2001, 35

THEJOURNAL OF THE SOCIETY FOR
Historical Archaeology
VOLUME 35/ NUMBER 4
The Society for Historical Archaeology
OFFICERS
DOUGLAS V.ARMSTRONG, Syracuse University
SUSAN L. HENRY RENAUD, National Park Service
VERGIL E. NOBLE, National Park Service
STEPHANIE HOLSCHLAG RODEFFER, National Park Service
RONALD L. MICHAEL, California University ofPennsylvania
NORMAN F. BARKA, College of William and Mary
TONI L. CARRELL, Advisory Council on Underwater Archaeology
DIRECTORS
1999-2001 Lu ANN DECUNZO, University ofDelaware 2000-2002
1999-2001 LARRY MCKEE, The Hermitage 2001-2003
2000-2002 WILLIAM Moss, Ville de Quebec 2000-2003
EDITORIAL STAFF
RONALD L. MICHAEL, California University of Pennsylvania, California, PA 15419
Past Forward, Richmond, CA 94803
CHARLES R. EWEN, East Carolina University, Greenville, NC 27858
GLENN 1.FARRIS, Department of Parks and Recreation, Sacramento, CA 95816
DONALD L. HARDESTY, University of Nevada-Reno, Reno, NY 89557
JULIA A KING, Jefferson Patterson Park and Museum, SI. Leonard, MD 20685
DENISE C. LAKEY, Ships of Discovery, Corpus Christi, TX 78301
WILLIAM B. LEES, Oklahoma Hisitorical Society, Oklahoma City, OK 73105
TERESITA MAJEWSKI, Statistical Research, Inc. Tucson, AZ 85751
IAN RODERICK MATHER, University of Rhode Island, Kingston, RI 02881
DANIEL G. ROBERTS, John Milner Associates, Inc., West Chester, PA 19380
JUDY D. TORDOFF, California Department of Transportation, Sacramento, CA 95825
WILLIAM A. TURNBAUGH, University of Rhode Island, Kingston, RI 02881
Lou ANN WURST, SUNY-Brockport, Brockport, NY 14420
ANNALIES CORBIN, the PAS.T. Foundation, Columbus, OH 43220
President
Past President
President Elect
Secretary-Treasurer
Editor
Newsletter Editor
Chairperson
DIANA WALL, City College ofNew York
JUDITH A. BENSE, University of West Florida
MICHAEL POLK, Sagebrush Consultants
Editor
Associate Editor
Associate Editor
Associate Editor
Associate Editor
Associate Editor
Underwater Archaeology Associate Editor
Memorials Editor
Associate Editor
Associate Editor
Associate Editor
Associate Editor
Associate Editor
Associate Editor
Reviews Editor
EDITORIAL ADVISORY COMMITIEE
RONALD L. MICHAEL, CaliforniaUniversityof Pennsylvania, Chairperson
REBECCA ALLEN, Past Forward
JAMES E. AYRES, University of Arizona
JAN M. BAART, Archaeological Research Division. Amsterdam
DAVID V. BURLEY, Simon Fraser University
ANNALIES CORBIN, the P.A.S.T. Foundation
JULIA G. COSTELLO, University of California, Santa Barbara
SUSANNAH L. DEAN, National Park Service
CHARLES EWEN, East Carolina University
GLENN 1. FARRIS, California Department of Parks and Recreation
PATRICIA FOURNIER, National School ofAntluupology & History, Mexico
DONALD L. HARDESTY, University of Nevada-Reno
MATTHEW H. JOHNSON, University of Durham
JULIA A. KING, Jefferson Patterson Park and Museum
DENISE C. LAKEY, Ships of Discovery
Historical Archaeology is published quarterly by The Society
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TERESITA MAJEWSKI, Statistical Research, Inc.
IAN RODERICK MATHER, University of Rhode Island
VERGIL E. NOBLE, National Park Service
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DANIEL G. ROBERTS, John Milner Associates, Inc.
ROBERT L. SCHUYLER, University of Pennsylvania
DONNA 1. SEIFERT, John Milner Associates, Inc.
RODERICK SPRAGUE, South Fork Press
JUDY D. TORDOFF, California Department of Transportation
SARAH PEABODY TURNBAUGH, Museum of Primitive Culture
WILLIAM A. TURNBAUGH, University of Rhode Island
GREGORY A WASELKOV, University of South Alabama
Lou ANN WURST, SUNY-Brockport
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the Reviews Editor, Annalies Corbin, the PA.S.T. Foundation,
4326 Lyon Drive, Columbus, OH 4322b
Historical
Archaeology
Volume 35, Number 4 2001
Journal of The
Society for Historical Archaeology
RONALD L. MICHAEL, Editor
Anthropology Section
California University of Pennsylvania
California, Pennsylvania 15419
Published by
THE SOCIETY FOR HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY
HISTORICALARCHAEOLOGY IS INDEXED IN THE FOLLOWING PUBLICATIONS: ABSTRACTSOFANTHROPOLOGY;
AMERICAN HISTORY AND LIFE; ANTHROPOLOGICAL LITERATURE; ART AND ARCHAEOLOGY TECHNICAL
ABSTRACTS; ARTS AND HUMANITIES INDEX; BRITISH ARCHAEOLOGICAL ABSTRACTS; CURRENT
CONTENTs/ARTS AND HUMANITIES; HISTORICAL ABSTRACTS; HUMANITIES INDEX; AND INTERNATIONAL
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE SOCIAL SCIENCES.
Composition by
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2001 by The Society for Historical Archaeology
Printed in the United States of America
ISSN 0440-9213
@The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American
National Standard for Information Sciences-Permanence of Paper for Printed Library
Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984.
Contents
J. C. HARRINGTON AWARD 2001: ROBERTA S. GREENWOOD
CAROL v. RUPPE DISTINGUISHED SERVICE AWARD: I\JORMAN F. BARKA 4
ARTICLES 8
A Conversation with Edward 8. Jelks
ROBERT L. SCHUYLER
8
Linking Artifact Assemblages to Household Cycles: An Example from the Gibbs Site
MARK D. GROOVER
38
French Beads in France and Northeastern North America During the Sixteenth Century
LAURIER TURGEON
58
Delaware Archaeology and the Revolutionary Eighteenth Century
JOHN BEDELL
83
The Archaeology of Military Politics: The Case of Castle Clinton
WILLIAM A. GRISWOLD
105
REVIEWS
EDITED BY VERGIL E. NOBLE
118
Tapping the Data-Rich Resources of Quebec City Archaeology: Recent Research Reports ofCELAT 118
Leclerc: Appropriation de liespace et urbanisation diun site de la basse ville de QuEbec:
Rapport de la premilire campagne defouilles t liCElotHunt (1991)
119
L'Anglais: Le site de liCElotHunt: Rapport de la deuxikme camtgne defouilles (1992) 120
Goyette: Des vestiges diune arrilire-cour t lihistoire de lihygiline publique t QuEbec au XIX siEc/e.
la troisilime campcgne de fouil/les archliokgiques t uou Hunt
121
Bouchard: ... tude socio-Economique des habitants de uou Hunt diaj/is la collection alchEolcgique, 1850fi1900:
cinquilime campcgne de fouilles archliolcgiques
122
Boucher: Les habitudes alimentaires des habitants de uot Hunt (CeEt-110) de 1850 t 1900:
Etude alchEozoolcgique
ALARIC FAULKNER
123
Egan and Michael: Old and New Worlds
STEVENR. PENDERY
125
Baram and Carroll: A Historical Archaeology ofthe Ottoman Empire: Breaking New Ground
P. NICK KARDULIAS
126
Lawrence: Dollyis Creek: An Archaeology ofa Victorian Gold elds Community
KELLY J. DIXON
128
Nassaney and Johnson: 1nterpretations ofNative North American Life:
PAUL R. PICHA
Material Contributions to Ethnohistory 129
Scott, Willey, and Connor: They Died with Custer:
NORMAN J. SAUER
Soldiersi Bones from the Battle ofthe Little Bighorn 130
Franklin and Fesler:
J. W. JOSEPH
Historical Archaeology, Identity Formation and the Interpretation ofEthnicity 131
Metz, Jones, Pickett and Muraca:
MARSHALL JOSEPH BECKER
iUpon the P alisadoi and Other Stories ofPlace fr om Bruton Heights 133
Peter, Prior, Green, and Clow: Freedmanis Cemetery: A Legacy ofa Pioneer Black Community in Dallas, Texas
BONNIE GUMS
134
STYLE GUIDE
The Society for Historical Archaeology Style Guide
136
J. C. Harrington Medal in Historical Archaeology
Roberta S. Greenwood 2001
I am pleased and honored to present just a little of the justification for the presentation of the 1.
C. Harrington Medal to Roberta S. Greenwood. Hard work, professional contributions, and sheer
longevity are the usual criteria for this award, but in this case you must also add educator and
advocate. Bobby was and is a teacher. I do not use the word in the formal academic sense, but
more from a personal perspective. When I first went to work for Bobby in 1974, I did not realize
that my fellow workers and I had become enrolled in the University of Greenwood. We were
introduced to the Ventura Mission site, given background and objectives, instructed, and deployed.
While we worked there was always her presence on the site, unhurried but purposeful. She would
walk among the units, features, wash racks, and laboratory, giving explanation and direction to
the tasks at hand. Discussions on the site were encouraged. You felt empowered after speaking
with her. She paid attention and most importantly, you knew it. Looking back on that initial
experience I realize how lucky we were.
She gave us the framework to do good work and perhaps more importantly, the challenge and
ability to think critically about what we were doing and the endless horizons that such thinking
Historical Archaeology. 2001. 35(4):1-3.
Permission to reprint required.
2 HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY 35(4)
could open for us. She has always remained responsive to requests for instruction whether from
scouts or as guest lecturer at many universities.
Bobby learned to shovel while growing up in Massachusetts. She was already a writer-editor of
her high school paper, regional editor for a horse magazine, a college editor of Mademoiselle, and
an author of prize-winning short fiction. She learned to wear jeans while majoring in economics at
Wellesley College. Completing her degree early, she enrolled at Boston University in the field of
public administration, and went to work at the Research Center for Group Dynamics at MIT. After
moving to Los Angeles in 1948, she spent two years at the Haynes Foundation researching and
writing a history of organized labor. All very formative, but still not an archaeologist.
While on leave to raise two daughters, she pursued a youthful interest in Egyptian art and history
by enrolling in an evening extension course on Old World culture history at UCLA with Clem
Meighan. Her term paper for this course was published in Archaeology magazine, and she went
back to graduate school in archaeology. The rest is history. In her second year, Dr. Meighan
suggested that she take temporary leave from the PhD. program to assume direction of the Browne
Site, subsequently published in 1969 as SAA Memoir, No. 23," The Browne Site: Early Milling
Stone Horizon in Southern California." She then excavated a coastal village in Ventura where
Cabrillo landed in 1542, and after this, she directed the work at Diablo Canyon that established
a chronology for the central coast of California (9000 Years of Prehistory at Diablo Canyon,
San Luis Obispo County, California,1972), and designed and installed an interpretive exhibit at
the PG&E Visitor Center. From there she went to important work on the Channel Islands for
the National Park Service that foreshadowed many prevailing theories. She was an innovator in
promoting otolith analysis, standardizing volumetric reporting of shellfish remains, identification
of wear patterns on ground stone, and was using a power shaker and wash racks with pressure
regulators and attached hot shower 40 years ago. She could always figure out a way to get things
done even before cell phones and digital everything.
She never made it back to school. As her work was increasingly recognized, the state selected
her to try to find a long-lost outpost of Ventura Mission, located anywhere along a stretch
of proposed new highway. And she did (The Chapel of Santa Gertrudis, 1968, Pacific Coast
Archaeological Society 4[4]: 1-59). This was her first published contribution in historical
archaeology, although it should be said that the associated Native American remains were given
the same attention as historical materials had been given in her prehistoric excavations. During
the 1970s between field surveys and research studies, she undertook two summers of work at the
first location of Ventura Mission (3500 Years on One City Block, 1975 and The Changing Faces
of Main Street, 1976, both published by the Ventura Redevelopment Agency). This was also
her first encounter with a Chinese collection, experience enhanced by studies in El Paso, Napa,
San Diego, Phoenix, San Luis Obispo, Los Angeles, and remote areas of China itself. Other
important fieldwork, historical research, and laboratory analyses were carried on at the Warm
Springs Dam, New Melones Lake project, Prado Basin, and the Eastside Reservoir, each a broad
federal undertaking with a commitment over several years. She has always emphasized the
multi-disciplinary aspect of archaeology, and was applying NAA and XRF assays to ceramics
from adobe sites, 20 years ago.
I think what differentiates Bobby from many others is that she applies her boundless curiosity
and persistence in research without bias. She extracts the maximum information from an antique
Chinese porcelain, the Mexican pottery from the first Ortega chili factory, or the divided plate
from a 20th century fast-food lunchroom. The methods and resources vary but the attention and
objectives remain the same. She demonstrated her feeling of obligations to the public at Santa
Gertrudis as far back as 1966, with interviewing and being interviewed for the media. At Ventura
Mission, she brought City officials and students to the site often and made regular presentations to
the City Council. The Sunday site tours were even advertised in Los Angeles papers. Through
her efforts, the site was preserved, an historical park developed instead of the projected high-rise,
and a muffler shop on the property turned into an on-site museum. That project also demonstrated
that intact and significant resources can survive directly under the pavement or successive buildings
3 J. C. HARRINGTON AWARD IN HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY
right on Main Street, a crusade she has led ever since. This work stimulated a whole generation
of historical archaeologists throughout California. From the missions of southern California to
the gold fields of the 4gers, she assembled teams and taught the lessons needed to conduct and
think through the tasks and challenges of historical archaeology. She continued to expand our
knowledge of not only what historical archaeology was but what it could do. And she has done
it all: National Register nominations, HABS and HAER documents, broad thematic overviews,
studies of some 34 adobe structures at last count, and not least, convincing public agencies at
all levels to do what the laws require. She has never shrunk from controversy, and always
enjoys being in the field. She is a very hands-on leader at the site, in the laboratory, and with
that big red editorial pen.
Her work on Chinese-American sites was a fundamental thrust to add to the strictly historical,
and interpret the unwritten. The excavation at Los Angeles Chinatown was another example of
community outreach, involvement, and continuing public benefit. Members of the Chinese Historical
Society were invited to the site and taught to assist in the laboratory; in tum, the Society was
reinvigorated, she assisted them in obtaining landmark status for the old cemetery, reacquiring
the property and rehabilitating and rededicating the 1887 shrine. She persuaded the client to
donate the entire collection from Los Angeles Chinatown to the Society which now maintains
permanent and traveling displays of the artifacts. Her book presenting both the historical research
and archaeological interpretations received the Lloyd Cotsen award for a distinguished publication
(Down by the Station. UCLA Institute of Archaeology, 1993) and has become a standard reference.
I think the majority of us can appreciate the effort and work that went into convincing those
contractors and officials that this was a necessary and legitimate science.
She has also served the profession as an elected or appointed officer in the SCA, ASCA, SAA,
SOPA, and the North American Archaeologist. Bobby's support for The Society for Historical
Archaeology on the Board of Directors, the Editorial Advisory Committee, and as representative to
SOPA and general gadfly, is well known. Her enthusiasm and her inability to say no, enhance her
contributions to the profession. Roberta Greenwood's career is based on hard work, dedication,
self-sacrifice, and an enthusiasm for archaeology. With an unusually broad background, a world
traveler-Renaissance woman-she can still out dig, out survey, and out think a lot of us, but her
ultimate legacy will be her influence on past and current generations of historical archaeologists.
Because of this, and in consequence of her contributions to the study of historical archaeology, she
has earned the 2001 J. C. Harrington award for outstanding contributions to the field.
JOHN M. FOSTER
4
Carol V. Ruppe Distinguished Service Award
Norman F. Barka 2001
Dr. Norman F. Barka was in attendance at the first annual meeting of The Society for Historical
Archaeology when it was convened at the Williamsburg Lodge in January 1968 under the auspices
of Colonial Williamsburg and its then Director of Archaeology, Ivor Noel Hume. That year Norm
was beginning the sixth semester of his distinguished career as a faculty member in the Department
of Anthropology at the College of William and Mary, a position he took up in the academic year
immediately following the award of his Ph.D. in Anthropology by Harvard University in 1965. At
William and Mary Norm has created one of the most important academic programs in historical
archaeology anywhere in the world. Thirty-five years of extremely effective pedagogy later, Norm's
students, undergraduate and graduate, are placed at all levels of our profession, including prominent
positions in academe, the museum world, and government.
Norm's track record with undergraduates reaches back to the beginning of his appointment at
William and Mary and in a very important way he has established a tradition much like that of
Beloit College, where he did his own undergraduate training in anthropology, graduating in 1960.
Historical Archaeology. 2001, 35(4):4-7.
5 CAROL V RUPPE DISTINGUISHED SERVICE AWARD
Both Beloit and the College of William and Mary have produced an unusually large number of
very successful professional anthropologists relative to the overall size of their student bodies and
their faculties in anthropology. In the fall of 1979 Norm welcomed the first class of Master's
degree students to the Department of Anthropology, at the College of William and Mary and began
his more than twenty years as graduate director, a job that he has done with the greatest of skill
and compassion. This month, Norm will be able to add his carefully considered opinions to
the selection of the first group of Ph.D. students in Anthropology to be admitted to the graduate
program at William and Mary. The new doctoral program, emphasizing historical archaeology, was
brought into being through Norm's own distinctive brand of single-minded (and quiet) persistence,
and it is one that will depend on his contributions through both new Ph.D. course offerings he
is preparing and through his active summer program of fieldwork, now centered on the islands of
Bermuda and Guana (British Virgin Islands).
It is not Norman F. Barka's outstanding record of field research and teaching, however, that is
being recognized by the society with the 2001 Carol V. Ruppe Distinguished Service Award. It is
Norm Barka's tireless advocacy of historical archaeology through dedicated service to The Society
for Historical Archaeology. After a decade of participating in the annual meeting, Norm joined the
society's Board as president-elect in 1979, beginning what is now over two decades of year-in and
year-out work for the society. Norm has done many noteworthy things for the society, including
serving as President in 1980, staging an extremely successful 1984 annual meeting at the same
hotel where the first one took place, representing the SHA to the Society for Post Medieval
Archaeology, and helping put on the joint thirtieth anniversary observance of the two organizations.
Most noteworthy of all, however, is Norman Barka's willingness to produce the society's Newsletter,
four times a year for the past nineteen years (76 issues with a total of nearly 4,000 pages and
still counting), and it is this commitment that has earned him the society's award for distinguished
service in the year 2001.
The Newsletter has always been one of the most important benefits of membership in The
Society for Historical Archaeology and it has improved with every passing year, testimony to the
talents and dedication of all of its editors. At that first meeting in Dallas, the society's founding
fathers, a group that came to be known as the "Special Committee," were very concerned that an
annual publication of some sort begin as soon as possible. After a motion was passed to that
effect, committee member Charles Fairbanks suggested that the society also publish a newsletter
modeled after the Council For British Archaeology Calendar, a newsletter that would be the yearly
responsibility of the society's officers. Others saw this as too time-consuming but a consensus
emerged among the assembled group that some kind of reporting on current research should
be done on a yearly basis. No clear decision about a newsletter format emerged during the
organizational meeting, but the first issue of Historical Archaeology does contain a summary of
research activities for 1967. Shortly thereafter the first volume of the society's official Newsletter
appeared, under the editorship of David Armour. With the second volume, the Newsletter moved
to Canada, where it would remain for thirteen years. With the support of Parks Canada in Ottawa,
the Newsletter was produced by a series of editors including, successively, Jervis Swannack, Karlis
Karklins, Charles Lindsey, and Lester Ross.
