By Samantha Saba, B.A. in History and English, Christopher Newport University (’26), and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History, Christopher Newport University
When we picture an American Revolutionary, who comes to mind? Perhaps a rugged militiaman taking up arms for liberty, or a disgruntled British colonist demanding political representation. While these images represent one familiar demographic of freedom fighters, there is another group that contributed just as much to the making of the nation—one whose stories remain far less known to the public. Native Americans were pivotal actors in the American Revolution, yet the accounts of individual Indigenous leaders, strategists, and soldiers who distinguished themselves are often left out of standard narratives.
From the Oneida in the Northeast to the Pamunkey in Virginia and the Muscogee Creeks in the South, Native Americans played significant roles on both sides of the conflict. Indigenous allies were ultimately instrumental in forging the success of the Revolution. These nations found themselves in the middle of a complex geopolitical chessboard as the British Empire and domestic revolutionaries squared off to determine the continent’s future. In the heat of this conflict, Indigenous individuals rose to defend their communities, aid their chosen allies, and shape the war’s outcome. Serving as spies, diplomatic intermediaries, soldiers, and logisticians, Native Americans were active agents of change whose alliances were fiercely contested by European and American powers. These are their stories.[1]
Am I My Brother’s Keeper? Robert Mursh and the Intersections of Faith and Loyalty
Alignment, allegiance, and identity were complex variables for Native Americans facing existential choices during the American Revolution. The experiences of Robert Mursh (also documented as Mush or Marsh) illustrate how personal upbringing and local institutional ties directly shaped wartime decisions. A Pamunkey Indian living in the Chesapeake region of Virginia, Mursh’s life was molded by more than a century of evolving legal and social interactions between his tribe and European colonists.
Under the terms of regional peace agreements, including the Treaty of Middle Plantation, Pamunkey families periodically sent young boys to Williamsburg to be educated in English customs and languages. Mursh was one of these students; he was Christianized and educated at the Brafferton School, the Indian department established at the College of William & Mary. Through his time at the Brafferton and his subsequent connections within colonial Christian networks, Mursh was directly exposed to public political discourse. The relationships he formed with local Virginians heavily influenced his decision to enlist in the Continental Army, taking up arms alongside the revolutionaries.[2]
Serving within the 15th Virginia Regiment, Mursh marched through several of the war’s most grueling campaigns, seeing action at the battles of Brandywine, Germantown, and Monmouth. In May 1780, during the catastrophic Siege of Charleston, Mursh was captured by British forces and held as a prisoner of war for fourteen months. Following his release, he immediately re-enlisted, returning to active duty in time to fight at the decisive Siege of Yorktown in 1781, where he witnessed the surrender of the British army.
Following the conclusion of hostilities, Mursh settled with his Pamunkey wife, Elizabeth, and became a prominent Christian minister, traveling to share his faith with neighboring Native communities. The details of Mursh’s military career are preserved in comprehensive pension applications and family records housed within the National Archives, demonstrating that his institutional service was recognized and compensated by the federal government. His journey stands as a powerful testament to how relational ties and educational environments guided the difficult choices of individual soldiers.[3]
Geopolitical Sovereignty: Alexander McGillivray and the Creek Nation
While the United States emerged victorious from its war for independence, the conclusion of the conflict brought starkly divergent outcomes for the native populations of the American South. Alexander McGillivray (1750–1793), known within his nation as Hoboi-Hili-Miko, was born in present-day Alabama to a wealthy Scottish trader and an influential woman of the Muscogee Creek Wind Clan. Educated in Charleston, McGillivray navigated the outbreak of the American Revolution by prioritizing the economic independence and territorial security of the Creek Confederacy.[4]
When open war broke out, McGillivray aligned his interests with Great Britain, receiving a commission as a colonel in the British Army. He utilized British trade goods and diplomatic channels to rally portions of the Upper Creek towns to combat the expansionist American frontiersmen. However, this alliance fractured internal tribal cohesion; McGillivray’s pro-British policies sparked intense friction and suspicion among the American-allied Lower Creeks. Following the British retreat in 1783, the Creek nation faced immediate, synchronized territorial pressure from both the newly formed United States and Spanish authorities in Florida.
In response, McGillivray demonstrated masterful diplomatic skill by playing these rival imperial powers against each other. In 1784, he negotiated the Treaty of Pensacola with Spain, establishing a lucrative commercial monopoly for British trading firms while securing Spanish guarantees for Creek territory. McGillivray used this international leverage to consolidate his personal position as a principal chief of the Creek nation.[5]
Throughout the late 1780s and early 1790s, McGillivray continued to manage regional diplomacy through a sequence of complex treaties with both European officials and the Washington administration. While his diplomatic maneuvers successfully delayed large-scale American encroachment for a time, subsequent agreements required the cession of portions of ancestral Creek hunting grounds. To escape internal political opposition and tribal prosecution, McGillivray spent his final months under Spanish protection in Pensacola, where he passed away in 1793. His complex career highlights the high-stakes, gray-area diplomacy that Southern Indigenous leaders were forced to navigate to preserve their national boundaries.[6]
Kinship and Coalition: Molly Brant and the Iroquois League
During the imperial crisis, female Indigenous leaders wielded immense political authority, making decisions that profoundly affected the strategic trajectories of their nations. Konwatsi’tsiaienni, widely known by her English name as Molly Brant, was a high-ranking Mohawk clan matron and an influential diplomat within the Iroquois (Haudenosaunee) Confederacy. She was the elder sister of the prominent Mohawk war chief Thayendanegea (Joseph Brant) and the consort of Sir William Johnson, the British Superintendent of Indian Affairs, with whom she managed a vast estate and raised eight children in upstate New York.[7]
Brant’s upbringing placed her at a cultural crossroads, allowing her to serve as a vital political mediator between the Iroquois League and the British Crown. As the imperial crisis escalated into war, Brant utilized her traditional authority as a clan matron to sway the Iroquois Grand Council, successfully convincing her brother Joseph and four of the six Iroquois nations to declare open allegiance to the British Empire. Recognizing her unmatched political clout, British official Daniel Claus observed:
“One word from her goes further with them than a thousand words from any white man without exception.”[8]
Throughout the conflict, Brant transformed her home into a critical intelligence hub, sheltering fleeing Loyalists, feeding frontier units, and smuggling vital munitions to British forces. Her actions were driven by a sophisticated understanding of kinship obligations and a realistic calculation that a British victory offered the most reliable defense against the aggressive expansion of American agricultural settlers.
However, the war shattered the historic cohesion of the Iroquois Confederacy, pitting brother against brother. Following the American victory, the Mohawk nation paid a catastrophic price for its loyalty to the Crown; their villages were systematically destroyed by the Sullivan Expedition, and they were forced to permanently abandon their ancestral homelands for exile in Ontario, Canada. Despite these displacement losses, Brant’s fierce defense of her nation’s sovereignty cemented her legacy as an elite diplomat of the revolutionary era.[9]
Shadows of the Tidewater: The Unwritten Service of John Bass
While high-ranking diplomats dominate historical records, many Indigenous soldiers served in the ranks of the Continental Army whose personal backgrounds remain largely obscured by time. One such figure was John Bass (alternatively recorded as James Bass), a citizen of the Nansemond nation—one of the historic tribes belonging to the wider Powhatan Confederacy of Tidewater Virginia. While the Nansemond community navigated internal divisions regarding the war, Bass chose to actively enlist with the local Patriot forces.[10]
Bass marched with regional militia units during the crucial early campaigns in Virginia. Most notably, he fought at the Battle of Great Bridge in December 1775, contributing to a strategic victory that successfully expelled the Royal Governor, Lord Dunmore, and secured southeastern Virginia for the revolutionary cause.
While specific archival details regarding Bass’s daily life outside of his military service are sparse, his contributions were formally codified by his contemporaries. In 1832, more than half a century after his enlistment, the federal government officially awarded Bass a military pension. His application was authenticated by prominent local citizens—including J.Y. Green, James Mosely, James Billington, and James Patterson—who stepped forward as character witnesses to verify his honorable wartime service under oath.
Bass belonged to a faction of the Nansemond nation that had adopted English agricultural styles and Christianity, a cultural shift that provided unique legal opportunities within the early American republic. However, this religious and cultural adaptation did not shield the Nansemond people from systematic discrimination and ongoing land loss in post-war Virginia. The surviving fragments of Bass’s pension application stand as a testament to the thousands of unheralded Indigenous servicemen who directly built the foundations of American independence.[11]
Saving Valley Forge: Polly Cooper and Oneida Humanitarianism
Polly Cooper was an influential Oneida woman whose actions during the dark winter of the war illustrated the profound humanitarian commitments of her nation. While their Haudenosaunee brethren—including the Mohawks—aligned with the British, the Oneida Nation chose to honor their long-standing covenants with local colonists and missionaries by formally declaring allegiance to the United States. This decision fractured the ancient Iroquois Confederacy, but the Oneida remained steadfast in their commitment to the Patriot cause.[12]
During the legendary winter of 1777–1778, General George Washington’s Continental Army was on the brink of total collapse at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. Plagued by disease, freezing temperatures, and systemic supply failures, the starving army faced imminent dissolution. Responding to the crisis, the Oneida Nation organized a grueling relief expedition, carrying tons of white corn and supplies over 250 miles of winter terrain directly to the valley camp.
