“ANYTHING but WHITE”: EXCAVATING the STORY of NORTHEASTERN COLONOWARE a Dissertation Submitted to the Temple University Grad

“ANYTHING BUT WHITE”: EXCAVATING THE STORY OF NORTHEASTERN COLONOWARE

A Dissertation Submitted to the Temple University Graduate Board

In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

by Keri J. Sansevere May 2019

Examining Committee Members:

Paul Farnsworth, Advisory Chair, Department of Anthropology Patricia Hansell, Department of Anthropology Seth Bruggeman, Department of History Richard Veit, External Member, Monmouth University, Department of History and Anthropology

ABSTRACT

The study of historic-period pottery cuts across many disciplines (e.g., historical archaeology, material culture studies, American studies, art history, decorative arts, fine arts). Studies of historic pottery with provenience from the United States are largely centered on fine-bodied wares, such as porcelain, white salt-glazed stoneware, creamware, pearlware, whiteware, ironstone (or white granite), and kaolin smoking pipes.

These wares share the common attribute of whiteness: white paste and painted, slipped, or printed decoration that typically incorporate the color white into its motif.

Disenfranchised groups had limited direct-market access to these wares due to its high value (Miller 1980, 1991). White pottery was disproportionately consumed by White people until the nineteenth century.

This dissertation examines colonoware—an earth-toned, non-white, polythetic kind of coarse earthenware. Archaeologists commonly encounter colonoware in plantation contexts and believe that colonoware was crafted by Native American,

African, and African American potters between the sixteenth through nineteenth centuries (Deetz 1999; Espenshade and Kennedy 2002:210; Gerth and Kingsley 2014;

Heite 2002; Madsen 2005:107). Colonoware researchers have engaged with collections and archaeologically excavated samples from the lower Middle Atlantic, American

Southeast and Caribbean for over fifty years since the “discovery” of the pottery at

Colonial Williamsburg—then called “Colono-Indian Ware”—by Ivor Noël Hume (1962).

Comparatively less research has been conducted on colonoware with American Northeast provenience (see Catts 1988; Sansevere 2017). This dissertation “excavates”

iii evidence of Northeastern colonoware that has been deeply buried—buried within obscure literature, buried by centuries of soil accrual only recently moved by compliance archaeology, and buried by the fifty-something-year-old myth that colonoware was only manufactured and used in the Lower Middle Atlantic, American Southeast and

Caribbean. The lives of northern bondsmen have been largely concealed in the historical record, yet these individuals were clearly a very visible part of northern society and the examination of northern colonoware helps tell that story. The circumstances that precipitated the excavation of northern sites that contain colonoware, the individuals who chose to collect northern colonoware, and my own experience accessing northern colonoware collections shapes how knowledge of the past is made, provides perspective on the mechanisms that control access to heritage, demonstrates how bias is created in object-based research, and reveals politics at play. Lastly, I speculate that colonoware contained significant meaning for northern users between the seventeenth through nineteenth centuries and discuss the changing value of this non-white pottery in contemporaneous society .

For women all over the world.

For Cookie and Oscar, whose purrs are comforting.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I owe gratitude to many individuals whose guidance, encouragement, and generous assistance need to be acknowledged. Dr. Paul Farnsworth, my Doctoral

Advisory Chair, has provided tireless support. I am grateful to him for the time he selflessly devoted to provide thoughtful feedback on earlier drafts. Conversations and feedback provided by Doctoral Advisory Committee members Dr. Patricia Hansell and

Dr. Seth Bruggeman focused and strengthened the ideas presented in the pages that follow. Dr. Christie Rockwell, Director of Graduate Studies, has been a source of encouragement and inspiration during my time at Temple University. I thank them for their guidance.

I have kept dear the words of wisdom, intellectual perspectives, memories, and encouragement from mentors whom I met earlier on my journey into anthropology. I am grateful to the teaching, support, and encouragement that Dr. Richard Veit, Chair of History and Anthropology at Monmouth University, has provided for over 10 years. Emeritus professor Dr. Bill Mitchell and Dr. Bill Schindler (now at Chester College) also need to be acknowledged; it was in their classes at Monmouth University that I fell in love with anthropology. Michael Gall, Principal Investigator at Richard Grubb and Associates, gave constructive feedback on several conference papers and an edited book chapter from which this dissertation germinated from; I am a better writer because of him. At Temple University, Dr. Michael Stewart and Dr. Tony Ranere were also influential along my journey. Dr. David Orr had immense impact on the kind of anthropologist I am today and broadened the perspectives I hold. His example brought

humanity to archaeology. Dr. Orr taught me how to look at the world differently and for that I am grateful.

My fieldwork at George Washington’s Ferry Farm, and the colleagues I worked with, nurtured my curiosity in Chesapeake and Tidewater material culture; it was here that I first saw colonoware. I would like to acknowledge Paul Nasca, who taught me how to dig, David Muraca, Laura Galke, and Melanie Marquis. Conversations with my dear friend Tabitha Hilliard were instrumental in laying the groundwork for some of the perspectives and ideas presented in this dissertation. Tabitha has been a true sounding board and I am thankful for her motivation, encouragement, and intellectual support.

I would like to recognize the assistance of Dr. Aaron Miller, Associate Curator of

Visual and Material Culture & NAGPRA Coordinator at the Mount Holyoke College Art

Museum and Dr. Brooke Hunter, Associate Professor of History at Rider University and

Brearley House staff. Thank you to Dr. David Grandstaff and Dr. Nicholas Davatzes of the Earth and Environmental Science Department at Temple University for assisting with

X-ray Fluorescence testing.

Other colleagues contributed support, encouragement, and assistance to this dissertation: Chuck Fithian,Wade Catts, Ilene Grossman-Bailey, Mary Lynne Rainey, Ian

Burrow, Josh Butchko, Bill Liebeknecht, Alice Guerrant, Heidi Krofft, Jennifer Potts, Meta Janowitz, Becky White, Doug Mooney, Tom Kutys, Jed Levin, Deborah Miller, Chris Rowell, Jack Gary, Robert Hunter, Stephen Mrozowski, David DeMello, Karen Hutchins-Keim, Alex Keim, Craig Chartier, Joe Bagley, Greg Lattanzi, Rebecca

Heli czer, Tony Bonifiglia, Judy Jungels , Diana Zlatanovski , Sharon Pekrul, Emily

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Murphy, Steven Pendery, Alex Martin, and many, many more. I am grateful to Temple

University for providing a generous grant-in-aid to support my research.

Generous technical assistance—from formatting, image editing, and general computer trouble shooting—was provided by Justin Lardiere. Justin’s insight into contemporary objects was also a source of inspiration. Thank you to the family members, especially Aunt Michele, who supported me and cheered me on. Cookie and Oscar— mommy loves you. Thank you for keeping me company while I write.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

ABSTRACT ...... iii

DEDICATION ...... v

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ...... vi

LIST OF TABLES ...... xiii

LIST OF FIGURES ...... xiv

PREFACE ...... xvii

CHAPTER

1. INTRODUCTION ...... 1

2. REVIEW OF LITERATURE ...... 17

Defining Colonoware ...... 17

A “Ware” or “Type? ...... 21

History of Literature ...... 36

Diet ...... 42

Marked Colonoware...... 48

Manufacturing Sites ...... 52

Chapter Summary ...... 57

3. THE HISTORY AND ARCHAEOLOGY OF NATIVE AMERICAN AND BLACK FORCED AND FREE LABORERS IN THE AMERICAN NORTHEAST ...... 59

Free and Enslaved Native American Laborers ...... 61

Historic Context ...... 61

Archaeology ...... 67

Discussion ...... 79

Free and Enslaved Black Laborers ...... 82

Historic Context ...... 82

Archaeology ...... 88

Discussion ...... 102

Chapter Summary ...... 107

4. EXCAVATING THE STORY OF NORTHEASTERN COLONOWARE PART I ...... 111

Story 1: Laborers: Rented and Undocumented ...... 115

Story 2: When Master isn’t Looking ...... 118

Story 3: Sixty Owned by One ...... 121

Story 4: Slaves Under Lock and Key ...... 125

Story 5: The Captain, the Madame, and “French Negroes” ...... 129

Story 6: The Neighbors Around the Corner...... 133

Story 7: Undocumented in the City...... 135

Story 8: Captive Laborers and Wage Earners on Long Island ...... 138

Story 9: New Construction, Old Pottery ...... 143

Story 10: The Early Free Black Community ...... 144

Story 11: Esseck, Cuffe, Quassia, and the Colonel...... 148

Story 12: Owned by a Metalsmith ...... 153

Story 13: A Poisoning ...... 156

Story 14: The School Teacher’s Summer Vacation ...... 160

Chapter Summary ...... 163

5. EXCAVATING THE STORY OF NORTHEASTERN COLONOWARE PART II ...... 165

Story 15: Free, but Surveilled ...... 166

Story 16: The Collection of Dr. Margaret Handy...... 170

Story 17: The Spirituality of a Woodsawyer ...... 173

Story 18: A Collected Pot ...... 179

Story 19: Undocumented Indigenous on the Frontier ...... 183

Story 20: The Hospital Orderly...... 188

Story 21: The Black Cook in a White (Occupied) House ...... 192

Story 22: Sacred Burials ...... 198

Story 23: Accessioned in 1933 ...... 204

Story 24: Help at the Widow’s House? ...... 207

Story 25: Adam, Mercer, and Bess ...... 215

Chapter Summary ...... 219

6. THE CHANGING VALUE OF NORTHEASTERN COLONOWARE AND RELATED COARSE EARTHENWARE ...... 222

Part I: Valuing Northeastern Colonoware and Related Coarse Earthenware as Objects of the Past ...... 224

Overview ...... 224

Inferring the Origins of Northern Colonoware and Related Coarse Earthenware ...... 232

Reflected Memory and the Mneumonics of Northern Colonoware and Related Coarse Earthenware ...... 244

Part II: Valuing Northeastern Colonoware and Related Coarse Earthenware as Objects of the Present ...... 256

Creating Knowledge of the Past, the Control of Heritage, and Bias in Object -based Research ...... 256

Chapter Summary ...... 275

7. CONCLUSION ...... 280

REFERENCES CITED ...... 293

APPENDICES

A. X-RAY FLUORESCENCE DATA: LONG HILL SITE MUG ...... 334

B. X-RAY FLUORESCENCE DATA: CONNECTICUT RIVER VALLEY BOWL ...... 340

C. X-RAY FLUORESCENCE DATA: BREARLEY HOUSE SHERDS ...... 342

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LIST OF TABLES Table Page

2.1 Summary of Southeastern Colonoware Characteristics………………………....26

2.2 Summary of Caribbean Colonoware Characteristics.…………………..…..…...28

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LIST OF FIGURES Figure Page

2.1 Colonoware sherd incised with the letters “MHD.” Courtesy of Drayton Hall, a National Trust Historic Site, Charleston, S.C……………………………....53

4.1 Map of known archaeological sites with colonoware or hybridized coarse earthenware excavated from the American Northeast………………….…114

4.2 Colonoware “gaming pieces” excavated from the Cedar Creek Road Site, Milford, DE. Photograph courtesy of Hunter Research, Inc….…………….121

4.3 Colonoware excavated from the Mendenhall Privy, Wilmington, DE. Photograph by Museum Curator A……………………………………………….131

4.4 Sylvester Manor colonoware, Shelter Island, NY. Image in Mrozowski (2010:30) and used with permission.…………………...…………..…..………...142

4.5 Coarse earthenware Jars from Parting Ways, Plymouth, MA. Image in Hutchins-Keim (2015:131) and used with permission………….…...... 146

4.6 A smoking pipe, likely of West African origin, excavated from Paddy’s Alley, Boston. Photographs in Bagley (2016:70) and used with permission…………………………………………………………………….…..156

4.7 A colonoware vessel recovered from the Cross Street Backlot, Boston. Image in Bagley (2016:72) and used with permission………………………..…..158

4.8 Illustration of the Tyngsboro Pot, Tyngsborough, MA. Image in Bielski and used with permission from the Massachusetts Archaeological Society……………………………………….…………………………………....162

5.1 Large wheel-thrown hybridized colonoware vessel fragment excavated from the Garrison Energy Site, Dover, DE. Image courtesy of Richard Grubb and Associates, Inc. and used with permission.……………….……….……………....169

5.2 Infant feeding cup, interpreted here as possible colonoware, formerly from the personal collection of Dr. Margaret Handy. Photograph used with permission and courtesy of the Delaware Historical Society…………..………...171

5.3 Several colonoware sherds excavated from the National Constitution Center, Philadelphia. Photograph courtesy of Independence National Historical Park………………………………………………...... 176

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5.4 Drawing of colonoware base sherd with possible arc design, excavated from the National Constitution Center Site, Philadelphia. Drawing by Keri J. Sansevere……………………...…..…..…...... 177

5.5 A glazed colonoware pot identified in Philadelphia, PA, from the private collection of Collector A. Photographs used with permission and courtesy of Deborah Miller and Collector A...... 179

5.6 A substance adhered to the rim of the Collector A’s colonoware vessel. Photograph by Keri J. Sansevere……………………………....……..…...... 182

5.7 A flat “disc”, interpreted here as a possible colonoware lid, excavated from Cumberland County, New Jersey. Photographs by Keri J. Sansevere…...... 186

5.8 A concave “disc”, interpreted here as a possible colonoware plate or saucer, excavated from Cumberland County, New Jersey.……..…….……………….…...187

5.9 Colonoware fragment excavated from the Old Barracks, Trenton, NJ Photographs by Keri J. Sansevere………..………………………………………...191

5.10 Colonoware Fragments excavated from the Brearley House, Lawrence, NJ. Photographs by Keri J. Sansevere……...…………………………………………196

5.11 A small colonoware tankard or cup excavated from the Long Hill Site, Springfield, MA. Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard University………...……………………………………………………...201

5.12 A colonoware mug-like vessel identified as a small vegetable sauce bowl by Ferguson (1992:104). Imaged used with permission and courtesy of the South Carolina Institute for Archaeology and Anthropology, University of South Carolina, Columbia………………………………….……………………………201

5.13 Connecticut River Valley Bowl, from the Joseph Allen SkinnerMuseum, Mount Holyoke College. MH SK K.B.14, Photographs by Laura Shea. Photographs reproduced with permission from Aaron Miller………….………...207

5.14 Coarse earthenware jar from the Narbonne Site, Salem, MA. Photograph courtesy of National Park Service Museum Collections, Salem Maritime NHS [SAMA 21415]…………………………………………...211

5.15 Partially reconstructed coarse earthenware jug from the Narbonne Site, Salem MA. Photograph courtesy of National Park Service Museum Collections, Salem Maritime NHS [SAMA 14408]……………..……..211

5.16 Impressed marks on coarse earthenware jars from the Narbonne Site, Salem, MA. Photographs courtesy of National Park Service Museum Collections, Salem Maritime NHS [SAMA 7309 and SAMA 21192]…………...214

5.17 Coarse earthenware jar from the Marshall Pottery Site, Portsmouth, NH. Photographs used with permission and courtesy of the Strawbery Banke Museum Archaeology Department……………………………………… ……….218

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PREFACE

When I finished my graduate coursework in 2012, I thought I was going to

excavate an eighteenth century Native American reservation for my dissertation. I

conducted preliminary research on the site and submitted a modest grant proposal to fund

field research. Before I received a response from the granter, the property owners of the

site grew ambivalent about whether they could live with a crew of archaeologists

excavating a portion of their yard for a summer (they were, after all, private home

owners). Several archaeologists retired fr om the department I was studying in at the same

time I received the news. A crumbled dissertation topic took an emotional toll and I felt

unsure about my future in the discipline. I became a certified teacher of Social Studies in

the State of New Jersey and was pursuing a different career.

I continued to participate in professional archaeology conferences as I planned a new future. My colleagues knew I had been searching for colonoware in untraditional locations and I was asked to give a paper on the topic for a session titled, “A Rich and

Diverse Record: Discovering, Collaborating, and Educating through African American

Archaeology in the Northeast” at the 2014 Council for Northeast Historical Archaeology meeting. The session developed into an edited book by Gall and Veit (2017) titled

Archa eologies of African American Life in the Upper Mid-Atlantic . I rediscovered my

archaeology “mojo” while writing a chapter I contributed to that book.

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CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCTION

Pottery is the most intense of the arts. It brings the most to bear within the smallest compass.

Pottery makes plain the transformation of nature. Clay from the earth blends with water from the sky. The amorphous takes form in the hands. The wet becomes dry in the air. The soft becomes hard and the dull becomes bright in the fire. Cooked, the useless becomes useful.

Pottery works in the world. Displaying the complexity of the human condition, it brings the old and the new, the personal and the social, the mundane and the transcendent into presence and connection.

-Henry Glassie, In The Potters Art (1999:17)

Pottery is a multivalent object. Its meaning ranges from sacred to banal depending on the nature of the pottery, situational context, audience, and the “actors” who use the object. Artisans, collectors, appraisers, art historians, and even gastronomists place value on pottery’s aesthetic or antiquity. Pottery is mounted on walls, placed on pedestals, displayed inside clear glass enclosures, or is even a kind of canvas for gourmet foods served at fancy restaurants. Middling and upper class American households, particularly those occupied by older generations, value the status messages conveyed to visitors.

China and other valuable pottery is displayed in cupboards or china cabinets positioned in high traffic areas of the household only to be taken out for special meals, if at all.

The vast majority of the world views pottery through a different lens. Pottery has been part of the plain, utilitarian rhythms of everyday life for millennia— it’s most common purpose to contain food or liquids. Pottery has also been used to catch human

waste, embodying the antithesis of sacredness. Pottery gets dirty, smelly, chipped,

cracked, and shattered. By the end of its life, it is anything but glamorous.

Pottery’s commonness is what engenders it with meaning for others. “It brings the

most to bear within the smallest compass,” writes Glassie (1999:17). Pottery is one of the

most encountered artifacts on archaeological sites, second to stone tools, and among the

most studied artifacts within the field of archaeology. Some of the earliest archaeological

evidence of pottery was unearthed in southeastern China and dated to 20,000 years ago

(Rice 2015:14). Much later, written records captured humanity’s fascination with old

ceramic relics. Antiquarians, like John Twyne (d. 1581), grew curious about those who

came before him and began collecting antiques, like Romano-British pottery (Trigger

1990:47). One of the first archaeological research questions regarding pottery was

formulated in the early seventeenth century when Philip Kluver asked “whether the

vessels found in such structures [at Marzahna in Saxony] were manufactured or formed

naturally” (Trigger 1990:51).

Archaeology and the kinds of questions archaeologists ask about pottery have

come a long way since the seventeenth century. In 1914, Alfred Vincent Kidder was the

first professional archaeologist to receive a Ph.D. from Harvard University specializing in

North American archaeology (Kelly and Thomas 2014:8). Not only is Kidder memorialized by archaeologists as a principle founder of North American archaeology, but he is also noted for laying the groundwork for pottery studies within American archaeology. His dissertation, titled Southwestern Ceramics: Their Value in

Reconstructing the History of the Ancient Cliff Dwelling Pueblo Tribes (1914), involved

a scientific methodology to better understand prehistoric cultures that used pottery in the

American Southwest. Over the last century, the examination and interpretation of prehistoric pottery has remained prominent in American archaeological literature.

It was not until the mid-twentieth century that historic pottery studies emerged within American archaeology. Historical Archaeology gained recognition as a significant specialty within the discipline by the 1960s. Some of the earliest work on historic pottery in the United States centered on what is now referred to as “colonoware” — a kind of low-fired, hand built earthenware that has long been associated with forced laborers in the lower Middle Atlantic, American Southeast, and Caribbean. The pottery was initially attributed to Native Americans when it was identified by famed Colonial Williamsburg resident Historical Archaeologist Ivor Noël Hume (Noël Hume 1962). Some of the earliest colonoware studies predate the first professional publication of a ceramic object by the Society for Historical Archaeology journal; that recognition is bestowed upon

Richard Humphrey (1969) whose article on nineteenth century clay smoking pipes from

Sacramento became the first publication by the Society for Historical Archaeology that examined an artifact made of fired clay.

The vast majority of pottery studies published by Historical Archaeologists are focused on refined “white” pottery; pottery with white bodies, pottery with painted or transfer printed designs offset with white colors, and pottery consumed by White people

(e.g., creamware, pearlware, whiteware, ironstone, European smoking pipes, etc.). De

Waal (2015) characterizes the bias by White society toward refined white pottery as an

“obsession” that also permeates the fields of art history, decorative arts, and fine arts.

Not all pottery is white. Colonoware pottery, the topic of this dissertation, is earth-toned; it has been characterized by Galke (2009:317) as “anything but white,

and…anything but refined” (Galke 2009:317). The consensus held by many

archaeologists is that colonoware was manufactured and used by historic period Native

Americans, Africans, African Americans, and some white colonists who lived in the

Chesapeake and further south through the Caribbean (Anthony 1986:46; Espenshade and

Kennedy 2002:210; Heite 2002; Madsen 2005:107). The present state of colonoware

research focuses on the interpretation of sherds recovered from archaeological sites

located in the American Southeast and Caribbean Region. Sherds from Virginia and the

Carolinas have been the subject of intense scrutiny in American archaeological literature

due to the vast quantity of vessel fragments excavated from sites located in these areas

(Madsen 2005:106). Aside from Wade Catts’ Master’s Thesis (1988) on colonoware

excavated from Delaware and linked to Haitian refugees, little attention has been given to

colonoware located in areas north of the traditional region. Native Americans, Africans,

and African Americans comprised a significant demographic in the Northeast; is there

more evidence of northern colonoware to investigate?

______

My search for Northeastern colonoware began in the spring of 2011. I was tasked

with completing a research paper for a graduate course that largely focused on prehistoric pottery. As an aspiring historical archaeologist, I wanted to select a topic germane to my

research interests, but still rooted in the trajectory of the course. Leland Ferguson’s

(1992) seminal text Uncommon Ground—required reading in the undergraduate

Historical Archaeology course I took at Monmouth University— unraveled the story of a

peculiar kind of coarse earthenware called colonoware. Ferguson contends that

colonoware was produced by enslaved individuals confined to southern plantations.

Indeed, much research has been published on southern slavery; even a cursory Google or

library search will quickly reveal a plethora of information on the topic. In comparison,

the system of captive labor in the American Northeast is more obscure; I had to dig

deeply through the historic record beyond popular paternalistic notions of slavery to

uncover the harsh realities of northern enslavement practices (see Chapter 3). Population

estimates indicate that enslaved laborers were a very visible part of northern society.

According to Bragdon’s (2009:211-214) estimation, at least 1,000 Native Americans

were held as captive workers in the colonies of Connecticut, Rhode Island, and

Massachusetts by the beginning of the eighteenth century. In the same century, New

York City contained the largest population of Black captive laborers in the British

colonies, second to Charleston (Curry 1981:2). So, where is the colonoware?

Anthropologists are trained to speak with informants to learn more about culture.

I wanted to know more about colonoware; why has it not been recognized in the

American Northeast? To an extent, regional archaeologists, a number of whom are colleagues, became informants of sorts. My pottery professor, Michael Stewart, suggested that I begin my search by contacting an archaeologist (referred to as Museum

Curator A) who is considered an authority on regional archaeology. I contacted Museum

Curator A and explained that I was “attempting to gather information on sites north of the

Chesapeake Region that have produced Colonoware.” They explained in their reply that

colonoware was indeed present at several archaeological localities in Delaware; these

included the Mendenhall Site, Thompson’s Loss and Gain, John Dickinson Plantation,

and the McKean/Cochran Site. She explained that reports never got written for some of

these sites; most of the colonoware was recognized much later during collections

evaluations.

My preliminary research led to the identification of more archaeological sites located in the American Northeast that contain colonoware, but in scant quantities

(Sansevere 2011, 2012, 2014, 2017). Colonoware has been traditionally defined as a kind of low-fired coarse earthenware that incorporates African or indigenous manufacturing techniques with African or European forms (see Chapter 2). This definition of colonoware has been widely accepted within the discipline of archaeology for decades, but has been reevaluated in recent years. Cobb and DePratter (2012), Gerth and Kingsley

(2014), and Hauser and DeCorse (2003) believe that the tradition of colonoware potting

is more heterogeneous than the classic definition conveys and have “cautioned against

applying generalized characteristics” (Gerth and Kingsley 2014:2). The pottery is viewed

more broadly in current thinking, reflecting the “skills and techniques possibly brought by African potters to the Americas, as well as skills reflecting European and Native

American traditions, and local adaptations in form, function, and manufacture” (Hauser

and DeCorse 2003:67). In Chapter 2, I demonstrate how disparate traditions of

colonoware—shaped by colonial oppressors—emerged in distinct regions within the

Chesapeake, American Southeast, and many Caribbean islands (see Tables 2.1 and 2.2).

What unites colonoware pottery in all of these regions is its association with historically

oppressed and diaspora groups (Cobb and DePratter 2012; Gerth and Kingsley 2014;

Hauser and DeCorse 2003).

I follow current thinking and consider the polythetic nature of the pottery. I

discuss a second kind of slave-produced pottery encountered on several northern sites.

Potters enslaved in the Caribbean created a kind of coarse earthenware that was wheel-

thrown into sugaring pottery and tamarind jars (Hutchins-Keim 2015:137). Some

scholars have compared these vessels to colonoware. For example, a National Parks

Service (NPS) guide published in 2003 characterized the tamarind jars as, “similar to

colono-ware vessels found in South Carolina, Virginia, and the Caribbean” (Joyner

2003:44, in Hutchins-Keim 2015:122). I view these vessels as related coarse earthenware

of the African diaspora; however, considering them as colonoware is not untenable. Like

colonoware, these vessels consist of a coarse paste that contains visible inclusions, were

formed by the hands of potters who were oppressed and displaced by colonialism, and

were shaped into European forms. Some researchers maintain the view that colonoware is

strictly hand-built tradition; however, wheel-thrown examples have been identified in

Florida and the Caribbean (see Chapter 2; Brewer and Horvath 2016; Deagan 2002;

Gerth and Kingsley 2014:24; Handler 1963a, 1963b; Hauser and Armstrong 1999;

Hauser and DeCorse 2003:74; Morgan 2011:394).

My current findings documented in this dissertation indicate that 25 assemblages of

colonoware and related coarse earthenware have been identified at archaeological sites

located in the American Northeast or within personal collections that have Northeastern provenance. I define the American Northeast as a region bordered by the Chesapeake, the

Midwest, and Canada; this region contains the states of Delaware, Pennsylvania, New

Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine.

Examples from Connecticut, Vermont, and Maine have not been identified to date.

The trajectory of a manuscript evolves during the writing process. When I began

writing my dissertation, I planned to focus on the attributes of northern colonoware and

7 perform X-ray Fluorescence (XRF) analysis on samples to determine their chemical

composition and hence source the pottery. My approach was not novel; other scholars

had examined the chemical composition of colonoware using a variety of techniques,

including XRF (see Chapter 2; Gerth and Kingsley 2014; Hauser et al. 2008; Hauser

2008, 2011; Meniketti 2011; Siedow et al. 2014), but this analysis had not been performed on a sample from the American Northeast. Determining where Northeastern

examples were manufactured is an interesting project, but as time passed, and the

dissertation deadline loomed, I realized that this approach was no longer feasible for

several reasons.

In 2016, I met with a chemist from Monmouth University, my alma mater, to

discuss my dissertation topic. His laboratory was equipped with an XRF instrument and

he expressed interest in collaborating and publishing a co-authored article on the results. I

was ready to start the analysis the following year, but he was unresponsive when I

contacted him to begin the study. I assumed other projects demanded his attention or he

lost interest in the research we discussed. I collaborated with geologist David Grandstaff

of Temple University that fall; we tested one vessel and two sherds using an XRF

instrument located in his laboratory. I also collaborated with Judy Jungels at the Peabody

Museums of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard University who tested a vessel under

her purview. Unfortunately, I was unable to expand my sample size for a reasonable

sourcing study. It was challenging to obtain permission to XRF additional samples.

I was able obtain in-person access to less northern colonoware assemblages than I

had hoped to (n=8). I collaborated with museum staff to obtain digital access to several

others (n=4). I experienced various degrees of resistance when I attempted to access more

8 than half (n=13) of northern colonoware collections. I believed this was another setback and I broke the news to my dissertation committee. Why was I unable to access so many collections? My (lack of) access to these collections, which represent the cultural heritage of so many individuals, was shaping how knowledge of the past is created. Suddenly, a story worth telling emerged.

This dissertation is equal parts postprocessual, postmodern, and autobiographical in its humanism, framing of public archaeology, confrontation of politics, race, and gender, use of narratives, and deeply personal reflexive voice in ways that are—to various degrees—evocative of works by Battle-Baptiste (2011), Hodder (1989, 1990),

Horwitz (1998), Miller and Tilley (1984), Schrire (1995), Spector (1993), Ulrich (2001), and Yamin (2008). However, I caution readers, that, in ways, this is an untraditional archaeology dissertation. This research is as much about how archaeological research is done in the present, its obstacles, and the structures of power that are built into the very framework of North American Archaeology as it is about the colonoware I intended to study.

There are challenges within the discipline that lurk in unexpected, banal, everyday liminal spaces that archaeologists work in: behind artifact collections (like Northeastern colonoware), the comportment of e-mail, and the writing (or not writing) of reports.

When I began to “excavate” the story of northern colonoware, I observed that the evidence had been deeply “buried”—buried within obscure literature, buried by centuries of soil accrual only recently moved by compliance archaeologists, and buried by the fifty- something-year-old myth that colonoware was only manufactured and used in the

American Southeast and Caribbean. Much of the information on northern colonoware

exists in gray literature, like older publications and proprietary reports. Several

assemblages have gone unreported or unpublished and knowledge of these sherds resides

in the minds of colleagues whose curriculum vitae’s are longer than mine. “Excavating”

Northeastern colonoware requires an untraditional technique.

______

This dissertation consists of seven chapters. This introductory chapter is followed by Chapter 2; here, I conduct an extensive literature review of colonoware scholarship that spans more than five decades. I touch on a variety of topics that intersect with colonoware, including ethnicity, production, typing, symbolism, gender, spirituality, foodways, and the pottery’s role in folk medicine. I identify alternate terms used by other archaeologists to refer to the pottery (e.g., Afro-Caribbean ware, Criollo ware, Afro-

Jamaican ware, Afro-Cruzan ware, Afro-Antiguan ware, Afro-Montserratian ware, and

Missionware) and construct tables of physical attributes by region to illustrate how these terms reflect regional colonoware potting traditions. Each region expressed the colonoware potting tradition heterogeneously; this dismantles the notion that a universal physical attribute rubric exists. Colonoware data has not been organized into regional attribute tables to date; my hope is that this visual will aid future researchers in the identification of colonowares by region. In Chapter 2, I identify bias inherent in colonoware scholarship and under-published areas of research. What we know about colonoware—and the people who potted and appropriated the pottery—has been framed around Southern and Caribbean culture. Colonoware excavated from the American

Northeast, and the stories the pottery reveals about those northerners who appropriated

them, has been virtually unknown. Despite that Catts (1988) examined a colonoware

assemblage from Delaware for his Master’s Thesis, Delaware is a border state and his

research provides insight into how the pottery was appropriated at the boundary between

northern and southern culture.

Chapter 3 examines the lives of marginalized, silenced, and forgotten groups of

captive and free Native American and Black individuals who labored in the American

Northeast. The period between the seventeenth through mid-nineteenth centuries is focal

given colonoware’s temporal span. I discuss archaeological sites located in both urban

and rural landscapes; these represent classic literature and recent research. Small

quantities of colonoware were identified at three out of nearly two dozen northern sites

discussed in Chapter 3. A small number of these sites contain the pottery and this might

imply that colonoware was appropriated differently here. The misconception within

American archaeology that colonoware is endemic to the American Southeast and

Caribbean may have also resulted in the misidentification of northern colonoware as prehistoric pottery or general coarse earthenware.

Studies of Northeastern forced labor have been overshadowed by the canon of

race and labor research centered on the American Southeast and Caribbean. An

“obsession” with whiteness (De Waal 2015) is evident in narratives of northern slavery;

these have been historically “white-washed.” In Chapter 3, I combine the material record

with the slender historical record to dismantle two misguided perceptions of northern

slavery: that northern enslavement occurred on a small scale and that the treatment of

northern captives was mild in comparison to how southern bondsmen were treated. These

myths have been perpetuated by paternalistic characterizations of northern enslavement

as “generally comfortable” (Johnston 1894:137), “weak” (Clark 1991:27), “relatively

humane”, and “good, often marked by mutual affection” (McManus 1966:16). The bioarchaeological data excavated from the African Burial Ground in New York City is particularly chilling. There, a set of female remains revealed intense trauma—multiple

facial blows, a twisting arm fracture, and a musketball located in her chest—diagnostic of

murder (Cantwell and Wall 2001:291). The remains of others buried there evinced the backbreaking working conditions endured by northern slaves, many of whom died before

adolescence. The everyday violence experienced by northern disenfranchised laborers

should not be underestimated. Although some northern indigenous and Black individuals

were free in the sense that their bodies were not owned, I demonstrate how free laborers

were not relieved from harsh treatment, prejudiced codes, and brutal punishments exerted

not only by their White employers, but the surrounding White community at large. In

many cases, northern servitude was nearly as unjust and callous as slavery.

The story of Northeastern colonoware is presented in Chapters 4 and 5. My

approach in these chapters is unique for an archaeology dissertation; it cuts across journalism and storytelling of both past and present people. Journalism taps into “reliable sources” (McQuail 2013:4) and “makes public that which otherwise would be private”

(Harcup 2014:3). I seek out a journalism of past and present people. Each northern colonoware assemblage is reported as a story that captures the social and archaeological milieu the pottery was historically part of—and is currently a part of—by weaving together the archaeological record and documentary record; these are widely considered primary, illuminative sources. Chapters 4 and 5 also incorporate valuable, yet

infrequently used evidence: personal experience accessing collections, interactions with

colleagues, and anecdotal information published in proprietary reports. I utilize pseudonyms to obscure the identities of individuals and organizations in cases where potentially sensitive information is discussed.

I use an interesting and easy-to-follow storytelling technique that flashes between past and present, but remains focal on sherds of colonoware. Archaeologists are

traditionally trained to examine artifacts and decode the long-forgotten experiences, people, and events these objects represent. Northern colonoware, when viewed within its

archaeological and historical context, becomes a portal to reach the northern individuals

who once used the pottery—a woodsawyer from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; a barrel-

maker from Dover, Delaware; “root doctor” women (primary healthcare providers on plantations or in free Black communities) from Boston, Massachusetts and Portsmouth,

New Hampshire; a medical orderly from Trenton, New Jersey; a cook from Lawrence,

New Jersey; slaves who partook in traditional African games when their master was not

looking in Milford, Delaware; and numerous others.

Chapter 6 is guided by Kopytoff’s (1986) “Cultural Biography of Things.”

Kopytoff demonstrates how things, like people, have biographies. I use the stories I tell in

Chapters 4 and 5 to piece together a biographical composite of northern colonoware. I

draw on historic, ethnohistoric, ethnographic, archaeological, and chemical clues from

XRF testing to build the case that those northerners who used the pottery did so in

disparate ways that were significant to them. I question the meaning of the pottery in

several northern indigenous burials—a relationship not seen in other regions to my

knowledge.

The recovery of colonoware in small quantities at northern sites also merits

consideration and I investigate archaeological and ethnographic data that document the

appropriation of pottery fragments in rituals and at African and African American

cemeteries. The important role of ancestral spirits in the lives of African descent

individuals may also be a clue in understanding the pottery’s meaning. Objects that once belonged to or used by ancestors are sacred because they embody the memory of the

decedent. I document the collection of heirloom pottery by northern Black and

indigenous families in Chapter 6.

Heirlooms, or even fragments of an heirloom, may have been particularly powerful objects of memory within the institution of slavery that separated husbands

from wives and parents from children. Objects rekindle memories and may contain traces

of other users or former owners perceived by touch, sight, or smell (Stallybrass 1993).

For example, the aroma of cuisine preserved in unglazed, porous colonoware bodies and

the visible cooking stains present on them may have been multi-sensory ways in which

those who appropriated colonoware as heirlooms experienced the people they were

separated from. Stains, smells, and other signs of use are “visible sign[s] of a story

that…remains hidden” and “shows that something has happened here, even if we don’t always know what that something is,” according to Hauser (2008:69-70). For those who used the pottery in the American Northeast, vessels, or fragments of vessels, may have connected displaced individuals to a community that shared the collective memory and heritage of diaspora. In Chapter 6, I speculate that community and family are vitrified within colonoware. The pottery contained not only food or drink during its lifetime, but

also memories and feelings.

The second part of Chapter 6 addresses evidence that forms the contemporary biography of Northeastern colonoware. I demonstrate how artifacts of the past can be

valued for their ability to shed light onto the present. I synthesize information presented

in Chapters 4 and 5 that speaks to the modern cultural system that the pottery is part of. I

discuss other archaeologists’ perceptions of the pottery which reveals the ways in which

they value the pottery. An unanticipated, but significant, outcome of my research was the

“excavation” of problems inherent to the industries of archaeology, heritage management,

and museum practice; some of these include how access to the pottery (and in turn,

heritage) is controlled, how knowledge of the past is shaped, and how bias is created in

object-based research. It is troubling that gender inequality, (unwitting?) prejudicial practices, burdensome workloads, and low wages continue to affect how work is done—

or not done—in these industries.

Despite the important role colonoware may have played in the lives of northerners

(both past and present) who came in contact with it, the depreciation of the pottery in several online auctions—in spite of its market rarity—indicates that the value of this non- white pottery has changed. This is curious given consumer demand for “primitive” objects that have experienced popular revival due in part to relic hunting television shows, like the History channel’s American Pickers series. It is interesting to note that

Edgefield pottery (a kind of nineteenth century slave-produced stoneware for sale to

Whites that incorporates Christian motifs) and Black Americana (derogatory objects produced during the early twentieth century that racially depict “Blackness”) are highly

sought after and some of these items have recently fetched record-breaking prices. Barton

and Somerville (2015) discuss racialized objects in more depth. The fact that these

objects were produced for White enjoyment, unlike colonoware which was produced for

largely non-White use, hints at the racialized collecting practices that shape some aspects

of the American antiques market.

I distill my research in Chapter 7, the final chapter. The research presented in this

dissertation is relevant to many disciplines, including anthropology, archaeology, historic preservation, history, American studies, museum studies, fine arts, decorative arts, and journalism. In essence, my research carefully examines how knowledge of the past is produced. Specifically, I reveal the events that led to the discovery of northern

colonoware, reflect on my experience accessing colonoware collections and my

interactions with other individuals who have a stake in the story I “excavate.” I present

this information in a way that is meaningful to lay readers by using an interesting

storytelling technique firmly anchored by historical and archaeological evidence. The fact

that parking garages, highways, and other infrastructure improvements—not monuments

or interpretive signs—now stand at the northern locations where colonoware was found is poignant and begins a conversation about how compliance-discovered sites, especially

those that contribute to our knowledge of race, should be conveyed to the public. My perception of my project and the discipline of North American archaeology changed

during my doctoral research and I believe graduate students of diverse disciplines will

find my experience relevant; my hope is that this dissertation empowers other doctoral

students to overcome obstacles, wade through their research, and finish their dissertation.

Together, all of these factors contribute to how knowledge is produced, how access to

heritage is controlled, how bias is created in research, and the politics at play.

CHAPTER 2

REVIEW OF LITERATURE

When we dig our trowels into the ground, the future of the past is in our hands, and that is not a responsibility that we can take lightly.

–Ivor Noël Hume, In Here Lies Virginia (1994:14)

Some of the earliest discussions within the field of Historical Archaeology have

centered on the study of colonoware pottery (e.g. Binford 1965; Handler 1963a, 1963b;

Noël Hume 1962; South 1962). Although it is beyond the scope of this dissertation to provide a complete summa of all work on the topic, the information presented here looks

at the different perspectives scholars have used to examine the pottery. I begin by

defining what is meant by “colonoware” and question whether the pottery can truly be

considered a “ware” or “type” given its heterogeneous characteristics. This is followed by

a summary of colonoware literature and some of the major trajectories research has taken.

Ultimately, I identify underrepresented areas of study and demonstrate the need to

examine colonowares from northern contexts.

______

Defining Colonoware

Colonoware has been generally defined by researchers (i.e., Espenshade and

Kennedy 2002:210; Madsen 2005:106; Singleton 1995:132) as a kind of earthenware pottery that is hand-built, unglazed, and fired at a low temperature. The pottery is usually

constructed using coil-or slab-primary-forming techniques (Hauser and DeCorse 2003).

Wheel-thrown colonowares, though uncommon, have been documented in the Caribbean

(Handler 1963a, 1963b; Hauser and Armstrong 1999:84). Once formed, vessels are given

a burnished surface treatment (Singleton 1995:132), may be incised with linear marks

(Cathcart 2009), or may be impressed with cordage or netting (Egloff and Potter 1982).

Colonoware is usually tempered with sand, grit, or shell (Deetz 1999; Galke 2009:304)

and fired in an open outdoor hearth in either an oxidizing or non-oxidizing environment.

Despite this, Cobb and DePratter (2012:337) characterize colonoware as a “polythetic

type”, meaning that not all colonowares share the same features. In fact, Gerth and

Kingsley (2014:2) have “cautioned against applying generalized characteristics” because

of the heterogeneous nature of colonoware.

According to Henry (1992:1), colonoware in the southern Middle Atlantic takes

on what she calls “quasi-European vessel forms” with flat bases. Deetz (1993:80) stated

that colonoware is distinct from other types of vessels in that it incorporated Native

American or African construction techniques with European hollowware vessel forms,

such as porringers, milk pans, pipkins, chamber pots, teapots, and bowls. Ferguson

(1991:38) noted that African forms of the ware persisted in rural and isolated regions, particularly in the Carolinas, where enslaved individuals were forced to labor on plantations. Emerson (1999), Mouer et al. (1999), and Singleton (1995:132) reported that colonoware smoking pipes were also produced. Heath’s (1999) examination of colonoware from St. Eustatius revealed that colonoware served additional functions aside from cooking and serving vessels. Heath provides evidence for colonoware as a percussion instrument, for water cooling and storage, as well as a spiritual object.

Research that documents how the potting skill was learned and passed on is

relatively slim. Hauser (2008) indicates that Jamaican individuals made the pottery

during free time. Potting was traditionally carried out by women in West Africa and it

appears that this tradition remained intact in the New World (Wahlman 1972). Heath’s

(1988) research on Caribbean colonowares supports this notion and offers that the craft

was passed onto women from a close female relative. In their study of South Carolina

colonoware potters, Espenshade and Kennedy (2002) concluded that the craft was passed

along family lines to willing or qualified individuals. Children mimicked adults who produced more functional pottery to service the needs of the community by creating

miniature pots for play (Ferguson 1992:87).

Archaeologists associate colonoware with historic components of archaeological

sites that date from the seventeenth through nineteenth centuries (Deetz 1988; Galke

2009; Noël Hume 1962). Colonoware has been widely recognized on archaeological sites

located in the Chesapeake Region through Florida and the Caribbean (Ferguson 1992;

Madsen 2005; Noël Hume 1962). Most colonoware excavated from these regions have been recovered from plantation sites that were labored by enslaved Africans, African

Americans, or Native Americans (Ferguson 1992). Colonoware has also been observed

(Speck 1928) or excavated (Binford 1965) on Native American reservations. Slim

evidence supports the notion that colonoware was commonly used by White families. For

example, Groover (1994) posits that colonoware encountered within White homes was

used by frontier families who employed the pottery out of necessity due to limited access

to goods. Though uncommon, colonoware has also been recovered from maritime

contexts. The pottery was identified in the Tortugas on the wrecked remains of the

seventeenth century Spanish galleon Buen Jes ús y Nuestra Señora del Rosario (Gerth and

Kingsley 2014). Some colonoware has even been recovered from riverine contexts near

Charleston, South Carolina (Ferguson 1992; Joseph 2007). Although beyond the scope of this dissertation, it is worth mentioning that the Pueblo of New Mexico altered their ceramic tradition to meet Spanish tastes (Frank 1991). Native American-made pottery manufactured using Spanish techniques and shaped into Spanish forms has also been encountered on missions located in the Alta California frontier (Skowroneck et al. 2003).

Although Frank (1991) and Skowroneck et al. (2003) do not use the term colonoware in reference to their study assemblages, consideration of this pottery as colonoware certainly merits further inquiry.

The quantity of colonoware recovered per site ranges sharply. The largest documented colonoware assemblage from a single site that I have encountered was excavated from the mid-eighteenth through nineteenth century Dean Hall rice plantation located in Berkeley County, South Carolina and consists of 59,000 sherds (Agha et al.

2012:3, 29). In contrast, only scatters of sherds have been recovered from the Bahamas

(Farnsworth 1999), sites that post-date the American Civil War, (i.e., Mitchelville in

South Carolina, see Espenshade 2008), and all known archaeological sites that have produced colonoware in the American Northeast (Catts 1988; Sansevere 2017).

Research on Northeastern colonoware is sparse in comparison to the robust body

of work produced by colonoware scholars working with collections from the American

Southeast and Caribbean. Wade Catts’ (1988) Master’s Thesis was the first substantial

examination of colonoware excavated from Delaware, a border state that has come to

symbolize the boundary between northern and southern culture. A paper given by Smith

(1995) at the 28 th Annual Society for Historical Archaeology Conference examined

colonoware excavated from Boston, Massachusetts. Nearly twenty years later, a dialog on

Northeastern colonoware took place at the 2014 Council for Northeast Historical

Archaeology Meeting held in Long Branch, New Jersey. At this meeting, Keim and

Miller (2014) presented evidence for colonoware in Philadelphia’s Center City and I presented an overview of colonoware located in areas from Delaware to Massachusetts.

This dissertation expands the sample sizes used by Catts (1988), Smith (1995), Keim and

Miller (2014) and my previous work (Sansevere 2011, 2012, 2014, 2017a, 2017b) by

drawing on colonoware data excavated from over twenty archaeological sites located

north of the Chesapeake. I aim to provide preliminary evidence that illustrates where

Northeastern colonowares may have been produced based on visual and chemical comparisons with Southeastern and Caribbean colonowares.

______

A “Ware” or “Type”?

Scholars working with assemblages recovered from the American Southeast and northward generally use the term “colonoware” to refer to this kind of pottery. In addition to “colonoware”, a number of other terms have been employed, primarily by archaeologists working with Caribbean assemblages, to describe this potting tradition.

For example, the term “Afro-Caribbean ware” is used by Heath (1999) in her study of fragments excavated from St. Eustatius. The term is also used in a later publication by

Meniketti (2011:1) to describe all sherds excavated from Caribbean sites that are potted in this tradition. “Criollo Ware” or “Criollo Pottery” is used by Crane (1993) and Magana

(1999) in their analyses of fragments recovered from Puerto Rico. Heath (1999:197) also

notes that the terms “Afro-Jamaican ware”, “Afro-Cruzan ware”, Afro-Antiguan ware”,

and “Afro-Montserratian ware” have also been used to describe similar potting traditions

from Jamaica, Antigua, and Montserrat respectively. The term “Afro-Cruzan ware” is

used to refer to the tradition in the U.S. Virgin Islands (Hauser and DeCorse 2003:72).

Yet in some instances, scholars refer to the pottery as “a broadly inclusive category of

low-fired earthenwares” (Hauser and DeCorse 2003:71). Despite the diversity of terms

used to refer to the pottery, scholars generally agree that a defining characteristic is its

association with enslaved and free Africans, African Americans, African Caribbeans,

Native Americans, or in some instances, White colonists.

The diversity of terms used to describe this kind of pottery raises the question, “Is

colonoware a ware or a type ?” The short answer is no. Archaeologists define “ware” as a group of pottery whose members share similar technology, paste, and surface treatment

(Rice 1976). The inherent diversity of colono “ware” attributes outlined in the opening section of this chapter run counter to the definition of a true “ware.” In fact, Gerth and

Kingsley (2014) caution against applying general characteristics to colonoware across space for good reason-- there simply is not a universal attribute rubric. They state, “the outstanding feature of colonoware is not its similarities, but rather heterogeneity and the lack of a single defining ethnic marker” (Gerth and Kingsley 2014:11).

Artifacts that share a “consistent clustering of attributes” are referred to as a type

(Kelly and Thomas 2016:99; South 1977). I follow Hauser (2008:94) and agree that a single, universal, colonoware type does not exist. Known colonowares recovered from the Northeast through the Caribbean do not universally share all attributes. This makes

morphological typing difficult. For example, wheel-thrown “colonowares”, though

uncommon, illustrate the pottery’s heterogeneity, and can be, at times, confusing.

Chodoronek (2013:60), Hauser et al. (2008:124), and Madsen (2005:106) note that

handbuilt manufacture is precisely what distinguishes colonoware (referred to as yabbas in Hauser et al.’s study of Jamaican pottery) from other kinds of pottery. In contrast,

Hauser and Farmer (2011:4) believe that

many researchers working on Caribbean sites often associate hand-built pottery with African heritage traditions and assume that wheel-thrown pottery cannot be associated in the same way (e.g., Peterson, Watters and Nicholson 1999; Heath 1999; Loftfield 2001). In so doing, regional archeology has failed to acknowledge the possible modification made to the wheel and kiln technology by Barbadian potters in the evolution of their craft tradition. This perspective is narrow, especially if one seeks to acknowledge the heterogeneity of pottery traditions in the Caribbean.

Indeed, slave-produced (Hutchins-Keim 2015:137), wheel-thrown “colonowares” are present in cultural deposits on Barbados (Handler 1963a, 1963b; Schied 2015:115-116),

Concepción de la Vega on Hispaniola (Deagan 2002), Jamaica (Morgan 2011:394), and

Saint John (Hauser and Armstrong 1999). A single colonoware sherd excavated from

Canaveral National Seashore in Florida is unique; the potter of this vessel incorporated handbuilt coils and a potter’s wheel into its manufacture (Brewer and Horvath 2016). A combination of throwing and handbuilding is also diagnostic of locally-produced Cuban pottery (Gerth and Kingsley 2014:24; Hauser and DeCorse 2003:74). These wheel- thrown coarse earthenwares are considered colonowares by some because “tangible expressions of multi-cultural interaction and exchange” are present on the pottery

(Deagan 2002).

Furthermore, colonoware displays diverse functions (i.e., flower pot, instrument, stewing, frying, medicine, spiritual container; see Fennell 2003; Heath 1999; Magana

1999) making functional typing difficult. The tradition has been documented as early as

the 1540s along the coast of Georgia (Gerth and Kingsley 2014:8) and is still carried out

today in some Caribbean areas (i.e., Jamaica and Nevis; see Hauser 2009, 2011;

Meniketti 2011), hence temporal types do not carry much meaning.

Prior to the recognition of the pottery’s diverse characteristics, functions, and

temporal span, scholarship aimed to organize colonoware assemblages into types. Typing

is useful for identifying and comparing pottery produced from specific regions or islands.

However, typing studies can be myopic when they neglect to reveal the larger role the pottery played in the greater Atlantic and Caribbean spheres. Colonoware typing was first

conducted by Binford (1962) and South (1962), some of the pottery’s earliest scholars.

Wheaton and Garrow (1985) distinguished between colonoware types from Yaughan and

Curiboo as African and African American-made (thicker walls, restricted form variety)

and Catawba-made (more refined, thinner walls, variety of forms). The Chicora

Foundation’s (1995) investigation of colonowares excavated from Broom Hall similarly

distinguished types made by African and African Americans and Catawba Native

Americans.

Andrew Veech (1997) developed a type-variety classification scheme for

colonowares excavated from Prince William and Fairfax Counties in Northern Virginia.

He relied on attributes such as temper, surface treatment, and vessel portion to create his

Barnes Typology. Sherds in Northern Virginia commonly lack temper but have

micaceous inclusions, are often undecorated with only 3% burnished, and likely represent

a variety of European-like forms. Veech concludes that Northern Virginia colonowares

are dissimilar from colonowares found in Southern Virginia.

Regional variations have been observed amongst Southeastern colonowares

(Table 2.1). Chesapeake colonowares mimic English pottery forms, like punchbowls, pipkins, porringers, and handled cups, and are tempered with shell, quartz, grit, or sand

(Deetz 1999). Two variations of colonoware have been identified in South Carolina—

those produced by local Catawba Native Americans that resemble English forms and

those produced by enslaved Africans and African Americans that mimic African forms,

such as globular pots and bowls. Significantly less work has been conducted on

colonowares excavated from North Carolina and Georgia, but extant research indicates

that North Carolina colonowares share similarities with Chesapeake vessels while

Georgia colonowares resemble examples from South Carolina. Colonowares throughout

the American Southeast have been associated with cooking, medicinal, or ritual functions

and were used predominately by Africans or African Americans, followed by Native

Americans, and less commonly, White colonists.

The expression of colonoware in the Caribbean is far more diverse than in the

American Southeast (Table 2.2). The earliest documented Caribbean colonowares date to

the sixteenth century. Unlike in the United States, the craft is still practiced today in

Jamaica (Ebanks 1984, 2001; Hauser 2011) and Nevis (Meniketti 2011). Nearly each

Caribbean island produced a slightly different colonoware tradition. Potters from each

island express(ed) their craft differently in manufacture, form, decoration, or surface

treatment (Gerth and Kingsley 2014; Hauser and DeCorse 2003). In comparison,

researchers working with colonowares excavated from the United States generally

differentiate between two variants: Low Country colonoware that is shaped into African

forms and Chesapeake colonoware that is shaped into European forms.

