issue in his General Orders on August 4, 1777, complaining that the women were a “clog upon every movement” and urging officers to remove anyone “not absolutely necessary.” Yet, Washington knew he could not get rid of them completely. Camp followers performed essential work that kept the camps clean, and forcing the women to leave would encourage soldiers to desert to protect their families.[3]

What historians know about these women comes from documents written by male officers, who often overlooked women’s contributions. Because education was a privilege reserved for the wealthy, lower-class women rarely knew how to write diaries or letters about their experiences. For a long time, early historians focused exclusively on upper-class figures like Martha Washington, whose stories were easily preserved. Today, public history sites and museums, such as the American Revolution Museum at Yorktown, are actively working to bring the stories of ordinary working-class camp followers back into the spotlight.

A Tale of Two Worlds: Martha Washington and the Officer Corps Encampments

As the wife of the Commander-in-Chief, Martha Washington experienced quite a different side of the war. She and the wives of other high-ranking officers traveled to the winter camps specifically to boost morale and bring a sense of home comfort to the troops. During the brutal winter at Valley Forge in 1777–1778, Martha stayed in the general’s headquarters, mending uniforms, hosting dinners, and welcoming political visitors.

This comfortable lifestyle stood in sharp contrast to the reality faced by working-class camp followers. While officers’ wives hosted guests, hundreds of ordinary women worked in the cold to keep the camp running, often without warm clothing. As food supplies ran dangerously low that winter, military officials cut off or halved the rations normally given to the women to save food for the combat troops, forcing camp followers to endure terrible hunger while continuing their grueling daily labor.[4]

Labor on Campaign: The Mechanics of Colonial Maintenance

Keeping an eighteenth-century army camp clean and fed required immense physical strength. Without modern appliances like stoves or washing machines, everyday chores took hours of heavy manual labor. While single soldiers cooked their own basic rations over open fires, married men relied on their wives to prepare meals. Women carried heavy iron pots over miles of marching and cooked whatever provisions were available—usually salted meat and flour bread, with fresh vegetables or dairy items as a rare luxury.[5]

In addition to working for their husbands, many camp followers held official jobs authorized by the army, serving as cooks, laundresses, or nurses. Congress paid nurses regular wages, but medical care in the 1700s was primitive. Operating a century before scientists understood how germs spread, nurses focused entirely on basic cleanliness and comfort. They emptied chamber pots, bathed patients, and scrubbed hospital surfaces with vinegar to fight filth and odor. Working under male surgeons for very low pay, nurses faced constant exposure to deadly diseases, making it a job few women wanted.[6]

Washing clothes, however, was much more popular. Though it was exhausting, it allowed women to function as their own bosses and socialize with one another. Laundresses made their own soap by boiling animal fat with lye from wood ashes. They heated massive copper kettles over open fires, scrubbing and stirring heavy wool and linen uniforms entirely by hand. Because laundresses charged a set price for every item they washed, industrious women could earn a steady income directly from the soldiers.[7]

Revolutionary Resilience: Sarah Osborn Benjamin

A remarkably detailed first-hand account of this grueling life survives in the national archives. In 1837, Sarah Osborn Benjamin applied for a federal veteran’s pension. Because the government did not grant service pensions directly to women for camp duties, she applied for a widow’s pension based on her deceased husband’s military service. Uniquely, her exhaustive, multi-page deposition describing her own vital work as an army cook and laundress became the ultimate proof required to validate the claim.[8]

Born in New York in 1743, Sarah married her second husband, Aaron Osborn, in 1780. Aaron, a blacksmith by trade, enlisted in the Continental Army as a member of the commissary guard without telling her. Sarah initially refused to follow him to the southern battlefield, but she relented when her husband’s captain assured her she would have a means of conveyance. On the march, traveling alternately on horseback and in supply wagons, Sarah earned money by cooking and washing clothes for the troops. Her pension records show that the camp support force was diverse, made up of poor wives, servants, and both free and enslaved African Americans working side-by-side.[9]

Sarah was present during the historic Siege of Yorktown in the fall of 1781. As American and French forces surrounded British General Charles Cornwallis, Sarah worked on the front lines, carrying food and coffee to the artillery crews and nursing wounded soldiers under active fire. Her pension application describes a direct encounter with General George Washington during the heavy bombardment. When Washington asked why she was not afraid of the flying cannonballs, Sarah famously replied, “It would not do for the men to fight and starve too.” She remained on the field to witness the final British surrender on October 19, 1781.[10]

The Legend of the Battlefield: Mary Ludwig Hays and “Molly Pitcher”

Operating heavy cannons was the most dangerous and physically exhausting job on the revolutionary battlefield. Cannon crews had to work quickly to load, aim, and fire. After each shot, the inside of the barrel became covered in hot, burning gunpowder residue. To keep the cannons from overheating or accidentally exploding during reloading, teams needed a constant supply of water to sponge out the barrels.

