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
During the eighteenth century, American women faced severe social and legal restrictions that limited their ability to publicly participate in the resistance against British imperial rule. Discouraged by societal norms from voicing political opinions, women engineered alternative methods to support the revolutionary cause. While traditional military histories often overlook their contributions, female patriots actively sustained the domestic and economic fronts of the conflict.
By leading boycotts on British imports, mobilizing community fundraising campaigns, managing seditious printing presses, and manufacturing essential military supplies, diverse groups of women throughout the Atlantic World converted traditional domestic spaces into battlegrounds for political resistance. This exhibit examines how white, enslaved Black, and Indigenous women in Virginia navigated oppressive legal frameworks to assert political agency and reshape the trajectory of the American Revolution.
Working within an Oppressive System: Eighteenth-Century Womanhood
The legal and social status of women in the early American colonies remained rigidly restrictive. Primarily confined to the domestic sphere, women faced societal expectations to find fulfillment exclusively in marriage, motherhood, and household management. While specific experiences varied significantly across lines of socioeconomic class, age, region, and race, the overarching educational framework for young women focused heavily on preparing them for matrimony. Curricula emphasized domestic crafts such as embroidery, which functioned as a public display of refined education, patience, and skill tailored for potential marriage prospects. Educational norms also discouraged women from engaging in public affairs or discussing political philosophy.[1]
Furthermore, the survival of historical documentation and material artifacts concerning eighteenth-century women remains highly uneven due to long-standing historiographical biases regarding whose records merited preservation. Under the English common law doctrine of coverture, a married woman possessed no legal identity independent of her husband; she could not own property, execute contracts, or initiate divorce proceedings.[2]
For African American women in the American South, the vast majority of whom endured chattel slavery, racial oppression compounded gender barriers, stripping them of virtually all legal and bodily autonomy. Because surviving documentation predominantly reflects the perspectives of elite, literate white women, a comprehensive analysis of the revolutionary era requires historians to interrogate a broader, more diverse spectrum of female experiences.[3]
The Power of the Purse: Consumption as Political Protest
The imposition of British imperial taxation throughout the 1760s and 1770s generated widespread resistance across the American colonies. Parliament passed legislation such as the Sugar Act of 1764, which disrupted the colonial molasses trade, and the Stamp Act of 1765, which levied taxes on legal documents and paper products, igniting broad revolutionary sentiment. The subsequent Townshend Acts placed duties on essential imported goods, including glass, paint, paper, and tea.
While disenfranchised from petitioning Parliament or participating in official legislative assemblies, colonial women leveraged their roles as primary household consumers to launch powerful counter-protests. By organizing consumer boycotts of British imports, women redirected household expenditures toward the domestic economy and altered transatlantic trade patterns.[4]
This capacity for political mobilization manifested clearly in local media reports. On November 3, 1774, the Virginia Gazette, published by Clementina Rind, informed the public of an unprecedented political demonstration in North Carolina. At the Edenton Tea Party, a political assembly of fifty-one women publicly signed a declaration of a total boycott of British tea and manufactured cloth. Rind reprinted the group’s manifesto alongside the names of every female signatory. This public declaration directly defied contemporary gender conventions, representing an overt, organized entry of women into the formal political sphere.[5]
Threads for Freedom: Domestic Production as Economic Warfare
Before the imperial crisis, spinning thread symbolized quiet, domestic femininity in colonial households. However, the non-importation movements transformed this traditional craft into a visible tool of economic resistance. To counter British textile tariffs, women organized “spinning bees,” converting communal social gatherings into productive manufacturing hubs. The domestic production of textiles became so central to female identity that the term “spinster”—originally a job title for unmarried women specializing in yarn production—became deeply embedded in the era’s legal and social vocabulary.[6]
In the Southern colonies, the dynamics of the homespun movement were deeply shaped by the institution of race-based chattel slavery. While wealthy white women in Virginia embraced homespun garments as symbols of political patriotism, elite plantation mistresses generally managed and delegated the physical labor rather than executing it themselves. Instead, enslaved women performed the grueling tasks of carding, spinning, and weaving the raw fiber into utilitarian fabrics. Consequently, textile production in the revolutionary South highlighted the starkly divergent realities of race and class—serving as a political statement for white elites while multiplying the forced labor burdens of enslaved Black women.[7]
Despite these labor disparities, homespun clothing emerged as a potent cultural symbol of public virtue. The Virginia Gazette celebrated this political shift following a formal ball hosted by the House of Burgesses in Williamsburg. Rather than wearing fashionable European imports, nearly one hundred upper-class women attended the gala in locally produced attire. The publication lauded the display, noting:
“…Ladies on this occasion, who, to the number of near one hundred, appeared in homespun gowns; a lively and striking instance of their acquiescence; and concurrence in whatever may be the true and essential interest of their country. It were to be wished that all assemblies of American ladies would exhibit a like example of public virtue and private economy, so amiably united.” — Virginia Gazette, December 14, 1769 [8]
Promoting and Organizing Female Patriots
Eighteenth-century newspapers served as the primary vehicles for information, community organizing, and ideological alignment across the Atlantic World. Following her husband’s death in 1773, Clementina Rind assumed control of the Williamsburg printing press, navigating the challenges of being a widow, a single mother, and the colony’s official public printer. Eighteenth-century newspapers served as the primary vehicles for information, community organizing, and ideological alignment across the Atlantic World. Following her husband’s death in 1773, Clementina Rind assumed control of the Williamsburg printing press, navigating the challenges of being a widow, a single mother, and the colony’s official public printer.[9]
Voted by the Virginia House of Burgesses to retain her position as the colony’s official printer, Rind utilized the Virginia Gazette to cultivate public support for the patriot cause. She frequently criticized British imperial policies and used her front page to rally female readers to action. For instance, on September 15, 1774, Rind published a prominent letter urging Virginian women to completely renounce the consumption of imported tea, leveraging her editorial power to expand female political activism on the eve of independence.
Enslaved Black Women and the Dual Struggle for Liberty
While white colonists campaigned for political independence from Great Britain, enslaved Black women waged a continuous, parallel battle for basic human emancipation from chattel slavery. Operating under a legal code that classified them as property, enslaved women exploited wartime disruptions to secure freedom for themselves and their families through escape, manumission petitions, and freedom suits.
In 1797, an enslaved woman named Ann Williams successfully sued her enslaver, Dr. James Craik, arguing that he had violated Virginia law by failing to take a mandatory statutory oath regarding the origin of persons brought into the commonwealth.[10] Williams won her case, achieving full legal liberation.
Other women leveraged the military conflict by escaping directly to British lines following Dunmore’s Proclamation of 1775, which promised freedom to any enslaved individuals who defected from rebel masters to aid the Crown. Among these freedom seekers was Mary Perth, who escaped to the British military outpost at Mile’s End along with her three daughters. Despite facing subsequent re-enslavement risks and wartime deprivation, Perth survived the conflict and evacuated with British loyalists to Nova Scotia, eventually establishing herself as a prominent landowner and businesswoman in Sierra Leone.[11]
Fundraising for Liberty: The Ladies Association
Women also provided direct material and financial assistance to the Continental Army through organized civic fundraising. Spearheaded by Esther de Berdt Reed in Pennsylvania, the Ladies Association formed to secure emergency funding for a severely depleted and under-resourced American military. Martha Washington actively joined the initiative, contributing $20,000 in Continental currency of her own funds and recruiting prominent Southern women, including Martha Wayles Skelton Jefferson, to lead regional chapters.[12]
The association raised over $300,000 in paper currency. Although Reed originally intended to distribute the cash donations directly to the soldiers, General George Washington requested that the funds be used to manufacture clothing instead. The women purchased linen and organized large-scale sewing circles, ultimately manufacturing and delivering over 2,200 shirts to the Continental troops by December 1780. This collective mobilization established an organizational model for future female-led charitable and political associations in the United States.[13]
Matrilineal Authority: Nanyehi and Cherokee Diplomacy
In stark contrast to the restrictive legal frameworks governing Euro-American women, Cherokee society operated on a matrilineal system that granted women significant political, economic, and diplomatic authority. Born in the Cherokee capital of Chota, Nanyehi (known to Euro-Americans as Nancy Ward) held the prestigious title of Ghigau, or “Beloved Woman.” This office granted her an influential voice in tribal councils, leadership over the Women’s Council, and the authority to determine the fate of prisoners of war.[14]
During the Revolutionary War, as the Cherokee Nation faced displacement and scorched-earth campaigns executed by colonial militias, Nanyehi advocated for diplomatic peace. She frequently released or protected white captives, which prompted the Virginia militia to spare her home village during retaliatory raids in 1776.[15] Addressing the Virginia treaty commissioners, Nanyehi emphasized the shared humanity of mothers across battle lines, declaring:
“This peace must last forever. Let your women’s sons be ours; your sons be ours. Let your women hear our words.” — Nanyehi (Nancy Ward) to the Virginia Treaty Commissioners, 1777
As the United States pressured the Cherokee Nation to assimilate into Western cultural norms during the early national period, federal officials actively discouraged women’s political leadership. In a 1796 address, George Washington encouraged the Cherokee people to abandon their traditional gender roles and adopt Western customs, urging Cherokee women to restrict themselves to domestic spinning and weaving.[16] Nanyehi remained the last traditional Beloved Woman of the Cherokee, representing a powerful legacy of female governance that stood in direct opposition to the patriarchal norms of the new American Republic.[17]
Redefining Liberty
The historical records of the American Revolution demonstrate that the struggle for freedom was not fought exclusively on conventional battlefields by male soldiers. As the distinct experiences of political organizers, enslaved laborers, widowed printers, and Indigenous leaders demonstrate, eighteenth-century women actively drove the social and economic currents of the war. By reinterpreting these narratives through the lens of material culture and documentary evidence, this exhibit moves beyond traditional military histories to reveal a more complex, transnational revolution—one where diverse women continuously challenged, adapted, and redefined the boundaries of liberty.