Polly Cooper was a central figure in this relief mission. Upon her arrival, she recognized that the starving American soldiers were attempting to eat the raw corn uncooked, which caused severe illness. Cooper stepped forward to manage the camp kitchens, teaching the troops how to properly hull, boil, and prepare the corn into nutritious, digestible food.
When the campaign concluded, Cooper steadfastly refused to accept any monetary compensation from the Continental Army, stating that it was her duty to aid friends in distress. In a gesture of profound gratitude, Martha Washington and the officers’ wives presented Cooper with a fine black wool shawl. This garment became an invaluable heirloom within the Oneida nation, serving as an enduring material symbol of alliance, kindness, and mutual survival. Today, the legendary Polly Cooper shawl remains preserved and displayed as a treasure at the Oneida Nation Cultural Center.[13]
Tragic Irony on the Frontier: Abraham Nimham and the Stockbridge Militia
The price of patriotism was often steep, as demonstrated by the tragic battlefield sacrifices of the Stockbridge-Mohican nation. Abraham Nimham was a respected leader within the Stockbridge community and the son of Daniel Nimham, the last great sachem of the historic Wappinger people of the Hudson Valley. Driven by a desire to secure legal recognition of their ancestral lands and protect their tribal sovereignty from encroaching New York landlords, both father and son chose to align their elite warriors with the Continental Army.[14]
Commissioned as officers by George Washington, the Nimhams organized and commanded the Stockbridge Militia, an elite scouting unit that fought alongside Patriot forces throughout the northern campaigns. The unit was renowned for its exceptional tracking skills, endurance, and battlefield discipline. However, the fortunes of war turned tragic on August 31, 1778, during the Battle of Kingsbridge (located in the modern-day Bronx, New York). While conducting reconnaissance operations, Nimham’s scouting unit was ambushed and surrounded by a superior force of Loyalist cavalry and Hessian mercenaries under the command of Col. John Graves Simcoe. Though fighting valiantly in hand-to-hand combat against overwhelming odds, nearly forty Stockbridge warriors—including both Abraham and his father Daniel—were killed on the field.
The story of the Stockbridge Militia concludes with a bitter historical irony. Despite laying down their lives for the cause of American liberty, the surviving Mohican community was denied the security they had fought to protect. Following the Treaty of Paris, the new American government failed to honor its wartime promises of land preservation. The Stockbridge-Mohicans were systematically displaced, pushed entirely off their ancestral Hudson Valley lands and forced into successive migrations westward. Their legacy endures as a reminder of the steep human cost of the war and the complex debts owed to the nation’s earliest defenders.[15]
Restoring Indigenous Narratives to Public Memory
The military, diplomatic, and social history of the American Revolution remains fundamentally incomplete without a thorough evaluation of the active participation of Indigenous nations. Native American choices throughout the conflict were dictated by structured, long-term strategies designed to protect tribal sovereignty, preserve ancestral land bases, and fulfill deep-seated kinship obligations.
The experiences of leaders like Molly Brant and Alexander McGillivray, alongside soldiers and logisticians like Robert Mursh, John Bass, Polly Cooper, and Abraham Nimham, demonstrate that the Revolutionary War was a complex, continental struggle for self-determination. Rather than acting as passive observers or tragic victims of expansion, these individuals navigated the crises of imperial collapse with diplomatic nuance and military skill. Documenting their accounts transforms the public understanding of the Revolutionary era, reframing the conflict from a localized colonial rebellion into a global, multicultural war for independence. To explore these diverse Indigenous narratives and view the material culture of the conflict firsthand, visitors are encouraged to tour the galleries at the American Revolution Museum at Yorktown.[16]
About the Author
Samantha Saba graduated from Christopher Newport University in 2026, earning a double major in History and English, with minors in Political Science and Middle Eastern/North African Studies. She was awarded a graduate fellowship to American University to pursue an M.A. in Public History. This exhibition script was developed in professional collaboration with Catherine Van Dyke at the Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation and benefited from the research guidance of Dr. Pat Hannum.
Notes
Colin G. Calloway, The American Revolution in Indian Country: Crisis and Diversity in Native American Communities (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 26–32.
Buck Woodard, “Students of the Brafferton Indian School,” in Building the Brafferton: The Founding, Funding, and Legacy of America’s Indian School (Williamsburg, VA: Muscarelle Museum of Art, 2019), 130.
Robert Mursh Archive File, Revolutionary War Pension and Bounty-Land Warrant Application Files, Record Group 15, National Archives, Washington, D.C.; see also The Treaty of Middle Plantation, 1677 records.
George Milne, “McGillivray, Alexander (1750–1793) Creek Chief,” in Encyclopedia of Revolutionary America (New York: Infobase Learning, 2010), 537–538.
John Burch, “McGillivray, Alexander (ca. 1750–1793),” in Imperialism and Expansionism in American History (Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2016), 415–416.
Colin G. Calloway, “Courting McGillivray,” in The Indian World of George Washington (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018), 346–377.
Letter from Daniel Claus to General Frederick Haldimand, 1779, cited in Leavey, Molly Brant, 89.
Leavey, Molly Brant, 87, 102–105.
Helen C. Rountree, Pocahontas’s People: The Powhatan Indians of Virginia Through Four Centuries (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1990), 84–85, 141.
Pension Application for John Bass, S1745, Southern Campaigns Revolutionary War Statements and Rosters, transcribed by Will Graves, https://revwarapps.org/s1745.pdf.
Colin G. Calloway, The Indian World of George Washington: The First President, the First Americans, and the Birth of the Nation (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018).
Oneida Nation Curatorial Files, Oneida Nation Cultural Center, Oneida, New York.
Colin G. Calloway, “Stockbridge: The New England Patriots,” in The American Revolution in Indian Country (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 85–107.
Ibid., 108–112.
Institutional Gallery Profiles, Department of Curatorial Interpretation, Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation, https://www.jyfmuseums.org/.