Camp followers took on the dangerous job of carrying water directly onto active battlefields in heavy wooden or ceramic pitchers. This vital task gave rise to the famous legend of “Molly Pitcher.” The real-life inspiration for this icon was Mary Ludwig Hays. During the Battle of Monmouth on June 28, 1778, Hays was carrying water to her husband’s artillery crew when he collapsed from heat exhaustion. Without hesitating, Hays stepped into his place, loading and sponging the cannon through the rest of the British assault. Over the years, her bravery and the stories of other battlefield women merged into the legendary figure of Molly Pitcher.[11]

Defying the Gender Barrier: Anna Maria Lane

While most women supported the army openly as camp followers, a few chose to break the law and social rules by disguising themselves as men to enlist as regular soldiers. This was an incredibly risky choice; if discovered, these women faced immediate discharge, public humiliation, or physical punishment. Because of the secret nature of their service, few records exist. Still, a letter written by Virginia Governor William H. Cabell in 1808 provides absolute proof of one woman’s hidden combat career.

Anna Maria Lane initially began her journey in 1776 following the drum openly alongside her husband, John, as a traditional camp follower. However, as the hardships of the conflict intensified, Lane crossed the gender barrier. Putting on a soldier’s uniform to fight in the light infantry, she actively participated in the Pennsylvania campaign. During the fierce Battle of Germantown on October 4, 1777, she suffered a severe leg wound during close-quarters combat. She successfully hid her identity through years of fighting and medical care, eventually moving to Richmond, Virginia, where she worked as a nurse. When Governor Cabell discovered her secret combat history years later, he urged the state legislature to award her a soldier’s pension. Impressed by her extraordinary bravery at Germantown, Virginia, Lane was granted an annual pension of one hundred dollars—double the standard amount given to male veterans at the time.[12]

The Grit Behind the Glory

The success of the American Revolution depended heavily on the hard work and fierce endurance of its female participants. Far from being passive bystanders, these camp followers, cooks, laundresses, and hidden soldiers formed the backbone of the Continental Army’s daily operations. The essential work of thousands of ordinary women kept the troops fed, clothed, and protected from deadly camp diseases. At the same time, individuals like Sarah Osborn Benjamin and Anna Maria Lane directly influenced the outcomes of major battles. By stepping into critical roles in a society that denied them basic legal rights, these women redefined what it meant to be a patriot. The story of American independence is incomplete without them; it proves that the war was won not just by the grand strategies of generals but also by the daily, gritty survival of women who followed the fight through mud and fire.

Notes

[1] Holly A. Meyer, Belonging to the Army: Camp Followers and Community during the American Revolution, (Columbia: University of South Carolina, 1996), 3-16.

[2] John Rees. “‘The Multitude of Women’ an Examination of the Numbers of Female Camp Followers with the Continental Army.” Minerva XIV, no. 2 (1996): 36-40.

[3] George Washington General Orders “General Orders, 4 August 1777,” available from https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/03-10-02-0508 accessed 13 April 2025.

[4] Ellet E. F. and Lincoln Diamant, Revolutionary Women in the War for American Independence: A One-Volume Revised Edition of Elizabeth Ellet’s 1848 Landmark Series, (Westpoint: Praeger, 1998), 142-145; Nancy K. Loane, Following the Drum: Women at the Valley Forge Encampment, (Potomac Books Incorporated, 2009), 117-119.

[5] Meyer, Belonging to the Army, 136-140.

[6] Nancy K. Loane, Following the Drum: Women at the Valley Forge Encampment (Potomac, MD: Potomac Books, 2009), 105-110.

[7] Loane, Following the Drum, 105-110.