Table 2.1 , continued

Closely Recovered in parallel smaller English forms quantities than in the Handles and Chesapeake Handmade, Natural clay impressed or South commonly by containing Carolina North scalloped Madsen 2005; slab or coil mica and Burnished Carolina rims South 1962 quartz sand encountered, Closely Low-fired inclusions but resemble uncommon Chesapeake samples, but Some African often lack forms noted shell tempering

Closely parallel Burnished on African forms: interior and Chicora exterior Foundation Generally Large and 1995; Quartz, small coarser, small shallow Some Espenshade quantities of thicker, and Handmade bowls and examples 1996; South mica, and larger than globular pots, incised with Ferguson Carolina larger “River Low-fired jars with an “X” or 1991, 1992, quantities of Burnished” flaring rims cosmogram 1999; Joseph sand Catawba- 2007, 2016; made wares Some Painted wares Singleton ointment jars documented, 1985 and handled but rare jars noted

Burnished on interior and exterior

Variety of Chicora

Quartz, sand, decoration Foundation Closely and large 1995; Cobb parallel South quantities of Punctated or and DePratter English forms: Carolina mica incised linear 2012; Thin sherds Handmade “River decoration Cranford with fine Pans, bowls, Burnished” or Some 2013; Joseph bodies Low-fired plates, Catawba examples Painted wares 2016; Riggs pitchers, jugs, pottery contain no documented, 2010; cups, saucers, temper but rare Singleton patty pans 1985 Interior green lead glazed sherds documented, but rare

Table 2.1 , continued

Similar to Closely colonowares Handmade parallel Smoothed documented Georgia --- Isenbarger African forms: surface in South Low-fired 2007 jars, bowls Carolina, but less variety in form

Table 2.2: Summary of Caribbean Colonoware Characteristics.

Surface Common Region Manufacture Temper Treatment / Reference Notes Forms Decoration

Handled examples and spouted water- carrying containers Thin walls

Unhandled Examples restricted jars Comparable and to vessels unrestricted encountered rimless shallow in the Mild bowls are American burnishing common Southeast

Coil constructed Black (including Hauser and and West Often and minerals flower pots) DeCorse Indies undecorated, Anguilla handmodelled and low 2003; (Petersen et although a quantity of Less common Petersen et al. small quantity Low-fired tuff are al. 1999 1999:187) of fragments Unrestricted have incised unhandled May have decoration jars, handled been restricted jars imported (including from monkey jars), Montserrat handled (Petersen et unrestricted al. jars (including 1999:179) coal pots), and griddles

Handled bowls uncommon Handmodelled by Tuff, Hemispherical Mild Hauser and Thin or thick Antigua pinching and feldspar, bowls with burnishing, red DeCorse walls

Table 2.2 , continued

scraping quartz, and round bottoms slip 2003; Hauser magnetite and griddles and Handler May have Some coil are common Simple incision 2009; been constructed observed on Petersen et exported to Unhandled small quantity al. 1999 Barbuda Low-fired restricted jars of vessels (Hauser and and DeCorse unrestricted 2003:73). rimless shallow bowls are common (including flower pots)

Less common are Unrestricted unhandled jars, handled restricted jars (including monkey jars), handled unrestricted jars (including coal pots), and griddles.

Handled bowls uncommon. Only 1 pot lid Not recovered commonly

encountered Similar to

examples from Farnsworth Singleton Jamaica and 1999; Bahamas ------(2011:161) some islands in Singleton attributes the Greater 2011:161 this to an and Less "absence of Antilles good clays" (Farnsworth on the island 1999:98) Handler Produced for 1963a, Wheel-thrown industrial Molasses jars, Glazed or 1963b; Scheid Barbados Fine sand and sugar molds unglazed 2015:115- Kiln fired domestic 116; Siedow use et al. 2014 Utilitarian pots Thick walls are common Some vessels may Coil constructed Hauser and Tuff, Unhandled Mild have been and DeCorse feldspar, restricted jars burnishing imported Barbuda handmodelled 2003; quartz, and and from Petersen et magnetite unrestricted Undecorated Antigua Low-fired al. 1999 rimless shallow (Hauser and bowls are DeCorse common 2003:73)

Table 2.2 , continued

(including flower pots)

Less common are Unrestricted unhandled jars, handled restricted jars (including monkey jars), handled unrestricted jars (including coal pots), and griddles

Handled bowls uncommon Heavily tempered May have Buen Jesus y Large been Nuestra limestone produced in Burnished Senora del and quartz Cooking pots, Gerth and Mexico or Coil constructed interior and/or Rosario inclusions, griddles Kingsley 2014 Panamá La exterior Spanish small - Vieja (Gerth shipwreck large and Kingsley golden 2014:32-33) mica particle Wheel-thrown, Cooking pots Gerth and handmodelled, or with loop Kingsley coil constructed, Cuba --- handles, coal Undecorated 2014; Hauser Thick walls or a combination pots, jars, olla- and DeCorse of these style vessels 2003 techniques Handmade May have Gerth and been Wheel-thrown Plainly Kingsley Dominican Griddles, exported to kiln fired --- decorated, 2014; Hauser Republic simple bowls Haiti (Hauser examples poorly finished and DeCorse and DeCorse observed in 2003 2003:74) Santo Domingo Thick walls

Hemispherical May have bowls and Coarsely Gerth and been buréns tempered May have Kingsley imported Handmade, coil (shallow Haiti with large burnished 2014; Hauser from the constructed griddles), jars, quartz exterior and DeCorse Dominican ollas (stew inclusions 2003 Republic pots), and (Hauser and collared ollas DeCorse 2003:74) Handmade by Some Spanish jars, Lead glazed, Gerth and Jamaica coil or slab. examples monkeys slipped, Kingsley contain (water jars), burnished, or 2014; Hauser

Table 2.2 , continued

May also be golden yabbas untreated and DeCorse wheel-thrown mica (unrestricted 2003; Hauser bowls), pots et al. 2008; Fired in a pit or Hauser 2011; kiln Meyers 1999; Morgan 2011 Handled examples and spouted water- carrying containers Thin walls Unhandled restricted jars Examples and Comparable unrestricted to vessels rimless shallow encountered bowls are in the common American (including Southeast Coil constructed Black Hauser and flower pots) Mild and West and/or minerals DeCorse burnishing Indies Montserrat handmodelled and low 2003; Less common (Petersen et quantity of Petersen et are Undecorated al. Low-fired tuff al. 1999 Unrestricted 1999:187) unhandled jars, handled May have restricted jars been (including exported to monkey jars), Anguilla handled (Petersen et unrestricted al. jars (including 1999:179) coal pots), and griddles

Handled bowls uncommon Some examples resemble Gerth and Antiguan Mostly Kingsley and Shallow undecorated Handmodelled by Fine 2014; Hauser Jamaican platters, Nevis pinching and mineral and Handler pottery bowls, jugs, Some incised scraping inclusions 2009; olla-style pots hatching Meniketti Nevis observed 2011 pottery is notably coarse and friable Black, red Hemispherical Some Hard fabric and white bowls with undecorated Gaitán Coil or slab quartz strap handles, Ammann Some constructed Panama inclusions. Some 2012:283- examples

White Globular pots examples are 288; closely Low-fired quartz and jars burnished or Gerth and resemble inclusions with long, given a reddish Kingsley Jamaican

Table 2.2 , continued

may be wide, or wash 2014; Schreg yabbas beach sand everted rims 2010 Some Black Globular pots examples have inclusions, and jars with incised possibly narrow rims geometrical volcanic and wide flat design sand handles Some Large – very examples have small bowls short, applied with frail, strips embossed handles Some examples have a dotted cosmogram- like design Ollas (stew May be pots), cazuelas smoothed (frying pans). burnished, or Coil constructed given a wash Sand, fine and/or Some ollas Hauser and sand, handmodelled have strap Stamped DeCorse Puerto Rico quartz, handles motifs, 2003; grog, or Reduced or rouletting, or Magana 1999 mica oxidized firing. Footrings strip applique observed on designs appear some on some fragments pottery Bowls and pots with everted rims and round bases most Larger common variety of forms in Less common comparison are jugs, Gerth and to other Handmodelled dishes, Kingsley islands, and/or coil May be Mica, schist monkeys 2014; Hauser probably Saint constructed undecorated, inclusions (water jars), and DeCorse owing to the Eustatius burnished, or oglios (pepper 2003; Heath "island's role Reduced and red painted pots), tea pots 1988, 1999; as a major oxidized firing Nasca 1998 port for the Footrings region" observed on (Heath some 1999:201- fragments 202)

Loop, lug, and strap observed Various Some combinatio Ahlman 2005; examples Handmade ns of black Ahlman et al. resemble Saint Kitts and opaque ------2008 pottery from Low-fired sand, Montserrat, hematite, Anguilla, St. limestone, Eustatius.

Table 2.2 , continued mica, Some schist, pottery may quartz, or have been grog imported from St. Eustatius or Montserrat. (Ahlman et al. 2008:114, 121) Bowls often Some have footrings examples, and plates are called Mission Handmade often Red Filmed brimmed. Gerth and Grog, grit (MRF), are Variability in Wheel-thrown Kingsley Spanish and grog, decorated with form, paste, observed, but Handles and 2014; Slade Florida sand and red paint and surface uncommon lugs observed 2006; Deagan grit treatment 2002 Some Low-fired Mimics examples Spanish slipped on tableware interior (Maiolica) The wheel- thrown lead Restricted glazed Unglazed, Gartley Handmolded bowls, everted pottery smoothed on 1979:47-48; U.S. Virgin pots, olla-style found on St. surface Hauser and Islands (St. Low-fired vessels John was Armstrong Croix, St. --- likely Some lead 1999, Hauser John, and St. Some wheel- Restricted jars produced in glazed pottery and DeCorse Thomas) thrown pottery with flared the Spanish found on St. 2003; Lenik found on St. John rims on St. West Indies John 2009 Croix (Hauser and Armstrong 1999:88) Mostly Flat open undecorated bowls with Heavily tapered or Usually tempered rounded rims, smoothed, Cruxent and with large globular jars though not Rouse crushed Handmodelled, commonly 1958:58-59; Coarse, Venezuela rock and scraped Olla-style polished Gerth and friable fabric shell, vessels are Kingsley 2014 possibly rare Some from coral examples have reefs Handles a red slip or uncommon painted hatched design

In sum, colonoware pottery is expressed heterogeneously in various geographic regions, particularly in the Caribbean. This makes the universal application of the terms

ware and type problematic. The Chesapeake Region, South Carolina, and every

Caribbean island produced a unique kind of colonoware. What unites colonoware pottery in all of these regions is a shared association with historically oppressed and diaspora groups (Cobb and DePratter 2012; Gerth and Kingsley 2014; Hauser and DeCorse 2003).

Relatively recent work has viewed colonoware as a tangible product that resulted from colonialism and the dynamism of local agency (Cobb and DePratter 2012). Cobb and

DePratter (2012:447) see colonoware as a kind of “paradox of globalization”, or “the notion that the spread of homogenizing forces of cultural, political, and economic hegemony are recapitulated into endless variants.” They continue, “at the same time that

Western technologies, styles, and tastes seem to be rapidly circulating and pervasive, local traditions are continuously reworking them into idiosyncratic variants” (Cobb and

DePratter 2012:452). In other words, Cobb and DePratter view colonoware as a kind of hybrid artifact that arose out of the shared experience of colonialism in the American

Southeast and Caribbean. Singleton and Bograd (1999) use the term “intercultural artifact” to refer to its dynamic history influenced, created, and used by many different ethnicities. Petersen et al. (1999) remark how unusual the presence of the colonoware potting craft is; it is distinctly a non-European tradition that persisted in the wake of

European colonialism.

I echo the perspective of all of these researchers, but propose that colonoware can also be viewed as a kind of potting tradition that emerged out of the shared experience of displacement from colonialism. The term tradition is evocative of a kind of cultural

knowledge passed along generational lines. Heath (1988) documented that the knowledge

of colonoware potting was indeed passed down from woman-to-woman. Similarly, Ma

Lou, a 20 th century Afro-Jamaican potter who produced pottery similar to colonoware, learned the skill from her mother (Ebanks 1984:31). Local experience shaped this potting tradition into the different variants that are recognized in the literature today.

I offer that the colonoware tradition is best understood within the contemporary

social context that produced the pottery. We can look to cues in art history and consider

what defines different artistic movements. For example, what makes avant-garde works

distinct is its opposition to the mainstream (DeWaal 2003), not its use of a particular

color scheme, medium, or technique. Though not considered a “high art”, colonoware

stood in similar opposition to the mainstream. When considering colonoware’s attributes

from the Northeast through the Caribbean, it is clear that there is no single physical

characteristic (i.e., form, tempering agent, surface treatment, or technology) that unites

colonoware produced in all regions. There is, however, a single social characteristic

shared by all colonowares. Just as opposition to the mainstream unifies avant-garde art,

the shared experience of displacement from colonialism and association with oppressed

diaspora groups unifies the colonoware potting tradition (See Cobb and DePratter 2012;

Gerth and Kingsley 2014; and Hauser and DeCorse 2003 for discussions that frame

colonoware in terms of the shared experience of disenfranchised, oppressed, and/or

diaspora groups).

______

History of Literature

Many credit famed historical archaeologist Ivor Noël Hume with bringing the pottery now commonly referred to as colonoware to the attention of the archaeological community. However, a review of older literature revealed that ethnologist Frank Speck

(1928) previously identified the pottery in the Rappahannock area of Virginia. Speck writes about the unique vessels he observed that were “indications of a modification in form, bringing them into correspondence with the common European forms” (1928:404).

The European modifications he references include pot lids, lug handles, legs, and flat bottoms.

For many years, research surrounding colonoware centered on identifying who produced and consumed the pottery. Noël Hume (1962) called the pottery “Colono-

Indian Ware” when he encountered it at Colonial Williamsburg. He argued that the

vessels were manufactured by Native Americans based on similarities they shared with

Pamunkey pottery. He further postulated that “Colono-Indian Ware” was utilized by

Africans and African Americans, despite being manufactured by local indigenous populations.

Stanley South (1962) supported Noël Hume’s notion and concluded that the pottery he encountered at Brunswick Town near Wilmington, North Carolina was also produced by Native Americans. In the same vein, Lewis Binford (1965) noted similar

characteristics on Nottoway pottery produced by Native Americans on the Eastern Shore

of Virginia. These early colonoware researchers assumed Native Americans

manufactured this pottery to sell to European colonists. At least some of the colonists

gave the pottery to their slaves to use.

Jerome Handler (1963a, 1963b) encountered similar pottery in the Caribbean at the same time Noël Hume, South, and Binford were deliberating Southeastern colonowares. However, Handler reached a different conclusion. He tentatively linked the

“African-Carib wares” he observed with African and African-Caribbean production.

African and African American produced colonoware was identified some years later in

Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Tennessee by Polhemus (1977).

Several studies have compared Native American-made, African-made, and

African American-made Southeastern colonowares. For example, Wheaton and Garrow’s

(1985) study of colonoware from South Carolina’s Yaughan and Curiboo plantations compared Catawba-made colonoware to African and African American made colonoware. In summary, Wheaton and Garrow concluded “River Burnished” (Catawba- made) pots incorporated European-derived shapes and had thinner walls. They were tempered with river tumbled sands and more mica inclusions, indicating riverine clay sources. African and African American-made colonowares exhibited thicker walls and less variety of forms restricted to bowls and jars. These fragments were tempered with sands that have a larger grain size than Catawba-made pottery. Wheaton and Garrow note that colonoware production declined after the Revolutionary War and use this as an indicator of increased acculturation.

Similarly, The Chicora Foundation’s (1995) investigation of colonowares from

Broom Hall in South Carolina compared “Yaughan Pottery” (African-made and African

American-made) to “River Burnished Pottery” (Catawba-made) after Wheaton and

Garrow (1985). In summary, Catawba wares are more refined. This indicated to the authors that the clays were curated by the Catawba from a source that contained superior

clays, whereas African and African Americans may have been restricted to clay sources

directly available in or near plantations.

Emerson (1988) and Mouer et al. (1999) shed light on a unique form of

colonoware associated with seventeenth century contexts in Maryland and, less

commonly, in Virginia. Emerson examined what he called “Chesapeake pipes”— burnished terra-cotta smoking pipes decorated with incising, rouletting, stamping, and

white clay inlay. Geometric motifs and representations of animal forms are also common.

Emerson argued that these decorative elements were indicative of African origin. In

response, Mouer et al. (1999) argued that these pipes were the making of Native

Americans influenced by the creolized world in which they lived. A strength of Mouer

and colleagues’ paper is that they call to light the perpetuated myth that Native

Americans all but disappeared from the historical and archaeological record following

contact. The persistence of Native American motifs on these pipes indicates the presence

of Native Americans throughout the seventeenth and early-eighteenth centuries within the

Chesapeake. In a paper presented at the 2010 Council for Northeast Historical

Archaeology Meeting, I argued that decorative elements, like hanging triangles and

circle-and-roulette motifs found on smoking pipes recovered from the seventeenth

century Clarke-Watson Site in Perth Amboy, New Jersey are similar to those previously

identified on Chesapeake pipes by Mouer et al. (1999).

Later examination of Chesapeake pipes by Monroe and Mallios (2004) proposed that Africans and English manufactured these pipes based on bore diameter similarity with English-made pipes. Monroe and Mallios noted that, like English pipe stems,

Chesapeake pipe stem bore diameter changed over time. However, Chesapeake pipe stem

38 bore diameter shrank more slowly in comparison to the quicker rate of English pipes. In a more recent study, Luckenbach and Kiser (2006) support the notion that the pipes were manufactured by Native Americans and English. They were able to document the presence of some Chesapeake pipes as far away as Newfoundland.

James Deetz’s (1988, 1999) work at the Virginia plantation Flowerdew Hundred establishes a correlation between the relocation of slaves from the planter’s house to separate quarters and the advent of colonoware. Prior to 1660, indentured servants and slaves commonly cohabitated with planters in the main house. During the last few decades of the seventeenth century, planters quartered their laborers separately as a result of rising slave populations as well as servant and slave-led rebellions. Deetz believes that slaves began to manufacture colonowares to meet their material needs once they were removed from the planter’s home and relocated to separate slave quarters elsewhere on the property. He contends that the first generation of colonoware potters would have been familiar with the variety of European vessels inside the planter’s home and outbuildings which might account for why Virginia colonowares closely parallel European forms. In comparison, African and African American slaves were almost immediately housed in separate slave quarters when they arrived to the Carolina Low Country which might explain why Southeastern colonowares are evocative of African forms, like small bowls, jars, and jugs.

Leland Ferguson’s landmark study of colonoware in Uncommon Ground (1992) provided archaeologists with a much needed examination of colonoware from sites located in the Carolina Low Country and Virginia. His study marks a turn in colonoware scholarship. He concludes that his study sample is linked to enslaved African and African

American production and consumption. He provides evidence that marked colonoware

vessels found in rivers were used as medicine or ritually purposed vessels. (See

discussion below on ritually-purposed colonoware.) Ferguson advocates that the pottery be referred to as “colonoware”, instead of “Colono-Indian Ware”, to remove the pottery’s

implicit connotation with solely Native American production and consumption.

Archaeologists continued to explore the links between ethnicity and the pottery (i.e., with

Africans and African Americans, see Deetz 1993, 1999; Emerson 1988, 1999; Singleton

1999; or with Native Americans, see Henry 1992; Mouer et al. 1999) following

Ferguson’s text. It is generally thought today that Native Americans, Africans, African

Americans, and some White colonial settlers constructed and/or used these vessels

(Anthony 1986:46; Cobb and DePratter 2012; Espenshade and Kennedy 2002:210; Gerth

and Kingsley 2014; Groover 1994; Heite 2002; Madsen 2005:107; Singleton and Bograd

1999).

Colonoware scholarship shifted in the new millennium. For example, Espenshade

and Kennedy’s (2002) article identified individual potters using nineteenth century sherds

excavated from three slave sites in Beaufort County, South Carolina. Their work isolated

sherd attributes indicative of potter variability. Madsen (2005) examined a robust sample

of colonoware excavated from Hope Plantation located in Bertie County, North Carolina

which has led to insights regarding the creolization of enslaved African Americans living

at the home of Governor Stone in the early-nineteenth century. Madsen identified a

cultural connection between vessels recovered from Hope Plantation and those located in

South Carolina based on style and technological similarities.

Other trajectories in the new millennium seek to understand what the pottery

symbolized to its users. In a compelling study, Galke (2009) provided archaeological and

historical evidence to conclude that colonoware from nineteenth century Manassas,

Virginia may not have been an ethnic marker or symbol of African culture wielded by

African Americans as previously thought. Galke observed that the pottery is absent from

free African American homes, suggesting “there was an aversion to colonoware use

whenever there was freedom of choice” (Galke 2009:318).

Over recent years, a body of work has been dedicated to discerning meaning from the marks observed on colonoware. Several contributions in the 2007 African Diaspora

Archaeology Newsletter and the 2011 open forum in Historical Archaeology explore

these marks in detail. In particular, the open forum initiated dialog with colonoware’s

sister-potting tradition, Edgefield Stoneware, which was produced by enslaved workers in

cottage industries.

Other recent contributions trace colonoware’s role in Southeastern markets, particularly in Charleston, South Carolina (i.e., Joseph 2016) and Jamaica (Hauser 2011).

These studies utilize material-science methodologies, like Neutron Activation Analysis

(NAA), presence of fossilized bio-markers like radiolaria, petrography, XRF, and

Inductively Coupled Plasma Spectrometry (ICPS) to reveal clay sources used in

colonoware manufacture to foster discussion on the global and local economies that produced the pottery (Gerth and Kingsley 2014; Hauser et al. 2008; Hauser 2008, 2011;

Meniketti 2011; Siedow et al. 2014). What these studies share in common is their

examination of colonowares excavated from the American Southeast or Caribbean. Like

these studies, my work aims to contribute to our understanding of colonoware clay

sources by employing a scientific approach, XRF technology. However, my research is

distinct in that it considers underecognized Northeastern colonowares. I question whether

the pottery was manufactured in the north and consider how these new insights not only

affect how we view colonoware, but, more importantly, the people who made and used

the pottery.

______

Diet

Colonoware’s most common function is to contain food and drink. There is some

speculation that we may not know as much about Native American foodways because

there was no set meal time that travelers could document. Native Americans “kept a large pot constantly simmering on the fire. Whenever they felt hungry, people stopped by the

steaming pots and dished out what they wanted into bowls” (Ferguson 1992:97). The

large pot referenced by Ferguson was likely earthenware.

However, there is particular emphasis on slave foodways in the literature. The

literature summarized below draws on the work of researchers who rely on a combination

of historical documents, oral histories, ethnography, and circumstantial archaeological

evidence to gain insight into the role colonoware played in foodways.

Pamela Blakeley’s Master’s Thesis (1978) was one of the first pieces that sought

to examine African foodways and the role earthenware pots played in mealtimes. She

reports that the Hemba of the Congo preferred to prepare dishes in clay pots. Blakeley

notes that earthenware vessels cook food more slowly in comparison to metal pots. The

tradition of preparing foods in colonoware clay pots has been observed archaeologically

on African, African American, and indigenous sites located in the American Southeast

and Caribbean.

Ferguson (1991, 1992) makes the case that slave foodways in the American

Southeast were similar to those observed in Africa. One large pot was used to prepare and

serve a main stewed dish or soup often accompanied by small pots or mug-like vessels

used to cook and serve vegetable, meat, or fish relishes. Otto’s (1984) work at Cannon’s

Point, Georgia, revealed the use of wild animals to supplement plantation rations. Small

chopped bones found at the site indicated that small bits of meat were used in stews or

pottages. Dishes were simmered “low and slow” while slaves were working. Stews or

soups were often supplemented with the addition of rice, grits, or millet which were

cooked and served in a large earthenware jar. Drink was taken from a colonoware

drinking bowl or dried gourd. Dried gourds and carved wooden vessels were used as

substitutes for dippers and bowls (Ferguson 1991:31).

Evidence to support similarly cooked dishes is also found in the Caribbean.

Jamaican yabbas reported by Hauser (2008) were used for stews, rice, and fried foods.

Magana’s (1999) work on colonowares from San Juan, Puerto Rico indicated that ollas

(pots) were used for stewed dishes while cazuelas (frying pans) were used for fried foods.

Heath (1999) indicates that colonoware pepper pots were used for simmering a variety of pepper-infused stews. The Caribbean tradition of glazed colonoware may indicate that

surplus food and liquids were stored for long periods of time. In comparison, few

colonoware jars or glazed vessels have been identified in the American Southeast which

may indicate that food storage was used minimally. This was likely due to the often

meager supply of rations on southern plantations.

Several studies have noted wear patterns on the pottery. Noël Hume (1962:5)

documented wear patterns on colonoware bowls indicative of stirring and cutting. Lid

wear was observed on the interior of a cooking bowl excavated from the Broom Hall plantation in South Carolina (Chicora Foundation 1995:215). An image of a colonoware bowl from the Combahee River near Bluff Plantation in Colleton County, South Carolina with cutlery marks (in Ferguson 1992:29) further suggests that metal utensils were used at mealtimes to some degree. Despite this, how much a role metal utensils played in

African and African American foodways is debatable. More often, “people eat the meal with their hands, taking a ball of the starchy main dish and dipping it into the relish”

(Ferguson 1991:33).

Groover (1994), Madsen (2005), and Singleton and Bograd (1999) argue that some White families ate meals prepared in colonoware too. Colonoware constituted 53% of the ceramic assemblage excavated from the cellar of the eighteenth century Thomas

Howell Plantation located near Columbia, South Carolina (Groover 1994). During this part of the century, South Carolina was considered frontier backcountry with limited access to major markets that sold European and European-style pottery. Similarly, the

Stone family, who occupied the Hobson-Stone House at Hope Plantation in Bertie

County, North Carolina during the late-eighteenth to early-nineteenth centuries, may have also taken meals cooked in colonoware (Madsen 2005). This is evinced by the recovery of colonoware fragments near the Hope Plantation kitchen. The recovery of colonoware in planters’ domestic spaces implies slaves, or even the planter family, cooked meals in colonoware pots. In this sense, multiple ethnic groups grew accustomed to the taste of

44 foods simmered in colonoware vessels. Singleton and Bograd (1999) view colonoware as an “intercultural artifact” for this very reason.

A number of eighteenth-and nineteenth-century American cookbooks written for

White audiences praised the qualities of low-fired earthenware (that fits the description of colonoware) for preparing dishes, some of which were based on rice or okra. For example, Ferguson (1991:35) quotes Gilmore Simms’ The Wigwam and the Cabin

(1970:361) and states the “’old [white] ladies’ insisted that okra soup ‘was always inferior if cooked in any but an Indian pot’ and that an ‘iron vessel is one of the last which should be employed in the preparation of this truly southern dish.’”

Mary Randolph, descendent of John Rolfe, Pocahontas, and several noted

Virginia dignitaries, published The Virginia Housewife (1828), one of the most renowned nineteenth century cookbooks. Randolph’s recipe for “Ochra Soup” (1828:17-18) instructs readers to prepare the dish in an “earthen pipkin” beginning at a “very early hour”:

Get two double handsful of young ochra, wash and slice it thin, add two onions chopped fine, put it into a gallon of water at a very early hour in an earthen pipkin, or very nice iron pot; it must be kept steadily simmering, but not boiling: put in pepper and salt. At 12 o'clock, put in a handful of Lima beans; at half-past one o'clock, add three young cimlins cleaned and cut in small pieces, a fowl, or knuckle of veal, a bit of bacon or pork that has been boiled, and six tomatos, with the skin taken off; when nearly done, thicken with a spoonful of butter, mixed with one of flour. Have rice boiled to eat with it.

Randolph suggests several other dishes to her readers that are best prepared in earthenware vessels. “To Boil Ducks with Onion Sauce” involves “put[ting] them in warm water for a few minutes, then take them out and put them in an earthen pot; pour over them a pint of boiling milk, and let them lie in it two or three hours” (Randolph

1828:70). Randolph’s recipe for “Vinegar of the Four Thieves” (Randolph 1828:177) is

used to refresh “crowded rooms, in the apartments of the sick, and is peculiarly grateful

when sprinkled about the house in damp weather.” The tonic should be prepared in

“earthen ware.”

Take lavender, rosemary, sage, wormwood, rue, and mint, of each a large handful; put them in a pot of earthen ware, pour on them four quarts of very strong vinegar, cover the pot closely, and put a board on the top; keep it in the hottest sun two weeks, then strain and bottle it, putting in each bottle a clove of garlic. When it has settled in the bottle and become clear, pour it off gently; do this until you get it all free from sediment. The proper time to make it is when the herbs are in full vigour, in June.

It was not until later in the nineteenth century that cookbooks written by African

Americans were widely published due in part to the fact that African and African

American literacy was forbidden under the supervision of many slave masters. Robert

Roberts’ The House Servant’s Directory: An African American Butler’s 1827 Guide

(1827) was one of these early efforts and was written by a free African American male

servant to a New England family. Malinda Russells’ Domestic Cook Book: Containing a

Careful Selection of Useful Receipts for the Kitchen (1866), Abby Fisher’s What Mrs.

Fisher Knows About Old Southern Cooking Soups, Pickles, Preserves, Etc. (1881), and

Rufus Estes’ Good Things to Eat: The First Cookbook by an African-American Chef

(1911) are other examples of early cookbooks written or dictated by Black authors, some

of whom were formerly enslaved. With rare exception, Black cookbooks were not published until after Emancipation and the American Civil War when colonoware pottery

was all but abandoned. It is interesting to note that all of the aforementioned cookbooks

were published in the north.

It is worth pointing out that Fisher (1881:33) instructs her readers to ferment

“sweet cucumber pickles” “in an earthen jar.” Estes (1911) suggests that his “Fish en

Casserole”, “Walnut Loaf”, “Blackberry Vinegar”, “Sauce Mayonnaise”, “Pineapple

Sorbet”, and “Rhubarb Jam” is to be prepared in earthenware. It is unknown, albeit

unlikely, that Fisher and Estes were specifically instructing their readers to prepare these

dishes in colonoware pottery because no known archaeological examples from the United

States have dated post-1870 (the latest site to produce colonoware in the United States is

Mitchelville, see Espenshade 2008). According to Espenshade (2008), traditional African

recipes continued to be used after Emancipation despite the absence of colonoware in

archaeological contexts that post-date it. Curiously, references to clay or earthenware

vessels are absent from colonoware-period Black cookbooks, like Robert Roberts’ (1827) publication. Malinda Russell’s (1866) cook book, whose mother was born into slavery, also omits references to colonoware. The pottery is even missing from Toni Tipton-

Martin’s meticulous compendium The Jemima Code: Two Centuries of African American

Cookbooks (2015).

Earlier recipes used in plantation cooking were commonly passed down orally

from generation to generation. Tipton-Martin (2015:2) remarks,

[black women] transmitting[ed] their craft orally. Society has been slow to accept oral history as a legitimate record. But since my ancestors were denied the opportunity to read and write, they transferred important cultural traditions from one generation to another through face-to-face, personal exchanges. They told stories on the front porch, during special occasions, and at celebrations. They transferred cooking techniques while working side by side or sharing a meal together.

Personal communication with Ms. Sara Daise (2016), a young Gullah woman, revealed

insight into recipe preparation on the Sea Islands of coastal South Carolina. Ms. Daise is

the daughter of the creators of the popular 1990s children’s television show Gullah

Gullah Island and historical interpreter at the McLeod Plantation located in Charleston,

South Carolina. Ms. Daise explained that the Gullah Geechee foodway is a kind of

cuisine of memory. Cooks know a dish is done when it tastes “familiar”, like “home.”

In sum, the information we do know about colonoware’s role in foodways comes from the archaeological record and is supplemented by information in cookbooks written for White audiences. A material science approach to identify food remains on colonoware vessels is notably absent from the literature. Reber’s (2009) work on food residues found on colonoware sherds excavated from Dean Hall Plantation in Berkeley County, South

Carolina is the only residue study conducted to date. Future residue studies are needed.

The recovery and analysis of starch grains and phytoliths from colonoware sherds will undoubtedly shed light onto the nature of the contents that were prepared in these vessels.

______

Marked Colonoware

Leland Ferguson’s Uncommon Ground (1992) and “Cross is a Magic Sign”

(1999) examined cosmogram-marked colonowares, particularly on underwater vessels, as

a symbol of African ritual. In their simplest form, cosmograms appear as incised crosses

or X’s. They are usually located on the bottom of colonoware vessels. In some cases, a

circle or rectangle may be incised around the motif. The symbol is associated with

Bakongo cosmology that views the spirit-water world separate from the land of the

living.

Ferguson (1992:114) discusses sacred medicines, called minkisi , made from

“cemetery earth, white clay, stones…leaves, shells, bags, wooden images, and cloth

48 bundles.” Minkisi treated a variety of maladies. Ferguson suspects minkisi materials were

cooked inside some of the colonoware bowls recovered from predominately riverine

contexts near rice plantations in the Low Country. A cosmogram symbol is depicted on

the exterior base of many of these vessels.

Ritually-purposed colonoware was not restricted to the Low Country. A passage

recorded in 1750 describes the treatment performed by a male Barbadian (Bajan) Obeah

(a spiritual leader) on a sick woman whose pain was believed to be caused by bewitchment:

Upon the payment of a stipulated Praemium, he [the Obeah] produced his magical Apparatus, being two Earthen Basons, a handful of different kinds of Leaves, and a piece of Soap. In one of these Basons he made a strong Lather. In the other he put the bruised Herbs (in Heath 1999:216).

Once the medicine was prepared inside the vessels, the Obeah massaged the ingredients

onto the afflicted woman and then plunged his hands into the pot to “retrieve” the cause

of the ailment.

Heath (1999:216) also reports on an inventory taken of a female Obeah’s home in

Jamaica in 1900. Items listed include:

the implements of her trade, consisting of rags, feathers, bones of cats, and a thousand other articles. Examining further, a large earthen pot or jar, closely covered, was concealed under the bed. It contained a prodigious quantity of round bulk of earth or clay of various dimensions, whitened on the outside, and variously compounded with hair and rags, or feathers of all sorts, and strongly bound with twine.

Fennell’s (2003) article offers another perspective to view marked colonowares.

In short, the cosmogram symbolizes the following: The “-“ line represents the division between the land of the living and the dead. The “|” line represents the path to the

underworld of water (the dead) to the land of the living. Fennell explains that the

expanded cosmogram (called the “ emblematic ”) was originally used in Africa as a public display of group identity. An abbreviated form of the cosmogram (called the

“instrumental ”) is the manifestation depicted on colonoware. Fennel states that the

abbreviated cosmogram was used in private or secret, such as when slaves subverted the

symbol to conceal its African meaning from masters. For Fennell, instrumental usage of

the cosmogram on pottery and other objects, like pewter spoons, represent a privatization

of ritual that the master could interpret in terms of his own Christian world. Notably,

Edgefield Stoneware also features X’s or cosmogram markings. Edgefield pottery is a

kind of wheel-thrown glazed stoneware distinct from colonoware. It was produced by

slaves under White supervision in the American Southeast. Edgefield pottery and its

markings are discussed in more detail below.

A productive debate in African Diaspora occurred in 2007 regarding marked colonoware recovered from riverine contexts. Joseph’s (2007) article earlier in the year provided evidence that the cosmogram-marked wares recovered from rivers were more refined than colonowares recovered from non-riverine contexts. This led Joseph to conclude that refined riverine wares may have been bound for market and accidentally deposited in the river from a tipped canoe cargo load.

In response to Joseph, Espenshade (2007b) provided a rubric for what we should

see on these wares if Joseph’s hypothesis is accurate. Espenshade states that the refined

riverine colonowares Joseph presents should show no signs of prior use and should

incorporate European forms desired by market customers. Espenshade (2007a) sharply

disagrees with Ferguson’s hypothesis that marked riverine colonowares are associated

with African ritual. Espenshade posits that riverine vessels are likely the results of

dumped plantation refuse. Espenshade’s criticism hinges on the fact that Ferguson’s

assemblage is not well dated, was found by “sport” divers, and lacks terrestrial contexts.

Terrestrial evidence for marked colonoware was later reported by Agha and

Isenbarger (2011). Two marked colonoware vessel fragments were excavated from the

Dean Hall plantation in South Carolina. The sherds were found in a nearly intact basin-

like feature. A separate feature, a crossed drainpipe evocative of a cosmogram, was

identified underneath a slave cabin nearby.

Similar marks have also been identified, albeit in smaller quantities, outside of the

American Southeast. Dotted cosmogram-like marks were observed on some colonoware handle sherds excavated from Panamá La Vieja (Gaitán Ammann 2012:284). X-marks were also identified on creamware and pearlware pottery excavated from Johannes de

Graaf’s sugar plantation on St. Eustatius and Brimstone Hill on St. Kitts. The pottery from St. Eustatius was excavated from a late-eighteenth century context associated with enslaved workers that were forced to labor on de Graaf’s sugar plantation (Nasca

1998:27-28). Here, X-marks were etched through the glaze and located on the base of several plates. The marked wares from St. Kitts were excavated from Brimstone Hill,

“one of the largest colonial military complexes in the Caribbean” (Schroedl and Ahlman

2002:38). Schroedl and Ahlman (2002:42) contend that European pottery may have been obtained by African slaves who labored at the fort from the mid-eighteenth century until

1834 as hand-me-downs or by robbing officers or planters. Schroedl and Ahlman believe these marks may have functioned as a way to express African ethnicity or to mark individual ownership of the pottery within a communal military setting. Curiously, none of the 439 colonoware sherds excavated from Brimstone Hill are marked with X’s.

Marked colonoware is relatively common in the American Southeast. It is

exceptionally uncommon in the American Northeast. A single fragment of marked

colonoware recovered from the Northeast is discussed in Chapter 4 of this dissertation.

The fragment was excavated from the National Constitution Center in Philadelphia.

Though not enough of the motif is present to definitively claim that it is indeed a

cosmogram, it does raise the possibility that similar rituals may have been carried out in

the American Northeast. Other marked artifacts found in Philadelphia and New York provide additional evidence to support ritual practice. Kaktins and Orr (2008) reported on

two redware vessels excavated from the City Almshouse in Philadelphia that were

marked on their bases. An X-marked spoon was recovered from a former wharf along the

East River at the Assay Site in New York City (Cantwell and Wall 2001:240). A clipped

silver Spanish cob with a hand-etched “X”, or cross, was excavated from Sylvester

Manor on Shelter Island, New York. The etched cob is likely associated with Native

American laborers (Gary 2007:106) and is discussed in further detail in Chapter 4 of this

dissertation.

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Manufacturing Sites

It is surprising that archaeological evidence of colonoware manufacture is sparse given that the pottery is nearly ubiquitous on southern plantation sites. Ferguson

(1992:25) remarked, “Finding the firing locations for Colono Ware is not as easy as identifying the factories and workshops of European-style potteries…fired in elaborate brick kilns that leave major archaeological evidence.” Instead, colonoware was usually

fired in an open-air pit or hearth. The hearth used for firing the pottery was likely the

same hearth used for cooking meals.

Ferguson (1992:26-27) lays out the kinds of evidence we should expect to find at

colonoware manufacturing sites. Archaeological signatures of the latter might include:

fragments of pottery with distinct firing breaks, poor quality vessels not destined for

market located near the firing site, clay toys and other items made in free time, the

inclusion of clays and tempers sourced locally from the firing site, and pottery distinct

from those made by Native Americans.

Archaeological work conducted at Drayton Hall along the Ashley River in South

Carolina resulted in the recovery of a sherd from a tiny colonoware bowl, too small to

hold the contents of an adult’s meal (Ferguson 1992:87, 89; Lewis 1978:62-65). This

small base sherd was incised with the letters “MHD” (Figure 2.1), likely the initials of

Mary Henrietta Drayton who resided at Drayton Hall from the 1780s – 1840s. It is

speculated that Mary played with some of the Black children enslaved at Drayton Hall.

One of her playmates, or perhaps Mary herself, incised the letters on the little sherd. The presence of colonoware play toys provides circumstantial evidence that the pottery may

have been manufactured at Drayton Hall.

Figure 2.1 : Colonoware sherd incised with the letters “MHD.” Courtesy of Drayton Hall, a National Trust Historic Site, Charleston, S.C.

One fired clay spindle-whorl used to spin fibers into thread recovered from the

Thomas Howell Plantation (occupied 1740-1820) near Columbia, South Carolina is additional circumstantial evidence to support the manufacture of colonoware vessels at this site (Groover 1994:52-53). The whorl measures 0.86’’ high by 1.38” wide and 0.20” in diameter. Spinning fibers by whorl is thought to be a West African tradition. Groover states, “the spinner who crafted it was also a potter and perhaps a woman, since both of these skills are usually the domain of women in West Africa.” According to Groover

(1994:53), this particular whorl resembles others that have been excavated in western

Ghana.

Arguably the most compelling archaeological evidence of manufacture was identified in Berkeley County, South Carolina at the Dean Hall Plantation. A potter’s shed, spalled fragments, lumps of baked clay, and burnishing stones have been

interpreted by Agha and Isenbarger (2011) as archaeological evidence of production.

Wheaton and Garrow (1985) contend that unfired clay sherds, fingerprints fired in sherds,

and the sheer quantity of colonoware from the Yaughan and Curiboo plantations in South

Carolina suggest that colonoware may have been made at those sites. Cathcart’s (1999)

study of the Fairfield Plantation near Williamsburg raises the possibility that wares were produced on-site, but presents insufficient evidence in this publication to support this

claim. Hauser (2011) contends that there is an absence of manufacturing sites in the

Caribbean, particularly Jamaica.

Ethnographic observations are clearer than the faint archaeological signature of

colonoware manufacturing. Ebanks (1984) reports on Mrs. Louisa “Ma Lou” Jones, a

twentieth century Afro-Jamaican potter from Spanish Town who created vessels

evocative of colonoware. He describes the steps Ma Lou took to manufacture her vessels.

She procured clay from the ground and loaded it into a basin by hand which she carried

upon her head to the processing area located “under a sprawling mango tree” (Ebanks

1984:32). Ma Lou let the clay cure in a “slight depression in the ground” for several days.

Then, she kneaded lumps of clay “baker style”; she rolled it and threw it onto the ground

to “burst the air bubbles.” “Fine, coarse-grained, river sand” was measured in a calabash

or aluminum cup and then poured onto the ground where it was mixed with each lump of

clay. She rolled each lump of mixed clay into a “thick short sausage” and used a “crocus” bag to cover the pile and keep them moist.

Ma Lou coiled the vessels while sitting on the ground on top of a bag. A keke, or bottom of an unused or broken pot, was used to create the base. She kept the vessels on

the keke to easily turn the pot as she built the body. Ma Lou smoothed the coils with her

“crooked right forefinger” and evened the walls with a calabash scraper. The vessels

dried in a shed for one to two days and removed from the keke. Ma Lou used a metal

loop to remove excess clay from the base and used a paddle to refine the shape of the bottom. The pots are returned to the shed and dried here for two weeks.

Some vessels, depending on their form, were given a dirt slip and/or were burnished with a river stone after the drying period. Ma Lou fired her vessels

approximately 20 yards from the processing area. “It is a circular patch of burnt, ash-grey

earth, approximately 15 feet in diameter,” according to Ebanks (1984:35). He adds,

“since even the broken pots are removed after firing, relatively little evidence is left to

indicate that the spot might be used as a pottery firing area.”

She placed wood on the ground and put the vessels in the pile. An outer layer of

wood was used to cover the pile so that no vessels could be seen. Coconut fronds were placed on top. Ma Lou dispersed live coals from her kitchen along the base of the firing area until, gradually, the pile caught fire. The firing process lasted about two-and-a-half hours. A long pole was used to remove the vessels from the firing area and the vessels are returned to the shed until it is time to sell them.

Evidence of colonoware manufacture in the American Northeast is missing despite its recovery in this region. There is, however, ethnohistorical data that hints at

Northeastern localities favored for clay procurement. For example, ethnologist Frank

Speck (1928:404-405) noted that Virginia Native Americans traveled as far north as New

Jersey to procure clays used in the manufacture of their earthenwares. Clays were then transported to their home site in Virginia and fired into pottery. Howes (1943:1) discussed a favored clay procurement site used by New England Native Americans

56 reported by Daniel Gookin, commissioner to the Native Americans in 1656. The site is located on the Connecticut River near “the fishing falls” (now Hollyoke Dam) used by

Native Americans in the early-seventeenth century. In the spring, Native Americans traveled to the falls to fish and “to make their pottery from a superior quality of clay that was found outcropping in the beds of the streams where the women went for water”

(Howes 1943:1). Here, “it was found in abundance and of the finest quality. It should be remembered that vegetation covered the whole land and clay in general could only be found in beds of streams or where embankments had been washed away, bringing it to light.”

______

Chapter Summary

Scholarship on colonoware pottery spans over half a century. The pottery is one of the most widely-published ceramics within the field of Historical Archaeology. In summary, the history of literature has touched on a wide variety of topics that include ethnicity, production, typing, symbolism, gender, spirituality, foodways, and its role in folk medicine. More recently, studies have emerged that utilize a material science approach to identify clay sources and examine the pottery’s role in market relationships.

Despite the robust body of scholarship on colonoware, more work is needed in under-published areas, like organic residue studies that may reveal diet and a more careful examination of archaeological features that might indicate manufacture.

Arguably, the most glaring void in the literature reviewed in this chapter is the remarkable absence of samples from the American Northeast. In light of this, much of what we know about colonoware and the people that handled the pottery has been framed

around a Southeastern and Caribbean plantation culture of enslavement. The following

chapter counters this and presents a summary of the history and archaeology of

Northeastern free and enslaved Native American and Black laborers.

CHAPTER 3

THE HISTORY AND ARCHAEOLOGY OF NATIVE AMERICAN AND BLACK FORCED AND FREE LABORERS IN THE AMERICAN NORTHEAST

It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at oneself through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his two-ness, -- an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.

-W.E.B. Dubois, In The Souls of Black Folk (1903:3)

Just as studies of colonoware pottery have been long-focused on the American

Southeast and Caribbean, so too have the histories and archaeologies of its users: Native

American and Black, mostly forced, laborers within the Atlantic world (e.g., Fairbanks

1974; Ferguson 1996; Handler 1965; Herman 1984a; Kelso 1972, 1984, 1986;

Klingelhofer 1987; Mintz and Price 1976; Mintz 1985; Otto 1984; Samford 1996; Upton

1982, 1984; Wheaton et al. 1983). Studies of northern bondsmen, particularly those that illuminate the lives of captive and indentured Native Americans, have been comparatively limited in scope. According to White (2003:18), some historians’ works maintain the misguided mindset that “the small-scale and personal nature of northern slavery lessened the brutality of the system” (i.e., Clark 1991; Johnston 1894; McManus

1965; Piersen 1988). In a recent paper delivered at the Eastern States Archaeological

Federation, Gall and Liebeknecht (2016) remarked that “[northern] slave material culture has been poorly defined archaeologically compared with regions farther south.” The material traces of captives who labored in the American Northeast have gone largely

unrecognized in both archaeological deposits beneath the ground and in major literature

until very recently (e.g., Gall and Veit 2017; Matthews and McGovern 2015). This is

especially true of colonoware in the Northeast; in other spheres of the Atlantic world, the pottery is almost ubiquitous on sites labored and/or lived-in by marginalized individuals.

Slavery was an equally oppressive institution in the Northeast despite having

different conditions than in regions south of the Chesapeake, such as shorter growing

seasons and limited need for field laborers, particularly in the winter season (Silliman and

Witt 2010:51). Still, New York City, the first capital of the United States, contained one

of the largest populations of bondsmen in the English colonies during the eighteenth

century, second to Charleston, South Carolina (Curry 1981: 2). During some years of the

seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, “New York City housed the largest urban slave population in mainland North America, with more slaves than any other city on the continent” (Harris and Berlin 2005:4). Even the President’s executive house in

Philadelphia, lived in by George Washington and John Adams—a symbol of our

Republic’s democracy—was built and worked in by enslaved hands (National Park

Service 2015b, Yamin 2008:206-207).

Whitney Battle-Baptiste, author of Black Feminist Archaeology (2017), remarks

“So much energy and/or emphasis is placed on the emancipation of captive Africans that

we then move away from a critical analysis of what life meant for free people of color in

Northeastern states” (2017:118). Although many Native American and Black individuals living in the Northeast were free in the sense that their bodies were not owned, free laborers were not relieved from harsh treatment, prejudiced codes, and brutal punishments exerted not only by their White employers, but the surrounding White

community at large, that perpetuated inequality. In many cases, like that of the indentured

eighteenth century Miacomet Indians discussed later in this chapter, servitude was nearly

as unjust and callous as slavery.

Chapter 2 established that colonoware was frequently produced by southern and

Caribbean indigenous and Black laborers, many of whom were enslaved. This chapter

reviews the histories and archaeologies of marginalized, silenced, and forgotten groups of

Northeastern captive and free Native American and Black laborers. I discuss the period

from the sixteenth century through the antebellum, though the second half of the

seventeenth century through the first decades of the nineteenth century are focal given

colonoware’s temporal span (see Chapter 2). The archaeological sites chosen for

discussion in this section represent the classic literature on the subject; still many of these

sites have been largely overshadowed by the canon of race and labor studies centered

elsewhere in the American Southeast and Caribbean. A clue to understanding the role of

colonoware in the Northeast lies in the examination of the material signatures deposited by free and enslaved Native American and Black laborers in the American Northeast. The

cultural deposits left by these groups illustrate what W.E.B. Du Bois, distinguished Black

author from Massachusetts, called a “double-consciousness” (1903:3).

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Free and Enslaved Native American Laborers

Historic Context

Contrary to the common narrative most American school children are taught in

grade school, individuals of African descent were not the only group to be enslaved. The

fact that Native American populations were significantly reduced due to war, illness, land

encroachment, and forced labor conditions prior to the introduction of African slaves in

the north has been overlooked (Gallay 2009:1-32; Horton and Horton 1997:37). Some of

the earliest points of contact between Native Americans and Europeans in the Northeast

are marked by the subjugation of Native American individuals. In the early-sixteenth

century, French, Spanish, Dutch, British, and Portuguese seamen set up fisheries,

established cottage whaling industries, and prospected for minerals along coastal Maine

and Southern Canada (Garbarino and Sasso 1994:436; Kehoe 1992:243). During the first

decade of the sixteenth century, 50 Native American captives were taken from the

Canadian maritime islands by the Portuguese and sold in Lisbon. Kehoe (1992:243)

states that more merchants representing other European countries seized Native American

men to display “as curiosities” throughout Europe.

The economy changed in the following century. Trade for beaver, mink, fox,

muskrat, and deer pelts took economic precedence over maritime resources throughout

much of the Northeast and Middle Atlantic (Becker 1999, 2011; Garbarino and Sasso

1994:436; Lapham 2004). Native American groups played an important role in the fur

trade by supplying merchandise (i.e., pelts) to fur depots in exchange for imported goods,

like kettles, firearms, and cloth (Wall 2004:74). Lapham (2004:173) notes as many as

72,000 deer skins were exported from the Middle Atlantic colonies to Britain per year between 1690 and 1710, a testament to how entrenched Native American laborers were in both the local economy and in the economy of the Atlantic world. Although many of the

Native Americans who worked in the fur industry and other economic niches were freedmen, the degree to which “free” Native American laborers grew dependent on

economic transactions is illuminated by Silliman and Witt (2010) and further discussed below.

Seventeenth century armed conflicts over allegiances, territories, and goods between Native American and European groups had a decimating effect on Native

Americans, most notable is the Pequot War and King Philips War (Becker 2011; Hunter

et al. 2014; Kehoe 1992:251; McManus 1973:6; Newell 2009; Stevens 2004). Some

Native American war survivors were executed (Hunter et al. 2014:715). Native American prisoners of war spared from execution were frequently sold by rival Native American

groups and the British to slavers throughout the American colonies and Caribbean

(Bragdon 2009:211; Gallay 2009:24; Newell 2009:33; Snyder 2010:1-5). By 1646, it was

common practice to exchange Native Americans for enslaved individuals of African

descent (McManus 1973:6). Newell (2009:33, 35) documents 1,300 Native American

slaves in New England during the seventeenth century, many of whom were forced to

work as guides or interpreters for European colonists.

Some colonies in the Northeast codified legal framework for the enslavement of

Native Americans. The Hartford Colony, for example, legalized the practice in 1650

(Melish 1998:37). However, the legal enslavement of Native Americans was short-lived.

Twenty-five years later, Rhode Island declared Native American enslavement illegal and

other northern colonies followed suit by 1700 (Newell 2009:35). Although the practice

was illegal on paper, it did not hinder the subjugation of Native American forced

laborers. Bragdon (2009:211-214) describes the dire conditions of Native Americans

forced to labor for English families in northern colonies. At least 1,000 Native Americans

were enslaved in the colonies of Connecticut, Rhode Island, and Massachusetts by the

63 beginning of the eighteenth century. Thirty-seven percent of Native Americans living in

Rhode Island in the eighteenth century are documented as “servants, slaves, or ‘pauper apprentices’” (2009:213). Other Native Americans were forced to work as agents in

English land purchases with distant Native American communities. Furthermore, enslaved Native Americans were commonly documented as “negro”, “black”, or

“mulatto” (Bragdon 2009:213; Handsman 2015:240; McGovern 2015:223; Newell

2009:59). Masters covertly skirted around laws that banned Native American slavery by lumping laborers into the same demographic in legal records. For this reason, the population of enslaved Native Americans is underestimated in primary documents, like tax records and probate inventories. As a result, many Native Americans labored undocumented in the Northeast, their very existence largely unrecorded and their lives hidden.

Native Americans who resided on reservations grew dependent on goods and relied on labor for money to pay off mounting debts (Newell 2009:51-52; Silliman and

Witt 2010:52). This enabled another common form of Native American enslavement that involved “local whites… forcing Natives into indebtedness and then forcing them to work or turn over their children for indenture” (Bragdon 2009:214). Native Americans that secured employment off reservations as general laborers, whalers, soldiers, sailors, domestic servants, healers, or craftspeople experienced similar conditions (Hunter et al.

2014:721; Rainey and Ingham 2005:41-50). According to Byers (1987:99), about 75% of

Native American whalers in New England were forced to give their wage to masters between 1725 and 1733. A complaint filed in 1747 by a group of Native Americans to the

Massachusetts General Court reflected their frustration with the English for forcing them

to hunt whales on the Sabbath (Rainey 2010:36). Additional grievances filed by Native

Americans in the mid-eighteenth century state that Native Americans were forced to do

other tasks on their time off, such as cleaning and drying fish, butchering whales, and

skinning sheep.

Native Americans were the targets of other forms of social injustice and racism.