True to the vision of the society's original Special Committee, whose members agreed during
their 1967 deliberations that an annual review of fieldwork was essential, the Newsletter served
mainly a vehicle for communicating what society members were doing in the field. Organized by
region from the beginning, the Newsletter became, for all of us, the main way to learn about what
sites were being excavated, where, and by whom. From the Newsletter sent to society members
in August 1971, for example, we learned that Dr. Barka had begun work on the excavation of the
Poor Potter's site, arguably the best excavated and studied colonial pottery production site on record
anywhere. The Newsletter of June 1973 identified Dr. Barka as the discoverer of the first enclosed
settlement associated with an early 17th-century Virginia community known as a "Hundred," in
this case, Flowerdew Hundred. It would be another several years before the better known (in
the popular mind) Wolstenholme Town at Martin's Hundred was found. Frequent entries in the
6
HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY 35(4)
Newsletter describe results of what has been the most sustained single research project in the
historical archaeology of the Caribbean, when in 1981 Dr. Barka began fieldwork in St. Eustatius,
a very small island still part of the Netherlands Antilles, that derives much of its historical
significance from its status as a true free port during the colonial period. Subsequent issues report
on his work on Bermuda, where along with colleague Edward Harris of the Bermuda Maritime
Museum, Norm has excavated several of the earliest English colonial fortifications in the New
World, as well as what may fairly be described as the oldest standing house built by English
colonists to the New World, the Captain's House at King's Castle, a fort built in 1612.
These later references are in issues of the Newsletter produced under Norm Barka's editorship,
but he has never used the office of Newsletter Editor to blow his own horn. These references
are included simply to remind readers of the journal that despite the many hours that Norm has
spent making sure that the rest of us have had a chance to report on our discoveries in the field
or have our say on other professional and scholarly matters, he has managed to conduct his
own annual research program, thereby exposing hundreds of students to his exacting standards
of archaeological fieldwork.
Dr. Barka has had plenty of need to call upon the Newsletter to report his active field research.
His effort has resulted in the discovery and recording of many of the most important archaeological
sites excavated within the Chesapeake, the Caribbean, and Bermuda over the past three decades.
Norm has been doing archaeology in the field since the mid 1950s, having had six full seasons of
experience behind him before entering graduate school, including several stints with the River Basin
Surveys, college semesters in Mexico, and two seasons with Bill Ritchie unraveling Owasco-Iroquois
sites in upstate New York. At Harvard Norm became a Canadian specialist, working first in
Saskatchewan, and subsequently in New Brunswick and Quebec. His dissertation at Harvard is
concerned with materials he recovered from an early French fort and later loyalist trading post
located in what he describes as a "slum neighborhood covered with derelict cars, drunken homeless
people who slept in the cars, and bootleggers who were regularly raided by the Royal Canadian
Mounted Police as we dug at the site." Perhaps this early experience with one kind of urban
archaeology in St. John, New Brunswick explains Dr. Barka's more recent interests in places like
Bermuda and the privately owned island of Guana, where he is researching the fascinating story of
refugee Quakers who made their living growing sugar with slave labor.
In remaining true to his own calling as an academic historical archaeologist who believes in
the importance instructing students within the context of careful and sustained field work, Norm
has also had the foresight and energy to ensure that The Society for Historical Archaeology's
Newsletter kept pace with the many changes that the profession has undergone since 1982. Twice,
in 1988 and again in 1997, Norm has overseen substantial changes in the format of the Newsletter.
Every year of his editorship he has added at least one, and usually two new features, ranging from
columns and forums, to greatly expanded illustrations. In his nomination of Dr. Norman F. Barka
for the Carol V. Ruppe Distinguished Service Award, Robert Schuyler observed that because of
Norm Barka's ability to keep up with the changing times and anticipate features that would be of
interest to the readership "the SHA Newsletter is without question the most impressive research
summation outlet and one of the most recognized newsletters in world."
When asked to reflect on why he became an archaeologist, Norm Barka responded, "Its what
I always wanted to be." He observed at last year's SHA meeting in Quebec City "In the end,
historical archaeology is fun, an enjoyable way of life. I have been very fortunate in feeling
that my job is really not a job. It is just something I do and think about for 24 hours a day."
Among the things that Norm has done during his 24-hour days is put thousands of hours of his
own time into making sure that all of us have the most up-to-date Newsletter we can have, four
times a year, every year. It should also be noted that despite his already busy schedule, one made
all the more hectic by the production of his first edition of the Newsletter, Norm Barka found the
time to welcome me to Williamsburg in February, 1982. These nineteen years of SHA Newsletters
later, he is still willing to find the time, and without his support and friendship I would never have
been able to make any kind of success out of my position at Colonial Williamsburg.
7 CAROL V RUPPE DISTINGUISHED SERVICE AWARD
Many of us who are members of The Society for Historical Archaeology are every bit as fortunate
as Dr. Barka in that we also view our jobs as that which we think about and do 24 hours a day.
Norm, however, unlike most of us, has made The Society for Historical Archaeology a substantial
and integral part of his professional life. Putting out The Society for Historical Archaeology
Newsletter on a quarterly basis is a major task. Upon even a moment's reflection, we all realize
how much work is must really be and thus we stand in awe of Dr. Barka's accomplishment and
congratulate him on the occasion of his recognition by The Society for Historical Archaeology as
this year's recipient of the Carol V. Ruppe Distinguished Service Award.
MARLEY R. BROWN III
8
Robert L. Schuyler
A Conversation with Edward B.
Jelks
Introduction
Edward B. Jelks, a pioneer in Americanist
historical archaeology, is one of the founders
of The Society for Historical Archaeology. His
early career centered on the state of Texas
where he directed the River Basin Surveys
(1951 to 1965), excavating on both prehistoric
and historic sites, established and directed the
Texas Archeological Research Laboratory at the
University of Texas (1958-1965), and taught
at Southern Methodist University (1965-1968).
In 1954 he was John L. Cotter's assistant
in the second major project at Jamestown, Vir
ginia (1954-1956). Along with his prehistoric
research, he worked over almost half a century at
a wide variety of historic sites: contact Native
American, Spanish colonial, French colonial, and
Euroamerican sites in Texas, Illinois, and New
York. He also worked at a British military post
in Newfoundland and at a copra plantation in
Micronesia. In the 1950s he started a life-long
study of historic artifacts, especially ceramics
and glass trade beads.
In 1968 Jelks left Texas for Illinois State
University where he organized an anthropology
curriculum and taught undergraduate and gradu
ate courses in archaeology, including a seminar
in historical archaeology until his retirement
in 1983.
One of Ed Jelks' fundamental contributions to
the field was his pivotal role in calling together
and organizing a special meeting in January
1967 at Southern Methodist University in Dallas,
Texas. Out of this meeting, and a concurrent
paper conference, emerged The Society for
Historical Archaeology, with Jelks serving as
the second SHA President in 1968. If anyone
individual can be credited with the founding of
the SHA it is Edward B. Jelks. He was equally
Historical Archaeology, 2001, 35(4):8-37.
active as a founder and builder of the Society
of Professional Archeologists (1976), of which
he was the first president. In 1988 The Society
for Historical Archaeology honored Jelks with its
highest award, the 1. C. Harrington Medal.
The interview recorded here took place on
Wednesday 5 January 2000 at 7:00 PM at The
Society for Historical Archaeology annual meet
ing in Quebec, Canada and was conducted in
the hotel room of Ed and Judy Jelks at the
Quebec Hilton.
The Interview
[Q:] First for some background information.
When and where were you born and raised?
I was born in Macon, Georgia in 1922. I
spent several years in Hollywood, Florida,
moving there as an infant, but when I was
seven years old, which would be about 1930,
we moved to Texas where I was raised in the
town of Valley Mills, a community of 1,000
population or so in central Texas not far from
Waco.
[Q:] So, most of your childhood then was
spent in Texas?
Yes, I was raised in Texas. I graduated from
high school at Valley Mills and went on to the
University of Texas at Austin for my higher
education.
[Q:] Was there anything in either your parents'
background, your family background or in your
childhood that led you toward archaeology?
No.
[Q:] No, not at all? Well, what was Texas
like in the 1930s? This would be central
Texas.
Yes, central Texas. Of course that was in the
middle of the Great Depression and the economy
there was primarily based on cattle and cotton,
and it was just a typical small town. It was a
hardscrabble existence for many people, and I
guess the Protestant Ethic was in vogue.
9
Schuyler-A CONVERSATION WITH EDWARD B. JELKS
[Q:] What did your father, or parents, do for
a living?
Beginning in the early 19th century, several
generations of Jelkses ran the local general
store in Hawkinsville, Georgia. About 1890 my
grandfather started brick plants in Hawkinsville
and Macon, making paving bricks that were
sold all over the South. As young men my
father and two of his brothers were in the brick
business with their father, selling bricks. My
grandfather's family had started to go to Florida,
to Pompano, when there was nothing down there
but a beach, about 1904 or 1905 shortly after
a railroad had been built to Miami. They went
there to spend the winter. So when the big
Florida land boom started in the 1920s they
owned a lot of property there, which started
to go way up in value. The family sold out
the brick business and they all moved down to
Florida. When the Florida boom collapsed in
1929 my father and mother moved to Valley
Mills, Texas, where my mother's family lived.
There my father became a sales agent for a
Mexican importing firm. During World War
II, while my father, my brother, and I all were
in the military service and there was a serious
shortage of schoolteachers, my mother taught
school in an Austin suburb. She had gotten her
teacher's certificate about 1914 and had taught
school for several years before her marriage
in 1919.
[Q:] Was that Hollywood, Florida?
Well I lived in Hollywood for a time and
also in Pompano but mainly in Hollywood. My
mother had been born and raised in Valley Mills.
Her father was a medical doctor who moved out
there from Georgia as a young man, following
his brother who was also a doctor.
[Q:] When you were a child in Texas did
you ever collect arrowheads?
Yes. Almost all the boys did. I was very
active in the Boy Scouts, and that was one of
the things we all did. Also, I was inspired by
a character named Jesse James Howard, several
years older than I, whom 1 knew growing up in
Valley Mills. Jesse was obsessed with Indian
lore, Western gunslingers and such, and he went
around dressed like Doc Holiday with long hair
down to his shoulders, 40 years before the first
hippy appeared. He had assembled quite
FIGURE 1. Edward B. Jelks at his home in Normal, Illinois,
2000. (Courtesy of The Pantagraph, Bloomington-Normal,
Illinois.)
a collection of Indian artifacts. There were
a lot of rockshelters in the limestone cliffs,
and he dug in them. I used to go and look
at his collections and that was one thing that
stimulated my interest in what we then called
Indian lore.
[Q:] Did you know that arrowhead collecting
was related to archaeology?
Well yes, I knew of the field of archaeology
but tended to think of it as Classical Archaeol
ogy and Old World prehistory. Our school
textbooks had pictures of cavemen, Neanderthals
and such, and 1 always thought that was fascinat
ing. But at that time I thought of archaeology
as exotic and not something that went on in
Texas or the United States. But, of course, I
figured out after not too long that there was
such a thing locally.
[Q:] Were you the first person in your family
to go to college?
No. My father went to Mercer University in
Macon and my mother to Bessy Tift College in
Forsyth, Georgia and did graduate work at the
University of Texas before becoming a school
teacher in Texas. All four of my grandparents
were college graduates.
10
[Q:] When you finished high school you went
to the University of Texas in Austin and you
were going to major in premed?
Yes, and it was premed.
[Q:] How did you make that decision?
Well, medicine was sort of a family tradition.
My mother's father was a doctor, and one of
my father's brothers was a doctor, and other
members of the family were doctors, and I was
interested in medicine. Primarily I always was
interested in science. In my younger days in
school they taught in the curriculum a lot about
people like Louis Pasteur and other physicians
who made discoveries in the field of medicine.
I have always been interested in research of
various kinds. I did not realize when going
through high school that it would be possible
to make a career out of American archaeology,
and it never entered my mind to think about
going into Old World archaeology as a career.
Anyway, I started out in pre-medicine.
[Q:] You entered the University of Texas at
Austin in 1939?
Yes, 1939 in the Fall.
[Q:] You stopped because of the war?
Right. When the Japanese made their infa
mous attack on Pearl Harbor in December, like
a lot of other young men at the time, in a fit
of patriotic zeal, I wanted to join the military.
I was in the middle of the fall semester of my
junior year at the time, and the easiest way to
get a commission was to go into the Army Air
Corps. They were recruiting heavily, and my
brother did go into that branch. I applied to the
Air Corps but was turned down because I did
not have 20-20 vision. So I looked around for
the second best deal I could find, and I talked
with a Navy recruiter, and he said "Well, since
you have this major (I was a zoology major, by
the way, under premed) we will not start you
out at rock bottom in the Navy but rather in
the Hospital Corp as Hospital Apprentice First
Class," which was the equivalent of a corporal,
or something like that, in the Army. So, that is
how I entered the Navy.
[Q:] You ended up in the Pacific at Guadal
canal?
Right. I went to boot camp in San Diego
and went through three weeks of what would
normally be a three or four month program; but
they needed bodies quickly. They were taking
these kids off the streets and farms, and after
quick boot-camp indoctrination, some of them
one month later were on ships getting into the
thick of the war.
But after I finished boot camp I went up
to Mare Island Hospital at Vallejo, California
near San Francisco and stayed there for several
months getting some further training, including
training as an operating room technician, scrub
up type, which is what I ultimately ended up
doing. Then I was shipped out with a unit to
establish a field hospital on Guadalcanal a month
or so after the Americans invaded the island
to take care of the casualties and also malaria
cases and all that kind of stuff.
[Q:] Was fighting still going on when you
arrived?
Yes.
[Q:] Did your hospital unit come under fire,
were you that close to the front?
Yes, we had bombing raids every night, off
and on all night long, which made it difficult to
get much sleep. I got a small shrapnel wound
in the shoulder during one of the air raids. The
closest we came to direct contact with the enemy
was in December 1942 when we had been there
about two months. The Japanese made one
last-ditch effort to repel the Americans, and
one afternoon we got word that this assault was
under way and Japanese troops were getting
closer and closer. They got within about a half
a mile of us, and we were ordered to evacuate.
I was in charge of the operating room-four
or five other corpsmen and myself-and so we
packed up whatever we could put on our backs.
The only thing we could do if the Japanese
came into the hospital area, which consisted of
just tents, would be to head for the hills. The
natives on Guadalcanal were very anti-Japanese
and we felt they would give us support if we
11 Schuyler-A CONVERSATION WITH EDWARD B. JELKS
could get away. Several corpsmen would have
been left to surrender the patients on the wards.
But fortunately the U.S. marines stopped the
assault about a half a mile away, and we did
not have to go. Incidentally, Bill Sears was a
marine on GuadaIcanal and involved in a lot
of the fighting.
[Q:] Did you know Bill Sears at that time?
No. We became acquainted after the war, and
I knew he was in the marines and we talked
about it briefly. And it is quite possible that
he was there holding the Japanese off from
our hospital while we was getting ready to
evacuate.
[Q:] When did you leave the service and were
you still in the Medical Corp unit?
OK. I came down with a bad case of malaria
and they sent me to Auckland, New Zealand to
a Navy hospital there, and I fought malaria for
several months. On the way our ship was tor
pedoed, but we were rescued and eventually got
to Auckland, stopping on the way at Noumea,
New Caledonia. After I recovered from malaria
they gave me some soft duty, putting me in
charge of a bar at the Navy hospital that opened
every night and served beer. So I got to run the
bar and I never did get back into the operating
room. But while I was in Auckland (for the
better part of a year) one of the officers said
"Well, you have had college, why don't you
apply for Officers Training." So I sent in an
application.
They sent us back home to San Diego in July
1944, and after waiting around there for awhile,
they gave me a thirty day leave, and I went
home to Austin, where Judy and I got married.
When I went back to the base in San Diego my
orders came through to go to Officers School,
and they sent me to Colgate University in
Hamilton, New York for a four-month college
refresher course. Then I went to Officers School
at Notre Dame. When I got through with that
and was commissioned as a line-officer ensign,
I looked at the different things you could apply
for and saw a Japanese language school; so I
said, "That's for me."
Very few people at that time in the United
States could speak Japanese, and most of those
were locked up in detention camps. The govern
ment needed to train military people for the
impending invasion of Japan, to be able to go
there and converse with the Japanese. They
sent me to what was then Oklahoma A & M,
and is now Oklahoma State, at Stillwater. Our
instructors were female schoolteachers they had
brought in from Okinawa. The school was
supposed to last over a year, but after a couple
of months the war ended and I went back to the
University of Texas to continue my education
under the GI bill.
[Q:] Many years later you went back and dug
in the Pacific, you did a copra plantation I think,
did that have anything to do with your earlier
experiences during the war?
In a way, but my going back was strictly
fortuitous. One day in 1978 I got a letter from
Tom King, who was then with the National
Trust, I guess, and he said they were looking
for someone to go down and do what, according
to him, would be the first historical archaeology
in Micronesia. He did not know much about
historical archaeology, and he knew that I had
some experience in that area, and he asked me
if I would be interested.
Going back to the war, when we were leaving
GuadaIcanal and heading for Noumea before we
got torpedoed, we went through the Marshall
Islands-nice coral atolls-and we went close
enough so we could see the grass houses, palm
trees, and all these people running around the
beaches and I said, "Gosh, that is just the clas
sic south seas island paradise." And I always
thought I would like to go back and visit one
of those islands some day. So when I got the
letter from Tom I asked Judy first, "Do you
want to go to the Marshall Islands?" and she
said "Sure, why not." So the Trust Territory of
the Pacific Islands contracted with Judy and me
to do the work and away we went.
[Q:] What year was the trip to Micronesia?
That was 1978.
[Q:] How long was the project, was it just
one season?
Yes, we were supposed to be there about six
weeks. It was not actually a dig as it turned
out. A Portuguese seaman jumped ship down
there in the 1870s, married a daughter of one
of the chiefs, and got possession of Likiep
Atoll in the Marshall Islands, where he planted
12
all these coconut trees and began producing
copra. His son, Joachim de Brum who was
quite a character, built this house and had all
this furniture brought in from Japan and China
and one place and another, along with all these
expensive dishes, glassware, and other things.
He established a shipyard where he built and
repaired wooden ships, training the local Mar
shallese as woodworkers. He died shortly before
World War II, and his children did not want to
stay there, so they just locked up the house and
it sat there until we went in there in 1978. The
roof was leaking, so they sent in a ship with
metal roofing, and we had these local people
who had been trained as carpenters put a new
roof on the house.
We made a complete inventory of everything
in the house, and I made scale drawings of the
house and grounds. Judy supervised some of
the men who rubbed down the furniture with
coconut oil and cleaned up the entire house.
The men didn't want to work for a woman at
first, but Judy charmed them into submission and
they were proud of their work at the end.
We knew that Joachim was a photographer
and that he had taken photographs of a lot of
the Marshallese people, not only on Likiep, but
on other islands too. We had hoped that some
of his photos were somewhere on the premises.