By Aidan Wells, B.A. in History, Christopher Newport University (’26), and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History, Christopher Newport University
On October 19, 1781, British forces under General Charles Cornwallis marched onto the Yorktown battlefield to formally surrender their weapons, effectively ending the active military campaigns for American independence. Today, “Surrender Field,” preserved within Colonial National Historical Park, commemorates this historic turning point. Mounted upon the walls of the site’s visitor rotunda, eleven historic cannons and howitzers stand as tangible witnesses to that capitulation. Each artillery piece bears a distinct inscription dedicating it as seized property, alongside embossed symbols, royal coats of arms, and complex iconography that link these weapons directly to the individuals who manufactured, manned, and surrendered them.[1]
While military historians have long cataloged the tactical metrics and battlefield capabilities of Revolutionary-era artillery, the deeper cultural narratives etched into the metal have remained largely unexamined. Standard site interpretations frequently reduce these pieces to their sheer destructive power. However, the multilingual inscriptions and foreign ciphers cast onto their surfaces offer a rare window into the global human experience of the conflict—insights that weights and measurements alone cannot provide. This exhibit moves beyond battlefield statistics to interpret these cannons within their broader cultural contexts. By analyzing this unique collection of material culture, the project reveals how the American War for Independence entangled everyday people far beyond the elite aristocratic circles of France, Great Britain, and the American colonies. Ultimately, these forgotten artillery pieces illuminate the diverse, transnational foundations of early America, challenging us to reexamine the roots of our own national identity.[2]
The Anatomy of Mastery: Maker’s Marks and Chronology
To uncover the complex history of these artillery pieces, one must first examine their manufacture, chronology, and origins. Embossed upon the base of several weapons at Surrender Field are Latin inscriptions indicating their production dates. Four of the displayed howitzers are of French origin, including one modern reproduction, and feature manufacturing dates that closely precede the 1781 Battle of Yorktown. Conversely, other pieces in the collection boast much older, transnational lineages. Near the end of the rotunda, one specific howitzer bears the stark inscription: “A. SCHALCH FECIT 1727.” While the text clearly dates the weapon’s casting to 1727, the phrase invites a deeper historical inquiry. The words do not merely signify a date or place of origin but rather point directly to the identity of the master artisan who created it.[3]
This “maker’s mark” references Andrew Schalch, a Swiss-born artisan who served as the Master Founder of the English Royal Brass Foundry at Woolwich. By 1727, Schalch was well-established in his prestigious position. During his initial appointment at the foundry in 1716 and 1717, he bore responsibility for casting smaller ordnance pieces to prove the quality of his craftsmanship to the English Royal Board of Ordnance, which supplied munitions for the defense of Great Britain and its global land holdings. By 1722, Schalch was charged with a massive expansion project to cast over 500 pieces of combat artillery—including cannons, howitzers, and mortars—a monumental task that spanned more than a decade. The piece preserved at Yorktown is one of those historic howitzers constructed in his foundry under the design specifications of General Albert Borgard.[4]
The preservation of Schalch’s work illustrates that Great Britain routinely repurposed its strategic military hardware across multiple generations, relying on artillery technology that remained comparatively timeless throughout the 18th century. However, Andrew Schalch is not the only artisan represented at Surrender Field; each of the eleven artillery pieces exhibits a unique maker’s mark spanning a broad chronological timeline. For example, two other prominent inscriptions on the mounted pieces read, “W. BOWEN FECIT 1767” and “R. GILPIN FECIT 1761.” Richard Gilpin was an independent founder from Southwark who produced brass artillery for the Royal Board of Ordnance and for commercial fleets merchanting in the New World. William Bowen operated under a similar trajectory, working as a contracted founder for the Royal Foundry throughout the mid-18th century.[5]
While these European founders share common backgrounds, institutional allegiances, and commercial markets, one anomalous piece in the rotunda disrupts this Eurocentric narrative. The third piece from the left at Surrender Field features a faint, almost illegible maker’s mark that reads: “R. ALLEN, NEW YORK FECIT.” This brief inscription offers minimal immediate context, leaving historians to investigate its origins. This raises critical questions: Was this howitzer manufactured directly in the American colonies? Was it cast for use by revolutionary separatists, or was it seized from a colonial foundry by occupying British forces? While an explicit manufacturing year is missing from the Allen gun, other material clues on the barrel provide the evidence necessary to form a historical conclusion.[6]
Deciphering the Crown: Royal Ciphers as Political Stamps
Many of the artillery pieces found at Yorktown feature a prominent “Royal Cipher.” These ciphers serve as complex political markers, as each reigning monarch selected a unique, stylized monogram to be stamped onto ordnance manufactured during their rule. Despite this autonomy, successive rulers frequently modeled their favored emblems closely after their predecessors, making precise identification a matter of reading minute visual variations. Fortunately, the cipher emblazoned upon the R. Allen howitzer provides a clear path to identification.[7]
The Allen gun displays a royal crown positioned above the stylized, intertwining cursive letters “GR.” A closer inspection reveals the numeral “2” intertwined from the left side of the monogram. Stamping “GR”—abbreviating Georgius Rex, Latin for King George—identifies this as the royal cipher of King George II of England. This evidence confirms that the howitzer was manufactured during his reign, between 1727 and 1760. Consequently, the gun’s production significantly predates the outbreak of the American Revolution, matching a recurring theme of military recycling seen across the Surrender Field collection.[8]
Fascinatingly, the collection also features a rare cannon displaying dual ciphers. This piece bears the monogram of King George III—indicated by the stylized “GR” intertwined with the numeral “3”—alongside a distinct heraldic mark near the chase of the barrel. This secondary marking represents the Master General of the Ordnance, the administrative head of the Board of Ordnance. The crown at the peak of this cipher features a stylized feather motif instead of a traditional royal cross, confirming its institutional rather than sovereign origin. Directly below this emblem rests a cursive letter “L,” a telltale sign indicating that the cannon was cast during the tenure of Field Marshal John Ligonier, 1st Earl Ligonier. This dual iconography demonstrates that the piece was part of a specialized production run directly funded and vetted by the high offices of the British Crown.[9]
Heraldry on the Frontlines: Coats of Arms and Personal Investments
Among the most visually compelling elements of the Surrender Field artillery are the elaborate coats of arms cast into the metal barrels. One notable howitzer displays dual heraldic carvings positioned at the top and bottom of the breech. The primary emblem features a sovereign crown, an intricately quartered shield, and two distinct mottos: “HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE” and “DIEU ET MON DROIT.” While these heraldic traditions are foreign to modern American audiences, an 18th-century observer would immediately recognize this composition as the Royal Arms of Great Britain.[10]
During the Georgian era, the British Royal Arms were systematically quartered to reflect the geopolitical territories claimed by the Hanoverian monarchs. On this 1740 piece, cast during the reign of King George II, the top-left quarter displays the lions passant guardant, representing England and Scotland. The top-right quarter features the Fleur-de-lis, symbolizing Britain’s historical, ongoing claim to the French throne. The bottom-left quarter depicts a Celtic harp, representing Ireland. The final quarter, in the bottom-right, showcases the complex heraldic icons of the Electorate of Hanover, centered around the crown of the Holy Roman Empire.[11]
The Anglo-Norman inscription circling the shield, “HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE” (“Shame on anyone who thinks evil of it”), serves as the historic motto of the Order of the Garter—England’s highest order of chivalry dedicated to Saint George. Historically, this phrase was used by King Edward III to defend his controversial claims to French territory. Meanwhile, the baseline motto, “DIEU ET MON DROIT” (“God and my right”), represents the guiding principle of the British Royal Family, asserting that the monarch’s right to rule was derived directly from divine authority.[12]
Beyond royal iconography, the collection preserves the armorial bearings of high-ranking military bureaucrats. One exceptional cannon features the personal coat of arms of the Sackville family, dated 1759. Positioned beneath the crest is a bold inscription reading: “HERE […] LORD GEORGE SACKVILLE […] & THE REST OF THE PRINCI[PAL] OFFICERS OF HIS MAJ[ESTY]’S ORDNANCE.” Lord George Germain-Sackville served as the British Secretary of State for the Colonies during the American Revolution. Tasked with managing the administrative and logistical strategy of the war, Sackville faced intense public criticism in London whenever British forces suffered tactical reversals in North America.[13]
Despite facing regular political opposition, Sackville remained a staunch hawk, voting to sustain military operations in the colonies even after receiving news of Cornwallis’s surrender at Yorktown. The presence of his family name and coat of arms on this cannon highlights his deep bureaucratic investment in the war. Furthermore, the family motto inscribed below the crest, “AUT NUNQUAM TENTES AUT PERFICE” (“Either do not attempt it, or complete it to perfection”), offers an intriguing glimpse into the unyielding administrative mindset that prolonged the global conflict.[14]
Similarly, the collection honors John Campbell, the 2nd Duke of Argyll, whose coat of arms is prominently displayed on the 1727 Schalch howitzer. Although Campbell died decades before the outbreak of the American Revolution, his heraldic presence at Yorktown underscores the longevity of 18th-century military material culture. A powerful advocate for the Acts of Union between England and Scotland, Campbell was appointed Commander-in-Chief of British Forces in Spain during the War of the Spanish Succession. His connection to this gun stems from his subsequent role as Master-General of the Ordnance during the weapon’s fabrication.
A parallel example of this logistical longevity is found on a 1740 howitzer bearing the coat of arms of John, 2nd Duke of Montagu, who also served as Master-General of the Ordnance. Together, these pieces offer undeniable physical proof that Great Britain routinely deployed its older, institutional arsenal to meet the escalating logistical demands of the American theater.[15]
Echoes of Empire: The Transnational Legacy of Yorktown’s Iron and Brass
The history encapsulated within the Yorktown artillery extends far beyond tactical utility on the battlefield. Each cannon and howitzer remains deeply imbued with the political emblems, personal identities, and ideological currents of the diverse individuals who manufactured and mobilized them. While these eleven surviving pieces do not represent every marginalized or everyday group involved in the conflict, interpreting the material culture at Surrender Field provides an invaluable glimpse into what early modern societies deemed worthy of preservation and prestige.[16]
Ultimately, these artifacts serve as enduring physical reminders that historical narratives are rarely monolithic; every object, like every individual, carries a distinct lineage. By situating these forgotten stories within the broader context of the Battle of Yorktown, this exhibit integrates local military history into a larger, transnational social tapestry, bridging the domestic struggles of the nascent United States with the global forces that shaped the Atlantic World.[17]
To fully appreciate the massive scale and intricate craftsmanship of these historic weapons, there is no substitute for experiencing them in person. Visitors are invited to step back in time and explore the preserved battlefields and the remarkable artillery collection firsthand at Colonial National Historical Park in Yorktown, Virginia. Come walk the historic grounds where the American Revolution was won and discover how these physical pieces of the past still connect us to our shared global history today.[18]
Notes
Thor Borresen, “The Markings of English Cannon Captured at Yorktown,” The Journal of the American Military Institute 3, no. 1 (Spring 1939): 58–61.
Ibid., 62.
Charles Trollope, “Brass Guns & Balchin’s Victory (1744): The Background to Their Casting,” Odyssey Marine Exploration Papers 15 (2010): 2–6.