In 1657, a Native American individual and a Black woman, identified as a servant, were convicted of setting fire to colonists’ homes on Long Island in Southampton, New York

(Hayes 2013a:441). The perpetrators, along with the entire Shinnecock community, received a large financial penalty that took them seven years to pay-off. Hunter et al.

(2014:723) document early-eighteenth century colonial laws that required “’friendly’

Indians” to “make themselves known to local towns” and punished “skulking Indians” or trespassers. Local policies also imposed restrictions on hunting grounds. Gallay

(2009:23) and Newell (2009:51) report that New England Native Americans received brutal punishments, akin to slavery, for petty crimes. For example, one individual convicted of stealing a handkerchief was sentenced to thirty years of servitude (in Newell

2009:51). Many Native Americans laboring in Middlesex County, Connecticut chose

suicide as an alternative to servitude (Bragdon 2009:212). One must wonder how

widespread and underreported suicide was amongst all enslaved individuals throughout

the Atlantic world. Injustice extended to the grave as well; Native American remains

were notoriously ransacked from burials. The Miacomet burial ground was just one of

these sacred sites mined for human remains by phrenologists in the early-nineteenth

century (Rainey 2010:52).

Introduced sicknesses afflicted Native Americans, many of whom labored through

their illnesses or while caring for sick family members. Tuberculosis (Consumption) and

Yellow Fever were the most common illnesses contracted by Native Americans

throughout the historic period, though other epidemics struck Native American

communities as well (Little 1990:183). For example, an illness that produced jaundice

symptoms in Native Americans from 1616 to 1620 killed up to 95% of those infected.

Other maladies, such as “Feavers, Pleurisies, Callentures, Agues, Obstructions,

Consumptions, Subfumigations, Convulsions, Apoplexies, Dropsies, Gouts, Stones,

Toothaches, Pox, Measels” had ravaging effects (Wood [1635] 1865:97-98, in Little

1990:183). An outbreak of “Indian Sickness”, likely Yellow Fever, in Nantucket and

Martha’s Vineyard killed hundreds of Native Americans between 1763 and 1764. Just prior to the outbreak, whaling ships, often crewed by Native Americans, began to whale in Guinea where Yellow Fever was widespread. Little (1990:186-187) contends that crews may have brought the epidemic back with them to home ports. A number of Native

American families living in the hinterlands of Nantucket relocated closer to town for work during this time, unwittingly putting their health in jeopardy.

Over the last two decades, numerous scholars (i.e., Gallay 2009; King and Chaney

2004; Minderhout and Frantz 2008:1; Silliman and Witt 2010; Stewart 1999) called attention to a bias in the body of literature on historic period Native Americans in the

Northeast. Sites that post-date the seventeenth century have been largely glossed over or ignored. Good archaeological and historical work in recent years has begun to meet this challenge. With few exceptions, life for persisting Native Americans in the eighteenth century was influenced by White colonists who sought to enslave them, confine them to

limited spaces, and assimilate them into Anglican life. The following section summarizes

the archaeological research conducted in the American Northeast that speaks to the

material circumstances of Native American laborers, both free and forced, from the mid-

seventeenth through late-eighteenth centuries.

Archaeology

Some Native Americans displaced by war, illness, or loss of land sought refuge within White Euro-American spaces. A late-seventeenth century alms house located in the New York village of Beverwijck “serve[d] more the needs of Indians…than those of the Albany poor” (Huey 1986:341). However, the protection afforded by the alms house may have come at a price to Native Americans. A wampum factory that operated within, or attached to, the alms house was identified at the site and is marked by large quantities of shell, broken and unfinished wampum fragments, and tools used to manufacture wampum. Some of the shells used for wampum, notably conch, were sourced from as far

away as Cura çao. Common European trade items, including jaw harps, glass beads,

scissors, iron knives, an iron axe, and a tin-glazed gaming piece were also encountered at

the site. Huey provides historical evidence that documents conversion attempts by

Europeans at the alms house, including the translation of Christian prayers and psalms

into Algonquin.

Other Native Americans established affiliations with sympathetic Europeans in burgeoning urban areas. Cantwell and Wall (2001:172) believe that the German Kierstede

family constructed a shed in the backyard of their Whitehall and Pearl Street property

(occupied from 1647-1710) to provide a space for Native American women to craft

market goods. In fact, one of two documented markets in New York City “for trade with

the Indians” was built in front of the Kierstede residence in 1661. Whether or not the

Kierstede’s collected rent or tribute from Native Americans is not documented.

Excavation of the Kierstede property revealed two pieces of redware pottery worked into

small discs that may have been used as game pieces, perhaps by the Native American

craftswomen on premises who took up the pastime. A clue to understanding the

Kierstede’s friendly relations with Native Americans is rooted in many years prior to the

Kierstede’s acquisition of the Pearl Street property. Lady of the house, Sara Kierstede

(née Roelofs, of Amsterdam), lived in Rensselaerswyck near Fort Orange during her

youth and became friendly with nearby Native Americans—perhaps some of whom knew

of, or labored in, the wampum factory excavated by Huey (1986) in the neighboring

village of Beverwijck.

Native Americans had another affiliate on Tinicum Island located on the western side of the southern portion of the Delaware River near Wilmington. Becker’s (1999) archaeological work at the Swedish Printzhof uncovered remnants of Governor Johan

Printz’s log home constructed in 1643 that also doubled as a trading post. Excavations revealed “clear evidence that Native Americans were active at this colonial trading post, camping almost literally on Printz’s doorstep” (1999:80). Wickiup, or “wigwam”, postholes were identified near the Printzhof along with chipped green bottle glass. Like several other governors of this period, Printz took interest in indigenous cultures and collected Native American goods, such as the axe-like object recovered from within the remains of his home. Becker posits that Printz collected these objects as souvenirs, not trophies, from Native American groups that lived and traded at the Printzhof. Native

Americans continued to camp on or near Euro-American property through the next

century. Cultural resource management firm Kise, Straw, and Kolodner (KSK) excavated

a historic-period shell midden that contained knapped glass and trade beads on Caleb

Cresson’s house lot located on Quarry Street in Philadelphia (discussed in Yamin

2008:94). Cresson, a Quaker, rented property to several free African Americans and had

documented relationships with Native Americans.

Sylvester Manor, located on Shelter Island, New York, is one of the few

archaeologically documented plantations in the Northeast labored on by both wage-

earning Native Americans and enslaved Black individuals during the second half of the

seventeenth century (Gary 2007; Mrozowski et al. 2007; Priddy 2007; Trigg and Landon

2010). Faunal evidence confirmed that beef and pork were Sylvester Manor’s primary

exports to Constant Plantation, the sister plantation it provisioned in Barbados. Unlike the

captive laborers at the plantation, Native American Manhanset wage workers could

decline certain plantation tasks that would then be relegated to enslaved individuals

(Trigg and Landon 2010). Historic documents establish the kinds of economic roles

Native American laborers filled at the plantation; these include cutting wood, agricultural work, apple cidering, and supplying the plantation with maize, fish, and cranberries.

Trigg and Landon (2010:49) emphasize the fact that these jobs were taken by Native

American men, but documents are silent about what role, if any, Native American women played at Sylvester Manor. A second important point raised by Trigg and Landon

(2010:50) is that some of the documented jobs Native American men did take, like agricultural work, were traditionally considered women’s roles in Native American society and may have been perceived as emasculating.

Relations between Nathaniel and the indigenous Manhanset “soured” in the

1670s, so much so that Hayes (2013a:441) speculates that the relationship may have

caused the Sylvester’s “fear and unease.” She (Hayes 2013a:441) believes that the tight

“binding [of] the enslaved to the domestic arena, as suggested in the nature of his bequeathment of them in his will” indicates that Nathaniel had also grown fearful of the

enslaved Black laborers at his plantation. These sentiments were probably fueled by the burning of colonists’ homes in the neighboring community of Southampton in 1657

(Hayes 2013a:441). Historic records allege that the crime was perpetrated by a Native

American individual and a Black servant woman.

Gary (2007) believes that the colonoware recovered from Sylvester Manor is associated with Native Americans wage laborers and is further discussed in Chapter 4. A clipped Spanish silver cob, likely manufactured in South America, was present at the site.

Close inspection revealed an incised cross or X on the obverse and a thunderbird on the reverse, hinting that the coin was altered by Native American hands. A similar thunderbird motif was identified on a quartz pebble recovered from the site, perhaps created by the same individual, and may symbolize a deity. Gary (2007) discusses other small finds, including a pierced Charles II silver penny, thimble modified into a tinkler, several rolled copper beads, and an etched copper ferrule. Perhaps the pierced Charles II coin and etched cob found at Sylvester Manor were issued as payment to wage workers who appropriated the coins in ways that were most meaningful to them.

In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, missions and reservations were set up

in the Northeast as centers of Christian conversion and facilitated colonists’ close

surveillance of Native Americans (Fleming 2005; Grossman-Bailey et al. 2009;

Grossman-Bailey 2011; Hunter et al. 2014; Johnson 1996:38; Martin 2010; Stevens

2004:24). Archaeological excavations at the Thompson Park Site led by Ilene Grossman-

Bailey identified the likely remains of Bethel Mission located in Monroe Township, New

Jersey (Grossman-Bailey 2011; Richard Grubb and Associates 2011). Presbyterian

ministers David and John Brainerd established the praying town in 1746 so that Native

Americans “[could] be taught the Christian religion” (Whitehead 1882:406). Bethel

contained residential dwellings, a log school house, a church, and 80 acres of cultivated

land lived in by 160 Native Americans.

Two intriguing features were revealed during archaeological testing at the site. A

relatively shallow feature that measured approximately 7 feet in diameter has been

interpreted as a cold storage or root cellar (Grossman-Bailey 2011; Richard Grubb and

Associates 2011; Sansevere 2013). Post mold stains, a concentration of stones, and

wrought nails excavated from the area suggest that a timber-framed or earthfast structure

may have been constructed on top of this feature. A gray smoking pipe, Staffordshire

slipware, pocket bottles, chert flakes, and an iron hoe were excavated from the feature.

Box turtle, shell, bird, deer, cow, pig, and chicken bones encountered in the feature

indicate that the occupant hunted wild game and butchered domesticated animals. The

second feature was located 50 feet southwest and measured 8 feet wide by 19 feet long.

This feature produced a variety of artifacts, such as a tin-glazed plate fragment, redware

tankards and jugs, a white salt-glazed stoneware tea cup, a black glass seed bead,

smoking pipes, a Staffordshire slipware porringer, and coral. Although no post molds

were identified in the vicinity of the second feature, the recovery of hand wrought nails, brick fragments, and window glass hint at a second structure influenced by European

architectural grammar. In an earlier article (2013), I suggested that these two features

might represent distinct socioeconomic circumstances at Bethel; the first feature

representing residential housing while the second feature, distinguished by well-off goods

and a coral trinket, is indicative of a dwelling occupied by a school master or artisan with

marketable skill.

Brotherton, the first Native American reservation in New Jersey and among the first state-formalized reservations in the United States, was established in 1758 following the unraveling of the short-lived Bethel Mission (Fleming 2005; Sansevere 2013). The reservation was carved out of a tract of land in Shamong Township and, like Bethel

Mission, was managed by the Brainerd brothers to convert hundreds of Native Americans from “barbarism and savagery to the ways of the Lord” (Fleming 2005:63). A period map in Fleming (2005) indicates that the reservation was organized in an L-shape with 13 residential structures; its orthogonal composition a reflection of European landscape organization ideals. Close examination of the language used by travelers and government officials to describe residential structures at Brotherton, like “shelters” and “cabins”, might imply that both wigwams and timber-framed structures were constructed on premises (Sansevere 2013:51). A school house, church, gristmill, and sawmill were also built on site. By the turn of the century, the reservation was in complete demise due to a multitude of factors that include scarcity of goods, acidic sandy soil that hindered cultivation, colonists’ unwillingness to fulfill promises of goods, and exhaustion of natural resources. Indian Anne, one of the last Brotherton residents, was last documented in the early nineteenth century peddling Native American-made baskets and goods in the

Pine Barrens. To date, no archaeological excavation has occurred within the reservation boundaries because much of the land is privately owned.

Despite this, archaeological testing led by Betty Cosans-Zebooker (1992) at the

Burr-Haines Site (dated between 1745 and 1765) adjacent to Brotherton offered

tantalizing clues for what might be expected within the reservation boundaries (Cosans-

Zebooker 1992; Cosans-Zebooker and Thomas 1993). Cosans-Zebooker (1992)

interpreted an intact pit feature measuring 1 foot deep and 10 feet square as a sapling-

framed semi-subterranean pit house (based on the presence of post molds) finished with

wattle and daub (based on the presence of the material). However, Gall et al. (2011)

interpret the feature as a cellar that may have serviced a timber frame structure based on

its square dimensions coupled with the recovery of hand wrought nails. Cosans-Zebooker

(1992:54) notes that preserved wood scraps encountered at the site “may have been

sawmill waste”; I add that this observation suggests a material link between the sawmill

that operated at the adjacent Brotherton reservation and the Burr-Haines occupants.

Cosans-Zebooker’s excavation also yielded over 1,000 artifacts. Traditional

Native American artifacts recovered include Late Woodland pottery, fire cracked rock,

two triangular projectile points, two antler billets, awls, as well as jasper, chert, and

quartz flakes. European smoking pipes, English slipwares, redwares, scratch-blue and

white salt-glazed stonewares, green bottle glass, lead shot, gunflints, a George II English

copper half-penny (dated 1727-1760), a pierced metal ear piece, and white and amber

glass trade beads were also unearthed. The most intriguing artifacts are those of personal

adornment—brass straight pins, shoe buckles, buttons (wescott, britches, and coat) made

of brass, pewter, and white metal, along with two sets of cufflinks. These finds illustrate

that the fashions worn by the site’s occupants were influenced by European styles. The

faunal assemblage contained predominately wild game elements, including bear, squirrel,

white-tailed deer, rabbit, elk, turtle, and bird. Fish scales, shellfish, and some

domesticated pig were also excavated. Cosans-Zebooker (1992:61) highlights the absence

of animal species commonly encountered on mid-eighteenth century farmsteads; these

include sheep, cow, horse, and fowl.

Silliman and Witt’s (2010) analysis of mid-eighteenth century store ledgers

meticulously reveal the lives of James Nead and George Toney, two Native American

wage earners who resided on a Connecticut Pequot reservation. Nead and Toney, both

veterans of the French and Indian War, took work assisting Jonathan Wheeler, a local

merchant and farmer. James Nead sold wool to Wheeler in exchange for food. Like many

of his contemporaries, Nead became entrenched in the European wage earning economy

and spiraled into debt. Many Native American wage laborers, like Nead, realized that the

cost of living eclipsed wages earned. George Toney provided direct labor for Wheeler in

exchange for credit surplus and had a slightly higher quality of living than Nead.

The archaeology of two eighteenth century house sites on the nearby Eastern

Pequot reservation, though not occupied by Nead or Toney, revealed two structures. One

of these was a wooden-framed dwelling on top of a cellar. A collapsed rock chimney,

window glass, and nails were associated with the structure. The interpretation of the

second structure’s architectural features is inconclusive, but the authors offer that a nailed

wigwam structure or timber-framed structure is likely based on the identification of postholes and nails. Excavations also unearthed European goods; these include brass shoe buckles, metal utensils, and a glass tumbler base. The site produced a wide variety of

74 pottery, including Chinese and English porcelains, creamware, pearlware, agateware, tin-

glazed, Jackfield-type, Astbury-type, Staffordshire slipware, and white salt-glazed

stoneware. This illustrates the emphasis placed on high-value pottery and the level of

access some Eastern Pequots had to market goods. With the exception of the possible

wigwam structure, the material culture assemblages from these sites appear similar to

non-Native American sites known in the area. The authors contend that these objects may

have functioned as symbols, “giving the appearance of assimilation” (Silliman and Witt

2010:65).

Hunter et al. (2014) document the persistence of traditions in the eighteenth

century despite the illusion of Europeaness wielded by some Native Americans. The practice of Pequot women traveling off reservation to gather shellfish, such as soft-shell

clam, oyster, hard-shell clam, and mussel, along the Connecticut coast continued despite

assimilation efforts imposed by colonists. The authors believe colonists were more fearful

of Native American men, “thereby rendering relatively invisible the activities of Native

women and children” (2014:723). The analysis of shellfish from several Eastern Pequot

reservation homesites demonstrated that individual households favored different shellfish

species which might indicate “variable points of water access, unique coharvesting

techniques while other resources were being acquired, or preference by taste” (Hunter et

al. 2014:724). Greater quantities of shellfish excavated from reservation homes in the

second half of the eighteenth century indicates the practice increased. The uptick in

shellfish consumption occurred during a period when wooden-frame reservation

dwellings outnumbered traditional wigwam homes and diets incorporated more

domesticated animals and less wild game. In this context, “Eastern Pequots, likely

women, looked to a tradition of shellfish use…to sustain their families and cultural

trajectories in a tumultuous time on the reservation (Hunter et al. 2014:725).

Three eighteenth century Miacomet dwellings on Nantucket Island,

Massachusetts (e.g., Wild Rose, Poison Meadow, and Valley View) offer some of the

most direct evidence for coerced Native American labor. Although archaeological testing

was limited, the data provide insight into the conditions of Miacomet laborers. The

dwellings were located adjacent to a Miacomet burial ground; many of the decedents buried here perished in an epidemic between 1763 and 1764. The context Rainey (2010) sets in her article establishes that the majority of Miacomet Native Americans were indentured or enslaved at this time; most of them labored in the whaling industry and were coerced into handing earnings to masters. A Massachusetts law enacted in 1725 required masters to construct and furnish servants’ dwellings for a fee, suggesting that the archaeology of laborer’s homes might reflect English architectural traditions (Byers

1987:98; Rainey 2010:36). Rainey (2017) cautions that the archaeology of Miacomet laborers’ homes should be interpreted with the mindset that their material conditions were literally handed to them by the Englishmen they served.

The identification of a handmade brick and fieldstone hearth coupled with the recovery of window glass and nails from Wild Rose Pasture suggests that the occupant lived in a wooden-framed dwelling. The site also produced a gunflint, kaolin smoking pipe fragments, green bottle glass, shell, nails, pottery (including redware, creamware,

delft, and stoneware), a complete knife, iron kettle fragments, buttons, and a stone adze

or hoe. The faunal assemblage consisted of calcined and unburned bone and was

comprised of cow, sheep or goat, cow, pig, and goose elements; this suggests that

occupants practiced traditional hunting in addition to “raising or bartering for

domesticated animals” (Rainey and Ingham 2005:97). Rainey (2010:54) believes that the

Wild Rose Pasture Site was occupied by “a sachem descendent [possibly of sachem

Attapeat] or an individual otherwise successful in the whaling industry.”

The pattern of large post molds and faint post molds encountered at Poison

Meadow suggests that a traditional wigwam structure built using a ridge pole design once

stood at the site (Rainey and Ingham 2005:70; Rainey 2010). Two fragments of

stoneware, a single piece of dark green bottle glass, brick, a fragment of redware, window

glass, a kaolin smoking pipe bowl fragment, a nail, calcined mammal bone, shell were

identified from Poison Meadow, in addition to a possible gaming stone and possible buckle (Rainey and Ingham 2005). At Valley View, faint post mold patterning indicated

the presence of a wigwam structure (Rainey and Ingham 2005:75-76). Valley View’s

artifact assemblage was comprised of calcined and unburned bone, redware, metal, wine bottle glass, shell, kaolin smoking pipe fragments, a brick fragment, and a 1723 halfpenny minted in Ireland. In a personal communication with Rainey (2017), she posited that the halfpenny may have been given to a laborer in exchange for services, though it is impossible to know for certain. Given that most Miacomet Native Americans labored in whaling, the possibility that the money was given to a laborer by a seaman who conducted business in Ireland is not farfetched. A highly polished rhyolite Orient fishtail point was also recovered from Valley View and is interpreted here as a curated object (Rainey and Ingham 2005:83). In sum, the small scatter of objects recovered from

Poison Meadow and Valley View suggests that both sites were occupied by Miacomet

Native Americans with few possessions that were “well-maintained” by the site’s

occupants, or, alternatively, that “possessions were removed after site abandonment”

(Rainey and Ingham 2005:80). Rainey (2010:36) notices a shift in Native American

conditions around the mid-eighteenth century; “the majority of Native American

residents [went] from being autonomous and self-sufficient to being indentured and

relatively poor by English standards.”

The archaeological sites discussed thus far depict how Native American groups

were changed by colonists, many of whom sought to oppress them, and how they coped

with those changes. The community of Playwicki, located in the hinterlands of Bucks

County, Pennsylvania, stands in stark contrast to the conditions illuminated through the

archaeology of contemporaneous Native Americans. Playwicki was excavated by

Michael Stewart (1999) and Temple University students in the 1990s. Archaeological

findings support the notion that Playwicki consisted of about 30 individuals. Three

Native American structures dated to the early-eighteenth century were identified at the

site. Two of these structures had round footprints approximately 38 feet to 40 feet in

diameter, were supported by posts, and had wattle walls; the third structure’s architecture

was indeterminable. The sparseness of European objects at Playwicki is interesting.

Unlike the material assemblages from the sites discussed above, the vast majority of

artifacts form Playwicki are traditional Native American objects, save for a few European

goods; these include a jackknife, a glass bead, flaked green bottle glass, and a fragment of

a European smoking pipe. Stewart believes the data speak to the persistence of

indigenous lifeways as Native American groups migrated away from Europeans to the

Pennsylvania frontier. Stewart concludes by calling on archaeologists to re-think the

myth that Native Americans “lived and died for trade goods” (1999:51).

Discussion

W.E.B. DuBois’ (1903:3) “double-consciousness”, or dual identity, is reflected in

the history and archaeology of Native American free and forced laborers. Many of the

sites discussed above illustrate the thin line between tradition and change that Native

Americans balanced while existing in two worlds—one that existed in the privacy of their

own homes, in the company of sympathetic affiliates, or in hinterlands far away from

oppressors, and a second that sought to punish, proselytize, and coerce Native Americans.

Colonial land grabs, an early form of eminent domain, created a population of veritably

homeless Native Americans. Despite the egregious conditions imposed by oppressors,

archaeology and historic documents demonstrate how Northeastern Native Americans

continued long-held traditions of gathering shellfish, hunting wild game, stone tool production, and other Native American crafts. In some cases, Native American crafts

were peddled for sale in the New Jersey Pine Barrens or in New York City markets.

Other traditional Native American goods were obtained by colonists, like Governor

Printz, as curiosities. Chapter 2 established that Native Americans in southern regions produced market colonoware for sale to Europeans that lived nearby. Despite this, the

sites that demonstrate friendly and commercial relationships between colonists and

Native Americans in this chapter do not contain colonoware.

Natives Americans living on the frontier at Playwicki were insulated, to a degree,

from the tumult that occurred in the towns and cities further east where the tentacles of

oppression—legal injustice, enslavement, servitude, and religious conversions—were felt

every day. Northeastern Native Americans labored under White surveillance in land

transactions, wampum factories, cottage whaling industries, plantations, and as guides.

Wampum waste and manufacturing tools from the Beverwijck factory, the stone

agricultural implement from Bethel Mission, and sawmill wood from Burr-Haines are

tangible examples of items produced by Native American laborers. Although we cannot

say for certain, currency recovered from laboring contexts, like the pierced Charles II

coin and etched cob from Sylvester Manor and Irish halfpenny from Valley View, may

have been issued as payment to wage-earning Native American laborers . Although some

Native Americans engaged in wage labor on their own accord, many were impoverished and established debts once they became entrenched in the economy. In Chapter 2, I discuss the presence of colonoware on southern Native American reservations and other sites in the south and Caribbean associated with Native American laborers. With the exception of the Sylvester Manor colonoware, no northern sites associated with Native

American reservations, praying towns, or laboring contexts reviewed here produced the pottery.

Even though reservations and praying towns became refugias for displaced Native

Americans, colonists consciously relegated restricted, poor-quality, second-rate

landscapes to individuals they treated as second-class human beings. Furthermore, the

European-style dwellings lived in by Native Americans at Bethel Mission, the Eastern

Pequot reservation, Wild Rose, and possibly Brotherton and Burr-Haines, testify to the

changes that were imposed upon Native Americans. The square-shape of Anglicized

living and working spaces may have been particularly distressing to Native Americans

who traditionally built and dwelled in round-shaped structures. These conditions were

exacerbated by sicknesses that struck communities with ravaging effects. Brotherton

residents Jacob Skekitt and Hesekiah Calvin (1777, Foster Collection, New Jersey State

Archives) echoed the discomfort from loss of “place” when they characterized the

condition of their people as “in the dark or rather Lost”, lamenting the circumstances of a

Native American landscape that was now mythical and only lived in through memory.

It was not the legal abolition of Native American enslavement that put an end to the practice. Rather, it was the displacement, relocation, and, in many cases, the eradication of Native American groups. This is evinced by the absence of Native

American-occupied nineteenth century archaeological sites in the region. Readers are encouraged to consult reports on West Creek (Fink 2017), Bloomsbury (Heite Consulting

1997), Minisink Island (Kraft 1977, 1978), Pahaquarra (Kraft 1976), Demarest House

(Lenik 1985), as well as research by Heite and Blume (1999) and Stewart (2014) that further define the contours of Native American life in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

The second part of this chapter reviews the historical and archaeological context of enslaved and free Africans, African Caribbeans, and African Americans in the

Northeast. One point that becomes evident is that less information on Native American laborers is available than on those of African descent. This may be a result of how records were kept by White masters who bent labor laws by frequently omitting information about Native American laborers. On the paucity of historic-period Native

American sites from the region, Stewart (2014:14) remarks, “the history of archaeological research reveals how difficult these sites are to find.”

______

Free and Enslaved Black Laborers

Historic Context

African slaves were laboring in the American Northeast by the third decade of the seventeenth century (Cantwell and Wall 2001:207; Cotter et al. 1992:40). Increasing numbers of Africans and African Caribbeans were taken captive to reinforce dwindling populations of Native American laborers and White indentured servants in the Northeast

(Menard 2001:69-79). By the end of the seventeenth century, some White laborers lamented that their economic roles were rapidly replaced by enslaved Africans which “so much so impoverished them [white laborers] that they can not by their labours get a competency for the maintenance of themselves and families” (in Litwack 1961:5).

The enslavement of African, African Caribbean, and African American

individuals in the north grew steadily during the first half of the eighteenth century.

Melish (1998:19) correlates the increased demand for enslaved individuals with the

growth of burgeoning local and regional markets. Still, throughout much of the north, particularly in New England, enslaved Black individuals constituted a relatively small percentage of the region’s population. About 2-3% of the New England population was

enslaved in the eighteenth century. A 1763 population census estimated 2,221 individuals

of African descent or mulattos resided in New England amongst nearly 200,000 White

Europeans (Melish 1998:15). By the third quarter of the eighteenth century, less than 5%

of the Black population in the New England colonies was free (Wright 2003:8).

According to Wright (2003:8), “with few exceptions, to have been an African American

at the time was to have been a slave.”

Most enslaved individuals were kept in coastal urban areas, near rivers (White

2003:18), or in agricultural areas of Connecticut and Rhode Island (Melish 1998:15).

Newport, Rhode Island contained a particularly dense population of slaves. McManus

(1973:7) estimates that nearly half of the total population was enslaved during the mid-

eighteenth century. Young (2001:2) notes 31 distilleries in Newport alone that were

labored by individuals of African descent. The city became the center of the “notorious

triangle.” Much of the rum produced in Newport was exported to Africa in exchange for

captives. African slaves were traded in the West Indies for molasses; the molasses was

then shipped to Newport to distill into rum. Furthermore, the “large-scale agriculture” in

Newport and in the neighboring towns of Providence and Bristol led to “a heavier demand for slave labor than anywhere else in New England” (McManus 1973:16).

Farther north, enslaved individuals labored in other commercial industries located in

Portsmouth, New Hampshire and the Massachusetts towns of Suffolk, Essex, and

Plymouth.

Larger populations of enslaved individuals were contained in the Middle Atlantic

region than in New England. Delaware held one of the largest populations of bondsmen

in the Northeast between the early eighteenth century to the mid-nineteenth century (Gall

and Liebeknecht 2016). The Haitian slave insurrection, led by Toussaint Louverture,

resulted in an influx of Haitian slaves and masters to the north during the 1790s,

especially to Delaware and New York (Berlin and Harris 2005:18). In 1790, Delaware

contained approximately 9,000 slaves (about 70% of the total Black population), a

smaller figure than earlier decades as a result of Quaker-led abolitionist movements that

swept the region (Gall and Liebeknecht 2016). In comparison, 103,000 and 292,627

slaves were detained in Maryland and Virginia respectively during the same year.

Most slaves in the upper Middle Atlantic were held in the cities of New York and

Philadelphia or in New Jersey, Long Island, and the Hudson River Valley (Melish

1998:15). Most colonists in this region owned at least one slave by 1690 (McManus

1973:5). The Pennsylvania colony contained a staggering 30,000 slaves in 1766

(McManus 1973:15). In 1790, 80% of New Jersey’s Black population was enslaved

(Essah 1996:39, in Gall and Veit 2007:10). Gigantino (2015:2) notes that New Jersey

”had more enslaved blacks than all of New England combined and almost the same slave total population ratio as…New York.” In Monmouth County, New Jersey, only 4.4%

(n=40) of the Black population (n=900) was free in 1770 (Hodges 1990:7). Fifty percent of the Black population was enslaved in Suffolk County, Long Island compared to just

3% in neighboring Kings County, New York during the same year (LoRusso 2000:196).

Census records compiled in 1800 indicate that 36,505 African American slaves were held in the north, mostly in New York and New Jersey (Litwack 1961:3). By 1830, the number of enslaved individuals dropped to 3,568, many of whom were still in New

Jersey (Litwack (1961:4). Hodges (1990:5, 30) contends that New Jersey enforced slavery more than any other northern state. Monmouth County, New Jersey contained some of the densest populations of bondsmen indicated by an 1810 census that recorded

1,504 enslaved individuals in the county, most of whom were captive in the Dutch towns of Middletown and Freehold (Hodges 1990:28). Freehold, for example, contained 702 bondsmen and only 15 freedmen in 1810. Gigantino (2015:6) posits that slavery grew in

New Jersey during the nineteenth century to “keep pace with the worldwide demand for

New Jersey’s foodstuffs.” This contrasts with slightly later census data from Delaware where just 8% of households owned slaves in 1837 (Grossman-Bailey et al. 2016). Some

enslaved individuals still labored in the northern states of Delaware, New Jersey, and

New Hampshire during the American Civil War until slavery was abolished in 1865

(Delle and Fellows 2012:51; McManus 1966:v).

The slaves that arrived to the Northeast during the colonial and post-colonial periods came from diverse cultures and ethnolinguistic groups. Hodges (1997:10)

contends that New York and New Jersey sought “seasoned” slaves from Antigua,

Barbados, Jamaica, and Cura çao, “colonies characterized by intensive staple crop slave economies, heavy slave mortality, little cultural interaction between white and back beyond brutal management, and the retention of African culture.” Many other slaves, however, were imported to the region from West African ports, “such as the Bight of

Africa, Bight of Benin, Senegambia, Sierra Leone, Guinea, Gambia, Angola, Gold Coast,

Windward Coast, Ivory Coast, and West Central Africa” (Gall and Veit 2017:10). New

York City was a major port that received an estimated 7,000 slaves between the early eighteenth century and the Revolutionary War. Other port cities received smaller numbers of slaves to supply rural farmers with laborers. For example, Perth Amboy, New

Jersey received 480 slaves from the West Indies between 1718 and 1764 (Hodges

1997:9). Seventy-five percent of New Jersey’s captive labor population was detained in

Perth Amboy and the counties that surrounded the city (McManus 1973:16).

In the American Southeast and Caribbean, slaves were forced to labor on rice, cotton, tobacco, indigo, or sugar plantations in large numbers. In comparison, northern slaves were purchased to fulfill a variety of rural and urban tasks for farmers, widows, artisans, shopkeepers, and merchants (White 2003:18). Many common-folk yeoman masters did not keep slaves for extended periods. Sometimes, slaves were kept for

relatively short periods of time, only until a particular chore was completed, until they

were sold to the next master, who may have lived in another colony. For example, Daniel

Hendrickson, a slave owner from Monmouth County, New Jersey, paid a £10 shipping

fee to sell his two young male slaves in Martinique (Hodges 1997:8).

Northern captive laborers worked a range of roles including stevedores, coopers, iron workers, carpenters, distillers, dairiers, crop farmers, stock farmers, privy cleaners, warehouse workers, forest clearers, and wood charcoal makers (Berlin and Harris

2005:11; Cantwell and Wall 2001:277; Delle and Fellows 2012:51; Hodges 1997;

McManus 1973:17; Newton 1998:12). In some cases, major agricultural and industrial operations were labored by sizeable captive crews. For example, Lewis Morris’ iron forge and mine located in Tinton Falls, New Jersey, contained 67 slaves: “22 male

Negroes, 11 women, 6 boys, 3 girls, and 25 children under ten years of unknown sex”

(Hodges 1997:9).

Field work was also part of slave life in the Northeast, especially in rural areas

(Melish 1998:17). Crops that grow in cooler climates, like wheat, rye, and oat, were maintained by northern slaves, as were peach and apple orchards (Clark 1991, Trigg and

Landon 2010). The northern economic strategy of seasonal crop rotation “ensured that slaves [in New Jersey] could be used throughout the year” to “fulfill the growing demand for foodstuffs,” according to Gigantino (2015:14). Slaves were rented out by their masters to “produce additional revenue streams” during seasonal wanes in agricultural work (Gigantino 2015:14). Despite this, many northern masters owned only a few slaves at a time (Cantwell and Wall 2001:277; Fitts 1996; McManus 1966:57). This pattern is illustrated in the historic documents compiled by David Mitros in Slave Records of

Morris County, New Jersey: 1756-1841 (1991). Isaac Canfield of Morris, Township owned a dozen slaves upon his death in 1822, the most out of any slave owner documented in Morris County (Mitros 1991:31).

In his examination of slave advertisements, Hodges (1990:4-5) observed that northern masters frequently sought slaves that had multiple skills, including men that knew of “all kinds of husbandry.” A 1734 slave advertisement published in Monmouth

County, New Jersey is particularly revealing of the expectations placed on northern female captive laborers:

Does all sorts of housework, she can brew, bake, boyle soap, wash iron and starch and is a good darey woman she can card and spin at the great wheel cotton linen and wollen. She has another good property she neither drinks rum not smoaks tobacco and she is a strong hale healthy wench, she can cook pretty well for royst and boyld, she can speak no other language than English; she has had the small pox when a chide in Barbadoes (in Hodges 1990:5).

Enslaved women were also charged with domestic work and the care of White children,

including wet nursing and raising children to adulthood, while concurrently caring for

their own children (Berlin and Harris 2005:11). Robert Hazard, a particularly wealthy

mid-eighteenth century Narragansett, Rhode Island man, detained a crew of women to

carry out one particular domestic task. Hazard kept “twelve negro women as dairy

women…to make one to two dozen cheeses every day” (Johnston 1894:136).

Paul Farnsworth’s (2000) article illustrates how archaeologists have created

“sanitized” representations of slavery that downplay violence. This is true of northern slavery studies that too often ignore violence, but also minimize the role of discrimination and the severity of slavery in general. Northern captive labor has been represented as paternalistic and milder than the slavery practiced in the American Southeast or

Caribbean (i.e., Clark 1991; Johnston 1894; Jordan 1974; McManus 1965; Piersen 1988).

For example, Johnston (1894:137) discusses the “generally comfortable” conditions of

northern enslavement. Jordan (1974:37) and Clark (1991:279) characterize northern

slavery as “weakly rooted” and “weak”, respectively. In his book titled Negro Slavery in

New York (1965:16), McManus describes the “relatively humane” system of slavery

enforced by the Dutch in the colony of New Netherland where “slaves lived quietly,

enjoyed good treatment”, and “master-slave relationships were good, often marked by

mutual affection and respect.”

Robert Fitts (1996) counters this perspective in “Landscapes of Northern

Bondage.” He argues that slavery was more oppressive in northern states because slaves

were under constant White surveillance. In the south, enslaved individuals were

commonly quartered in single or duplex timber-framed cabins or brick dwellings located

at some distance from the planter’s home; this permitted a degree of privacy (see

Chappell 1982; Herman 1984a; Upton 1982 and 1984). In contrast, most northern slaves

lived and worked alongside masters. Their quarters were nearby, never far from their

master’s watchful eyes, in kitchens, cellars, garrets, outhouses, or even their master’s bedchamber (Cantwell and Wall 2001:277; Fitts 1996:55-56; Johnston 1894:137). Fitts contends that the only unsupervised time afforded to northern slaves was during meal times when the “kitchen family” ate separately or when slaves were segregated to the back or second tier inside houses of worship.

Archaeology

The archaeological recovery of objects associated with captive laborers who lived

in the small, surveilled spaces Fitts (1996) describes is complicated by several factors.

First, the material traces left by slaves in their quarters—kitchens, cellars, garrets,

outhouses, privies, masters’ bedchambers—are unlikely to be recovered because the

objects may have been removed by witting masters or during structural improvements.

Objects that were left undisturbed are frequently lost in rubble piles when buildings were

razed. The recovery of items commonly placed in ritual caches, like metal objects, plant

material, and animal elements (Klingelhofer 1987, Samford 1996), lose context when

they are recovered as debris. Furthermore, comingled yard trash deposits make it difficult

for archaeologists to distinguish between master and slave material culture (Gall and

Liebeknecht 2016). The fact that many common household objects were used by both

White masters and bondsmen further obscures the association of objects with different

groups (Gall and Veit 2017:11).

Archaeologists from Brooklyn College located a rare exception when they opened

a ceiling trapdoor inside of a lean-to at the Henrik I. Lott House in Brooklyn, New York

(Bankoff et al. 2001). The trapdoor led to two small and windowless garret rooms

roughly 10 feet square and 4 feet high. One of the rooms contained a mortared-over beehive oven. Candle wax drippings were spotted on the wooden floor. The

archaeologists who made the discovery describe the garret as “an inhospitable place to

live, close and dark without natural light or fresh air” (Bankoff et al. 2001:38). The

square cut rose-head nails that secured the floorboards suggest that the floor was laid

around the late eighteenth or early nineteenth centuries. The most intriguing find was a

cache hidden below the floorboards that consisted of an oyster shell, corncobs, half of a

sheep or goat pelvis, and a cloth pouch tied with hemp cord. Historic documents establish

that the Lott family owned at least 12 slaves, but manumitted them before New York

abolished slavery. At the time of publication, Archaeology magazine considered the find

to be the first slave dwelling identified this far north (Young 2001). According to two

descendants of the Lott family, the garret space was an Underground Railroad stop used

to secure runaway slaves in the 1840s.

New archaeological work in the American Northeast since Fitts’ (1996) article

does not negate his portrait of shared Black and White spaces. Rather, new data support

the notion that Northeastern slavery existed on a larger scale than previously thought, at

least in very wealthy households. A household composition greater in size than a planter

family and a few bondsmen puts pressure on how domestic space is organized. A recent paper given by Grossman-Bailey et al. at the 2016 Society for Historical Archaeology

meeting presented evidence for separate slave quarters at the Rumsey/Polk

Tenant/Prehistoric Site in St. George’s Hundred, Delaware. The Rumsey family owned

the property during the second half of the eighteenth century until 1836, but let it out to

tenant farmers, some of whom owned or rented slaves. Archaeologists identified two

tenant houses, a smoke house, a barn, and a kitchen in addition to several other

indeterminate outbuildings. Excavations also revealed three slave dwellings that were

separated from the tenant houses by a physical barrier—a large animal pen and a fence.

Grossman-Bailey et al. (2016) remark that, although slaves lived in different spaces than

planters, they were “close enough to enable white tenant masters to surveil [them].”

Comparative analysis of food remains indicates that the slaves and tenant masters at the Rumsey/Polk Tenant/Prehistoric site consumed different diets. Pig remains and beans were primarily recovered from the tenant area. Although the food assemblage

excavated from the slave quarter also contained pig, the presence of fish and grain crops

made it distinct. The recovery of 172 tobacco seed coats from a pit below one of the slave

quarters are an uncommon find in the American Northeast. Grossman-Bailey et al. (2016)

suggest that the seeds in this context may have been used in rituals, not diet or

agriculture, given the location of their recovery and association with a quartz pebble,

seven kaolin smoking pipe stems, and four straight pins. Several other features

encountered by the archaeologists may be indicative of ritual. The most compelling of

these is Feature 127 which “contained a square hearth paving brick, burnt clinched

wrought nails, pewter spoon, cow phalange, black glass seed bead, four charred beans,

and a halved sawn or filed hollow cast pewter button.” Although there is not enough

information to discern the identities of those who lived in these structures, documents

indicate several possibilities. Benjamin Rumsey’s ledger indicates that he rented out three

slaves in 1779 to a George Rice, one of the tenants that farmed the Rumsey land. A

second tenant, John Hanson, is recorded having owned several slaves—George, Ben,

Mary Ann, and an unnamed boy—during the first two decades of the nineteenth century.

Additional information regarding the site can be found in the technical report compiled by Gall et al. (2016).

At about the same time the Rumsey land was worked by enslaved individuals, a

crew of seventeen captive individuals, likely of African Caribbean descent, labored at

New York’s Rock Hall plantation. Rock Hall was owned by the wealthy Martin family,

originally from Antigua, during the second half of the eighteenth century through the

early nineteenth century (Rava and Matthews 2013, 2017). It is worth noting a survey

dated 1817 that depicts how space was organized on the plantation. The position of the

manor house, flanked on each side by outbuildings, is strikingly similar to how southern plantations were organized; however, the authors question the accuracy of this survey.

Archaeological excavations at Rock Hall revealed the presence of an earlier

eighteenth century farmstead dwelling that was repurposed into a kitchen and doubled as

a separate quarter for the Martin’s slaves. The structure contained a tabby fireplace—a

type of “concrete made by a very labor-intensive process of collecting, cleaning,

crushing, and burning sea shells to extract lime” (Rava and Matthews 2013:16). The

remains of the tabby fireplace encountered at Rock Hall is similar to examples found in

Antigua, though the use of tabby as a building material is documented in other parts of

the West Indies, coastal Georgia, and Florida. Documentary research revealed an essay penned by a Martin family member that spoke of “improving the living and working

conditions of slaves”; this was probably a reflex from the slave uprisings witnessed by

the Martin’s on their Antigua sugar plantation (Rava and Matthews 2013:19). The fear

that struck the Martin family in the wake of these revolts may have colored their decision

to quarter slaves separately and permit the autonomy to design a space with tabby. A

ritual cache of bent nails, pins, lead shot, and burned red sandstone shaped into ax-like

objects identified just outside the cellar entrance of the manor house may reflect a

spiritual practice to protect liminal space. Furthermore, Rava and Matthews (2013, 2017) believe that the location of the tabby fireplace, ritual cache, and other landscape features

appear to form a cosmogram if imaginary lines are drawn to connect these features.

Additional evidence of segregated slave housing was identified at the early

nineteenth century Rose Hill plantation located near the Finger Lakes region of New

York (Delle and Fellows 2012). During the first few years of the nineteenth century, the

Nicolas and Rose families relocated their Virginia Piedmont plantations, including 70 slaves, to farm wheat in Geneva, New York following the failure of Virginia tobacco agriculture. Archaeology at Rose Hill unearthed the remains of a large stone foundation located 600 yards behind the main house that supported a sizeable structure that measured 18 feet by 36 feet. The presence of carbonized wood and handmade bricks hints that the structure was built on a timber-frame and incorporated brick-nogged walls.

A dwelling with this building grammar is unusual in New York. Delle and Fellows demonstrate that the structure’s architectural features are similar to known examples of slave quarters excavated from Virginia where structures of this size were often split into two units. Future work at Rose Hill might confirm that the slave dwelling was subdivided like southern examples.

Bioarchaeological evidence from African American burial sites in Philadelphia and New York City provide a glimpse into the harsh working conditions that captive, and some free, laborers were subjected to. These studies were among the earliest in the north that examined forced labor conditions. One important outcome of these studies was that the northern public was woken from the myth that slavery was exclusively a southern practice. In the early 1980s, John Milner Associates (in Cotter et al. 1992:284-287) unearthed several sets of human remains from Philadelphia’s first African Baptist Church dated to the first half of the nineteenth century. Skeletal analysis revealed joint disease and nutritional deficiencies, like rickets, classic signatures of a physically onerous lifestyle. Sadly, many of the decedents were infants and children; the average age of morbidity was fourteen years old. Leather shoes recovered by archaeologists from the tops of coffin lids may symbolize the journey from life to death. Coins identified near

some of the decedents’ heads and dishes placed on their stomachs are believed to be

symbolically used in the afterlife.

In the following decade, over 400 sets of African and African American human

remains dated from the late seventeenth through late eighteenth centuries were unearthed by archaeologists in lower Manhattan at the African Burial Ground (in Cantwell and Wall

2001:278-294, Kelly and Thomas 2014:212-215). In 1697, New York City passed a law

that mandated the burial of individuals of African descent separate from Whites. Land

located outside of the palisade that protected the city from attacks during the French and

Indian War in the eighteenth century was designated on a map drawn in 1755 as the

“Negro Burial Ground.” The grounds were described in 1865 by a New York City clerk

as “a desolate, unappropriated spot” (in Cantwell and Wall 2001:279). As many as

20,000 individuals may have been buried here.

Skeletal and pathological analyses helped archaeologists characterize the

conditions of northern Black laborers that died in New York City. Many of these

individuals were literally “worked to death”, according to Michael Blakey, the site’s principal bioarchaeologist (in Cantwell and Wall 2001:291). Like the burial population in

Philadelphia, a significant portion of the decedents buried at the African Burial Ground

were children. Over 50% of the burial population was under twelve years old. A sobering

reality surfaces when this information is compared to contemporaneous White morbidity

data from New York City. White men were eight times more likely to live beyond the age

of 55 (in Kelly and Thomas 2016:215). Bone fractures and lesions caused by muscle

tissue ripping off bone speak to the backbreaking working conditions these individuals

endured. Analysis of a set of female remains revealed intense trauma—multiple facial

94 blows, a twisting arm fracture, and a musketball located in her chest—diagnostic of

murder. The everyday violence experienced by Black laborers, both enslaved and free,

should not be underestimated.

Enamel hypoplasias and Harris lines identified on many of the decedents indicate

severe physiological stress and malnutrition. Archaeologists discovered several sets of

remains with misshapen shin bones (commonly referred to as “saber shin”) caused by

yaws, a debilitating infectious disease that produces painful skin ulcers. Yaws is a

tropical vector-borne illness, indicating that some laborers were “seasoned” in the

Caribbean before arriving to New York City. A significant portion of the individuals buried here suffered from other illnesses, including viral meningitis, syphilis, pinta,

anemia, and rickets. Other types of information recovered from the burials support the practice of African tradition. These include metal tacks arranged in an African motif on

coffin lids, filed teeth, pottery placed on the stomachs of decedents, and the presence of

glass beads in burials. A possible Obeah, or religious leader, was identified at the site.

Her grave is similar to Obeah graves excavated from Barbados and is demarcated by the presence of more than 100 beads made from glass and cowry shells that were placed on her hips.

Not all Blacks were enslaved in the north. Springate and Raes (2013:9) note free

Black settlements appeared as early as the late seventeenth century in northern New

Jersey. Major efforts to manumit enslaved laborers in the Northeast were underway prior to federal emancipation. Movements led by Quaker abolitionists during the last quarter of the eighteenth century convinced some slave owners to release their bondsmen (LoRusso

2000:196). The British army offered freedom to slaves in exchange for military service

during the Revolutionary War (Berlin and Harris 2005:15). The colonies of

Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and Vermont outlawed the practice in 1777, 1780, and

1783 respectively (Delle and Fellows 2012:50; Yamin 2008:113), although some

research indicates that Massachusetts did not fully abolish slavery until the ruling of

Quock Walker v. Jennison in 1783 (Higginbotham 1980:91). Gradual emancipation laws

were passed in the states of Connecticut, Rhode Island, and New York during the last

quarter of the eighteenth century, but these still demanded service of captive laborers

until adulthood. Delaware, New Jersey, and New Hampshire adopted gradual

emancipation measures in the nineteenth century, but some bondsmen detained in these

states did not attain freedom until 1865 when the Thirteenth Amendment abolished

slavery. Even then, manumitted individuals were not free from the denigrating words and

actions of others that perpetuated inequality. For example, Cantwell and Wall (2001:279)

quote a New York City clerk who, in 1865, referred to people of African descent as “a proscribed and detested race, having nothing in common with whites.” Berlin and Harris

(2005:9) document a slanderous Dutch clergyman who referred to free Blacks as “trash.”

They make the important observation that “black freedom was not quite the same as

white freedom” (Berlin and Harris 2005:9).

Robert Schuyler’s (1972) investigation of Sandy Ground, a free Black community on Staten Island, was an early endeavor in modern African American archaeology in the north. His documentary, archaeological, and oral history research revealed that the site was initially occupied during the first half of the nineteenth century by African American oyster workers escaping strengthening labor laws that discriminated against them in the

Chesapeake. Schuyler characterizes the “Period of Fluorescence and Stability (1850-

1900)” as having “no overt discrimination against Blacks in the industry” (1972:20). This

is a surprising conclusion given that this time period encompasses a peak in racial

tensions that culminated in the American Civil War. Salwen and Bridges (1974:8) report

an uptick in violence targeted at African Americans during the July 1863 Draft Riots in

New York City which left many beaten or lynched. According to Schuyler (1972:21),

discrimination did not penetrate Sandy Ground until a dental factory refused to hire Black

workers during the community’s decline around 1900.

Two archaeological sites in Massachusetts—Black Lucy’s Garden in Andover

(Baker 1978, 1980; Bullen and Bullen 1945) and Parting Ways near Plymouth (first excavated in 1975, in Deetz 1999)—are among the most noted archaeological studies of free Black communities. The primary focus of these studies typify the analytical goals of historical archaeologists working on Black sites in the 1970s—to discern patterns in

Black material culture. Lucy was enslaved in Boston to Job and Hannah (née Ford)

Foster by July 1771 when it was documented she bore a child by her master. Baker

(1980) suspects Lucy was emancipated in 1780 when Massachusetts abolished slavery.

Lucy remained with Hannah as a free servant through Job’s death in 1782 until Hannah passed away in 1812. She built a cottage on land bequeathed to her in Hannah’s will and lived there in relative poverty until she succumbed to asthma in 1845 at the age of 88.

The archaeology of her homesite revealed dietary patterns similar to those observed by

Otto (1975, 1977, 1984) at the Cannon’s Point Plantation slave quarter in Georgia. The chopped animal bones recovered from the quarter were prepared differently than the sawed cuts of meat that were carefully butchered for roasts consumed by the planter family. Chopped and split cattle, sheep, and hog bones excavated from Lucy’s homesite

suggest that she consumed stewed meats. The architectural features excavated at the site

demonstrate that Lucy lived in a shotgun house, a one-story dwelling commonly

encountered in the American South, Haiti, and West Africa (see Vlach 1976).

One strength of Deetz’s work at Parting Ways (1999:187-211) are the animated biographical vignettes of Cato Howe, Prince Goodwin, Quamany (Quash), and Plato

Turner that emerge from his marriage of the documentary and archaeological record.

Deetz noticed chopped faunal elements similar to those observed at Black Lucy’s Garden

(Baker 1980) and Cannon’s Point (Otto 1975, 1977, 1984) indicative of a diet that incorporated stewed meats. The faunal assemblage at Parting Ways was dominated by cow’s feet—“such parts were of little value to Anglo-Americans” (Deetz 1999:205). The house features unearthed by archaeologists at Parting Ways have long been believed to represent the remains of mud-walled shotgun houses, though Hutchins-Keim (2015:129) believes “there is no evidence that the houses at Parting Ways are categorically different from other contemporary houses.” Among the most intriguing artifacts recovered were five West Indies sugar or tamarind jars from two Parting Ways homesites; the pottery was later re-analyzed by Hutchins-Keim (2015) and is presented in Chapter 4 as evidence of possible colonoware. The portrait Deetz created of free Black life in Massachusetts during the late eighteenth to early nineteenth centuries is one that holds onto

“Africanisms”, but is largely insulated from discrimination; one exception is the anecdotally referenced difficulty Cato and Quamany encountered while obtaining their pensions (1999:189, 192).

At the same time Lucy’s Garden and Parting Ways were occupied, free people of

African descent were growing the roots of another community in Philadelphia beginning

98 in the late eighteenth century. Philadelphia “became the largest and most important center of free African-American life in the United States” with the influx of fleeing Black refugees from southern plantations during the nineteenth century (Yamin 2008:114).

Israel Burgoe and James Oronoko Dexter were two free African Americans that resided in Philadelphia at the beginning of this period (National Park Service 2013a, 2015b,

Yamin 2008:86-94). Israel Burgoe, a free Black wood sawyer and founding member of

St. Thomas’ African Episcopal Church, rented a house at 55 Cherry Street owned by

Benjamin Cathrall, a Quaker. Burgoe rented the home for 20 years around the turn of the nineteenth century. Quakers are documented having close ties with African Americans in the Northeast and were, for the most part, abolitionists. The archaeological excavation of

Burgoe’s homesite, led by Doug Mooney, indicated he may have lived in a dwelling similar to those identified at Black Lucy’s Garden and Parting Ways. Nearly 300 beads made of bone, ceramic, stone, and glass, 16 cowry shells, and 26 redware gaming pieces were also excavated. Mooney (in Yamin 2008:87) interprets a set of animal bones marked with Roman numerals recovered from Burgoe’s yard as possible divination or conjuring objects. In addition, a relatively large quantity of colonoware for a northern site was excavated from Burgoe’s residence and is further discussed in Chapter 4.

James Oronoko Dexter purchased his freedom in 1767 (Yamin 2008:88-89).