About a week or two before we were to leave
I found this big trunk, opened it up, and there
were hundreds of big glass negatives taken
between 1890 and the1920s of the local people
doing ceremonies and other things. A fascinat
ing bunch of stuff. These negatives are now at
the museum in Majuro, capital of the Marshalls.
Anyway, that was what we did in the Marshalls;
it was above-ground archaeology.
I'll tell an anecdote. The usual way to get to
Likiep was by boat but, we flew in a chartered
amphibian plane, just a small one engine plane,
which landed in the lagoon. The pilot had a
business hauling people around that part of the
Pacific. As we were flying over there he told
me a story, which I assumed was apocryphal,
about a friend of his who also had a plane who
flew people around, and a few years before he
had taken an anthropologist to some remote
island, left him there, and was supposed to come
back in a month or so to pick him up. In a
bar one night he was talking to our pilot, who
asked him what happened to the anthropologist,
and the second pilot said, "Oh, my God, I forgot
him." He went back and picked him up three
or four months late, and the anthropologist had
lost thirty pounds.
When our six weeks was up on Likiep, guess
what happened? Our pilot didn't show up.
There was a generator-operated radio on the
island, but it was broken and there were no parts
for it, so we had no way to contact the outside.
We waited and waited for two weeks and didn't
know what we were going to do, until one day
a little boat came in-it was maybe 30 ft. long
run by a man who went around from island
to island, just hauling stuff back and forth for
people-and he had a couple of helpers with
him. They stopped to take on fresh water at a
cistern on Likiep, and he had a radio. So I got
on the radio and called the governor's office on
Majuro and asked "Where is the guy with the
plane who was supposed to pick us up." They
told me that he and a Peace Corps woman had
gone off to San Francisco for the weekend three
weeks before and they had not come back yet.
So we went out on that small boat which, after
a rough trip, got us back safely to Majuro.
[Q:] So, to return to the sequence of events,
at the end of the war you returned to Texas
and that was when you married Juliet Christian.
What was her background and how did you
meet her?
When my mother went to the University of
Texas in 1913 or 1914 her roommate was Judy's
aunt. After graduating with teacher's certificates,
they taught school together in a little town in
Texas. They kept in touch over the years, were
in each other's weddings, and corresponded.
So this woman's brother, Judy's father, lived
in Austin. He was a lawyer and a state judge
there. My family moved to Austin at the time
I entered the University of Texas in 1939, and
they looked up Judy's father, whom they knew,
and that is how I met Judy.
[Q:] And Judy has been not only a wife but
also your archaeological partner, is that correct?
Yes. Judy was a city girl, and when I took
her out on a dig or two early on she hated it.
But after a while she began to like it. When
I started out in late 1949 as a full time profes
sional as Robert Stephenson's assistant in the
Texas River Basin Surveys program, we would
go out to the field in the Spring, March or
April, and stay out there until December. Judy
and I had one child, a son, Chris, who also got
his Ph.D. at the University of Texas and is now
an electrical engineer living in Denver. For the
first few years, Judy stayed in Austin for the
most part, where she worked as a consultant
compiling petroleum production statistics for
oil producers, taking care of Chris during the
extended periods that I was in the field. But in
the summer of 1953 she and Chris, then seven
years old, spent two months in the field with
me at Texarkana Reservoir. We lived in a tent,
and both Judy and Chris got a good taste of
archaeological fieldwork. They spent many days
working the screens, keeping records of artifact
bags and the like. We had a guy doing the
cooking who gave everybody food poisoning,
so Judy kicked him out and took over as cook.
That was the first time she went into the field
for an extended period of time, but when Chris
got older, especially after he was in college, she
went out more frequently and before long was
attending meetings of the Texas Archeological
Society where she met, and became friends with,
many of my colleagues. Then she started going
regularly to SAA, and later to SHA meetings.
After I started teaching, first at SMU, then at
ISU, she became a full partner, helping imple
ment logistics for numerous field projects, main
taining field records, screening and sometimes
digging a little, critiquing all my manuscripts
before publication (she is an expert copy editor),
and becoming a surrogate mother for hundreds
of students over the years.
[Q:] So, in 1945 or 1946 you are back from
the war, married to Judy, and have returned to
the University of Texas in Austin. How did you
get into anthropology and archaeology?
I returned to UT on the GI Bill, and as I had
a wife and child, I wanted to get some type
of college degree and begin making a living
without delay. I had decided, after my experi
ences in the Navy Hospital Corps, not to go into
medicine, although I did consider becoming an
MD in research. I had always been interested
in research but not so much the practice of
medicine. I looked into the catalogue of the
University of Texas to see the easiest and fast
est way to get some kind of degree, and it
would have had to be either zoology (my pre
war major) or English (my pre-war minor);
so I decided to go for an English degree and
become an English professor, or maybe teach
high school, or just get a liberal arts degree
and go out and get a job. So I got a degree in
English literature, taking some anthropology and
archaeology courses on the way.
I still had some of my GI Bill left and they
were hardly knocking on my door with jobs
at that time. So I decided to go for an MA
degree and switched over to anthropology as
a major and English as a minor. I completed
everything for the MA except for the thesis by
1950 and had almost completed the thesis when
Robert Stephenson got some money and hired
me as his assistant in the River Basin Surveys
program.
[Q:] Was G. C. Engerrand one of your
instructors and did he influence you to major
in anthropology?
Yes, although my major interest was in archae
ology and George Engerrand was primarily a
cultural anthropologist. Actually he had done
some archaeological research years before in
Europe and in Mexico. He was a Basque who
came to Mexico in the early 20th century, then
came to the University of Texas about 1914,
and, yes, he did have a strong influence on me.
[Q:] He was primarily a cultural anthropolo
gist?
Yes, a cultural anthropologist who was a
Mexican specialist and an Old World specialist
who had been trained in Paris, France.
[Q:] Why do you think you moved more
toward archaeology rather than cultural anthropol
ogy?
Well, I just liked it better I guess. The same
reason you chose archaeology perhaps. When I
went to the University of Texas I found out you
could take courses in Texas archaeology, and
that was why I took some archaeology classes.
I was also interested in anthropology in general,
including ethnography because of my experiences
in the Pacific. So that was how I sort of drifted
into it without originally intending to become
an anthropologist.
[Q:] So from the start you decided to become
a North American prehistorian?
14
The two archaeologists at the University of
Texas who taught me were Tom Campbell and
Charles Kelley. They taught me North American
archaeology and Texas archaeology and, of
course, no one was teaching historical archaeol
ogy anywhere in those days. I was trained
as a prehistorian with a particular interest in
the Texas area, including the Caddoan area in
eastern Texas and adjacent parts of Louisiana,
Arkansas, and Oklahoma; and also the extensions
of the Southwestern area into west Texas. And
I was strongly influenced by Alex Krieger after
I had gotten my Master's Degree.
[Q:] Who supervised your MA thesis and what
was the subject of the thesis?
Tom Campbell was my chairman and Enger
rand was the second member of my committee.
Back in the 1930s the government had built
some dams on the Colorado River, which runs
right through Austin in the central part of the
state, and the University of Texas did salvage
archaeology at the reservoir projects with WPA
labor, at the same time the TVA salvage archae
ology was going on over in the Southeast.
Gilbert McAllister, chairman of the anthropol
ogy department at UT administered the program.
They had hired people without very much train
ing because there were not any professional
archaeologists available then, only people with
some experience in digging sites. The man in
charge initially had been James Pearce, who
had started the anthropology department at UT,
one of the very first by the way in the United
States, before World War I. Pearce died in
1938, after which Gilbert McAllister took over
the program. Dozens of sites were dug under
this program, and many of them had not been
fully reported. The artifacts and field notes from
these excavations were stored in the archaeology
lab, so I used the material from several of the
sites for my thesis topic, which was to plot
the horizontal distribution of projectile types in
burned rock middens having no visible stratifica
tion. Different distribution patterns for different
point types indicated temporal or functional
differences in the deposition of the points. I
have maintained a strong interest in statistical
methods of field analysis ever since.
[Q:] You received your MA Degree in 1950?
No it was 1952, I believe, because I had
started to work for Stephenson late in 1949 and
didn't finish my thesis until later.
[Q:] It was at this time that you started to
work for the River Basin Surveys?
I started fieldwork with Stephenson in the
Spring of 1950. In 1951 Stephenson went
to the University of Michigan to work on his
Ph.D.-he had a Master's degree from Oregon,
had been Luther Cressman's student up there
and so when he left I inherited his job as the
director of the RBS program in Texas. Over the
next few years we began to get more and more
money and began to hire more archaeologists.
We worked all over the state.
[Q:] About 1950 or 1951 had you heard any
thing about historical archaeology; did the field
have any visibility as a field?
I do not recall anybody mentioning historical
archaeology as a special field of study at that
time. The first I heard of such was about 1953
when I read Pinky Harrington's article on historic
sites archaeology in Jimmie Griffin's monumental
Archaeology of Eastern United States.
The first place we did RBS fieldwork in 1950
was at Lake Whitney on the Brazos River above
Waco, and the very first site we worked on
was an historic (18th and 19th century) Indian
village, the Stansbury site. Stephenson had done
a survey of the reservoir area about 1947, but
in those days there was nothing like complete
coverage. He had only 2 or 3 weeks to cover
an area of 70 to 80 mi.', and so he just went
in hit or miss asking land owners where they
had found arrowheads and collectors where their
sites were. He recorded perhaps 50 or 60 sites
and there were hundreds in the area that went
under the lake. He had to decide by instinct
which sites we were going to dig as we would
be there only three or four months
We ended up digging at four prehistoric sites
(three rockshelters and one open site) and two
historic sites (Stansbury and Fort Graham, an
army military post built around 1850 at the
western edge of the frontier, where we did a
little testing). Fort Graham was active for a
Schuyler-A CONVERSATIONWITH EDWARDB. JELKS
few years until the beginning of the Civil War
when it was abandoned. There were some stone
ruins of the fort and I went out a day or two
recording those remains because it seemed like
it should be done.
At the historic Indian village, the Stansbury
Site, we found a lot of European trade goods
and didn't know what they were. We were
aware that Carlyle Smith and Art Woodward had
done some work on trade goods, although I was
not aware at the time of George Quimby's work
further north. Stephenson knew Carlyle, so we
sent some of the materials to him and some to
Art Woodward to see if they could identify them.
They made some identifications but not many.
These were classic trade goods but nobody had
much knowledge of them at that time.
Years later, working with RBS archaeologist
Lathe! Duffield and King Harris, a local amateur,
and still later with amateur Ted Hamilton, I
got involved in working out what the 18th
century French trade guns looked like, with
their decorated buttplates, sideplates, and trigger
guards. Also, Duffield and I devised a simple
typology for basic glass bead forms. It was
a lot of fun.
Back to the Stansbury Site, Bob Stephenson
turned over tracing down the history of the
site to me. I did a lot of library research and
tried to get information on the material culture
FIGURE 2. The Stansbury site, location of 18th and 19th
century Native American villages on the Brazos River,
Whitney Reservoir, Texas, 1950. Standing, left to right:
Frank H. H. Roberts, Jr. of the Smithsonian, Director
of the River Basin Surveys; Jelks; John Corbett, Chief
Archeologist, National Park Service. Local rancher George
Benson is crouching in test square. (Courtesy of the
Smithsonian Institution.)
15
of both the Indian materials and the French
trade goods. I was able to demonstrate with
reasonable certainty that the site was occupied in
the late 18th century by a village of Tawakoni
(a southern Wichita tribe), and in the middle of
the 19th century by a village of Caddo peoples
who moved west from east Texas.
[Q:] The Stansbury Site started a theme in
your research of looking for documented historic
sites and trying to locate them in the field. Was
there any influence of William Duncan Strong
and other people using the "Direct Historic
Approach?"
Yes, I was familiar with the concept and
had met Strong at an SAA meeting a time or
two and had talked with him about it. There
were, and still are, a lot of "lost" historic sites
in Texas. The Spanish came in and made a
number of settlements, including both missions
and presidios, temporarily establishing outposts in
central and eastern Texas, but the Indian pressure
got so bad that eventually they withdrew back to
San Antonio and established a stronghold there.
So a lot of the other sites were abandoned.
Also there were several explorers such as Cabeza
de Vaca, and later others who came up from
Mexico into west Texas. And, of course the
DeSoto expedition came through the Plains in
northern Texas. There was a lot of interest
locally by historians in tracing the routes of the
explorers. Incidentally, later for my Ph.D., I
minored in history largely because of my interest
in where the old Spanish sites were located and
where the various early expeditions had traveled.
I took several courses from H. Bailey Carroll, a
well-know historian who taught at UT. He also
was very interested in tracing the routes of such
explorers. Earlier Herbert E. Bolton had been
at the University of Texas before he moved to
California, and he had tried to identify some of
the mission sites, and also the site of LaSalle's
Fort St. Louis of the 1680s. So I read a lot of
Bolton's work, and just the idea of trying to find
some of these sites I found very fascinating.
[Q:] Was your primary focus on contact native
sites or on European sites?
Both. The Spanish and Indian sites went
together. The Spaniards would come through on
an expedition and record where they went, would
stop at an Indian village, and go on to another
16
HISTORICALARCHAEOLOGY35(4)
village. I also got interested in some quantitative
issues trying to calculate the distances involved.
An explorer usually estimated the number of
leagues traveled each day and recorded this
along with descriptions of the terrain etc. in a
journal. LeRoy Johnson, Jr., Lathel Duffield,
and I used these journals to try to trace travel
routes on the ground, and we published several
papers on our studies. One interesting discovery
we made was that when people were going
between the same two points in the winter,
when it was cold and snowing, their distance
estimates were greater than if they were traveling
the same route in the summer. Also different
people would give different estimates for the
same trips.
[Q:] You mention in Stanley South's book,
Pioneers in Historical Archaeology (1994), that
you dug on a Spanish colonial site in west
Texas under 1. Charles Kelley in 1949, your first
experience on an historic site. Did people at
that time think that such a site was odd?
I do not think people thought anything about
it one way or the other. Kelley was a nationally
known scholar who had done a lot of work out
in the Big Bend area of Texas on the Jornado
Branch of the Mogollon. He had worked out
a whole regional chronology, a sequence, with
main phases, and he had a couple of historic
phases for Indians who were in contact with
Spaniards. Kelley was interested in locating
early historic sites of both Indians and Spaniards
as part of his regional synthesis. There had
been some archaeological work done previously
at Spanish colonial sites in Texas, notably the
Rosario Mission site near Goliad.
[Q:] What about your involvement with histori
cal archaeology in relationship to the Texas
Archaeological Society?
In 1962 the idea came to me that there were
all these people in Texas interested in archaeol
ogy who like to get out in the field and help the
professionals, so why not organize the excavation
of a significant site using such free labor. King
Harris had just discovered a site on the Upper
Sabine River which was one of the Indian vil
lages that I had been interested in identifying.
It turned out later to be an 18th century village
of the Southern Wichita. By that time we knew
enough about gun parts and other trade goods
FIGURE3. Jelks beside gunport at ruins of 18th century
Spanish colonial ranch house, Falcon Reservoir on
the Rio Grande, Texas, 1953. (Courtesy of the Texas
Archeological Research Laboratory, The University of
Texasat Austin.
that we could identify the site generally, and
later by going back to the documents were able
to tell which village it was. So we decided
to have a TAS [Texas Archaeological Society]
summer dig which I directed. It ran for about
three weeks as I recall, and other professionals
came out to help. It was very successful. That
was the Gilbert Site and the amateurs who
worked on the site all participated in writing the
final report, which was published by the TAS.
I assigned different chapters to different people.
As a result of that dig Jay Blaine got interested
in gun parts and became a nationally recognized
expert on the subject.
I first met Kathleen Gilmore at Gilbert. She
heard about the dig, came to visit out of curi
osity, got hooked, went back to college, and
eventually got her Ph.D. at SMU and became
a president of the SHA. The Gilbert Site dig
evolved into an annual field school held every
summer since 1962 by the TAS. This last year
400 people attended, not all at once of course,
but spread out over several weeks. Gilbert was
one of many historic Indian sites I have worked
at in Texas and Illinois.
[Q:] Between 1954 and 1956 you went off
to Jamestown. A question I have always been
curious about is why when the NPS decided to
do a second major project at Jamestown in 1953,
and considering that John Cotter was basically a
prehistorian, why did not 1. C. Harrington direct
the second Jamestown project?
Schuyler-A CONVERSATION WITH EDWARD B.IELKS
I can answer that easily: I do not know! I
can only guess that Pinky, who by that time
was stationed in Richmond as director of all the
research in the Southeastern Region of the NPS,
could have taken on the project if he had chosen
to, or possibly the NPS would not let him leave
his administrative position to take on a single
long-term project. I really do not know.
[Q:] Did you know John Cotter before the
Jamestown Project?
Yes, I had known him from SAA conferences.
In those days there were only a few archaeolo
gists. The first SAA conference I went to,
at Norman, Oklahoma in 1951, may have had
100 people attending, and the meeting was held
jointly with the Central States Anthropological
Society. I think I met Cotter at that meeting.
A bunch of us would get together and sit around
in a hotel room and drink whiskey and talk
archaeology. I believe I talked to him about the
Blackwater Draw (original Clovis) site there.
[Q:] Did you know Louie Caywood or the
other Jamestown staff before the project?
No. Cotter was the only one I knew. Joel
Shiner, another of the archaeologists at James
town, and I got reacquainted later when we both
were teaching at Southern Methodist University.
Bruce Powell worked on the project, but I did
not maintain contact with him after Jamestown.
[Q:] Before you went to Jamestown did you
know who 1. C. Harrington was and about his
relationship to historical archaeology?
As mentioned earlier, the first time I ever
heard of historical archaeology, or historic sites
archaeology, was in Harrington's article in the
Griffin-edited volume, a big thick green book,
on archaeology in the Eastern United States.
Come to think about it, that may well have had
some effect on my recording of buildings and
historic sites in the River Basin projects.
[Q:] Did you meet Harrington during the
Jamestown Project (1954-1956)?
Yes, Pinky would come down to Jamestown
periodically to confer with us about how things
were coming along, as he was responsible for
the project administratively. John Corbett, the
head NPS archaeologist in Washington, also
17
came down a couple of times to check us out.
The major consultant was Malcolm Watkins, a
ceramics specialist from the Smithsonian, who
visited Jamestown frequently for several days at
a time to look at the ceramics we were finding
and help identify it. Paul Hudson was in charge
of accessioning and curating the materials as
they came out of the ground.
[Q:] What was your position at Jamestown?
I was Cotter's assistant. There were no formal
titles for the archaeological staff, but if there
had been I guess I would have been called the
assistant director.
[Q:] Did you oversee a certain part of the
project, or the whole project?
The way it worked was that the site was
divided arbitrarily into several areas and each
was assigned an archaeological project number,
for example Project 100, 102, and so on. I
believe that this was a continuation of a system
that Harrington had started years earlier. Shiner
was put in charge of the projects on that part
of Jamestown owned by the Association for the
Preservation of Virginia Antiquities, in the area
where the original fort and the old church were
located. Shiner went exploring over there for
the first fort.
The NPS part of Jamestown was divided into
two main areas and I had a crew in one area
and Cotter had a crew in the other area. We
conferred back and forth all the time. Cotter
spent a fair amount of time in Yorktown, Rich
mond, and Washington D.C. and I was in charge
when he was not on the site.