By Alyssa Dozier, B.A. in History and Political Science, Christopher Newport University (’26), and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History, Christopher Newport University
The American Revolutionary War was fought from 1775 to 1783, ignited by colonial discontent over British taxation without political representation. This conflict remains a cornerstone of global history, as the American Patriots’ victory secured sovereign separation from the British Monarchy. This feat was remarkable given the Royal Navy’s notorious global dominance. Yet, the Americans did not accomplish this monumental task alone. Many scholars consider the American Revolution a truly global war due to the direct involvement of various European powers. This reality was recognized by the revolutionaries themselves; in 1777, American commissioners in Paris confidently proclaimed, “All Europe is for us.”[1]
While France’s formal alliance with the Continental Army is well known, an underacknowledged nation—though never a formal treaty ally—greatly swayed the war in favor of the United States. Utilizing maritime artifacts from The Mariners’ Museum and Park in Newport News, Virginia, this exhibition explores the crucial role of the Dutch Republic in the American Revolutionary War. It traces their motivations for countering British hegemony alongside their vital military, financial, and commercial contributions to the Patriot cause. Though the Dutch never signed a formal military alliance with America, a mutual enemy prompted a situational friendship that provided the colonists with vital funding, international legitimacy, clandestine military goods, and a crucial naval distraction.[2]
The Republic’s Reasoning
The Dutch entrance into the American Revolutionary War was highly complex, as the Dutch Republic initially claimed strict neutrality. In the opening years of the conflict, the United Provinces were ideologically fractured. Various aristocratic provinces aligned with Great Britain, while others rallied behind the American colonies and France. Because the Dutch had successfully revolted against their own Spanish rulers two centuries prior—spurred in part by unfair imperial taxation—many Dutch citizens felt a deep ideological affinity for the American revolutionaries.
Furthermore, immense economic incentives motivated merchants to cultivate ties with a budding American nation. However, the threat of British naval retaliation loomed large. Dutch leaders feared that overt support for the American rebels would collapse their delicate trade relationships with their powerful neighbor. Poking the British lion was a dangerous gamble given that the Dutch economy relied entirely on the free navigation of waterways, which were largely dominated by the British fleet. Consequently, paralyzed by domestic political divisions and lacking adequate naval defenses, the States General of the Dutch Republic officially proclaimed a policy of neutrality on March 20, 1775.[3]
The Diplomatic Tug-of-War
Though seemingly passive, this initial stance of neutrality ultimately worked to the Americans’ advantage. The Dutch United Provinces quickly became the center of a diplomatic tug-of-war, as Great Britain and France each sought to influence the Netherlands’ trade policies. To satisfy the British, the Dutch outwardly conceded to specific trade restrictions. Covertly, however, Dutch merchants engaged in secret negotiations with French agents and American revolutionaries, maintaining a private line of communication with the Continental Congress.
These secret rendezvous managed American logistics and strategic affairs, often facilitated by pro-American Dutch intermediaries such as Charles William Frederick Dumas. This clandestine network demonstrated the Patriots’ soft-power influence within the Dutch government. Conversely, Great Britain maintained highly active, overt agents in the Republic, led by Ambassador Sir Joseph Yorke, who was tasked with monitoring the Dutch state and enforcing neutrality. Growing suspicious of illicit trade, the British demanded stricter enforcement, including embargoes on arms exports to the Dutch West Indies and free passage for British troops through United Provinces territory.[4]
Yet, the Dutch refused to capitulate to all of Britain’s demands. They steadfastly kept their home ports open to American commercial vessels and blocked the deployment of the Scots Brigade—an elite mercenary unit under Dutch service—until they secured assurances that the troops would not be used to suppress the American colonies. The Dutch Republic walked a razor-thin line, maintaining a flimsy facade of neutrality while facilitating covert communications with American rebels right under the noses of British observers. The Republic conceded just enough to protect its merchant shipping and secure free navigation of the seas. However, Great Britain’s patience was wearing thin.[5]
King George III grew increasingly furious with the flimsiness of Dutch neutrality. He was particularly vexed by Dutch merchants violating international contraband laws by running supplies to the French, the Dutch West Indies, and the American mainland. Tensions exploded when France formally entered the war in 1778, prompting the Royal Navy to enact aggressive search-and-seizure tactics against Dutch merchantmen. When the Dutch Republic attempted to protect its ships by joining the League of Armed Neutrality in 1780, Great Britain immediately retaliated by declaring war. The outbreak of the Fourth Anglo-Dutch War effectively ended Dutch neutrality, forcing the Republic into an open, pro-American stance.[6]
Throwing Money at the Revolution
Throughout the war, the Continental Congress aggressively pursued foreign loans across Europe to prevent bankruptcy, though they initially met with little success. The Americans first targeted the wealthy financial markets of Amsterdam in 1776, using backchannels to gauge the interest of potential Dutch investors. Securing these loans was a matter of life or death for the rebellion; continental currency was experiencing hyperinflation, and previous French financial subsidies were rapidly dwindling. Highlighting the desperation of the era, John Adams wrote in the fall of 1778:
“The powers at war, or at the eve of war, have such vast demands, and offer terms so much better than ours, that nothing but sheer benevolence to our cause can induce any person to lend us.”[7]
Despite poor American credit and widespread fear of a Patriot collapse, the rebels persisted in their diplomatic charm offensive. As Anglo-Dutch commercial relations worsened and Dutch public opinion swung sharply in favor of the American cause, the financial gates finally opened. In 1782, John Adams successfully secured the first of several massive, low-interest sovereign loans from Dutch banking houses. This critical influx of hard capital sustained the American government through the war’s final stages and funded the early infrastructure of the new nation.[8]
Raiding the Redcoats: The Battle of Dogger Bank
The Fourth Anglo-Dutch War (1780–1784) was inextricably linked to the American Revolution, directly caused by Britain’s outrage over Dutch trade with the rebels. This side-conflict triggered naval engagements around the globe wherever British and Dutch colonial interests intersected. On August 5, 1781, the conflict culminated in the Battle of Dogger Bank in the North Sea—the primary fleet engagement between the two nations during the revolutionary era.
The battle was a brutal, three-and-a-half-hour slugfest that resulted in heavy casualties on both sides. It ended in a tactical stalemate; both fleets suffered such severe structural damage that they were rendered completely immobile, forcing the British to break off the engagement and withdraw. While the Dutch navy was not fighting directly on American soil, their resistance diverted vital British warships, sailors, and resources away from the American theater. By drawing the focus of the Royal Navy to the North Sea, the Dutch significantly degraded Britain’s capacity to suppress the rebellion in North America.[9]
The Mariners’ Museum collection preserves an original Dutch silver medallion struck to commemorate the Battle of Dogger Bank. The obverse offers a detailed stern view of both warring flagships amidst the smoke of combat, while the reverse depicts a rostral crown resting above a laurel wreath. The inscription proudly proclaims:
“Huzza! Britain abandons the sea! …Oh Batavians, God sustains your right; Zoutman, by his heroic valor, has restored the honor of the free flag, and overcome arrogance in this battle.”[10]
Exports and Legitimization
Commerce was the lifeblood of the Dutch Republic. During their initial period of neutrality, Dutch merchants capitalized on the conflict by running massive shipments of muskets, saltpeter, and lead to French and American agents. This contraband trade provided an indispensable lifeline for the rebellion. The sheer volume of Dutch provisions was staggering; records indicate that over the course of just two days in April 1776, an estimated 85,000 pounds of Dutch gunpowder were shipped to France for American use.
The epicenter of this illicit trade network was the Dutch Caribbean island of St. Eustatius. Positioned perfectly along Atlantic shipping lanes, this tiny free port allowed American vessels to easily exchange raw agricultural goods for manufactured military assets. This supply chain was critical in the early years of the war, keeping the Continental Army armed before domestic American manufacturing could be established. Observing this economic lifeline, John Adams wrote to Congress:
“From the success of several enterprises by the way of St. Eustatius it seems that the trade between the two countries [the United States and the United Provinces] is likely to increase, and possibly Congress may think it expedient to send a minister there.”[11]
Adams’s foresight highlighted how a shared commercial interest laid the groundwork for an enduring geopolitical friendship.[12]
The First Salute to the American Flag
Beyond supplying physical weapons, the Dutch Republic provided one of the earliest and most vital forms of international diplomatic recognition for the United States. This came in the form of a dramatic international scandal at the port of St. Eustatius. On November 16, 1776, the American brigantine Andrew Doria sailed into the Caribbean harbor flying the Grand Union flag of the Continental Congress. Under explicit orders from the Dutch governor, Johannes de Graaff, the cannons of Fort Oranje fired a formal, eleven-gun imperial salute to the American vessel.[13]
This symbolic act marked the first time a foreign power officially recognized a vessel belonging to the United States as a legitimate entity rather than a pirate ship. The British government responded with immediate outrage. In a fiery letter of protest to Ambassador Sir Joseph Yorke, the British Ministry condemned the salute as a:
“…flagrant insult offered to His Majesty’s colours, in the public honour paid by the principal Dutch fort [St. Eustatius] to a Rebel brigantine carrying the flag of the Rebel Congress.”[14]
Though local in execution, this salute carried massive global weight. It signaled to the world that the wealthy Dutch Republic viewed America as a sovereign, independent state, providing the revolutionary cause with its first taste of international legitimacy.[15]
Sovereignty Formed on the Seas: The Dutch Legacy in Early America
The Dutch Republic played a foundational role in the achievement of American independence, a historical truth that is often overshadowed by the narrative of French intervention. What began as a covert commercial enterprise evolved under British pressure into the Fourth Anglo-Dutch War, anchoring the Republic firmly to the American cause. From the strategic naval diversions in the North Sea and the illicit arms pipelines of St. Eustatius, to the vital financial credit of Amsterdam and the symbolic roar of the cannons at Fort Oranje, Dutch aid was woven into the fabric of the American victory.