Experience the History Firsthand: To explore these artifacts and preserved historic landscapes, visitors are encouraged to experience this history in person. The galleries, living history sites, and educational exhibitions are open to the public at the Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation museums in Williamsburg and Yorktown, Virginia. By engaging directly with the physical spaces and material culture of the period, modern audiences can better appreciate how these historic women challenged contemporary limitations to forge their own paths toward freedom.
About the Author
Rosemary Johnson received her B.A. in History with minors in Museum Studies and Art History in 2026. She completed this digital exhibition project during her undergraduate internship within the education department at the Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation. Following graduation, she plans to continue her work as a Learning Facilitator at the Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation while pursuing a career in museum education and public history.
Notes
[1] Lillian Faderman, Woman: The American History of an Idea (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2022), 36-61.
[2] Linda K. Kerber, Women of the Republic: Intellect & Ideology in Revolutionary America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1980), 7-15.
[3] Ibid., 22-32.
[4] Sudie Doggett Wike, Women in the American Revolution (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 2018), 17-34; Kaylan M. Stevenson, “Until Liberty of Importation is Allowed: Milliners and Mantuamakers in the Chesapeake on the Eve of Revolution,” in Women in the American Revolution: Gender, Politics, and the Domestic World, ed. Barbara B. Oberg (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2019), 39-41.
[5] “Edenton, North Carolina, October 25, 1774,” Virginia Gazette (Williamsburg, VA), November 3, 1774; Inez Parker Cumming, “The Edenton Ladies’ Tea-Party,” The Georgia Review 8, no. 4 (1954): 389–95.
[6] Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, The Age of Homespun: Objects and Stories in the Creation of an American Myth (New York: Random House, 2001), 116.
[7] Faderman, Woman: The American History of an Idea, 55; Mary Beth Norton, Liberty’s Daughters: The Revolutionary Experience of American Women, 1750-1800 (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1980), 162-69. (Year corrected from 1750 to 1980)
[8] Virginia Gazette (Williamsburg, VA), December 14, 1769, 2.
[9] Martha J. King, “Widowed Printer of Williamsburg,” in Virginia Women: Their Lives and Times, vol. 1, ed. Cynthia A. Kierner and Sandra Gioia Treadway (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2015), 74-84.
[10] Michael L. Nicholls, “Strangers Setting among Us: The Sources and Challenge of the Urban Free Black Population of Early Virginia,” The Virginia Magazine of History and Biography 108, no. 2 (2000): 160-61.
[11] Cassandra Pybus, “’One Militant Saint’: The Much Traveled Life of Mary Perth,” Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History 9, no. 3 (2008).
[12] Mary V. Thompson, “’As if I Had Benn a Very Great Somebody’, Trimmed,” in Women in the American Revolution: Gender, Politics, and the Domestic World, ed. Barbara B. Oberg (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2019), 138-40.
[13] Kerber, Women of the Republic, 99-102.
[14] Ben Harris McClary, “Nancy Ward: The Last Beloved Woman of the Cherokees,” Tennessee Historical Quarterly 21, no. 4 (1962): 352–64.
[15] General Nathanael Greene Papers, Library of Congress, quoted in Samuel Cole Williams, Tennessee During the Revolutionary War (Nashville: Tennessee Historical Commission, 1944), 201.
[16] George Washington, “To the Cherokee Nation,” September 29, 1796, quoted in Faderman, Woman: The American History of an Idea, 41.
[17] McClary, “Nancy Ward: The Last Beloved Woman of the Cherokees,” 352–64.
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
In modern popular culture, the word “tavern” frequently conjures images of fantasy literature, tabletop role-playing games, or rowdy Renaissance festivals. While modern media might imply that taverns are merely spaces for fictional escapism or casual dining, their historical reality was far more consequential. More than mere watering holes, taverns stood as the vital socio-political epicenters of American community life throughout the Revolutionary era.
What exactly was a historical tavern, and how did these establishments—and their most popular commodity, alcohol—shape the birth of the United States? Far from just a recreational beverage, alcohol served as a powerful social and political lubricant of the era, drawing diverse populations together to debate radical ideas, distribute seditious literature, and pave the physical way toward independence. This exhibit explores the omnipresent nature of taverns and alcohol in colonial society and their profound impact on the American Revolution, focusing specifically on the highly politicized urban hubs of Williamsburg and the broader Chesapeake region.
Taverns 101: The Anatomy of a Chesapeake Public House
Taverns in colonial Virginia operated under strict statutory regulations and were structurally comparable to traditional English inns. Built typically of local timber or brick, they were strategically positioned at critical maritime crossroads, rural county court pockets, or central urban corridors. A prime example was Christiana Campbell’s tavern, located immediately behind the Capitol building in Williamsburg to capture the foot traffic of burgesses, lawyers, and merchants.
Architecturally, a prosperous tavern featured a multi-room layout tailored to distinct social functions. The core of the operation was the public taproom, supplemented by private dining rooms, space for tavern games (such as billiards or dice), and public assembly rooms used for balls, auctions, and political committees. Most urban taverns featured dense lodging quarters upstairs, where travelers were routinely expected to share beds with total strangers. Outbuildings were an logistical necessity; detached kitchens stood behind the main structure to mitigate fire hazards, flanked by deep root cellars, laundry rooms, and stables for horses. Proprietors who possessed sufficient land maintained private gardens to supply their kitchens with fresh produce.[1]
Today, the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation preserves this material heritage through its living history operations: Shields, Christiana Campbell’s, the King’s Arms, and the Raleigh. In the eighteenth century, securing a license to manage these bustling community hubs required substantial upfront capital, attracting ambitious entrepreneurs from the middle and gentry classes. Notably, tavern keeping was a lucrative, highly respected field open to both men and women. Henry Wetherburn, for example, successfully leased and operated several prominent venues in the capital, including the famed Raleigh Tavern. Meanwhile, female proprietors like Christiana Campbell and Jane Vobe, owner of the King’s Arms, cultivated an elite clientele, regularly hosting Virginia’s political gentry, including George Washington, during public sessions of the colonial court.[2]
While elite coffeehouses existed in the colonies, such as Charlton’s Coffeehouse, meticulously reconstructed in Colonial Williamsburg to showcase the fashionable world where merchants met to share news and transact business, taverns enjoyed far greater popularity across a wider demographic.[3] Because taverns served a more diverse public than the highly stratified coffeehouses, their political discussions were naturally more populist and volatile. Within the egalitarian space of the tavern taproom, a smallholder farmer, a wealthy lawyer, a merchant sailor, and a physician could sit at the same communal table, sharing opinions on British imperial policies while consuming the same locally brewed ales.[4]
“Tav-HER-ns”: Women as Institutional Leaders
Tavern keeping in colonial Virginia was remarkably open to resourceful, propertied women. Because local magistrates viewed the management of a public house as a matter of community safety and moral order, licenses were preferentially granted to upstanding, well-connected figures. This group included propertied vacancies, relatives of colonial officials, and women with proven managerial acumen. For married couples, the legal license was formally issued in the husband’s name under the laws of coverture, though colonial court officials tacitly assumed the wife would direct the daily hospitality and domestic operations. Magistrates in Williamsburg routinely prioritized women who possessed prior experience in commercial hospitality.[5]
Jane Vobe stands as a spectacular example of entrepreneurial success in the colonial capital. On the eve of the American Revolution, she published a prominent advertisement in the Virginia Gazette to announce her business relocation:
“I BEG Leave to acquaint my former Customers and the Publick in general, that I have just opened Tavern opposite to the Raleigh, at the Sign of The King’s Arms, being the House lately occupied by Mr. John Carter, and shall be much obliged to the Gentlemen who favour me with their Company. I am in Want of a good COOK, and would be glad to hire or purchase one. — JANE VOBE”[6]
Vobe’s establishments were constantly in high demand among the elite. An anonymous French traveler touring Virginia in April 1765 recorded Vobe’s excellent reputation in his journal:
“…thanks to mr. sprowl I got a room at mrs. vaubes tavern, where all the best people resorted.”[7]
The traveler continued by noting the prominent figures he encountered there, including Colonel William Byrd III, who was notorious for running up massive gambling debts at the card tables. Byrd was far from the only prominent Virginian to frequent Vobe’s hospitality; surviving financial ledgers show that both Thomas Jefferson and George Washington regularly paid her for lodging, stable space, and fine wines.[8]
More than a Pint a Day: The Colonial Culture of Consumption
In colonial America, alcohol was deeply woven into the fabric of everyday life. Unlike modern society, which compartmentalizes drinking, eighteenth-century colonists consumed alcohol continuously from dawn until dusk. Fermented beverages accompanied breakfast, lunch, and dinner, functioning as a dietary staple. This high rate of consumption began in infancy; families routinely fed small amounts of diluted alcoholic beverages to young children and infants. In an era before germ theory, colonists recognized that stagnant water caused fatal illnesses, while fermented drinks were demonstrably safe. Introducing children to alcohol early was also believed to build a healthy adult tolerance.