[Q:] What sites at Jamestown did you exca
vate?
The main section I worked on was the north
ern part up against the pitch and tar swamp. I
also did some work on the south side of the
site. Some of the larger features that I dug
were an icehouse [Structure 128], a presumed
brewhouse [Structure 110], a large brick building
[Structure 112], a rowhouse [Structure 115], a
small timber-framed house [Structure 116], two
large brick houses [Structures 117 and 125], and
a well [Well 19]. [The structure numbers and
the well number were added after the interview
by reference to Cotter's report on Jamestown.]
[Q:] Did you excavate burials?
We found one burial that I remember, Bob,
a flexed burial that I am sure was an Indian,
but there was nothing buried with it. In fact,
as I remember, I had had some experience with
paleontologists back in Texas collecting fossils in
plaster jackets. The bones were in bad condi
tion, so I surrounded it with a plaster jacket
and hauled it away to the lab at Jamestown and
have not seen it since! I guess somebody did
something with it.
[Q:] How many seasons did you dig at James
town?
We dug from November of 1954 all through
the winter and the spring and early summer of
1955. There is a little article that Jack and I
wrote in American Antiquity titled something
like "Winter Archaeology at Jamestown" which
has pictures of all the snow. We had great big
steel drums that we filled up with firewood and
kept fires going in them for warmth. We had
to come out and warm our hands all the time
or we could not dig. Sometimes the ground
and the trenches would be frozen; God it was
cold!
In the summer of 1955 Cotter sent me over
to explore several places at Yorktown Battlefield.
One was Redoubt No. 10 in the British line,
the location of which was uncertain. I found
the two-thirds of the redoubt that survived, the
FIGURE 4. Field Photo of Ed Jelks recording Structure
117 at Jamestown, Virginia in 1955. (Courtesy of Colonial
National Historic Park.)
rest having eroded into the York River. That
continued my interest in looking for lost sites.
I did some other work at Yorktown looking for
remains of the British earthworks. As you may
know, in Yorktown and at Jamestown, the Con
federates built big earthworks, massive structures
during the Civil War. The question was, were
there remains of the British works surviving
under these later fortifications? If such remains
had survived, they would have to be under the
Confederate sites because all the Revolutionary
War period earthworks were leveled after the
Battle of Yorktown. We did find remnants
of some British works under some of these
Confederate fortifications. They were little, tiny
things. The whole parapet would only be as
high as your head with a big ditch behind it,
but the Confederate embankments were massive,
great big old things, 20 times as massive as
the British features. Of course, the difference
was because of the improvement in ordinance
between the l780s and the l860s.
After completing the work at Yorktown that
summer I went back to Jamestown and com
pleted some odds and ends of fieldwork there.
I spent the fall, winter, and spring (of 1956)
working on reports of my work at Yorktown and
at Jamestown.
[Q:] When you left Jamestown in 1956 was
Cotter still on the site?
Yes, they had a big celebration in 1957 for the
350th anniversary of the founding of Jamestown
which I missed, having moved back to the RBS
program in Texas in the summer of 1956. Jack
stayed on for the celebration and finished writing
his report on the archaeology. Everyone called
Cotter "Jack" at Jamestown and at SAA meet
ings previously, but when he moved to Philadel
phia everyone started calling him "John."
[Q:] What did you think of the approach at
Jamestown that used trenching to explore the
site?
It was a very effective technique, better than
digging great big holes or dinky little squares.
The purpose was to explore a very large area in
a limited time, looking primarily for structural
remains and other major features. And for that
purpose it worked very well. That was Pinky's
[1. C. Harrington] design, I am sure. Pinky
had set up a coordinate-reference system for
Jamestown and we got a transit and set up on
his grid. The trenches just followed the grid,
north, south, east, and west on 50-foot intervals,
and there were miles of trenches before we
got through. We removed the plow zone in
the trenches until we hit brick foundations,
subsurface disturbances, or other anomalies.
Although effective for finding large features,
it left big areas in the middle of the 50-foot
squares that were not explored.
[Q:] Did Harrington in the 1930s open a much
bigger area than the excavations your team did
in the 1950s?
No, I do not think so. I think it would have
been much less. Actually I am not sure, but I
think Cotter discusses all the previous digs at
Jamestown in his report, including early work
by architects on the site.
[Q:] When the artifacts came out of the exca
vations did your team analyze them or did they
go into a lab; what happened to them?
We had all we could do to handle the digging
on the project. Paul Hudson ran the lab, so
we would bag the artifacts, label them, and
send them to him in the lab. He had a crew
of people helping him in the lab who would
process the materials. There were a couple
of chemists from William and Mary who came
out for awhile and tried to figure out a way to
conserve the iron artifacts but without too much
success. They would bake the objects in an
oven and try to neutralize the acid. Hudson
catalogued everything and put it on storage
shelves where it sat for quite some time.
When it came time for working on the report
I got interested in the history of the ceramics at
Jamestown and I wrote a section of the report on
ceramics. Neither I nor Cotter was familiar with
the materials when we arrived at Jamestown,
Hudson knew a little bit about it, and Malcolm
Watkins knew quite a bit about the ceramics
from the perspective of a ceramics historian. We
were finding all kinds of objects that had never
been studied or seen before. Hudson told us
fairly soon what Delftware, Stoneware, Cream
ware, and Pearlware were. We had Creamware
and Pearlware from an 18th century plantation
occupation of the townsite.
One of the interesting things we found is
now called "Colonoware" and I was particularly
interested in it. Cotter and I and others talked
about it, and as it obviously was neither local
Indian pottery nor English, and since we knew
they had slaves at Jamestown, I suggested maybe
it was African. I looked at some reports on
African ceramics and I found some types that
looked kind of like it. We did not pursue the
idea, however. I understand that now they have
figured out that, in part at least, it was made
by slaves.
[Q:] Was your experience at Jamestown just
another historic site or was it a turning point in
your interest in the field?
It was a turning point. I invested over two
years of my time there, counting the time at
Yorktown, and got my apprenticeship in studying
European ceramics and other subjects which
I had not done before Jamestown. And not
only that but it was at this time that I got to
know Pinky, Malcolm Watkins, Paul Hudson,
and others with some background in historical
archaeology and historic artifacts. It then seemed
that historical archaeology, or historic sites
archaeology, might be a coming field with great
potential. It was something I was very interested
in, and it looked like an opportunity for me
to make a mark in a new area. The door was
wide open and there were not many specialists
there at the time.
[Q:] At that time did you see both contact
sites, like the Gilbert Site, and European sites,
like Jamestown, as being equally historic sites?
Yes. It depends on how you define "historical
archaeology," but to me in contrast to prehistoric
archaeology, if you have some historical docu
mentation related to your field studies, then
you have another approach or source of data to
base inferences on, rather than just empirical
field data. That is what I think of as historical
archaeology. That is not "historic sites archaeol
ogy" in Harrington's definition, because I think
his concept covered only Euroamerican sites.
[Q:] So, you would see historical archaeology
as being a unified field on the methodological
level?
Yes, in terms of methodology in conducting
research you have access to both written docu
20
mentation and the archaeological data. You
combine the two sources of information, so
methodologically it is a unified field. Of course
in terms of cultural context, historic and prehis
toric sites are different.
[Q:] In 1965 you moved into a new phase
of your career, the academic world. Was your
Ph.D. the first one in archaeology under anthro
pology at the University of Texas?
It was the first in anthropology at the Univer
sity of Texas in Austin. At that time it was just
THE University of Texas. Later state university
systems all over the United States were retooled,
taking what had been teachers' colleges, like
1llinois State University where I am now, and
turning them into multipurpose universities.
So now there is a University of Texas at San
Antonio, one at Dallas, one at El Paso, and so
forth.
[Q:] How did you end up teaching in the
Department of Anthropology at Southern Method
ist University in Dallas?
As I remember it, I just got a phone call
one day in 1965 from Fred Wendorf, who had
started the program at SMU the year before.
He told me he was interested in developing a
curriculum in local Texas archaeology. Wendorf
had worked some in that area himself, but had
worked mainly in the southwestern U.S. and also
had gotten heavily involved in fieldwork at the
Aswan Dam project in Egypt. He brought Tony
Marx and Joel Shiner, who had worked with him
at Aswan to SMU, and Ron Wetherington, who
had worked with him in New Mexico, and they
were the beginning of the department. Wendorf
persuaded the administration at SMU that they
should expand the anthropology program by
adding someone in Texas archaeology. He was
aware that I had just gotten my Ph.D., and so he
asked me to come up and join the department.
Judy and I went up to Dallas, looked around,
and talked with Wendorf. He made me one of
those offers that you cannot tum down. So, as
I had spent years doing fieldwork, much of it
away from home from 1950 to 1965, the thought
of a stay-at-home job on a university faculty
was enticing as a change of pace.
[Q:] You were hired at SMU as an assistant
professor?
An associate professor.
[Q:] Was it a combined sociology-anthropology
department?
Yes, it was at that time. A couple of years
later Fred got a separate anthropology department
started not long before I left Dallas.
[Q:] Was it at SMU that you taught your first
class in historical archaeology?
Right. But I had come to SMU to primarily
teach Texas prehistory which I did; however,
I also wanted to teach historical archaeology.
I had never taught before and I was not sure
if I would like it or not, but thought I would
give it a try.
[Q:] Was the class on historical archaeology a
graduate or undergraduate course?
It was a graduate seminar.
[Q:] How frequently was it offered?
Once a year. I was at SMU for three years
[1965-1968] and I must have taught it three
times.
[Q:] Do you recall any of the topics or the
readings that you assigned to the students?
Well, I am trying to remember. I know I
assigned Pinky's article on "historic sites archae
ology" but it was so long ago it is hard to
remember.
[Q:] Was it a hands-on course; did you look
at artifacts in class?
Yes, and also fieldwork. We went out and
started to look for some of these lost historic
sites. In fact, Kathleen Gilmore found one of
the Spanish missions on one of the seminar
field trips, and she used that for her Master's
thesis at SMU.
[Q:] Was Kathleen Gilmore already at SMU
when you arrived?
Yes, as soon as Wendorf had started the
department, the year before I arrived there,
three women, Kathleen, Dessamae Lorraine, and
Norma Hoffrichter, who were buddies and ran
around together, matriculated (I guess would
be the right word) and signed up for all the
archaeology courses.
Dessamae eventually went to the University
of Texas at Austin and got her Master's degree
there, but then she sort of dropped out of archae
ology and I am not sure what happened to her.
Norma got her Master's degree at SMU and
went to the University of Arkansas where she
worked in the anthropology department and the
Arkansas Archaeological Survey for years. She
retired last year.
[Q:] Were they going to be specialists in
prehistoric archaeology originally?
Yes, they started in prehistoric archaeology
as that was all that was being offered at SMU
before my arrival. We made field trips all
the time. I remember taking them to visit a
prehistoric site when we came upon the ruins
of an old farmstead where you could see some
foundations but the house was long gone. You
could find the site by the plants growing around
it and I was showing them some pottery sherds
but they did not seem interested at the time.
But once they took my seminar in historical
archaeology, we went out to look for lost historic
sites and I think that was what got them hooked,
especially Kathleen.
[Q:] So, you brought Kathleen Gilmore into
historical archaeology?
Yes. I was always interested in research and
so many times, Bob, I saw people who would
misidentify a site because they did not have a
rigorous methodology. I had worked out this
method, and taught it to my students, that when
you are looking for a lost historic site there are
certain procedures you should follow, certain
criteria you should employ so when everything
fits together with the physical field evidence,
you can be fairly certain you have the right
place. I have seen so many misidentified sites,
working in Texas-but I guess it happens every
where-where the local lore builds up about a
place that leads to popular misidentification.
For example, there is a town called Spanish
Fort up on the Red River in Texas. When the
first settlers moved into the area in the mid
19th century they saw a bunch of earthworks,
and they knew the Spanish had been messing
around in that area hundreds of years before; so
they said "these are the ruins of an old Spanish
fort." What it was actually, was the remains of
a fortified Wichita village for which there was
good historic documentation. Local residents
found gun parts and other items there, but
they were French and English trade goods,
not Spanish. Anyhow I taught students, includ
ing Kathleen Gilmore, to follow a rigorous
method for identifying sites to avoid making
such mistakes.
[Q:] Was that site Kathleen's Master's thesis?
No. Her thesis was on a Spanish mission in
central Texas.
[Q:] Did she also get the Ph.D. under you?
She eventually got her Ph.D. but I was gone
from SMU by that time. If I remember cor
rectly she did a dissertation on social organiza
tion among the Caddo or something like that.
[Q:] How large were your seminars in histori
cal archaeology?
I averaged maybe ten or twelve students in
a class.
[Q:] And most of these students wanted to be
primarily prehistorians?
All kinds of people. And those who stayed
on in anthropology and archaeology included
Kathleen, of course Norma, and Dessamae;
Ned Woodall who got his Ph.D. at SMU-he
was my assistant up at a 18th and 19th century
British military site at Signal Hill in New
foundland in 1965 and 1966-is now at Wake
Forest University where he has been doing
primarily prehistoric research, although he did
some historical archaeology. Also Jon Gibson
who is now at the University of Southwest
Louisiana University, and two or three others.
I had some success at SMU in getting people
pointed in the direction and they stayed in the
field.
One other thing before I forget it. I left
the University of Texas in early summer of
June 1965 and my position at SMU began in
September. A few months before I left Austin
I saw on the bulletin board an advertisement
from Parks Canada saying they were looking for
archaeologists. They did not have many trained
archaeologists in Canada in 1965, and so they
22
were advertising in American universities.
saw the ad and said "Well that looks kind of
interesting" and I sent off my resume and they
sent me back a contract to work at Signal Hill,
Newfoundland that summer. The contract was
with "Her Majesty Elizabeth II Rex" as the
party of the first part, and me as the party of
the second part etc. So Judy and I went up
there, along with Ned and JulieWoodall, and
spent the summer of 1965 working at Signal
Hill. When I came back to SMU I brought
the artifacts from Signal Hill to use in writing
a report, and I showed those materials to my
class: British artifacts mainly of the early to
the mid-19th century. We went back to Signal
Hill with the Woodalls the next year in 1966,
so we spent two summers there, right in the
middle of when I was teaching the historical
archaeology seminar at SMU.
[Q:] Did you visit the project at the Fortress
of Louisbourg when you were in Canada?
Yes. We stopped there in 1965 and also in
1966. Our son Chris worked at the Louisbourg
in 1966.
[Q:] Was Ed Larrabee at Louisbourg?
Yes, Ed Larrabee was there in 1965. Bruce
Frye had replaced him in 1966.
[Q:] So you returned to SMU and between
1966 and 1967 you were instrumental in the
founding of The Society for Historical Archaeol
ogy. What had changed between 1960 and say
1966, had historical archaeology become much
more visible?
Yes, I think so. I was pretty far removed
from it in Texas because a lot was taking place
on the East coast. I think Noel Hume came to
Williamsburg shortly after I left Virginia in 1956,
and I did not meet him until later. He started
to get a great deal of publicity and published
Here Lies Virginia. That came out early enough
that I had my students reading it at SMU as
I remember.
[Q:] There was a symposium in Washington
D.C. where they discussed historical archaeology
at this time and were you there?
I was in the audience. Jack Cotter, Malcolm
Watkins, Ed Larrabee, and somebody else, I
forget who, were in a panel discussion, and they
were talking about historical archaeology. That
was in 1965 or 1966. Then in 1966 there was
a meeting of the Central States Anthropological
Society in St. Louis. I went to that meeting
where I heard these same people in a panel
giving the same stuff about historic sites archae
ology. I was sitting in the audience with Judy
and Kathleen Gilmore, and I said to them,
"This is the second time I have heard this
panel wonder whether there are enough people
interested in historical archaeology to form some
sort of an organization, and we should get an
answer. If I stand up and invite everyone to
come to SMU to talk about organizing a society
will you ladies help, and they said, Sure."
[Q:] Was this the same panel group?
Pretty much the same. Larrabee, Cotter,
Malcolm Watkins, and Arnold Pilling were there
and maybe somebody else. So I got up and
said I would extend an invitation if people were
interested in having a get-together at SMU in
Dallas, and I would try to get some financial
support if they were interested in coming. Their
answer was yes, so we all got together in a
hotel that night and made plans.
[Q:] Whose hotel room?
The Jelks. Judy served as recording secretary
while the rest of us batted the idea around.
[Q:] Do you remember who was at the meet
ing in the hotel room?
Cotter, Malcolm Watkins, Arnold Pilling and
Ed Larrabee I know were there. There may
have been another one or two. We decided
to invite to Dallas the leading practitioners in
historical archaeology, whoever they might be.
[Q:] Is this the famous "Committee of Fif
teen?"
Yes, the "Committee of Fifteen." So we
started to write down names. Of course, Pinky
Harrington was at the top of the list and we
thought of Carlyle Smith and Carl Chapman
and G. Hubert Smith, all of whom had worked
on historic Indian sites, and Art Woodward
and Kenneth Kidd and Charles Fairbanks and
Ivor Noel Hume. So we put together a list of
fifteen, including at least five of us at that hotel
meeting, maybe six.
Schuyler-A CONVERSATION WITH EDWARD S, .IELKS
[Q:] You people drew the list up?
Yes, we drew the list up. Then I went back
and talked with the President and the Provost
at SMU and asked them to host the meeting
and to pay the travel expenses of the fourteen
people to come to SMU. And SMU sprang for
the money.
[Q:] So you covered all their expenses?
Yes, SMU paid for the plane fares and for
the hotel. They all received VIP treatment,
including being flown from the airport to the
hotel by helicopter. So SMU is owed a vote
of gratitude for having financed the meeting.
Someone suggested-and I do not remember
who-that if we were going to get all these
people together why not put on a great big
international meeting of historical archaeologists
who would be invited to come and give papers.
So we decided to do that, and Arnold Pilling
was put in charge of organizing the paper confer
ence, while I was in charge of local arrange
ments in Dallas. We got it all set up and we
were really surprised because we had over 100
people show up at that "First International Meet
ing on Historical Archaeology" or whatever we
called it.
[Q:] Regular attendees paid all their own
expenses?
Yes. And people gave papers. I cannot
remember everyone who was there but Chuck
Cleland gave a paper and that was the first
time I met him. The conference came off very
well and the fifteen people met privately, two
or three times, I guess; Kathleen Gilmore and
her husband Bob threw a great party for them.
Bob belonged to one of these 1. R. Ewing type
cattleman clubs. It was really swanky, on top
of a high-rise building in downtown in Dallas,
wonderful dinner, and she and Bob paid for it
all. The famous "Committee of Fifteen" came
to that dinner-we did not invite the entire
one hundred. In addition, Judy and I had two
or three cocktail parties at our house for the
committee.
The Committee of Fifteen met and started
discussions, the first question being: Did we
think there were enough people out there inter
ested in historical archaeology to organize a
viable society? The opinions were divided
23
and in the beginning Pinky-and this is sort
of interesting-said no he did not think there
was enough interest. He said that he had been
doing this stuff for years and nobody seemed
to pay any attention to it. Then someone said
look we just sent out this blanket invitation
and we got 100 people showing up. So we
decided that we did not have a hell of a lot
to lose, so let's try it. If it doesn't work we
will forget it.