[8] Sarah Osborn Benjamin, Case Files of Pension and Bounty-Land Warrant Applications, Record Group 15, National Archives, Washington, D.C., accessed April 12, 2025, https://catalog.archives.gov/id/1636083.

[9] Jerri Bell and Tracy Crow, eds., It’s My Country Too : Women’s Military Stories from the American Revolution to Afghanistan, Potomac Books, (Potomac Books Incorporated, 2017), 2-7.

[10] Sarah Osborn Benjamin, Case Files of Pension and Bounty-Land Warrant Applications; Sudie Doggett Wike, Women in the American Revolution, (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 2018), 230-238.

[11] Elizabeth F. Ellet and Lincoln Diamant, Revolutionary Women in the War for American Independence, 119-120.

[12] Loane, Following the Drum, 124; Letter, William H. Cabell to Speaker of the House of Delegates, 28 January 1808, Governor’s Office, Executive Letter Books, Record Group 3, Library of Virginia, Richmond, VA.

British Perspectives on America’s War for Independence

Early American history, European History, Virginia history, Virginia250

By Eden Schofield, B.A. in History and Museum Studies, Christopher Newport University (’26), and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History, Christopher Newport University

“Sure it behooves the deluded people of this country to consider these things maturely, and fly from this prospect of inevitable ruin, back to the constitutional ground of peace and safety from which they have been seduced by the phantom of Independency!”[1]

As the United States celebrates the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, it is crucial to remember that the American public was deeply divided. For those living through it, the War for Independence was not just a revolution against a distant empire; it was a brutal civil war. While national memory naturally highlights the triumphant American outcome, historians must look closer at the motives, strategies, and deeply held convictions of the British crown and the millions of colonists who remained loyal to it.[2]

The Declaration of Independence itself acknowledges this painful relational fracture, noting that the colonists had not been:

“…wanting in attentions to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us… We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations… They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.”[3]

Thousands of colonists actively rejected this separation, striving instead for reconciliation with the mother country. Believing that their liberties were best protected under the British constitution—a framework hard-won over centuries of imperial history—Loyalists viewed the radical actions of Patriot neighbors as reckless and unnecessary. These individuals vocalized their dissent throughout the conflict and maintained their convictions even in the bitter shadow of defeat after 1781.[4] This clash of ideals played out across communities, tearing apart families and upending local stability. While felt everywhere, few regions experienced this internal civil war quite like the tidewater communities bordering Virginia’s strategic Chesapeake Bay.

A Global Perspective: The View from Westminster

Traditional American narratives frame the Revolutionary War as a localized defense against tyrannical British overreach. However, viewing the conflict from London offers a vastly different political perspective. To the British ministry, the military campaign was an existential effort to preserve imperial integrity and safeguard vital overseas markets, especially after executing the costly Seven Years’ War against France. As historian H.T. Dickinson emphasizes, the conflict fundamentally centers on competing interpretations of British law and constitutional governance. Parliament maintained that the American colonies were inherently subordinate. In London’s view, colonial wealth and safety were the direct results of British military protection and financial backing. As the colonies prospered, British officials feared they would evolve into unregulated economic rivals rather than useful components of the empire.

To offset the staggering debts of the Seven Years’ War and establish a permanent security force, Parliament sought to exercise regulatory authority over colonial trade. According to the foundational principle of parliamentary sovereignty, these measures were fully legal and constitutionally sound.[5]

The political logic guiding King George III and his ministers was unyielding: if the American colonies successfully broke away, a domino effect would dismantle the rest of the British Empire. In 1776, General Sir William Howe and Admiral Richard Lord Howe were granted joint military and diplomatic commands in North America. They devised an aggressive campaign intended to suppress the rebellion in a single year—a plan that ultimately unraveled.