Alcohol was equally pervasive within the labor sector. Society actively encouraged both enslaved and free laborers to consume spirits on the job to maintain physical stamina, boost morale, and ease the strain of grueling agricultural or artisanal work. Alcohol was so deeply institutionalized that it frequently functioned as a standardized form of currency alongside tobacco leaf, with many frontier and urban laborers demanding a portion of their daily wages paid directly in rum or cider.[9]
The great socioeconomic equalizer within these spaces was the landmark Virginia legislation of 1705, which legally standardized the maximum prices tavern keepers could charge for alcohol and lodging. Because rates were fixed by local county magistrates, tavern owners could not artificially inflate prices to exclude poorer patrons. This statutory pricing structure prevented the rise of “elites-only” public houses based purely on the cost of consumption, turning every taproom into a cross-section of colonial society.
Consequently, establishments like Jane Vobe’s King’s Arms Tavern could host elite social events, such as fine art exhibitions, corporate meetings, and private foreign-language lessons, while remaining accessible to ordinary citizens. Similarly, Henry Wetherburn routinely held elegant dinners and civic balls for royal governors in the same rooms where ordinary travelers drank daily.[10]
Rum and Whiskey with a Side of Politics
As the imperial crisis deepened, taverns naturally transformed into the primary crucibles of revolutionary radicalism. Because these spaces brought together men of varying socioeconomic classes, they allowed ordinary citizens to feel directly involved in the political debates of the British Empire. Loosened by alcohol, patrons openly proclaimed radical anti-imperial ideas, debated constitutional rights, and organized grassroots resistance.
In the tumultuous decade preceding the outbreak of war, taverns functioned as both tactical command posts and sanctuary spaces for political subversion. In Boston, the famous Green Dragon Tavern served as the primary headquarters for the Sons of Liberty, providing a secure space where Samuel Adams and Paul Revere drafted intelligence reports and finalized the operational plans for the Boston Tea Party.
When Virginia’s royal governor, Lord Dunmore, abruptly dissolved the House of Burgesses in May 1769 to halt anti-taxation protests, the elected delegates circumvented British law by marching down the street to the Raleigh Tavern. Gathering in the Apollo Room, George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Patrick Henry drafted Virginia’s non-importation associations, using the tavern as an extralegal parliament to launch a economic boycott against British imports.[11]
This political discourse was fueled by the rapid distribution of cheap, mass-produced pamphlets. Because taverns doubled as regional post offices and newsrooms where public sheets were read aloud, they became the natural distribution centers for seditious literature. Free from the stylistic and spatial constraints of traditional newspapers, anonymous political pamphlets reached thousands of literate and illiterate colonists alike through public tavern readings.
The most explosive pamphlet to circulate through these tavern spaces was Thomas Paine’s Common Sense, published in January 1776. Paine’s direct, uncompromising prose provided a clear manifesto for separation from the British Crown:
“In short, independence is the only bond that tie and keep us together. We shall then see our object, and our ears will be legally shut against the schemes of an intriguing, as well as cruel, enemy. We shall then, too, be on a proper footing to treat with Britain; for there is reason to conclude, that the pride of that court will be less hurt by treating with the American States for terms of peace, than with those, whom she denominates ‘rebellious subjects,’ for terms of accommodation. It is our delaying in that, encourages her to hope for conquest, and our backwardness tends only to prolong the war.”[12]
This revolutionary ideology, catalyzed by the communal, high-spirited atmosphere of the taproom, galvanized public sentiment, transforming localized grievances into a unified, continental demand for independence.[13]
Sustaining the Front Lines
The vital necessity of alcohol persisted onto the battlefields of the Revolutionary War. General George Washington repeatedly petitioned the Continental Congress to secure consistent liquor rations for his frontline troops, viewing spirits as an indispensable military supply required to maintain operational morale. Rations of rum or whiskey kept soldiers functioning through extreme weather conditions, and Washington ordered double rations distributed during the brutal winter encampment at Valley Forge to sustain his men’s resolve. Writing to Commissary General William Buchanan on August 20, 1777, Washington staunchly defended the army’s liquor supply, stating:
“I cannot think of authorizing, by my consent, any Experiment which can possibly injure the Troops.”[14]
Washington understood that any disruption to the promised liquid rations risked provoking mass desertion or mutiny among his battle-weary regiments.[15]
On the home front, female tavern keepers like Jane Vobe actively supported the Continental Army’s logistics while generating vital commercial revenue. Vobe provided essential lodging, fuel, and rations to entire infantry companies passing through the Williamsburg theater, including Virginia regiments departing for western campaigns in 1780. During the Yorktown campaign of 1781, Major General Baron von Steuben ran up an extensive bill of $288.60 at Vobe’s tavern for quarters, board, and large quantities of tea and spirits. That same year, Vobe provided secure quarters for Governor Thomas Nelson Jr. while he directed the mobilization of the state militia. Her commercial operations served as a critical logistical depot for the patriot war effort.[16]
“Raise a Glass to Freedom”
The taverns and spirits of early America were not mere peripheral novelties; they were foundational to the political awakening that birthed the American Republic. The egalitarian spaces of the colonial taproom provided the physical infrastructure required to spark a revolution, proving that community-centered architecture is vital to the survival of democratic ideals.
Today, this historical legacy remains accessible through public history and archeological initiatives. Living history museums like Colonial Williamsburg allow modern visitors to step into the physical spaces where the founders debated liberty, while academic research facilities like the Christopher Newport University Archaeology Lab continually excavate and analyze material artifacts to reconstruct the daily consumption habits of early Americans. As the nation celebrates the United States 250th anniversary of its founding, exploring these historic public spaces allows modern audiences to experience the sights, sounds, and spirits that shaped the birth of American liberty.
About the Author
Eden Schofield, a native of Williamsburg, graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in History and Museum Studies from Christopher Newport University. She plans to pursue a Ph.D. in Early American History, specializing in public history, material culture, and curatorial museum work.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks are extended to the Christopher Newport University Archaeology Lab and its professional partnership with Archaeological Solutions, Inc. We appreciate the guidance of Lab Manager Mary Clemons in analyzing the material culture featured in this exhibit. We also credit the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation for its continued educational partnership and support of the The Revolution is Here public history programming.