Then we said that if we were going to do
that we needed some type of organization, so
we arranged for election of officers, which took
place next day at the International Conference
meeting, where there were a 100 people or
more, who voted to form the SHA and elected
the first slate of officers. Incidentally, Malcolm
Watkins was going to chair that meeting, but
he could not come at the last minute and sent
Wilcomb Washburn, a historian, to represent
the Smithsonian in his place. Wi1comb did not
want to chair the organizational meeting, so I
ended up chairing it.
[Q:] Wi1comb Washburn is a historian as is
Carlos Margain. Where did Margain come from,
was he invited by someone?
Yes, Carlos Margain was from Mexico. I did
not know him previously and do not know who
invited him. He was elected to the first board
of directors. We were thinking of historical
archaeology as including some people with an
historical background as well as an archaeologi
cal background. So we had invited historians
who were not archaeologists at all. Washburn
was a historian and, as I recall, so was Merrill
Mattes, another of the participants.
[Q:] The historians tended to drop away from
the organization later?
Well, I do not know how many historians we
currently have in the society but I assume we
have some.
[Q:] Was anyone invited from outside of North
America, say, from Europe?
Margain was from Mexico and there were
several from Canada, but I don't believe there
was anyone from outside North America.
[Q:] What was the issue about a category
of "Fellows?" One person, who is slightly
younger, who was at the founding meeting told
me that some of the older generation in histori
cal archaeology were concerned with losing
control of not necessarily the discipline but of
a new organization. Is that what the suggested
"Fellows" category was all about?
I am trying to remember. We sat down and
drafted a preliminary set of categories for mem
bership, and we set a dues structure which
was minimal at the time, and we did in the
initial draft have a category of "Fellows." It
is hard for me to remember the arguments for
and against having fellows, but I think the idea
was to distinguish between professionals and
nonprofessionals, an idea which found fruition
eventually in the SOPA-ROPA concept. I do not
remember the details. I do know that we talked
about it and had it in a draft, but somewhere
down the line it was decided to drop the idea
of "Fellows." It may have been decided at the
meeting in Dallas in the general discussions. I
do not recall.
[Q:] Were you surprised by the number of
people who showed up for the meeting in
Dallas?
I guess I was somewhat surprised. I really
thought from one indication and another, going
to SAA meetings and regional archaeology meet
ings, that there was a lot of interest. Another
point, Stanley South was one of the other people
involved. He had that Historic Site Archaeol
ogy Conference going in the Southeast, and
he was a bit upset, I think, that the SHA was
formed, because he had started to hold regular
meetings as an adjunct to the Southeastern
Archaeological Conference several years before
the Dallas meeting. I do not remember what
year. But having gone to some of South's
meetings I was aware that there were a number
of people out there who were interested in
historic sites archaeology as a subdiscipline of
the field. I was a little surprised at the number
who showed up in Dallas because we had just
sent out blanket invitations to be posted on
bulletin boards at universities-at departments
of anthropology and maybe some history depart
ments. I certainly would have expected 30 or
40 or 50 in retrospect and was a little surprised
that we had a little over 100-105 or something
like that number.
[Q:] Was Stanley South one of the original
members of the Committee of Fifteen?
Yes.
[Q:] Did he suggest that you use his Confer
ence on Historic Site Archaeology rather than
forming a new organization?
No. Bob, did you ever go to one of his
Conferences? [RLS. "Two or three."] Well he
ran it as an adjunct to the Southeastern Confer
ence (SEAC), I guess, all the way through. He
put out the publication, papers, and all of that.
I attended several of those and there were a
number of people there, he got a pretty good
attendance; but these were people who primarily
had come to the Southeastern Archaeological
Conference, the prehistoric conference, some of
whom stayed over to go to Stan's conference.
But it was certainly my impression that he was
somewhat disappointed that what he had started
as a regional meeting had not been expanded.
[Q:] Was Stanley South on that earlier panel
in Washington, D.C.?
I don't think so but am not certain.
[Q:] When you were setting up the SHA and
the Committee of Fifteen did you already know
the people on the committee? Let me mention
some of the important individuals and ask if
you knew them from an earlier period and, if
so, when did you meet them?
Carl Chapman: Yes, I had met him at SAA
meetings.
Charles Fairbanks: I do not think I had ever
met Fairbanks before Dallas, but other people
present knew him.
J. C. Harrington you already knew and you
knew Ed Larrabee from Louisbourg?
Yes, and also I knew Larrabee from this other
panel he was on [in Washington] and we did
visit him at Louisbourg.
Ivor Noel Hume: I had never met him before
the Dallas meeting, but of course I knew who
he was and Cotter knew him very well.
Arnold Pilling: I had never met Arnold until
the panel discussion in Washington. [And he
was actually the organizer of the paper sessions
in Dallas. is that correct?] Yes, he took care
of organizing the papers and chaired the paper
sessions.
25 Schuyler-A CONVERSATION WITH EDWARD B JELKS
Carlyle Smith: Yes, I had met him at SAA
meetings and I had corresponded with him about
artifacts, artifacts from the Stansbury and other
sites. And Art Woodward I had never met
before Dallas, but I had also sent him materials
for identification earlier.
G. Hubert Smith: I met him first at the River
Basin Surveys office in Lincoln, Nebraska in
1951 and had seen him several other times at
Plains Conferences and at other meetings.
James Deetz: I had never met Deetz.
Kenneth Kidd: Also, I had never met Kidd,
but other people involved knew him.
Malcolm Watkins: Yes, knew him well by
that time from our association at Jamestown and
at several subsequent meetings.
Bunny Fontana: No.
Stanley South: Yes, I had met Stanley at his
conferences in the Southeast.
[Q:] Had you gone to any of the CHSA
meetings before 1966.
Yes, I am sure I did.
[Q:] In 1967 there were 22 "Fellows," most
of whom we just discussed. There are five
others, however, and I would like to ask the
same questions about them. Did you know
these individuals before the Dallas meeting and,
if so, when and how did you first meet them?
James C. Gifford: I don't recall ever meeting
him.
Charles H. Hayes III: I didn't know Hayes
before the Dallas meeting.
Merrill 1. Mattes: I met Mattes for the first
time at the Dallas meeting.
H. Geiger Omwake: I don't remember ever
meeting Omwake.
Stephen Williams: I have known Steve since
meeting him at a SEAC meeting about 1960.
[Q:] Also by the 1967 Dallas meeting there
were other significant, visible researchers in
historical archaeology in North America. Sev
eral of these scholars did attend the founding
meeting and spoke during the open Business
Meeting at the Conference. Did you know the
following individuals, most of whom were in
Dallas, although a few of them were primarily
prehistorians, before the 1967 meeting and, if so,
when and where did you meet them?
Raymond S. Baby: I knew Ray slightly,
having met him at a SAA meeting in the
1950s,
Tyler Bastian: I met Tyler in 1965 when
we worked together on the archaeology of the
Wichitas. Bob Bell at the University of Okla
homa, Marvin Tong at the Museum of the Great
Plains, Bill Newcomb at the Texas Memorial
Museum, and I got a grant from the National
Science Foundation for a pilot study on the
archaeology of the Wichita tribes, which went
on for two years. Tong hired Bastian to test
several sites in Oklahoma while Ned Woodall
and I tested several sites in Texas; then we put
out a joint report on the whole project.
Robert T. Bray: I didn't meet Bob until
several years after the Dallas meeting.
Col. 1. Duncan Campbell: I cannot remember
exactly when I met Campbell. I corresponded
with him about military buttons for a while.
E. Mott Davis: Mott was hired at the Uni
versity of Texas in 1956 to replace Alex Krieger,
who had moved to California. Mott worked
on several RBS sites in East Texas in the late
1950s. We became close friends while we were
both in Austin.
Hester Davis: I met Mott's sister, Hester,
shortly after she moved to the University of
Arkansas, probably in the early 1960s.
James F Fitting: I first knew Jim while he
was in Michigan, before he moved to California.
I believe this was after I moved to Illinois in
1968, but I don't remember for sure.
Leif Landberg: I don't remember ever meet
ing Landberg.
Father John Lee: Ditto for Father John.
William Mayer-Oakes: I first met Mayer
Oakes about 1960 at an SAA meeting. We
came to know each other in succeeding years,
sharing an interest in the American Society for
Conservation Archaeology and other things.
Lee N. Nelson: Don't know him.
Eugene T. Peterson: Ditto.
B. Bruce Powell: I became acquainted with
Bruce when he worked with us at Jamestown
for a while in the 1950s, but have seen him
briefly only once or twice since then.
George I. Quimby: I didn't know Quimby
before 1967, but we became good friends later.
Bert Salwen: Ditto.
26
Albert Schroeder: Schroeder was a NPS
archaeologist in the regional office in Santa Fe
while I was doing RBS work in Texas. I saw
him several times in Santa Fe in the 1950s, and
he visited some of my prehistoric digs in Texas.
A prehistorian, he did some ethnohistorical
research in connection with Indian land claims
in the Southwest.
Paul J. F Schumacher: I got to know Paul
and his wife Marietta well through socializing
with them for years at SHA meetings. However,
I did not know him before 1967.
Hale G. Smith: I met Hale somewhere but
do not know him well. I don't think I had met
him before 1967.
Roderick Sprague: I didn't know Rick in
1967, but we became good friends later.
Lyle M. Stone: I don't remember the first
time I met Lyle, but sometime before the Dallas
meeting I wrote a foreword to his publication on
artifacts from Fort Michilimackinac, co-authored
with 1. Jefferson Miller.
Jervis D. Swannack: While I was working
at Signal Hill in Newfoundland in 1966, Jervis,
then with Parks Canada, visited my dig. I saw
him a few time later in Ottawa and at early
SHA meetings, but he dropped out of sight
some years ago.
James L. Swauger: I don't know Swauger.
Ian C. Walker: Ditto.
[Q:] You were the Second President of The
Society for Historical Archaeology (1968). What
was your term in that office like? Was it a
functioning organization by then or was it still
being set up?
Well, it was functioning but certainly not
hitting on all cylinders. It took a while for it
to get running smoothly
[Q:] You were President when SHA met in
Williamsburg (January 1968). Was it Ivor Noel
Hume who invited the SHA to Williamsburg?
Yes, it was. Well, I took over as president
from Cotter in Williamsburg. Noel Hume got
up at the Dallas meeting when we voted to
form the SHA and invited everyone to come for
the first annual meeting at Williamsburg. Since
we had met in Dallas in January, we decided
to hold the future annual meetings in January.
One of the reasons for that decision was that a
lot of the good time slots had been preempted
by annual meetings of other societies, and we
did not want to meet in the summer when a lot
of people would be out in the field.
Yes, Cotter was the first president [1967], and
at the business meeting in Dallas it was decided
that the President would serve for only one year,
which I think is kind of bad as you hardly get
into office and you are out. Perhaps it should
be two years.
[Q:] Therefore you were President for 1968
and up to the meeting in Tucson. Did you
help to plan the meeting in Tucson or was that
mostly Fontana?
I do not recall doing much toward planning
the Tucson meeting.
[Q:] Did you run the Elections and Nomina
tion Committee for that year?
I cannot remember. I cannot remember if
the policy of having the immediate past presi
dent chair the nominations committee had been
established at that early date or not. There have
been so many different committees in so many
different organizations that they all blur.
[Q:] Did Williamsburg (1968) and Tucson
(1969) seem successful as meetings?
Yes, absolutely. Williamsburg was a success
and everybody was delighted with the meetings.
There were some interesting personal glitches
which you perhaps know about and why not
mention them. What happened is that Cotter
was corresponding with Noel Hume about the
upcoming meeting in Williamsburg [January
1968-the first official SHA Annual Conference].
Jack was up in Philadelphia and Noel was down
in Virginia; in fact, I have copies of some of
their correspondence, and I guess that in Noel's
mind Jack seemed to be trying to take over
planning the meeting, trying to make too many
decisions and not leaving enough autonomy for
Noel down in Williamsburg. So finally one day
Noel just writes a letter to Jack and tells him
"OK, you take over the meeting." Noel Hume
did not come to the meeting in Williamsburg
[RLS, "Oh, he did not attend?!"]. No, he sat
in his house several miles out of Williamsburg
and sent word that because of icy roads he
could not get into town.
[Q:] There were no problems like that in
Tucson, I take it?
No, the only problem in Tucson was the hotel
[RLS, "The Santa Rita HoteL"] with cockroaches
running all over the place.
Looking back to the Williamsburg meeting,
one of the things I wanted to tell you, and it
should go in the record, is that Noel Hume
put on a wonderful banquet. He arranged for
that part of the meeting and it set a precedent
which was followed for several years in SHA
but I guess has now disappeared. He selected a
banquet theme based on l Sth century banquets
in Williamsburg. So, in Tucson Bunny Fontana
decided to do something like it locally, and he
got a bunch of Papago [Tohono O'odham] Indi
ans and they were barbequing all these things,
whatever they were, opossums or something,
all sorts of amazing things, and a lot of people
who ate it got sick. But it was certainly an
interesting meal, a real anthropological experi
ence. Then the following year when we met
in Bethlehem [1970] with Vincent Foley, you
probably did not go to that meeting [RLS, "No,
I did go to that one in Bethlehem and the earlier
one in Tucson."], he replicated a banquet for
George Washington in the 18th century, with
a roasted pig with an apple in its mouth, and
all sorts of things. Later we went to Min
neapolis in January [1973 St Paul] and had what
the voyageurs would have eaten in a banquet
arranged by Alan Woolworth. There was a
tradition of having these historic banquet meals
for a while which has now disappeared.
[Q:] John Cotter was the first President of
the SHA, you followed him in office (1968), and
John H. Rick succeeded you in office (1969).
What was Cotter like as president and what do
you think were his primary accomplishments
in office? How and when did you meet Rick
before DaJlas?-and how did he do as presi
dent?
Cotter's main problems as president stemmed
from the fact that everything was new. He was
conscientious about his responsibilities and was
determined to establish the necessary operational
procedures to get the society off the ground.
There were crises to face, including the resigna
tion of Glenn Little as editor, a problem that
Cotter solved by editing the first volume of
Historical Archaeology himself. I described his
27
involvement with planning the first annual meet
ing at Williamsburg and the resulting friction
that developed between he and Noel Hume.
In my opinion he did a creditable job with
a very difficult assignment. My only criticism
is that, in trying to ensure that everything went
well, he may have taken on too many chores
himself. He might have saved himself a lot
work and a few headaches if he had delegated
more authority to others instead of trying to
handle so many details himself.
After working out details by mail, in the early
spring of 1965 I signed a contract with Canada
to do the work at Signal Hill, Newfoundland
that summer. At the SAA meeting in April,
John Rick, Parks Canada's chief archaeologist,
sought me out and introduced himself; then
we discussed my upcoming fieldwork at Signal
Hill. He visited my dig that summer, and I
saw him in Ottawa several times over the next
few years.
[Q:] Vincent P. Foley was the sixth SHA
President (1972) but he served under you as
the Secretary-Treasurer (1968-1970). When
did you get to know Foley and how was he as
Secretary-Treasurer?
Vince was very organized and competent and
did a good job as secretary-treasurer. I believe
1 met him for the first time at the first SHA
annual meeting in Williamsburg in January
1968.
[Q:] During the early years of the society
there were three journal editors: J. Glenn Little
III, David Armour, and John D. Combes. When
did you first get to know these fellow officers
and what is your impression of them as editors
of Historical Archaeology?
I never met Little to my recollection, and of
course he resigned [due to a heart attack] before
getting Vol. 1 into print, so he really did no
editing on the journal. I think I corresponded
with Armour while he was editing Vol. 2, but
I don't remember meeting him face to face.
And I really have no opinion about Combes'
performance as editor.
[Q:] Since you were deeply involved in the
founding of the SHA and oversaw its early
growth, how do you compare the SHA today in
regard to its accomplishments and problems?
That is hard to comment on. I guess one of
my problems is that I am too old and I can
remember the good old days [laughter] when
you went to a meeting and there were just a
few people there, and there was one slate of
papers, not concurrent sessions. By the end
of the meeting almost everybody got to know
everybody else. You sat around and there were
not any tours or that kind of thing-not that the
tours are not nice, in fact, I enjoy them-but it
was just a different time and a different feeling,
and you sat around in a hotel like this and
talked about archaeology all night until the
sun would came up next morning. That was
the one opportunity you had to get together
and communicate with your colleagues from all
over. I am talking about regional meetings and
even the SAA in the early days. But today
the meetings have gotten so big, with all these
concurrent sessions with hundreds of papers, and
you see all these people milling around and you
know about one percent of them; in fact, no
one in the room knows more than one percent
of them [laughter]. It is just a different thing.
I have seen that change with both the SAA and
the SHA as I go to both of their meetings pretty
regularly every year.
[Q:] You did not become less involved with
the Society for American Archaeology once the
SHA had formed?
No, not at all.
[Q:] Are you optimistic about the future of
the SHA as a society?
Yes, surely.
[Q:] In 1968 you moved from SMU to the
Midwest and you were at Illinois State Univer
sity in Normal for sixteen years. Why did you
make that move?
When Judy and I left Dallas to go to Wash
ington for a Smithsonian fellowship in the fall
of 1967, we had to decide, since we owned a
house in Dallas, whether we wanted to rent it
out or sell it. For several reasons I had been
thinking about moving on from SMU to some
other place-one reason being that there are
some negative things about SMU I would prefer
not to get into here-but another reason was
that at that time universities all over the country
were building anthropology departments, and
they were just hiring people like crazy, offering
you all kinds of goodies to move from one place
to another. I went to a meeting somewhere, it
must have been the SAA meeting that spring of
1968, where I met a sociologist from Illinois
State University who was recruiting for someone
to start an anthropology program there. He
asked me to send in a resume, and I did, then
I visited the campus, and they made me one of
those offers you just could not turn down to
come and organize an anthropology program. In
fact, when we moved to Normal, I had no idea
we would stay long. But they offered me a full
professorship with tenure, a six-hour teaching
load, graduate assistants, a much larger salary
than I was making at SMU, and all kinds of
perks, including the floor of a building to turn
into an archaeology lab. So we moved to ISU
and gave it a shot.
When we first went there, we did not like
Normal, Illinois too much. I liked it better
than Judy, but she would threaten to leave
every Thursday and sometimes on Tuesdays and
Sundays too. So when I retired 16 years later, I
said OK now it is time to leave, she would not
leave! We would go out and get in the car and
drive to Arizona, back to Texas, and down to
Florida and look for a place, but then go back
to Normal and stay. And we are still there.
[Q:] You were the founder of the anthropology
section of a joint department and then it split
later into two departments?
Not exactly. It started as a sociology-anthro
pology department, but then they added social
work and we had three divisions in there for
awhile; but then social work split off and got
its own department. One of the problems was
we were all set to have a separate anthropology
department about 1970. I had talked to the dean
about that before I went to Normal, and he had
agreed to support a separate department once we
got it going. After a couple of years we were
doing very well and had a lot of students, so
I went back to the dean, and he said OK. We
drew up the proposal for a separate department,
but about that time all the hippies showed up
and they started all these marches and confronta
tions on the campus. One day a bunch of stu
dents physically removed the university president
from his office and occupied it themselves. The
president announced that faculty didn't have to
hold regular class meetings, but could go outside
on the quad, get on a soapbox, and make politi
cal speeches if they chose to. This was going
on all over the country. So the citizens of
Illinois eventually said, OK if this sort of stuff
is going to go on at state universities, then
we are going to stop supporting them with our
tax money. In response the legislature simply
put a moratorium, a flat moratorium, on any
expenditures for any new programs. You could
not even offer a new course for two or three
years at any state university. So they cut us
off at the pass. By the time the legislative
restrictions were removed, the country was in
a recession and there were no funds for setting
up a separate department. Now after all these
years they are in the process again of trying to
get a separate anthropology department.