As the United States honors the 250th anniversary of its independence, it is essential to look beyond its borders and appreciate the global network of friends that shaped early American history. This legacy of international cooperation secured American sovereignty and continues to influence geopolitical alliances today. To truly understand the modern United States, one must acknowledge the international friends who stepped forward to support a fragile rebellion. To explore these maritime narratives and view the physical artifacts of the Revolutionary War firsthand, visitors are encouraged to tour the galleries at The Mariners’ Museum and Park in Newport News, Virginia.
About the Author
Alyssa Dozier, Class of 2026, graduated with a double major in History and Political Science within the President’s Leadership Program and Honors Program at Christopher Newport University. A decorated student-athlete, Alyssa served as a three-year Captain of the CNU Women’s Varsity Volleyball team, earning First-Team Academic All-American honors in 2023 and 2024. She developed this gallery script as part of a public history partnership and intends to pursue a career teaching high school history and political science while coaching varsity athletics.
Notes
Friedrich Edler, The Dutch Republic and the American Revolution (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press, 1911), 8.
Gabriel Paquette and Gonzalo M. Quintero Saravia, eds., Spain and the American Revolution: New Approaches and Perspectives (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2022), 8–14.
Andrew Jackson O’Shaughnessy, John A. Ragosta, and Marie-Jeanne Rossignol, eds., European Friends of the American Revolution (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2023), 67–75; see also Edler, The Dutch Republic, 14–20.
O’Shaughnessy, Ragosta, and Rossignol, European Friends, 70–81; Edler, The Dutch Republic, 16–26.
O’Shaughnessy, Ragosta, and Rossignol, European Friends, 73–88; Edler, The Dutch Republic, 16–35.
Edler, The Dutch Republic, 20–71.
Cited in Edler, The Dutch Republic, 77.
Edler, The Dutch Republic, 68–170.
Material Culture Reference Files, “Medallion Commemorating the Battle of Dogger Bank, August 5th, 1781,” CL3808, The Mariners’ Museum and Park, Newport News, Virginia.
By Annika Erickson B.A. in History, Christopher Newport University (’25), and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History, Christopher Newport University
The foundations of the United States were built on the choices of ordinary communities seeking the freedom to govern themselves. While history textbooks often focus on a small group of famous leaders, the real story of the American Revolution is found in local towns and counties. Gloucester County, Virginia, is a perfect example of how regular citizens stepped up to challenge an empire. By looking closely at the historic buildings, battlefields, and objects left behind on this peninsula, we can see how everyday people transformed from loyal British subjects into active revolutionaries. This exhibition traces Gloucester’s journey from early, peaceful protests in 1774 to the final military victories of 1781, demonstrating that American independence was won by communities of ordinary citizens.[1]
Legal Defiance: The Historic Gloucester Courthouse and the Resolves of 1774
Gloucester’s revolutionary story began inside its courthouse, built in 1766. Standing today as one of the oldest and best-preserved brick courthouses in the United States, the building originally handled everyday legal matters, such as property disputes and civil trials. However, as tensions with Great Britain grew over unfair taxes, this courtroom turned into a hotspot for political protest. Whispers of resistance quickly turned into organized legal action as local leaders decided to stand up to British rule.[2]
By the summer and fall of 1774, British trade restrictions pushed the colonies to unite. While northern cities like Boston chose to protest with dramatic gestures—like the Boston Tea Party in 1773—the citizens of Gloucester used the legal system to demand change. On November 7, 1774, local residents formally issued the Gloucester Resolves following a series of community meetings. This document listed their complaints against the King and Parliament, spoke out against taxation without representation, and promised to support northern ports blockaded by British ships. This bold move permanently changed the county’s political landscape, turning a royal courtroom into a center for national rebellion.[3]
Whispers of Liberty: The Historic Tavern as a Center for Political Exchange
Around 1773 to 1775, a large wooden tavern was constructed right next to the courthouse square. Its goal was to give people traveling to court a place to eat, drink, and sleep for the night. In colonial Virginia, taverns were vital communication networks where people shared news, debated politics, and organized resistance. Because Gloucester’s tavern was so close to the courthouse, it was the perfect place for radical ideas to spread. The building, which today houses the Gloucester Museum of History, shows how people lived in the 1700s, featuring a large open room on the second floor used for public meetings, evening dances, and communal sleeping.[4]
While wealthy local leaders debated strategy over drinks in these rooms, the tavern also highlighted the harsh contradictions of early American freedom. Tax and property records show that enslaved African Americans performed the difficult daily work needed to run the business. Working so closely to the tavern’s guests, these individuals routinely overheard passionate debates about natural rights and liberty while remaining legally trapped in slavery. The tavern was a place where different parts of colonial society crossed paths, proving that the daily experience of the Revolution touched everyone’s lives.[5]
Climax at the Peninsula: The Battle of the Hook and Cavalry Warfare
As the Revolutionary War entered its final stages, the fighting arrived right on Gloucester’s doorstep. Because Gloucester Point sat on a highly strategic peninsula directly across the river from Yorktown, British forces seized the area to protect their position and secure an escape route. On October 3, 1781, a fierce battle took place on Gloucester soil, shattering British defense plans. Known as the Battle of the Hook, it was the largest cavalry action of the American Revolution, happening just weeks before the famous British surrender.[6]
The clash brought some of the war’s most famous military leaders face-to-face. Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton, an infamous British officer feared for his brutal and ruthless battlefield tactics, led the Crown forces. Opposing him was the French Duke of Lauzun, commanding a combined force of French cavalry and Virginia militia. British General Charles Cornwallis viewed the Gloucester peninsula as his army’s only escape route, making a victory here absolutely necessary. After a fierce, fast-moving cavalry charge, the allied French and American forces routed Tarleton’s troops. This victory blocked Cornwallis’s final path of retreat, setting the stage for the historic siege at Yorktown.[7]
Immediately after the battle, the local community stepped up to take care of the wounded. Abingdon Parish Church, built in the 1750s, was quickly turned into a military field hospital for wounded American and French soldiers. This rapid change turned a quiet colonial house of worship into a hectic center for emergency medical care. The adaptation of Abingdon Parish shows how completely Gloucester mobilized its local resources, standing as a sharp reminder of the high human cost of independence.[8]
The Overlooked Defeat: General Washington’s Surrender Orders on the Peninsula
Most history textbooks mark October 19, 1781, as the end of the war, focusing entirely on the famous British surrender ceremony across the river at Yorktown. While iconic paintings depict the American and French armies’ victory lines on the south side of the York River, a parallel surrender occurred at the same time on the Gloucester peninsula. Following the allied victory at the Hook, General George Washington issued separate, explicit surrender instructions for the trapped British troops at Gloucester Point.[9]
During this secondary operation, about 900 British soldiers, German mercenaries, and Loyalist allies marched out of the Gloucester forts to give up their weapons. Notably absent from the ranks was Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton. Terrified of facing the local population due to his reputation, Tarleton hid inside the allied lines, officially claiming that “his life might be endangered if he [surrendered] to the militia.” This secondary surrender completed the entrapment of the British forces, proving that controlling Gloucester County was a missing piece to the ultimate American victory.[10]
Reading the Clues of Conflict: How Objects Help Us Tell the Story
The history of the American Revolution is rarely left behind in perfect paragraphs. Instead, historians and archaeologists must act like detectives, using physical artifacts to uncover what really happened. Physical objects provide concrete evidence of past human actions, helping fill gaps when letters and documents are missing. While the first part of this exhibit looked at large structures like courthouses and taverns, this second section looks at small, portable objects found in the local landscape. These small items offer undeniable proof of the international alliances and military realities that shaped early America.[11]
Silver Spanish Coins
The Continental Army relied heavily on foreign help to keep fighting. One of the most important European powers to support the American cause was Spain. Driven by a desire to weaken Great Britain’s global power and avenge earlier defeats, Spain teamed up with France to funnel resources directly to the American rebels. In addition to fighting British forces in the west, the Spanish government provided large financial loans and shipped critical weapons, gunpowder, and hard cash directly to the United States.[12]
Direct evidence of this global money trail was found during archaeological digs at the Battle of the Hook site, where researchers uncovered broken silver Spanish coins, known as reals. The state of these coins tells us a lot about colonial life; because cash was incredibly scarce, people routinely cut silver coins into precise fractions to make everyday change. Finding these cut-up coins at a Gloucester battle site proves that Spanish silver had entered the local wartime economy. It shows that regional independence was won through a global network of financial and military cooperation. Without these small pieces of silver, the international scale of the American war effort would be much harder to see.[13]
Tarleton’s British Legion Insignias
Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton remains one of the most controversial and aggressive commanders of the war. He relied heavily on psychological warfare and terrifying, fast-moving cavalry charges to break the spirit of local forces. Stories of his harsh tactics spread rapidly through the colonies, giving rise to the dark, lasting reputation captured in local lore and period propaganda. Raised as the son of a wealthy sugar merchant in Liverpool, Tarleton bought his way into the military and volunteered for service in North America to make a name for himself outside his father’s shadow.[14]
Among the military artifacts recovered from the Gloucester battlefield are original pewter and brass uniform insignias belonging to Tarleton’s British Legion. Raised in New York in 1778, this unique unit of local loyalists, popularly known as “Tarleton’s Dragoons,” was a terrifying opponent on the battlefield. Soldiers wore these insignias pinned to their leather caps so they could identify their regiments during fast-moving battles. Finding these badges at the Hook battle site provides historians with solid evidence of the unit’s movements, turning a simple piece of uniform hardware into a vital tool for verifying firsthand accounts of the battle.[15]
Step Out of the Gallery and Into History
The buildings, battlefields, and artifacts of Gloucester County demonstrate that achieving American independence was a deeply local process driven by ordinary communities. From the legal defiance of the Gloucester Resolves to the decisive cavalry charges at the Hook, the actions of everyday citizens and international allies directly caused the collapse of British power in Virginia. By studying these tangible remnants of the past, we can look past the romanticized legends of the war and discover the real human choices that forged a new nation.[16]
To explore these artifacts further and experience this local history in person, you are invited to visit the public galleries at the Gloucester Museum of History (https://www.gloucesterva.gov/museum-of-history), located right inside the historic tavern building. Walking through these preserved spaces and viewing the items recovered from local battlefields allows modern museum-goers to step directly into the landscape of the Revolution and connect with the living history of the tidewater community.[17]
Acknowledgements
This exhibit was created as a collaborative public history project by the Gloucester Museum of History, the Department of History, and the Public History Center of Christopher Newport University. The Gloucester Museum of History preserves and shares the rich historical legacy of Gloucester County. While some of the artifacts analyzed in this digital exhibition are kept in protective archival storage, selected items are featured in a new second-floor gallery installation. This research project was completed with the professional guidance of Robert Kelly, Director of the Gloucester Museum of History, who provided essential access to collections and expert historical oversight throughout the development process.