Notes
Patricia A. Gibbs, Taverns in Colonial Virginia, Colonial Williamsburg Foundation Research Report Series No. 317 (Williamsburg: Colonial Williamsburg Foundation Library, 1997), 12–24.
Sarah H. Meacham, Every Home a Distillery: Alcohol, Gender, and Technology in the Colonial Chesapeake (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009), 65–68.
Christine Sismondo, America Walks into a Bar: A Spirited History of Taverns and Saloons, Speakeasies and Grog Shops (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 46–48.
Meacham, Every Home a Distillery, 65.
Virginia Gazette (Purdie & Dixon), February 6, 1772.
“Journal of a French Traveller in the Colonies, 1765, I,” The American Historical Review 26, no. 4 (1921): 742–743.
“Cash Accounts, November 1772,” Founders Online, National Archives; “Memorandum Books, 1768,” Founders Online, National Archives.
Eric Burns, The Spirits of America: A Social History of Alcohol (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2004), 9–15.
Gibbs, Taverns in Colonial Virginia, 45–50; Sismondo, America Walks into a Bar, 47; Mack P. Holt, ed., Alcohol: A Social and Cultural History (Oxford: Berg Publishers, 2006), 226.
Sismondo, America Walks into a Bar, 62–67.
Thomas Paine, Common Sense (Philadelphia: W. & T. Bradford, 1776), 27.
Bernard Bailyn, The Ideological Origins of the American Revolution (Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1967), 10–13.
“From George Washington to William Buchanan, 20 August 1777,” Founders Online, National Archives.
Burns, The Spirits of America, 16.
Mary A. Stephenson, King’s Arms Tavern Historical Report, Block 9 Building 29A & B, Colonial Williamsburg Digital Library Project (Williamsburg: Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, 1952), 9–10.
By Susan Pirnat, B.A. in History, Christopher Newport University (’26), and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History, Christopher Newport University
During the American Revolution, military music was a vital battlefield tool rather than simple background entertainment. While familiar patriotic melodies like “Yankee Doodle” endure in modern popular culture, the instruments themselves played a life-or-death role in early American warfare. For centuries before the American colonies rebelled, European armies relied heavily on woodwinds and percussion to maintain operational order and relay complex tactical instructions amid combat. This digital exhibit traces the European roots of the fife and the drum, analyzes how they were utilized on the battlefield and the home front, and explores the living legacy of this musical heritage through the modern performances of the Fifes and Drums of York Town.[1]
Origins of the Fife
The modern military fife evolved directly from the medieval pipe—a simple, high-pitched wind instrument traditionally played with one hand. Because the medieval pipe had a very limited musical range and lacked the acoustic volume needed for large outdoor gatherings, European musicians during the Renaissance began adopting the transverse flute. Unlike vertical recorders, the transverse flute is held horizontally, requiring the musician to blow air across an open embouchure hole to produce a tone.
The fife was engineered as a specialized, high-velocity iteration of this transverse flute. Constructed with a narrow, cylindrical bore, it produced piercing, high-pitched notes capable of cutting through immense background noise and over long distances. In The Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare memorably characterized this distinct acoustic property as “the vile squealing of the wry-necked fife.”[2] Due to its widespread adoption by elite Swiss mercenary infantry units throughout the early modern period, early European military writers frequently referred to the instrument as the “Swiss flute.”[3]
Because the fife was engineered strictly for volume rather than complex, delicate melodies, its early application was confined almost entirely to outdoor military maneuvers and rustic folk music. Early European military manuals grouped the fife alongside drums and trumpets as instruments of command. Consequently, modern historians possess very little notation regarding the exact melodies played by military fifers prior to the outbreak of the American Revolution.[4]
Evolution of the Drum
Drums have existed across global cultures for millennia, but two specific European developments directly shaped the percussion style utilized during the American Revolutionary War. The first structural ancestor, the medieval tabor, featured a shallow wooden frame and thin gut strings—called snares—stretched taut across the bottom drumhead to create a sharp, rattling articulation. While primarily utilized to accompany folk dances, early European iconography frequently depicts the tabor alongside knights preparing for military campaigns.
The second ancestor, the Swiss field drum of the fourteenth century, adapted the basic mechanical design of the tabor but dramatically scaled it up into a much larger, deeper wooden cylinder.[5] This expanded acoustic chamber created a lower, booming resonance that carried across wide, open landscapes.
As early modern European warfare became increasingly reliant on massed, tightly synchronized infantry movements, precision drumming transformed from an artistic pursuit into an absolute tactical necessity. Master drummers developed standardized, repeatable rhythmic patterns to broadcast specific operational movements across chaotic battlefields. Over generations, these strict percussive patterns were codified as the “rudiments of drumming,” establishing the structural foundation for all military percussion deployed in the Americas.[6]
Signaling on the Battlefield
In the absolute chaos of eighteenth-century combat, the high notes of the fife and the deep boom of the drum sliced through thick musket smoke and artillery fire to transmit instant commands directly to frontline troops. Specific musical patterns told soldiers exactly when to advance, load, fire, wheel left or right, or execute a rapid retreat.
Beyond managing their own internal lines, field musicians acted as vital diplomatic communicators between opposing forces. If a commanding officer required a temporary truce to clear the field or wished to initiate formal surrender negotiations, field drummers would march toward enemy lines beating a specialized, universally recognized rhythm known across Europe as the chamade.
Outside of acoustic signaling, field musicians performed dangerous logistical and humanitarian duties. They were directly responsible for guarding the regimental colors—the flags that marked the unit’s physical position on the field. During active fighting, musicians also functioned as makeshift medical corpsmen, retrieving fallen soldiers from the front line, carrying casualties to rear medical tents, and distributing fresh drinking water to the wounded.[7]
Music of the Homefront
While European composers dominated elite classical music circles during the late eighteenth century, the American colonies developed a thriving, localized popular musical culture. Major colonial cities supported dedicated singing schools, and local print shops published accessible music books for regular citizens to play at home. In 1764, Boston singing master Josiah Flagg compiled and published A Collection of the Best Psalm-Tunes, in Two, Three, and Four-parts. Notably, legendary revolutionary silversmith Paul Revere personally engraved the copper printing plates for the volume.
Flagg’s preface proudly stated that the compilation offered the most complete set of melodies available in the colonies, specifically designed to appeal to “persons of every taste.”[8] The volume also claimed distinction as the very first music book printed entirely on paper manufactured in America. Although most of these popular tunes originated structurally in Europe, performing these shared pieces helped build community ties and a growing sense of shared cultural identity throughout the colonies.[9]
Alongside domestic music printing, elite military units maintained dedicated “Bands of Musick” for formal public ceremonies. Unlike the simple fife-and-drum field ensembles used in actual battle, these ceremonial bands featured a wide array of instruments, including French horns, woodwinds, and strings. A 1768 article in the Virginia Gazette described one of these performances during a celebration marking the repeal of the Stamp Act in Williamsburg:
“A numerous company of the principal merchants and other respectable inhabitants of this city, friends to constitutional liberty and trade…[and] a band of musick was provided, and in the evening some curious fireworks played off, for the entertainment of the company.”[10]
Whether performing at private banquets or large public rallies, these elite military bands acted as powerful civic tools. Their public concerts rallied revolutionary crowds, boosted local morale, and connected colonial audiences emotionally to the concept of liberty.[11]
Regulations and Uniforms of the Military Musician
Because an army’s battlefield communication relied completely on clear auditory signaling, military musicians were required to practice absolute precision. Commanders enforced rigorous rehearsal schedules and strict behavioral codes. Baron von Steuben’s 1779 Revolutionary War Drill Manual outlined these explicit boundaries:
“The drummers will practice a hundred paces in front of the battalion, at the hours fixed by the adjutant general; and any drummer found beating at any other time (except ordered) shall be punished.”[12]
With unauthorized noise carrying the constant risk of causing a false alarm, rogue drumming faced swift military discipline. When properly regulated, these highly visible field musicians reinforced regimental pride and projected professional discipline directly to the troops.[13]
While ordinary militia soldiers generally wore plain linen hunting shirts into battle, the Continental military provided its authorized musicians with distinct, highly stylized uniforms. Regimental guidelines specified that “the drummers were to have white lace and black feathers on their hats, and the fifers black feathers and red cockades over the hat buttons.”[14]
These highly specialized uniforms followed the long-standing European tradition of reversing the colors of the standard infantry coats. If the regiment wore blue coats with red facings, the musicians wore red coats with blue facings. Reversing the colors allowed commanders on a crowded, smoky battlefield to quickly locate signaling musicians and differentiate non-combatant signaling staff from active riflemen. This distinct styling elevated the visual status of field musicians, marking them as elite, indispensable members of the regiment.[15]
The Story of “Yankee Doodle” and Musical Reclamation
The melody of “Yankee Doodle” offers a fascinating case study in psychological warfare and musical reclamation. Originally written by British military officers during the French and Indian War, the song was explicitly meant to mock the provincial dress and perceived lack of sophistication among colonial laborers. British troops routinely used the tune to taunt American colonists, singing satirical verses outside of New England church services and mocking continental prisoners of war. Because British military bands practiced the tune extensively, it became a ubiquitous sound of the imperial occupation.[16]
This psychological dynamic turned upside down on October 19, 1781, during the British surrender ceremony at Yorktown, Virginia. When the defeated British forces tried to insult the victorious allies by looking exclusively toward the French lines—intentionally ignoring the American ranks—General Lafayette responded decisively. He ordered an American infantry band attached to his Light Infantry Division to strike up “Yankee Doodle.”[17]
By playing the very melody long used to demean American identity, the allied forces co-opted the insult, transforming the song into a permanent anthem of revolutionary triumph. Popular lore suggests the British countered by performing a melancholy ballad titled “The World Turned Upside Down.” While contemporary archival evidence cannot definitively prove that a specific song of that title was played, the enduring narrative highlights how deeply the defeat shook the global imperial order.[18]
Preserving History: The Fifes and Drums of York Town
During the 1976 American Bicentennial, historic communities across the United States experienced a major revival of interest in traditional early American military music. Early that year, York County, Virginia, established a dedicated youth fife and drum corps. Supported by professional musicologists and historians, the organization committed itself to a clear public history mission: “to preserve and present Revolutionary War era fife and drum music to expose the public to this historically unique and important art form.”[19] Formed in February 1976, the ensemble executed its first public performances by April of that same year.[20]
Today, the Fifes and Drums of York Town operates as a premier youth development organization, instructing students ages 10 to 18 in historical instrumentation, musicology, and field drill. The institution’s active repertoire spans nearly a century of American history, preserving military calls and field music dating from 1776 through 1866.