[Q:] When you moved to Illinois State Uni
versity did you continue to teach the seminar in
historical archaeology, every year?
Yes, every year. I might add that at ISU
I continued my practice of involving students
in looking for "lost" historic sites. We made
several excursions looking for the site of La
Salle's Fort St. Louis, on the Illinois River near
present-day Peoria, established in 1680, but we
never did find it. Years before, I had inventoried
FIGURE 5. 1984 crew at the Laurens site, southern
Illinois, first location of French Fort de Chartes, built in
1719. Left to right Ed and Judy Jelks; ISU historian
Carl Ekberg; ISU students Martin Wyckoff, Ed Safiran,
Dave Waletschek, Dave Miller, and Keith Barr; Illinois
State Historic Preservation Agency archaeologist Margaret
Kimball-Brown; Illinois State Museum archaeologist Terry
Martin; Bill Potter. (Courtesy of the Department of Sociology
and Anthropology, Illinois State University, Urbana.)
the artifacts found by Glen Evans of the Texas
Memorial Museum in 1950 at the site of La
Salles's Fort St. Louis, established on the Texas
coast in 1685, so I had a long-standing interest
in La Salle's colonizing efforts.
In 1983 ISU history professor Carl Ekberg and
I did identify the first site of Fort de Chartres
built by the French in 1719 on the Mississippi
in southern Illinois (the fort was later moved to
another location). This identification involved
study of contemporary documents, a magnetom
etry survey conducted by physics professor John
Weymouth of the University of Nebraska, old
aerial photos in the files of the Army Corps of
Engineers, and, of course, on-site archaeological
exploration.
[Q:] Who were some of the students you
produced?
We had a lot of students who stayed in
archaeology and some of them did very well.
For example, Bob Sonderman, you know Bob I
think, is the National Park Service archaeologist
for the Capital District in Washington. Chip
Smith is the head archaeologist for the Depart
ment of the Army now, and Deborah Hull-Walski
is the collections manager for the anthropology
collections at the Smithsonian's Museum of
Natural History. Mike Wiant is curator of
anthropology at the Illinois State Museum. Mark
Esarey is Illinois State Archaeologist. Rose
Schilt is with the Bishop Museum in Hawaii.
Ron Deiss, Joe Phillippe, Mary McCorvie, Ed
Safirin, Steve Rogers, Judi Jackson, Alan Westo
ver, and several ex-students work as archaeolo
gists or historians for state and federal agencies.
Floyd Mansburger owns a successful CRM finn,
and a number of others are employed by CRM
outfits. We have them scattered all over, and
a lot of these are primarily historical archaeolo
gists.
[Q:] Was the program at ISU a Master's pro
gram?
Yes, a Master's program. Some students went
on to get a Ph.D. at other universities, but most
of them stayed with the MA degree.
[Q:] Was it during this period that you worked
at West Point Military Academy and was that the
ISU Fieldschool? What was the ISU Fieldschool
doing in New York state?
30 HISTORICALARCHAEOLOGY35(4)
Yes and that was 1971. Well, at the 1971
annual SHA meeting Pinky Harrington came
up to me and told me that this colonel from
West Point had come to the meeting looking
for someone to do some archaeological work
at the academy. They were getting ready for
the Bicentennial in 1976 several years ahead
and wanted some archaeological data to use
as a basis for restoring some of the original
Revolutionary War period fortifications. They
had come to Pinky and he did not want to do
it, or could not do it, for some reason. He
recommended me, and asked if I would be
interested. So I talked to the colonel at the
meeting and later went over to West Point on a
preliminary visit, which was quite an experience
in itself, and talked with the superintendent there
and decided to accept. I set the project up as
a field school. Archaeologists do not do that
much today, but combining contract work with
field schools had worked for me over the years.
I had a contract to do the work, the students
supplied the labor and got the minimum wage
plus course credit, and I wrote a report, and
that was the end of that project, and everybody
was happy.
[Q:] Was the West Point Project one season?
Yes, one season. They wanted me to come
back the next season but something had come
up, I do not remember what it was now, that
kept me from going back, not that I did not
want to because we had enjoyed the summer
there. But Pinky went back the second year
and continued the work that I had begun.
[Q:] Was that Constitution Island?
Yes, it was Constitution Island. That was
where I worked at West Point.
[Q:] What was the Midwestern Archaeological
Research Center at ISU?
That was the archaeological research center I
started at Illinois State. We did mainly contract
work.
[Q:] So, it was a CRM set up. Does it still
exist?
No. It died on the vine after I left ISU.
[Q:] What were the dates for the existence of
the MARC at Illinois State?
FIGURE 6. Jelks taking picture lrom improvised photo
tower, Constitution Island, West Point Military Academy,
1971. ISU students holding lines: lacing camera,
left to right, Christie Williams, Lee Minnerly, Stephanie
Santmeyers; back to camera, Steve Rogers. (Courtesy
01 Department 01 Sociology and Anthropology, Illinois
State University, Urbana.)
When I went there I swore I would not get
involved in doing contract archaeology, because
as I mentioned earlier I done fieldwork full
time for 15 years for the River Basin Surveys.
Although not contract as such, it was the same
game. You had to go out and dig a site, write
a report and meet all the deadlines, and it just
went on and on and on until finally you just
got tired of that routine. In Illinois they were
building a lot of highways, so one day Chuck
Bareis at the University of Illinois told me
that they just had to have more help with the
programs and asked me to help. We could
contract on Phase I, Phase II and Phase III on
a section of the interstate highway down toward
St Louis. But I said, "No, I am not going to
do it." But I had all these students at ISU, and
they heard about it, and they started to ding
dong me about it so they could go out make
wages and get field experience. So in a moment
of weakness I said, "OK."
We started out doing prehistoric work, and
it was while we were doing this work that I
sawall these old farmhouses that were just
being bulldozed down. So I got in touch with
Benny Keel at the NPS office in Atlanta who
had oversight over the highway work. He came
to Illinois and checked out the situation and
made the Illinois Department of Transportation
include study of historic sites in the highway
rights of way. That is how it got started.
Schuyler-A CONVERSATION WITH EDWARD S, JELKS
[Q:] What year was this work started?
I moved to ISV in 1968, so it was probably
1972 or 1973, somewhere along in that period.
I finally got the state to fund historical archaeol
ogy in the CRM programs, and I was handling
virtually all of that work in Illinois, using my
students. We still had the prehistoric work
continuing and it was more than I could handle
alone. So we set up two divisions, and I hired
Fred Lange to come in and take over the man
agement of the historic division and David
Carlson, who had just gotten his Ph.D. from
Northwestern, to take over the prehistoric work.
The way the research center was organized was
that I was director, Carlson supervised all the
prehistoric CRM, and Fred Lange did all the
historic sites. That went on for several years; in
fact, a lot of the kids I have been talking about
who are now at the Army Corps of Engineers,
the Smithsonian, the NPS, the State of Illinois,
and other places, went through that program
and got a lot of their field and lab experience
there.
When 1 retired in 1983 we looked for a new
MARC director and hired Vergil Noble, but he
left after three or four years. Then Charles
Rohrbaugh took over for a couple of years.
Chuck Orser replaced Rohrbaugh as MARC
director, but as it turned out he decided to go
in a different career direction. Initially he was
doing local CRM stuff but then got into more
exotic historical archaeology and did research
in Portugal, then in Brazil, and then in Ireland,
where he has developed a successful on-going
program, taking students over to Ireland for
the last five or six years. So with Orser heav
ily involved in other research, the MARC was
discontinued.
[Q:] When you were at SMV and initially
when you moved to Illinois State was the period
when the "New" or Processual Archaeology
emerged in America. When did you become
aware of it as a movement and what was your
reaction to it?
I remember Lew Binford giving a paper at
an SAA meeting in the 1960s which generated
a lot of interest in the audience. I guess I
just gradually became aware that there was this
group of which Binford was the bellwether, if
that is the right term; he was the guru. Bob,
you were involved in that also. Were you one
31
of the Processual Archaeology types? [RLS.
"Not really. Two or three times removed, sort
of."] I also knew of some of the work that Jim
Deetz had done, but he insists that he was never
a "New Archaeologist." I just gradually became
aware of the movement
Of course, I am old enough to have witnessed
the roots of the movement in Walt Taylor's
"A Study of Archaeology," published in 1948.
I knew Walt, had been in the field with him
several times, and had talked with him about
a lot of this stuff. J. Charles Kelley, one of
my mentors at VT, was a classmate of Taylor
at Harvard, so I heard a lot about the begin
nings of the idea of a scientific archaeology,
anthropological and processual, even back in
those days, the late 1940s. I witnessed the
whole thing, saw it come and have seen it go,
or it seems to be going in large part, let's put
it that way.
[Q:] Was your reaction mostly positive or
mostly negative?
Some of both. I felt from the beginning and
still feel that there were some very positive
things about Processual Archaeology, but there
also were many negatives. Among the positive
things is the idea that archaeologists should
be more rigorous and more scientific in their
approach. By scientific I mean following formal
procedures like the hard sciences, so called, are
wont to do.
I think archaeologists need to be more rigor
ous. I think that is all to the good. But on the
down side, the New Archaeology put so much
emphasis on cultural process, removed from
the empirical field data by three or four levels
of inference, that we ended up with a lot of
students going through their education without
being trained in how to go out and collect
empirical data in the first place. Anyway that
is my view of Processual Archaeology. I see
some good and some bad in it, like in anything
else.
I guess I am so old, Bob, that you might even
call me a Pre-Processual Archaeologist. But as
I started out in zoology I was trained to take a
very rigorous approach to doing research, and
there are certain things you should do. For
one thing, all of your empirical observations
should not only entail careful note-taking but
also be reproduced and made available to your
32
colleagues. A lot of the literature of the "New
Archaeology," and this is just my opinion, talks
about processual models of various kinds, but
does not include the empirical data upon which
these interpretations were based, so how was
one able to evaluate the models?
You may remember when Stanley South
wanted to collect empirical data from several
sites to illustrate his pattern recognition, he
combed the literature and could not find much
empirical field data in the literature. He used
my Signal Hill report as one example because I
had put all the data in the report.
So that is my major criticism of the New
Archaeology: they got too far away from the
empirical data. I consider myself a dirt archae
ologist-not an armchair archaeologist-and
I feel that there are certain procedures based
on theoretical and methodological principals
that should always be followed when digging a
site, and they apply to historical archaeology,
prehistoric archaeology, biblical archaeology, or
any type of archaeology. I do not think such
basic things are being taught in universities
much anymore, or at least not as much as they
used to be.
[Q:] As you have always been interested
in the patterning found within an individual
archaeological site, do you think W. W. Taylor's
"conjunctive approach" was an influence on
you?
Yes, except I never knew for certain what
the "conjunctive approach" was! And I do
not think anyone else knew what it was. As
I said, I was in the field several times down
in Mexico and on the Texas border with Walt
Taylor, and I used to talk with him about this
question, and he was never able to explain it to
my satisfaction. His idea was right, his funda
mental idea was right, but he never explained
how to do it in the field. You were not around
at that time, but you may understand that what
Taylor did was to say "OK, here are all these
leading American archaeologists," including A. V
Kidder, Frank H. H. Roberts, Emil Haury, James
Griffin, and others who were the pre-eminent
prehistorians of the period in North America,
and Taylor said, "OK, all you guys claim to
be anthropologists"-he just listed them all
one by one-and he said "you have degrees in
anthropology and what you are doing is not
anthropology but historiography," which by
Taylor's definition was purely descriptive and did
not get into cultural process. He told them they
had to do anthropology, and he would tell them
how. But he never did! He never finished or
published the promised reports on work he had
done at Archaic sites in northern Mexico in
which he was to demonstrate the conjunctive
approach.
I remember one time about 1953 when Alex
Krieger and I went down to Mexico because
archaeologists from the National Museum in
Mexico had found this very interesting cave
with a bunch of prehistoric burials thrown into
it [Candeleria Cave], and they were pulling all
these skeletons out. Walt Taylor, who was living
in Mexico City at the time, heard about the site
and showed up there. We were sitting around
the camp talking, and Krieger said to Taylor,
"Well, Walt, how is your great report coming
along, your magnum opus?" Taylor said, "Well,
I got twelve hundred pages done," and he paused
and said, "it is quadrupled spaced." [All laugh]
He worked on that report for many years but
never finished, or at least never published it.
Taylor came to Austin about 1948 while I
was a graduate student there before I started to
work for Stephenson, and he was looking for a
graduate student to come out to Santa Fe and
assist him in putting together this great report,
and he offered me the job. The student would
get junior author credit and everything. I had
the good sense not to go. Many years later,
about 1971, when I needed another archaeologist
at Illinois State, I hired Jonathan Reyman, brand
new Ph.D. from Southern Illinois University,
where he had been a student of Taylor. He
had just spent a whole summer, maybe more
than that, maybe a whole year, out in Santa
Fe working with Taylor on that report. So
when Jonathan came to ISU he was all excited
because they just about had that report ready, a
great big massive two or three volume thing by
Walter W. Taylor, Jr. with Jonathan Reyman as
junior author. He kept waiting, and he would
write to Taylor and Taylor would write back, and
this went on for 12 years or so until Jonathan
finally came to realize that nothing was going to
happen. And Jonathan also learned that he had
been the latest of a series of students over the
years that Taylor had hired to help him with the
report. Anyway, that is just a little story.
Taylor was a very bright guy and had some
very original ideas, but he made the mistake
of telling the leading American archaeologists,
"You all do not know what you are doing and
I am going to tell you how to do it." So no
matter what he published they were ready to
jump right on him.
[Q:] You were not only one of the founders
of the SHA but in the 1970s you were one of
the people who helped to set up the Society of
Professional Archaeologists (SOPA) and very
recently the Register of Professional Archaeolo
gists (ROPA). How did that come about?
I have what I think is the unique experience
of having chaired the organizational meetings
of two major archaeological societies: SHA
and SOPA.
With the rise of CRM, anybody could say "I
am an archaeologist," so the people who needed
to write contracts with archaeologists did not
know who was qualified or was not qualified
to do professional work. Rex Wilson, then the
chief NPS archaeologist, approached me and Bob
McGimsey at a SAA conference in the early
1970s and said, "I am going to tell you right
now boys that either the profession organizes a
certification program for recognizing qualified
archaeologists, or the federal government is
going to do it." That scared the be-Jesus out
of a lot of people and led to the Airlie House
Conference of 1974. Initially the conference
was to talk about certification as the only issue,
but other issues were added to the agenda later.
Recommendations coming out of the Airlie
House conference led to the appointment of
an SAA committee that turned out to be the
instrument that formed SOPA.
[Q:] What was the Airlie House Conference?
When was it called, who chaired it, what histori
cal archaeologists attended, and was it success
ful?
Sponsored by the SAA and financed by the
National Park Service, this conference was
organized by Bob McGimsey and was held at
Airlie House, a conference center in Virginia,
in 1974. There were four or five different
committees, each of which met separately and
considered a separate issue. I was on the com
33
mittee with Ray Thompson (chair), Jim Judge,
McGimsey, Stuart Struever, and Fred Wendorf
that explored the possibility of certifying archae
ologists. This committee recommended that
the SAA establish and administer a register of
certified archaeologists.
Acting on that recommendation, the SAA
Executive Board appointed an Interim Com
mittee on Professional Standards (Jesse Jen
nings, Richard Woodbury, Charles Cleland, Stuart
Struever, and Bob McGimsey) charged with the
responsibility for making preparations to establish
the registry. The Interim Committee drafted a
document setting forth steps for establishing a
registry. After a lot of debate at the 1975 SAA
meeting and elsewhere, a ballot was sent out to
the SAA membership, which voted about three
to one in favor of establishing a registry that
would be separate from the SAA and would be
open to anyone (not only SAA members).
The Interim Committee was enlarged to
include representatives from the SHA and the
AlA as well as the SAA. The final committee,
consisted of me as chair, Jane Buikstra, Charles
Cleland, Hester Davis, James Hester, Jesse Jen
nings, Tom King, Bill Lipe, Bill McDonald,
Bob McGimsey, and Stuart Streuver. We met
at the University of Arkansas in January 1976
and, after a week of discussion, decided to form
the Society of Professional Archeologists as an
independent society because the SAA had backed
off from sponsoring such a society. We elected
officers at that time and prepared a report to the
SAA executive board, which I, as first SOPA
president, presented at the next SAA annual
meeting in the spring of 1976. The SAA execu
tive board thanked the committee for establishing
SOPA and urged all qualified SAA members to
join the new registry.
Back to your questions about the Airlie House
conference, I do not remember who was on
all the different work groups, nor the different
issues they addressed. The proceedings of the
conference containing all these details have been
published. I do remember that Stan South was
on one of the groups, and there may well have
been other historical archaeologists there too. I
believe that the conference was successful in the
sense that there was thorough airing of several
important issues facing the archaeological com
36
went to that conference in London last year
[joint meeting of the SHA and the Society for
Postmedieval Archaeology], and that indicates
what our colleagues across the pond are doing.
[Q:] When you look across your whole career
would you primarily classify yourself as an
historical archaeologist?
No. 1 consider myself an archaeologist who
has used archaeological methods and techniques
to study several difference cultures of the past,
including some for which there are related
contemporary documents. If I had to declare
myself as one or the other-and that would
be a silly, useless exercise-I would have to
come down on the side of prehistory, simply
because that is what I have done mostly. I was
trained by prehistorians, and have spent two
or three as much time on prehistoric research
as on historical. This is reflected both in my
field research, my publication record, and my
teaching career, which included more courses
on prehistoric, or on general method and theory,
than on historical archaeology. I do not mean
by saying that to in any way diminish my inter
est in, and enthusiasm for, historical archaeology.
I feel very strongly about that interest.
[Q:] Do you think that it is in any way nega
tive that most students today in historical archae
ology have little to do with prehistoric archaeol
ogy as they tend to be exclusively historical
archaeologists?
It should not make any difference in my mind
as long as they receive proper training in the
basics of conducting archaeological research.
Archaeology is archaeology, no matter what
culture area or time period one chooses to
specialize in.
I used the term "dirt archaeologist" earlier for
the generic archaeologist, but there is another
term that has been kicked around. Some years
ago, as far as I know published for the first
time in Europe, was the concept of "archaeog
raphy" and "archaeology" as counterparts to
the terms "ethnography" and "ethnology." Just
as ethnographers go out and collect empirical
data about existing peoples and use those data
for ethnological studies, so do archaeographers
observe cultural manifestations that people left
behind that can be used for synthetic processual
models of cultural dynamics (archaeology? or
paleoethnology?). I sometimes in my classes
said that archaeologists perform autopsies on the
cadavers of past cultures.
So it does not matter if you are an historical
archaeologist or a prehistoric archaeologist,
there is a right way to study the archaeological
record, and there are many wrong ways to study
it. I think there is a set of very sound funda
mental principals that should underlie all field
procedures. I spent years trying to teach these
principles to a couple of generations of students
and to impress on them that the important thing
is to know how to dissect and observe the
anatomy of the cultural cadaver in an objective,
scientific way.