About the Author
Annika Erickson graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in History and dual minors in Leadership and Museum Studies from Christopher Newport University. She developed this virtual exhibition as a formal service-learning project in partnership with the Gloucester Museum of History and CNU’s Public History Center. During her undergraduate career, Annika completed professional collections internships at both the Virginia Beach Surf & Rescue Museum and the Gloucester Museum of History, specializing in archival management, material culture research, and museum exhibition design. She intends to pursue a professional career in public history and heritage marketing.
Notes
Martha W. McCartney, With Reverence for the Past: Gloucester County, Virginia (Richmond: Dietz Press, 2001), 88.
Ibid., 88–90.
Gloucester-Mathews Gazette-Journal, “1774 Gloucester County Resolves Sunday,” July 10, 2024; see also Laurie O’Neill, The Boston Tea Party (Millbrook Press, 1996), 9.
McCartney, With Reverence for the Past, 109.
Ibid., 110–112.
Thomas T. Wiatt, The Hook: The Battle that Made American Independence Possible (Brisbane: Limelight Publishing, 2025), 7.
Wade P. Catts et al., “No Regular Corps Could Have Maintained Its Ground More Firmly” (Newark: South River Consulting, LLC, 2021), 119.
Ibid., 122.
Ibid., 86.
Ibid., 87–88.
Ibid., 140–145.
Anthony McFarlane, “The American Revolution and Spanish America, 1776 – 1814,” in Spain and the American Revolution, ed. Gabriel Paquette and Gonzalo M. Quintero Saravia (Abingdon: Routledge, 2020), 38.
Ibid., 39–42.
Anthony John Scotti Jr., “Brutal Virtue: The Myth and Reality of Banastre Tarleton” (PhD diss., University of South Carolina, 1995), 11–25; see also Wiatt, The Hook, 15.
W.Y. Carman, “Banastre Tarleton and the British Legion,” Journal of the Society for Army Historical Research 62, no. 251 (1984): 128.
By Juliana Varsalona, B.A. in History, Christopher Newport University, Class of 2025 and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History, Christopher Newport University
Wars are won or lost as much by supply wagons as by battlefield tactics. When the American Revolutionary War erupted in 1775 at the Battles of Lexington and Concord, the newly formed Continental Congress faced a staggering challenge: it had to build a new nation and equip a brand-new army at the exact same time. For General George Washington, one of the most agonizing struggles of the war was simply finding enough food to keep his soldiers alive. Operating without established supply lines, the Continental Army routinely faced broken transportation networks, empty bank accounts, and brutal winter weather that left troops on the brink of starvation. This digital exhibit explores how early Americans struggled to feed their army, looks inside the desperate winter encampment at Valley Forge, and honors the frontline cooks and laborers who fueled the fight for American independence.[1]
The Logistics of Supply: The Commissary Department
At the start of the Revolution, the colonies lacked a centralized system to provide food or clothing. Instead, individual New England towns had to gather supplies from local family barns to feed nearby militias. Realizing this makeshift support could not sustain a long war, the Continental Congress created an official “Commissary Department” on July 19, 1775. Congress appointed a merchant named Joseph Trumbull as the first Commissary General, charging him with purchasing and distributing rations for the entire army. However, state rivalries, poor roads, and food hoarding made deliveries highly unpredictable.[2]
The system broke down completely in the summer of 1777 when Trumbull resigned after political arguments with Congress. In the Middle Department—the vital theater covering New Jersey and Pennsylvania—food distribution collapsed under the new agent, Carpenter Wharton. The job of feeding thousands of mobile men proved too immense for one person. In March 1777, a congressional committee investigated the department, found Wharton guilty of financial mismanagement, and fired him.[3]
Joseph Trumbull, “Printmakers include Asher B. Durand, Henry Bryan Hall, Albert Rosenthal and Max Rosenthal. Draughtsmen include David McNeely Stauffer,” New York Public Library‘s Digital Library, ID 6abb1cd0-c605-012f-823a-58d385a7bc34.
To rescue the supply lines, Congress split up responsibilities by region. They appointed William Buchanan as the new overseer in August 1777, who then selected Deputy Commissary Ephraim Blaine to manage food collection across Delaware, Maryland, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and parts of New York.[4] To protect soldiers from sudden food shortages, field assistants like John Chanoner and James White marched directly alongside Washington’s troops. These agents acted as a live human link between civilian farms and the fighting front.[5]
The Grand Forage of 1778: Managing the Crisis at Valley Forge
The deep cracks in the supply system collided with disaster during the winter of 1777–1778 at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. Washington chose this location for strategic reasons: it was close enough to British-occupied Philadelphia to monitor enemy movements, yet easily defendable. But without reliable supply routes, the camp quickly turned into a humanitarian crisis. By late December, Washington warned Congress that the army was facing total collapse due to administrative failures, writing:
“Since the month of July, we have had no assistance from the Quartermaster General, and in want of assistance from this department, the Commissary General charges a great part of his deficiency.”— General George Washington, December 1777 [6]
Fearing his army would dissolve before spring, Washington ordered a massive emergency mission known to history as the Grand Forage of 1778.[7]
For nearly six weeks, Washington sent 150 to 200 of his remaining able-bodied soldiers on an expedition sweeping through southeastern Pennsylvania, southern New Jersey, Delaware, and northeastern Maryland. Their mission was to seize cattle, livestock, grain, and flour from local farms to keep the garrison alive. Letters written by supply officers at Valley Forge reveal just how desperate the situation had become. On January 20, 1778, Deputy Commissary Ephraim Blaine wrote to Washington, begging him to cut standard food portions to stretch their disappearing reserves:
“May it please your Excellency—The vast daily consumption of beef and the appearance of want of that articles induces me to present your excellency with the under mentioned queries—which if approved of may be of great service to the public—Qu. 1 would not a reduction of the rations of beef to the soldietry [sic] be a great service to the publick, suppose the ration 1 ½ flour or bread 12 ounces beef or pork, and one gill of whiskey… Flour is plenty and whiskey may be procured to supply the army, and without great assistance from the Southern and Eastern departments it will be impossible to procure beef”— Ephraim Blaine to George Washington, January 20, 1778 [8]
That same day, Blaine wrote a frantic letter to his boss, William Buchanan, warning that regional supply agents had run completely out of cash, meaning local farmers refused to sell to them:
“Sir, The vast expense in supplying the army makes the demand of cash in our department very great I made a distribution of 208 thousand dollars which was but a mere trifle among them, half my assistant purchases are not above one fourth paid they complain the want of cash is a great injury in their purchases… Indeed this is a very heavy complaint… wou’d request you to procure an order for three hundred thousand dollars and without delay forward me 250 of it, I am this moment without one shilling… those reasons with sundry others have determined me upon quitting the service…”— Ephraim Blaine to William Buchanan, January 20, 1778 [9]
NPS Photo, Hannah Till portrayed by Park Ranger Ajena C. Rogers.