Students navigate a rigorous, merit-based ranking system, demonstrating technical mastery of the standard rudiments alongside a deep understanding of the historical context behind their music. Operating as musical ambassadors, the members of the corps focus on a three-part mandate: to preserve national history, promote their regional heritage, and perform period-accurate music for the public.[21]
The corps maintains an active seasonal performance schedule, providing educational concerts from spring through autumn across historic Yorktown, Virginia, as well as appearances at major civic parades statewide. These living history presentations demonstrate authentic Revolutionary-era tunes while educating public audiences about the mechanical evolution of early American military communication.[22]
Echoes of Independence
The distinct tones of the fife and drum reveal that early American warfare relied just as heavily on sound control as on physical weaponry. From the battlefields of Yorktown to the community spaces of the colonial homefront, music served as an essential thread that bound a scattered population into a unified country. Today, that revolutionary soundtrack remains alive and accessible to modern audiences through active preservation initiatives.
To experience this living history firsthand, visitors can attend the public demonstrations hosted by the Fifes and Drums of York Town throughout the historic triangle of Virginia. By observing these open-air performances on the very fields where continental forces secured independence, modern audiences can directly engage with the sights and sounds that shaped the birth of American liberty.
About the Author
Susan Pirnat graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in History, alongside minors in Leadership Studies and Museum Studies, from Christopher Newport University. Susan intends to pursue a professional career in libraries and archives, specializing in a Master of Science in Library and Information Science (MSLIS). She has developed practical public history skills through formal archives internships at the Virginia Room in Fairfax, Virginia; the Thomas Balch Library in Leesburg, Virginia; and the Hanover Area Historical Society in Hanover, Pennsylvania. Her academic focus synthesizes a deep family interest in archival preservation with her background in classical music performance.
Notes
Raoul F. Camus, Military Music of the American Revolution (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1976), 15–22.
Quoted in Camus, Military Music of the American Revolution, 15.
James Clark, Connecticut’s Fife and Drum Tradition (Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, 2011), 7–9.
Clark, Connecticut’s Fife and Drum Tradition, 9–11; Camus, Military Music of the American Revolution, 16.
Clark, Connecticut’s Fife and Drum Tradition, 4–5.
Ibid., 5–7.
Gary Vorwald, Notes on the Role of British and American Drummers in Battle (Unpublished manuscript, n.d.), 12–15; Joe Whitney, The American Drum Major’s Companion: A Collection of Instruments From Historic American Military Works (Unpublished manuscript, n.d.), 34–38.
Josiah Flagg, A Collection of the Best Psalm-Tunes, in Two, Three, and Four-parts; from the Most Approv’d Authors, Fitted to All Measures, and Approv’d of by the Best Masters, in Boston New-England (Boston: Paul Revere and Josiah Flagg, 1764), preface, https://archive.org/details/collectionofbest00flag/.
Virginia Gazette (Williamsburg, VA), May 19, 1768, quoted in Camus, Military Music of the American Revolution, 52.
Camus, Military Music of the American Revolution, 45–55; Clark, Connecticut’s Fife and Drum Tradition, 28.
Friedrich Wilhelm Steuben, Regulations for the Order and Discipline of the Troops of the United States (Philadelphia: Styner and Cist, 1779), chap. XXI.
Camus, Military Music of the American Revolution, 72–73.
Ibid., 57.
Ibid., 56–57.
Ibid., 50–51.
Ibid., 161–165; see also operational journals of the Light Infantry Division, October 1781.
Camus, Military Music of the American Revolution, 163; Clark, Connecticut’s Fife and Drum Tradition, 26–27.
By Elizabeth Childress B.A. in History, Christopher Newport University, and Sheri Shuck-Hall, PhD, Professor of History at Christopher Newport University
Out of all the resources in the world, what do you think would be the most highly prized by the wealthy of the past? If you thought “salt,” you would be correct. It is remarkable to consider that a substance treated as an ordinary, everyday seasoning in modern times was once a major determinant of social and economic status. This exhibition explores the history of salt as both a vital global commodity and a force in early American society, detailing how the Revolutionary War disrupted salt distribution in the American colonies, with a specific focus on the Commonwealth of Virginia.[1]
Salt of (and Around) the Earth
In school, we are often taught that salt was important to ancient civilizations that lacked modern refrigeration. However, the extent of salt education often starts and ends with brief discussions of preserving meat. Salt’s true history is vastly more extensive, beginning thousands of years ago in prehistoric China.