Dexter established a new life as a coachman and set up residence at a stone foundation home east of Burgoe’s in 1790 until his death in 1799. Like Burgoe, Dexter was a founding member of St. Thomas’ and had close ties with the Quaker community. The home Dexter rented from Ebenezer Robinson, a Quaker, at 84 North Fifth Street in the last years of his life was the location of St. Thomas’ first meeting on December 12, 1792

99 prior to the construction of the church. The artifacts unearthed at Dexter’s homesite by

Mooney’s team of archaeologists (in Yamin 2008:91-92) include several glass beads, but

is dominated by European refined earthenwares and Chinese porcelains, notably tea sets,

which may have been used in the consumption of medicinal teas (see Hamby 2004:72-73;

Wilkie 1996). The chicken, duck, mutton, pigeon, cow, pig, turkey, and fish remains

indicate that the Dexter household had access to a wide variety of foods, unlike Lucy and

the inhabitants of Parting Ways. When taken together, the material evidence reflects the

wealth that the Dexter household accumulated at the close of the eighteenth century when

James rose to vestryman within his church. Although Yamin (2008:114) references racial

discrimination in Philadelphia, including the race riots of the 1820s and 1830s, no

specific instances relating to Burgoe or Dexter are discussed.

Detailed research by Wall et al. (2008) creates a chilling portrayal of the rampant

racism and discrimination experienced by free Blacks in nineteenth century New York

City. The illegalization of slavery in New York in 1827 did not stop blackbirders from

kidnapping free African Americans and selling them into slavery where the practice was

still legal. Although African Americans were free to seek their own employment, many

found that White bosses were unwilling to hire them or that their presence was barely

tolerated by White coworkers. Public transportation, schools, almshouses, churches,

cemeteries, and restaurants were racially segregated spaces. African American males

were required to establish three years of residency to vote, while White men only needed

to prove one year of residency.

Wall et al. (2008) contend that the construction of ethnic enclaves in New York

City, like Seneca Village and Little Africa, became a coping strategy for marginalized

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African Americans. The middle-class community of Seneca Village was constructed in

the 1820s and occupied until the 1850s when it was razed by the city to incorporate

Central Park. Most of the community’s residents worked as manual laborers and owned

single family homes. Little Africa, a second community investigated by the authors, was

established in what later became known as the Five Points neighborhood. The residents

of Little Africa relocated to Washington Square in the 1830s when the neighborhood

received an influx of Irish immigrants. Many community members worked for wealthy

downtown families in the service industry. Little Africa was generally poorer than Seneca

Village; many residents did not have enough means to purchase property. Wall et al.’s

(2008) article revealed the very different socio-economic circumstances experienced by people of African descent in New York City. Although no archaeology has been

conducted in either of these communities, the prospect of future work is tantalizing.

An article written by Springate and Raes (2013) captures the archaeology of a

middle to late nineteenth century Black homestead at the Cooper-Mann Site. The

homesite is located in the White majority town of Sussex (formerly Deckertown), New

Jersey and was headed by Benjamin Mann, born “four years too soon to benefit from the

states passage of the Act for the Gradual Abolition of Slavery” (Springate and Raes

2013:10). Although Mann attained freedom in 1840, he likely faced employment

discrimination, a common reality for free Blacks demonstrated by Wall et al. (2008). The

Mann house was expanded following Benjamin’s death by his son, William, a church

sexton. Food remains recovered from the site consisted of pig and cow elements. Faunal

analysis indicated that the Mann’s purchased meat instead of butchering animals on-site,

as was the case at the Davis site, an early twentieth century free Black community located

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in Westampton, New Jersey (see Barton 2013). Despite projecting a middling socio-

economic position that blended with the White fabric of the community, the Mann’s

ritually concealed an iron hoe during the second floor addition. In Hoodoo practice, metal

objects are hidden in liminal spaces to confer protection. For Raes and Springate

(2013:23), this is a reminder of the “double consciousness” or “’two-ness’ experienced by Blacks in America” captured in the literary work of W. E. B. Du Bois (1903).

Discussion

The enslavement of Black individuals was different in the north than in the south, but no less brutal. Northern bondsmen commonly comprised small crews of laborers in

diverse agricultural and industrial settings. The lives of northern captive laborers were

frequently uprooted; it was not uncommon for northern masters to own or rent slaves for

short periods of time until a task was completed. Many enslaved individuals were

quartered in confined spaces inside kitchens, outhouses, garrets, cellars, and masters’ bedchambers which facilitated frequent White surveillance. Archaeologists’ (Bankoff et

al. 2001) observations of the enslaved space inside the Henrik Lott garret in Brooklyn is a

testament to the inhospitable conditions endured by enslaved individuals. However, the

recovery of distinct master and slave assemblages in the most common form of northern

slave holding is complicated by the living spaces, material culture, and refuse areas that

were frequently shared by the entire household.

In comparison, the southern plantation system was labored by large gangs of slaves who were quartered in segregated housing located at some distance from the manor house. Recent archaeological work in the Northeast reviewed in this chapter at the

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Rumsey/Polk Tenant/Prehistoric site (Grossman-Bailey et. al 2016) in Delaware and

Rock Hall (Rava and Matthews 2013, 2017) and Rose Hill (Delle and Fellows 2012) in

New York produced architectural features that indicate some northern slave crews were also quartered separately. Though not dealt with at length in this chapter, additional evidence that supports the construction of segregated housing in the Northeast has been uncovered at several other sites in the Northeast at the Joseph Lloyd Manor (Coplin and

Matthews 2007) in western Long Island and the William Floyd house (in Rava and

Matthews 2017:59) in central Long Island. Chan (2007) discusses a captive workforce of

39 individuals that labored at the Isaac Royall house in Medford, Massachusetts and were housed separately (Chan 2007). Hodges (1997:10) documents a housing unit for a crew of 67 laborers enslaved at Lewis Morris’ iron forge in Tinton Falls, New Jersey, but the archaeological site did not survive. Segregated quarters would have been necessary to quarter large workforces owned by wealthy masters. However, masters probably provided captive crews with separate quarters for a second reason: to mitigate the risk of slave uprisings which have been documented throughout the Atlantic world (e.g., Catts

1988; Rava and Matthews 2017:59, 65; Zabin 2004).

Distinct living quarters have led to the identification of material culture associated with enslaved individuals of African descent in the Northeast. In a unique circumstance, the items placed beneath the Henrik Lott garret floorboards provides a rare glimpse of spiritually cached objects in a context that is often disturbed or destroyed (Bankoff et. al

2001). Two clusters identified at the Rumsey/Polk Tenant/Prehistoric site—the first containing a quartz pebble, tobacco seed coats, kaolin pipe stems, and a straight pin found in the cellar of the slave quarter and a second consisting of clinched nails, a pewter

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spoon, a brick, a cow phalange, glass bead, beans, and a worked pewter button—provide

strong evidence of traditional spiritual practices (Grossman-Bailey et al. 2016). A cache

of bent nails, lead shot, pins, and ax-shaped burned red sandstone encountered outside the

cellar entrance of the Rock Hall manor house may have also functioned in a similar way

(Rava and Matthews 2013, 2017). According to Rava and Matthews (2017:59-60), the

use of stone implements in African descent contexts may be an homage to ancestors or

symbolize an object believed to have been made by Shango, the Hoodoo god of storms.

The landscape cosmogram at Rock Hall provides additional evidence to support the practice of traditional spirituality. The tabby fireplace, probably built by the Martin’s

slaves, most of whom were likely from Antigua, represents the movement of building practices from the Caribbean to the Northeast. Furthermore, the pottery identified on the

stomachs of decedents buried in the Philadelphia African Baptist churchyard (in Cotter

1992) and at the African Burial Ground in New York City (in Cantwell and Wall 2001),

along with the beads and cowry shells identified in the Obeah grave, are other examples

of spiritually-charged objects. These are the archaeological manifestations of the double

life, the “two-ness…two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings”, described by

W.E.B. DuBois (1903:3).

The skeletal data unearthed from the Philadelphia and New York City graves are

a testament to the harrowing conditions of northern captive and free Black workers; this

was exacerbated by debilitating and degenerative illnesses that were labored through.

Physical violence targeted at Blacks is evinced by the skeletal trauma identified on the

murder victim buried at the African Burial Ground. Furthermore, female Black laborers

were at greater risk for experiencing sexual violence (see De Cunzo 2017:200); such was

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the case of Black Lucy (Baker 1978, 1980; Bullen and Bullen 1945) and myriad other

Black women who bore their White master’s children. In addition to physical trauma,

enslaved and free Blacks were frequently subjugated verbal abuse and racial

discrimination illustrated by Wall et al. (2008).

Other sites discussed in this chapter illustrate the disparate experience of free

Black individuals in the Northeast. Black Lucy (Baker 1978, 1980; Bullen and Bullen

1945), Israel Burgoe (in Yamin 2008), and the residents of Parting Ways (Deetz 1999) constructed shotgun houses, a type of one-story dwelling commonly encountered in the

American Southeast, Haiti, and western Africa. The construction of shotgun houses in the north by free Blacks might reflect the importance of maintaining tradition while consciously exercising freedom to design living spaces aesthetically distinct from White neighborhoods. Artifacts recovered from these sites reveal the kinds of activities that took place within these households, such as the pastime of gaming. Cowry shells, glass beads,

and conjuring objects encountered on Burgoe’s lot, the Mann’s concealed iron hoe, and

the tamarind or sugar jar from Parting Ways may have functioned as multivalent objects

used in spiritual contexts, as a means of identity, or symbolized Caribbean or African

ethnicity. Freedom did not break the shackles of Dubois’ (1903:3) “double-

consciousness.”

The faunal assemblage excavated from Black Lucy’s Garden, the Burgoe home,

and Parting Ways are similar to those identified by Otto (1975, 1977, 1984) in his study

of the slave quarters at Cannon’s Point and might reflect strained economic conditions

that restricted access to premium meats. In comparison, James Oronoko Dexter (in

Yamin 2008) and William Mann (Raes and Springate 2013), both successful free Black

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church leaders, dwelled in structures that blended with the White communities they lived

in. The fauna recovered from the Cooper-Mann site indicates that the Mann family benefited from their socioeconomic position in the community by purchasing market

meats. However, the archaeology of both homesites indicates that the practice of African

traditions—the Mann’s ritually concealed cache along with Dexter’s appropriation of

glass beads and possible use of medicinal teas—were carried out in secret. Though not

discussed in length here, good archaeology at other colonial, antebellum, and postbellum

northern sites occupied by freedmen at the the Davis site (Barton 2013), William Dickson

site (Catts et al. 1989, De Cunzo 2004:270-287), Thomas Williams site (Catts and Custer

1990; De Cunzo 2004:236-265), William Parker house (Delle 2017), Skunk Hollow

(Geismar 1982), Timbuctoo (Kruczek-Aaron 2010), Betsey Prince site (LoRusso 2000),

Dennis Farm (Roby 2009, 2010), Weeksville (Salwen and Bridges 1974), Bird-Houston

site (Shellenhamer and Bedell 2017), and Marshalltown (Sheridan 2017) further

illuminate the disparate conditions of free Black laborers in the Northeast.

When considered together, the data illustrate two salient points. First,

traditional spiritual rituals were practiced by enslaved and free Blacks in poor and well-

off economic circumstances in the Northeast. In many cases, these rituals were carried

out in secret corners within White spaces and their archaeological signatures are

encountered under the master’s floorboards, inside slave quarters positioned near the

master’s house, or in the homes of freedmen who took up residence in White

neighborhoods. Despite this, colonoware, which figured prominently in rituals (see

Chapter 2), is absent from all of the assemblages discussed here, except Burgoe’s

homesite. Even though traditional spiritual rituals were still carried out by individuals of

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African descent, the data presented in this chapter indicate that colonoware was not often

used for this purpose. Second, the faunal assemblages from many of the free and enslaved

sites discussed here reflect the foodways observed by archaeologists in slave contexts

(see Otto 1975, 1977, 1984). Chopped bits of meat encountered at these sites suggest a

diet of stewed meats which were traditionally simmered in colonoware (see Chapter 2).

The absence of colonoware from the sites discussed in this chapter, with the exception of

Burgoe home, indicates that Black cooks prepared recipes in other cookware.

______

Chapter Summary

In sum, this chapter provided a discussion of the history and archaeology of

enslaved and free Native American and Black laborers in the American Northeast. When

taken together, the information in this chapter forms a composite of the conditions

experienced by these marginalized and largely forgotten individuals, many of whom balanced a “double consciousness” (DuBois 1903:3). These studies have been largely peripheral to the well-published areas of the American Southeast and Caribbean.

Although historic records indicate that overall smaller proportions of populations were

enslaved in the north than in the south, the northern captive labor system was oppressive

and, in many cases, lethal. The estimated slave populations discussed above are indeed

greater than the given estimates—so many more Native American and Black individuals

were enslaved who evaded documentation. Both free and enslaved laborers were the

victims of violence, discriminatory laws, backbreaking labor, and introduced illnesses—a

far cry from the “relatively humane” system of northern labor described by McManus

(1965:16).

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LoRusso (2000), Samford (1996), and Springate and Raes (2013) remark on the

material similarities shared amongst poor White and Black enslaved and free sites. I offer

that some of these similarities extend to historic-period Native American sites and are

examples of what Singleton and Bograd (1999) call “intercultural artifacts.” These

include the Anglican-style timber-framed houses lived in by not only Whites, but the

laborers they subjugated at Bethel Mission, Wild Rose Pasture, Pequot reservation,

Brotherton, the Burr-Haines site, Rock Hall, Rose Hill, and the Rumsey/Polk

Tenant/Prehistoric Site. The presence of kaolin smoking pipes are a common find on

Euro-American sites, as well as many of the Native American and Black sites presented

in this chapter. However, when viewed in the context of labor activities, smoking may

have doubled as a clandestine act to obtain a few extra moments of break time (Chan

2007:226). Based on the data from sites reviewed in this chapter, glass beads, especially black glass beads, are encountered on both Native American and Black sites, like

Beverwijck, the Cresson site, Bethel Mission, Burr-Haines, Playwicki, the Rumsey/Polk

Tenant/Prehistoric site, African Burial Ground, and Burgoe’s homesite. Glass beads were

worn on the body for personal adornment or talismans (Samford 1996:101).

The recovery of stone implements from Native American contexts is not unusual, but the identification of the sandstone ax-shaped objects in a slave-deposited cache at

Rock Hall is intriguing; in this context, stones may have been viewed as symbols of ancestors or Shango, the Hoodoo god of storms (Rava and Matthews 2017:59-60). The act of altering objects— the chipped green bottle glass encountered at the Prinzhof,

Cresson site, and Playwicki; the worked button from Rumsey/Polk Tenant/Prehistoric site; earthenware shaped into gaming pieces at Beverwijck, the Kierstede property, and

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Burgoe’s home; and the etched and pierced coins from Sylvester Manor—was important

to these individuals who appropriated these objects in ways that were meaningful to

them. Furthermore, an X or cross-like design was transcribed onto cultural objects by both Native Americans (the Sylvester Manor etched Spanish cob) and enslaved individuals (the landscape cosmogram at Rock Hall). Similar X or cross-like designs have been identified on colonoware pottery associated with Native American and enslaved contexts (see Chapter 2). All of these objects, big and small, are like colonoware; they are all part of the “paradox of globalization” (Cobb and DePratter

2012) that appeared in the Atlantic world out of the shared displacement from colonialism. Like colonoware, these were multivalent objects appropriated by many ethnic groups in disparate ways.

The archaeological sites included in this chapter were selected because they

exemplify some of the classic literature in the American Northeast that illuminate the

circumstances of these historically marginalized laborers. It seems surprising that few of

the archaeological sites summarized here (i.e., Sylvester Manor, Israel Burgoe’s

homesite, and possibly Parting Ways) contain colonoware. Two important points are

crystallized. First, colonoware does not seem to appear regularly on well-known northern

sites linked to disenfranchised and/or captive laborers. Furthermore, although traditional

foodways and spiritual practices are archaeologically documented in the Northeast, the

recovery of colonoware from only two sites presented here gives the impression that the role of colonoware in these activities was less important. Perhaps for these reasons, archaeologists have long-believed that colonoware was virtually non-existent in the north. Despite this, preliminary studies by Catts (1988) and I (Sansevere 2011, 2012,

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2014, 2017a, 2017b) indicate that additional northern sites contain colonoware. A second important point is elucidated: we have to search beyond “popular” literature to unearth the story of northern colonoware.

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CHAPTER 4

EXCAVATING THE STORY OF NORTHEASTERN COLONOWARE PART I

Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.

-Joni Mitchell, In Big Yellow Taxi (1970)

My approach in the following two chapters stands at the crossroads of journalism and storytelling of past and present people. McQuail (2013:14) views journalism as “the construction and publication of accounts of contemporary events, persons or circumstances of public significance of interest, based on information acquired from reliable sources.” According to Harcup (2014:3), responsible journalism “informs society about itself and makes public that which otherwise would be private.” Journalists primarily report on issues that are happening in the present.

This chapter critically examines my experience accessing assemblages, my interactions with colleagues, and anecdotal information written in technical reports that expose contemporary issues in the discipline; these are important lines of evidence frequently disregarded by researchers. I also seek out a kind of journalism on past people.

Archaeologists have a knack for making artifacts sing stories of experiences, people, or events that have been forgotten or gone unrecorded. Northern colonoware is a portal to reach the individuals who once used the pottery; the examination of these overlooked fragments, combined with the documentary record, breathes life into the untold stories of these individuals. The oppression, silencing, and enslavement of undocumented

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individuals—a topic that figures prominently in current news cycles (e.g., Elbagir et al.

2017)—is a theme that unifies their narratives.

Each site (Figure 4.1) is reported to readers as a kind of miniature story that

captures the social and archaeological milieu the pottery was part of by weaving together

the archaeological and documentary record, widely considered primary, illuminative

sources, in addition to my own observations. Six specific elements are woven into each of

the stories I tell in Chapters 4 and 5: 1. Site summary, 2. Discussion of historic

individuals who may be associated with the pottery, 3. Description of colonoware present

in each assemblage, 4. Circumstances that precipitated the archaeological excavation of

each assemblage, 5. Provenance of the object (if available), and 6. Present-day

individuals who have a stake in how knowledge of Northeastern colonoware is produced

(i.e., myself, other archaeologists, museum staff, and private collectors).

Janet Spector (1993) introduced the storytelling technique to the field of

Historical Archaeology in her book What this Awl Means. The application of narratives

was explored in more depth during a session organized by Mary Praetzelis at the 1997

meeting of the Society for Historical Archaeology (Gibb 2000:1); this session resulted in

two special thematic publications of the Society’s journal in 1998 and 2000. Yamin

(2008) popularized the method in her book Digging in the City of Brotherly Love . “We cannot get inside people’s minds,” Yamin (2008:3) says,

but we can do what historians have always done: string the fragmentary evidence from the past together. It is not enough to count the artifacts and describe them in excruciating detail…By building such stories we discover what we know and, even more important, what we don’t know, which leads to more questions, questions we otherwise wouldn’t have even thought to ask.

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In this chapter, I use a popular storytelling technique that flashes between past and present, but remains focal on the sherds of pottery that, in the words of James Deetz

(1996), are “small things forgotten.”

I initially intended to tell the vignettes in a single chapter. A subtle, yet

fundamental, theme emerged as I drafted the first copy: some collections were easier to

access than other s. As a result, the stories are grouped into two chapters. My attempts

were met with varying degrees of resistance and success for reasons discussed herein.

This dissertation is as much about how archaeological research is done, its obstacles, and

limitations as it is about Northeastern colonoware.

The stories that appear in Chapter 4 embody the challenges I encountered

accessing the pottery. In some instances, I quote directly from named informants with

their permission. I use pseudonyms to mask the identities of other individuals, museums,

institutions, and companies who appear in Chapter 4. I attempt to obscure any other

associated identifying information to the greatest extent possible without removing key publications that document the pottery in already published literature, like technical reports and “obscure” publications. However, it is essentially impossible to make some information completely anonymous. Some readers may believe that they can identify individuals or organizations, but to do so is missing the point of the dissertation. My aim is to critically examine problems deeply rooted within the field of North American

Archaeology that limit research, not the actions of particular individuals, museums, institutions, or companies. The limitations I encountered accessing the collections that appear in Chapter 4 should not overshadow an important point: colonoware is present in

the American Northeast. However, the collections exist in spaces that are difficult for

113 researchers to access: the memories of other archaeologists, gray and technical literature, or inaccessible storage facilities.

The following chapter consists of a story-set that represents different results than those presented in Chapter 4. I encountered various degrees of success accessing other colonoware collections. I detail those experiences in Chapter 5.

Figure 4.1: Map of known archaeological sites with colonoware or hybridized coarse earthenware excavated from the American Northeast. ______

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Story 1: Laborers: Rented and Undocumented

Setting: Thompson’s Loss and Gain Site (Rehoboth Beach, DE)

The construction of a residential subdivision in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware

threatened cultural resources contained within the Thompson’s Loss and Gain Site that

lay below the surface. Alice Guerrant, the Delaware Bureau of Archaeology and Historic

Preservation, and volunteers from Kent County Archaeological Society and the

University of Delaware salvaged archaeological deposits prior to construction (DelDot

[1990]; Lanier and Herman 1997:65; Wittkofski 1988:15-16). “With the cooperation of

the developers and the buyers of lots in which the site is located,” archaeologists

excavated “as much information as possible with the limited amount of time and people

available” (Wittkofski 1988:16).

Historic documents indicate that the farmstead archaeologically identified at

Thompson’s Loss and Gain operated as a tenancy between 1720 and 1780 (Wittkofski

1988:16). Tenant farmers commonly rented or owned slaves in the American Northeast

(see Chapter 3) and it is possible that the tenant(s) at Thompson’s Loss and Gain supervised the work of purchased or borrowed enslaved laborers. Evidence of this kind of slave-holding practice is documented at other sites in the state, such as at the tenant- occupied Rumsey/Polk Tenant/Prehistoric Site located near St. George’s Hundred in New

Castle County, Delaware (Grossman-Bailey et al. 2016).

Archaeological excavations unearthed the remains of an 18 foot by 24 foot hall- parlor plan earthfast dwelling, a buttery, and a well that resembled examples identified in the Chesapeake and Eastern Shore of Virginia (Wittkofski 1988:16). Archaeologists believe a wattle-and-daub chimney was located at the gable end of the dwelling. Nine small root cellars were identified in the vicinity of the hall/kitchen fireplace and two

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shallow root cellars were present near the parlor fireplace. The preservation of bone was

“unusually good for Delaware” and led to the recovery of domesticated and wild fauna

(Wittkofski (1988:16); fish and turtle were abundant. Otto’s (1984:46-48) research at

Cannon’s Point Plantation in Georgia demonstrated that slaves caught fish and hunted

other wild taxa to supplement weekly rations. In Florida, Fairbanks (1974:87) excavated

turtle, fish, and game from the Kingsley slave cabins, noting that these were a

“significant supplement” to their diet. The site plan illustrated in Lanier and Herman

(1997:65) depicts an outlying root cellar located southeast of the buttery that is

unassociated with a structure. Although no post molds or other architectural features were

identified near this feature, it is possible that they did not survive or were too faint to be

archaeologically detected. A tentative interpretation of the root cellar feature is that it

reflects the location of a slave quarter.

“Processing of the artifacts is proceeding at the Bureau’s lab but very slow due to

a lack of volunteers and staff,” according to Wittkofski (1988:81), and “a full report will be written within the next year.” I was unable to find a copy of the report during my

research and spoke with an archaeologist who was involved with the project.

Archaeologist A informed me that a report was never written, but did not rule out the possibility that one could be written eventually.

Several years ago, an unknown quantity of colonoware sherds were identified in the Thompson’s Loss and Gain assemblage during collections reanalysis under the purview of a museum curator (Museum Curator A). Museum Curator A welcomed me to examine the collection in March 2011 along with the Mendenhall Site vessel (discussed below in The Captain, the Madam, and “French Negroes” ). However, when I

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coordinated a research appointment via e-mail, Museum Curator A stated that a

collections move planned for the coming weeks rendered the pottery unavailable for

some time. A glitch in the artifact database that contained data about the sherds also

occurred and the curator was unable to access the necessary records. I was informed that

the colonoware was scattered throughout collection; they would need time to locate it.

I e-mailed Museum Curator A again in February 2012 to reiterate my interest in

the collection. They were unable to return my message immediately because a number of

large projects and jury duty obligations have come up. Museum Curator A invited me to

view the collection again, but it was difficult for me to make the trip to Delaware at this point. “I certainly can sympathize with your busy schedule! I'd love to come down and

see the…colonoware once things settle down this semester,” I said. Post-spring break is

typically the busiest time of the spring term; students are working hard to meet deadlines

set for the end of the semester. I was also working part-time as a Teaching Assistant, but

my appointment was set to expire within six weeks. I did not find work after the spring

semester and had to terminate the lease of my apartment. I moved back home and forgot

about colonoware for a while.

I revisited my research in 2014 and prepared a paper for a conference session titled, “A Rich and Diverse Record: Discovering, Collaborating, and Educating through

African American Archaeology in the Northeast” at the 2014 Council for Northeast

Historical Archaeology (Sansevere 2014). It was good to see old friends at the meeting. I reconnected with Archaeologist B, an individual I met in 2010 when I was excavating a former President’s childhood home in Virginia. Archaeologist B now worked as an archaeologist for a state agency and had connections. I learned Museum Curator A had

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retired from their position. I wondered if Archaeologist B could assist me with locating

the colonoware from Delaware. I sent Archaeologist B an e-mail a few days after the

meetings. She connected me to individuals who might be knowledgeable about the

collections, but ultimately I was redirected to Museum Curator A, who now volunteered

once a week. I called to speak with Museum Curator A several times, but was unable to

reach them.

Story 2: When Master isn’t Looking

Setting: Cedar Creek Road Site (Milford, DE)

The Cedar Creek Road Site was discovered during archaeological testing

federally required for improvements to Routes 1 and 30 in Milford, Sussex County,

Delaware under the National Historic Preservation Act (Hunter Research 2011, 2014;

Liebeknecht 2017). Historic documents imply that the land was owned in 1694, but property records are incomplete and spotty. In the 1730s, Alexander Draper purchased

the land and improved the property he referred to as “Farmer’s Delight.” The property

was later purchased by Alexander Thompson, a ship captain, who sold it between ca.

1747 and 1749 to Thomas Fisher, a blacksmith. Samuel Davis purchased the property in

1749 following Fisher’s passing. The Draper family reacquired the tract around the time

of the American Revolution. Archaeologists from Hunter Research expected to find the

remains of “a typical farmstead populated by second-generation white tenant farmers”

(Liebeknecht 2017:23). According to Liebeknecht (2017:23), the recovery of material

culture considered unusual for a White farmer “led archaeologists to rethink this initial

interpretation.”

Farmer’s Delight was worked by previously undocumented enslaved laborers,

evidence of which was found archaeologically in cultural deposits at the site

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(Liebeknecht 2017). The site is considered “among the first recognized archaeological

sites in the state to contain possible archaeological evidence associated with enslaved

Africans’ quarters and workspaces” (Liebeknecht 2017:21). Here, archaeologists

exposed two craft production areas: the first, a bloomery pit built in a West African

tradition with furnace walls that lack lute (an insulating material commonly used in

European furnaces comprised of charcoal and clay) and a second, a brickmaking

operation. A cluster of four earthfast dwellings were identified near the production areas,

one of which may have incorporated a paling-fence influenced by West African styles.

Subfloor pits and swept yards—features commonly encountered in slave quarters built in

the American Southeast and Caribbean—were associated with three of the dwellings. A

copper alloy sleeve button made in the likeness of a Spanish real coin may have been

worn as an object of personal adornment by one of the captive laborers. A dark green

glass linen smoother, possibly used by laboring women, is further material evidence of

the captive laborers kept at Farmer’s Delight.

Two small, triangular, sand-tempered colonoware gaming pieces (Figure 4.2) were found in a late-seventeenth or early-eighteenth century cellar hole; this suggests that enslaved Africans may have been kept at this site prior to the establishment of Draper’s

“Farmer’s Delight” (Liebknecht 2017). The cut sides of the pieces are burnished and the interior and exterior surfaces lack burnishing. Liebeknecht suspects the pieces are coil constructed based on sherd wall thickness. Other colonoware gaming pieces have been recovered from southern contexts, such as at the Nash Site located in Manassas, Virginia

(National Park Service 2013b). A third gaming piece, manufactured from a greenish-gray siltstone, was excavated from the base of a posthole near one of the subfloor pits at the

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Cedar Creek Road Site. The margins of the siltstone gaming piece are ground to a near- polished finish. Similar objects were used in the West African games of “Mankala” and

“Wari” or appropriated as charms used in spiritual or medicinal practices (Liebeknecht

2017, see Davidson 2004:22-54; Davidson and McIlvoy 2012:107-166; Fennell 2000;

Goode 2009:1-23, Handler 2009:1, Klingelhofer 1987; Leone and Fry 1999:372-403;

Wilkie 2000:191-193, who discuss the role of gaming pieces and charms at length).

I learned that the Cedar Creek Road Site Principal Investigator left Hunter

Research for another employment opportunity. I e-mailed Josh Butchko, Principal

Investigator and Lab Supervisor at Hunter Research, in September 2018 to see if the fragments were still at the Trenton office, a 45 minute drive from my apartment, or if they had been relocated. He reported that the collection was discharged to the DHCA

(Delaware Historical Cultural Affairs) in Dover, Delaware. The gaming pieces are now under the purview of Paul Nasca, Curator of Archaeology.

My dissertation defense was quickly approaching. I was teaching four courses at

two schools that were 40 miles apart, working a second job, and making the final edits to

this manuscript. The ride from my house in Asbury Park, New Jersey to Dover is three

hours and I was challenged to find the time to fit in this research appointment prior to the

completion of this dissertation. However, the gaming pieces are potentially accessible for

research at the DHCA.

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Figure 4.2: Colonoware “gaming pieces” excavated from the Cedar Creek Road Site, Milford, DE. Photograph courtesy of Hunter Research, Inc.

Story 3: Sixty Owned by One

Setting: John Dickinson Plantation (Dover, DE)

The home of John Dickinson, signer of the United States Constitution and self- proclaimed “abolitionist”, is located near the St. Jones River in Dover. The structure was built ca. 1740 by John Dickinson’s father, Samuel. Sixty enslaved individuals labored at

the plantation during the 1770s when it operated under the direction of John Dickinson

(Williams 1996:56). Captives were provisioned with a henhouse and a small plot of land

to cultivate “peas, beans, potatoes, cabbages, and any kind of roots” (Williams 1996:56).

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Dickinson gradually emancipated his enslaved laborers beginning in 1777 and all of

Dickinson’s slaves were manumitted by 1786 (Historical Society of Pennsylvania 2017).

Documents reveal that John Dickinson rented out some of his slaves, like many

other northern slave owners (see Chapter 3). In 1785, Dickinson received a yearly sum of

20 silver dollars from an individual that rented Pompey, a slave owned by Dickinson

(Williams 1996:56-57). Dickinson continued to purchase child servants from destitute

free Black families after he manumitted his slaves. In 1793, Dickinson purchased Curtis,

thirteen-years-old, and Reuben, twelve-years-old, from their parents, Nathan and Abigail

Phillips of Jones Neck, Delaware. The Phillips’ were compensated five shillings and

“other valuable considerations” (Williams 1996:222).

During the Delaware Constitutional Convention of 1792, Dickinson proposed that

the new constitution amend a policy on land ownership; he believed “none but white persons shall hereafter be capable of becoming freeholders in the state” (Williams

1996:194). This policy would have only permitted White land ownership in Delaware

and was never passed. The sentiment Dickinson harbored for slaves is clear in one of his

writings dated 1804. Here, he characterized slaves as “internal enemies to be watched and

guarded against” (Williams 1996:93).

The property was bequeathed to John Dickinson’s daughter following his death in

1808. It remained in the family until 1933 when it was sold to another family. The

National Society of the Colonial Dames of America in the State of Delaware purchased

the property in 1952 and opened the site to the public in 1956. The site now operates as a

living history museum and contains the original Dickinson house, a log dwelling, and

several outbuildings. I contacted Museum Curator A in March 2011 and she stated that

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colonoware sherds were excavated from Block III of the plantation. The colonoware from

this site, along with sherds from Thompson’s Loss and Gain, the McKean/Cochran site,

and the Mendenhall Site, were among the first collections I attempted to track down in

my search for Northeastern colonoware. The sherds found at Dickinson’s plantation are

likely associated with individuals owned by the Dickinson family who labored at the plantation. Considerable quantities of colonoware may have been used and/or produced at

the plantation given the large size of Dickinson’s captive workforce; this speculation

makes the collection most intriguing. A report of the archaeological findings at the John

Dickinson Plantation has not yet been completed, according to Museum Curator A.

I emailed Staff Member A in March 2012. I asked for copies of notes pertaining

to the excavation and if any images of the pottery were available, but did not receive a

response. I reflected on the exchanges I had with Museum Curator A the prior year; I was

self-conscious about the numerous requests I made of her and assumed she was probably

annoyed with me despite that she gave no indication of this. During my early years as a

student of anthropology, I was encouraged to not be “pushy” when someone did not

respond to my research requests. I was informed that this often indicates an issue with a

collection, such as lost records or objects. At one point, I adopted the credo, “don’t

overturn that stone!” when my research requests were met with silence. This mindset produced limited results.

I decided to call Staff Member A in May 2017 with the same request I made in

2012. He answered the phone and explained that the John Dickinson Plantation had been

excavated intermittently since the 1980s. I was instructed to contact Museum Curator A’s predecessor (Museum Curator B), whom I knew personally. I met Museum Curator B in

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2010 while excavating the childhood home of a former President; he mentored me and helped me hone my excavation skills. I was surprised when Museum Curator B did not reply to my e-mail. My friend and colleague, Archaeologist C, whom I also met in 2010 at the same site, was planning to see Museum Curator B at a research presentation that month. I asked Archaeologist C if she could gently remind Museum Curator B of my request. He told Archaeologist C that he received my message and had not forgotten about my inquiry.

I searched through my archived exchange with Museum Curator A, the individual who gave me the initial lead on the Dickinson colonoware assemblage in 2012.

She had mentioned that Archaeologist D might know the whereabouts of the collection. I contacted Archaeologist D in October 2017: “Some time ago, [Museum Curator A] indicated that [Company A] had colonoware from the John Dickinson Plantation excavation. I was wondering if this is still accurate? I would love to take a look at any images or reports that might be available. Thanks for your help with this.” I sent

Archaeologist D a second e-mail in November: “I thought I might try you again in case you were busy when I reached out last month. Might you know the whereabouts of the colonoware excavated from the John Dickinson Plantation and if a report is available to read? Any information you have will be helpful, I am certain.” The location of the John

Dickinson Plantation colonoware and field records is unknown at this time.

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Story 4: Slaves under Lock and Key

Setting: McKean/Cochran Site (Odessa, DE)

The McKean/Cochran Site (7NC-F-13) was located along the Appoquinimink

River in Odessa, Delaware. It was discovered in late November 1994 before it was destroyed during the construction of State Route 1 (Bedell et al. 1999:i, 1).

Archaeologists from Louis Berger and Associates, on behalf of the Delaware Department of Transportation, were contracted to document and excavate cultural deposits located along the “new highway…that will carry traffic from Wilmington and I-95 to the

Delaware beaches” (Bedell et al. 1999:1). The site was located directly in the center of the proposed route “and could not be avoided without significant redesigning of the highway, including moving the location of a major bridge" (Bedell et al. 1999:9). The site’s boundaries were contained within the prehistoric Appoquinimink North Site, which was archaeologically investigated in 1995. Looters had already collected Native

American stone arrow and spear points “many times” from the site prior to the excavation which affected the integrity of prehistoric cultural deposits (Bedell et al. 1999:3).

Two historic period occupations at the McKean/Cochran Site were identified through a combination of historical and archaeological research; the first dated between

1750 and 1800, and a second dated between 1800 and 1830. Tenants worked the farm during the eighteenth century when the property was owned by the absentee McKean family, but it is unclear if any of the farmers owned or rented slaves.

The tract that contains the archaeological site was owned by several families during the last quarter of the seventeenth century; however, it is unclear if any of these individuals dwelled on premises. Veronica Peterson rented the farm to tenants in 1763 after she inherited the property from her second late husband, Adam Peterson Jr., who

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acquired the property in 1707 from his father, Adam Sr. In 1775, Veronica, aged 84

years, transferred the property (designated “The Mansion Plantation”) to her

grandchildren, Letitia, whom she willed a set of silver spoons and a slave, and Thomas

McKean. Letitia and Thomas descend from an elder Thomas McKean, former governor

of Pennsylvania (Bedell et al. 1999:14). Letitia and Thomas’ parents, William and Mary

McKean, never owned the property. William McKean had ties to the Caribbean and took

a voyage to the West Indies in 1779, presumably for business transactions, after drawing

up a will. Seven slaves appraised at £360 are documented in William’s inventory dated

January 3, 1782. Given his connection to the West Indies, William may have been

directly involved in Caribbean commercial enterprises, possibly slave trading, though this

is not directly stated in the documents. It is plausible that the enslaved individuals listed

in William’s inventory and/or the slave owned by Veronica (William’s mother-in-law)

and later transferred to Letitia were purchased from the West Indies.

In 1797, Letitia, then a young widow, paid taxes on the farm which now contained a dwelling, barn, kitchen, crib, and smokehouse. Letitia did not pay poll tax; thus, it is unclear if tenants continued to live on the property or if Letitia moved to the farmstead. Letitia’s household—comprised of two children, another adult woman, and an

African American individual—is documented in the vicinity on the 1810 census.

However, documents are silent on whether Letitia resided at the family farmstead or elsewhere. After her death, Letitia’s brother-in-law and estate executor sold the property to Robert Cochran in 1814. An 1816 tax record indicated that Robert paid taxes on two female slaves, Hannah and Susan, and one “lame male slave named Moses” (Bedell et al.

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1999:18). Sometime before his death in 1843, Robert constructed an improved home one

half mile from the old McKean farmstead he lived on.

Archaeological excavations yielded a sample of artifacts (n=38,000) that included significant quantities of pottery and fauna. Archaeologists unearthed a ca. 1750 stone foundation dwelling that measured 15 feet by 18 feet and contained a stone interior chimney (Bedell 2001:88-90). Several other outbuildings, including two Chesapeake- style earthfast barns, were identified and dated to the mid-eighteenth century (Bedell et al. 1999:119). Fancy stemmed glassware in addition to diverse ceramic wares and vessel forms (e.g., Chinese porcelain teacups and saucers, delft, stoneware mugs, and molded creamwares) indicate that the mid-eighteenth century tenants were “well above average in wealth” (Bedell 2000:235). Archaeological excavations revealed a second stone foundation structure that measured 18 feet by 28 feet. It was outfitted with a stone interior chimney that dated between 1790 and 1830. A cellar (designated Feature 1) associated with this structure produced a significant quantity (n=approximately 50%) of the site’s total artifact assemblage. The most noted finds reflect the occupants’ remarkable wealth:

62 eating utensils, four locks, six keys, jewelry, gilt buttons, combs, clock parts, furniture hardware, 64 teacups, 71 saucers, and 3,763 fragments of window glass (Bedell et al.

1999:70-74).

Though not uncommon on historic sites, the presence of locks and keys indicate the intent to safeguard belongings. Many masters grew fearful of slave uprisings, even more so following the Haitian insurrection led by Toussaint Louverture in the early 1790s

(discussed below in The Captain, the Madame, and “French Negroes”; Catts 1988). The locks and keys may have been an attempt to secure items, perhaps firearms, from

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household slaves or servants. Although excavations did not identify a slave quarter,

Bedell et al. (1999:123) suspect that one may have stood at the site. They postulate that a

German springhouse-style dairy constructed ca. 1800 may have doubled as slave housing

after Robert Cochran abandoned the old McKean farmstead for improved lodging

elsewhere on the property. This hypothesis is supported by the presence of a concrete

repair to the structure that post-dates 1830; this intimates that the structure was

maintained (Bedell et al. 1999:47). Artifacts that post-date 1830, such as whiteware and

yellowware, were also identified inside the footprint of the maintained structure.

Colonoware is not identified in the McKean/Cochran Site report (Bedell et al.

1999); however, it may have been miscatalogued or omitted. During an e-mail exchange, an informant stated that a distorted interpretation of the site resulted in the omission of a lot of information. The colonoware present at this site was brought to my attention in

March 2011 during correspondence with Museum Curator A. They explained that rediscovery analysis of collections led to the identification of several colonoware assemblages in Delaware, including those at McKean/Cochran, Thompson’s Loss and

Gain, and John Dickinson Plantation, but I have been unable to access these collections

(discussed above in Laborers: Rented and Undocumented ). Given the historic and

archaeological context of the site, it is possible that the colonoware is associated with the

enslaved individuals who were kept at the farmstead during the early nineteenth century.

It is unclear if the colonoware may have been used by the enslaved individual transferred

from Veronica to Letitia or those enslaved by Cochran.

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Story 5: The Captain, the Madam, and “French Negroes”

Setting: Mendenhall Site (Wilmington, DE)

Thomas Mendenhall made numerous voyages to the West Indies during his career

as a captain and Wilmington-based merchant (Catts 1988:3; Herman:1984b). Documents

indicate that Mendenhall dealt with West Indies commodities, particularly those from St.

Domingue (present-day Haiti). An advertisement dated 1794 placed by Mendenhall in the

local Wilmington newspaper stated that he received a shipment of “Hispaniola

Molasses”, or molasses sourced from eastern Haiti. Products from the West Indies were

exotic, and the ad must have enticed his customers.

Mendenhall’s relationship with St. Domingue transcended the shipment of goods.

Beginning in 1793, Delaware received an influx of emigres who sought refuge from the

slave insurrection that began in 1792 on St. Domingue. Three to four hundred White

masters, along with their Black slaves and servants, fled to Wilmington by the end of

1794 (Catts 1988:59-61). Many refugees were quartered within the homes of Wilmington

residents. In September 1793, Thomas Mendenhall placed a reward in a local newspaper

for a runaway slave named David who belonged to a Madam Levaud, suggesting that

Mendenhall may have hosted Haitian refugees (Catts 1988:68).

Mendenhall’s former neighborhood slowly declined beginning in the late-

nineteenth century (Herman 1982/1983:39-40), but the home he once occupied continued

to be leased by tenants until it was abandoned in the 1960s. The Mendenhall house

received National Register status, but was ultimately condemned by the city of

Wilmington in the late 1970s. The site drew attention from looters who were aware of the potentially rich archaeological deposits that lay beneath the surface. Herman

(1982/1983:40) believes that looters took only a single bottle and one pewter porringer

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from the site, “leaving the rest behind.” A wrecking ball demolished Mendenhall’s house

in September of 1981 (Herman 1984b:67).

Mendenhall’s artifact-rich privy fell outside the survey area of other compliance excavations located within the vicinity that were planned before the construction of a right-of-way that would connect Wilmington to I-95 (Herman 1982/1983:39). In 1980, state archaeologist Faye Stocum and state historian Dean Nelson organized a salvage excavation of Mendenhall’s privy and were assisted by a volunteer crew (Herman

1982/1983:40). Although the site was previously picked-over by looters, a partially complete colonoware vessel (Figure 4.3) was discovered inside of a brick-lined privy dated to the late-eighteenth century. The vessel was under the purview of Museum

Curator A (now retired), who brought the vessel to my attention in an e-mail correspondence dated March 2011 (discussed above in Laborers: Rented and

Undocumented ); it is presumably now under the care of Museum Curator A’s successor.

Other archaeologists I spoke with during my research stated that they were previously

aware of this vessel; it is considered the first recognized example of the pottery in

Delaware. The vessel may have gone undetected by looters or, if encountered, simply

may not have been considered collectible. The Mendenhall colonoware is tempered with

grit and sand, burnished on the interior and exterior, globular in shape, and exhibits a

flared rim (Catts 1988). Vessel paste ranges in color from gray-dark gray to yellowish- brown.

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Figure. 4.3: Colonoware vessel excavated from the Mendenhall privy, Wilmington, DE. Photographs by Museum Curator A.

The artifacts salvaged by the volunteer archaeologists were displayed in a special

exhibit on the Mendenhall Site that opened in March 1982 at the Historical Society’s Old

Town Hall (Herman 1982/1983:41). Five-thousand visitors, including university groups

and members of an English ceramics group from Philadelphia, viewed the exhibit within

the first four-and-a-half months; this figure is double the museum’s annual visitation.

I called the Delaware Historical Society (DHS) in February 2018 to learn more

about the objects that were selected for the Mendenhall exhibit. I was greeted by an

automated message recorded in a man’s voice that advertised Journey to Freedom, a new

exhibit by the DHS on African American archaeology . After the message played, I reached Staff Member B, who works for the society; she suggested that I contact

Museum Curator C with my research request. I e-mailed Museum Curator C within an hour, but received a response from a different curator (referred to as Museum Curator D) the next afternoon. Museum Curator D stated that she looked through old exhibit files, but could not find records of the 1982 exhibit. She suspected that the exhibited

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Mendenhall artifacts may have been a quiet loan. I asked if colonoware was exhibited in

Journey to Freedom and Museum Curator D informed me that the pottery is not

represented in their collections. However, Museum Curator D brought a peculiar coarse

earthenware vessel to my attention (see Chapter 5, The Collection of Dr. Margaret

Handy ) collected by Dr. Margaret Handy (1889-1977), Delaware’s first pediatrician.

The Mendenhall colonoware was not widely reported until Catts (1988) studied the pottery and investigated the Black occupants of the site in his Master’s Thesis. It is unlikely that the pottery was displayed in the exhibit because it was not yet analyzed.

Instead, the salvaged objects exhibited in Old Town Hall told the story of “one man’s

[Mendenhall’s] family in Federal-period Wilmington.”

The Mendenhall Site was removed from the National Register of Historic Places

on January 1, 1999; its integrity was lost when the city condemned and subsequently

demolished the dwelling. It is the only northern site containing colonoware that was

delisted to my knowledge. That year, 137 other properties were removed from the

National Register (LaFrance 2013). Jeff Joeckel, a National Register archivist

interviewed by LaFrance (2013), believes that so many properties were delisted in 1999

to declutter databases of unnecessary information in preparation for anticipated computer problems in the new millennium, a problem commonly referred to as Y2K. Joeckel noted

that the removed properties were those no longer considered eligible for National

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Story 6: The Neighbors Around the Corner

Setting: Block 1191 (Wilmington, DE)

I learned about a second site in Wilmington that contained colonoware in my

conversations with other regional archaeologists, however, the present location of this

collection is unclearat the time of this writing. In 1984, archaeologists from the

University of Delaware carried out excavations on Lot 8 B and 10 A of Block 1191—part

of Wilmington Boulevard Historic District—located one block away from Mendenhall’s property (Beidleman et al. 1986; Catts 1988:21-24). The excavation was funded by the

City of Wilmington Parking Authority and the Federal Rail Administration through the

Delaware Department of Transportation prior to the construction of a railroad station parking garage (Beidleman et al. 1986:1; Catts 1988:1). Beidleman et al. (1986:8) note

that much of the block’s cultural resources were already destroyed by demolition,

rebuilding, and looting prior to the 1984 excavation. Previous archaeology carried out in

the Block 1191 vicinity recorded some of these resources prior to their destruction (for a

summary, see Beidleman et al. 1986:2-8). Beidleman et al.’s (1986) fieldwork focused on

salvaging material from intact features that remained on the block.

In 1772, Lot 8 B was purchased by a mariner named Thomas Cassey who

constructed the earliest documented dwelling on the lot: a tenement. Cassey sold the property in 1774 to William Woodcock, a shipwright, who rented the building to tenants.

Thomas Carney, a farmer from Upper Penn’s Neck, Salem County, New Jersey, purchased the property from Woodcock later that year. The property remained in the

Carney family until it was sold in 1824 to John Pogue, an Irish fisherman by trade.

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Lot 10 A was owned by Philadelphia merchant John Armstrong from 1785 until

his death at an unspecified date during the early-nineteenth century. The property was

willed to John’s brother, James, of Ireland, who sold it in 1804 to absentee landlord,

Mary Eaves, of New York City. Allen McLane, collector of the port of Wilmington, purchased the property in 1808 and likely let it to tenants. Lot 10 A contained an

unusually large quantity of fish remains representing “white and yellow perch, catfish,

herring, snapper, shad, sturgeon, and crab” (Catts 1988:29). For example, the minimum

number of individuals (MNI) represented by catfish elements is 22. Catts acknowledges

that the robust fish assemblage might be expected at the homesite of a mariner, but he

offers another possibility. Fish remains, as well as the remains of other wild animals,

often comprise a significant portion of faunal assemblages encountered on archaeological

sites occupied by slaves and free Blacks (see Chapter 3; Otto 1984:57). Furthermore,

slaves and free Blacks were commonly employed in maritime tasks in Wilmington. Catts

(1988:32-33) believes that the occupants of Lot 10 A may have been Black refugees from

St. Domingue. It is plausible that the occupants knew the Madam Levaud and her fugitive

slave and/or voyaged to Wilmington with them. Free Blacks often assisted runaways

(LaRoche 2014:67) and it is tempting to think that the occupants may have abetted

David, the Madam Levaud’s runaway slave, in his escape.

Excavations on Lots 8 B and 10 A of Block 1191 produced a total of 62

colonoware sherds from barrel privy and midden contexts dated to the late eighteenth or

early nineteenth centuries (Catts 1988:17-18). Images of the pottery are published in

Beidleman et al. (1986:335) and Catts (1988). “It is probable that more Colono Ware

sherds could have been recovered from both lots, but time constraints prevented the

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complete excavation of the yard areas,” according to Catts (1988:25). The majority of

fragments (n=59) were tempered with sand and grit and three are non-tempered. Fifty-

eight fragments are burnished on the interior and exterior and four have only interior burnishing. Paste colors range from buff, orange, brown, red, and black. Fragments

identifiable to vessel form represent globular containers. He (Catts 1988:79) believes that

the Mendenhall and Block 1191 colonoware resemble examples from the West Indies and

were likely brought to Wilmington by Haitian “French negroes” who arrived with some

material possessions in-hand, a few of which, were colonoware.

Story 7: Undocumented in the City

Setting: Remer Site (Philadelphia, PA)

Richard Veit, my undergraduate mentor, was among the first archaeologists I contacted in my search for Northeastern colonoware. Veit suspected Meta Janowitz, now

retired Senior Material Specialist for AECOM, might know of some leads. “We have a

few scattered sherds of what we think is colonoware from the I-95 project in Philadelphia

right now. We're in the process of inventorying this collection and it will be a long term

exercise,” Meta said in March 2011.

Archaeology was initiated by URS Corporation (now AECOM) prior to a “long-

term, multi-phase project” by the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation (PennDOT)

and the Federal Highways Administration (FHWA) to “improve and rebuild” the I-95

travel artery (AECOM 2014c). The Remer Site was identified in “section GIR” where

“reconstruction of the Girard Avenue Interchange; widening of the overhead interstate

highway; installation of new utilities and landscaping; and improving access to the

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Delaware Waterfront” was planned (AECOM 2014c). The Remer Site was located on “a

narrow empty lot, approximately 20 feet wide” and “situated between an I-95 bridge

abutment and the standing 1028 Shackamaxon Street structure” (AECOM 2014a). Ninety percent of the yard was destroyed when the I-95 bridge abutment was constructed; a

small area “no greater than 4 feet wide, narrowing to 3 feet wide north to south” was

undisturbed (AECOM 2014a). Archaeological excavation of the small, intact portion of

the site led to the identification of several outbuildings, trashpits, as well as both barrel

and box privies; many of these features dated to the last quarter of the eighteenth century

through the mid-nineteenth century (AECOM 2014a).

Godfrey Remer, a butcher, emigrated from Germany to Philadelphia in the 1750s.

He purchased a property for his son, Matthew, located in the Kensington neighborhood of

Philadelphia on what is present-day Shackamaxon Street (AECOM 2014a, 2014b).

Matthew Remer was a shipwright by trade and enlisted in the militia during the American

Revolution. He played a pivotal role during his service by assisting Washington’s

Delaware River crossing at Trenton, New Jersey. After the war, Matthew constructed a

second dwelling on the property between 1795 and 1796. Matthew passed away in 1804

and the property was deeded to his widow, Salome (nicknamed Sarah), where she

continued to live with their children. Eliza Conver Strawn, Matthew and Sarah’s

daughter, acquired the property following Sarah’s death in the 1820s. The property was

subdivided when Eliza died in 1858. Her daughter, also named Eliza, received the parcel

that contains the archaeological site. She resided on the property intermittently, but

frequently let the dwelling to tenants, including a policeman, poultry seller, comb maker,

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and cigar maker. The property remained within the Remer family through the early-

twentieth century.

Among the most fascinating artifacts unearthed from the site are a set of horn- framed spectacles believed to be the oldest eyeglasses in the United States. The site produced glassware, like pocket flasks and case bottles, as well as pottery, including fancy hand-painted teawares. Investigation of section GIR is on-going, but a “work in progress” report (AECOM 2014a, 2014b, 2014c) is available online and will be updated

“as new discoveries are made and new information is revealed over the next few years”

(AECOM 2014c).

I set up a research appointment to work with the colonoware sherds Meta referred

to in her e-mail the day after I heard from her. I was given permission to view and photograph three colonoware rim sherds identified at the Remer Site during my visit to

the lab in 2011. I was employed by the company prior to the AECOM merger as a

summer laboratory technician shortly after my research visit. During my employment, I

learned that that the company has a tradition of creating monthly postcards that depict

notable artifacts from their excavations. These postcards are distributed amongst

archaeologists and published electronically on both the company’s website and the

Philadelphia Archaeology Forum’s website. The August 2011 postcard featured the

Remer Site colonoware fragments; the company gave me several extra copies. An

illustration of the pottery and the words “18 th -Century Colonoware Pottery, Philadelphia

Pennsylvania” appear on the front of the postcard. Text about the pottery, including its

technical attributes, are printed on the reverse. The company does not electronically publish the text that appears on the reverse side of the postcards.

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The company encouraged me to present my findings on the Remer Site

colonoware and other sherds recovered from Philadelphia at the 2011 Philadelphia

Archaeological Forum (PAF), a yearly meeting that connects the public with the

archaeology in their city (Sansevere 2011). I followed-up with the company in November

2017 to seek permission to XRF the sherds for a sourcing study, but my request was

declined citing company policy. I was only able to use my observations in the dissertation

with AECOM’s approval of the final text which I have not yet received at the time of this

writing.