There are certain basic things that must be
done. For one thing you cannot go out there
and dig a bunch of random squares comprising
four percent of the surface area of a site and
come up knowing very much about the anatomy
of that site. That is not a valid statistical
sample because it does not reveal how a site
is structured, how the geological components
and cultural components are articulated in the
ground. Those must be exposed and observed
objectively if inferences about extinct peoples
are to be valid.
I feel that archaeography-if you want to use
that term to refer to the scientific collection
of empirical observations on the archaeological
record-is fundamental and must be kept clearly
separated from synthetic processual modeling,
which is done as a later phase of research.
Incidentally Jim Deetz gave a keynote address
at an SAA meeting, maybe 12 or 15 years ago,
where apparently independently of the people in
Europe who had preceded him on this, he came
up with the term "archaeography," synonymous
with the European usage of the term, Binford
made the same distinction but without using
that term. Walt Taylor did the same back in
1948,using the term historiography as approxi
mately synonymous with what I am here calling
archaeography. Willey and Phillips in 1955 who
promulgated the famous dictum that "archaeol
ogy is anthropology or it is nothing," also dis
tinguished between modeling of cultural process
(that is, doing ethnological studies of peoples
who are not here anymore) and the collection,
identification, and ordering of empirical data.
Some one has to do this groundwork at the
descriptive level, or there will be no sound
37
empirical data on which to base models of
cultural process
[Q:] Is it equally important to be trained as
an anthropologist?
No. Of course not. To construct anthropo
logical, processual models, Yes. But not to
do "archaeography," Look at all our Classical
Archaeologists and our Biblical Archaeologists.
I would hate to think that all of those guys
do not know what the hell they are doing. Of
course they know how to dig. Or most of
them do, just as most (but by no means all)
anthropological archaeologists know how to dig
a site properly. Like reasoning on any subject,
your final conclusion depends on the premise
you start out with. If you start out with Willey
and Phillips' dictum, "archaeology is anthropol
ogy or it is nothing," obviously you have to
know anthropology or you are not doing archae
ology by that definition. But even so you still
have to do the "archaeography" part.
Those are my views on archaeology.
[RLS] Then this is a good place to stop. [EJ]
I think so.
Thank you for the interview and for being
allowed to follow you through a half century of
the history of the field.
38
Mark D. Groover
Linking Artifact Assemblages to
Household Cycles: An Example
from the Gibbs Site
ABSTRACT
In this essay, a new quantitative method called time sequence
analysis is introduced. The method is used to link artifact
distributions to family cycles, allowing reconstruction of
consumption dynamics across several generations. Information
for the study was recovered from excavations conducted at
the Gibbs site, a 19th-century farm near Knoxville, Tennessee.
Four generations of the Gibbs family occupied the site
between 1792 and 1913. The relationship between household
cycles and material consumption is measured statistically
with correlation tests using time sequence analysis. The
analysis results indicate that, given optimum excavation and
documentary contexts, artifact assemblages can be linked
directly to successive household cycles.
Introduction
Much of human life is cyclical and structured
by oscillating tempos and rhythms. Within
human biology, for instance, the heartbeat, brain
waves, sleep stages, and childbirth exhibit cycli
cal behavior. Households also possess cyclical
growth patterns. Family growth cycles, in tum,
diachronically influence material consumption.
Fortunately for historical archaeologists, the
influence of household cycles upon material
consumption produces quantifiable correlates that
are often preserved and potentially accessible in
the archaeological record.
In the following essay, the influence of house
hold cycles upon material consumption among
four generations of the Gibbs family is explored
archaeologically. This objective is accomplished
through the interpretive concept of family growth
cycles and a new method called time sequence
analysis (Groover 1998a). Five main topics
are discussed in this essay. First, excavations
conducted at the Gibbs site, a family-operated
farmstead in east Tennessee, are briefly sum
marized. Second, relevant research pertaining to
household cycles conducted in social history and
sociology is then considered. The new method
of time sequence analysis is then introduced.
Historical Archaeology, 200 I, 35(4):38-57.
FIGURE 1, The Nicholas Gibbs house in Knox County,
Tennessee, ca. 1987.
The results from analysis of the Gibbs artifact
assemblage using the new technique are then
presented. Lastly, interpretations of the analysis
results are discussed.
The Gibbs Site
Between 1792 and 1971, the Nicholas Gibbs
house (40KNI24) and surrounding farm in Knox
County, Tennessee, were the property of five
generations of the Gibbs family (Figure I). The
Nicholas, Daniel, and Rufus Gibbs households,
the first three generations of the family, resided
in the same log house and operated a successful,
FIGURE 2. Photograph of the Gibbs house in 1910
showing the John Gibbs family.
39 Groover-LINKING ARTIFACT ASSEMBLAGES TO HOUSEHOLD CYCLES
average-sized farmstead in succession between
1792 and 1905. The last Gibbs household to
live on the farm, the John Gibbs family, resided
in the homeplace and operated the farm between
1905 and 1913 (Figures 2, 3). The dwelling
was later occupied by tenants during most of the
20th century, between 1913 and 1971 (Table 1).
Since 1986, the log house has been owned by
the Nicholas Gibbs Historical Society, a group
of Gibbs family descendants. The Gibbs house
is maintained as a community museum by the
historical society (Irwin 1973; Neal 1986; Brown
1987; Mathison 1987; McClung Collection [MC]
n.d.).
One of the most intensively studied rural
domestic sites in east Tennessee (Mathison 1987;
Faulkner 1988a, 1988b, 1989, 1991, 1992; Young
1991, 1994a, 1994b; Lev-Tov 1994, Groover
1994a, 1994b, 1995a, 1995b, 1995c, 1995d,
1995e, 1996a, 1996b, 1996c, 1996d, 1998a,
1998b, 1999), excavations were conducted at
the Nicholas Gibbs house between 1987 and
1996 by students with the historical archaeology
program in the Department of Anthropology,
TABLE 1
SUMMARY OF THE HOUSEHOLD HISTORY FOR
THE GIBBS SITE
Household Occupation Maximum
Head Period Household Size
Nicholas Gibbs 1792-1817 12
Daniel Gibbs 1817-1852 12
Rufus Gibbs 1852-1890 6
Nuclear Family
Rufus Gibbs 1890-1905 7
Extended Family
John Gibbs 1905-1913 5
Tenant Period 1913-1971 Unknown
Several Short-Term 1971-1986 Unknown
Owners
Gibbs Historical I986-Present Residence
Society Period Unoccupied
1
N
{not to scale)
.' - - - - - - ~ .
,""' ..
''''''''''
.. . . .
. . . . .
. . . . .
OICMo\U1.
. . . . .
. . . . .
. . . . .
FIGURE 3. Houselot landscape features at the Gibbs
site during the John Gibbs period of site occupation
ca. 1910, based on a memory map drawn by Mrs. Ethel
Gibbs Brown in 1987.
University of Tennessee, Knoxville, under the
direction of Charles Faulkner. Archaeological
research at the Gibbs house was initiated in
1987 by an invitation from the Nicholas Gibbs
Historical Society to conduct excavations at
the site. The Gibbs site contains the earliest
extant log dwelling and intact houselot in Knox
County.
The research design originally implemented
by Charles Faulkner at the Gibbs site in 1987
focused on two main objectives. The first prior
ity consisted of reconstructing the farmlot's
landscape history, particularly the settler period
between 1792 and 1817 associated with Nicholas
Gibbs, the first site resident. The second objec
tive of site investigations was to document the
material culture associated with a frontier-era,
German-American family in east Tennessee.
(Faulkner 1988a, 1988b, 1989, 1991, 1992).
To reconstruct the lot's landscape history, five
blocks of units were excavated along the west
and north perimeter of the undisturbed, stratified
houselot, The excavations were conducted in
the rear yard of the houselot between 1987 and
1991 (Figure 4). The location of the original,
late 18th-century smokehouse was identified
in 1989. A large pit cellar associated with
the smokehouse, designated Feature 16, was
the most significant feature encountered at the
Gibbs site. During 1990, the pit cellar was
40
FIGURE 4. Base map of the Gibbs site (40KN124) showing
excavation areas.
completely excavated. Predominantly associated
with subsistence activities, the feature contained a
very detailed record of material consumption that
had occurred at the site between approximately
1800 and 1850. Later in 1996, a systematic
site survey was conducted of the entire Gibbs
property tract. Between 1987 and 1996, 71
units were excavated at the site and 41 features
were recorded. A total of 20,319 artifacts was
also recovered (Groover 1998a).
Household Cycles
Since the 1970s, family or household life
cycles and generational sequences have received
a substantial amount of research attention, par
ticularly among social historians and sociolo
gists focusing on the history, development, and
ethnography of the rural family (Greven 1970;
Hareven 1974; Henretta 1978; Goody 1978;
Conzen 1980, 1985; Gordon 1983; Colman and
Elbert 1984; Salamon 1985, 1992; Demos 1986;
Harari and Vinovskis 1989; Mayer and Tuma
1990; Hawes and Nybakken 1991; Vinovskis
and McCall 1991; Craig 1993; Gross 1996).
Primary topics addressed in this research effort
consist of household-level demography, the
family or household life cycle, life events, life
course analysis, generational analysis, and family
authority (Gordon 1983; Demos 1986; Harari
and Vinovskis 1989; Hawes and Nybakken 1991;
Vinovskis and McCan 1991).
Almost an studies concerned with the history
of the family emphasize the importance of
household cycles in understanding the long-term
dynamics of family life (Vinovskis and McCan
1991). Particularly relevant to historical archae
ology, family life cycle research stresses the
use of a diachronic approach and longitudinal
data, as opposed to synchronic, cross-sectional
case studies, to reconstitute family dynamics
in the past (Hareven 1974). In this essay, the
analysis of medium-duration temporal process
and material consumption among the Gibbs
family relies upon a family cycle model devel
oped by Goody (1978). This model is based on
a growth curve defined by family household size
through time. Seemingly simplistic, the model
offers substantial analytical power in interpreting
artifact assemblages recovered from historical
sites that possess optimum archaeological and
documentary contexts.
The family cycle model used in this study
divides the life cycle of the household into
three simple yet analytically useful divisions,
consisting of expansion (young), fission (mature),
and replacement (old) (Goody 1978). Acknowl
edging the temporal aspect inherent to family
cycles, these divisions can also be referred to
interchangeably as early, middle, and late phases
in the household cycle. The early or expansion
phase, as the name implies, refers to situations
that contain greater levels of positive household
growth than negative household growth, indicated
by the periodic addition of new children to
the family. The residential pattern used by
the family during the reproductive phase of
family growth can be either nuclear or extended,
containing only the young, nuclear family or
also senior or elderly members of the family.
The defining characteristic of this period for the
family life cycle, however, is the presence of
children and positive household growth.
In contrast to the early phase, the mature or
middle phase of the family life cycle contains
several interrelated defining criteria. In the area
of age composition, the middle phase contains
predominantly adolescents and young to maturing
adults (ca. 15 years of age or older) among
the parents' progeny. In addition to a more
mature age composition, the first instances of
family fissioning followed by sustained negative
41 Groover--L1NKING ARTIFACT ASSEMBLAGES TO HOUSEHOLD CYCLES
household growth occur during the latter part
of the family cycle's middle phase. During
this period, the parents in the household are no
longer producing children and the reduction of
family size commences when senior children
in the family, now adults, begin leaving home
and establishing their own families. This event,
representing a critical juncture in the family
cycle, sets family fissioning and sustained nega
tive household growth in motion.
The final period of the family life cycle,
replacement, consists of the late or old phase.
The single defining criteria for this phase is the
absence of quantitative movement in the area of
family fissioning. Put another way, the family
reaches the late phase when most or all of the
children have left home and started their own
households. The exception to this criteria is the
undoubtedly prevalent situation in rural settings
where a married son or daughter with their
own family assumes household authority in the
homeplace, operates the farm, and takes care of
their elderly parents. In this situation, the early
and late phases of the family cycle converge,
thus providing temporal closure, generational
continuity, and the circular quality to the idea of
family cycles. At the Gibbs site, for example,
the youngest sons inherited the farm in three
successive generations and cared for their parents
during their senior years.
The family life cycle is very well suited
for archaeological analysis since it possesses
quantitative and temporal characteristics. Put
another way, the family cycle is measurable
and hence can potentially be reconstructed via
primary documents. Concerning the quantita
tive characteristics of the household cycle, by
measuring a time line on an x-axis and plotting
household size diachronically on a y-axis, then
a normal or ideal family cycle conforms to a
bell shaped curve (Figure 5). Further, since
larger families mature over longer periods, then
the height and width of the curve corresponds
to the size and temporal duration of the family
cycle. Family cycles with tall and wide curves
thus represent large families that matured over
a long period whereas cycles with short and
narrow curves correspond to small families that
matured over shorter periods. Based on data
provided by the Nicholas Gibbs extended family,
for example, a typical family of five possesses
a cycle of ca. 30 years from the birth of the
first child to the end of household fissioning. A
family of ten, in contrast, exhibits a life cycle
of approximately 60 years from the birth of
the first child to maturation of the last child.
Further, households composed of a husband and
wife without children would not possess any
vertical, quantitative-temporal movement and
graphically this situation would consist of a flat
horizontal line' across an interval of time.
Returning to the early, middle, and late divi
sions of the family cycle, the early phase, com
prising the left half of the curve and represent
ing an upswing phase, begins in the left trough
and ascends to the top. The mature or middle
cycle is located in the right half of the curve
and consists of a downswing phase. Family
fissioning occurs when the curve peaks and starts
to descend or decrease. Finally, the late phase
of the family cycle occurs when the graph line
reaches the lower trough on the right half of
the curve. If an extended family is present at
this point, an upswing cycle will begin again,
coinciding with the birth of new children in
a son or daughter's family. This situation
occurred twice at the Gibbs farm. Conversely,
if an extended family is not present, the graph
line representing the original parents will eventu
ally become flat and return to zero upon their
deaths.
The usefulness of the family cycle for inter
pretation in archaeology, as illustrated in this
essay, is that it provides a fine-grained baseline
or reference point for reconstructing temporal
process and consumption dynamics in the domain
14
12
10
~ 8
J
o " - - - - - - ~ -
,,..,
1760 1770 1780 '800 1810 1420
FIGURE 5. Example of a household cycle for a 12-member
family, 1760 to 1810, adapted from the Nicholas Gibbs
family.
42
of material life. More specifically, the primary
catalysts or dynamic elements responsible for
movement or motion in households, based on
analysis results of quantitative data, are clearly
time itself and the family or household cycle.
This motion or source of dynamic movement in
households is based on the interrelated variables
of time, household size, and material consump
tion.
As demonstrated here, if the family cycles
for successive households are reconstructed
from extant primary documents, then artifact
assemblages and specific classes and subclasses
of artifacts, through the method of time sequence
analysis, can be linked to household cycles.
As a qualifying note, however, linking artifact
assemblages and specific artifact classes to
household cycles is very much dependent upon
undisturbed, stratified deposits, very meticulous,
fine-grained excavation methods, and a com
plete or very nearly complete record of the
household's demographic history. If complete
or nearly complete household demography is not
available, then at the minimum, the temporal
dynamics and distributions associated with the
artifact assemblage can nonetheless be recon
structed, which by itself offers a substantial
amount of interpretive potential.
Interestingly, material life and consumption, as
preserved in archaeological deposits, apparently
cycle and pulse in synchrony with time and
household phases. Some, but not all, archaeo
logical deposits potentially contain a preserved,
fairly direct, and unambiguous record of the
process, motion, and dynamic associated with the
life course of past households. This relationship,
which seems obvious and expected, has been
indirectly assumed by Smith (1992:29-31) in
reference to household archaeology for prehis
toric contexts. In addition, several historical
archaeologists (LeeDecker et al. 1987; Klein and
LeeDecker 1991) have noted the probable influ
ence of the household cycle on archaeological
deposits. In both of these examples, however, a
reliable method of reconstructing, translating, and
interpreting the fine-grained temporal dynamics
associated with material consumption in the
archaeological record has not been previously
developed.
The use of the family cycle as an analytical
tool thus indicates that under optimum situations
and ideal conditions material dynamics can
be linked to household phases. This analysis
method is especially useful when extant historic
data allow diachronic reconstruction of house
hold size, thus providing a comparative baseline
or crucial, temporal reference point. Time
sequence analysis may also be useful for inad
equately documented contexts that contain strati
graphic integrity, such as slave and tenant sites
(Groover 1998a:797-800, 1998c). By drawing
upon middle range theory (Leone and Potter
1988) and working from known to unknown
archaeological contexts, the family cycles and
household occupation sequences for inadequately
documented situations can potentially be recon
structed or estimated solely through archaeologi
cal information. This is one of the analysis
method's many potential uses.
Returning to the study site, the Gibbs family
history, especially the household composition and
succession episodes, provides a sound basis for
quantitatively reconstructing family cycles. The
multigenerational family cycles for the successive
Gibbs households were reconstructed from the
U.S. Census of Population and family genealogy
records (United States Bureau of the Census
1840, 1853, 1880, 1900, 1910; Sistler 1969;
Irwin 1973; Sistler and Sistler 1975; Nicholas
Gibbs Historical Society 1977; Brown 1987;
Housely 1996; Stark 1997; McClung Collection
n.d.). The entire family cycle between 1764 and
1913 encompasses the period from the marriage
of Nicholas and Mary Gibbs in 1764 to the
year when the John Gibbs family moved from
the Gibbs farm to Fountain City near Knoxville
in 1913. Plotted in a line graph by decade
(Figure 6), the distribution indicates that two
large household cycles corresponding to the
Nicholas and Daniel Gibbs families were fol
lowed by two smaller household cycles associ
ated with the Rufus Gibbs extended family
(Table 1) (Groover 1998a). The family cycle for
the extended Gibbs family was plotted by decade
intervals for the important reason that population
census information is only available by decade
intervals. In the absence of population census
information, birth dates and marriage dates were
14
Nrcholas Gibbs fan-Illy Darnel
III
Il
1740 1760 1780 1800 1820 1840 1860 1880 tcco 1920
YPiin
FIGURE 6. Gibbs family cycles, 1764 to 1913.
used to determine household composition and
fissioning through time.
Time Sequence Analysis
Assemblage analysis in historical archaeology
has typically relied upon functional classifica
tion systems in which items recovered from a
site are placed in different functionally specific
categories. Functional distributions in turn are
calculated for the entire artifact sample from
a site (South 1977; Orser 1988). Functional
analysis is an appropriate and useful method
in historical archaeology. Pattern recognition,
a related objective of functional analysis, was
originally developed during the formative years
of historical archaeology in the late 1970s by
South (1977). South was one of the most vis
ible proponents of scientifically based historical
archaeology, as opposed to more humanistic
oriented approaches. South's greatest contribu
tion to the discipline was his research agenda
that effectively standardized field and analysis
methods, such as mean ceramic dating and pat
tern recognition.
Throughout the 1980s, functional analysis
enjoyed widespread use by historical archaeolo
gists. An unexpected trend that eventually served
to undermine functional analysis was the concept
of pattern recognition. Pattern recognition
was based on the assumption that assemblages
associated with or produced by similar ethnic,
racial, and economic groups would produce
similar artifact distributions. Conversely, it
was also assumed that assemblages associated
with dissimilar groups would likewise produce
mutually exclusive functional distributions.