One of the earliest records of an organized saltwork can be traced back to Shanxi, China, around 6000 B.C. Within this province, constant warfare erupted for control of Lake Yuncheng. The underlying catalyst for these ancient conflicts was this single mineral. In the summer, the intense sun evaporated the water from the surface of Lake Yuncheng, leaving behind vast sheets of salt crystals for whoever controlled the region to harvest, use, or sell. Early Chinese records also describe harvesting salt by boiling ocean water in clay pots—a technique adopted by Europeans thousands of years later. Production methods advanced rapidly as Chinese artisans developed iron metallurgy; boiling brine in iron pans yielded far superior salt crystals.[2]
Like the ancient Chinese, the Egyptians obtained salt through solar evaporation but also participated in extensive Mediterranean and African trade networks. More frequently, however, they chose to trade pre-salted foods, such as fish, rather than the raw mineral itself, as bulk salt was remarkably heavy and burdensome to transport across long distances.[3]
Pass the Salt
When the competition for the colonization of the Americas began, the British claimed vast territories. While the Virginia Company of London established Jamestown, other British merchants and charter companies pushed into the Caribbean. Although the British manufactured some salt domestically in places like Chester, they typically looked outward to fulfill their massive maritime demands. They traded naval protection to Portugal in exchange for salt and grew increasingly determined to secure their own supplies as they expanded into the Caribbean. British ships eventually began illegally harvesting salt from Spanish-claimed islands, ultimately focusing their primary efforts on the Turks Islands. There, British captains dropped off enslaved laborers and workers to rake up the evaporated salt from coastal pans for transport to Great Britain and the North American colonies.[4]
The working conditions on the Caribbean salt islands were brutal. Many of the enslaved laborers who harvested the mineral worked deep into the night to meet shipping quotas. Their limited rest was severely hindered by painful “salt boils”—painful skin ulcerations caused by constant contact with heavy brine. To add to these grueling conditions, their standard rations consisted largely of salt-preserved cod. This salt-preserved fish, often referred to as “slave food,” was actually traded by North American colonists to British merchants in exchange for raw salt. Because the North American colonies were part of the British imperial system, colonists relied on these mercantilist loops to secure Caribbean salt. These trade routes remained the most prominent way of obtaining salt until the political upheavals of the late 1700s.[5]
Salt During the Revolution
As the American colonists moved toward a war for independence from the British Crown, these established trade relationships collapsed. The colonists relied heavily on British imports and carried massive commercial debts because of this reliance. With the Revolution on the horizon, colonies like Massachusetts and Virginia sought global commercial independence, but breaking free from British shipping networks proved difficult. Most colonial trade was tightly regulated by British authorities, forcing colonists to find alternative ways to assert their economic autonomy prior to open warfare.[6]
By May 1776, salt shortages and price gouging had worsened, leading the Continental Congress to decry exorbitant prices and call on states to regulate them. Virginia Gazette, December 15, 1775
When the war began, resistance manifested on the home front in the form of food riots. As critical agricultural goods became expensive and scarce, citizens took to the streets. These rioters specifically targeted wealthy merchants who were accused of hoarding and price-gouging salt and other vital imported commodities.[7]
One of the primary reasons merchants hoarded salt was the naval blockade established by the British. In 1775, in response to the growing rebellion, the Royal Navy restricted access to American ports. While many imported resources grew scarce, the lack of salt was particularly detrimental. Salt was used for far more than flavoring; General George Washington’s Continental Army relied heavily on salt for medical applications, sanitization, and the massive logistical task of preserving rations for marching soldiers.[8]
The British blockade created such severe disruptions that colonial governments were forced to intervene. The Continental Congress passed emergency legislation recommending that each colony immediately establish internal salt production rather than outsourcing to neighbors. To promote self-sufficiency, Congress funded and distributed instructional guides detailing how to efficiently boil seawater. They also promised financial bounties to importers and domestic producers, triggering a rapid increase in coastal saltworks. Despite these efforts, domestic production rarely met demand, leaving most colonies with a perpetual shortage.[9]
Virginia’s Salt History
Long before Europeans arrived in the Americas, Indigenous populations maintained highly successful salt-gathering processes. The Great Buffalo Lick on the Great Kanawha River—located on the western frontier of colonial Virginia (in modern-day West Virginia)—stands as one of the earliest documented salt sources in the region. Early European explorers recorded detailed accounts of Indigenous communities gathering to harvest brine from these natural salt springs.[10]
Some of the earliest European settlers in Virginia attempted to replicate these practices. The earliest known colonial saltwork in Virginia was established on Smith Island in 1614. However, the operation was plagued by technical difficulties, failed to meet the colony’s growing demands, and was ultimately abandoned.[11]
When the British blockade began, Virginia found itself in a difficult position. Salt was an absolute necessity for daily survival, and citizens quickly felt the sting of the shortage. In one notable instance, a group of rural Virginians unable to secure salt due to wartime restrictions marched into Henrico County, attempting to use physical force to compel local authorities to redistribute stored salt reserves. As the war progressed, prices skyrocketed. The Virginia Convention—the revolutionary governing body that replaced the royal assembly—was forced to pass strict regulations against hoarding, outlining severe legal punishments for violators.
The shortage in Virginia became so critical that in 1775, the Continental Congress granted the colony special permission to import salt from foreign ports. However, wartime shipping was highly erratic, and foreign vessels could not be relied upon. This shortage placed an immense burden on the state, as Virginia was tasked with providing salted meat to Washington’s army while simultaneously trying to feed its own civilian population.[12]
In response to this crisis, Virginia made renewed attempts to establish internal saltworks. In 1776, with financial backing from the Virginia Convention, colonists attempted to construct large-scale salt pans along the Chesapeake Bay. Unfortunately, the geography worked against them. Building and maintaining heavy evaporation structures in the marshy wetlands of the Chesapeake proved far more expensive than anticipated, and the salt yield was too low to justify the cost. It was not until later years that Saltville, located in Southwest Virginia, became the region’s premier salt producer, eventually playing a massive logistical role during the American Civil War.[13]
Virginia Hams it Up
While modern Virginia is celebrated for products like apples, coal, and peanuts, its historic salt economy is most closely tied to its legendary ham industry. By the time of the American Revolution, Virginia was renowned for curing high-quality hams, exporting them across the Atlantic to Great Britain and south to Jamaica.
French military officers were first exposed to Virginia ham while assisting the Continental Army during the Revolutionary War; many documented that they preferred it to European cured meats and carried curing techniques back to France. These early methods of pork preservation gradually evolved into the world-famous culinary industry centered in Smithfield, Virginia, which remains an international leader in ham production today.[14]
Are You Worth Your Salt?
In the context of early America, salt carried a deep cultural and social meaning. Because it was scarce and essential, the presence and quality of salt on a standard dinner table served as a clear indicator of a family’s socioeconomic status.
The primary vessel for displaying this mineral was the “salt cellar.” A high-quality, decorative salt cellar was placed prominently at the head of the table by the master of the house. The volume of salt inside the cellar, and the host’s willingness to share it with guests, communicated volumes about the household’s wealth and social standing. Guests seated “above the salt” (close to the host and the salt cellar) were honored, while those seated “below the salt” occupied a lower social status.[15]
Conclusion
Salt has a monumental history for such a microscopic crystal. Its legacy ranges from a strategic resource in ancient China to a highly contested wartime commodity during the American Revolution, culminating in the mass availability we enjoy today. Reflecting on this history, we gain a deeper appreciation for an ingredient now found in every kitchen on earth. As historian Mark Kurlansky notes in Salt: A World History:
“The history of the Americas is one of constant warfare over salt. Whoever controlled salt was in power. This was true before Europeans arrived, and it continued to be the reality until after the American Civil War.”[16]
Salt has been an indispensable pillar of human civilization for thousands of years, yet its modern abundance often causes us to overlook its value. Only a few centuries ago, governments rationed these tiny grains, and communities faced civil unrest when supplies failed. Salt was a primary marker of status, power, and wealth—and even served as one of the world’s earliest forms of currency. In fact, the modern word “salary” originates from the Latin salarium, referring to the allowance given to Roman soldiers to purchase salt.
While receiving a paycheck in salt today would leave workers deeply dissatisfied, handing a modern salt shaker to an early American colonist would provide them with a fortune. For millennia, salt was an irreplaceable element of human survival, a historical truth we must remember before taking the next grain for granted.[17]
Isle of Wight County Museum
To explore Virginia’s connection to the salt trade and early American foodways firsthand, visitors are encouraged to tour the public galleries at the Isle of Wight County Museum in Smithfield, Virginia. The museum features an array of regional historical exhibits, including the period salt cellar highlighted in this exhibition, a meticulously reconstructed 20th-century general store, and the museum’s most famous artifacts: the World’s Oldest Ham (cured in 1902) and the World’s Oldest Peanut. For those unable to visit the historic tidewater region in person, the museum hosts a live, 24/7 “Ham Cam” on its official website, allowing global audiences to view these unique pieces of agricultural history online.
About the Author
Elizabeth “Lizzie” Childress will graduate from Christopher Newport University with a B.A. in History and dual minors in Museum Studies and Political Science. She developed this virtual exhibition in collaboration with Rachel Popp and the curatorial staff at the Isle of Wight County Museum. Elizabeth has previously completed professional collections and archival internships at the Poe Museum in Richmond, Virginia, and aspires to pursue a Ph.D. in History to build a career as a museum curator.
Notes
Mark Kurlansky, Salt: A World History (New York: Penguin Books, 2003), 203–205.
Ibid., 18–19.
Ibid., 41, 43–44.
Ibid., 180–181, 207–209; see also Cynthia M. Kennedy, “The Other White Gold: Salt, Slaves, the Turks and Caicos Islands, and British Colonialism,” The Historian 69, no. 2 (2007): 218–220.
Kennedy, “The Other White Gold,” 215–217.
Kurlansky, Salt: A World History, 219–220.
Barbara Clark Smith, “Food Rioters and the American Revolution,” The William and Mary Quarterly 51, no. 1 (1994): 3.
Kurlansky, Salt: A World History, 220; see also Larry G. Bowman, “The Scarcity of Salt in Virginia during the American Revolution,” The Virginia Magazine of History and Biography 77, no. 4 (1969): 466.