The Remer Site colonoware sherds appear in a chapter I contributed to an edited book published by University of Alabama Press (Sansevere 2017). Here, I describe the

sherds as “sand-tempered, coil constructed, and burnished” (Sansevere 2017:41). The

dark-grey-to-black cores of the sherds might reflect their firing in an “oxygen-deprived

kiln environment that prevented complete organic volatilization.” The fragments are of a

homogenous paste, exhibit an everted rim, and appear to represent a single vessel, probably a bowl. A comb striation or poorly erased paddle mark is present on one of the

fragments.

Story 8: Captive Laborers and Wage Earners on Long Island

Setting: Sylvester Manor (Shelter Island, NY)

Sylvester Manor, located on the eastern tip of Long Island, was a seventeenth-

century provisioning plantation owned by Nathaniel and Grizzell Sylvester beginning ca.

1652 (Gary 2007; Mrozowki et al. 2007). The operation provided goods, like livestock

and food, to Constant Plantation and Carmichael Plantation, Sylvester Manor’s sister

sugar plantations located on Barbados. At least 20 African and/or African Caribbean

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slaves, many of whom comprised family groups, are documented at the site and labored

as domestic servants, agricultural workers, coopers, and blacksmiths (Priddy 2007; Trigg

and Landon 2010:37). The Sylvester’s hired Native Americans wage workers, likely the

local Manhanset, to assist with plantation tasks, primarily agricultural work and picking berries (Trigg and Landon 2010:39).

The site was archaeologically excavated between 1998 and 2007 by the

University of Massachusetts, Boston under the direction of Stephen Mrozowski

(Mrozowski et al. 2007, Mrozowski 2010). Mrozowski (2010:23) stated that the long- term project “is conceived as an interdisciplinary endeavor that relies upon multiple analytical approaches in an effort to provide a detailed portrait of life at the Manor.”

Numerous papers on specialty topics were published in a special monograph edition of

Northeast Historical Archaeology ; these include material culture (Gary 2007), floral analysis (Trigg and Leasure 2007), faunal analysis (Sportman, Cipolla, and Landon

2007), and micro-stratigraphic analysis (Piechota 2007).

Large quantities of mortar and plaster were found at the site; one variety was made with locally-sourced quahog clam and a second variety incorporated coral ballast imported from Barbados (Gary 2007). This material link between Sylvester Manor and

Barbados is notable; it connects the plantation to an island that produced diverse colonoware potting traditions (see Chapter 2). Excavations also unearthed artifacts that may have been used by seventeenth century Native American wage laborers; these include waste from wampum manufacturing, glass trade beads, iron mouth harps, a pierced thimble tinkler, rolled copper beads, altered coins, a copper ferule etched with a

Native American design, decorated and effigial smoking pipes, and stone tools (see

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Chapter 3; Gary 2007). It is interesting that some of these artifacts, like fleur-de-lis

smoking pipes, an etched copper ferrule, and an etched silver Spanish cob, are inscribed

with an “X” or cross motif. Similar motifs interpreted as symbols of African spirituality

have been observed on colonoware and other metal artifacts (see Chapter 2; Cantwell and

Wall 2001:240; Ferguson 1992). Comparatively less attention has been given to Native

Americans’ use of the motif, with the exception of Steen (2011), who postulates that the

mark was appropriated by Christian Native Americans. Hayes (2013a:431) documented

the paucity of material culture associated with African traditions at Sylvester Manor.

Livestock slaughter waste, construction debris (including plaster), and pottery

sherds representing 50 Native American ceramic vessels were excavated from a large pit

feature designated Feature 221 (Gary 2007:104; Hayes 2013a:430). Gary (2007)

identified the ceramics as “Shantok Castellated”, a type of handle-less pottery produced by Native Americans in present-day southern New England during the seventeenth

century. The majority of Shantok vessels (n=94%) were tempered with shell; the

remaining vessels (n=6%) were mineral-tempered. Decorative motifs, like incised lines,

triangular lobes, or castellated rims were found on many (n=84%) of the Shantok sherds.

An impressed net design was present on one fragment, though Gary (2007:104) believes

this example may pre-date the Shantok sherds.

Two partially complete colonoware vessels were also present in Feature 221

(Figure 4.4), one of which was “dropped whole into the large waste pit” (Hayes

2013:104). I e-mailed Jack Gary about the pottery in February 2014. Gary (2007)

authored the article that examined these vessels, in addition to other interesting artifacts

from the site, and is now the Director of Archaeology at Colonial Williamsburg. “The

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Sylvester Manor collection is pretty amazing,” Gary remarked, “I would classify at least

the two vessels with evidence of handles as colono.” He continued, “if I remember

correctly one of the pots had the residue of mortar in it, almost as if it was used for that purpose.” “There is definitely starchy bits of stuff adhering to the interiors of those pots,”

he added.

I contacted Archaeologist E twice to coordinate a research appointment between

February and April 2014. I contacted Lab Manager A the following year in early June

2015. Lab Manager A suggested that I try to reach Archaeologist E again. Archaeologist

E was difficult to reach and I began to wonder why I had not received a reply to set-up a

research appointment. Perhaps the vessels had gone missing or were on loan. Maybe

Archaeologist F was overwhelmed with a heavy workload and did not have the chance to

reply to e-mail correspondence. Alternatively, did Archaeologist E want their own

students to analyze the pottery instead of a student affiliated with another university? I

sent Archaeologist E an e-mail later that day. I rephrased my request; this time, I asked

the archaeologist if they could clarify some of the vessel attributes I could not discern

from photographs published in Gary (2007). I also asked if they could send me a clearer

image. I contacted Archaeologist E a fourth time in November 2017; “I am writing to see

if it is possible to obtain an image of the handled vessel for use in my dissertation?” I

asked. Archaeologist E replied to this e-mail and instructed me to use one of the images

that were already published in Northeast Historical Archaeology (Gary 2007) or in the

Journal of Historical Sociology (Mrozowski 2010).

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Figure 4.4: Sylvester Manor colonoware, Shelter Island, NY. Image in Mrozowski (2010:30) and used with permission.

The colonoware is shell-tempered, hand-made, and exhibits a globular, European- like vessel form. The first vessel has a rim diameter of approximately 14 centimeters. The collar is decorated with triangular lobes and diagonally incised lines. A handle—a kind of pottery attribute “completely unheard of” on local indigenous-produced pottery (Hayes

2013a:432)—is attached to the vessel beneath the collar. A second handle, presumably from the same pot, was identified in the same archaeological context and resembles handles present on European borderware and stoneware jugs. Gary (2007:105) believes that the potter attached the handles into a hole that was punctured into the body of the vessel, and then blended over. The shape of the vessel and location of the handles suggests a jug-like vessel form, though carbonized residue on the surface of the vessel

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indicates its use as a cooking vessel. The second colonoware vessel, also jug-like in form,

is undecorated, but has a burnished interior and exterior surface. Though no handles are present, a handle found associated with the vessel suggests that handles were once present on the vessel. The pottery’s “blending of Native American and European attributes is unquestionable,” according to Gary (2007:105).

Despite Sylvester Manor’s relationship with Barbados, the colonoware present at the site is markedly different than the wheel-thrown pottery encountered on Barbados that are commonly formed into molasses drip jars or sugar molds (see Chapter 2; Handler

1963a, 1963b; Scheid 2015; Siedow et al. 2014). Instead, the lobed collar, shell temper, and hand construction—attributes evocative of Shantok Castellated pottery—suggest that the Sylvester Manor colonoware was influenced by local indigenous groups. Hayes

(2013:98) speculates that the vessels were potted by enslaved Africans who incorporated

Native American aesthetics into the design.

Story 9: New Construction, Old Pottery

Setting: East Providence, RI

School teacher and avocational archaeologist Edward Bielski (1962:36) briefly

reports on a globular vessel found by Milton Hall around 1940. Hall discovered the

vessel in several fragments while digging a new cellar for a home located on Barrington

Parkway in East Providence, Rhode Island. The pottery is cord-marked on the exterior

surface and smoothed on the interior. At the time of his writing, Bielski (1962:36) stated

that the vessel was on display at the Bronson Museum located in Attleboro,

Massachusetts.

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The Bronson Museum opened in 1943 and was maintained by the Massachusetts

Archaeological Society (MAS) (Massachusetts Archaeological Society 2015). The museum was shuttered in 1987 when MAS relocated 90,000 objects in collections to a more spacious facility in Middleboro, Massachussetts. MAS hoped to develop “a larger museum for its expanding collection” and provide “a facility for public education.” An

“office, gift shop/book store, museum, collections conservation area, workshop, lecture hall and library” are now located at the new museum and their collection has expanded to

150,000 artifacts. I contacted the museum in May 2017 to gather more information about the vessel and set a research appointment. I explained how I had read about the pot discovered by Milton Hall that was exhibited by MAS many years ago. I called the museum in October 2017 after I did not receive a response and spoke with Museum

Director A. This individual sent me information pertaining to an Early Woodland vessel attributed to Bielski, but the vessel was clearly not colonoware. Later that month,

Museum Director A wrote to me and explained that the staff had searched all of their databases; no other vessels associated with Bielski are under their purview. Museum

Director A stated that they would contact me if they became aware of any other examples.

Story 10: The Early Free Black Community

Setting: Parting Ways (Plymouth, MA)

I initially contacted Staff Member C to learn more about possible colonoware excavated from the Watson/Jackson Site (discussed below in Eseck, Cuffe, Quassia, and the Colonel ). During our correspondence in December 2017, Staff Member C suggested I consider an assemblage from another site in Massachusetts—one that had been excavated

144 decades ago—called Parting Ways. James Deetz’s (1996:187-211) archaeological research at the free Black community of Parting Ways is among the most noted examples of historical archaeology within the American Northeast (see Chapter 3). His research was spurred by the town’s bicentennial committee on Black history; they sought to clean up the Parting Ways cemetery that was overgrown by brush and designate a memorial where the community once stood. When Deetz (1996:194) first visited the site, he observed that “the main center of occupation was [now] grassy, with an occasional locust tree.” He continued, “There was only one visible feature, a large cellar hole heavily overgrown with brush.” Deetz began his investigation of Parting Ways in 1975 and his work uncovered cultural deposits associated with community residents Cato Howe,

Prince Goodwin, Quamany (Quash), and Plato Turner. Archaeological excavation revealed architectural features indicative of mud-walled shotgun houses and chopped fauna characteristic of stewed meats.

Deetz unearthed five examples of wheel-thrown coarse earthenware (Figure 4.5), initially identified as sugar or tamarind jars. Two of the jars were encountered “broken on the cellar floor” at Plato Turner’s house and three broken jars were present “among a large cobble scatter” at the Quash homesite (Deetz 1999:199; Hutchins-Keim 2015:130).

Deetz (1999:199-200) described the jars as “Eighteen inches tall, of red, unglazed, well- fired clay, their shape and physical characteristics immediately set them apart from the entire Anglo-American ceramic tradition.” Deetz suspected “that they might relate to the

African and West Indian background of the people who lived there.” He did not refer to the pottery as colonoware in the 1996 revised edition of In Small Things Forgotten. In his text, he states they were manufactured in the West Indies and used for storing and

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shipping sugar and a “West African cultivated fruit that was grown in the West Indies”

called tamarind (Deetz 1996:199). Some of the Parting Ways residents may have ordered

dried tamarind from the West Indies and stored them in the jars that were

archaeologically recovered from the site (Piersen 1988:101). Deetz (1996:200) speculates

that “they [the residents] may have possessed them before moving onto the property or

received them, with or without contents.”

Figure 4.5: Photograph of coarse earthenware jars from Parting Ways, Plymouth, MA. Image in Hutchins-Keim (2015:131) and used with permission.

The West Indies pottery from Parting Ways was recently re-analyzed by Hutchins-Keim

(2015). She (Hutchins-Keim 2015:131) observed large quartz inclusions within the fabric

of four jars and a mixture of limestone and shell in the fabric of the fifth jar. The rim present on the fifth jar is larger than those present on the four jars that contain large

quartz inclusions. Hutchins-Keim (2015:131) notes the similarity of form between the

Parting Ways jars and redware molasses drip jars manufactured in the West Indies used

for processing sugar; however, she recognized several distinctions. In comparison, the

Parting Ways jars are unglazed and contain a “coarser paste with larger voids and

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inclusions” (Hutchins-Keim 2015:132). Hutchins-Keim (2015:132) believes that the

Parting Ways jars closely resemble drip jars from Guadeloupe.

The jars were probably manufactured by West African individuals enslaved on

Caribbean plantations (Hutchins-Keim 2015:137). Though the jars were initially intended to refine sugar, they were shipped north and ultimately discarded in cultural deposits at

Parting Ways. Plato Turner, a mariner by profession who made documented voyages to the Caribbean, may have brought the jars to Parting Ways (Hutchins-Keim 2015:136).

Myriam Arcangeli (2012:217–225) reports that drip jars were frequently re-used to store water and other materials, a line of evidence referenced by Hutchins-Keim.

The Parting Ways jars were characterized as “similar to colono-ware vessels found in South Carolina, Virginia, and the Caribbean” in a National Park Service (NPS) guide on Africanisms (Joyner 2003:44, in Hutchins-Keim 2015:122). Although she does not specifically refer to the Parting Ways jars as colonoware, Hutchins-Keim (2015:136) offers that they “may be best considered as artifacts of the Atlantic world.” Similar examples have been unearthed at the Watson/Jackson site in Plymouth (discussed below in Eseck, Cuffe, Quassia, and the Colonel), the Narbonne site in Salem (see Chapter 5,

Help at the Widow’s House? ), and the Marshall site in Portsmouth, New Hampshire (see

Chapter 5, Adam, Mercer, and Bess ) (Hutchins-Keim 2015:131).

I contacted Archaeologist F who was involved in analyzing artifacts from Parting

Ways. They informed me that the Parting Ways jar collection was split between two

organizations. Two jars are stored in the collection of Museum A and the others are under

the purview of Museum B; both are difficult to access. One collection is displayed behind

glass and inaccessible for hands-on research and the second collection is generally

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guarded by personnel who restrict access to the pottery. Archaeologist F wished me luck

in my attempt to access the Parting Ways pottery.

I contacted Museum A; the reply I received from Staff Member D in response to

my request for information regarding Boston colonoware (discussed below in Owned by

a Metalsmith and A Poisoning ) included information about other assemblages that may be of interest. Staff Member D stated that the Parting Ways vessels are on display at

Museum B. I called Museum B multiple times over the course of several weeks during business hours; no one answered the phone. I explained the challenges I encountered to

Archaeologist F, who speculated that all of the jars may now be curated at Museum B, but was skeptical. According to Archaeologist F, two nearly intact jars had been stored at

Museum A, along with the rest of the Parting Ways collection that totaled to

approximately 30,000 artifacts. Access to the pottery at Museum A was compromised

when Staff Member E left their position at Museum A. According to Archaeologist F,

Museum A is reluctant to allow visitors access to the collection; the archaeologist believed that they were able to access the collection because they personally knew the

staff.

Story 11: Eseck, Cuffe, Quassia, and the Colonel

Setting: Watson/Jackson Site (Plymouth, MA)

In March 2015, I received feedback from Archaeologist G on a draft of a chapter I

contributed to Archaeologies of African American Life in the Upper Mid-Atlantic

(Sansevere 2017). Archaeologist G suggested I contact Archaeologist H who was aware

of a fragment of possible colonoware from the Watson/Jackson Site. The site is located at

11 North Street in Plymouth and was purchased by the merchant John Watson in 1737 for

his son, George (Chartier 2014). George sought employment as a merchant, like his

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father, and it was likely George who constructed the house on the property between 1745

and 1800. George attained the rank of colonel while he served in the French and Indian

War; however, Chartier (2014:22) suspects that the rank was purchased by George’s

father who commanded the Second Militia Company of Middleboro in 1762. After the

war, George was appointed selectman and later served on the Loyalist Governor’s

Council in 1774. The townspeople censured George later that year for his Loyalist

sympathies which resulted in his resignation from the Council, though this event did not bear greatly on his legacy. Colonel Watson was considered the wealthiest man in

Plymouth by the end of his life. Upon his death in 1800, the townspeople “viewed [him]

as the paragon of virtue, manners, and Christianity charity, worthy of having the whole

town come to a standstill during his funeral and ships in the harbor to lower their flags to

half-mast in deference” (Chartier 2014:25).

Historic documents indicate that George kept several slaves at his North Street property; Esseck and Cuffee are listed under the Colonel’s ownership in 1757 (Chartier

2014:24). That year, Eseck took a wife named Rose who was owned by William Clark. In

1768, Cuffee married Nanny, owned by Samuel Bartlett. It is worth mentioning that in

1734, a slave named Cuffee, owned by Isaac Lothrup, was published to be wed to Nanny, owned by Samuel Bartlett. It is unclear if this is the same couple that wed in 1768. This information might indicate that certain slave names were favored by eighteenth century

Plymouth masters and/or that Plymouth masters re-used a name to refer to successive slaves. A third enslaved individual identified as Quassia—“full of fun and drollery”— was also present at Watson’s property (Weston 1906:104). Quassia “made sport for the guests at Oliver Hall” while he labored for his former master, Judge Peter Oliver. Judge

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Oliver was driven out of town for his Tory allegiance and Watson assumed ownership of

Quassia.

Craig Chartier (2014), director of the Plymouth Archaeological Rediscovery

Project, conducted archaeological research at the site in 2012 prior to planned restoration

of an 8 foot by 12 foot structure on the lot. The structure was recently used by the

Plymouth Arts Center as a tool shed, but some were “long curious about slave lore

surrounding the small building” (Lindern 2012). Since the 1960s, the Massachusetts

Historical Commission (MHC) believed that the structure may have been used by

Colonel Watson to quarter his slaves and one of Chartier’s (2014:vi) research goals was

to investigate whether archaeological evidence supported this claim. A $15,000

Community Preservation Fund Grant supported the excavation. Data yielded from the

excavations indicated that the small structure was not a slave quarter; it represented a privy that dated to the Watson occupation. Despite this, Chartier (2014:vi) contends that

“the property maintains a high research value as one of the only intact locations in the

heavily developed downtown Plymouth area.”

The site garnered public interest when it was featured in a news article published by the Boston Globe (Lindner 2012). In the article, Donna Curtin, director of the

Plymouth Antiquarian Society remarked, “New England slavery is a part of history people have not been that interested in thinking about or understanding, but now is the

time to come back and scientifically investigate this.” Lindner (2012) stated that

Chartier’s team of “trained and novice workers” unearthed over 30,000 artifacts;

however, the “prized finds” were identified as those objects that provide material

evidence of Watson’s slaves. A lid evocative of West Indies pottery, possibly used to

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cover a tamarind jar, may have been a commodity sold by Watson or an object acquired by one of his slaves. A stone pestle was also present; the pestle is similar to the example

interpreted as a ritual object excavated from an enslaved context at the Isaac Royall

House in Medford, Massachusetts (see Chapter 3; Chan 2007).

A single fragment of coarse earthenware, identified as a possible hand-thrown colonoware body sherd, was also excavated from the site (Chartier 2014:153-154); unfortunately, an image of the sherd was not included in the report. The fragment represents a hollowware vessel, is unglazed, and has a diameter of 10 centimeters.

I contacted Archaeologist H, who was involved with the project, in May 2015 to

learn more about the sherd. Archaeologist H emphasized that the fragment may be

colonoware, but was not certain. They generously offered to ship the artifact to me so that

I could examine it. I asked the archaeologist if they could clarify more attributes of the

fragment that might confirm whether it was colonoware to see if it would be worth

mailing the fragment. Archaeologist H stated that they would pull the fragment to check

this week. I e-mailed the archaeologist again a few weeks later after I did not receive a

response; they stated that they did not forget about my message.

I e-mailed Archaeologist H in October 2017 and again the following month to

reiterate my interest in the fragment. I explained my plan to perform XRF analysis of

northern colonoware and that I would like to include the Watson/Jackson sherd in my

study sample. “I thought I might try you again in case you were a bit bogged-down last

month,” I wrote in my November e-mail. I inserted a smiley face emoji at the end of this

sentence and hoped it would dull my nagging. “If the pottery is unavailable for XRF-ing,

I would be just as delighted to see an image of the sherd.” I referenced the tamarind jar

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lid and continued, “One of the things I am finding is that the definition of colonoware becomes a bit tricky and raises the question of where to draw the line between

colonoware and other kinds of coarse earthenwares. There are a few other sites that have

‘peculiar’ colonoware that I discuss in my writing.” Archaeologist H replied in less than

two hours. They reported that the sherd is now in storage at another location; however, it

is not easily accessible there. Archaeologist H believed that the fragment was fairly

nondescript, but would look for an image of the artifact. The archaeologist agreed that the

sherd tentatively identified as colonoware might indeed be one of the “peculiar”

examples I referenced in my e-mail.

I e-mailed Archaeologist H during the second week of December 2017. “Just

wondering if you've been able to get a shot of the colonoware and tamarind jar frag from

the Watson/Jackson Site. Sorry to be such a nuisance!” I sent a separate e-mail to Staff

Member C who is employed where the Watson/Jackson Site fragment is stored. I

expressed my interest in viewing the possible colonoware sherd and tamarind jar lid from

the Watson/Jackson site. The reply I received from Staff Member C stated that there are

no images of the artifacts. She informed me that staff are unable to accommodate

research requests until renovations to their facility are complete in late 2018.

I received an e-mail update from Archaeologist H several months later in

February 2018. The archaeologist informed that they were trying to get in touch with

Staff Member C with no luck, but would let me know if they received any updates.

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Story 12: Owned by a Metalsmith

Setting: Paddy’s Alley Site (Boston, MA)

The Central Artery/Tunnel Project, or “Big Dig”, was a massive construction project initiated in the 1970s that re-routed the I-93 entrance to Boston and created a third

tunnel into the city that connected Boston Harbor to Logan Airport. To this day, the project is considered “the largest, most complex, and most technologically challenging

highway project in the history of the United States” (Commonwealth of Massachussetts

2018). The project was completed in 2007 and “significantly reduced traffic congestion

and improved mobility in one of America’s oldest and most congested major cities”

(Commonwealth of Massachussetts 2018), but at a projected cost of 22 billion dollars,

reported by the Boston Globe (Murphy 2008).

Archaeological excavations planned to mitigate the effects of construction on

cultural resources were overseen by the Massachussetts Historical Commission (MHC)

and revealed a wealth of information about Boston’s past. The excavations were funded

in part by the following agencies: the Federal Highway Administration, the

Massachusetts Highway Department, the Massachusetts Turnpike Authority, the

Advisory Council on Historic Preservation, and the Boston Landmarks Commission

(Galvin 2001:iv). However, Murphy (2008) reports, “Contrary to the popular belief that

this was a project heavily subsidized by the federal government, 73 percent of

construction costs were paid by Massachusetts drivers and taxpayers.” The “Big Dig”

archaeology was presented in a museum exhibit between 1999 and 2001 at Boston’s

Commonwealth Museum titled The Central Artery Project – Highway to the Past. The

Gilette Company supported the cost of the exhibit and an interpretive pamphlet (Galvin

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2001) to commemorate their company’s 100 th anniversary. Gilette’s headquarters are

located in South Boston.

Cultural deposits excavated in Boston’s historic North End—one of the earliest

settled areas of the city—were particularly insightful about the past. John Carnes was one

of the eighteenth century residents of this neighborhood and lived at Paddy’s Alley,

located adjacent to the Cross Street Backlot (discussed below in A Poisoning ). Carnes, a brass and pewter metalsmith by trade, purchased a lot in 1729 located near present-day I-

93, Hanover Street, and Cross Street; it contained a stone domecile and four tenements

(Massachussetts Historical Commission 2014). Carnes constructed a large warehouse on

the property the following year. A workshop is documented on the premises, but this may

have operated out of the warehouse or a repurposed tenement structure (Berkland

2009:132). The pewter made by Carnes is considered “as some of the finest pre-

Revolutionary craftsmanship in the country” (Massachussetts Historical Commission

2014).

Carnes married three times, first to Eliza Greenough for two years until her passing, then to Sarah Baker with whom he had 14 children. Carnes married Dorothy

Farnum after he was windowed by Sarah. Carnes died in 1760 as one of the wealthiest

men in Boston. Two captive laborers are documented in his probate inventory: A “Negro

man”, valued at £66:13:04, who likely assisted with metalsmithing, and “a Woman

(old)”, worth £10, who probably labored as a servant (Cook and Balicki 1996:239).

Twelve other African or African American individuals are recorded in the immediate

vicinity over a span of about 100 years

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Crucible fragments, unfinished castings, and fused metals—by products of

metalsmithing—were excavated from the site in addition to tools used in metalsmithing,

like files, chisels, and soldering implements (Lewis 2001:34-35; Massachussets

Historical Commission 2014). Other artifacts include an iron serving fork, salt glazed

stoneware, a wine bottle seal containing Carnes’ full name, and a crystal quartz intaglio.

Berkland (2009:132) reports that a colonoware pot, possibly from the West Indies, was

excavated from Carnes’ homesite at Paddy’s Alley. I contacted Archaeologist I in

October 2017 to confirm the colonoware from Paddy’s Alley and Cross Street Backlot

(discussed below in A Poisoning ). I received an automated reply from Archaeologist I’s

e-mail account that stated they were currently in the field. I sent the archaeologist a

second message in November and received a reply that day. They provided information

about the Cross Street Backlot colonoware, but did not confirm the presence of the pottery at Paddy’s Alley. I followed their suggestion and contacted Museum A. My

experience communicating with the Museum A is also discussed above in The Early Free

Black Community and below in A Poisoning. Staff Member D from Museum A did not

address the Paddy’s Alley colonoware in their response to my research request.

I contacted Archaeologist J—an archaeologist involved in analyzing the Paddy’s

Alley artifacts—in March 2018 to confirm the colonoware find. They expressed interest

in assisting with my inquiry and stated they would look further into it. I did not receive a

follow-up from Archaeologist J; it is possible that the Paddy’s Alley colonoware has

gone missing, was incorrectly identified, or was mistakenly reported . However, a red

earthenware smoking pipe (Figure 4.6) dated to the 1720s was identified at the site.

Bagley (2016) selected the find as one of 50 artifacts featured in his book titled A History

155 of Boston in 50 Artifacts . The pipe is burnished on the exterior and features an incised motif believed to be of West African origin (Bagley 2016:71; Massachusetts Historical

Commission 2014b). A wooden reed stem would have been inserted inside the end opposite of the pipe bowl. It is plausible that the pipe may have been carried to Boston by one of the slaves who labored for Carnes.

Figure 4.6: A smoking pipe, likely of West African origin, excavated from Paddy’s Alley, Boston. Photographs in Bagley (2016:70) and used with permission.

Story 13: A Poisoning

Cross Street Backlot Site (Boston, MA)

The Cross Street Backlot is located in Boston’s historic North End adjacent to

Paddy’s Alley (discussed above in Owned by a Metalsmith ). Katherine Nanny-Naylor resided at the site during the mid-seventeenth century (Lewis 2001:36-40; Massachussetts

Historical Commission 2014). In 1636, Katherine, aged six years, immigrated from

England with her father, Reverand John W. Wheelwright. Katherine married merchant

Robert Nanny in 1650 with whom she had eight children. Robert was a merchant and conducted transactions in Barbados where he owned an estate. Sadly, Katherine outlived

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Robert and all of their children. She took a second husband, Edward Naylor, also a

merchant, following Robert’s passing. Like Robert, Edward had ties to the West Indies

through his profession. Her marriage to Naylor ended in divorce in 1671. Naylor is

intimated as an adulterer and abuser in Katherine’s testimony; she describes how he

threw food, furniture, and “earthen platters” at family members and servants and “kikt

[his daughter Lydia] down the garet stayres” (in Massachusetts Historical Commission

2014a). Court documents (in Massachusetts Historical Commission 2014a) allege that

Mary Read, a servant who bore Edward’s child, obtained henbane and used it to poison

Katherine’s beer. Katherine survived the poisioning and passed away at the age of 85 in

1716.

Documents are silent as to whether Katherine or her husbands owned captive

workers. However, 14 Africans or African Americans are recorded in the neighborhood

spanning a period of about 100 years (Cook and Balicki 1996:239). A slave named

“Besse”, possibly also known as “Jemima Bisse”, is documented at the Lake family

household located adjacent to Katherine’s residence. Some researchers (Bagley 2014:72;

Cook and Balicki 1996:239) speculate that Mary Read acquired the henbane poison from

Jemima Bisse.

A plethora of well-preserved archaeological remains were found inside Nanny-

Naylor’s bricklined vault privy; these dated between 1660 and 1716. The Massachusetts

Historical Commission (MHC) (2014) considers the privy contents “one of the most

significant urban archaeological discoveries in North America from the early colonial period.” Some of the notable finds are summarized by the Massachussetts Historical

Commission (MHC) (2014) and Lewis (2001:36-40); these include eggs from whipworm

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and roundworm parasites, rice from Madagascar, olives, trace remains of spices, shoe

leather, silk, lace and textile fragments, folding fan struts, and Venetian glass.

Archaeologists also discovered a wooden bowling ball believed to be the oldest bowling ball in North America.

Cowry shells, Caribbean coral, and four colonoware fragments that represent a single globular vessel (Figure 4.7) were also present in Katherine’s privy (Bagley

2016:72; Lewis 2001:37). According to Bagley (2016:72), the Cross Street Backlot colonoware assemblage contains “the largest fragment of the most complete colonoware vessel recovered in Massachusetts.” These items may have been deposited by one of the

African descent individuals who dwelled nearby Katherine’s residence. The vessel is believed to have West Indian origins (Baranek 2001:41) and resembles examples from

Haiti (Cook and Ballicki 1996:243).

Figure 4.7: A colonoware vessel recovered from the Cross Street Backlot, Boston. Image in Bagley (2016:72) and used with permission.

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I e-mailed Archaeologist I in October 2017 for more information on the Cross

Street Backlot vessel. I received an automated reply that stated they were in the field

(discussed above in Owned by a Metalsmith ) and contacted them a second time a month later. “I thought I might try you again,” I said and explained I wished to gain more information on Boston colonoware. Archaeologist I replied that day that the Cross Street collection is housed at Museum A and requires written permission for in-person access, and that it is unlikely that they will provide photos, scans, etc. Archaeologist I explained that they were able to access the Cross Street Backlot vessel for their own research, but had to contact Museum A multiple times for access. The archaeologist explained to me that the vessel is virtually inaccessible in its current location, but added that the collection may be moving to a different facility that would allow visitors and researchers better access to the artifacts.

I called Museum A and explained my research to the staff member who answered my call. They instructed me to submit my research request in writing along with a copy of my curriculum vitae that outlined my professional credentials. This request was unusual based on my experience communicating with other gatekeepers of northern colonoware; no other organizations requested a copy of my qualifications or a formal written request. “Is there some kind of vetting process?” I thought to myself. I wondered about the kinds of experiences Museum A might have had with past visitors and how these could have precipitated this procedure.

I submitted the materials to Museum A in December 2017 and received a reply in a large yellow envelope within two weeks. The envelope contained a note from a representative. The “RE:” line of the letter read “‘Colonoware’ Research in

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Massachusetts.” The word colonoware was put in quotations and I interpreted this as an

indication of skepticism. The note explained that Museum A does not provide copies of

reports; instead, researchers are invited to visit their facility. A paper copy of Highway to

the Past: The Archaeology of Boston’s Big Dig (Galvin 2001) was enclosed along with

abstracts of technical reports on file that might be useful. It was thoughtful to include this

information, but I had already read the relevant reports; these were freely accessible

online. The representative referred me to published photographs of the vessel that appear

in Galvin (2001) and Bagley (2017).

The representative stated that I could make an appointment to view the Cross

Street Backlot colonoware. I called the office a few days later. “This is perfect timing,” I

thought. It was the beginning of winter recess and I could make the trip to Boston between now and the second week of January. Staff Member E answered my call and I

was told that some staff were already on holiday leave; they explained that it would be best to schedule a research appointment for another time. I would not have another

opportunity to visit Boston and the logistical hurdles other archaeologists relayed to me

were further discouraging. I sent Archaeologist I an update on my attempt to access the

collection; they sympathized with my experience getting the run-around from Museum A.

Story 14: The School Teacher’s Summer Vacation

Setting: Tyngsborough, MA

“As a teacher in the public schools, I have an opportunity to spend my summers in a variety of exciting ways,” wrote Edward Bielski (Bielski 1962:34). Bielski took up seasonal employment as a mason’s assistant in the summer of 1961.”Now, this may not

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seem like a good way to come in contact with Indian culture,” he said, “for concrete and brick are far removed from artifacts.”

Bielski was hired by Fred Rolfe to work on the stone chiminey of his Lawson

Terrace home located in Scituate, Massachussets. “One noon hour, Mr. Rolfe came out to survey our progress and to offer some cool refreshments,” according to Bielski (1962:34).

Rolfe and Bielski discussed the history of the property during the break and Rolfe led

Bielski on a tour of his estate. When they got to the garden, Bielski asked Rolfe—“quite incidentally”—if he had found any Native American artifacts there. The “Indians were also of great interest to him [Rolfe], as they have always been to me,“ Bielski writes. “It struck me at the time, how a common interest such as archaeology makes instant friends of strangers.”

Bielski was invited inside Rolfe’s home to view his family artifact collection. The

Tyngsboro Pot (Figure 4.8) was among many objects acquired by the Rolfe family. The mineral-tempered, globular vessel is similar in form to the pot excavated from the Long

Hill Site (see Chapter 5, Sacred Burials ) and the pot discovered by Milton Hall (see

Chapter 5, New Construction, Old Pottery ). However, the Tyngsboro Pot is larger than

the example from the Long Hill Site (Bielski 1962:36). The vessel contains exterior cord

markings and has a smoothed interior.

The vessel was originally unearthed in 1927 by a doctor who made the discovery

during improvements to his Tyngsborough, Massachusetts property (Bielski 1962:34-35).

Bielski (1962:35) reports that the vessel was “probably [found] in a grave, which had been uncovered by chance.” The vessel was intact when it was discovered, but broke

during its removal from the ground. Later, it was “partially, but poorly restored” with

161 glue and masking tape and several unmended vessel fragments were stored in a box

(Bielski 1962:35). Rolfe gave the pottery to Bielski who saw to the vessel’s proper restoration in 1961 by William S. Fowler, former curator of the Bronson Museum. When

Fowler and Bielski observed the mended vessel, they believed that “the shape and construction of the pot suggested a phase of ceramics worth further study (Bielski

1962:35). The vessel “could conceivably have been [made] during colonial times, when contact with English products was frequent… [and] [natives] were more ready to copy or use English-made goods.” (Bielski 1962:35).

Figure 4.8: Illustration of the Tyngsboro Pot, Tyngsborough, MA. Image in Bielski 1962:35) and used with permission from the Massachusetts Archaeological Society.

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In New Construction, Old Pottery, I describe how the Bronson Museum artifacts

were incorporated into the collection of a new museum. I corresponded with Musuem

Director A in October 2017 who stated that the museum does not have the vessel that

Bielski referred to as the Tyngsboro Pot. Museum Director A added that it was found in a

grave and was likely repatriated. I believed it was possible that repatriation records may

have documented the event. In my reply, I asked, “Are there any other records or notes

on the vessel that I might be able to incorporate into my dissertation?” Museum Director

A replied the following week after checking their records; no other information was

located.

______

Chapter Summary

The vignettes I tell in this chapter, centered on colonoware and related coarse

earthenware, illuminate the lives of past individuals who may have been associated with

colonoware in the Northeast: individuals enslaved on rural northern plantations and in

cities; enslaved individuals who may have been “rented” as temporary laborers by tenant

farmers; white master who, along with their slaves, fled St. Domingue in the wake of the

slave insurrection; and free black families. It is obvious that the stories of other past

individuals associated with the Milton Hall Pot and Tyngsboro Pot—likely Native

Americans—are less informative; this partly owes to the fact that both the pottery and

museum records are missing.

In many cases, the reason that colonoware was identified at the locations in

Chapter 4 was because building activities—like the construction of private homes, parking garages, and highways—threatened archaeological sites beneath the surface.

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Professional and avocational archaeologists unearthed colonoware prior to the destruction of cultural deposits. A number of examples were found by individuals who donated their time to document and salvage cultural resources that they believed were important, even when it was not their paid responsibility to do so.

The stories I present in Chapter 4 illustrate another important theme: accessing artifact collections can be challenging, even troubling at times. Missing objects and records, heavy staff workloads, personnel turnovers, storage facility “improvements”,

“guarded” collections, my own mindset, and the constraints in which I worked under challenged my access to colonoware and related coarse earthenware collections.

However, each vignette in Chapter 4 is an integral component of colonoware’s story— regardless of these challenges—and document otherwise undocumented collections. The stories I “curated” into Chapter 4 are no less important than those I tell in the following chapter. The assemblages presented in Chapter 5 form a second set of stories; overall, I encountered less resistance accessing these collections and this experienced produced different results than those detailed in Chapter 4.

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CHAPTER 5

EXCAVATING THE STORY OF NORTHEASTERN COLONOWARE PART II

“Who controls the past controls the future; who controls the present controls the past.”

-George Orwell, In 1984 (1949:39-40)

Like the stories I tell in the previous chapter, the vignettes presented in Chapter 5 portray the past activities of people who likely used colonoware and related coarse

earthenware and the contemporary context these collections are part of. I encountered

less resistance accessing these collections both digitally and in-person; this makes the

stories “curated” in Chapter 5 distinct. The fact that I personally know some of the

individuals who have these objects under their purview probably influenced my level of

access; however, complete strangers also demonstrated their willingness to assist with my

research. I was able to obtain chemical compositional data pertaining to three

assemblages. I note observations of museum storage practices when possible.

A combination of pseudonyms and true identities are used in Chapter 5.

Pseudonyms are used to mask potentially sensitive identities. Informants who contributed

information I intended to directly quote in this chapter received an electronic copy of the

story they appear in. I chose to use pseudonyms for informants who did not reply to

consent e-mails, although I did not receive any responses that indicated denial of consent.

Real identities are used in Chapter 5 with consent of the informant.

______

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Story 15: Free, but Surveilled

Setting: Garrison Energy Site (Dover, DE)

In 1778, 40-year-old Richard Cooper, a Barbados-born slave and barrel-maker by trade, along with his wife, Nanny, obtained freedom from their Quaker master, Thomas

Hanson (Gall et al. 2014, 2017). Their children—Celia, Hannah, Israel, Daniel, Charles, and Aaron—were gradually manumitted by Hanson between 1779 and 1792. Although

Richard and Nanny’s children were free, Aaron was abducted in 1811 at the age of forty from his residence at Duck Creek Hundred, one of several farms owned by Hanson (Gall et al. 2014:2). Aaron was taken to Maryland, sold to a North Carolina slave trader, and labored on a cotton plantation owned by Paremas Briscoe in Natchez within the

Mississippi territory. Aaron’s free status was ultimately recognized in 1814 when he was released by court order.

Richard Cooper lived and worked as a free tenant farmer on a swampy parcel of

Hanson’s land until his death in 1820. The Coopers were a middling family and one of

several free Black families who resided in what came to be known as the Little Creek

Hundred community of Dover, Delaware. By 1800, 13 of 15 households near the

Cooper’s were headed by free African Americans. Although the Little Creek Hundred

families were free, they never fully eluded White surveillance. “Hanson could keep a

watchful eye over his former slaves in the same way a parent might observe children”

(Gall et al. 2017:72).

The archaeological excavation of Richard Cooper’s homesite was funded by

Calpine Corporation, a company that specializes in power generation. Excavation

commenced prior to the construction of the Garrison Energy Center (Gall et al. 2014:3), a

“309-megawatt combined-cycle electric generating facility built to enhance reliability for

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Delaware and the regional power market” (Calpine 2018). The Garrison Energy Center

construction was completed in 2015.

Excavations were carried out at the project site by Richard Grubb and Associates between 2012 and 2014. The remains of Richard Cooper’s wooden-framed dwelling, well, and several outbuildings were identified (Gall et al. 2014, 2017). The artifact assemblage is dominated by ceramics (e.g., refined teawares, serving vessels, and plates) and glassware. Other artifacts present at the site include ammunition, one white glass seed bead, as well as coat and waistcoat buttons, some of which were silver-plated. One bone or shell bead was excavated from a post hole. Three glass seed beads—one white and two dark purple—were encountered in Cooper’s hearth. Despite Richard’s admittance into the Society of Friends in 1805, archaeologists uncovered evidence of ritual spirit conjuring (a West African, African Caribbean, and African American tradition, see Chapter 3) inside the Cooper house. A faceted purple seed bead, a pewter button, two kaolin smoking pipe stems, and seven vertebrae from a young cow were discovered in the corner of the hearth underneath and adjacent to four fragments of quartzite fire-cracked rock. Gall et al. (2017:83) postulate that, in this context, these objects, “may have been an attempt to create a family alter, perhaps to honor ancestors or to protect the home and the family.”

Thirteen fragments of coarse earthenware, tentatively identified as a kind of hybridized colonoware (Sansevere 2017:39-40), were recovered from a ca. 1820s soil- filled well, a subfloor pit, and other non-pit contexts within the footprint of Cooper’s house. Michael Gall, Principal Archaeologist, invited me to visit the collection in March

2014. I met Gall, and his wife, Allison, in 2008 during my first archaeological field

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school at Point Breeze, the former mansion house of Joseph Bonaparte in Bordentown,

New Jersey. Gall helped manage the field school with Richard Veit of Monmouth

University and I worked closely with Allison during those weeks; she taught me the basics of archaeological field research. Michael mentored me during my undergraduate

thesis as I reanalyzed seventeenth century material culture from the Salisbury Site in

Logan, New Jersey (Sansevere 2009). Gall and I continue a professional relationship and

he has edited several research articles I have written prior to press.

I went to Gall’s office to examine the sherds within a few weeks after he

extended the invitation. The sherds likely represent three vessels and most were tempered

with grit or quartzite. A mixture of grit, quartzite, and mica was identified in the body of

a single sherd. A second sherd tempered with grit, quartzite, and a small amount of

crushed colonoware grog that appears similar to the colonoware that comprises Cooper’s

assemblage, was also present. The sherds vary in dimension from about 0.12 centimeters

to 2.5 centimeters thick and about 2 centimeters to 22.5 centimeters in length. The

Cooper’s colonoware is unglazed, undecorated, and lacks burnishing.

All of the sherds are wheel-thrown evinced by rungs located on the fragments’

walls. The most notable specimen (Figure 5.1) is a large (22.5 centimeters in diameter

and 2.5 centimeters thick) buff-gray color jug or pot fragment present in the Cooper’s

well. The unusually dense and semi-porous nature of the paste is similar in quality to

stoneware, suggesting the vessel was fired at a high temperature. However, the

fragment’s uneven core paste color indicates that the vessel may have been fired

unevenly. Vlach (1978) and Fennell (2010) document the nineteenth century folk

tradition of slave-produced, mostly glazed, wheel-thrown stoneware referred to as

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Edgefield District Utilitarian Ware from South Carolina and Texas Folk Pottery. This pottery does not fit the traditional definition of colonoware. The Cooper’s colonoware collection is unique in that they appear to be a hybridization of colonoware and mechanized early-nineteenth century European American potting techniques.

Figure 5.1: Large wheel-thrown hybridized colonoware vessel fragment excavated from the Garrison Energy Site, Dover, DE. Image courtesy of Richard Grubb and Associates, Inc. and used with permission.

Richard Cooper’s connection to Barbados merits further consideration. A tradition

of wheel-thrown colonoware is documented in the Caribbean (see Chapter 2; Brewer and

Horvath 2016; Deagan 2002, Gerth and Kingsley 2014:24; Handler 1963a, 1963b;

Hauser and Armstrong 1999; Hauser and DeCorse 2003:74; Morgan 2011:394). Though

only a portion of the Cooper’s largest vessel survives, the fragment’s form is evocative of

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the wheel-thrown, slave-made tamarind jars from Parting Ways near Plymouth, the

Narbonne Site near Salem, and the Marshall Site in Portsmouth (discussed below in The

Early Free Black Community , Help at the Widow’s House? , and Adam, Mercer, and

Bess ). Slave-produced molasses drip-jars present at the late-eighteenth century United

Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts (SPG) Pothouse on Barbados also bear resemblance to Cooper’s jar, but differ in temper and color. In comparison, the drip-jars are tempered with fine sand and are red in color. These attributes appear to reflect the different sources that the clays were procured from and the different clay recipes used in manufacturing the pottery.

Story 16: The Collection of Dr. Margaret Handy

Setting: Delaware

Jennifer Potts, Curator of Objects at the Delaware Historical Society, brought a

small “oddity” (Figure 5.2) to my attention during an e-mail correspondence about

colonoware and other artifacts from the Mendenhall Site dated February 2018. Potts sent

a photograph of the vessel. I located this object very late in my research; at this point, my

free time was spent writing up the results of previous findings; unfortunately, there was

little time left for traveling. I include it in Chapter 5, as opposed to Chapter 4, because I

was able to collaborate with Potts for more information remotely. In addition, I received professional opinions on the vessel (based on Potts’ photograph) from several experts in

the fields of historical archaeology and pottery studies.

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Figure 5.2: Infant feeding cup, interpreted here as possible colonoware, formerly from the personal collection of Dr. Margaret Handy. Photograph used with permission and courtesy of the Delaware Historical Society.

“[It was] formerly part of a personal collection of infant feeders and toys that belonged to Dr. Margaret Handy,” according to Potts. Dr. Handy (1889-1977) is a celebrated Delawarean; she was the state’s first female physician and first pediatrician.

The National Institute of Health (2018) published Handy’s biography on their webpage

Changing the Face of Medicine which documents significant contributions made by female physicians to the field of medicine. She is memorialized in her obituary published in the New York Times on February 6, 1977 as “one of the nation’s first women pediatricians” (New York Times 6 February 1977). “In her 52 years of service here, Dr.

Handy often treated four generations of children from the same families,” the obituary

states, and “cared for the children of the artist Andrew Wyeth.” Wyeth painted Handy in

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two portraits: “The Children’s Doctor” (1940) and “From the Capes” (1974). Handy

never married nor had any children.

The vessel collected by Handy is now curated by the Delaware Historical Society.

It is labeled “Native American or Mediterranean infant/invalid feeding vessel,” however,

Potts believes “this may not be correct.” Based on Potts’ observations, the object is hand-

made, has a smooth surface, and is relatively small in size, measuring approximately

11.43 centimeters tall and 8.8 centimeters in diameter. The small size of the object

intimates that it was intended to feed a child and is interpreted here as a possible

colonoware vessel. “There is no mention of how old it is,” Potts says, “but it does look

quite similar to the colonoware.”

I showed an image of the vessel to several experts and asked them for their

opinions. Richard Veit, Chair of Monmouth University’s History and Anthropology

Department, observed, “It looks like something southeastern. I have seen miniature

Native American pots, even some from NJ, but the form and the composition of this

looks different.” Michael Stewart, associate professor emeritus from Temple University’s

Anthropology Department, stated that although “looking at pictures of pots is always problematic…the lip of the vessel appears to have been burnished prior to firing.” “The patchy color of the exterior is interesting,” he added, “as if something has worn off portions of the surface.” Stewart said that the form was unfamiliar to him. Paul

Farnsworth, chair of Temple University’s Anthropology Department, remarked, “I’ve

never seen anything like it before in colonoware. If that is what it is (can’t be sure from a photo) I would think it’s unique.” The miniature vessel collected by Dr. Handy is unusual

and has some attributes that are evocative of colonoware; it is identified here as a

172 possible example of the pottery. It is plausible that the vessel was produced by an

indigenous potter who copied a feeding cup form.

Story 17: The Spirituality of a Wood Sawyer

Setting: National Constitution Center Site (Philadelphia, PA)

I spoke with archaeologists in the Philadelphia area who recalled that the

Independence Archeology Laboratory in Philadelphia identified colonoware in their

collections. Independence National Historic Park, which provides stewardship to the

Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, and other historic sites, was created in the 1950s before

the National Historic Preservation Act (1966) enacted (Yamin 2008:3-4). This regulation

requires archaeological investigation of cultural resources on sites that are funded by

federal money, are located on federal land, or require a federal permit. Buildings that did

not date to the eighteenth century were removed from the landscape when the park was

created. The adjacent neighborhood was considered “decrepit and dangerous” (Yamin

2008:4).

“By the 1990s, people complained that the mall was sterile and even dangerous

(rats and the homeless, some claimed, were the only inhabitants of the tired setting)”

(Yamin 2008:6). In 1999, archaeologists began their investigation of Independence Mall prior to improvements to the vicinity planned by the National Park Service (NPS). It

seemed unlikely that archaeologists would uncover any new information about the past

given how much was eliminated when the park was created, “but the possibility existed

that significant resources…would be found” (Yamin 2008:6). Some of the most exciting

finds were encountered between 2001 and 2003 underneath the surface where the

National Constitution Center now stands.

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The Independence Archeology Laboratory houses nearly one million artifacts excavated from the National Constitution Center site (National Parks Service 2011).

These artifacts were excavated from cultural deposits spanning a broad period of time, from prehistory through the nineteenth century. Among many significant findings, archaeological excavations led to the identification of a residence occupied by Israel

Burgoe, a free Black wood sawyer and founding member of St. Thomas’ African

Episcopal Church (see Chapter 3; Yamin 2008:86-94). Burgoe rented a dwelling from the

Quaker Benjamin Cathrall over a period of 20 years spanning the late-eighteenth through early-nineteenth centuries. I spoke with Archaeologist K who was involved in the project and remembered details about the archaeological investigation of Burgoe’s home. They recalled that the dwelling Burgoe lived in was earthfast and contained a root cellar or hidey-hole; it resembled structures built by individuals who were enslaved in the

American Southeast. Archaeologist K added that the dwelling may have reflected

Burgoe’s low socioeconomic status.

Approximately 300 beads crafted from stone, bone, glass, and ceramic, 16 cowry shells, a set of bone conjuring objects inscribed with Roman numerals, and 26 redware gaming pieces were present in cultural deposits at Burgoe’s homesite. Archaeologists also unearthed colonoware sherds that may be associated with Burgoe (Yamin 2008:88) and/or other free African Americans who resided nearby (Keim and Miller 2014).

Archaeologist K remembered that most of the colonoware associated with Burgoe was excavated from the wall trench of Burgoe’s dwelling.

I contacted the Independence Archeology Laboratory to inquire about the colonoware excavated from the National Constitution Center in April 2011. Indeed,

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“fragmentary remains of what have been identified as colonoware vessels were found at

the National Constitution Center (NCC) Site,” Jed Levin, Chief Historian and Park

Archaeologist at Independence National Historical Park, explained. “The cataloging,

analysis, and report preparation for this project is on-going and none of the colonoware

has, as of yet, been fully studied.” Levin stated that the assemblage consists of “less than

100 colonoware sherds.” In a more recent analysis, Keim and Miller (2014) believe the

assemblage may reflect approximately 20 sherds. Six fragments were on display at the

National Constitution Center when Levin and I corresponded; the remaining sherds were

in storage.

I visited the Independence Archeology Laboratory in April 2011 and was greeted by two staff members. Eight body sherds and one base fragment from the assemblage

were made available for my research. I was asked not to photograph the sherds because

the pottery had not yet been fully cleaned or catalogued; however, Levin provided me

with an image of the colonoware sherds exhibited at the National Constitution Center to

use in my research and publications (Figure 5.3). The sherds I examined in the

Independence Archeology Laboratory appear to comprise at least five separate vessels based on temper, paste, or decorative characteristics. Three of the sherds are tempered

with sand; five are tempered with sand and crushed shell; and one is tempered with fiber

and sand. Core paste colors range from a beige or buff color to black, reflecting various

degrees of oxidation during the firing process. All fragments appear coil constructed,

with the exception of the base fragment, which was likely formed by slab. Four body

fragments are burnished on the interior, which departs from burnishing techniques present on the Remer Site sherds excavated from northern Philadelphia. Three body

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fragments are burnished on the exterior. Alternating bands of burnished and non- burnished strips present on the interior of some sherds might indicate intense welding of

coils by the potter.

Figure 5.3: Several colonoware sherds excavated from the National Constitution Center, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Photograph courtesy of Independence National Historical Park.

One base fragment appeared to contain a partially incised arc (Figure 5.4) that

may have extended around the remainder of the vessel’s base. The arc is reminiscent of a

vessel found in South Carolina’s Cooper River illustrated in Ferguson’s Uncommon

Ground (1992:26) which contains a circle encapsulating an “X.” The design is interpreted

as a Bakongo cosmogram symbol. According to Ferguson (1992:115), archaeological

evidence suggests that pots marked with a cosmogram were used for containing

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medicines or for ritual use. Not enough of the design is extant on the Independence

National Historic Park base sherd to state that the mark is indeed a cosmogram; only a portion of the mark is present, but its presence is intriguing. It is notable, however, that the base fragment is markedly lighter in color than any of the other fragments available for study and shows little evidence of cooking.

Figure 5.4: Drawing of colonoware base sherd with possible arc design excavated from the National Constitution Center Site, Philadelphia. Drawing by Keri J. Sansevere.

I was preparing a summary of my preliminary findings on northern colonoware for the 2014 meeting of the Council for Northeast Historical Archaeology held in Long

Branch, New Jersey (Sansevere 2014). My paper examined archaeological sites in the upper-Middle Atlantic and New England region that contained colonoware. Alex Keim and Debbie Miller, archaeologists at Independence National Historic Park, contacted me in July 2014, several months prior to the conference. They were also writing a paper on

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colonoware that they planned to deliver at the same conference; however, their research

was centered on findings from Philadelphia.

In their paper, Keim and Miller (2014) discuss additional colonoware excavated

from a privy located at Independence National Historic Park that dated to the fourth-

quarter of the eighteenth century. This colonoware was encountered in the same level that

contained a fascinating calendar token. The token commemorated the 1758 passage of

Halley’s Comet and is cast with the words “This Year Expect the Comete Without

Danger.” It is not clear who used the colonoware that was deposited in the privy, but

Keim and Miller (2014) consider several prospects: working-class tradesmen, an African

American woman named Ann Pounder (also referred to as Ann Martin or Ann Lott), or

an African American man named Issac Till. These individuals rented properties in close proximity to the privy that contained the colonoware during the last-quarter of the eighteenth century.