The Labor of the Camp: Hannah Till and Paid Staff
While ordinary soldiers cooked their own meals in small outdoor squads, high-ranking officers relied on a dedicated staff of laborers, cooks, and artisans to run their headquarters and manage daily cooking. The life of Hannah Till provides a powerful window into the complex labor dynamics that sustained the army’s leadership.[10]
Born into bondage around 1721, Hannah Till was an enslaved woman owned by Reverend John Mason of New York. During the war, she was leased out as a cook, eventually working directly for General George Washington. However, unlike many workers at the time, Till successfully negotiated a contract during her service that allowed her to earn wages to purchase her freedom.[11]
Alongside her husband Isaac, Till managed the bustling fireplace kitchen inside the Isaac Potts House, Washington’s official headquarters at Valley Forge.[12] Working under grueling wartime conditions, Hannah and Isaac carefully saved their earnings and fully paid off their self-purchase agreements by 1780. Even after winning her liberation, Till chose to stay with Washington’s staff—and later General Lafayette’s—for the remainder of the war as a paid pastry cook, marking a remarkable personal transition from forced labor to self-determined, paid employment.[13]
Revolutionary Rations and Daily Reality
In 1775, the Continental Congress set a standard daily ration that every enlisted soldier was legally supposed to receive:
“One pound of fresh beef, or ¾ of a pound of Pork, or one pound of Salt Fish, pr diem. One pound of Bread, or Flour pr diem. Three pints of Peas, or Beans pr Week, or Vegetables equivalent… One pint of milk pr Man, pr diem, when to be had. One half pint of Rice, or one pint of Indian meal pr Man, pr Week. One quart of Spruce Beer per man, pr diem…” [14]
In reality, these items rarely reached the soldiers. By 1776, supply delays were so frequent that Washington ordered all troops to carry at least two days of provisions in their bags at all times so they wouldn’t starve during an emergency. If baked bread could not be delivered, soldiers received raw flour, which they mixed with water and baked on hot rocks over open campfires to create “firecakes.”[15]
Depiction of Continental soldiers’ daily rations, including the notorious hard bread. Photo by author, taken at the American Revolution Museum at Yorktown encampment, April 2025.
The food soldiers did manage to find was often terrible or hazardous to their health. In his famous wartime diary, Private Joseph Plumb Martin remembered the dental hazards of eating “hardtack” biscuits during the 1776 campaign:
“We marched a short distance when he halted to refresh ourselves. Whether we had any other victuals besides hard bread I do not remember. I do remember my gnawing at the bread. It was hard enough to break the teeth of a rat.”— Private Joseph Plumb Martin, 1776 [16]
Similarly, Samuel Dewees of the 11th Pennsylvania Regiment remembered how terrible nutritional deficiencies made the soldiers sick:
“…sometimes we had one biscuit and herring per day, and often neither the one nor the other…a biscuit and a herring each day, the soldiers lived until their mouths broke out with scabs, and their throats became as sore and raw as a piece of uncooked meat.”–Samuel Dewees, 11th Pennsylvania Regiment [17]
To survive these shortages, the army relied heavily on “camp followers”—the wives, mothers, and daughters of enlisted men who marched alongside the troops. These women ran makeshift outdoor kitchens, butchered animals, and managed tight ration portions to stretch every single ingredient as far as possible.[18]
Starving for Liberty
The history of the American Revolution proves that administrative endurance is just as vital to victory as battlefield strategy. The fight for independence was won not only by generals drawing maps, but by the daily labor of supply officers, regional farmers, and camp cooks who kept the army fed under near-impossible conditions. Looking at the evolution of the supply system, from the dark days of Valley Forge to an organized national rationing system, reveals the true human cost of building early America.[19]
To explore these historical artifacts and experience the reality of Revolutionary camp life firsthand, visitors are invited to view the public exhibitions and step inside the live, interactive military encampments at the Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation museums in Williamsburg and Yorktown, Virginia (https://www.jyfmuseums.org/). By walking among the tents and engaging with the period’s material history, modern audiences can truly appreciate the physical sacrifices required to lay the foundations of American liberty.[20]
Notes
[1] Joseph Boyle, My Last Shift Betwixt Us & Death: The Ephraim Blaine Letterbook 1777-1778 (Westminster, MD: Heritage Books Inc., 2016), v.
[2] Erna Risch, Supplying Washington’s Army (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, U.S. Army, 1981), 8–12.
[3] Journals of the Continental Congress, 1774-1789, vol. 8 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1907), 500–501.
[4] Boyle, The Ephraim Blaine Letterbook, v–ix.
[5] Ibid., xi.
[6] George Washington to the President of Congress, December 23, 1777, in The Writings of George Washington, ed. Worthington Chauncey Ford (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1890), 6:255.
[7] Boyle, The Ephraim Blaine Letterbook, x.
[8] Ephraim Blaine to George Washington, January 20, 1778, in Boyle, The Ephraim Blaine Letterbook, 96.
[9] Ephraim Blaine to William Buchanan, January 20, 1778, in Boyle, The Ephraim Blaine Letterbook, 96–97.
[10] Ricardo A. Herrera, Feeding Washington’s Army: Surviving the Valley Forge Winter of 1778 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2023), 88–91.
[16] Joseph Plumb Martin, A Narrative of a Revolutionary Soldier: Some of the Adventures, Dangers, and Sufferings of Joseph Plumb Martin (New York: Signet Classics, 2001), 16–17.
[17] Quoted in Backus, “Getting Food in the Continental Army.”
[18] Herrera, Feeding Washington’s Army, 1–4.
[19] Risch, Supplying Washington’s Army, 28–32.
[20] On-site living history interpretation guidelines, Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation Educational Materials, https://www.jyfmuseums.org/.
Anna Lynn Thornsberry, B.A. in History, Christopher Newport University
Sheri Shuck-Hall, Ph.D., Professor of History, Christopher Newport University
World War I, known as the Great War—the war to end all wars—was an unprecedented international conflict. Beginning in 1914, the war pitted the Allied and Central Powers against each other with shocking numbers of casualties, both military and civilian. The United States entered the war in 1917, and it was Newport News, Virginia that boomed and expanded because of this global battle. The city was strategically situated; it had a large harbor, excellent rail transportation, and a suitable shipbuilding facility. The government therefore purchased land to build military training facilities in Newport News, one named Camp Eustis.[1]
Building a Balloon School at Camp Eustis
With no immediate end to World War I in sight, the U.S. government created Camp Eustis, named after General Abraham Eustis, a veteran of the War of 1812 who founded the Artillery School of Practice at Fort Monroe. When choosing the land, location was an important factor in the government’s decision; it had to be close to Fort Monroe and possess qualities that could safeguard national defense. They eventually purchased Mulberry Island to transform into Camp Eustis. Mulberry Island attracted the government because of its proximity to the Warwick and James Rivers. It was the only location that had land and water access, which allowed for the men to train in surveillance over both—a rare and unique quality. The camp also had access to rail, the Lee Hall Train Depot (build in 1883), which was part of the C&O Railway on the peninsula.[2]
Camp Eustis accommodated over 20,000 soldiers, who trained regularly, learned a variety of skills, and then left for the Western Front at the Point of Embarkation nearby. The main purpose of building the camp was for an artillery firing range and training schools, including the Army Air Service Balloon Observation School, later named the Lee Hall Balloon School due to the camp’s proximity to Lee Hall Mansion and the surrounding village. Coincidentally, Lee Hall was home to one of the first observation balloon launches. During the Civil War, a hot air balloon was launched by Confederate forces on the land between Lee Hall and Wynne’s Mill.[3]
Site of the first hot air balloon observation launch at Lee Hall Mansion. Visitors to the site today can see the spot from the grounds. Anna Lynn Thornsberry, November 2021.
The Lee Hall Balloon School, founded in 1918, taught soldiers balloon observation and artillery skills. Little did they know that the war would end later that year. While the balloon school stayed open for a few more years, it eventually closed in the 1920s. Despite its short-lived time as a balloon school, Camp Eustis, renamed Fort Eustis in 1923, would go on to be a central part of Newport News and would have a significant impact on the United States Army Air Service and Transportation during World War II and the ensuing Cold War.[4]
A group of Lee Hall Balloon School students pose for a picture. One student is reading Current History, a magazine started in World War I that provided in-depth coverage of the war. Group picture. 1918. Photograph. Virginia War Museum.The cooks of the 22nd Balloon Company pose with the turkeys they are preparing for Thanksgiving dinner. Thanksgiving-1918. 1918. Photograph. Virginia War Museum.