Kurlansky, Salt: A World History, 222; Bowman, “The Scarcity of Salt in Virginia,” 466.
Kurlansky, Salt: A World History, 249.
Curatorial File Records, Isle of Wight County Museum, Smithfield, Virginia.
Bowman, “The Scarcity of Salt in Virginia,” 464–466.
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 Mariah Payne, B.A. in History, Christopher Newport University and Sheri Shuck-Hall, Ph.D., Professor of History, Christopher Newport University
River View Farm is a rare example of the thriving late 19th century Black farming and trade community, Union Ridge and Hydraulic Mills in Albemarle County, Virginia. The farm comprised of roads, fields, a barn and house, a family cemetery, and other small structures. Today the historic farm is located in the Ivy Creek Natural Area, a parkland owned jointly by the City of Charlottesville and Albemarle County that is stewarded by the Ivy Creek Foundation, a non-profit organization dedicated to preserving its rich history. In 2020, River View Farm was added to the National Register of Historic Places for its great historical significance in American history. This is the story of an African American family who survived slavery, purchased land, created a working farm, and forged ahead to ensure economic security for future generations.
River View Farm, Courtesy of Ivy Creek Foundation.
The Difficult Road to Independence
Throughout U.S. history, owning land has been a status symbol for wealth and power, as well as independence. Landowners in early America, typically white men, benefitted not only economically, but also politically. For example, those who owned land in the South during the 18th century were the only ones who could vote or hold political office. Forcibly brought to the English colonies in North America beginning in the early 17th century, most Blacks were enslaved and forbidden to own land. Before the American Civil War, enslavers forced African Americans to work on labor camps, called plantations, barring them from reaping the rewards of their own labor. After the Emancipation Proclamation in 1862 that freed all those in bondage, African Americans hoped for land reform that would allow them finally to own land. Yet such freedom to secure land was not guaranteed. Any gains during Reconstruction quickly gave way to ineffective laws and a retreat from the idea of redistributing land in the South to help African Americans obtain an economic foothold. Left with little alternatives, the lack of federal support forced many Southern Blacks back into working the land of former enslavers through sharecropping or debt peonage. Such disadvantageous systems prohibited Black independence and economic prosperity.[1]
Hugh Carr circa 1883, Courtesy of Ivy Creek Foundation.
Hugh Carr, born to Thomas and Fannie Carr at the Woodlands Plantation under slavery around 1840, was among the newly emancipated African Americans who searched for better opportunities after the Civil War. Like so many others, he initially became a sharecropper, receiving a small share of the crops, like tobacco, corn, and wheat, in exchange for his labor. Finding it difficult to prosper, he became a farm manager for his former enslaver at the Woodlands Plantation. In 1870, Hugh Carr saved enough money and started to buy property near Ivy Creek. He acquired the land through multiple purchases and by 1890, he owned about 125 acres of land, becoming one of the largest African American landowners in Albemarle County. Hugh Carr worked extremely hard and took advantage of this rare opportunity as many other African Americans still had great difficulty obtaining land. Because he could not read or write, he signed the property deeds with an “X.” By 1880, Hugh Carr built a two-story house where he and his future wife, Texie Mae Hawkins, would live. He finally had the ability to own land and utilize it in any way that he wanted, symbolizing newfound independence.[2]
Hugh Carr’s 1870 Land Purchase, Courtesy of Ivy Creek Foundation.
Texie Mae Hawkins (born in 1865) married Hugh Carr in 1883 and had their first child, Mary Louise Carr, in 1884 with six more following soon after. All seven of their children attended nearby schools. Hugh Carr instilled in them the importance of obtaining an education and learning how to read and write, which led many of his children to become teachers and community leaders. Only 34 years old, Texie Mae Hawkins died in 1899, forcing Mary Carr to step into her late mother’s role by taking care of her younger siblings. When she was able, however, Mary Carr began attending Virginia Normal and Industrial Institute (now Virginia State University) in Petersburg. Here, she met her future husband, Conly Greer (born in 1883).[3]
Texie Mae Hawkins circa 1883, Courtesy of Ivy Creek Foundation.
Leadership, Education, and Determination
As Hugh Carr aged and all his children moved away, Mary returned home with her husband, Conly Greer, to take care of her father in 1913 and continued to live at River View Farm after his death in 1914. That same year, she began teaching home economics, history, and government at the segregated Albemarle Training School. During this time, Mary and Conly Greer had their only child, Evangeline, born on April 25, 1916. Eventually, Mary Carr Greer became the first female principal at the school, working in the position from 1930 to 1950. Like her father, she encouraged the schoolchildren to continue with their education and see it through to the end. She also encouraged extracurricular activities, assisting students in the 4-H club and in events such as Field Day and the Father-Son Banquet. Through her leadership, Mary Carr Greer became an important pillar within the community.[4]
Mary Louise Carr Greer, Courtesy of Ivy Creek Foundation.
Conly Greer also became an influential community leader, serving as the first African American extension agent in Albemarle County. Having received a Bachelor of Science in Agriculture from the Virginia Normal and Industrial Institute, Conly Greer was the perfect candidate. The segregated extension agent program taught crop diversification and the science of food preservation to Black farmers to “develop self-sufficiency and insulation from white commercial society.”[5] Traveling around Albemarle County to visit other farms, Conly Greer demonstrated how to achieve productive farming practices, identify plants and animals, preserve their farm-grown produce, and improve soil for planting. Around 1937 to 1938, Greer built a sanitation barn for milk production on River View Farm using wood from the property. Following more hygienic practices, the barn floor was made of concrete and the cows were separated from all the other animals in order to keep the milk sanitary.[6]
River View Farm Barn, Courtesy of Ivy Creek Foundation.Conly Greer with Grandson Hinton on John Deere tractor, Courtesy of Ivy Creek Foundation.
Hugh Carr’s ability to buy land after emancipation gave him and his family more opportunities and control over their lives in many ways. For example, a property deed dated in 1917 divided Hugh Carr’s land among his heirs after his death in 1914 and provided space for a family cemetery. Within the cemetery’s surrounding wall are the graves of Charles Whitten (a grandson of Texie Mae and Hugh Carr), Texie Mae Hawkins, Hugh Carr, Marshall Carr (the son of Texie Mae and Hugh Carr), as well as Conly Greer and Mary Carr Greer. Near the cemetery are two unmarked stones, believed to be unknown graves.[7]
It is important to understand that for enslaved people, being with one’s family was essential but especially hard because the institution of slavery led to the destruction and separation of many families. Moreover, when family members died, many of the enslaved did not have a say in where their loved ones were buried. Some enslaved people were buried without headstones and far away from the enslavers’ family burial sites. After the Civil War and through the discriminatory Jim Crow era, graves of the enslaved were hardly maintained and largely forgotten. For the newly emancipated, having a family cemetery on their own land allowed them to respectfully honor the dead. The ability to create special headstones with engravings, as Mary Carr Greer did, and to preserve it was significant, especially as it was not commonplace during slavery.[8]
River View Farm Cemetery, including unknown headstones, Courtesy of Ivy Creek Foundation.
Mary and Conly Greer also maintained a garden on the property, which demonstrates the significance of Black land ownership. Enslaved people were forced to work grueling hours picking cotton, tobacco, and other cash crops all for the benefit of their enslavers. For Mary Carr Greer and her father, land ownership allowed them to obtain the fruits of their own labor. African Americans who owned land could now fully rely on themselves rather than other people, deciding what they wanted to grow, how much they wanted to sell, and for what price.[9]
Mary Carr Greer with granddaughter circa 1940s, Theodosia, Courtesy of Ivy Creek Foundation.
Conly Greer’s work as an extension agent also symbolized growing autonomy for African Americans. He not only used his barn to house livestock for his own family, but he also taught others how to farm the land they acquired. Farming was a popular profession in Albemarle County. Between 1914 and 1915, 386,491 out of the 480,000 acres that comprised Albemarle County were farms. However, African American farmland had less value compared to white farmland; white farmers’ value reached $426,455 while African American farmers reached only $25,862. Despite the disparity, Conly Greer’s teachings guided and trained local farmers, allowing them to yield more successful harvests and to better maintain their land. These improvements provided more financial independence for Black farmers as well as the opportunity to work and to stay on their own land. However, as an African American extension agent working in a segregated field, Conly Greer was heavily discriminated against as the program received fewer resources than the white equivalents. Not surprisingly, separate was not equal. After Conly Greer’s death in 1956, Mary Carr Greer continued to live at the farm, leasing the land to local farmers. Upon her death in 1973, the Ivy Creek Foundation and The Nature Conservancy worked together to preserve the land and its historic buildings.[10]
Black farmers receiving instruction from extension agent on how to improve their crop production. W.B. Mercier, “Extension Work Among Negros 1920,” Photograph, Washington D.C., U.S. Department of Agriculture, 1921.“Field instruction in the root system and the proper tillage of cotton.”W.B. Mercier, “Extension Work Among Negros 1920,” Photograph, Washington D.C., U.S. Department of Agriculture, 1921.“The Jesup wagon en route to farmers’ conference.” W.B Mercier, “Extension Work Among Negros 1920,” Photograph, Washington D.C., U.S. Department of Agriculture, 1921.