The vessel reported by Keim and Miller (2014) measures approximately 22 centimeters (9 inches) in diameter. Two loop handles are present on each side of the vessel; one of the handles is intact and the other is partially complete. The interior and exterior surfaces are burnished. Blackening within the fabric of the vessel reveals that it was fired at a high temperature. Keim and Miller (2014) believe that the vessel was likely used as a cooking pot evinced by the heavy charring present on the exterior surfaces of some of the non-mending sherds.

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Story 18: A Collected Pot

Setting: Philadelphia, PA

At the 2014 Council for Northeast Historical Archaeology, Keim and Miller

(2014) also reported on a late-eighteenth century coil constructed, shell-tempered, and burnished colonoware pot (Figure 5.5). The vessel was discovered inside a late eighteenth century deposit several blocks from Independence National Historic Park. The property was located at Third and Market Streets in Philadelphia and the vessel is now part of a private collection owned by Collector A.

Figure 5.5: A glazed colonoware pot identified in Philadelphia, PA, from the private collection of Collector A. Photographs used with permission and courtesy of Deborah Miller and Collector A.

Keim and Miller (2014) identified small bits of clay on the surface of the vessel which might indicate that the vessel was fired alongside other pottery. They speculate that the mica and small quartzite inclusions evident in the paste of the vessel might suggest that local Delaware Valley clays were used in manufacturing the pot. The interior

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surface is covered in clear lead glaze, some of which streamed through the vessel’s pores

and dripped down the exterior of the vessel.

Although Keim and Miller (2014) reported on the vessel several years ago, I was

interested in learning more, particularly about Collector A, the only living collector of

Northeastern colonoware whom I am aware of. I e-mailed Debbie Miller,

Archaeologist/Material Culture Specialist at AECOM and former Archaeologist at

Independence National Historical Park, for Collector A’s contact information in mid-

March 2018. “I am interested in speaking with [the collector] about his colonoware

vessel. Do you think he might be up for this?” Debbie replied later that day with their e-

mail address.

I had a lot going on that spring; I was teaching, my elderly dog was ill, I had to

look for a new place to live, and was writing the pages of this dissertation under a

deadline. Writing remained priority in the months that followed, but I also taught summer

courses and had a lot of boxes to unpack at my new apartment. I e-mailed Collector A in

September 2018 after I submitted the first draft of my dissertation. “Your vessel is very

interesting and unique!” I explained. “I am wondering if you still have the vessel and

whether it might be possible to take a look at it.”

I coordinated with Debbie and Collector A to set up a day and time. “My schedule is crazy,” I said. I taught four courses at two different schools that semester, worked a second job cleaning houses, and was preparing for my dissertation defense. I drove down to Debbie’s lab after my morning Cultural Anthropology class. The lab is located in the

First Bank of the United States across from the Museum of the American Revolution. I called Debbie when I arrived and she let me in through the back door.

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Collector A was already there. “So, how do you two know each other?” I asked.

Debbie and Collector A met online through a historic ceramics group on Facebook

several years ago. The collector posted an image of the curious vessel to the forum; the pot caught Debbie’s attention. I asked Collector A how he acquired the vessel as Debbie

refit the nine fragments of colonoware with blue tape. According to the collector, the

vessel was encountered at 5 North 3 rd Street where a newly constructed CVS store stands today. Collector A and his friends salvaged artifacts from the site in 2013 over the course of two weekends. He recalled that his friend dug the colonoware vessel out of a privy deposit along with eighteenth century European and American pottery and glass bottles.

The artifact assemblage was divided amongst the friends after the dig. Collector A

held onto most of the ceramic artifacts, including the colonoware, which was a “cool”

find. Collector A recalled that none of the other collectors were interested in the

colonoware; they kept glass bottles instead. “How did you get into this stuff [collecting pottery]?” I asked. Collector A, now 38 years old, explained, that his interest in old pottery began as a child. He currently runs a business selling European porcelain.

I examined the colonoware vessel as Collector A and Debbie chatted next to me

about their interests in European and American pottery. The mended pot measured

approximately 6.5 inches tall and has a 7 inch orifice diameter. I observed the interior

lead glaze and a substance, possibly resin, tar, or clay, that adhered to the surface (Figure

5.6). This collected vessel is the only known example of glazed colonoware found in the

American Northeast at present. The recovery of glazed colonoware from the American

Southeast is also limited, though Cranford (2013) reports on late-eighteenth century lead

glazed Catawba-made colonoware from the Old Town Site located in South Carolina.

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The tradition of glazing colonoware is common in the Caribbean, particularly on the

islands of Barbados (Scheid 2015; Siedow et al 2014), Saint John (Hauser and Armstrong

1999), and Jamaica (Gerth and Kingsley 2014; Hauser et al. 2008; Hauser 2011).

Figure 5.6: A substance adhered to the rim of Collector A’s colonoware vessel. Photograph by Keri J. Sansevere.

I began to peel the blue tape off of the vessel. I explained to Collector A and

Debbie that I was interested in colonoware’s meaning in both the past and present.

Debbie, who is originally from the Virginia/Tennessee border and spent part of her career excavating archaeological sites in the Chesapeake, had “colonoware overload.” “It was everywhere,” Debbie said. She remarked how carefully I was handling the colonoware as

I put the fragments back into the archival-quality plastic bag the collector had them in.

Collector A put the bagged fragments into a medium-sized re-used cardboard box that had the words “Okknu Packing Tape / Made in China” printed on its side. Debbie

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returned a nearly intact engine-turned teapot to the collector that she had kept on her

desk; she borrowed it some time ago for research. They wrapped the teapot in foam roll,

slipped it inside a plastic archival bag, and placed it on top of the colonoware fragments

that lay at the bottom of the box.

Story 19: Undocumented Indigenous on the Frontier

Setting: Dorchester and Heislerville (Cumberland County, NJ)

During World War II, Alan E. Carman (1923-2011) served “with the Army Air

Corps. 9 th Air Wing as a Flight Operation Coordinator for Troop Carrier operations in the

European Theater,” his obituary reads (Bridgeton News 2011). Carman lived in

Cumberland County, New Jersey his entire life and was employed by Long Acre Farms,

P.J. Ritter Ketchup, Stowkley VanCamp, and Wheatabix Ltd. of England where he worked as national U.S. manager. During his free time, Carman indulged other interests outside of his day job; he authored two books, illustrated wildlife in pen and ink, and was a member of the Cumberland County Historical Society. His dedication to discovering

the past is perhaps what he is most remembered for. His obituary continues, “Known to

many as the Curator of the Cumberland County Pre-historical Museum in Greenwich,

NJ., he was an amateur archeologist, writer, artist, outdoorsman, friend, grandfather and

the best father any kid could ever imagine. Alan had been collecting Native American

artifacts since he was 10 years old.”

I saw my own childhood in Carman’s obituary. I looked up a photograph of

Carmen and imagined him as a boy. I pictured him walking through woods or an old

farm, scanning the ground for vestiges of past people. Symbols of the past were

everywhere in my childhood landscape as well. The identity of Freehold, New Jersey—

183 the town I grew up in—is steeped in the Revolutionary War. The Battle of Monmouth occurred a few miles from the house I grew up in, contemporary street signs are emblazoned with patriot decals, and school mascots—the “Patriots” and “Colonials”— commemorate the town’s revolutionary past. I led kids on “digs” around my neighborhood, but, unlike Carman, we never found anything worth keeping.

Carman collected artifacts and fossils that he found in the New Jersey counties of

Cumberland, Gloucestor, Salem, and Cape May for over 50 years (Cumberland County

Historical Society 2018). The Cumberland County Museum of Prehistory is the steward of Carman’s collection and his collected objects are exhibited with the intention to

“provide the visitor with a brief glimpse into the aboriginal cultures of those who originally inhabited New Jersey” (Cumberland County Historical Society 2018). Carman wanted his collection to be exhibited locally “as a tribute and memorial to the Indian cultures they represent” (Cumberland County Historical Society [2005]). The town of

Greenwich was selected for the location of the museum because of its extant examples of seventeenth and eighteenth century architecture, proximity to the 1774 Tea Burning incident, and its importance to prehistoric people (Cumberland County Historical Society

2018). The museum was dedicated in 1997 (Cumberland County Historical Society

[2005]).

Morris (1988) reports on six ceramic “discs” identified by Carman. An archaeology friend connected me with a contact (Staff Member F) who works at the

Museum of Prehistory. I briefly explained my research to Staff Member F in an April

2014 e-mail and he sent a photograph of the discs. The staff member explained that they could help arrange a research visit. Tuesday’s were my research days that year and the

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staff member accommodated my request to see the discs despite that the museum was

generally closed to the public on that day of the week. I was gracious. The staff member

lives near the museum and asked if I would like to stop at his house first or meet at the

museum. “I should be able to find the museum,” I said. “I will plan to meet you there!

Looking forward to it!”

The Cumberland County Museum of Prehistory is a two hour drive from my

house through some of the most rural parts of the state. I parked behind the museum and

was greeted by Staff Member F and his colleague when I walked in. They helped me look

through Carman’s archived field notes which are housed at the museum. Carman’s notes

state that the discs were discovered at two Native American sites in Cumberland County

near the towns of Dorchester and Heislerville ([1966] Prehistoric Disc Notes,

Cumberland County Prehistorical Museum, Greenwich Township, Cumberland County,

New Jersey). Some of the discs were found near several ceramic triangular points,

European smoking pipes, and a fragment of metal; these objects likely date to the late-

seventeenth century. The discs are now exhibited on a shelf inside a glass display case beneath two Native American spears hung above. One of the staff members carefully

removed the discs from the case they were displayed in. I observed that the discs are

dark-to-buff-brown in color, slab constructed, net impressed, and tempered with mica,

quartz, and a small amount of sand. They measure approximately 13.9 centimeters (5.5

inches) in diameter. Four of the six discs are burnished. One particularly flat disc appears

to have an added lip.

Although his analysis is brief, Morris (1988:15) concludes that the pottery “may be the result of European – Native American contact.” He argues that the pottery is

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similar to “aboriginal trade pottery” that “often copy European shapes.” Morris suspects

that the flattest disc with an added lip (Figure 5.7) may have functioned as a lid to a

hollowware vessel. Colonoware lids were documented by ethnologist Frank Speck during

his informant interviews with the Pamunkey and in his observations of examples in

Smithsonian collections (Speck 1928, in Mouer et al. 1999:89).

Figure 5.7: A flat “disc”, interpreted here as a possible colonoware lid, excavated from Cumberland County, New Jersey. Photographs by Keri J. Sansevere.

Morris (1988:15) believes that the more concave discs (Figure 5.8) were “well

suited for the containment of food or drink.” He contends that they may have been shaped

from the basal end of Riggins pottery, a type of indigenous-made pottery commonly

encountered on Late Prehistoric and Protohistoric Native American sites located in

central and southern New Jersey (Kraft and Mounier 1982:161). It is plausible that the potters who crafted these objects used Riggins pottery as a template to build forms that

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resembled European plates or saucers. I observed visible use-wear signatures, like scrape

and scratch marks, on the interior surfaces of the five concave discs. These marks might

indicate food preparation activities or the use of a utensil, like a knife, to cut food.

Staff Member F handed me a souvenir fossil to take home and followed-up with

me later that day offering further assistance. “I really enjoyed my visit,” I replied and

thanked him for opening the museum on his day off. I e-mailed my museum contact

several years later in October 2017 and asked if I could test the pottery with an XRF

instrument to source the clay used by the potter(s). I explained that this is a non-

destructive technique that can identify the elements inherent in the pottery and offered to pick-up the pottery from the museum or cover the cost of shipping. Staff Member F

explained that they were familiar with XRF and believed that the pottery was made

locally using local clay. The staff member informed me that they need to speak with

museum management about permission for testing and would respond to my request

soon.

Figure 5.8: A concave “disc”, interpreted here as a possible colonoware plate or saucer, excavated from Cumberland County, New Jersey. Photographs by Keri J. Sansevere.

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Story 20: The Hospital Orderly

Setting: Old Barracks Site (Trenton, NJ)

Several archaeologists who work in the New Jersey vicinity provided tips that led me to a second colonoware assemblage located in Trenton. The Old Barracks were constructed in 1758 alongside the Petty’s Run in Trenton, New Jersey to quarter British soldiers during the French and Indian War. The site was re-used by the Continental Army during the American Revolution to raise American troops and hold British prisoners of war. In 1777, The Barracks were turned into a hospital under the direction of physician- surgeon Dr. Bodo Otto. Here, Dr. Otto administered small pox inoculations to the

Continental Army, an event that became memorialized as the “first mass medical treatment in the Western Hemisphere” (Old Barracks Museum 2015). At the time of its construction, The Barracks were considered “the largest building in Trenton and the second largest public building in New Jersey after Nassau Hall in Princeton" (Old

Barracks Museum 2015). Today, the structure is “the only extant and restored military structure left in New Jersey that is associated with the Colonial Wars” (Old Barracks

Museum 2015).

Hunter Research, Inc. (1991, 1994, 1996) initiated archaeological investigations at the Old Barracks Site prior to the construction of a living history museum on the premises. Archaeological testing led to the discovery of a prehistoric occupation, the original eighteenth century barracks, and nineteenth century domestic structures. A refuse pit feature encountered in the basement level (Room B16, Excavation Unit 4, Context 4) revealed a single colonoware body sherd alongside other artifacts, including creamware,

Eler’s ware, and a George II half penny dated 1752.

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It took some detective work to access the Old Barracks colonoware.

Archaeologist L believed the pottery was stored at the New Jersey State Museum, but

further investigation revealed that the collection was located elsewhere. In June 2017, I

contacted a second location that was believed to be in charge of the collection. I

explained that Hunter Research’s (1996) technical report documented a single sherd of

colonoware. “I was wondering if you have the sherd on premises? If so, I would love to

schedule an appointment to take a look at it!” I received a reply from Staff Member G a

few days later. Staff Member G informed me that two professors/archaeologists recently

examined the sherd; they did not believe it was colonoware. The staff member extended

an invitation for me to examine the sherd for myself.

I was writing the literature review (Chapter 2) of this dissertation during that time and had read research explaining the polythetic nature of the pottery. Other historic pottery types are easier to identify; for example, archaeologists know to look for the signature cobalt pooling near the foot of pearlware saucers which helps distinguish it from creamware or whiteware. I asked Staff Member G for a photograph of the pottery and asked why the college professors believed the pottery was not colonoware. Staff

Member G informed me that a picture was not handy and that it might be awhile before they had an opportunity to pull the sherd from collections. A few weeks later, Staff

Member G sent a photograph of the sherd taken by a volunteer. “Thanks for sending the pictures! It’s a bit difficult to make out though. It would be great to see in person. Let me

know when you think you might have time to get to it,” I said.

I sent Staff Member G a follow-up message in October 2017: “I know you said

things were busy over the summer. Let me know if your schedule might permit a quick

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visit to take a look at that possible colonoware sherd this fall.” I reiterated my interest in

seeing the pottery in an e-mail sent in November and explained, “What I am finding is

that there are a few examples of pottery that ride the line between colonoware and some

kind of slave-produced coarse earthenware, and I wonder if the example from Old

Barracks is one of these.” I received a reply the next day and the staff member explained

that they had taken time off from work. I was put in touch with Staff Member H who

helped coordinate my research appointment.

I arrived at the front entrance of a large building that houses the collection and was greeted by a police officer who worked front desk security. I was asked to show my driver’s license and sign in. Staff Member H escorted me past the security desk and I was led through a maze of hallways before we made it to the room where the artifacts are stored. The artifacts were packed neatly in dozens of cardboard archival boxes stored on metal shelving units. The units were covered with what appeared to be clear plastic drop cloths, similar to those a painter might use to prevent paint from dripping on unwanted surfaces. Staff Member H explained that there was a leak coming from the ceiling and the plastic was draped over the collection to prevent water from permeating the boxes.

Unfortunately, the staff member and I were not sure which box the pottery was located in. I pulled back small portions of the clear plastic to access a few boxes at a time.

Luckily, provenience information written on one of the boxes provided a clue that I had located the right one.

The single fragment (Figure 5.9) of hand-built colonoware excavated from the

Old Barracks Site represents a small bowl or pot and is burnished on the interior and exterior surfaces. Quartz, mica, crushed rock, and a small amount of sand are present

190 within the paste. Charring is visible on a small portion of the interior, exterior, and paste of the sherd; this appears to be caused by clouding during the firing process. At the time of their writing, the archaeologists believed the sherd “may be the most northerly documented example” of colonoware (Hunter Research, Inc. 1996:6-8).

Figure 5.9: Colonoware fragment excavated from the Old Barracks, Trenton, NJ. Photographs by Keri J. Sansevere.

Hunter Research archaeologists suspect that the colonoware was deposited during the time The Old Barracks was repurposed into a hospital to treat Continental soldiers

(Hunter Research Inc. 1996:6-8). The basement was likely used as a space to prepare meals for convalescents and hospital staff. Their report notes that Africans and African

Americans commonly filled roles as medical orderlies or servants at war-time hospitals during the eighteenth century. I contacted Ian Burrow, Vice President and Principal

Archaeologist at Hunter Research, in June 2017 to inquire about colonoware he excavated from a separate site in New Jersey (discussed below in The Black Cook in a

White (Occupied) House ). He referenced the Old Barracks sherd in that exchange and

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remarked, “The surmise was that the material was brought up with southern regiments

whose officers may have had slaves.”

Story 21: The Black Cook in a White (Occupied) House

Setting: Brearley House (Lawrence, NJ)

I was searching for more northern colonoware in the spring of 2017 and typed

“colonoware new jersey” into Google’s search engine. I suspected this search would not produce any leads; it had not when I ran similar queries in previous years. The preview title of the sixth search result read, “Brearley House Archaeological Excavation…-

Lawrence Township.” “This could be interesting,” I thought to myself, but did not get my hopes up. I clicked on the title of the search result which led me to a PDF document of a recently published archaeological investigation into the Brearley House (Burrow and

Butchko 2016).

The Brearley’s were a prominent eighteenth century family involved in the local politics of the New Jersey colony (Burrow and Butchko 2016). John Brearley lived on the family estate in Lawrence prior to his death in 1722. His son, John Brearley II, built the extant house on the property in 1761. A “’Negro-Man James’: one quarter the value of the roan mare, the same value as a cow, and less than the desk” is accounted for in John

Brearley II’s probate inventory dated 1777 (Burrow and Butchko 2016:2-1). John

Brearley II’s son, James, lived in the house until his own death in 1818, when John

Brearley III (James’ son) inherited the property. John Brearley III’s inventory, dated

1845, lists a “free black male”, possibly a cook. The same inventory documents a

“kitchen chamber” that may have quartered servants or slaves. In 1850, Matilda Brearley

(John III’s wife) is reported living on premises with two daughters and a Black male aged

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19 years. In the same year, Joseph (John III’s son), is reported living at the site with his

wife, two daughters, and a 13 year old Black male. The property was purchased by the

Pidcock family in the late-nineteenth century, followed by several successive owners,

until Lawrence Township acquired the site in 1978. The house is considered to be “one of

the most northerly examples of the distinctive group of patterned brick Georgian and pre-

Georgian vernacular houses characteristic of Quaker settlement” between Salem and

Trenton, New Jersey (Burrow and Butchko 2016:i).

The Brearley House Site was archaeologically excavated between 1999 and 2005 prior to planned restoration of the dwelling and construction of a service wing that now

stands on top of the Brearley kitchen footprint (Burrow and Butchko 2016:i). Excavation

of the Brearley House was funded by the New Jersey Historic Trust and support for

writing the report was provided by the New Jersey Department of Environmental

Protection using funds allotted by the U.S. Department of the Interior – National Park

Service (NPS) (Burrow and Butchko 2016:viii). Approximately 1800 8 th grade students

from Lawrence Public Schools assisted with excavations over the course of six years; the

student program was financially supported by the Lawrence Education Foundation.

Students were engaged in various aspects of the investigation, including testing the “grass

meadow surrounding the house” and excavating units located “in an area of dense prehistoric occupation south of the house” (Burrow and Butchko 2016:i). They continue,

“Students undertook all the main tasks associated with these investigations, and also participated in other activities both in class and on site.” The Brearley House excavation

garnered attention from former New Jersey Governor Christine Todd Whitman, who

visited the site in the spring of 1999. Burrow and Butchko (2016:xiv) reported on her

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visit; they remembered “Governor Whitman was herself a gracious, knowledgeable and

engaged supporter of the project. She may well be the only New Jersey Governor to have

worked with a group of 8th-graders to screen soil in search of archaeological artifacts!”

Burrow and Butchko (2016:Appendix C) identify two rim and body fragments of

“possible Colono-ware” present in the detached South Kitchen Wing. Cut and wire nails, window glass, a red-bodied slipware teapot lid, a redware flower pot fragment, and a fragment of ironstone earthenware were recovered from the same context. I contacted

Josh Butchko, Principal Investigator and Laboratory Supervisor at Hunter Research, in

June 2017 and inquired about the location of the Brearley House artifacts. Josh was a

Crew Chief when I worked at Hunter Research in 2009, first as an intern and later as field crew. “Hope all is well over the years…! Question for you,” I wrote in May 2017. I asked

Josh if he had any images of the possible Brearley colonoware. “It has been way too long! All is well and I hope the same for you,” Josh wrote two days later. Josh was glad that the Brearley House report was “making the rounds,” but he did not have any photographs handy of the sherds. “The collections were returned to the Brearley House in

December 2016, so I have to point you in that direction if you’d like to look into it further.” Josh put me in touch with Brooke Hunter who oversaw the artifact transfer.

Brooke is a trustee of the Lawrence Historical Society and professor of History at Rider

University. “We are thrilled to share our artifacts with scholars and hope you’ll share your findings with us,” she said in an email dated May 2017. I asked if I could come by within the next few days to examine the pottery and Brooke accommodated my request.

I drove to the Brearley House on a humid morning in early June 2017. Brooke

told me to “drive carefully” down the pothole-riddled dirt road that led to the historic

194 house. She greeted me outside and we entered the house through the newly constructed service wing that precipitated the archaeological investigation. The artifacts were stored in an unfinished attic above the new wing. She unfolded the ladder built into the attic opening and I—afraid of even the smallest of heights—cautiously climbed the wooden stairs. I saw the archival boxes neatly ordered and stacked in a row against the window- sided attic wall. Brooke was not sure which of the many boxes the sherds were in, nor was I. We got into her black SUV and drove a few miles to her office at Rider University where we could access the artifact database. We hoped that the database might contain clues that would lead us to the right box. During the drive, we talked about her dissertation titled Rage for Grain: Flour Milling in the Mid-Atlantic, 1750-1815 (Hunter

2001) and discovered our mutual interest in labor studies.

We returned to the Brearley House and I climbed the attic stairs again, this time, with the database in-hand. It was not clear to me how the database corresponded to the labeled boxes, so I began by opening the first box on the left. Luckily, the colonoware sherds were in the first artifact bag I opened! I climbed down the attic stairs carrying the sherds in the tiny clear plastic bag they were stored in. Brooke led me to a workspace where I could examine the fragments. The two sherds mend and represent one wheel- thrown, coarse earthenware vessel made from micaceous clay that contains a small amount of grit or crushed rock (Figure 5.10). Both fragments are almost completely gray in color and are burnished on the interior. Blackening is evident on the interior and exterior surfaces. Not enough of the vessel survives to accurately identify its form, but the shape of the rim is evocative of those present on nineteenth century stoneware wide- mouthed jars and crocks.

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Figure 5.10: Colonoware fragments excavated from the Brearley House, Lawrence, NJ. Photographs by Keri J. Sansevere.

The South Kitchen Wing dates to the early-eighteenth century and was initially

used as a dwelling. In 1761, the structure was repurposed into a detached kitchen and

may have doubled as a slave or servant’s quarter when construction to the extant Brearley

home was completed. The presence of colonoware in this space might indicate that some

meals prepared in the Brearley kitchen were cooked in the vessel. Although speculative,

it is possible that the free African American male cook documented at the house during

the mid-nineteenth century may have used the coarse earthenware vessel.

Before I left, Brooke asked if I would like to write a brief article summarizing my conclusions for the Lawrence Historical Society newsletter titled Places in Time . I

worked on the article over the next few days and sent her a draft. The article was published in the Summer 2017 edition (Sansevere 2017a). I reached out to Brooke in

early October of that year to see if she would permit me to analyze the sherds using an

XRF instrument. I offered to pick-up the pottery and return it within a day or two or

196 cover the cost of shipping. I heard from Brooke later that day. “I will need to check with the Board about our policy on borrowing artifacts from the collection,” she said. Brooke wrote to me the following week and explained, “We're working out the logistics for loaning artifacts as you'll be the first.” She and the board members developed an artifact loan agreement document later that month and Brooke asked me to complete the form.

I picked up the fragments in early November and took them to Temple

University’s Department of Earth and Environmental Science for testing under the supervision of Dr. David Grandstaff. It had been years since I worked with an XRF instrument and I am grateful to Grandstaff for volunteering his time to assist me. The

Brearley sherds comprised the second test series I ran that day; these were analyzed after

I tested the Connecticut River Valley Bowl (discussed below in Accessioned in 1933 ).

Grandstaff suggested that I test my samples on both the portable and stationary instrument in his department and compare the data. I tested the sherds on the portable instrument first. Grandstaff spent the morning helping me set-up and left for a meeting by the time I was able to analyze the Brearley sherds. Grandstaff’s colleague, Nicholas

Davatzes, checked in on me and realized that the helium tank used to amplify the instrument’s sensitivity was empty; he explained that this may affect my results. A staff member installed a new helium tank and I tested the sherds a second time. Grandstaff returned from his meeting and helped me setup the stationary instrument for the second series of tests. Unfortunately, the instrument was not connecting to the computer and I had to postpone the test. I called Brooke when I was walking to my car and left her a message explaining that the tests could not be completed. She instructed me to hold onto the pottery until I could test the sherds again.

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I reached out to Grandstaff to coordinate a second research appointment. The

instrument “is working,” Grandstaff said, “so we can analyze the sherds at the next

opportunity. Let me know when you can come in with more samples.” Several weeks

went by and I had not been able to reach Grandstaff. I e-mailed Brooke to reassure her

that the sherds were “safe and sound” and set-up a time to drop off the fragments.

Grandstaff replied later that month after I returned the sherds. He was able to assist me

until the end of the semester, which was quickly approaching in two weeks. I was unsure

if I would be able to coordinate with Grandstaff over the next two weeks and felt

awkward asking Brooke and the board members to loan the sherds a second time after

they were gracious enough to extend the initial loan period by several weeks. I spent the

subsequent weeks tackling work I knew could get done: writing up other sections of this

dissertation.

Story 22: Sacred Burials

Setting: Long Hill Site (Springfield, MA)

The Long Hill Site is located on Long Hill Street in Springfield, Massachusetts; it is situated on the Connecticut River and “has escaped its proper recognition” (Young

1969:40). Cultural deposits were first uncovered at the site in 1895 when Dr. Philip

Kilroy, a local physician, began construction of his estate (Pretola 1985:36). The site was archaeologically investigated that year by H.A. Wright (1897) and represents one of the earliest methodical excavations in the Connecticut Valley. Young (1969) investigated the property a second time when the Vincentian Fathers resided on premises. Their work led to the identification of a village that contained 13 sets of human remains, several ash pit features, 10 rows of wigwams, two “large council houses”, and an English-built stockade

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(Young 1969:40-41). Bielski (1961:36) believed that the cultural deposits represented the

remains of Pecowsic Fort, a defense compound that provided protection to Pecowsic

Native Americans from Mohawk raids during the seventeenth century.

Several “contact” artifacts, or artifacts introduced into indigenous groups by

Europeans, were excavated from the site. These were purchased by a Professor Bowne in

1918 and donated to the Museum of Science that year; these objects included, “a large three-pronged iron fish spear, fragments of white clay pipes, gun flints, bits of broken bottles, a ‘fragment of sheet copper rudely riveted’, a small iron knife, and blades of an iron scissors” (Young 1969:45). Two silver German spoons, two German silver knee buckles (mentioned in Petrola 1985:38), and a copper arrowhead were also present at the site. The precise archaeological context that contained these artifacts is unknown.

However, Wright (1897:20, in Young 1969:46) indicated that some of the objects were encountered in the cemetery within a deposit located near the ground surface.

Two hollowware vessels—a mug and a pot or kettle—were reported by Wright

(1949), Bielski (1962:36), and Fowler (1966) and interpreted as pottery influenced by

European design. According to Petrola (1985:39), the vessels share attributes with

Shantok pottery, such as shell temper, gray-colored paste, and globular shape. Bielski

(1962:26) contends that Pecowsic Native Americans manufactured the pottery. Although

Young (1969) was writing several years after Noël Hume’s (1962) article on Colono-

Indian Ware, Young does not use the term to describe the pottery. Young (1969:45) states that the features of the vessels suggest a decline of traditional pottery at the time of

European contact.

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Wright (1897:20, in Young 1969:46) noted that the mug (Figure 5.11) was found

“lying near the surface” of the cemetery where 13 sets of human remains were discovered

approximately eighteen inches below ground surface. The mug has an attached handle

and contains impressed designs on the rim (Petrola 1985:39). Ferguson (1992:104)

identified a second mug-like vessel (Figure 5.12) as a single-handled vegetable sauce bowl that visually resembles West African examples; this object is stored in the

collections of the South Carolina Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology. I composed

an e-mail to Sharon Pekrul, Curator of Collections, in December 2017 and asked her for

more information about the vessel described by Ferguson. Pekrul sent an image of the

mug and cautioned, “Be aware that the vessel was not recovered from controlled

terrestrial excavation contexts, but is rather an unprovenienced underwater find from the

Cooper River in Berkeley County, SC (you can see barnacle imprints on the exterior

surface in the photos).” Pekrul continued, “Cultural affiliation and chronological placement can therefore not be definitively assigned.” In comparison to the example

discussed by Ferguson, the Long Hill mug has straight walls, a non-everted rim, a

narrower handle, and intricate decoration. Impressed geometric rouletting is present on

the body of the Long Hill mug and is similar to designs evocative of Native American

motifs I (Sansevere 2010) identified on kaolin smoking pipes excavated from the Clarke-

Watson Site in Perth Amboy, New Jersey and the Salisbury Site in Logan Township,

New Jersey.

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Figure 5.11: A small colonoware tankard or cup excavated from the Long Hill Site, Springfield, MA. Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard University.

Figure 5.12: A Colonoware mug-like vessel identified as a small vegetable sauce bowl by Ferguson (1992:104). Image used with permission and courtesy of the South Carolina Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of South Carolina, Columbia.

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The Long Hill Site mug is curated at the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and

Ethnology at Harvard University. It is listed as Peabody number 07-12-10/72001 and

viewable via their online collections. The artifact was titled “Pottery mug, Indian work”

when I first encountered the vessel in the online collections. I later learned that this was a

legacy title and was given when the object was accessioned in 1907. Its title was changed

to “ceramic mug” when the museum’s database was updated in late November 2018.

I first contacted the museum in mid-May 2017. I explained my dissertation and plan to perform XRF testing of northern colonoware sherds. At this stage of my research,

I planned to partner with a chemist from Monmouth University who agreed to loan me a portable XRF instrument that I could bring to my research appointments. Diana

Zlatanovski, Collections Steward, responded to my inquiry several days later and

explained that calendar space for summer research appointments was already limited. She

advised, “Harvard does have guidelines on the use of radioactive equipment on campus,

so your XRF unit will need to be registered and tested by our Radiation Safety office prior to its use here. I mention that because it could also impact available research dates if

the Radiation Safety Officer is unavailable on a certain day.” I wondered if the museum

had an on-site XRF instrument; this might alleviate some of the scheduling logistics.

Diana replied, “As luck would have it, we are planning to do some XRF training for staff

here shortly and might end up testing some objects as part of that. I can look into the possibility of using this piece for our ‘test run’ if that would save you a trip.” The XRF

analysis was performed by Judy Jungels, conservator at the Peabody Museum; the results

were sent to me in July and are discussed in Chapter 6.

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The second Long Hill vessel was identified as a “copy of an iron pot” (Young

1969:45) or a “copy of a European kettle” (Petrola 1985:39). The vessel was “washed out

of a spring” (Petrola 1985:39) and “lying in a hollow protected by a large stone” when it

was discovered intact, but with a small crack on one side (Bielski 1962:36). The vessel

“escaped demolition throughout the intervening years” by chance and resembles the

Milton Hall Pot (discussed above in New Construction, Old Pottery ) and Tyngsboro Pot

(discussed above in The School Teacher’s Summer Vacation ) (Bielski 1962:36). The

vessel bottom is flat and relatively small in size—approximately 15 centimeters in

diameter—which might indicate its use as a personal serving vessel (Petrola 1985:39).

The rim is decorated in a similar fashion as the mug. The vessel’s exterior is incised with

a faceted design that appears to have been applied by stick stamping or thumbnail

impression. The interior and exterior surfaces of the vessel are smoothed (Bielski

1962:36). Bielski (1962:36) reported that the vessel was curated at the Skinner Memorial

Museum in South Hadley, Massachusetts. I contacted the Skinner Museum at Mount

Holyoke College in May 2017 to inquire about the vessel. “I am writing to express my

interest in visiting your collection in person,” I stated in an e-mail dated May 2017. I

explained my dissertation and plan to perform XRF analysis of northern colonoware

samples. I received a response from Aaron Miller, Associate Curator of Visual and

Material Culture& NAGPRA Coordinator at the Mount Holyoke College Art Museum,

the next day. “I'm sorry to say that the bowl you are interested in has not been located

since the 1970s,” Miller replied. “I have spent a great deal of time talking with different people and Museum's about this object but with no luck. My background is historical

archaeology and the fact that this object is gone has driven me crazy since 2012.” “My

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apologies,” he said, “and please know that I feel your pain on this one. Let me know if I

can help in any way.” Readers are directed to Young (1969:45) for a visual image of bowl; since the bowl is missing it could not be photographed for the dissertation. Before

Miller closed his e-mail to me, he brought a second vessel to my attention located in the

Skinner Museum collection; this object is discussed below in Accessioned in 1933.

Story 23: Accessioned in 1933

Setting: Connecticut River Valley

“There is a second vessel that may or may not be of interest to you,” Aaron Miller

wrote in May 2017. “There is no provenience or provenance other than it was from the

CT [Connecticut] River Valley and accessioned in 1933.” This vessel is not mapped on

Figure 4.1 because its precise provenience is unknown. Miller attached clear images of

the vessel to the e-mail he sent; it appeared similar to other examples of colonoware I

have seen. “It is possible that this object was also recovered from the Long Hill site,”

according to Miller (discussed above in Sacred Burials ).

I contacted Miller again in October 2017. “I wanted to reach out about testing that

interesting Connecticut River Valley bowl we spoke about a few months back.” X-ray

Fluorescent testing was planned to begin at Temple University the following month and I

offered to cover the shipping cost of the object. Miller responded, “We're excited that you

want to include the Museum's object in your analysis. Being an art museum, we only

would be able to ship the object via an art shipping company and that would be quite

expensive.” What Miller said next surprised me; many of my research inquiries were

dead ends. “However, I would be willing to drive the vessel to you. Does the testing need

to take place in October or might November work? My plan was to deliver the vessel

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and spend a day at the Mercer Museum in Doylestown and likely do pickup the following

day.” I was gracious to Miller for his willingness to accommodate my research request.

“We can meet in front of Beaury Hall, home of the Department of Earth and

Environmental Science [at Temple University], where the testing will take place,” I

wrote. I asked Miller for the bowl’s dimensions to send to Dr. David Grandstaff, the

geologist who assisted me, to ensure that the vessel would fit inside the chamber of the

stationary XRF instrument. Miller stated that the vessel measured approximately 12.7

centimeters by 14.6 centimeters and I forwarded these to Grandstaff two weeks before

Miller arrived.

Miller personally transported the vessel from the Skinner Museum in South

Hadley, Massachusetts to Temple University in Philadelphia on November 2, 2017.

Although I had been enrolled at Temple University for eight years by this point, I perceived the campus as expansive, even disorienting at times, and I managed to get lost

on campus more than once. I grew up in a New Jersey suburb near the Jersey Shore and

my sense of direction was oriented around boardwalks, subdivisions, shopping plazas,

and highways; it took time to acclimate to the cityscape of clustered concrete buildings

that Temple University is part of. Miller successfully navigated to our meeting location

on-time; I was impressed! Although it was November, it was warm enough to wear a t-

shirt, and the one Miller wore that day was printed with the word “NASA.” I took this as

an indication that Miller supported science, and his willingness to assist me with my

research plays an important role in producing scientific knowledge.

Miller and I walked inside Beaury Hall and rode the elevator up to the Earth and

Environmental Science Department. The vessel was small and light enough that it fit

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inside a cardboard box that he carried with ease. I was looking forward to working with

this vessel for weeks because of its integrity; it is nearly complete and I could not wait to

see it in person. I introduced Miller to Grandstaff and we proceeded to the laboratory.

Miller removed the vessel from the box and I exclaimed, “This is like Christmas!” It was

in excellent condition, save for a few cracks.

The Connecticut River Valley Bowl (Figure 5.13) is heavily tempered with

crushed quartz and has a smoothed surface. The vessel is globular in shape and has two

attached handles located near the rim. The vessel’s form is similar to bowls excavated

from South Carolina’s Berkeley County and the Low Country (see Ferguson 1992:86,

Figure 63; Ferguson 1992:92, Figure 68). The form of the handles is comparable to the

handle applied to the Long Hill mug (discussed above in Sacred Burials ). The handles

are also similar to those present on colonoware vessels excavated from Sylvester Manor

(discussed above in Captive Laborers and Wage Earners on Long Island ); however, it is

difficult to make a definitive comparison because the Sylvester Manor vessel handles are partially intact. The Connecticut River Valley Bowl’s form and handles bear the closest

resemblance to a handled colonoware vessel excavated from Montserrat and discussed by

Petersen et al. (1999:175). One noted difference between the vessels is the rim form; the

Montserrat vessel contains an everted rim whereas the Connecticut River Valley Bowl

lacks a defined rim, though this appears to be attributable to breakage.

Grandstaff assisted me with preparing the stationary XRF instrument for my first

test. The vessel was carefully placed inside the instrument’s testing chamber and

Grandstaff began to slowly close the chamber door. The door would not latch; the vessel

was too large! I was mortified. I hoped the second test on the portable XRF instrument

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would be smoother. I was able to take readings on several points using the portable

instrument; my findings are discussed in Chapter 6.

Figure 5.13: Connecticut River Valley Bowl, from the Joseph Allen Skinner Museum, Mount Holyoke College. MH SK K.B.14. Photographs by Laura Shea. Photographs reproduced with permission from Aaron Miller.

Story 24: Help at the Widow’s House?

Setting: Narbonne House (Salem, MA)

One of the oldest homes in the American Northeast was constructed nearly 350 years ago on Essex Street in Salem 500 feet north of Salem Harbor. The Narbonne

House, now part of the Salem Maritime National Historic Site administered by the

National Parks Service (NPS), is believed to be one of few extant examples of seventeenth century vernacular architecture in the state. The structure remains relatively unchanged to this day. Detailed historical research was funded by a National Endowment for the Humanities grant (Moran et al. 1982:2). A butcher named Thomas Yves and his wife, Martha (n ée Withe), constructed the dwelling beginning in the 1670s (Moran et al.

1982:55). Thomas became a widower between 1675 and 1679 and took a second wife,

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Elizabeth. Elizabeth was widowed in September 1695 and married John White, also a butcher. The property was sold in 1699 to fifty-year-old Simon Willard, listed as a

“‘weaver’, ‘worsted comber’, and ‘cloather’”, and his wife, Martha (Moran et al.

1982:63). Following Martha’s passing, Simon married a second time at the age of 72 to

Priscilla Buttolph, but their relationship soon soured. Simon renounced Priscilla in his

will for deserting him during his sickness. The property was bequeathed to Simon’s son,

Josiah, between 1728 and 1729. Josiah sold the north wing of the house to his brother,

Richard, who passed away the same year. The north wing of the house was left to

Richard’s widow, Susanna, and their six children.

Captain Joseph Hodges and his wife, Elizabeth (née Stone), consolidated

ownership of the property when they purchased the house and lot in the 1750s. Hodges

was a mariner and merchant by profession and voyaged to Virginia and Barbados several

times while he held the deed to the Narbonne House. Moran et al. (1982:81) speculate

that Hodges, a member of Salem’s wealthy aristocracy, rented the home to tenants while

under his ownership. The structure would have been perceived as small and dated by

mid-eighteenth century standards.

In 1780, the property was sold to Jonathan and Mary (née Gardner) Andrews, to

whom the Hodges may have been related by family or business ties (Moran et al.

1982:71). Jonathan and Mary descended from esteemed Salem families—Jonathan, the

son of a master mariner, and Mary, the daughter of a prominent town merchant who

owned slaves. The marriage of Mary’s twin sister to Richard Derby, Jr. connected the

family to the Derby family who were considered the wealthiest in pre-Revolutionary

Salem. Richard’s brother, Elias Hasket Derby, was one of the most successful privateers

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in the nation during the American Revolution and solidified Salem’s role in international

trade after the war.

Jonathan Andrews operated a tannery and attained wealth in his own right, but

also invested in the overseas enterprises of his father and brothers-in-law; he may have

also been a merchant. Unfortunately, Mary was widowed within two years of the property transaction. She, along with their seven children, remained in the home and

Mary oversaw the construction of a new carriage house and lean-to during her widowhood. Jonathan, Jr. ran his merchant business inside the home where he lived with his widowed mother.

In 1823, the property was conveyed, perhaps as dowry, to Mary’s granddaughter,

Sarah, and her husband, Nicholas Narbonne upon their marriage (Moran et al. 1982:77).

Sarah is documented as a seamstress in 1842 and shared the home with her uncle,

Jonathan Andrew, and unmarried daughter, Mary Andrew Narbonne; this likely indicates that Nicholas passed away. Sarah and Mary Andrew operated a small “Cent Shop” in their home until Sarah’s death in 1895 at the age of 100 (Moran et al. 1982:77). Her daughter, Mary Andrew, passed away in 1905. No enslaved individuals are documented in the home throughout its history.

Archaeological excavations were initiated at the site in 1973 as part of planned

rehabilitation of the Narbonne House. The Narbonne House had just been incorporated

into Salem Maritime National Historic Site shortly before the project began (Moran et al.

1982:1). The excavation garnered interest by the archaeological community; the site was

visited by the late John Cotter and James Deetz. Several of Deetz’s graduate students,

archaeologists from Plimoth Plantation, and local volunteers assisted with the excavation

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(Moran et al. 1982:xi, 3). In their foreword to the Narbonne House report, Powell and

McManamon (1982:iii) allude to some of the “behind-the-scenes” tumult that occurred during the investigation of the property. Initially, the Society for the Preservation of New

England Antiquities (SPNEA) contacted Geoffrey Moran of Bradford College to conduct the investigation. However, SPNEA and the NPS “could not reach agreement on certain terms of the contract” and Moran was contracted by the NPS instead. Powell and

McManamon (1982:iii) indicate that “the integration of archaeological and architectural concerns for the site” may have been complicated by “organizational and communication situations.” It appears that additional disagreements may have ensued between the NPS and Bradford College based on the context this statement was made. “Geoffrey Moran must be given credit for persisting through many frustrations and difficulties, based both on the unanticipated magnitude of the project and on certain contractual and logistical difficulties,” they continue. “I feel like Rocky in the fifteenth round,” Moran (1982:xii) wrote in his acknowledgements.

Moran et al. (1982:89-93) excavated more than 150,000 artifacts from the site, including wheel-thrown coarse earthenware pottery fragments representing at least four unglazed “Iberian” jars (Figure 5.14) that contain quartz inclusions. A water cooling jug

(Figure 5.15) that contains shell and quartz inclusions was also identified at the site. The vessels were present in two trash pits (Features 8 and 21) and a privy (Feature 22) dated to ca. 1790; the home was occupied by the widow Mary Andrews and her seven children

(Moran et al. 1982:93) during this period.

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Figure 5.14: Coarse earthenware jar from the Narbonne Site, Salem, MA. Photograph courtesy of National Park Service Museum Collections, Salem Maritime NHS [SAMA 21415].

Figure 5.15: Partially reconstructed coarse earthenware jug from the Narbonne Site, Salem, MA. Photograph courtesy of National Park Service Museum Collections, Salem Maritime NHS [SAMA 14408].

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I contacted Curator D in December 2017 to see if there was any current thinking

on the jars. They explained that no one had researched the jars in-depth. The original photographs of the vessels used in the technical report had gone missing over the years.

The curator offered to send new photographs of the pottery after several meetings

scheduled that week, but cautioned that it might take some time to locate the collection.

Some of the pottery was no longer re-fitted and is stored in pieces.

“I just wanted to touch base again re: the Narbonne pottery. It is really neat stuff!”

I wrote in early January and gently reminded them of my research request. New England

was struck with biting cold weather and the curator informed me that they did not want to

risk harming the camera by taking it outside in negative wind chill values. Curator D

granted me temporary access to an NPS File Transfer Protocol (FTP) site that contained photographs taken with an iPhone; these were clear enough to view some of the attributes

of the jars. Curator D added that a jar impressed with a “G” on the rim is currently on

exhibit; removing the jar from the display case requires multiple people, thus a clear photo of the jar was unattainable.

I originally learned of the Narbonne jars while reading Hutchins-Keim’s (2015) reevaluation of Parting Ways when I was writing up the story titled The Early Free Black

Community (see Chapter 4). Chapter 4 was written when I took unpaid time off in late

2017 to make progress on my writing. The Narbonne collection was among the last I

located and attempted to investigate. I ran out of time to view this collection in person. I

was about to begin working again by the time I obtained photographs of the pottery to vet

whether the vessels fell within the scope of my research. However, by collaborating with

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Curator D remotely, I was able to piece together components of the pottery’s story at this

site and make observations based on the images captured for my research.

Hutchins-Keim (2015:131) explains how the Narbonne jars resemble other coarse earthenware jars present in archaeological deposits at Parting Ways in Plymouth

(discussed above in The Early Free Black Community ) and the Marshall Site in

Portsmouth, New Hampshire (discussed below in Adam, Mercer, and Bess ). However, I

observed that three of the jars excavated from the Narbonne Site bear small marks near

the rim; a five-petalled flower (Figure 5.16) is present on one jar, the second jar is

impressed with the letter “F” (Figure 5.16), and the third jar is impressed with the letter

“G” (not shown). “Rather similar jars with a pair of crescent shaped handles on the

shoulder are found in some number in Jamaica, where they were and are traditionally

used for collecting and storing rainwater,” according to Moran et al. (1982:93). Moran

and colleagues continue, “The people doing research in Jamaica on this type of jar argue

with some persuasiveness that the jars were manufactured at some nearby Spanish

colony, perhaps Cuba, and shipped to Jamaica specifically to serve as cisterns.” The

authors weigh another possibility influenced by Deetz’s interpretation of nearly identical

vessels present at Parting Ways: that the Narbonne jars were used to store tamarind

shipped from the West Indies. However, the stamps that appear on this vessel might

indicate formal production and this vessel’s identification as colonoware is questionable.

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Figure 5.16: Impressed marks on coarse earthenware jars from the Narbonne Site, Salem, MA. Photograph courtesy of National Park Service Museum Collections, Salem Maritime NHS [SAMA 7309 and SAMA 21192].

The second type of unglazed vessel encountered at the Narbonne site was

identified by Moran et al. (1982:93) as an unusual water cooling jug. The authors

reference Noël Hume (1969:77), who traced similar vessels to Spanish origins. Since the publication of Moran et al.’s (1982) report, other examples of water-cooling coarse earthenware jugs have been documented on St. Eustatius, Jamaica, Montserrat, Anguilla

(see Chapter 2; Hauser and DeCorse 2003; Heath 1999; Petersen et al. 1999). However, the strap handle present between the two spouts, coupled with a burnished surface treatment that gives the appearance of “a lustrous polish”, makes the Narbonne jug distinct from other examples (Moran et al. 1982:93).

Curator D conveyed other helpful information. Mary Andrews of the Gardner family was among the most affluent and best-connected families in Salem; her family owned slaves. Mary’s twin sister married Richard Derby, Jr., son of one of the wealthiest men in pre-revolutionary Salem. Richard’s brother, Elias Hasket Derby, was a successful privateer and pioneered Salem’s role in international trade following the war. Who ordered the jars and jug remains elusive, though it is possible that Mary Andrews acquired the vessels through her family’s extensive maritime network. Mary, the

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daughter of a prosperous master mariner, may have grown up with foods flavored with

tamarind and developed a cosmopolitan taste for exotic cuisine.

A second possibility is that the vessels might reflect the presence of a household

laborer at the Andrews’ residence. Massachusetts outlawed slavery in 1783

(Higginbotham 1980:91) and documents pertaining to the Andrews’ are silent on whether

or not the family kept slaves at the Narbonne House. Curator D sent over copies of Mary

and Jonathan, Jr.’s ledger, dated 1803 through 1806. The documents are housed in the

Phillips Library of the Peabody Essex Museum, but the curator informed me that the

library is no longer open. The ledger indicates that money was paid “to Cuffy for work”

(Peabody Essex Museum, Philips Library MS 1008:2). The kind of work is not specified, but this piece of evidence indicates an African-American presence at the household. It is

unknown whether Cuffy, or his ancestors, were owned by the Andrews or Gardner’s prior

to the illegalization of slavery in Massachusetts. The vessels may have been brought to

the site by Cuffy, or another undocumented laborer, or perhaps issued to laborers as

compensation by Mary or Jonathan, Jr.

Story 25: Adam, Mercer, and Bess

Setting: Marshall Pottery (Portsmouth, NH)

Edward Toogood operated “one of the earliest brickyards excavated in the

Northeast” located near the corner of present-day Jefferson Street and Horse Lane in

Portsmouth (Pendery 1981:4). Toogood’s brickyard opened in 1699 and closed when

Hannah Toogood sold the property to Samuel Marshall in 1736 (Pendery 1981:Appendix

1-1, 1-2). Marshall, a potter, oversaw the construction of a new home on the lot and

established a “modest scale” redware pottery that operated for 13 years (Pendery

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1985:103). His workshop was labored by Adam, Mercer, and possibly Bess—three

enslaved individuals owned by Marshall—who were involved in nearly every aspect of production. They dug for clay, processed the clay into a workable mass, threw kitchenwares on a potter’s wheel, glazed the vessels, fired the vessels in a kiln, and distributed the finished works to local shops for sale or to the docks for shipment

(Sammons and Cunningham 2004:28-29). A canoe and barges were listed in Samuel’s probate inventory dated March 1750; these may have been used by his enslaved laborers to transport materials and finished pottery across local waterways (Pendery 1985:103).

Although production of Marshall’s pottery ceased when Samuel passed away, his widow,

Eleanor, continued selling pottery wholesale until her own death in 1804 (Pendery

1981:5, 1985:116). The property was bequeathed to Samuel and Sarah’s heirs and was later subjected to numerous successive transactions throughout the nineteenth century.

Archaeological excavation of the Marshall Site was initiated by Steven Pendery in

1975 during rehabilitation of the adjacent Peter Lowd House. The properties partially comprise the Strawbery Banke historic district, “a non-profit organization concerned with the preservation, adaptive rehabilitation, and educational use” of 30 seventeenth through nineteenth century structures located at the site (Pendery 1981:1). Strawbery Banke adopted new landscaping policies during Pendery’s excavations; these “called for delineating site features” and resulted in further research that extended the investigation

(Pendery 1981:3). Pendery’s research at Marshall’s pottery was funded by a National

Endowment for the Humanities Youth Grant; his work is significant and represents “the first archaeological features of a pottery to be systematically excavated in New England”

(Pendery 1981:1). Archaeological testing located the remnants of Marshall’s home

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(demolished in the 1940s), refuse areas, and Marshall’s workshop (Pendery 1981:5).

Pendery observed a fascinating ephemeral feature on the surface floor of Marshall’s

workshop: impressions of wooden racks used by Marshall and his laborers to sun-dry pottery.

I learned of the Marshall jar while reading Hutchins-Keim’s (2015) perspective on Parting Ways when I took unpaid time off from work to write-up the results of my dissertation. The Marshall Site jar was among the last collections I discovered. Hutchins-

Keim (2015:131) contends that the jar is visually similar to the jars present at Parting

Ways in Plymouth (discussed above in The Early Free Black Community ) and the

Narbonne Site in Salem (discussed above in Help at the Widow’s House? ).

I had a lot of writing still ahead of me that needed to be completed to meet my

deadline; the possibility of driving to New Hampshire was dim. I completed an image

request form to access photographs of the jar; the form was accessible on Strawbery

Banke’s website. Museum archaeologist Alix Martin promptly replied to my request via

e-mail. Martin sent me several high-quality images of the vessel (Figure 5.17) and

generously offered her assistance. “It is sitting right here in my office,” she said. “Let me

know if you have any questions.” According to Martin’s observations, the Marshall Site jar is a wheel-thrown coarse earthenware vessel that contains sand and gravel inclusions.

It measures approximately 40 centimeters tall and 32 centimeters at its widest point. The orifice diameter is approximately 32 centimeters and the base diameter measures 17

centimeters. “Depending on how in depth you want to get, you could reach out to Steve

[Pendery],” Martin said.

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Figure 5.17: Coarse earthenware jar from the Marshall Pottery Site, Portsmouth, NH. Photographs used with permission and courtesy of the Strawbery Banke Museum Archaeology Department .

Sammons and Cunningham (2004:30) and Charles (2010:33, 36) report that the jar was discovered standing upright. They identified the vessel as a tamarind jar that was

reused as a flowerpot. “This was intriguing,” I thought. I e-mailed Pendery, the Principal

Investigator, in early December 2017. “My understanding is that there is some

speculation that the jar may have been reused as a planter. Has there been any seed

analysis that might confirm what was grown inside?” I asked. Pendery, now Professeur

Associe at Universite Laval in Quebec City, Canada, replied later that day:

Thanks so much for your email! The upright position of the jar in the garden deposits really did suggest use as a planter but I never considered what may have been grown in it. It was excavated around 1976 or 1977 and I doubt that we saved soil samples from inside or around the jar. We saved soil faunal and botanical remains from contexts where preservation was obvious, but this may not have been the case for the jar in question. Flotation was not as common then as now.