Wartime Balloons
America’s first manned hot air hydrogen gas balloon flight launched from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in 1793. Hot air balloons became a significant part of reconnaissance when the Union and the Confederacy used them for surveillance during the American Civil War. By World War I, technology had advanced, and balloons (commonly known as dirigibles, or rigid airships like the German Zeppelins) had even more versatility. The use of aircraft for military purposes such as bombing, strafing, and observation of enemy movements grew in popularity, beginning with the Wright brother’s first flight in 1903 to the first use of fighter planes in World War I. Aerial balloon observation found its place in the war for its ability to be a mobile observation station from a substantial height that could be taken to and used on the battlefield. The observations provided insight into the condition of the battlefield and could help commanders be aware of their current situation. Observation balloons could also be used to gain a general understanding of what artillery firing had occurred during the battle. In the right weather conditions, these balloons would take two men up so that they could record their findings and report them back to their commanders. Below are three images are taken from the Lee Hall Balloon School during observation.[5]
Aerial Observation Picture-Wooded area. 1918. Photograph. Virginia War Museum.Aerial Observation Picture-Town. 1918. Photograph. Virginia War Museum.Aerial Observation Picture-City. 1918. Photograph. Virginia War Museum.
During World War I, aerial observation started moving away from using hot air balloons and instead began to favor kite balloons. A kite balloon is a long cylindrical balloon, with two rounded ends. An airbag inside the balloon, called a ballonet, fills it with gas and helps to maintain its shape. Captive balloons, which are balloons tethered to the ground, sit at a thirty-to-forty-degree angle from the ground. Like a kite, they face the wind at a diagonal, which is how they got their name. Balloon observers would be stationed in the cage, which was a basket that hung underneath the balloon made from woven willow and bamboo. At the rear end of the balloon and on both sides, sails prevented the tail from dragging the balloon down, and kept it stable.[6]
A Lee Hall Balloon School soldier stands inside a partially inflated kite balloon. Inside the balloon. 1918. Photograph. Virginia War Museum.
The crew for a kite balloon included a balloon officer, pilot, officer in charge, commander to the ground station, and a ground crew. The balloon officer was the man stationed in the car of the balloon and was responsible for taking the reports of what he observed. The pilot of the car squad helped with the installation and maintenance of the telephone line and other equipment. He also assisted the balloon officer. The officer in charge supervised and instructed the workers on the balloon, and the commander of the ground station led the men of the ground crew. This group consisted of at least forty-five men—eight groups with five men and one leader. They were divided up, and each group was responsible for the balloon, the car, or the mooring cables, which kept the balloon connected to the ground.[7]
The balloon officer and observer faced many challenges as they were responsible for making the report. Many obstacles made it difficult for them to see clearly or led them to misinterpret the scene, which could cost many soldiers’ lives. Moreover, a wooded area with many trees prevented the observer from getting a clear view of the ground. He also had to worry about the position of the sun. Ideally, the sun would be located behind the observer to avoid a backlit picture. Dust and smoke, as well as other dark backgrounds, made it difficult to see. Even if the view was clear, troops that were well-hidden or not moving could be very difficult to spot. Below is an image of the grounds crew standing ready next to a kite balloon.[8]
The crew of a kite balloon stand ready and at attention. Ground crew and kite balloon. 1918. Photograph. Virginia War Museum.
The Lee Hall Balloon School was one of only three schools of its kind. Of these three, Lee Hall was the only one to offer land and water observation training. Neither balloon observation nor artillery firing was a new concept. Yet Lee Hall Balloon School was the first to combine them. Students at the Lee Hall Balloon School also became familiar with using the Holt tractor. Holt tractors were used to carry heavy loads of artillery and ammunition that would originally take twelve horses to manage. By the time the war ended, thousands of Holt tractors were used by Allied forces, including those at the Lee Hall Balloon School. Pictures taken in 1918, such as the one below, show the soldiers using this piece of equipment. One of these tractors can be seen on display today at the Virginia War Museum.[9]
Holt tractor. 1918. Photograph. Virginia War Museum.
Legacies
World War I and the creation of Camp Eustis played a significant part in the expansion of Newport News, but the city’s progress did not come without sacrifices on the part of the community. Out of all the land purchased by the government for the formation of training camps, none displaced as many families as Camp Eustis. The government purchased 5,672 acres of land on Mulberry Island for $538,000. This displaced 200 families, the majority of whom were African Americans. In 1918, roughly sixty percent of the land on Mulberry Island was owned by African American families. The government gave the people thirty days to move as much as they could from their homes. Unfortunately, many people were forced to leave their deceased loved ones behind as most of the families living on Mulberry Island had been there for generations and had created family gravesites. There are currently nine of these known abandoned gravesites. After construction of Camp Eustis began, the abandoned homes were used by the army for artillery training.[10]
Before World War I, Newport News was simply a small town in Virginia. However, the impact of the war would elevate Newport News to a modern city. In 1917, the rapid population growth required the government to provide better utilities, highways, and infrastructure to its citizens. Due to its location, Newport News became a massive point of embarkation, as thousands of soldiers were shipped off to Europe to fight in the war. The increased population and the need for more facilities led to job opportunities, and even more population growth. Eventually, as the numbers reached ten thousand, real estate prices doubled. World War I led to the construction of the first highway on the peninsula, which went from Fort Monroe to Newport News, and on to Richmond. In 1923, Camp Eustis became a permanent fixture of Newport News and changed its name to Fort Eustis. Embarkation, training schools, and the need for new infrastructure caused the population of the area to increase from 26,246 to 47,013 in only ten years. With the success of Camp Eustis and the Lee Hall Balloon School, Newport News transformed into the busy city we know today.[11]
Folks visiting Newport News or residents of Hampton Roads can all enjoy learning about the history of our city. To learn more about Camp Eustis and the Lee Hall Balloon School and view a real Holt Tractor, please stop by the Virginia War Museum.
Acknowledgements
We would like to give special thanks to Jerry Coggeshall, Registrar at the Virginia War Museum, and CNU History Alumnus, J. Michael Moore, Curator at Lee Hall and Historic Endview, who gave their time and expertise to this project, as well as Dr. Chris McDaid, Archaeologist/Cultural Resources Manager at Fort Eustis, who provided invaluable resources for this research. We also greatly appreciate these historical experts and practitioners who peer-reviewed this exhibit.
About the Author
Anna Lynn Thornsberry received her BA in history and museum studies at Christopher Newport University in 2023. She completed this exhibit as a service-learning project for the Virginia War Museum. She also interned at the Mariners’ Museum and currently works at the American Revolution Museum at Yorktown. She plans to pursue a career in museum education.
Notes
[1] John V. Quarstein and Parke Rouse, Newport News: A Centennial History (Newport News, VA: City of Newport News, 1996), 7-8, 87. For information on Newport News Shipbuilding and Huntington Ingalls Industries, see: ABOUT US – Company | HII
[2] Interview with J. Michael Moore, Lee Hall Mansion; N.a. “History of Fort Eustis.” Joint Base Langley-Eustis. United States of America Department of Defense. Accessed 20 September 2022, https://www.jble.af.mil/About-Us/Fort-Eustis-History/.
[3] Interview with J. Michael Moore, Lee Hall Mansion, Newport News, Virginia.
[4] Interview with J. Michael Moore, Lee Hall Mansion, Newport News, Virginia. For a concise history of Fort Eustis, see: History of Fort Eustis (af.mil)
[5] Interview with J. Michael Moore, Lee Hall Mansion; Emil Widmer, Military Observation Balloons (Captive and Free): A Complete Treatise on Their Manufacture, Equipment, Inspection, and Handling, with Special Instructions for the Training of a Field Balloon Company (New York: D. Van Nostrand Company, 1917), 80.
[6] Widmer, “Military Observation Balloons (Captive and Free): A Complete Treatise on Their Manufacture, Equipment, Inspection, and Handling, with Special Instructions for the Training of a Field Balloon Company,” 1-4; Lee Kennett, The First Air War 1914-1918, (New York: The Free Press, 1991), 6.
[9] N.a. “History of Fort Eustis,” Joint Base Langley-Eustis (United States of America Department of Defense), accessed 14 November 2021, https://www.jble.af.mil/About-Us/Fort-Eustis-History/; Artillery, Virginia War Museum.
[10] Pete Regan, Bound in a Brilliant Tide: The History of Mulberry Island, Virginia (Air Force Civil Engineer Center, U.S. Air Force), 32-34; n.a., “Approves Allotment for Balloon School,” The Evening Star, 26 August 1918, (accessed 17 November 2021).
[11] John V. Quarstein and Parke Rouse, “Newport News: A Centennial History,” 7-8, 88, 92, 94.