The Struggle Continues
Black farm ownership has dwindled in the past century since peaking in 1920 with nearly a million African American farmers. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, Black-owned farms increased from 13.4% in 1900 to 14.7% in 1920. As decades passed, however, the numbers decreased drastically; African Americans went from a ratio of one in seven farmers in 1920 to one in sixty-seven in 1982. Many reasons, especially practices of discrimination, have led to this reduction. For example, the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) has been exposed for its discriminatory practices. In a 1990 investigation of the USDA, Congress found that it lacked “effective procedures for ensuring civil rights enforcement,” that “contributed to a decline in farms operated by African American farmers.”[11] Specifically, the USDA denied or slowed down loans, credits, and benefits to black farmers (especially those who supported civil rights), while also filing complaints very slowly.[12]
“Black farmers protest at Lafayette Park across from the White House in Washington, D.C. on September 22, 1997. Protesters alleged the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) denied black farmers equal access to farm loans and assistance based on their race. North Carolina farmer Timothy Pigford and 400 other black farmers filed the Pigford v. Glickman (Pigford I) class-action lawsuit against USDA in 1997. The USDA settled Pigford I in 1999.” USDA, Photo by Anson Eaglin.
In response to decades of abuse and inequality, a group of Black farmers fought back by filing a $3.5 billion class action lawsuit against the USDA in 1996 alleging “discriminatory actions such as denial of loans, disaster relief, etc.”[13] This prominent court case against the USDA, Pigford v. Glickman (1999), focused on the prejudicial practices of the 1980s and 1990s, though discrimination had occurred for many decades prior. The case uncovered that the USDA failed to help many Black farmers when they sought financial assistance and loans. To add further damage, in 1983 the USDA disbanded their Office of Civil Rights. With nowhere else to turn in the face of financial hardship and discrimination, many African Americans gave up their farmland for good. In 1999, the case was settled out of court with $1 billion in compensation.[14]
Unfortunately, barriers like these have led to a significant decline of the number of Black farmers and Black-owned farmland in the South. Between 1920 and 1997, Black farmers in the U.S. have declined by 98%.[15] Moreover, Black farmers accounted for only 1.4% of the 3.4 million farmers in the U.S. in a 2017 census of agriculture. During the pandemic, disparity continued. According to a USDA official, the Coronavirus Food Assistance Program in 2020 that offset farmers’ financial losses were issued “disproportionately to white producers compared with those of color.”[16] The American Rescue Plan of 2021 hoped to take steps towards correcting past abuses by providing $5 billion in aid to disadvantaged farmers, specifically people of color.[17]
African Americans were largely excluded from owning land during slavery. Even after emancipation, they faced discrimination and the lack of capital to purchase land. Hugh Carr, however, was able to buy land in 1870, giving him and his family more opportunities than ever seen before. While living at River View Farm, the family could keep or sell whatever they planted and become more financially independent. Both Mary Carr Greer and Conly Greer became influential community leaders, helping other African Americans achieve financial success through farming and education. The Carr-Greer story demonstrates the importance and positive impact of Black land ownership in the community. Today, however, there continues to be many setbacks and challenges for African American farmers. Moving forward, policy changes within the USDA and other institutions will hopefully lead to better opportunities, equality, and social progress.
As part of the Ivy Creek Foundation’s mission of “connecting people to the past and present by honoring the land, history, and community,” it is important to engage the public by talking about these issues in history and how it impacts us today.[18] The Ivy Creek Foundation hosts many virtual and in-person programs that focus on the historical aspects of the land, and actively work with Carr-Greer descendants and the local community to educate the public about a formerly enslaved family who bought this land and made it a home. For more information about Ivy Creek Natural Area and Historic River View Farm’s educational events, visit their website at Ivy Creek Foundation and view the video, River View Farm celebrates historic milestone (nbc29.com).
River View Farmhouse today, Courtesy of Ivy Creek Foundation.
Acknowledgments
We would like to give a very special thanks to Sue Erhardt, the Executive Director of the Ivy Creek Foundation, for sponsoring Mariah Payne’s public history internship and providing her with this amazing opportunity to work at River View Farm and research the Foundation’s archives. We are especially grateful to Susie Farmer, Director of Education, who mentored Mariah and provided her expertise to this project. We also thank the peer-reviewers of this exhibit.
About the Author
Mariah Payne graduated with the honors magna cum laude, Omicron Delta Kappa, and Service Distinction from Christopher Newport University in December 2022. She received a B.A. in History, minoring in Museum Studies and Psychology. She enjoyed her time interning with Susie Farmer at River View Farm, and even learned more about her own family’s history. In a surprising twist, Mariah discovered that Texie Mae Hawkins (wife of Hugh Carr and mother of Mary Carr Greer) was her 3rd great aunt. Currently, Mariah lives in Charlottesville but will be moving to New York City in the fall. She hopes to continue working for non-profits, looking to pursue a career in the museum field.
Notes
[1] Donald Ratcliffe, “The Right to Vote and the Rise of Democracy, 1787—1828,” Journal of the Early Republic 33, no. 2 (2013): 220; Stephen Carpenter, “The USDA Discrimination Cases: Pigford, In Re Black Farmers, Keepseagle, Garcia, and Love,” Drake Journal of Agricultural Law 17, no. 1 (Spring 2012): 3-4; “River View Farm,” National Register of Historic Places Nomination Form (Washington, DC: U.S. Department of the Interior, National Park Service, 2020). For an excellent source on Reconstruction and the struggle for African Americans to gain independence, see: Eric Foner, A Short History of Reconstruction (New York: Harper Perennial Modern Classics, 2015).
[2] Samuel T. Bitting, Rural Land Ownership Among the Negroes of Virginia (Library of Congress, 1915), 59; “River View Farm,” National Register of Historic Places Nomination Form.
[3] “River View Farm,” National Register of Historic Places Nomination Form.
[4] “River View Farm,” National Register of Historic Places Nomination Form.
[5] Bruce J. Reynolds, Black Farmers in America, 1865-2000: The Pursuit of Independent Farming and the Role of Cooperatives (USDA, 2002), 8, https://www.rd.usda.gov/files/RR194.pdf.
[6] “River View Farm,” National Register of Historic Places Nomination Form.
[7] “River View Farm,” National Register of Historic Places Nomination Form.
[8] Daniel P. Bigman, “Mapping Social Relationships: Geophysical Survey of a Nineteenth-Century American Slave Cemetery,” Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences 6, (2014). https://doi.org/10.1007/s12520-013-0119-6; “River View Farm,” National Register of Historic Places Nomination Form.
[9] “River View Farm,” National Register of Historic Places Nomination Form.
[10] Stephen Carpenter, “The USDA Discrimination Cases: Pigford, In re Black Farmers, Keepseagle, Garcia, and Love,” Drake Journal of Agricultural Law 17, no. 1 (Spring 2012): 61; Waymon R. Hinson and Edward Robinson, “‘We Didn’t Get Nothing:’ The Plight of Black Farmers.” Journal of African American Studies 12, no. 3 (2008): 292; Ivy Creek Foundation | River View Farm.
[12] U.S. Census Bureau, “Number of Farm Operators in the United States, with Percent Distribution, By Race, 1900 to 1920,” Table 1, Farm Statistics by Race, Nativity, and Sex of Farmer. 293; Vera J Banks, Black Farmers and Their Farms (USDA, 1986), 14, 17. https://permanent.fdlp.gov/gpo36617/AGE86929124.pdf; Bitting, 8; Hinson and Robinson, 293.
[14] Roy W. Copeland, “In the Beginning: Origins of African American Real Property Ownership in the United States.” Journal of Black Studies 44, no. 6 (2013): 656. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24572860.