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Pendery was right; archaeology had changed since the Marshall Site excavation 40 years

ago. While the contents of the jar are unknown, I wondered if Bess, one of Marshall’s

slaves, was responsible for repurposing the jar. “Could she have planted a medicinal

garden inside?” I wondered. Perhaps the medicines she planted alleviated skin

inflammation and other common potting hazards.

In light of the pottery workshop that operated at the Marshall Site, it is notable that someone in the household desired the jar, and/or the contents it contained. “The jar was likely made—and its contents harvested and packed—by enslaved workers in the

West Indies” (Sammons and Cunningham 2004:30). They believe that the Marshall jar indicates the use of tamarind in African-influenced cuisine. It is unclear whether the jar was brought to the property by the Marshall family or by the Black workers Marshall purchased to labor in his workshop and residence. It is noteworthy that Marshall’s occupation coincides with “the most active period of slave trade” in Portsmouth that occurred between 1728 and 1745 (Charles 2010:35). During this period, at least five ships made regular voyages from Portsmouth to Virginia and the West Indies carrying cargo and enslaved individuals from the Congo and West African coast. It is tempting to think that one of Marshall’s slaves, perhaps Bess, held onto the jar after its contents were consumed and gave it new life by planting flowers, herbs, or medicines inside.

______

Chapter Summary

Journalism reports on the issues that matter to people; these are issues of “public significance” (McQuail 2014:15) and those that “otherwise would be private” (Harcup

2014:3). The vignettes reported in Chapter 4 and Chapter 5, centered on colonoware and

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related coarse earthenware, illuminate a largely undocumented, yet sizable, demographic

within the American Northeast— indigenous and Black individuals, many of whom were

enslaved and oppressed. The treatment and disenfranchisement of present-day

undocumented and enslaved individuals are at the forefront of recent news cycles (e.g.,

Elbagir et al. 2017). My experience accessing collections, interacting with colleagues,

and anecdotal information written in technical reports are valuable lines of evidence

infrequently analyzed by archaeologists. This information illuminates contemporary

issues germane to the fields of cultural resource management, archaeology, historic preservation, and museum studies; these include the mechanisms that shape how

knowledge of the past is created, how access to heritage is controlled, and how bias is

created in object-based research.

The emerging story of northern colonoware is dynamic; clearly, the pottery meant

different things to different users. In Chapters 4 and 5, I demonstrate how the pottery is

appropriated by researchers as a tool to understand people of the past, but also how these

objects can provide insight into the present. Yet, several questions remain regarding how

colonoware was appropriated by people of the past. The data I present here indicates that past people used these vessels in disparate ways—for mundane purposes to contain food

and drink or function as slop buckets—and in other cases used in sacred medicinal,

spiritual, or burial practices. The following chapter, Chapter 6, builds on this data. The

recovery of the pottery in small, often fragmentary, quantities is an important clue and beckons whether bits of vessels held semiotic meaning for some individuals. In this

sense, the vessels may not have held just material contents, but instead contained potent

memories and feelings. The colonoware and related coarse earthenware may have

220 connected them to individuals they knew on islands far-away that shared in the same difficult pasts they experienced.

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CHAPTER 6

THE CHANGING VALUE OF NORTHEASTERN COLONOWARE AND RELATED COARSE EARTHENWARE

I want to know what the relationship has been between this wooden object [netsuke] that I am rolling between my fingers…and where it has been.

And I want to know whose hands it has been in, and what they felt about it and thought about it— if they thought about it. I want to know what it has witnessed.

-Edmund De Waal, in Hare with Amber Eyes (2011:15-16)

My father has collected antiques for over 10 years. Most of his finds are cherry picked from Jersey Shore and Delaware Valley antique shops; occasionally, his quest for relics takes him across country. Old objects are shoe-horned into each corner of every room of his house and hundreds of curios are displayed on shelves inside glass cabinets.

Ephemera and fine art are hung on the walls and balance the art deco and mid-century modern period furniture. House guests jest that his home is a museum. I explained my doctoral research to him a few years ago and, unprompted, he took it upon himself to search for colonoware at the places he “picks” at. He spoke with auctioneers and sellers and perused through millions of objects for sale in the New Jersey, New York, and

Delaware Valley shops and flea markets he visited. No one is familiar with colonoware here. “It must be something that only interests archaeologists,” I believed, and did not give it further thought. When I began writing my dissertation, I wondered if the absence of colonoware in antiques markets indicated that the pottery possessed little monetary value today. How does an artifact that once held purpose to people of the past become veritably valueless?

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Meniketti (2011:2) believes that “Colonoware…may well have different meaning and value in different contexts.” I seek to understand the meaning and value of northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware in this chapter. Kopytoff (1986) emphasizes the ontology of objects in his text titled “The Cultural Biography of Things.” “We accept that every person has many biographies – psychological, professional, political, familial, economic and so forth,” according to Kopytoff (1986:68), who demonstrates that things have biographies too. I utilize Kopytoff’s biographical approach to objects to understand how the value and meaning of colonoware changed over its lifetime. Archaeologists traditionally value artifacts for their ability to shed light onto the past and my analysis in this chapter begins with how the pottery operated in a past social system during its “early years.” I synthesize information from Chapters 4 and 5 to create an overview of northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware. I discuss how these assemblages broadly differ from examples identified in other regions. The fact that Northeastern manufacturing sites have not been identified in the region is puzzling. I explore possible origins of the pottery, present preliminary results of XRF testing, and offer several explanations that might account for its mode of travel to the region.

I review how the pottery may have been used by past people and pair these inferences with ethnohistorical accounts and ethnographic research. This strategy helps us “dig deeply” to better understand what northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware may have meant to those who used it. In this section, I “excavate” the semiotics of the pottery. I draw upon Prown’s (1988:17) meditation on objects to understand their “latent values [and] sensual enactments of deeper cognitive structures” and consider how northerners projected meaning onto the pottery. Although speculative, I

223 believe that colonoware and related coarse earthenware from the American Northeast was

viewed as a potent object in the past; it was personal, represented heritage, and contained

memories.

I take an unconventional approach to understanding artifacts in the second section

of this chapter. Archaeologists traditionally study artifacts to learn about the past, but

here I demonstrate how artifacts can be valued by archaeologists for their ability to shed

light onto the present. In this section, I appropriate colonoware and related coarse

earthenware as objects that illuminate contemporary issues in the fields of archaeology

and heritage management. I synthesize information presented in the previous chapter that

speaks to the modern cultural system that the pottery is part of. I discuss other

archaeologists’ perceptions of the pottery which reveals the ways in which they value the pottery, how access to the pottery (and in turn, heritage) is controlled, and how bias is

created in object-based research. Finally, I explore why these vessels—a kind of pottery

once imbued with deep meaning in the past—are veritably valueless in the contemporary

antiques industry.

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Part I: Valuing Northeastern Colonoware and Related Coarse Earthenware

as Objects of the Past

Overview

The examination of both colonoware and related coarse earthenware lifts the veil worn by northern states that shrouded a reality: northern White European-Americans played a significant role in the oppression, forced relocation, and enslavement of indigenous and African-descent individuals. The lives of northern bondsmen have been

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largely concealed in the historical record, yet these individuals were clearly a very visible part of northern society. However, their activities can be difficult to detect

archaeologically in comparison to the activities of White individuals who owned or

supervised them (see Chapter 3). Bits of blackened, red, orange, and brown colonoware

and related coarse earthenware are among the few material traces that represent a sizable,

yet in many cases, largely undocumented, group in the American Northeast. The pottery

stands in opposition to White society, both aesthetically and symbolically. Laura Galke

(2009:317) keenly observed that “colonoware was anything but white, and it was

anything but refined.”

In the American Southeast, the presence of colonoware is commonly associated

with enslaved African American individuals confined to plantations, less commonly with

Native Americans, and only occasionally with White settlers. There, colonoware tells a

story that reflects cultural patterns different from those evinced by the historical, regional,

and cultural contexts in the American Northeast. Some northern colonoware, particularly

the earliest-dated examples, are associated with Native Americans. These include the

“discs” from Cumberland County, the vessels from Sylvester Manor on Long Island, the

Tyngsborough Pot, the bowl and mug from the Long Hill Site in Springfield, and the

vessel identified by Milton Hall in East Providence. Dr. Handy’s infant feeder, the

Connecticut River Valley Bowl, and sherds excavated from the Remer Site in

Philadelphia may have been produced by indigenous potters, but this association is not as

clear. With the exception of these three assemblages, the indigenous colonoware

identified at the aforementioned sites appear to date to the seventeenth century and were

found in cultural deposits located in rural areas.

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Historical or archaeological evidence indicates some level of interaction between

Native Americans and European colonists at many of the northern sites that contained indigenous-produced colonoware. Similar circumstances have been observed in the

American Southeast: the Apalachee manufactured “copy wares” for Spanish soldiers

(Vernon 1988), the Catawba mimicked European wares for the British with whom they lived during an eighteenth century smallpox outbreak (Riggs 2010), and Native

Americans along the Rappahannock River sold colonoware to colonists (Mouer et al.

1999). However, evidence to support indigenous manufacture of colonoware for sale to

Europeans in the American Northeast is slim.

Indigenous-produced colonoware appears to have been used for both sacred and profane purposes in the north: as Native American burial goods at the Long Hill Site and in Tyngsborough, slop buckets to mix mortar at Sylvester Manor, cooking or storage in

Cumberland County, and perhaps as a cup to feed infants in the case of Dr. Handy’s collected vessel. The function of the colonoware sherds from the Remer Site is unclear, though the rim form is evocative of the refitted examples identified at the Mendenhall

Site in Wilmington and Cross Street Backlot in Boston. The Remer sherds represent the only assemblage tentatively associated with Native Americans in an urban context. The assemblage might reflect undocumented, destitute, indigenous individuals who squatted in northern Philadelphia during the eighteenth century when colonial land grabs, an early form of eminent domain, was rampant (see Chapter 3). The Milton Hall pot from Rhode

Island visually resembles the Long Hill bowl from Massachusetts and these vessels may have been formed by potters who worked in a similar tradition. Aaron Miller of the

Skinner Museum believes that the Connecticut River Valley bowl may be part of the Fort

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Hill assemblage; however, the vessel’s similarity to Afro-Caribbean colonoware

identified on Montserrat is striking (discussed below).

Colonoware and related coarse earthenware present at other northern sites discussed in the previous chapters also reflect the activities of enslaved and free Africans and African Americans. The majority of these assemblages post-date the seventeenth century and are visually distinct from indigenous-potted vessels. Most of the vessels associated with individuals of African descent appear to date to the mid-eighteenth century. The late-seventeenth century assemblages associated with enslaved individuals at Farmer’s Delight and Sylvester Manor are an exception. In comparison, southern colonoware was manufactured as early as the last quarter of the seventeenth century and

“appeared fully developed” in the Low Country by this period (Deetz 1999:239).

Vessels—or in some cases, only fragments of vessels—found at the Thompson’s

Loss and Gain Site in Rehoboth, John Dickinson’s plantation in Dover, Farmers Delight

in Milford, the McKean/Cochran Site in Odessa, Block 1191 and Mendenhall’s lot in

Wilmington, Sylvester Manor on Long Island, the Watson/Jackson Site and Parting Ways

in Plymouth, Paddy’s Alley and the Cross Street Backlot in Boston, and the Marshall

Pottery in Portsmouth appear to be associated with captive Black laborers. The

colonoware found in the basement of the Old Barracks hospital may be associated with a

medical orderly, but it is unclear if that individual fulfilled this role by choice or

coercion. At Thompson’s Loss and Gain and the McKean/Cochran Farm, colonoware

aids in the identification of enslaved individuals at sites that otherwise lack clear material

documentation of bondsmen. The enslaved individuals at Thompson’s Loss and Gain

were rented property, a relatively common slave holding practice used in the American

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Northeast to carry out seasonal or short-term tasks (see Chapter 3; Grossman-Bailey

2016). In contrast, the confinement of 60 forced laborers at the Dickinson Plantation,

located approximately 40 miles north of Thompson’s Loss and Gain, resembles southern plantation enslavement practices. It would be a worthwhile endeavor to investigate the

Dickinson colonoware if the assemblage becomes available. Significant quantities of the pottery and evidence of mis-fired vessels might suggest that colonoware was produced on-site. This would be important data; no colonoware production sites have been identified in the Northeast to date.

The red earthenware smoking pipe found at Paddy’s Alley, believed to be of West

African origin, may indeed be an example of material culture that survived the arduous, and often deadly Middle Passage. The Farmer’s Delight assemblage is unusual; forced laborers appropriated broken colonoware sherds with ground edges into something that could no longer contain contents, but still held significant purpose. Pieces of colonoware were used in West African games or worn as charms or amulets believed to possess protective energy (see Davidson 2004:22-54; Davidson and McIlvoy 2012:107-166;

Fennell 2000; Goode 2009:1-23, Handler 2009:1, Klingelhofer 1987; Leone and Fry

1999:372-403; Wilkie 2000:191-193). These sherds might reflect a few precious moments when surveilling gazes were averted.

Primary healthcare providers within plantations and Black communities were often African American women referred to as “root doctors” (Wilkie 1996:119, 121); two of whom may have been identified in Boston and Portsmouth. Bagley (2014:72) believes that Jemima Bisse of the Cross Street Backlot may have been knowledgeable about herbal medicine which may have been prepared in colonoware. Bess, a captive laborer

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documented at Marshall’s Pottery, may have also practiced doctoring; however, this

interpretation is circumstantial and is based on the presence of a coarse earthenware jar

repurposed into a small planter garden. Bess may have grown a small medicinal garden in

the container to alleviate physical discomforts that afflicted enslaved potters who labored

under Marshall’s supervision. Plants that soothe dry, cracked skin or inflammation

caused by burns would have been practical resources in a pottery workshop.

Colonoware excavated from Israel Burgoe’s homesite in Philadelphia and Block

1191 in Wilmington are tentatively linked to freedmen. Burgoe’s colonoware is one of

the largest assemblages identified at a northern site to date. Here, animal bones inscribed

with Roman numerals were discovered and support the practice of traditional conjuring.

A partially incised arc present on a base sherd excavated from Burgoe’s homesite might be emblematic of other traditional African rituals practiced inside the home (Ferguson

1992:115). The colonoware from these sites, along with related or hybridized variants

associated with free Black individuals, like Richard Cooper, the Brearley House cook,

and Parting Ways residents, may be a marker that distinguishes the meaning of the pottery in the north. Pottery types other than colonoware were also present at these sites.

Burgoe, Cooper, the Brearley cook, and the Black residents of Block 1191 and Parting

Ways had access to commercial pottery within and near the colonial cities of

Philadelphia, Trenton, Dover, Wilmington, and Plymouth, but also chose to incorporate

colonoware or hybridized variants into their material world.

Laura Galke’s (2009) study of nineteenth century colonoware from Manassas,

Virginia, revealed that colonoware was stigmatized and is not found in free African

American households. This suggests that free African Americans within the Chesapeake

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exercised freedom of choice by not using colonoware. According to Galke (2009:317),

“American consumers increasingly preferred white material culture; including white

ceramics, white house paint, white clothing, and white gravemarkers.” She explains how

“white was a color that was associated with civilization and therefore distinct from

nature” and adds that “black Americans desired to participate in middle class American

consumer culture equitably.” In nineteenth century Manassas, free individuals of African

descent chose to differentiate themselves materially from the enslaved, who most often

used earth-toned colonoware. This pattern may not be reflected in the American

Northeast; here, colonoware and related coarse earthenware are associated with freedmen

who also chose to purchase other market wares.

The coarse earthenware jars identified at Cooper’s homesite in Dover, the

Brearley House in Lawrence, Parting Ways and the Watson/Jackson Site in Plymouth, the

Narbonne House in Salem, and the Marshall Pottery in Portsmouth challenge the

traditional definition of colonoware as a kind of handmade coarse earthenware that

mimics African or European forms (see Chapter 2). The pottery at these sites rides a line between colonoware and other coarse earthenware. Like colonoware, these vessels

contain sizable inclusions, have fabrics coarser than redware, were likely slave-produced

(Hutchins-Keim 2015:137), but were wheel-thrown instead of handmade. A 2003

National Parks Service guide to understanding Africanisms (Joyner 2003:44, in Hutchins-

Keim 2015:122) characterized this kind of pottery as “similar to colono-ware.” Perhaps

these examples reflect a hybridization of traditional colonoware and mechanized

European American potting techniques.

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It is unclear who used the Narbonne jars found in the well-off widow Mary

Andrews’ trash. The men in her natal family were mariners and she undoubtedly grew up in a household influenced by West Indies culture and cuisine. Andrews may have developed a taste for Caribbean foods, like tamarind, and ordered the jar for the exotic contents it contained. Andrews, a relatively affluent widow and mother of seven children, would have had the means to buy or hire help to run her household. One African-

American male named Cuffy is documented at the residence between 1803 and 1806.

Slavery was abolished in Massachusetts by this period and it is possible that the jar represents Cuffy or another undocumented laborer at her household. Enslaved laborers are, however, documented at the Marshall Pottery in Portsmouth where a similar vessel was excavated. The Marshall jar is unique because it was reused as a garden planter and might reflect traditional folk practices.

The unusual coarse earthenware wide-mouthed jar or crock discovered in the

Brearley House kitchen may have been used by a Black cook documented at the house in the mid-nineteenth century. Unlike the jars present at the aforementioned sites that resemble West Indies pottery, the form of the Brearley coarse earthenware is evocative of nineteenth century American stoneware crocks and jars; however, the Brearley sherds are unglazed. Dry foods, like grains, flours, rice, or herbs, would have been stored in unglazed earthen jars. Cooked foods that were simmered or stored in the vessel would have been infused with a unique flavor imparted by the unglazed cookware that is characteristic of West African and Gullah Geechee cuisine (Ferguson 1992:105).

Unglazed earthenware jars were also used to store water and make fermented beverages, such as beer and palm wine, in Africa (Ferguson 1992:103).

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Several questions linger despite what we now know about the pottery in a

northern context. None of the archaeological sites presented in this chapter provide

evidence of on-site production. Wade Catts’ (1988) research on colonoware identified in

Wilmington indicates that Haitian refugees carried the pottery with them as they fled to

Delaware during the 1790s, but how do we account for colonoware with no known ties to

Haitian refugees? What of the northern colonoware that pre-dates or post-dates Catts’

sample? I examine a variety of sources below to infer the origins of some northern

colonoware and related coarse earthenware discussed in the previous two chapters.

Inferring the Origins of Northern Colonoware and Related Coarse Earthenware To date, no archaeological evidence of colonoware manufacturing sites have been

identified in the American Northeast. This might reflect that the pottery was not produced

in the region at the same scale it was elsewhere. Northern colonoware associated with

Native Americans at Sylvester Manor, the Long Hill Site, Cumberland County,

Tyngsboro, and East Providence share striking similarities with locally-produced

indigenous pottery. Some colonoware manufactured by indigenous potters was likely produced in the north. Only several examples of indigenous-produced colonoware have been identified in the region to date; the data suggest that the indigenous manufacture of

colonoware probably occurred on a small scale.

Daniel Gookin, a commissioner to the Native Americans, observed that clays

were “very scarce and hard to come by” in the Connecticut River Valley (Gookin [1656],

in Howes 1943:1). Gookin’s observations were made in the seventeenth century around

the same period that most northern indigenous-potted colonoware dates to. Several other

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ethnohistorical references intimate that other northern clay sources may have been used by indigenous potters, possibly in the production of northern colonoware. For example,

clay was “found in abundance and of the finest quality” near the “Great Falls” on the

Connecticut River, now the vicinity of Holyoke Dam (Howes 1943:1). Historically, much

of that area was covered by vegetation and clay was only accessible where embankments

had washed away. These clays beds were formed at the end of the glacial period (Howes

1943:1). As the glaciers melted,

they brought with them boulders, rocks, gravels, sands, dropping them in the same succession, and roily water. Held in suspension in this roily water were particles of rock floor that were carried far out into the still waters of the lake where they settled to the bottom, forming great beds of pure clay (Howes 1943:1).

In comparison, clays deposited “near the shoreline” were “hard to mould [into pottery]” and the formed vessels were “brittle, and easily broken” (Howes 1943:3). These were deposited during many years of glacial freeze/thaw cycles and “laid down in strata of different thickness, alternating with layers of fine sand” (Howes 1943:1). It is possible that more colonoware may have been produced in the north than I have identified, but may never be recovered archaeologically. Brittle examples may not preserve in the acidic soil conditions and freeze/thaw cycles that affect the material record in the American

Northeast.

American Northeast clays appear to have been harvested by indigenous groups until the early-twentieth century. Ethnologist Frank Speck (1928:404-405) noted that

Virginia Native Americans, “until recent years”, traveled as far north as New Jersey to procure clays used in the manufacture of pottery that archaeologists now refer to as colonoware. Native Americans transported these clays to their homesites in Virginia

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where they were formed into vessels and fired into pottery. It is unclear, although

unlikely, that Native American Northeastern potters used local clays for colonoware production in the early-twentieth century. Northern indigenous populations were

negatively affected by a multitude of factors in the late-seventeenth and early-eighteenth

centuries (e.g., illness, servitude, enslavement, punishments, and suicide; see Chapter 3;

Little 1990) and colonoware is not clearly associated with northern Native Americans

after this time (see Chapter 4).

Colonoware researchers have used a variety of material science methodologies

(e.g., thin-sectioning, petrography, XRF, Instrumental Neutron Activation, Inductively

Coupled Plasma Spectrometry) to determine the chemical composition of colonoware excavated from the American Southeast and Caribbean (see Ahlman 2005; Ahlman et al.

2008; Cranford 2013; Gerth and Kingsley 2014; Hauser 2008, 2011; Hauser and

Armstrong 1999; Hauser et al. 2008; Heath 1988, 1999; Meniketti 2011). Three northern assemblages were subjected to XRF analysis in 2017; these include the mug from the

Long Hill Site in Springfield, the Connecticut River Valley Bowl, and two sherds from the Brearley House in Lawrence. An XRF instrument can determine an object’s chemical and elemental make-up by emitting an energy beam of X-ray at the object (Bishop et al.

1982: 291; Cranford 2013; Kelly and Thomas 2014:186; Malainey 2011; Moens 2000 et al. 2000; Rice 1987:393). When an object is irradiated with this energy, inner orbital electrons become “excited.” Some electrons are ejected during this process and outer orbital electrons are “pulled in” to fill the void. Secondary fluorescent rays are then released that resemble the present atoms. In more simplified terms, different elements emit unique levels of energy which in turn can be measured (Kelly and Thomas

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2014:186). X-ray Fluorescent technology is nondestructive, relatively inexpensive, and produces quick results (Rice 1987:373).

The Long Hill Site mug was tested at the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and

Ethnology at Harvard University by conservator Judy Jungels. Jungels’ XRF test

identified high peaks of iron (Fe) and calcium (Ca) (see Appendix A). Smaller peaks of

sulfur (S), phosphorous (P), and rhodium (Rh) were also present. Phosphorous (P),

silicon (Si), aluminum (Al), magnesium (Mg), potassium (K), and titanium (Ti) were

detected in smaller quantities.

XRF testing of the Connecticut River Valley Bowl (see Appendix B) and Brearley sherds (see Appendix C) took place at Temple University’s Department of Earth and

Environmental Science. Testing was carried out on a portable XRF instrument under the direction of geologist Dr. David Grandstaff. The results discussed here are preliminary and readers are referred to Chapter 5 to learn about the challenges I encountered while testing these assemblages.

The chemical signatures of the Connecticut River Valley Bowl and Brearley

sherds contain zirconium (Zm), strontium (Sr), zinc (Zn), manganese (Mn), scandium

(Sc), and barium (Ba). These elements were not detected in the Long Hill Site sample.

This might indicate that the clay used in the production of the Long Hill pottery was procured from a different source. The impressed geometric rouletting applied to the Long

Hill mug resembles Northeastern indigenous motifs; this observation, paired with the

vessel’s unique chemical signature, might indicate that the Long Hill mug was

manufactured locally. Further analysis is recommended for future research.

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Preliminary test results indicate that the Connecticut River Valley Bowl and

Brearley sherds contain similar chemical profiles. This result is surprising given the technological and aesthetic differences between the two samples. The Connecticut River

Valley Bowl is handmade, contains crushed quartz, has two attached handles, and resembles globular colonoware identified on Montserrat. The Brearley sherds are wheel- thrown and contain micaceous clay and coarse grit or crushed rock; its form is evocative of a nineteenth century stoneware crocks or wide mouthed jars. The chemical data pertaining to these two samples overlap in ways with the results of Meniketti’s (2011) study of Nevisian pottery. Meniketti (2011) subjected a sample of prehistoric (referred to as Saladoid or “Carib” wear, n=26), historic (referred to as colonoware or Afro-Nevisian ware, n=19), and modern pottery (n=1) from Nevis to XRF testing on a portable instrument. Iron (Fe), manganese (Mn), titanium (Ti), strontium (Sr), calcium (Ca), and potassium (K) are present in Meniketti’s test sherds; on average, the quantities of these elements (in ppm) are roughly mirrored in the chemical signatures I obtained from the

Connecticut River Valley Bowl and Brearley sherds. However, the strontium (Sr) present in the Brearley sherds is slightly less than the range observed in the Nevis sherds.

Meniketti (2011:12) was able to separate Afro-Nevisian wares into three distinct

chemical groups: 1. sherds with detectable levels of zinc (Zn) and lead (Pb); 2. sherds

with detectable levels of copper (Cu) and arsenic (As); and 3. sherds without detectable

levels of these four elements. Zinc (Zn), lead (Pb), copper (Cu), and arsenic (As) were

detected in both the Connecticut River Valley Bowl and Brearley sherds. A high quantity

of sulfur (S) was present in the Connecticut River Valley Bowl and the Brearley sherds, but is undetected in Meniketti’s samples. The presence of sulfur (S) might indicate that

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the clay used to pot these vessels was sourced from a deposit located near volcanic

activity. Nevis is volcanic in origin (Meniketti 2011:2) and it is possible that volcanic

sulfur-enriched clay deposits exist on the island. It is important to note that the chemical

compositions of the northern test samples are probably different from those pertaining to

other northern assemblages discussed in the previous two chapters. At this stage of preliminary research, we cannot assume that all northern colonoware and related coarse

earthenware associated with African descent individuals has a West Indian or Nevisian

origin. However, preliminary results do suggest that the clays used to manufacture the

Connecticut River Valley Bowl and Brearley sherds may have been sourced from the

West Indies, perhaps Nevis specifically. The striking visual similarity between

colonoware examples from Montserrat and the Connecticut River Valley Bowl suggests

that potters may have used Nevisian clays to produce Montserratian forms of colonoware.

The chemical correlation between the Brearley sherds and Nevisian sherds might indicate

a tradition of wheel-thrown pottery using clays from Nevis; to date, only hand-made

vessels have been identified on the island (see Chapter 2, Table 2.2). Although the data

indicate that Nevis may have been the possible clay source, the pottery may not have been acquired directly from the island. Research by Ahlman et al. (2008), Gerth and

Kingsley (2014), and Hauser and Armstrong (1999) demonstrate how colonoware was

traded throughout the West Indies.

In summary, preliminary material evidence suggests that some non-indigenous produced northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware may have been obtained from the Caribbean, but what was its mode of travel? Was it via slave refugees or manumitted migrants? Were southern and Caribbean slaves sold in northern markets

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accompanied by items from their former places of bondage? Did merchants who operated

ships in the Caribbean and along the Eastern Seaboard obtaining obtain the pottery from

Afro-Caribbean producers? Or, was the pottery sold as a commodity in northern markets?

Northern colonoware does not appear to share similarities with examples from the

Southeast; however, the fact that most northern colonoware assemblages are fragmentary

makes this difficult to rule out. Southern officers, along with their slaves, marched to the

Old Barracks in Trenton during the American Revolution; it is possible that the Old

Barrack’s sherd may have originated from the Southeast and was a material companion

on the journey. The movement of enslaved individuals from the south to north is

documented elsewhere. Runaways who fled from Chesapeake or Low Country plantations often sought refuge in New York City; these individuals “carried the

experience of as well as the memory of slavery” with them (Berlin and Harris 2005:4,

14). New York was economically connected to the south and the city became an

important port that shipped southern cotton to European textile mills after the War of

1812 (Berlin and Harris 2005:22). New England also played a role in interregional trade by provisioning southern plantations with food and goods and processing Caribbean

imports into other products (e.g., sugar into rum) (see Gallay 2009:14). Southern businessmen traveled to the Northeast to oversee these transactions and were frequently accompanied by the bondsmen they owned (Berlin and Harris 2005:23). Some of these individuals may have managed to escape by evading their master’s oversight in the bustling, densely populated cities of the American Northeast.

Northern slave owners, however, preferred “seasoned” captive laborers from the

islands of Antigua, Barbados, Jamaica, and Cura çao during the eighteenth century (see

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Chapter 3; Hodges 1997:10). It is likely that many of the bondsmen who are discussed in

the stories I tell in Chapters 4 and 5 spent part of their lives laboring in the West Indies before they arrived to the north. Historic records pertaining to the slave port city of Perth

Amboy, New Jersey demonstrate this preference: 480 enslaved individuals from the West

Indies were dropped off at Perth Amboy port between 1718 and 1764 (Hodges 1997:9).

A number of individuals who occupied northern sites that contained the pottery are

affiliated—by choice or coercion—with Barbados or other islands in the West Indies.

These affiliations are based on historic documents or the identification of colonoware or

related coarse earthenware that is visually similar to examples identified in these regions.

William McKean voyaged from Odessa to the West Indies for business and was

likely involved in slave dealings there. The merchant Colonel Watson may have imported

two of his slaves, Eseck and Cuffe, from the West Indies where Watson made other

transactions. Katherine Nanny-Naylor’s former husbands, Robert and Edward, were also

merchants who dealt in West Indies goods. Jonathan and Mary Andrews were connected

to Salem’s most prominent merchant and mariner families who were entrenched in West

Indies trade enterprises. Plato Turner, a Black mariner from Parting Ways, sailed to the

West Indies for work as a freedman. Furthermore, the attributes of the Mendenhall Site

(Figure 4.3), Block 1191 (Figure 4.4), Collector A’s vessel (Figure 5.7), Connecticut

Valley River Bowl (Figure 5.16) and possibly the Cross Street Backlot (Figure 4.8)

colonoware are visually similar to examples identified in the Caribbean (see Chapter 4).

Related coarse earthenware identified at the Garrison Energy Site (Figure 5.1), Parting

Ways (Figure 4.6), the Narbonne House (Figures 5.18, 5.19, and 5.20), and Marshall

Pottery (Figure 5.21) share similarities with Caribbean vessels as well (see Chapter 4).

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Some sites discussed in Chapters 4 and 5 were occupied by individuals with

established ties to Barbados, specifically. Richard Cooper, freedman occupant of the

Garrison Energy Site, was born in Barbados where he was likely “seasoned” during his

enslavement. The Sylvester family of Shelter Island owned a sister plantation in

Barbados that they provisioned and sourced laborers from. The fact that northern masters preferred “seasoned” slaves might indicate that other enslaved individuals discussed in

the previous chapters were imported from the West Indies. Some White occupants of

northern sites where colonoware was identified are also affiliated with Barbados.

Katherine Nanny Naylor’s late husband, Robert Nanny, owned an estate on the island

(Lewis 2001:37). Joseph Hodges, owner of the Narbonne House just prior to the Andrews

family, is listed as a merchant and captain who frequently voyaged to Barbados (Moran

et al. 1982:71).

The number of northern archaeological sites that contain colonoware or related coarse earthenwares associated with the West Indies, specifically Barbados, is notable.

Other archaeologists have drawn connections between Southeastern colonoware assemblages and Barbados. Stanley South (1971:102-105) was among the first to observe this; he believed that undecorated colonoware excavated from Charles Towne, South

Carolina was manufactured by potters of African descent from Barbados. Wheaton and

Garrow (1985:242) also examined these interregional relationships; they believe that enslaved laborers at Yaughan and Curiboo likely arrived from the Caribbean. They

(Wheaton and Garrow 1985:251) note similarities between Yaughan and Curiboo colonowares and those identified by Gartley (1979:47-61) in the Virgin Islands,

Barbados, Jamaica, St. Kitts, St. Martin, and St. Vincent. Historical research by Madsen

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(2002:121) demonstrates that sailing vessels from the West Indies—especially those from ports in Barbados—frequented North and South Carolina sometimes dropping planters

and slaves at ports (Madsen 2002:121).

Barbadian planters—pushed out because of the sugar boom—settled in New

Jersey and the Carolina during the 1660s and 1670s (Gigantino 2015:13). Gigantino

(2015:13) posits that Barbadians were attracted to New Jersey’s agricultural fertility; the

region was viewed as “untapped land ripe for settlement” and was favored by Barbadians

who sought to resettle. “They and their slaves came in droves,” Gigantino (2015:13)

writes. Deetz (1999:239), who researched Barbadian settlers of South Carolina, noted that

the settlers brought enslaved potters from Barbados with them. These potters “produced both wheel-made wares and handmade forms very similar to American Colono ware.”

The historic and material corollaries between the American Northeast and Caribbean

hints at the pottery’s physical movement between these regions and/or the movement of people who possess knowledge of the pottery and how to manufacture it. Some of the

individuals who arrived at northern ports likely possessed knowledge of Caribbean and

African potting traditions. Alternatively, individuals may have carried vessels or parts of

vessels with them; this point is articulated by Catts (1988) in his examination of

Hispaniola colonoware identified in Wilmington, Delaware.

Slave narratives recorded by the Works Progress Administration (WPA) in the

mid-1930s illustrate that colonoware was indeed transported across wide distances. Shad

Hall was a descendent of African slaves who labored on a plantation in coastal Georgia

and was one of several thousand interviewed by the WPA. Ferguson (1992:1) begins the

first chapter of his seminal text Uncommon Ground (1992) with an excerpt from Hall’s

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narrative. “I remember some pots and cups that she [Hester] had made of clay. She brought these from Africa,” Hall stated. Ferguson (1992:3) is skeptical about whether the pots recalled by Hall survived the Middle Passage; nevertheless, the memories Hall

shared might indicate that the pottery was important enough to transport across

landscapes. Hauser (2008:190) reexamined the long-held assumption that colonoware

manufacture and distribution occurred at a local scale; this belief was predicated on “the

fragility of the ceramics and their [archaeologists] assumptions of the kinds of industry

the enslaved could undertake.” Research by Catts (1988), Crane (1993), Gerth and

Kingsley (2014), Hauser (2008, 2011), Hauser and Armstrong (1999), and Joseph (2007,

2016) examines how colonoware was transported some distance by canoe or vessel. The pottery was sold by African Americans—many of whom were enslaved—in markets

located in Charleston, Savannah, and Jamaica (Espenshade 2007b; Gerth and Kingsley

2014; Hauser 2008; Hauser et al. 2008; Joseph 2004, 2007, 2016). African American

vendors are also documented at markets in Mobile, Pensacola, and New Orleans,

although it is unclear if colonoware was sold at these locations (Joseph 2016:103).

Documents that record the sale of colonoware at northern markets are sparse.

However, some circumstantial evidence intimates that the pottery may have been part of

a northern market landscape, but was probably not sold at the same scale as it was in

southern markets, if it was sold here at all. Thomas DeVoe, a butcher by profession,

recorded his observations and knowledge pertaining to New York City markets in his text

The Market Book (1862). DeVoe writes about “Jersey negroes” who sold goods during

eighteenth century holidays at Bear Market, one of the most prominent public markets in

New York City (DeVoe 1862:322). Bear Market was located on the Hudson River near

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Partition Street (now Fulton Street) and was founded in 1771. Enslaved individuals from

Long Island sold goods further east during Pinkster holiday at Catherine Market

(established 1786) located on the East River. “[Slaves] would gather up everything that

would bring a few pence or shillings, such as roots, berries, herbs, yellow or other birds,

fish, clams, oysters, &c., and bring them with them in their skiffs to this market” (DeVoe

1862:344). Slaves who accompanied millers and farmers to Broadway Market (founded

1738), located at Broadway and Crown Street (now Liberty Street), “retailed around the

streets, as it appears they had been in the habit of doing many years before” (DeVoe

1862:264). DeVoe (1862:264) recorded how “Negroes, Indians, Mullatoes, [and] slaves”

commonly sold “boiled Indian corn, peas, peaches, apples, and other kind of fruit” in

homes, outhouses, yards, and markets in the vicinity. Unfortunately, DeVoe does not

describe the kinds of containers used to sell these goods. Fresh fruits could have been

transported in porous containers like baskets, or even cradled inside of a woman’s rolled-

up cloth apron; however, “boiled Indian corn” would necessitate a container that could

hold moist foods, such as colonoware.

Manumission documents record material bequests granted to some slaves and this

might also account for the interregional movement of colonoware. These records indicate

that some individuals took objects with them upon release and, although speculative, it is possible that some individuals carried colonoware with them to freedom. Handler and

Pohlmann (1984:401-402) examined manumission documents pertaining to 123 enslaved

individuals in Barbados during the seventeenth century; thirty-five percent of these

individuals (n=43) received material compensation, including money, sugar, clothing,

land, schooling, a house, or small goods (including cookwares). Although cookwares are

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mentioned, colonoware is not stated as a specific bequest, possibly because planters did

not place much value on the pottery (Ferguson 2011:164). Permission need not be

obtained for taking items deemed valueless by the planter. However, these records are

important because of the behavior they document: manumitted individuals transported

objects from plantation landscapes to the homesteads they established as freedmen. It is possible that some individuals who came to the north—by fleeing or manumission—

arrived with the knowledge of pottery production, or perhaps colonoware in-hand.

Reflected Memory and the Mneumonics of Northern Colonoware and Related

Coarse Earthenware

According to Meniketti (2011:2), “Colonoware…may well have different

meaning and value in different contexts.” In this section, I speculate that the origin of

northern colonoware and related coarse earthenwares is, partly, what made the pottery potent for those who appropriated it in the past. I draw upon Prown’s (1988:17)

meditation on objects to understand their “latent values [and] sensual enactments of

deeper cognitive structures” in considering what the pottery meant to those northerners

who used it. Prown (1988:22) is interested in the semiotics of objects; he believes that

artifacts are intentional, trigger emotions, and reveal “patterns in the mind.” Turkle

(2007) examines the specific role that objects play in the life of an individual. Objects are

evocative “companions to our emotional lives” (Turkle 2007:5, 8). Turkle adds that

“most objects exert their holding power because of the particular moment and

circumstance” they enter someone’s life. The ideas she presents in Evocative Objects

(Turkle 2007) guides my interpretation of colonoware and related coarse earthenwares

found in northern contexts. “The inseparability of thought and feeling” is germane to “our

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relationship to things,” she writes (Turkle 2007:4). We need to “dig deeply” to

understand the kinds of thoughts and feelings that were contained in northern colonoware

and related coarse earthenware; this hints at what the pottery meant to those who used it

in the past.

Vessels are typically intact when they begin their social lives and broken into pieces by the time they enter the archaeological record. Colonoware and related coarse earthenware are identified in smaller quantities at northern sites in comparison to the robust assemblages encountered in the American Southeast and Caribbean. Despite that partially complete vessels were identified at some northern sites (e.g., Sylvester Manor, the Connecticut River Valley Bowl, the Tyngsboro Pot, Cumberland County “Discs”,

Parting Ways, Cross Street Backlot, Long Hill Site, Narbonne House, and Marshall

Pottery), the recovery of the pottery at some sites in scant or singular quantities merits additional consideration. The single fragment of hybridized coarse earthenware recovered from Colonel Watson’s homesite in Plymouth may have been acquired by the colonel himself, or perhaps one of his slaves, Eseck, Cuffee, or Quassia. The sparse recovery of the pottery—not only at the Watson/Jackson Site, but at several other northern sites occupied by Black individuals—might be the result of sampling. However, the fact that this observation is patterned at other northern sites may be significant. A single sherd of colonoware was encountered at the Old Barracks in Trenton and may be associated with a

Black medical orderly. The Brearley House in Lawrence also produced a small quantity of the pottery; here, two coarse earthenware fragments are tentatively linked to a Black cook. Just three fragments of colonoware were excavated from the Remer Site in

Philadelphia and another relatively small, highly fragmentized assemblage of coarse

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earthenware was identified at the Garrison Energy Site. Could fragments of a vessel, or

even a single sherd, have possessed meaning for some individuals?

Mnkisi are small bundles of spiritually-charged objects used in traditional West

African rituals and may contain clay artifacts (see Chapters 2 and 3; Ferguson 1992:114).

Although no mnkisi caches were identified at northern colonoware sites, other

expressions of traditional African spirituality were, such as Israel Burgoe’s marked

conjuring bones, the alter located inside Richard Cooper’s home, and the colonoware

sherds appropriated into charms or gaming pieces by captive laborers at Farmer’s

Delight. Individual mnkisi elements may have been powerful enough to connect

individuals to the spirit realm, akin to a charm, amulet, or talisman. Unusual evidence of

ritually-purposed colonoware fragments was excavated at Frogmore Manor Plantation on

Saint Helena Island, South Carolina. Archaeologists discovered colonoware with broken-

out bottoms inside a conjurer’s or midwife’s cabin (Joyner 2003:32); here, a base

fragment was found placed on the leg of a fully articulated calf (Brown 2015:173).

Broken pottery fragments, interpreted as grave offerings, have also been encountered on

West and Central African cemeteries and at Parting Ways Cemetery near Plymouth

(Deetz 1996:207-210). In Santería, an Afro-Caribbean syncretic religion that blends

traditional Yoruba beliefs and Roman Catholicism, broken pottery is appropriated as

sacred objects. Sherds of vessels, called apadí , are incorporated into a divination practice

referred to as diloggún (Lele 2003:27). In this context, broken sherds symbolize

marriage, loss, or defeat. The Ashanti of Africa ascribe similar meaning to broken pottery.

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The African and African American practice of collecting small goods is discussed by Cook and Balicki (1996:243); they describe the act as a spiritual expression. Take, for

example, the story of Jin (“Jinny”) Cole. Jin was the daughter of a Congo king who,

while playing near a well, was abducted at the age of twelve from her village in West

Africa. She was purchased in 1739 by Parson Jonathan Ashley of Deerfield,

Massachusetts. Jin and her son, Cato, collected small things until their deaths:

She fully expected at death, or before, to be transported back to Guinea; and all her long life she was gathering, as treasures to take back to her motherland, all kinds of odds and ends, colored rags, bits of finery, peculiar shaped stones, shells, buttons, beads, anything she could string (George Sheldon 1896:897-898, in Wade 1988:179-180).

According to Wade (1988:179-180), Jin Cole’s beliefs and practices typify those held by

other individuals of African descent who resided in New England during the eighteenth

century (Wade 1988:179). Although speculative, pottery sherds, resonant with meaning,

may have symbolized home and was collected for the returning journey.

Wade’s (1988) research on the significant role of ancestors in eighteenth and

nineteenth century New England Black coronation festivals may be another key to

understanding the value that was reflected onto the pottery in a whole, or perhaps

fragmentary, state. The honoring of tradition and family history, an act “essential in

maintaining harmonic relations with the ancestors”, is an element of Fenti and Ashanti

culture that is manifested in these festivals (Wade 1988:174). Ancestral spirits are believed to aid the living in their earthly journey (Gundaker 2011:180). Ancestors, or

egun , serve a similar role in Yoruba culture and facilitate living descendants’

conformance to social norms (Clark 2007:36-37). The use of African surnames and the

demonstration of African words or etiquette were perceived as commemorative acts.

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Individuals who displayed particular reverence to ancestors were preferred candidates for

elected office and were perceived “as representatives of a living cultural heritage” by

their peers (Wade 1988:175). In Ashanti culture, “the dead, the living, and those still to be born are all members of one family” (Busia 1954:202). Wade’s research is important because it illustrates the significant status and value that ancestors hold.

Bockie (1993) and Gundaker (2011) examine the role of ancestors’ objects and

how the redistribution of the decedent’s goods functions among the Kongo. The

decedent’s kin, comprised of family and close friends, distribute his/her possessions

amongst themselves because “inherited property is not for outsiders” (Bockie 1993:124).

The redistribution of these objects affirms a sense of unity during mourning. “Goods of

the deceased were distributed so others would remember him by using his (or her—

witness the pitchers on Black women’s graves) possessions,” according to Gundaker

(2011:180). The living “never forget him” (or her, the deceased) and are reminded of the

deceased when they glance at or use the object (Bockie 1993:125).

Freeman et al. (2016) believe that the primary means in which we remember is

through the objects that embody the people and events of our personal pasts. Objects

rekindle memory and may contain traces of those who used it. An object’s previous user

or owner may be perceived by touch, sight, or smell. Truffles, my Old English Sheepdog,

recently passed away at almost fifteen years of age. I keep her pink plaid collar as a

memento of her companionship; strands of her fur are nestled into the synthetic fibers of

the collar, which still smells like her. Stallybrass (1993) demonstrates how a deceased

friend is manifested through the wrinkles, stains, and smells in the jacket he once wore.

In a similar vein, perhaps the aroma of cuisine preserved in unglazed, porous colonoware

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and the visible cooking stains present on the surfaces were just as potent. These may have been multi-sensory ways in which those who appropriated colonoware in the past

experienced loved ones they were separated from. According to art historian Kitty Hauser

(2008:69-70), stains, smells, and other signs of use are “visible sign[s] of a story

that…remains hidden” and “shows that something has happened here, even if we don’t always know what that something is.”

Historical and archaeological evidence from the Middle Atlantic and American

Northeast indicates that some African descent and indigenous individuals may have passed down pottery from one generation to the next. The Quander family, descendants of enslaved individuals held captive at Mount Vernon, kept transfer-printed pearlware within their family for generations (Singleton and Bograd 2000:9). In Brooklyn, New

York, “a few family heirlooms that were actually being used at a later date” were identified by Salwen and Bridges (1974:20) at the free Black community of Weeksville.

Here, refined tableware like Canton China, shell-edged pearlware, and blue willow design pearlware were present in two excavation units. These ceramics were no longer manufactured after 1836 and appear to pre-date the founding of the community.

Archaeologists encountered the appropriation of older pottery at the African American occupied Cooper-Mann House in Sussex, New Jersey (formerly Deckertown). Refined wares, such as a late creamware or early whiteware pitcher, pearlware vessels, and an annular decorated whiteware bowl, pre-date the 1856 construction of the house

(Springate and Raes 2013:20). Curated pottery was also identified on an Eastern Pequot reservation in North Stonington, Connecticut by Silliman and Witt (2010:64). White salt glazed stoneware, tin-glazed earthenware, and early agateware were present in deposits

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dated to 1788. Though not colonoware, these observations suggest that some African

descent and indigenous individuals may have appropriated pottery for sentimental

reasons during a portion of the object’s social life.

Perhaps northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware played a similar role in the lives of northerners who used the vessels in the past. Heirlooms, or even fragments of an heirloom, may have been particularly powerful within the harsh institution of slavery that often separated husbands from wives and parents from children. “The function of the heirloom is to weave, quite literally by means of narrative, a significance of blood relation at the expense of a larger view of history and causality” (Stewart

1993:137). The pottery may have been a material link to ancestors, who figure prominently in traditional African culture and are perceived as present, despite that they are no longer flesh.

Maggie Black was raised on a plantation and was interviewed by the Works

Progress Administration (WPA) near the end of her life. Albert Carolina and Shad Hall, descendants of enslaved individuals, were also informants to the WPA; they relayed their ancestor’s experience of captivity. Maggie, Albert, and Shad fondly recalled colonoware potted by their ancestors (in Ferguson 1992:2-3). The informants valued the pottery, not only because they were “the prettiest little clay bowls”, according to Maggie, but also because the bowls symbolized their ancestry and heritage.

In the seventeenth century, nostalgia was viewed as an illness curable by opium, leeches, or, most effectively, a trip to home. The word “nostalgia” derives from the Greek word nostos , or “return home”, and algia , meaning “longing” (Boym 2007:7). Boym

(2007:7-8) defines nostalgia as “a longing for a home that no longer exists or has never

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existed” or a “yearning for a different time.” Nostalgia is more than a feeling; it was a

strategy used by displaced individuals to contend with the “impossibility of

homecoming” and “historical upheavals” (Boym 2007:9-10). Colonoware and related

coarse earthenware is a direct product of one of the most violent upheavals in modern

history: the forced relocation of indigenous and African descent groups for sale as captive

laborers in the New World (see Chapter 3). In fact, what makes colonoware colonoware

is not necessarily a shared suite of physical attributes, but rather that the vessels were

shaped by the hands of potters who’s souls and bodies were victimized by oppression

(see Chapter 2; Cobb and DePratter 2012; Gerth and Kingsley 2014; Hauser and DeCorse

2003). For Boym (2001:xiv), who fled the former Soviet Union in the 1980s, a “yearning

for a community with a collective memory” is a painful and intimate part of nostalgia.

Community and family—past, present, and future—is vitrified within colonoware and

related coarse earthenware. The pottery contained not only food or drink during its

lifetime, but also memories and feelings that may have offered an antidote to the

“sickness” of nostalgia.

Nabokov (2001), Brodsky (2001), and Kabakov (2001) demonstrate how

survivors of diaspora do not dream of going back to their old homes; however, objects

that remind individuals of the diasporic events they lived through are cherished.

Individuals who experienced northern slavery and used colonoware and related coarse

earthenware did not desire to take-on their old shackles. These individuals experienced a

kind of nostalgia that might have been “about the relationship between individual biography and the biography of groups or nations, between personal and collective

memory” (Boym 2001:xvi). For those who used the pottery in the north, vessels, or

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fragments of vessels, may have been a portal that connected displaced individuals to a

community that shared the collective memory and heritage of diaspora. The pottery, or pottery fragments, embodied direct ancestors who aid in the lives of living descendants. It

was a memento of the very people who “had allowed them to dream their escape in the

first place” (Boym 2001:xix).

People form emotional connections with objects, particularly with objects that played “a role in [a] significant life transition” (Turkle 2007:5). On the most intimate scale, the pottery may have symbolized an individual’s time in captivity. Individuals save objects that were created during a traumatic event or have saved objects that assisted them during perilous situations. Victor, an informant in De L éon’s (2012:493) research

on contemporary migrant material culture, states, “I keep this backpack as a memento of

that last trip.” At one time, Victor carried the backpack on his shoulders and stuffed it

with practical items needed for the journey to the United States border. The backpack

takes on new meaning after his successful crossing; it no longer is used to contain plastic

water jugs and food rations. Now, the backpack reflects Victor’s arduous journey through

the Sonoran Desert and the object is kept as a reminder of this experience.

De Léon’s (2012) research demonstrates how objects take on new meaning in

different contexts. He (De Léon 2012) examines objects—like shoes, clothing, and water bottles—that were recovered from the Sonoran Desert. These items were purchased by

migrants for their journey. However, these objects take on another layer of meaning; they

are “tools of the undocumented” that are used “to avoid detection by Border Patrol and to

survive” (De Léon 2012:478). Following De Léon’s research on the transformative

meaning of material culture, I believe that some colonoware and related coarse

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earthenware takes on different significance in a northern context, one that is entangled

with the ancestral beliefs and cultural heritage bound up in the pottery. Perhaps some

manumitted individuals or refugees took “Mom’s pot”, or a piece of her pot, with them.

His or her mother may have labored on a plantation in the American Southeast or

Caribbean and made pottery. The object embodies Mom’s memory and symbolizes part

of the individual’s life history.

Colonoware and related coarse earthenware may have also been acquired as a souvenir or memento object from Caribbean traders or at market. In other instances, the pottery may have been transported directly to the site by an occupant involved in maritime activities. For example, Hutchins-Keim (2015) theorizes that Plato Turner, a mariner and resident of Parting Ways, may have brought the pottery home from his voyages. In a similar vein, Mary Andrews may have acquired the jars identified at her home from her family’s expansive maritime network. These items may have rekindled

Mary’s childhood memories. I offer for consideration the idea that colonoware and related coarse earthenware, whether brought up from a plantation or obtained at market, can be viewed as an object that symbolizes a personal or collective biography. It is taken out of its original utilitarian context and transformed into an object that, literally, jars the memory. It was a talking piece to build a narrative of a personal and collective history. In this sense, colonoware and related coarse earthenware are a kind of heritage heirloom that takes on deep meaning.

The pottery discussed in the previous two chapters was likely evocative of a personal, and in many cases, painful, past. Richard Cooper and Plato Turner may have been reminded of their own life histories when they gazed at the jars present inside their

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homes. “The jars may have had special significance for Turner, reminding him of his

travels or representing a connection with the larger Atlantic world and people he met

along the way, including captive Africans” (Hutchins-Keim 2015:136). The touch of

West Indies culture echoed in the pottery may have held special meaning, not only for

Cooper and Turner, but also for the Black communities they were part of. Visitors calling

upon the families in Little Creek Hundred and Parting Ways likely saw the vessels

displayed in Cooper’s and Turner’s homes or may have even taken food from them as

guests. Wilkie and Farnsworth (2005) illuminate the communal activity of food-sharing between households at Clifton Plantation in the Bahamas and demonstrate how patterns

on factory decorated slipwares, notably light and dark color contrasts, might indicate a

favored African aesthetic. Perhaps the simplistic and unembellished Barbadian pottery

aesthetic was favored or admired within free African American households, like the

Cooper’s and Turner’s, at Little Creek Hundred and Parting Ways.

Colonoware acquired by various groups from markets may have also served as a

memento to symbolize intercultural unity amongst indigenous and African descent

groups who were victims of brutal punishments, prejudiced codes, and forced labor (see

Chapter 3). Indeed, individuals of color were often lumped together by Whites (see

Chapter 3; Bragdon 2009:213; Handsman 2015:240; McGovern 2015:223; Newell

2009:59). Although it is speculative, the pottery discussed in Chapters 4 and 5 may have possessed a trans-cultural quality that emanated from the pottery, one that echoed

nostalgia for vanishing Native Americans.