Following his capture by British forces, Continental General Charles Lee complicated British planning by turning attention toward the Chesapeake. Lee claimed that Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania were the true engines powering the rebellion. He insisted that many inhabitants along the Potomac River, the Eastern Shore, and the broader Chesapeake were secret Loyalists who would lay down their arms if offered an official royal pardon. Acted upon slowly by the cautious Howe brothers, this strategic intelligence contributed to a fateful pivot. Misled by faulty reports regarding the position of Washington’s army, Admiral Howe diverted his massive armada away from the Delaware Bay and steered directly into the Chesapeake Bay in the summer of 1777, abandoning the original plan to support a British march from Canada.[6]

This logistical diversion triggered immense political panic in Parliament. The crown had envisioned a sweeping pincer maneuver to trap and destroy the Continental Army in New York. Instead, the southern fleet leaves the northern army under General John Burgoyne completely isolated. Burgoyne’s subsequent surrender at Saratoga was an unmitigated disaster that altered global politics. Recognizing British vulnerability, France formally entered a military alliance with the United States. This transformed a colonial rebellion into a global war. In Virginia, the French alliance disrupted the tobacco economy; with the British blockade choking traditional English ports, France stepped in as the principal consumer of Virginia’s lucrative cash crop.[7]

Virginia Loyalists: Dissent and Chaos

No discussion of Virginia’s wartime experience is complete without mentioning John Murray, the Earl of Dunmore, the colony’s final royal governor. Dunmore triggered immediate hostilities by seizing the public gunpowder from the Williamsburg magazine, executing raids along the coast, and ordering the bombardment of Norfolk in early 1776. Governor Dunmore’s official correspondence offers a raw window into the mindset of a royal official attempting to maintain law and order as his colony collapsed into rebellion. Letters traveling across the Atlantic demonstrate how colonial radicalism was interpreted by royal governors. Writing to the Earl of Dartmouth in 1773, Georgia Governor James Wright observed the volatile rhetoric surrounding the Continental Congress’s calls to resist British judicial authority:

“…And I do really believe that some of them will not only be mad enough to attempt this but also to oppose and engage the King’s Troops, for it is hardly to be conceived or credited how extravagantly they talk even in the next province.”[8]

By 1775, maintaining neutrality or expressing allegiance to the crown in Virginia brought immediate personal danger. An anonymous account sent from Virginia details the vigilante violence used to suppress Loyalist thought:

“…Every person who refuses to join their independent companies and support the cause, as they term it, is sure to be personally insulted and abused, his house leveled with the ground and his furniture destroyed, by a set of fellows habited as Indians…”[9]

The writer further detailed an account of a local mob physically assaulting and extracting a forced apology from an Anglican clergyman who had “in the mildest terms endeavored to convince them of their error and persuade them to peace and obedience.”[10] The observer concluded with a grim assessment of life under the revolutionary committees: “So you see, we are without law or gospel.”[11] Another writer noted similar political suppression earlier that year: “The gentlemen who style themselves Whigs and Patriots carry everything with a high hand, while those of more moderate principles, especially in this Province, [do not] dare to avow them.”[12]

Conflict in the Tidewater and Eastern Shore

When British forces deployed specialized units into Virginia, they found organized pockets of local support. Chief among these units was the Queen’s American Rangers, a renowned Loyalist regiment named in honor of Queen Charlotte. The Rangers earned widespread acclaim within the British military for their tactical discipline at major engagements, including Brandywine, Monmouth, and Springfield.[13]

In December 1780, British commander Sir Henry Clinton ordered the newly defected Brigadier General Benedict Arnold to launch an amphibious raid into Virginia, establishing a fortified base at Portsmouth. Clinton ordered Arnold to consult closely with Lieutenant Colonels Richard Dundas and John Graves Simcoe. Simcoe commanded the Queen’s Rangers, who traveled from New York to serve as the vanguard for the Virginia campaign. Arnold unleashed Simcoe’s Rangers on a series of swift raids along the James River, pushing as far inland as Richmond and Petersburg. Detachments struck supply depots at Portsmouth, Newport News, Hampton, Burwell’s Ferry, and Westover. Later, the Queen’s Rangers accompanied Lord Cornwallis during his fateful fortification of Yorktown, fiercely defending British positions across the river at Gloucester Point until the final capitulation in October 1781.[14]

On the isolated communities of the Eastern Shore, allegiance to the crown ran deep among small yeoman farmers. These rural inhabitants did not believe that independence would benefit their economic survival. A traditional societal deference connected these farmers to the conservative values of the British empire. The Eastern Shore’s stubborn resistance was a constant source of frustration for Patriot leaders. In a May 1776 letter to Thomas Nelson, Thomas Jefferson included a telling postscript regarding a military officer stationed there:

“The congress having ordered a new battalion of riflemen to be raised in Virginia, Innis wishes much to be translated to it from the Eastern shore which was so disagreeable to him that he had determined to have resigned.”[15]

Throughout the war, the Eastern Shore’s high concentration of “Tories” undermined local revolutionary governance. Loyalists routinely refused to draft into Continental militias, actively sabotaged patriot training exercises, and braved Patriot patrols to smuggle vital livestock and grain directly to Dunmore’s fleet.[16]

When the British fleet entered the Chesapeake, local Loyalists felt re-energized. However, London routinely failed to provide these remote groups with consistent manpower or arms. Left isolated, many rural Loyalists were arrested by state authorities, forced to abandon their property, or driven into hiding across the marshy islands of the Bay. While inland Tory insurgencies struggled, Loyalist privateers dominated the waterways. Operating out of occupied Norfolk, small bands of Tory watermen waged economic warfare. Famed Loyalist privateers like Joseph Wheland Jr., Stephen Mister, and Marmaduke Mister disrupted commerce by capturing Patriot merchant vessels and routing their cargo into British supply chains. Armed with an intimate, lifetime knowledge of the Chesapeake’s complex tributaries, these watermen defied the fledgling Virginia Navy with the open backing of British warships.[17]

The Rise and Fall of Tory Norfolk

On the western side of the Bay, Norfolk stood as the undisputed capital of Virginian Loyalism, alongside deep pockets of crown support in Gwynn’s Island, Hobb’s Hole, Leedstown, and Urbanna. Norfolk’s population was heavily comprised of wealthy Scottish merchants whose financial livelihoods depended entirely on transatlantic trade with Great Britain. Eager to protect their shipping networks, these merchants looked to British authorities for stability. A prominent example was merchant Neil Jamieson. While initially sympathetic to colonial grievances, Jamieson backed the crown when Lord Dunmore arrived with naval support. Jamieson systematically moved his merchandise onto vessels in the harbor, packed his corporate ledgers, and converted his fleet into royal privateers to intercept rebel shipping.[18]

Similarly, elite planters like Colonel Jacob Ellegood raised provincial regiments to fight under Dunmore’s banner. Ellegood was later captured and spent years as a prisoner of war before being exiled, ultimately relocating his family to New Brunswick alongside thousands of other displaced Loyalist refugees.[19]

Because of its deep Loyalist ties, Norfolk became a prime military target. In early 1776, after Patriot forces drove Dunmore’s fleet off the mainland, the governor determined to destroy the waterfront to prevent it from serving as a rebel base.[20] An anonymous officer aboard the HMS Otter described the dynamic bombardment on New Year’s Day:

“I have the pleasure to assure you that this Rebel town of Norfolk is in ashes. It is glorious to see the blaze of the town and shipping. I exult in the carnage of these Rebels. The signal was given from the Liverpool, and in an instant the place was in flames. We are now proceeding on this business, and will burn every port on the seashore.”[21]

A young midshipman aboard the same vessel described the scene in a personal letter:

“The detested town of Norfolk is no more! Its destruction happened on New Year’s Day! About four o’clock in the afternoon the signal was given from the Liverpool, when a dreadful cannonading began from the three ships, which lasted till it was too hot for the rebels to stand on their Wharfs…no more of Norfolk remains than about twelve houses, which have escaped the flames!”[22]

This widespread destruction horrified Patriot leaders. George Washington lamented the burning of the city, condemning Great Britain in a letter to Joseph Reed as “…a Nation which seems to be lost to every sense of Virtue…”[23] The fiery destruction of Virginia’s largest commercial port exposes the bitter undercurrent of the conflict.[24] Following the British surrender at Yorktown, thousands of displaced Loyalists flooded back into Norfolk and the surrounding Princess Anne County, attempting to reclaim their seized lands. This sudden influx sparked immense local panic, prompting Virginia authorities to launch a wave of arrests and high-profile treason trials to purge crown sympathizers.[25]

During the 1782 peace negotiations in Paris, Continental commissioners steadfastly refused British demands to restore confiscated Loyalist estates, stating bluntly:

“We should be sorry if the absolute Impossibility of our complying further with your Propositions on this head should induce Great Britain to continue the War for the sake of those who caused and prolonged it…”[26]