Phillips (1998) documents the emergence of Native American souvenirs in the

American Northeast and their role as objects that memorialize the disappearance of

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indigenous groups. Middle and upper-class White European-Americans were the primary

collectors of these items who purchased them at Native American villages in the

eighteenth century and, later, at train stations and tourist destinations in the nineteenth

century (Phillips 1998:6, 25, 32-34). Central to her book is the idea that

Colonized peoples have historically selected among the representational tropes and signs introduced by the dominant culture. My data support the thesis that choices were neither entirely dictated by the dominant culture nor were they blind and unmotivated. Rather, I will argue, Aboriginal artists routinely elected to use images and forms that, while innovative, continued to “make sense” within both indigenous and Euro-North American signifying systems (Phillips 1998:19-20).

Phillips discusses many indigenous souvenir objects in her book and examples of these

include regalia, bark boxes, grass baskets, beadwork, jewelry, figurines, and moose hair

embroidery. She (Phillips 1998:25) remarks that, “specialized productions of souvenir

arts and the performance of ethnicity as a selling strategy began remarkably early in the

Northeast.” Becker (1999; see Chapter 3) presents archaeological evidence in support of

this in the form of a curated axe-like object excavated from the mid-seventeenth century

log home of Governor Johan Printz on Tinicum Island near Wilmington, Delaware.

Colonoware potted by southern indigenous groups was sold to southern European-

Americans on a regular basis (Groover 1994; Mouer et al. 1999; Vernon 1988; Riggs

2010). In Virginia, hybridized earthenware was produced by Native Americans for sale to

“their white neighbors” until possibly as late as the early-twentieth century (Speck

1928:404).

Colonoware is absent from Phillips (1998) detailed investigation into

Northeastern Native American souvenirs; this may be due to the fact that Northeastern

indigenous-made colonoware appears to pre-date the temporal period in Phillips’ purview

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which spans from 1700 through 1900. Northeastern colonoware and related coarse

earthenware may have been a memento or heirloom to weave narratives of personal or

cultural heritage for Black individuals, but it may have meant different things for

Northeastern indigenous groups that made the pottery. Colonoware produced by northern

indigenous potters is encountered in Native American contexts in the Northeast—in

indigenous burials, such as in Tyngsborough and at the Long Hill Site, as cooking and

storage lids in Cumberland County, and as work buckets at Sylvester Manor. Though the

social context of these archaeological sites suggests varying degrees of interaction with

European colonists, the data indicate that seventeenth century northern indigenous-potted

colonoware may not have been produced expressly for sale to colonists. Colonoware does

not appear to be an indigenous-crafted souvenir for White consumption. Instead, these

were objects that appropriated European attributes, such as handles and vessel form, for

non-White use. The fact that colonoware was an object of ritual interment identified

inside the burials of two indigenous individuals might indicate the pottery’s appropriation

as a status object in some Native American Northeastern groups.

Part II: Valuing Northeastern Colonoware and Related Coarse Earthenware as Objects of the Present

Creating Knowledge of the Past, the Control of Heritage, and Bias in Object-based Research

Artifacts are conventionally valued by archaeologists because they provide insight into past people and cultures. The vignettes of northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware I tell in the previous two chapters, paired with how I interpret the pottery in the first section of this chapter, illuminate the lives of people who lived centuries ago and the kind of meanings that may have been reflected in the pottery when it was part of a

256 past social system. Artifacts of the past are seldom valued by archaeologists for their

ability to provide insight into the present. My experience accessing assemblages, my

interactions with colleagues, and anecdotal information written in technical reports are

important lines of evidence frequently disregarded by researchers. The story of

Northeastern colonoware exposes the present-day mechanisms and politics that shape

how knowledge of the past is made, how access to heritage is controlled, and how bias is

created in object-based research.

In 2015 and 2016, I spent my free time touring plantations and museums in

Virginia and South Carolina. I observed that colonoware was frequently displayed at

many of the locations I visited. Sherds are accessible to the public here and, in many

cases, are exhibited on the very landscape they were excavated from. Colonoware

exhibits in the north are less common. Parking garages, highways, residential

neighborhoods, bridge abutments, and power generation plants—not monuments,

interpretive signs, or museums—stand on top of many locations where the pottery was

found. John Dickinson Plantation, Old Barracks, the Brearley House, the Watson/Jackson building, and the Narbonne House are the only extant historic structures associated with

northern colonoware assemblages, yet the pottery is displayed inside only one of these buildings. At present, northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware is accessible

to the public at three exhibits: in Philadelphia at the National Constitution Center, in

Cumberland County at the Museum of Prehistory, and in Salem at the Narbonne House.

Only sherds exhibited at the National Constitution Center are identified as such; the

Cumberland County pottery is interpreted as prehistoric pottery and the Narbonne jar is

identified as Iberian. Vessels from Parting Ways were exhibited at the 1749 Court House

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Museum, but I was unable to confirm if the jars are still on display when I contacted the

museum. Bielski (1962:36) reported that the Milton Hall pot was exhibited at the

Bronson Museum; however, this vessel has since gone missing from the museum’s

collection. In other cases, colonoware appears to have been omitted from museum

exhibits. Although the museum records are lost, circumstantial evidence suggests that

colonoware was not displayed at the 1982 Thomas Mendenhall exhibit at Old Town Hall

in Wilmington; this exhibit largely focused on Mendenhall’s family. Most northern

colonoware resides in museum storage boxes and is unknown to the public and much of

the archaeological community. In some cases, assemblages were inaccessible for research

due to storage facility improvements and collections moves.

My data reflect seven years of intermittent research. In the previous two chapters,

I discuss how information on northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware has not been widely disseminated. Conversation with other archaeologists was an instrumental tool in the “excavation” of the pottery in the American Northeast. References to northern colonoware are buried within technical reports or exist in the memories of archaeologists.

In some cases, technical reports and assemblages were difficult to access for my research and would likely be more challenging for the public to access. Non-archaeologists lack the kinds of credentials some agencies require or prefer to view objects under their purview. Furthermore, the technical jargon used in cultural resource management reports may not be easily understood by lay readers who read these texts. These reports are not as readily accessible to the public in comparison to other non-fictional literature that can be easily located and checked-out at a local library. Northern colonoware is an object that represents the heritage of indigenous groups and people of African descent, yet these

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objects are virtually inaccessible. In essence, knowledge of northern colonoware and

related coarse earthenware—probably unwittingly—has been privileged to regional

archaeologists, who are overwhelmingly male, Caucasian, and hold advanced degrees.

My professional network played a role in accessing northern colonoware and

related coarse earthenware collections. Many of the sites I discuss in this chapter were brought to my attention by the archaeologists who mentored me. I began this project

under the guidance of Michael Stewart, associate professor emeritus from Temple

University, who suggested I begin my search by speaking with regional archaeologists.

Richard Veit and Michael Gall—my undergraduate mentors—along with those who

supervised me during my first paid archaeology jobs were also instrumental in helping

me locate assemblages. It is possible that this project may not have come to fruition

without the knowledge conveyed in conversations with archaeologists.

My research was also greatly assisted by archaeologists and historians who were

complete strangers. These individuals generously donated their time to assist with

gathering data or arranging the logistics of loaning vessels or vessel sherds. I am particularly indebted to Aaron Miller who couriered a vessel from Massachusetts to

Philadelphia for my study. These individuals chose to play an active role in my research;

their readiness to help invests them in the story of northern colonoware and reflects how

they perceive the pottery. Some archaeologists, including myself, have come to think of

northern colonoware as a special kind of artifact due to the fact that these assemblages

have been cloaked for decades. The passion these individuals have for their fields of

study was obvious and I learned of our shared research interests through conversations

with them. These individuals may have been more motivated to actively participate

259 because their research specialties intersect with the issues germane to this project and/or because they sympathized with the stressful, yet rewarding experience of doctoral

research. Public school teacher and avocational archaeologist Edward Bielski recognized

that “a common interest such as archaeology makes instant friends of strangers” (Bielski

1962:34).

Gaining access to study every single object within the scope of your research is an

unrealistic expectation when conducting object-based studies. However, I was surprised by the volume of research inquiries that went ignored by colleagues; in other cases,

colleagues were responsive for several exchanges, but did not follow-up with promises of

additional information. This might indicate their disinterest with northern colonoware or

unwillingness to help, but might also imply that they simply had no further information to

offer. I believe that their silence might also reflect the burdensome workloads that are

endemic in academia, cultural resource management, and in museum settings. Heavy

workloads leave little time for tending to less pertinent tasks; fielding questions from

researchers is typically not a priority or paid responsibility.

Approximately 50% of assemblages (n=12) that I discuss in the previous two

chapters were identified during compliance excavations triggered by federal or local

regulations; these include colonoware fragments found at the Cedar Creek Road Site,

McKean/Cochran Site, Block 1191, the National Constitution Center, Remer Site, Old

Barracks, Brearley House, Watson/Jackson Site, Paddy’s Alley, Cross Street Backlot, the

Narbonne House, and the Marshall Site. Since 1966, Section 106 of the National Historic

Preservation Act has regulated construction activities that occur on federal land, are federally funded, or those that require federal permits (for an overview, see King

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2013:105-208). An archaeological survey commonly precedes construction to ensure that cultural resources are documented before they are destroyed. Other regulations, like The

Secretary of the Interior’s Standards for the Treatment of Historic Properties , require archaeology prior to the restoration or reconstruction of historic buildings (for an overview, see King 2013:211-223). Compliance with local ordinances has also resulted in the excavation of the pottery, such as the gardening regulation at Strawbery Banke; this stipulated the delineation of archaeological features prior to landscaping (Pendery

1981:3). Some of these assemblages are documented in technical reports; others were misidentified or went unreported and were brought to my attention during conversations with other archaeologists.

Cultural resource management is constrained by time, resources, and contracts, arguably more so than academia and other industries that employee archaeologists. It is likely that the nature of the cultural resource management industry resulted in the loss of additional northern colonoware sherds. Catts (1988:25) wonders if “more Colono Ware sherds could have been recovered” from Block 1191 in Wilmington without the limitation of time. I use anecdotal information included in technical reports to learn more about the experiences of the archaeologists responsible for the recovery of northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware. Some archaeologists elude to the hardships they encountered within the industry, such as the “contractual and logistical difficulties” that surrounded the Narbonne Site excavations (Powell and McManamon 1982:iii).

Furthermore, I discovered that my own investigation into northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware was affected by the industry; company policies and

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contractual agreements between companies and clients constrained the scope of my

investigation.

Other northern colonoware assemblages were identified by archaeologists and volunteers who operated outside of historic preservation regulations. Investigations at

Parting Ways and Sylvester Manor were academic endeavors and data excavated from these sites has been widely disseminated. Deetz’s research at Parting Ways is focal in In

Small Things Forgotten (Deetz 1996); this text is arguably Deetz’s most popular book

and is still required reading in many Introduction to Archaeology and Historical

Archaeology courses taught in the United States. Investigations at Sylvester Manor were published in a special monograph of Northeast Historical Archaeology (2007); each

article presented detailed research findings on several specialty topics, including material

culture and pottery (see Gary 2007). The industry of academia is not without constraints, but academics may be afforded more time and resources to conduct fieldwork at

archaeological sites. They may publish their results in less technical literature that is more

accessible to the public and other researchers in comparison to technical reports

generated by cultural resource management firms that are archived by agencies, such as

State Historic Preservation Offices (SHPOs).

Thompson’s Loss and Gain and the Mendenhall Site were excavated by volunteer

crews comprised of archaeologists and the public. These sites were imminently

threatened by construction and archaeology crews donated their weekends and time-off to

recover artifacts that otherwise would have been destroyed. Wittkofski (1988:81)

identified a challenge of investigations headed by volunteer staff: the pace of work proceeds “very slow.” It is difficult to allocate the time to document findings in technical

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archaeology reports or disseminate this knowledge to the public and archaeological

community outside of a full-time job, especially if you are uncompensated for your time

and effort. These archaeologists see value in excavating sites, even if it is not a paid

responsibility, and their work is a testament to the passion these individuals have for

archaeology. The pottery would not have been identified at these northern sites without

their dedication.

Other assemblages were acquired by private collectors, such as Margaret Handy’s possible colonoware infant feeder and Collector A’s glazed colonoware vessel.

Avocational archaeologists Alan Carman, Milton Hall, and Edward Bielski also played a

critical role in the recovery of American Northeast colonoware. The pottery was

appropriated by these individuals as a valued relic of the past worthy of collecting. The

integrity of some sites discussed in this chapter was compromised by looters, such as at

Thomas Mendenhall’s homesite and the McKean/Cochran Farm; here, colonoware may

have disinterested relic hunters or went undetected. It is unknown how many

undocumented colonoware or related coarse earthenware vessels may have been stolen

from archaeological sites, but Pretola (1985:39) believes that “a collector’s bias may

account for the lack of a larger pottery sample.”

According to Smith (2017), collectors’ demand for African American produced pottery has increased in recent years. His (Smith 2017) article titled “White Hot Southern

Pottery Drives Crocker Farms $1.1 Million Sale” in Antiques and the Arts Weekly

examines the growing business of nineteenth-century southern Edgefield stonewares.

This is curious in light of the plummeting market for eighteenth and nineteenth century

objects (McKeough 2018). Most Edgefield pottery was thrown by slaves who produced

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the pottery under White supervision in cottage industries (see Chapter 2), yet this is

absent from Smith’s (2017) article. The omission of this fact erases an important part of

the pottery’s cultural biography and whitens pottery produced by Black individuals.

The Crocker Farm auction house located in Sparks, Maryland is touted as “The

world’s premier auction of American stoneware and redware pottery” on their website

(Crocker Farm 2018). In July 2015, Crocker Farm auctioned an Edgefield face vessel to

the highest bidding price of $92,000 (Smith 2017). Two years later, Crocker Farm sold a

lot in July 2017 that contained an Edgefield face vessel dated between 1845 and 1855 and

an 1882 stereopticon image; the lot fetched a new world auction record price of

$100,300. The stereopticon image, titled “The Aesthetic Darkey” by photographer J.A.

Palmer, depicts an African American adolescent male seated at a table with a sunflower placed inside an Edgefield face vessel as if it were a vase (Crocker Farm 2017). The

Edgefield vessel that appears in the stereopticon was probably made by the same potter

who threw the vessel in the auctioned lot. Crocker Farm auctioneer Tony Zipp

commented that, unlike New York, Pennsylvania, or Maryland stonewares that are

predominately collected by those living in that region, “people from all over the country

are bidding on it [Edgefield wares]” (Smith 2017). Zipp attributed the pottery’s popularity to its “folksy” character.

In contrast, colonoware has largely disinterested antiquities collectors. I searched for colonoware with northern provenience in both online and brick-and-mortar auction houses, but did not locate any vessels. The pottery is also absent from flea markets and antique stores I have visited in Pennsylvania, New York, and Virginia, where ceramics of all kinds abound under one roof. Colonoware with southern provenience can be

264 purchased at auction, but even these are rare. The market demand for colonoware pales in

comparison to the six figure prices that Edgefield wares are valued. For example, a

colonoware vessel attributed to Native American manufacture sold by Wooten and

Wooten Auctioneers fetched just $50.00 on November 15, 2015, missing its estimated

sale mark of between $100.00 to $200.00 USD (Live Auctioneers 2015). A recent lot

consisting of six colonoware vessels was sold by Slotin Folk Art on November 11, 2017

for $9,000.00; this figure was $3,000.00 beyond the estimated sale price (Live

Auctioneers 2017). The provenance of this collection, however, is notable: it came from

the Acacia Collection, considered “one of the largest collections of African-American

arts and crafts in the south (Joseph 2007:4).

The low monetary value of colonoware relative to other kinds of pottery is

somewhat confounding given the trendiness of so called “primitive” objects in the present-date antiques market due in part to popular relic hunting television shows, like

the History channel’s American Pickers series. In Passion for Primitives , Schmidt and

Schmidt (2011) contend that renewed interest in primitive collecting arose from the

desire to get in touch with traditions and rusticity in response to the proliferation of the

cyber world. A similar movement is concurrently taking place in the food industry with

“farm-to-table” gastronomy and the popularization of homemade candles, soaps, jewelry,

and other trinkets peddled at craft fairs or digital platforms, like Etsy. According to

Schmidt and Schmidt (2011:8),

[primitives are made by] untrained artisans, unschooled by traditional education and apprenticeship processes. These objects evoke immediate and emotional reactions to their beauty. Inspired by internalized concepts of their makers, primitives range from exquisitely simple to embellished. Primitives were most often created to satisfy a utilitarian need…They are more about function than form; the art is often serendipitous. By their folk

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artistry and sculptural presence they have become respected icons of individual design ingenuity.

“Primitives” are “handmade”, “one-of-a-kind”, “speak of a rural heritage”, and “reflect

the lives and labors of people who are part of the past sinew and strength of our society”

(Schmidt and Schmidt 2011: 9, 12). By Schmidt and Schmidt’s definition, colonoware is

a “primitive.” Each vessel is one-of-a-kind, handmade by skilled, although formally

untrained, potters, many of whom lived on southern rural plantations. The pottery is

simple, but evocative of powerful memories. Colonoware was made to be used until it

wore out; not to be displayed inside cupboards, on bowl racks, or pedestalled in art

galleries. Native Americans and individuals of African descent—the people who used

colonoware—embody strength and resiliency in so many facets of their heritage. Yet,

colonoware is absent from Schmidt and Schmidt’s (2011) beautifully illustrated text.

Leland Ferguson (2011:164) remarked, “Unlike up-country stoneware, colonoware was

overlooked, then forgotten, neither found documented in archives nor for sale in antique

shops.” Colonoware was an object that comprised a landscape that was ignored by planters. The sellers and collectors I spoke with at antique shops never heard of

colomoware before. Compared to other objects, colonoware has comparatively less value

in the antiques industry despite its rarity.

Black Americana—antique objects that crudely depict blackness—have been

collected for well over a century and these objects are common fixtures in antique

emporiums (see Barton and Somerville (2015) for a thorough discussion of collecting

racialized objects). Unlike colonoware, Edgefield stoneware and Black Americana are

objects that were dictated by White people. Some of the oldest examples of these objects

might be two centuries old, yet considerable quantities survive in antique shops, flea

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markets, personal collections, and museums. In comparison, colonoware was an object produced by indigenous and African descent potters that was not commissioned by

Whites. Colonoware was largely disregarded by Whites of the past, the very people who claimed the popular paternalistic narrative of slavery (see Chapter 3) and their actions helped bury this chapter of colonoware’s story. These points illustrate the racialized collecting practices that belie the antiques industry and create bias in the kinds of objects that become collectable.

I observed other forms of object-based bias in my search for northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware. Some archaeologists I communicated with throughout the course of my research expressed skepticism about the identification of colonoware in the

American Northeast. I believe that skepticism is necessary to vet the accuracy of information; however, a small number of archaeologists dismissed the possibility that colonoware might exist in the north or that pottery collections under their purview may in fact be colonoware. This may be due in part to the paucity of research on northern colonoware, but nevertheless creates bias in object-based research. For over half of a century, historical archaeologists have operated their analyses of colonoware within a body of literature that framed knowledge surrounding the pottery around southern and

Caribbean culture. Ferguson’s (1992) landmark study—a critical investigation into colonoware—is still required reading in many historical archaeology courses. Several generations of American archaeologists have been intellectually “raised” with the assumption that colonoware is material culture endemic to only these regions. As a result, crews of field archaeologists and laboratory staff who are involved with northern archaeology projects may misidentify colonoware or related coarse earthenware as

267 prehistoric pottery, unidentified coarse earthenware, or redware. More northern

colonoware assemblages likely exist, but are packed away in storage boxes as the

unidentified “John Doe’s” of pottery.

I reflect on the mindset I maintained during my early years as a student of anthropology and how this influenced the data I was able to gather. I question how my self-consciousness, hesitation, and complaisance may have been shaped by my

“greenness” (inexperience). Graduate school is a liminal experience. Its students are held to a higher standard than undergraduates, but they have not accumulated the experience and knowledge necessary to be considered leaders in their discipline; riding this line is a balancing act for students. Based on my experience, many early-phase graduate students begin their academic program with the preconceived notion that they are expected to be authorities in their discipline; other students believe that they already are. Students create a façade that projects this identity and, in order to fill this role, are reluctant to speak up, ask for help, or admit that they are unsure. Concurrently, many students interpret the knowledge shared with them by senior colleagues, supervisors, or professors at face value. I believe I would have felt more empowered to aggressively pursue northern colonoware assemblages I had difficulty accessing had I come to terms with this mindset earlier.

My experience at Temple University is another factor that shaped the story of

northern colonoware. I chose to enroll at the university because of the Department of

Anthropology’s reputation. I observed archaeology faculty and students from Temple at

regional conferences I participated in as an undergraduate and was impressed by their poise and research. Ultimately, my doctoral research was shaped by the environment of

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the Department of Anthropology. Much of the archaeology coursework I completed at

Temple was instructed by Dr. David Orr who, at this stage in his career, was growing

increasingly introspective. I took notes in his classes on concrete content, but also

doodled his sage reflections in the margins of my notebooks. His stimulating lectures

were reflective of larger issues, not only in the discipline, but in the humanities.

I did not consider how the university’s landscape would affect my perception of graduate school and indirectly impact my doctoral research. Temple University is located in northern Philadelphia, a very different landscape than the Jersey Shore suburbs I lived in for most of my life. I perceived the campus as a concrete jungle; the color gray is ubiquitous and the campus is aesthetically drab. City rats, squirrels, and stray cats constitute campus wildlife and there is hardly any grass. I received the key to an office I shared with another archaeology graduate student when I was a Teaching Assistant, but the painted cinder block walls made the tiny space feel like a cell in a correctional facility. I attached negative associations to being on campus because it was depressing. I spent as little time as possible at the university and this placed limitations on the relationships I could build with students and faculty.

I finished my coursework with a nearly complete dissertation proposal in-hand, but I was ultimately unable to secure permission to excavate the site I had hoped to. The

Department of Anthropology was in a state of flux during this time and the archaeology professors I had worked with retired. I grew disenchanted with archaeology for a multitude of reasons, pursued a different career, and all but abandoned my role as an archaeologist. I forgot about the story of northern colonoware I began to write during my coursework; my research laid dormant for several years until my undergraduate mentor

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asked me to give a paper on the topic at a research conference. This paper ultimately

developed into a peer-reviewed book chapter and reinvigorated my interest in the topic.

Although cliché, I learned that “timing is everything” as I excavated the story of northern

colonoware. Museum Curator A, a main informant in my research, retired before the project was complete. I may have been able to obtain in-person access to other

collections if I contacted these institutions at different times. On the other hand, the

timing of my research resulted in the data I was able to procure, which is significant in its

own right. I wonder how my results might be different if I had not taken time off from

my research. I may have been able to access some of the collections that were unavailable

to me. However, I would likely have finished my dissertation earlier and would not have

had the opportunity to report on recently excavated examples of the pottery. The original project, identifying the chemical composition of samples using XRF, may have been

focal instead of peripheral. However, the changing value and meaning of the pottery, the

factors that shape how knowledge of the past is produced, the mechanisms that control

access to heritage, and bias in object-based research may not have been realized.

The nature of my employment also shaped the knowledge I procured. I have been

employed as a contingent faculty member (defined here as an adjunct, part-time lecturer,

or other non-tenure track position) by several colleges and universities over the last six

years. Contingent faculty constitute a large percentage of faculty in higher education.

Edmonds (2015) estimates that contingent faculty comprise 70% of teaching faculty on

average at American institutions.

Although the rate of pay has increased since my first appointments, it is still not

enough to make ends meet. A four or five course load distributed between multiple

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institutions during a single semester—a schedule that requires logistical gymnastics—is

hardly enough to live off of in a single payer household in New Jersey. The fact that

some institutions of higher education do not provide contingent faculty with compensated

time off (even for sick days or jury duty) or a promise of future work is deeply problematic. My employer’s Human Resources representative informed me that adjuncts

may be eligible for a paid sick day when a new law signed by Governor Murphy goes

into effect. This law would entitle part-time, contract, and per diem employees to accrued paid sick days. It became effective October 28, 2018; I concluded my research by this point.

Many contingent and full-time junior faculty obtain second shifts to supplement

income outside of academia. They bartend and wait tables; provide office support and

reception for local businesses; work as housekeeping and cleaning staff; or fill-in for full-

time faculty as substitute teachers in public schools. In dire cases, some have resorted to

living out of their car and working in the sex industry (Gee 2017). Some archaeologists

who are employed full-time in the private sector also seek second shifts to supplement

income. Burn-out rate is high amongst contingent faculty, junior full-time faculty, and junior archaeologists.

Low wage jobs (in light of holding very expensive degrees), second (or third, or

fourth) shifts, unpaid time off, and little job security are obstacles to exacting research. In

some cases, it was difficult to access Northeastern colonoware collections because I

could not take time off from work or budget for travel expenses. Although I received a

grant-in-aid, I received it at the end of my research with the expectation that I use it to

off-set employment pressure and focus on polishing this manuscript.

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My experience as a woman in archaeology is another factor that guided the story

I “excavate.” Archaeology, like many disciplines, has been historically androcentric, a fact I was oblivious to until later in graduate school (see Sansevere 2018 for a discussion of androcentrism, archaeology, and empowering women). The academic culture I was

“raised in” was male-oriented; so much of the literature I was assigned to read as an undergraduate and graduate student was written by men. All of my archaeology professors—who are great thinkers—were men. Competitive displays of masculinity were every day occurrences in many of the field projects I participated in. Who could move dirt the fastest? Who could crack the filthiest jokes? Who could find the “hottest” stuff? By the time I was twenty, I learned that the size of your “trowel”, a term sometimes used euphemistically for male anatomy, was a reflection of experience. “How could I even be in the ‘contest’ if I was not a man?” I thought. I navigated my way through school and fieldwork always a bit unsure of myself; the points I made in class were different, the way I thought about issues was different, and my research interests were different. In the field, I was meticulous, observant, and focused, not speedy. I began to perceive my differences as inadequacies and I maintained this attitude for years.

I was unsure how others in the discipline perceived me; however, in some instances it was obvious. Clancy et al. (2014) report on the prevalence of harassment and assault in scientific fieldwork settings, including archaeology. Their findings indicate that female students and junior professionals are the most targeted demographic. A majority of trainees (n=84%) surveyed by Clancy et al. (2014) reported that they had experienced harassment. Most respondents (n=72.4%) indicated that “they had directly observed or been told about the occurrence of other field site researchers and/or colleagues making

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inappropriate or sexual remarks at their most recent or most notable field site” (Clancy et

al. 2014:4). A database made public in September 2018 by Julie Libarkin, professor at

Michigan State University and head of the Geocognition Research Laboratory,

illuminates the pervasiveness of sexual misconduct specifically in academia (Partan and

Goldstone 2018). Libarkin identified over 700 convicted individuals employed in

academic settings by carefully combing through public records. Indeed, some of the

identified individuals were anthropologists. “Rates of sexual abuse and harassment in

academic science are second only to the military” and this “changes women’s career

trajectories,” according to Partan and Goldstone (2018).

Title IX is a civil rights law that “protects people from discrimination based on sex in education programs or activities that receive Federal financial assistance”

(Department of Education 2015). Schools, museums, and libraries that receive federal financial assistance are expected to comply with Title IX. Archaeologists commonly conduct research in environments clearly regulated by Title IX, but they also engage in research activities within spaces in which the applicability of Title IX is not so clear, such as in the private sector. How does Title IX function in situations where private companies, that might have education-related missions, are contracted by federal agencies? What if an employee or researcher experiences sex discrimination on a consulting project that occurs on federal land or involves federal permitting?

I opened the index to King’s (2013) Cultural Resource Laws and Practice and

searched for Title IX; I discovered that it is not listed. I called the United States

Department of Education Office of Civil Rights (OCR) hotline on September 24 and 27,

2018 to speak with a representative about Title IX’s applicability. An automated

273 recording instructed me to leave a message and stated that an OCR staff member would return my call in approximately three business days. The automated message emphasized that the office responds “to education-related civil rights issues only.” I left a message explaining that I was calling in regard to how Title IX operated in private companies that may have education missions, work with federal clients, or open their doors to researchers. It is unclear at the time of this writing how Title IX operates in these situations.

Clancy et al. (2014:4) remark that “respondents typically had limited awareness of workplace policies on mechanisms for reporting. Fewer than half of survey respondents

[n=255/666, 37.7%] recalled ever encountering a code of conduct.” They (Clancy et al.

2014:8) add, “those who had access to known reporting mechanisms may have remained hesitant to do so” out of “fear of reprisal.”

Several weeks before my defense, archaeology colleagues shared a Google Form on social media in October 2018 titled “#MeToo in Archaeology.” The document was authored by Cheslsea Fisher, Jason De Leon, Pamela Gellar, and Heather Thakar. I read the post and learned that Fisher and colleagues were organizing a #MeToo panel at the

2018 Anthropological Association Meetings and 2019 Society for American Archaeology

Meetings. They are seeking anonymous submissions that document “sexual misconduct, sexual harassment, and sexual violence directly experienced on archaeological projects and/or within the archaeological community.” The document allows users to upload a five to ten minute narrative. Fisher and colleagues

believe it is time to bring this conversation to archaeology. Archaeology has for far too long offered safe harbor to perpetrators of sexual harassment and violence; this has long been known anecdotally and has been confirmed in recent years by more systematic research. Perpetrators

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of sexual violence in archaeology may rely on positions of power and authority to harass and otherwise attack students and colleagues – and too often these situations are exacerbated by fieldwork settings, where social expectations may feel lax, murky, or seemingly removed from the norms of the ‘real world.’

The panel plans to read select stories out loud during the conferences. Their aim is to

“claim a space for conversations about sexual violence and pushes our discipline to confront the work we need to do to make archaeology a more intersectional and feminist field.” The “excavation” of sexual misconduct is a very recent trend in North American archaeology.

Some male colleagues made unwanted inappropriate remarks or came onto me throughout my career and in my search for northern colonoware; these are absent from the vignettes told in the previous chapters. I believe that my gendered experience in archaeology shaped the information I was able to—and not able to—obtain for my doctoral research. I might have been able to procure more data about northern colonoware, but chose not to in order to minimize interaction with some individuals. The male hegemony inherent in archaeology shaped my own access to assemblages and slowed the momentum of my research. My experience exemplifies the challenges women

(and men) face within the sciences and how these obstacles constrain the production of knowledge within disparate disciplines.

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Chapter Summary

Archaeologists conventionally value artifacts for their ability to provide information about the past. In this chapter, I demonstrated how northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware, during the “early years” of its social life, illuminates activities

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that occurred centuries ago. A number of individuals who occupied northern sites that

contained the pottery are affiliated with the West Indies and this supports the inference

that some non-indigenous produced northern colonoware and/or related may have a

Caribbean origin. Although the sample size was small (consisting of two sherds and two

vessels) and testing conditions were not without challenges, preliminary portable XRF

test results identified two unique groups based on chemical composition. The data may

reflect two origins of the pottery: one that was locally-produced and another that was produced in the West Indies (possibly Nevis). Visual comparisons of the tested vessels

with examples from other regions support this inference. Other origins may be identified

if more northern assemblages are tested.

It is unclear how the non-indigenous produced pottery traveled to the Northeast, but limited ethnohistorical and historical documents indicate several possibilities.

Manumitted individuals, fleeing migrants, or enslaved individuals who arrived at

northern ports may have carried it with them. Merchants and traders who conducted

transactions in the Caribbean may have acquired it from Afro-Caribbean potters and took

the pottery on the voyage home for personal use or issued it to laborers as compensation.

Colonoware and related coarse earthenware may have been part of the New York City

market landscape, but this inference is only supported by circumstantial evidence.

I look deeply into the pottery and speculate that it contained significant meaning

for those who used it in the past. Northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware

was a multivalent object. Some intact indigenous-produced northern colonoware is found

in burials; the recovery of the pottery in Native American graves might reflect its value as

a status item. However, most northern colonoware is recovered in small or fragmentary

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quantities and this observation may be a clue to understanding how other groups valued

it. Vessel fragments may have possessed importance in their own right and may have been appropriated as objects that aided in traditional African spiritual practices. Family members’ belongings were valued by Africans and African Americans and these objects were customarily distributed to the decedent’s kin. Vessels, or even fragments of a vessel, may have been powerful objects that reminded individuals of family and heritage within the context of slavery which often severed kin ties. They were a talking piece to build a narrative of both personal and collective history. Colonoware and other coarse earthenware with northern provenience were, in the words of Boym (2001:xviii),

“fragments of nostalgia” that contained memories of important people, events, and heritage. Vessels, or vessel sherds, whether brought up from a plantation or acquired by market purchase, possessed deep meaning. These vessels are taken out of its original utilitarian context and transformed into an object that, literally, jars the memory.

I take a nontraditional approach in the second part of this chapter and model a different way that archaeologists can value artifacts: for their ability to shed light onto the present. My experience accessing northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware assemblages has illuminated some of the biases in object-based studies. The timing of research, the environment in which the researcher lives, as well as the researcher’s mindset, training level, and gender can directly or indirectly affect research. A study by

Clancy et al. (2014) on sexual harassment and assault in the field of archaeology and other social sciences highlights the challenges that women (and men) face that create barriers to knowledge.

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My professional network, education level, and credentials played a role in

accessing the northern assemblages I discuss in the previous two chapters. Few

collections have been publically displayed in northern exhibits or published in popular

literature. The pottery symbolizes heritage and the personal and collective memories of

Native American and African descent individuals, yet knowledge of these objects, with few exceptions, has been unwittingly limited to a small group of White archaeologists.

Many of these archaeologists recognize the pottery’s value to the discipline, but, due to constraints of the industry, did not have the time or resources to disseminate knowledge of these objects. However, without their dedication to the field, and the efforts of collectors who valued the vessels in personal collections, the story of Northeastern colonoware and related course earthenware may not exist.

Recently auctioned colonoware has sold below its estimated sale price; the pottery holds little value in the current antiques market despite its rarity. However, Edgefield stoneware, a kind of pottery formed by enslaved individuals under White supervision in the American Southeast, has fetched record-breaking prices. Edgefield stoneware was made by Black potters and this is realized in the antiques industry, but the fact that many of these potters were enslaved and potted the vessels under White surveillance is edited out. Ultimately, certain aspects of an object’s social life are chosen to represent its meaning and legacy. The fact that colonoware was potted by individuals of African and indigenous descent, many of whom were enslaved, is partly what makes colonoware

colonoware , but the pottery has all but been erased from antiques markets, perhaps because the vessels were created without White supervision and were disregarded by planters.

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“Responsible” journalism “informs society about itself and makes public that

which otherwise would be private” (see Chapter 4; Harcup 2014:3), but what of a

“responsible” archaeology? Connecting people with heritage should be part and parcel of

this. However, the nature of the industry of archaeology—from company policies,

contractual agreements, collections rehousing efforts, gendered experiences, burdensome

workloads, and lack of resources—constrains the scope of knowledge that can be

disseminated to the public. “Excavating” heritage involves “deep digging” that extends beyond the removal of sediment from archaeological sites; in many cases, heritage work begins where technical reports end. More stories remain to be told about other silenced

artifacts, if we are able to dig deep enough and “excavate” their meaning.

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CHAPTER 7

CONCLUSION

I’m not spilling my guts about everything I’ve seen, learned and done…I’d still like to be a chef, too, when this thing comes out, as this life is the only life I really know.

-Anthony Bourdain, in Kitchen Confidential (2000:3)

People have many different biographies and so too do the objects they make;

earth-toned colonoware pottery is no exception. Although scholars have engaged

colonoware for nearly sixty years, comparatively more attention has been devoted to

understanding “white” pottery types, like porcelain, whiteware, creamware, pearlware,

ironstone, and European smoking pipes. These are white in color (white pastes, colored

decoration offset by a white or light-colored background) and were historically used by predominately White people who could access expensive pottery. Publications on white pottery tend to be lengthy and detailed, no doubt a result of bountiful historical records

and decades of devoted scholarship printed by marquis publishers. Many books on white pottery are beautifully published with glossy full-colored images worthy of coffee table

display. Unlike colonoware, white pottery is recognized and known outside of

archaeology and the academy; it is collected by older generations who have the time,

resources, space, and desire to curate personal collections from department stores, antique

shops, auctions, and estate sales. These are commonly displayed inside the home, perched

high on shelves or behind glass in china closets or curio cabinets. This fascination with

white pottery is an “obsession” (De Waal 2015).

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The story of colonoware—from the object’s production, the people who

historically used the pottery, and the contemporary cultural system in which it exists

now—is less accessible, arguably more complicated, but in ways far more interesting.

Colonoware is distinct from white pottery both visually and socially; its earth-tone body potted by Native Americans, Africans, and African Americans, many of whom were

enslaved. Traditionally, colonoware has been defined as a low-fired coarse earthenware

manufactured using hand-built traditional construction techniques and shaped into vessels

evocative of African or European forms used for cooking, serving, and storage (Deetz

1993:80; Espenshade and Kennedy 2002:210; Madsen 2005:106; Singleton 1995:132).

The pottery may be tempered with sand, grit, or shell visible to the naked eye (Deetz

1999; Galke 2009:304). Vessels may be given a burnished surface treatment and

decoration may be incised, impressed, or applied (Cathcart 2009; Egloff and Potter 1982;

Singleton 1995:132). An extensive literature review (see Chapter 2) demonstrated how

colonoware’s complex potting tradition eludes classification systems that have helped

archaeologists organize other kinds of pottery. A variety of terms have been used by

archaeologists, predominately those working in the Caribbean, to refer to colonoware

which can easily confuse readers of colonoware scholarship. In Chapter 2, I created

useful tables that organize colonoware attribute data by region; these depict how each

region expressed colonoware differently in terms of manufacture, temper, form, surface

treatment, and decoration.

The examination of colonoware was among the first professional publications in the burgeoning discipline of Historical Archaeology during the early 1960s. Historical archaeologists have engaged in nearly sixty years of colonoware scholarship since its

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identification by Noël Hume (1962) at Colonial Williamsburg. Scholars have studied

colonoware’s intersection with classic topics in anthropology, like traditional rituals,

gender, ethnicity, symbolism, foodways, production, economy, and trade. Previous

studies further our understanding of the pottery and the people who used these vessels;

however, these have been historically framed around southern and Caribbean culture

where archaeologists encounter the pottery in robust quantities at archaeological sites.

For example, 59,000 sherds were identified at the Dean Hall rice plantation in Berkeley

County, South Carolina (Agha et al. 2012:3, 29). There is a remarkable absence of

American Northeast colonoware within the body of colonoware literature that extends beyond fifty years. At the most basic level, the research presented in this dissertation

documents colonoware—a kind of pottery long-believed to be strictly southern and

Caribbean material culture—on archaeological sites located in the American Northeast.

Gigantino (2015:4) notes that “the growth of freedom” prevails in the narrative of

northern slavery; indeed, this was the story that was taught to me in school. I have lived

in the American Northeast my entire life. The truth that Whites kept forced laborers on

northern farms and plantations under brutal conditions—a fact I did not learn until my

last year of college—is not widely known by the public. The body of literature on

southern and Caribbean labor and race studies is more robust and more easily accessible.

In my personal experience visiting historic sites in the lower Middle Atlantic and

American Southeast, I observed that slavery and its material relics are acknowledged,

discussed, and displayed. Research on northern slavery is slender and there are

comparatively few exhibits that engage the public in conversations about forced labor.

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That slavery occurred in the north on any scale escapes the reality of many Americans,

including those who were raised in the region.

In Chapter 3, I pair the slender historic record with archaeological data to dismantle the popular paternalistic narrative of northern slavery. My research lifts a veil that shrouded a reality : northern White European-Americans played a significant role in the oppression, forced relocation, and enslavement of indigenous and African-descent individuals. I draw on archaeological and historical evidence to create a realistic composite of the conditions endured by both free and enslaved Native American, African, and African American laborers. Northern masters lived and worked alongside slaves and often shared quarters with them; bondsmen were never far from surveilling eyes (Fitts

1996). Servants and free laborers hardly felt reprieve from brutal punishments, prejudiced codes, and harsh treatment. In comparison, southern masters quartered slaves in separate structures (Upton 1984). The organization of southern plantation landscapes produces discrete cultural deposits that can be more easily attributed to master or slave in comparison to the often co-mingled master and slave deposits encountered by northern archaeologists. The archaeological signatures of northern sites occupied by bondsmen are more difficult to detect. The relatively low archaeological visibility of these populations paired with a slim historic record compiled by Whites who deceived assessors to skirt

around labor regulations rendered a once highly visible segment of the population

invisible. Credit is due to recent and valuable contributions that have illuminated the lives

of these individuals (e.g., Gall and Veit 2017; Matthews and McGovern 2015).

The research paper I wrote for my pottery class in 2011 was the foundation of this

dissertation; in it, I identified several sites that contained colonoware, but also wondered

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how many other collections might exist. You have to ask questions if you want to get to

the story, and sometimes the best stories start with simple questions. “So, where is the

colonoware?” I kept asking. I set out to visit as many collections as possible, record

vessel attributes, and perform XRF testing to determine where clays used to pot

colonoware encountered in the north were sourced from. I was chasing phantoms—the

ghosts of northern colonoware—for years. I heard rumors of colonoware at sites and

stories about unpublished colonoware finds that existed in the memories of colleagues

whose resumes are longer than mine. I read gray literature reports of northern

colonoware, many written by authors who are long gone. I documented 25 assemblages

of northern colonoware and related coarse earthenware, but by the end of my research I

could only access eight for interesting reasons.

Anthropologists view culture as something that is learned and shared, not

something we are innately born with. Becoming an anthropologist, in my case an

archaeologist, is also a process that is learned and shared; it is an identity cultivated by being taught what to do, observing colleagues, and emulating norms and other “good” behaviors in the discipline. During my journey to becoming an archaeologist, I had

defined criteria for what I believed an archaeologist should be: knowledgeable of all

things archaeology, a fast digger, physically strong, unwittingly snobby, a “good”

drinker, and a rugged Davy Crocket-type persona. I like to think that I am knowledgeable

about (almost) all things colonoware, but I will be the first to admit that I am not an

archaeology know-it-all. Needless to say, not many of the other qualities I believed made

a good archaeologist applied to me either. The drinking culture within archaeology and

other disciplines is particularly marginalizing to “pregnant archaeologists, people whose

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religious beliefs prohibit alcohol consumption, people in recovery, or people who simply

don’t want to be around heavy drinking” (Miller 2018). In Archaeologist Bill White’s

(2017) experience, “many of us believe if you don’t hang it proves you can’t hang. And,

if you can’t hang, you’re not worth knowing.” White continues, “Maybe non-drinkers just have to hangout and act like they’re drinking in order to make those valuable professional connections.” In retrospect, I wonder how my research sample size for this dissertation would have been different if I hung out at the bar a bit more after archaeology conferences.

I also formulated preconceived notions of the kinds of elements that make for an acceptable archaeology dissertation: allied with harder sciences, faithfulness to popular traditions in the discipline, and an unclear feeling of needing to stay within some kind of boundary. I had nothing of real value to say about colonoware within the confines I believed I had to operate in.

I saw that a story worth telling lay somewhere else; I surfed the boundaries of archaeology, anthropology, history, and journalism to uncover it. The stories of past peoples’ lives—many of whom were enslaved or marginalized laborers—are vitrified in

American Northeast colonoware and this research furthers our understanding of the world in which they lived. In the American Southeast and Caribbean, colonoware tells a story that reflects cultural patterns different from those evinced by the historical, regional, and cultural contexts in the American Northeast. One of the most striking differences is that northern colonoware assemblages consist of small quantities of vessels or vessel fragments. A second difference is how indigenous groups appropriated the pottery; in the south, indigenous potters produced the ware for sale to White colonists, but there is no

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evidence to support this in the north. Galke’s (2009) study of nineteenth century

colonoware from Manassas, Virginia, revealed how colonoware was stigmatized in that

region and that Chesapeake free Blacks exercised freedom of choice by not using the pottery. My data indicate a third distinction: that freedmen used colonoware in the

American Northeast during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and this suggests that

the pottery took on different meaning here. Furthermore, the recognition of colonoware at

several northern rural farmsteads aids in the identification of undocumented enslaved

individuals at sites that otherwise lack clear-cut historical or material evidence of bondsmen. The identities of others who came in contact with the pottery are better

known. Many northern masters, freedmen, and slaves I discuss in Chapters 4 and 5

worked in the Caribbean by choice or coercion. Furthermore, many northern colonowares

resemble Caribbean examples. Preliminary XRF data suggest that some clays used in the

manufacture of northern colonoware may have originated from the Caribbean.

Colonoware manufacturing sites have not been identified in the north to date. These

observations beckon whether some northern colonoware may have originated from

Caribbean islands and traveled northward in the hands of those who used it.

Ethnographic, ethnohistorical, archaeological, and historical resources are the

tools I use to dig even deeper into Northeastern colonoware to “excavate” its semiotics.

Although speculative, I propose that Northeastern colonoware contained meaning to

those who used it in the past and that those who used the pottery did so in ways

significant to them. Colonoware sherds, as opposed to intact vessels, may have served

spiritual needs or appropriated by people of the past as a memento or kind of heirloom

object. Northern colonoware was, what Turkle (2007) would call, an evocative object.

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Feelings of “home”, “family” (both extant and deceased), and “heritage” were reflected

onto the pottery within the violent institution of slavery that fragmented families on

auction blocks. It is ironic that an object that once contained significant value, so

resonant with meaning, is veritably valueless and all but purged from the contemporary

antiques market. Collectors favor “white” pottery instead. Black Americana and

Edgefield stoneware—objects historically produced under White supervision—are in

vogue and fetch record prices, a symptom of the racialized collecting practices that belie

the antiques industry.

Colonoware is an object that also reveals issues pertaining to the profession of

archaeology, contemporary museum practices, and the politics at play. My research

closely examines how knowledge of the past is produced. I use anecdotal information in proprietary reports—a data source seldom tapped into by archaeologists—to reveal events that led to the discovery of northern colonoware. My findings suggest that most northern colonoware was recovered by archaeologists contracted by clients in compliance with historic preservation regulations. Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation

Act (1966) requires agencies to “‘take into account’ the effects of their actions on

‘districts, sites, buildings, structures and objects included in or eligible for inclusion in the National Register [of Historic Places]’” (King 2013:105). Often, archaeologists survey for cultural resources prior to planned activities that involve federal permits, occur on federally-owned land, or are federally financed (for an overview, see King 2013:105-

208). Other assemblages were salvaged by archaeologists who volunteered weekends and holidays to excavate sites threatened by urbanization, but out of the law’s jurisdiction.

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In light of my efforts to document northern colonoware, the recovery of the pottery in the north is still somewhat uncommon in comparison to its recovery in the

American Southeast and Caribbean. Some archaeologists, including myself, have come to

think of northern colonoware assemblages and the sites they were identified at as special

or sacred. Parking garages, highways, residential neighborhoods, bridge abutments, and power generation plants—not monuments or interpretive signs—now stand on top of the

locations where northern colonoware was found. Few assemblages have been displayed

in exhibits. In comparison, more colonoware assemblages recovered from the American

Southeast and Caribbean were recovered from historic landscapes that remain partially or

fully intact; in other words, historic components of landscapes where colonoware was

identified may be extant above and/or below ground. Furthermore, these sites are more

commonly commemorated with interpretive signs. Colonoware assemblages from these

regions are more frequently exhibited in museums and accessible to the public. My hope

is that the information presented in this dissertation provokes thought about how

compliance-discovered sites, especially those that contribute to our knowledge of race,

should be conveyed to the public.

My own experience accessing collections and the kinds of interactions I had with

individuals who have a stake in the story I “excavate” were also important lines of

evidence that illuminated contemporary issues in the discipline. Perhaps in some ways,

this dissertation is like the Kitchen Confidential (Bourdain 2000) of archaeology.

Bourdain gives readers a straight cut view of what happens inside restaurant kitchens, a

steep departure from what the public’s perception is. “The restaurant lifers who read this

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may or may not like what I’m doing. But they’ll know I’m not lying,” Bourdain (2000:4)

writes. “It’s all here: the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

I have written about the public’s perception of archaeology elsewhere (see

Sansevere 2018). I observed and experienced the realities of my profession, or what I call

“behind the scenes” archaeology, and wrote about only some of them within the pages of

this dissertation. In fact, ethical and legal concerns, as well as concerns regarding how the

original manuscript might affect my future employment, arose during the writing process.

I omitted and disguised some of the information I gathered to mitigate these concerns to

the greatest extent possible. What I witnessed—much of which is discussed in this

dissertation, some of which is not—controls access to heritage, shapes how knowledge of

the past is produced, and illuminates the bias in object-based research. Like Bourdain

(2000:3), “I’m not spilling my guts about everything I’ve seen, learned and done” because I still want to be an archaeologist “when this thing comes out, as this life is the only life I really know.”

There are discoveries to be made when you open the door to a Manhattan kitchen, like drug use, unsanitary meat handling practices, and why you should only order seafood on certain days of the week. Archaeology has its own unsavory bits. In ways, my research into Northeastern colonoware “excavates” the discipline of archaeology. The belief that a researcher will receive easy access to all of the objects within the scope of their research is unrealistic; this is a general problem within the discipline and my experience researching northern colonoware is a platform to explore this issue. To some extent, I would have encountered similar problems accessing any other kind of artifact. In other

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cases, I believe that the very artifact I wished to access—colonoware—was the very

reason I did not receive access.

So much of northern colonoware, an object that symbolizes the heritage of one of

the most visible, yet silenced segments of society, is virtually off-limits and unknown to

the public. Collections are stored in cardboard boxes inside rooms with water leaks,

alongside ladybug shells, or safeguarded and kept under lock and key. Other collections

now only exist in the memories of colleagues or are documented within a few pages of

gray literature. Northern colonoware is accessible in few cases and I believe that my

credentials and professional network influenced my access to those collections. My

research demonstrates how archaeologies of historically marginalized individuals are, in

many cases, privileged to regional archaeologists who are overwhelmingly White, male,

and hold advanced degrees.

Ignored research inquiries are expected to some extent in object-based research.

Some colonoware collections were difficult to access because museum staff did not respond to research inquiries (possibly due to heavy workloads). When paired with the burdensome workloads that are endemic to the discipline, there is little time for tending to less pertinent tasks, like e-mail correspondence. In other cases, the circumstances surrounding my own employment constrained the knowledge created about Northeastern colonoware. Unsteady work and low wages hardly cover the loans most students need to take out to become an archaeologist and it may not be enough to support a modest standard of living in a single-payer household. These ingredients form a recipe for high attrition rates within the discipline and those who stay often need to pick up a part-time

290 job to supplement income. Working multiple jobs with little or no paid time off are

obstacles that place limitations on exacting research.

I discuss some examples regarding how my gender impacted the information I was (not) able to gather. American Archaeology now operates within a post #MeToo context. If you are reading this and are thinking #MeToo, my advice to you is this: speak up and write about your experience. Archaeology needs to advocate for people of the present, not just the past, and the industry—from national organizations, institutions of education, museums, to mom-and-pop cultural resource management firms—must change the swept-under-the-rug approach to misconduct. It is more than timely that the

American Anthropological Association (AAA) issued a comprehensive policy on sexual harassment and assault on June 15, 2018 (American Anthropological Association 2018), the same day that I was drafting the words for this final chapter. Some “Changes in

Practice” suggested by the AAA include, “incorporate[ing] discussions of sexual misconduct as part of methods and ethics training in the discipline” and “create[ing] and enforce[ing] field-site specific codes of conduct.” I sincerely hope that this dissertation provokes more conversation on ethical conduct in archaeology.

Upgrades to museum storage facilities also rendered objects unavailable, as did agency and company policies and contracts between corporate archaeologists and clients that stipulated that objects may not be reported on by outside researchers. In other cases, the pottery was repatriated to indigenous tribes or lost. Finally, I consider the mindset I maintained at the onset of my research several years ago that was wrought with uncertainty, hesitation, and preconceived notions about archaeology and the kinds of revelations I made that shifted my attitude. My perception of my project and the

291

discipline of North American Archaeology changed over the course of my doctoral

research and I believe graduate students of diverse disciplines will find my experience

relevant. My hope is that this dissertation empowers other doctoral students to wade

through their research, overcome personal and professional challenges, and finish a

dissertation, even in times of crisis! As the saying goes, “A good dissertation is a done

dissertation. A great dissertation is a published dissertation. A perfect dissertation is

neither.”

Historical archaeologists commonly engage with issues of colonialism,

oppression, silences, ethnicity, labor, power, and gender. Archaeologist Becky Yamin

(2008:3) reminds us that “we discover what we know and, even more important, what we

don’t know,” when we build stories. This “leads to more questions, questions we

otherwise wouldn’t have even thought to ask.” The Story of Northeastern Colonoware

gives pause and asks us to consider a question: To what extent do the same kinds of

dispossessions and disenfranchisements that we search for archaeologically exist in the

very structure of the discipline? An implication of my research is that the kinds of

questions we can ask of the past—and the answers we receive—reflect structures of power that greatly limit the potential of archaeological research. In essence, the past is a

space that is still actively controlled. In the words of George Orwell (1949:39-40), “who

controls the past controls the future, who controls the present controls the past.”

292

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APPENDIX A X-RAY FLUORESCENCE DATA: LONG HILL SITE MUG

Location of X-ray Fluorescence Test Sites

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Test Site 1 Spectra

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Test Site 2 Spectra

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Test Site 3 Spectra

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Test Site 4 Spectra

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Test Site 5 Spectra

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APPENDIX B X-RAY FLUORESCENCE DATA: CONNECTICUT RIVER VALLEY BOWL

Location of X-ray Fluorescence Test Sites

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Elements Present in Connecticut River Valley Bowl. Concentrations in ppm.

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APPENDIX C X-RAY FLUORESCNECE DATA: BREARLEY HOUSE SHERDS

Location of X-ray Fluorescence Test Site

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Elements Present in Brearley House Sherds. Concentrations in ppm.

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