Abandoned by the peace treaty, over 60,000 Loyalists fled the United States, scattering to Nova Scotia, Ontario, the West Indies, and London. Facing steep prejudice and the permanent loss of their ancestral homes, these exiles looked back at the new republic with deep bitterness. As one displaced New Yorker wrote to Lord Hardwicke in 1783, “The Rebels breathe the most rancorous and malignant Spirit everywhere.”[27]

As the VA250 anniversary invites communities to reflect on the legacy of 1776, we must recognize that the Patriot story is only one half of a complex narrative. The communities of the revolutionary era were not unified in political thought. The American Loyalists were an intrinsic part of the colonial landscape, caught in an imperial civil war that fractured families and reshaped the Atlantic world. By exploring the conflict through their words and experiences, modern audiences can better appreciate the human costs, conflicting loyalties, and deep historical scars that accompanied the birth of the United States.

About the Author

Eden Schofield graduated with a B.A. in History and Museum Studies from Christopher Newport University in 2026. She was awarded a graduate fellowship to James Madison University to pursue her M.A. in Public History. She plans to pursue a career in museum curation, focusing on the material culture of early America.

Notes

[1] Carol Sue Humphrey, The Revolutionary Era: Primary Documents on Events from 1776 to 1800 (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2003), 12.

[2] Ian R. Christie, “British Politics and the American Revolution,” Albion: A Quarterly Journal Concerned with British Studies 9, no. 3 (1977): 205–26,

[3] “Declaration of Independence: A Transcription,” National Archives and Records Administration, last modified October 14, 2025, https://www.archives.gov/founding-docs/declaration-transcript.

[4] Humphrey, The Revolutionary Era, 5–18.

[5] H.T. Dickinson, Britain and the American Revolution (London: Routledge, 1998), 64–68; Christie, “British Politics and the American Revolution,” 206–211.

[6] Ernest M. Eller, ed., Chesapeake Bay in the American Revolution (Centreville, MD: Tidewater Publishers, 1981), 342–354.

[7] Eller, Chesapeake Bay in the American Revolution, 341–342, 356–363.

[8] James J. Barnes and Patience P. Barnes, eds., The American Revolution through British Eyes: A Documentary Collection, vol. 1 (Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 2013), 306.

[9] Barnes and Barnes, The American Revolution through British Eyes, 1:357.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Barnes and Barnes, The American Revolution through British Eyes, 1:305.

[13] Donald J. Gara, The Queen’s American Rangers (Yardley, PA: Westholme Publishing, 2015), ix.

[14] James J. Barnes and Patience P. Barnes, eds., The American Revolution through British Eyes: A Documentary Collection, vol. 2 (Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 2013), 915–916, 972, 1018; Gara, The Queen’s American Rangers, 242–254, 302–303, 319–328.

[15] Thomas Jefferson to Thomas Nelson, May 16, 1776, Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/01-01-02-0153.

[16] Eller, Chesapeake Bay in the American Revolution, 379–383; Keith Mason, “Localism, Evangelicalism, and Loyalism: The Sources of Discontent in the Revolutionary Chesapeake,” The Journal of Southern History 56, no. 1 (1990): 23–54; Barry Paige Neville, “For God, King, and Country: Loyalism on the Eastern Shore of Maryland During the American Revolution,” International Social Science Review 84, no. 3/4 (2009): 135–156.

[17] Eller, Chesapeake Bay in the American Revolution, 382–391.

[18] Ibid., 399–402; Adele Hast, Loyalism in Revolutionary Virginia: The Norfolk Area and the Eastern Shore (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1982), 71–75.

[19] Eller, Chesapeake Bay in the American Revolution, 399–402; Hast, Loyalism in Revolutionary Virginia, 71–75.

[20] Barnes and Barnes, The American Revolution through British Eyes, 1:366.

[21] Ibid., 1:372.

[22] Ibid., 1:374.

[23] George Washington to Joseph Reed, January 31, 1776, Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/03-03-02-0163.

[24] John Hancock to George Washington, January 6, 1776, Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/03-03-02-0026; Barnes and Barnes, The American Revolution through British Eyes, 1:366–374.

[25] Hast, Loyalism in Revolutionary Virginia, 124-130.

[26] Barnes and Barnes, The American Revolution through British Eyes, 2:1105.

[27] Ibid., 2:1136.

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