South's (1977) emphasis upon defining artifact
patterns for specific temporal-cultural contexts
inadvertently became the main goal of many
archaeological studies in the 1980s, to the point
that the activity was eventually questioned by
South (1988). South reminded researchers that
defining or labeling artifact distributions with
pattern descriptors should not be the primary
goal of assemblage analysis.
Orser (1990) likewise presented a critique of
pattern recognition a few years after comments
by South (1988) first appeared. Orser's (1990)
most relevant criticism of functional analysis
for the present discussion is its synchronic
and largely atemporal character. Simply put,
functional analysis compresses and eliminates all
of the temporal dynamic and variability associ
ated with artifact assemblages. As illustrated by
the assemblage from the Gibbs site (Figure
7), by using functional analysis, artifacts associ
ated with the 200-year occupation of the site
are compressed into a single artifact distribu
tion. Orser's (1990) criticism of functional
analysis was not ignored and during the 1990s
the method fell into disuse among many archae
ologists. Ironically, although many historical
archaeologists stopped using functional analysis,
a suitable alternative has yet to be developed
or introduced in the discipline. Consequently,
an analytical void was created when functional
analysis became passe within the historical
archaeological community. Time sequence analy
sis is a new method that can serve as a dia
'" r........ "-""'"._................... . "'1
45
.Xilrhfft
.Al'I:hJIKhQ<@
JO.
CJfqmiture
DAnM
J
_aothlng
.Penal'llal
2lJ
.Tobilcco
!IlAdhtiUes
1S
io
FIGURE 7. Functional distribution of material from the
Gibbs site.
44
chronic counterpoint to standard functional
analysis.
Although pattern recognition has certainly
diminished in influence among historical archae
ologists during the past fifteen years, functional
analysis by itself is a useful and indispensable
quantitative method. It is especially beneficial
when used for its initial purpose-defining
functionally based artifact distributions that
are not expected to illustrate whole culture
patterns. Orser (1990), however, notes that
functional analysis is very limited in its ability
to reconstruct or illustrate diachronic, temporal
process, which is a fundamental goal of archaeol
ogy. Time sequence analysis, in contrast, pos
sesses the potential of addressing this limitation
inherent in functional analysis, by allowing
fine-grained reconstruction of the temporal pro
cesses and household consumption dynamics that
transpired at a site. As an analogy, functional
analysis is similar to a photograph in its static,
compressed, and synchronic portrayal of material
life at historic sites; in contrast, time sequence
analysis is similar to a video that shows a time
elapsed segment of material consumption at
domestic sites.
Time sequence analysis was developed through
the synthesis of several artifact analysis methods
and basic statistical techniques. Two important
studies used to develop the method were Lees
and Lees (1979) study of colono ware conducted
at Limerick plantation and mean artifact dating
developed by Cheek and Friedlander (1990).
Lees and Lees (1979) constructed a diachronic
popularity curve of colono ware-use at Limerick
plantation in South Carolina based on data from
shovel tests obtained during initial site investiga
tions. Very similar to seriation, this study
illustrated that if time series distributions could
be generated for one artifact category-colono
ware-then time series plots could likewise
probably be constructed for entire assemblages
and all artifact types in recovered samples. The
Limerick study thus illustrated an example of
a diachronic model useful for analyzing sites
with substantial time depth, like the Gibbs
farmstead, that were occupied by several succes
sive households.
In addition to research conducted by Lees and
Lees (1979), the method of mean artifact dating
developed by Cheek and Friedlander (1990)
was also utilized, with artifact dates assembled
by Cabak and Inkrot (1997) and supplemented
with additional sources (Groover 1998a). Mean
artifact dating (MAD), which is basically the
same dating technique as mean ceramic dating
(MCD) (South 1977), involves using all tempo
rally diagnostic or sensitive artifacts from a site
to generate dates, rather than only ceramics.
Ceramics, flat glass, bottle glass color, buttons,
and nails are examples of the artifacts used to
calculate mean artifact dates with the Gibbs
assemblage.
For the Gibbs study, an inclusive approach of
generating artifact chronology was implemented.
This decision was made because many prove
niences, such as individual excavation levels and
posthole tests, did not possess enough ceramics
to produce a reliable MCD. Conversely, how
ever, many contexts without abundant ceramic
sherds nonetheless possessed enough artifacts
to calculate a MAD. In addition, since the
Gibbs site was occupied until the 1970s, analysis
required a method that could date late 19th- and
20th-century deposits. Therefore, standard mean
ceramic dating would have been inadequate
to generate the chronology required for time
sequence analysis. In summary, the new method
of time sequence analysis presented in this essay
was formulated by experimenting with basic
statistical models and archaeological data sets, in
combination with synthesizing artifact analysis
methods developed by Lees and Lees (1979)
and Cheek and Friedlander (1990).
Conducting time sequence analysis involves
two basic steps. First, the household cycles
associated with the former residents of a site
are reconstructed from historical documents.
Second, diachronic distributions of artifacts from
excavations are then assembled. As discussed
previously, household cycles for the Gibbs family
were reconstructed from primary and secondary
historical sources, especially census records and
family genealogies pertaining to the descendants
of Nicholas Gibbs. Time sequence distributions
were calculated for two recovery contexts, con
sisting of data from posthole tests (PHTs) and
excavation units. An important aspect of time
sequence analysis is site stratigraphy. The
method can only be used with deposits from
undisturbed, stratified sites that possess moderate
to substantial time depth. The method could
also be used to analyze material from stratified,
intact features at plowed sites. The stratigraphy
at the Gibbs site, encompassing a ca. 200 year
interval, is intact and undisturbed. The house
lot has never been plowed. Cultural deposits
at the site range in depth from ca. 6 in. (15
em) below ground surface in the vicinity of a
rear door midden to 3 ft. (1 m) below ground
surface within an early, deeply deposited over
the-bank midden.
Creating time sequence distributions with
site survey and testing data involves five basic
steps. The first step involves calculating a MAD
for each positive posthole test (PHT). Like
mean ceramic dating, calculating a MAD simply
involves multiplying the number of specific
artifacts, such as cut nails or blue shell edge
pearlware fragments, by their median production
date, summing all of the products, and then
dividing the product total by the total number of
artifacts for a specific provenience. For window
glass, the date of each fragment was included in
the MAD calculations, rather than the standard
procedure of producing a separate window glass
date for the entire flat glass sample. The Moir
(1987) formula dates were used for window glass
thickness. The second step involves chronologi
cally sorting all transect tests that possess a
MAD. The third step consists of calculating an
average artifact density for each decade. Average
artifact densities for each decade are calculated
by dividing the total number of artifacts by a
given decade by the number of positive tests
for each decade that produces a MAD. For
example, if the 1820 to 1829 decade produced
500 artifacts from 50 positive transect tests, then
the 1820 to 1829 interval possesses an average
artifact density of 10 items per positive PHT.
This step is crucial for analysis of data from
posthole tests or shovel tests. Averaging the
artifact density by individual decade serves to
smooth the distribution. The fourth step in
conducting time sequence analysis with site
survey data involves plotting the average artifact
density and the household cycle by decade
intervals to visually illustrate the artifact distribu
tion, which serves as an aid in analysis. The
final analysis step consists of chronologically
adjusting or matching the artifact distribution
and household cycle using Spearman's r correla
tion test. The SAS (version 6.12) statistical
software package for Windows was used for
analysis. In addition, a spreadsheet computer
program was used to create artifact data files
and chronologically sort and total the artifact
inventories by decade intervals.
Calibrating or adjusting the two distributions
involves using the chronologically known house
hold cycle as a variable and matching or statisti
cally linking the artifact distribution to the
household cycle. Simply put, the household
cycle serves as an absolute chronology or tem
poral anchor and the artifact distribution gener
ated from mean artifact dates is matched to the
household cycle. It should be noted that the
chronology provided by mean artifact dates is
not an absolute chronology, but is a sophisticated
form of seriation. Through this method, the
household cycle and correlation analysis serve
as a simple but useful dating technique. The
temporal distance or difference between a known
household cycle and the resulting artifact distribu
tion is called the mean artifact date deviation
(MADD), which is similar to a standard devia
tion. When statistically significant results are
generated during the last step, the distributions
are synchronized. This important step in the
analysis process is illustrated and discussed
further in the following sections that present the
results of time sequence analyses.
All of the significant correlation analyses relied
upon a mean artifact date deviation (MADD).
By using reconstructed household cycles as an
absolute dating technique, then it is known that
the time sequence distributions generated from
the assemblage analyses temporally deviated by
only one or two decades, which is a very small
error factor. In turn, by using the household
cycle as a known variable, then the household
cycle and the artifact distribution can be tempo
rally linked.
The analysis steps required to construct time
sequence distributions from excavation data are
the same as those procedures used to calculate
artifact distributions with site survey data. The
only difference between assemblage analysis
for the two recovery contexts is that the aver
age artifact density by decade is omitted from
analysis of excavation data. This step is omit
ted since the greater amount of artifacts from
excavations provide a smoother frequency curve
than the smaller number of items recovered
from posthole tests. Also, a crucial methodologi
cal requirement for the use of time sequence
analysis with data from site excavation is the
excavation of very small, arbitrary levels for
46
all proveniences, including both general sheet
midden contexts and feature fill. This very
important step provides fine-grained temporal
control of excavated deposits. For example,
cultural deposits at sites that possess substantial
time depth may represent 100 years or more of
site occupation and artifact deposition. Small
temporal periods can consequently be sampled
and reconstructed in small increments by excavat
ing very small arbitrary levels. Put another
way, detailed diachronic distributions can be
reconstructed by excavating and subsequently
dating small levels. Conversely, midden or
feature fill excavated in large cuts, even if they
appear to be homogenous fill, can never be
accurately subdivided into smaller temporal units
after the deposits are removed from the ground.
Like midden excavation, small arbitrary levels
must be maintained and excavated in features.
When possible, arbitrary levels should be exca
vated in discernable cultural deposits. For
example, the fill in a refuse pit or cellar would
be excavated in arbitrary levels. If different soil
deposits are present and discemable, then these
strata can be excavated separately in arbitrary
levels. The standard excavation level used
at the Gibbs site was 0.2 ft. (6 ern), and it
is strongly recommended that this excavation
interval should be used by individuals that are
interested in conducting time sequence analysis
with assemblages from other sites. As stated
above, small, arbitrary excavation levels allow
the necessary fine-grained dating and temporal
sorting or sequencing of archaeological deposits.
Fine-grained dating of excavation levels is in
tum required to conduct time sequence analysis
with artifact assemblages.
The analysis of excavation data requires five
steps. First, a mean artifact date is calculated
for each unit level. Second, all excavation levels
or proveniences are sorted chronologically by
year using the sort function in a spreadsheet
program. During this step, if upper or lower
excavation levels in a unit are encountered that
produce dates that are chronologically out of
sequence due to low artifact counts (ca. less than
10 items), then the level should be merged with
the immediately adjacent level. For example,
assume the following sequence was encountered
during analysis: Levell: 1900; Level 2: 1870;
Level 3: 1860; and Level 4: 1875. In this
example, Level 4 only contained six artifacts
which temporally skews the date, resulting in a
MAD that is later than the level above it. If it
is known that the stratigraphy is not disturbed
or mixed, then the artifacts in Level 4 should be
merged with Level 3 to produce a chronological
sequence that stratigraphically increases in age
with depth. The third step involves totaling all
artifacts by decade. For analysis of the Gibbs
assemblage, the decade intervals consisted of
1800=1800 to 1809, 1810=1810 to 1819, etc.
Artifacts were plotted by decade interval to
smooth the distribution. They were also plotted
by decades to match the information on house
hold sizes obtained from historical records.
The fourth step consists of plotting the result
ing artifact distributions against household cycles
and matching the distributions temporally with
Spearman's r correlation tests. Finally, not all
artifact classes or groups, such as architectural
items, fluctuate according to household cycles.
Consequently, the household cycles embedded
in artifact distributions are hidden in aggregate
artifact data. Therefore, the cycles have to be
located or isolated in the artifact assemblages.
For best results, analysis should start with the
entire assemblage and then, in descending ana
lytical categories, move from artifact group to
type levels. This strategy is illustrated in the
following examples.
Analysis Results
The artifact assemblages obtained from site
survey and site excavations conducted at the
Gibbs house were subjected to time sequence
analysis. The recovery contexts for the sample
from site excavation consist of the total site
sample (including artifacts from midden and
features), artifacts recovered from the sheet
midden surrounding the rear houselot, and mate
rial from Feature 16, the smokehouse pit cellar.
In the following discussion, the scale of the
household size for each decade interval was
increased in all illustrations depicting artifact
sequences. This adjustment is required to visu
ally compare the artifact series and the household
cycles. Depending upon the recovery context
and the number of associated artifacts, the
household size was increased by one or two
decimal places on the line graphs. The original
47 Groover-LINKING ARTIFACTASSEMBLAGESTO HOUSEHOLD CYCLES
Darnel !'<lulIly
12
10
Rufus
Extended Pamrly
HufusG'bbs
Nu,lt'<lrF.ll11ily
o I------,-.. .. -----c -.-.---_-
'780 ISOO 1&20 rase 1'lOU mil
''''0
FIGURE 8. Segment of the Gibbs family cycle used for
time sequence analysis, 1800 to 1910.
household size associated with the family cycles
by decade intervals was used with the SAS
computer program for all statistical tests.
The technique of time sequence analysis was
first developed with the artifact sample obtained
from posthole tests in 1996. As illustrated in
Figure 8, the segment of the household history
used for analysis exhibits three individual cycles
for the 1800 to 1910 interval, with growth cycle
peaks present in 1830, 1880, and 1900. These
cycle peaks correspond to the maximum family
size of the Daniel, Rufus (nuclear), and Rufus
(extended) households, respectively. James
Gibbs was the adult son of Rufus Gibbs in the
extended household that corresponds to the third
household cycle at the site. James Gibbs resided
at the farm with his family and father (Rufus)
in the closing decades of the 19th century. This
extended family resided at the farm immediately
before the period when John Gibbs, the brother
of James, subsequently inherited the farm in
1905. Two of the household cycles associated
with the Gibbs family are only weakly repre
sented in the household history associated with
the site, consisting of cycles associated with
the Nicholas and John Gibbs families. These
cycles occurred at the beginning and end of
site occupation, respectively. Both of these
households lived at other residences during most
of their histories. The original Nicholas Gibbs
family matured in North Carolina and migrated
to east Tennessee immediately before family
fissioning started in the early 19th century. The
John Gibbs household moved from the farm
during the early stage of their family in 1913
when their children were still young. After
1913, John Gibbs and later his daughter Ethel
rented the Gibbs log house to tenants during
most of the 20th century. Consequently, due to
residential history, the John Gibbs family cycle
was not included in the distribution used to
examine the artifacts from the Gibbs site.
The household history of the Gibbs family
presented quantitatively in Figure 8 exhibits three
cycles. In contrast, the artifact distribution that
was calculated with PHT information from site
survey for the 1800 to 1910 interval appears to
only possess two cycles (Figure 9). The large
cycle in 1830 undoubtedly corresponds to the
Daniel Gibbs household and the smaller cycle
in 1890 appears to be associated with the James
Gibbs family cycle. Impressionistically, the
artifact distribution generated from site survey
exhibits two cycles and does appear to partially
match the household cycles reconstructed from
historical records. Correlation tests using the
original, unadjusted distribution from site survey,
however, did not produce significant results.
Negative results were also achieved with cor
relation analysis when the artifact distribution
is moved forward one decade (Figure 10).
Although the artifact distribution appears to
partially match the known household cycle,
the negative statistical results may be due to
sampling bias associated with site survey. Small
sample size from the posthole tests may have
skewed the results. These negative results are
included in this discussion to illustrate that
general estimations of household composition and
history can be generated from artifact distribu
tions obtained from initial site survey and testing
140
120
100
80 -.
L.
-0- Household Size
--0-
I
so
'"

FIGURE 9. Time sequence analysis for site survey
data, unadjusted.
48
140
120
100
so
i
I
-0- Household SiR"
'
l 60
--{J-.-ArtIfliCO
I
' ~ l ~
-20 '
FIGURE 10, Time sequence analysis for site survey
data, MADD +10 years,
using posthole tests. Despite these disappointing
initial results, the material recovered from site
excavation was further scrutinized to determine
the effectiveness of time sequence analysis.
Before continuing with the discussion of results
generated from other recovery contexts at the
Gibbs site, several important points should be
emphasized concerning the mean artifact date
deviation, which is an important element of
time sequence analysis. First, the use of time
sequence analysis in this study assumes as a
given that household or family cycles, character
ized by positive and negative family growth,
always exert a statistically significant influence
on household-level material consumption and
deposition. Hence, the household cycle is used
in this study as an analysis variable in the
statistical sense and is interpreted to be one of
the main catalysts responsible for the material
dynamics identified within artifact assemblages
that are analyzed via time sequence analysis.
Simply put, lots of people in a household trans
late into greater material consumption and arti
fact deposition through time at a site. Due to
this assumption, a main goal of time sequence
analysis is to use significant correlation results
with Spearman's r as both a dating tool and
as a means of matching or linking artifact dis
tributions to household cycles. A corollary
assumption of the effect of household cycles
is that the depositional lag from the systemic
to archaeological contexts for artifacts is not
that great and has been overstated by historical
archaeologists. The effect of time lag is par
ticularly irrelevant for the second half of the 19th
century, which was characterized by substantial
consumption and immediate discard of dispos
able consumer goods at most habitation sites.
Likewise, depositional lag would also probably
be minimal in the area of faunal remains and
subsistence-related artifacts. For example, it is
expected, due to odor and decomposition, that
site residents would quickly bury butchering
offal that was in close proximity to a dwelling.
This behavior appears to have occurred at the
Gibbs farmstead and produced the deposit in the
smokehouse pit cellar (Feature 16).
In addition to the above assumptions pertaining
to the relationship between household cycles
and material consumption, it should also be
emphasized that mean artifact dating is not an
absolute chronological method and the resulting
dates are not absolute in a chronometric sense.
Rather, mean artifact dating and the subsequent
temporal sorting of individual arbitrary excavation
levels, the cornerstone of time sequence analysis
introduced in this study, are relative dating
techniques and essentially are very sophisticated
forms of seriation. Put another way, mean
artifact dates produce dates that are chronologi
cally close regarding the accuracy of the contexts
they are dating, but the dates are not absolute or
exact. Due to this margin of error, correlation
analysis using household cycles as an absolute
chronology serves to anchor the artifact distribu
tions into place temporally. The technique used
to calibrate or adjust the dates in this study is
called the mean artifact date deviation (MADD).
As discussed in the example from the site survey
assemblage, the use of the MADD typically
involves moving the artifact distribution in a
sliding, scale-like manner, forward or backward
one-decade interval to align the distributions
with the household cycle.
Incidentally, the consistent deviation of plus
or minus one or two decades for the analysis
results independently demonstrate that mean
artifact dating is a reliable chronological tool
and the dates only deviate by ten years in most
situations, which is a very small error rate.
In addition, the mean artifact date deviation
is probably the result of sampling bias. Differ
ent recovery contexts, such as the assemblages
recovered from site survey, the midden, Feature
16, or the combined assemblage for the entire
site, produce different specific chronological
distributions due to different amounts of artifacts
in each context. Consequently, different recovery
contexts produce different mean artifact date
deviations due to the variation in temporally
diagnostic artifacts in each sample.
Due to the relative chronological characteristic
of mean artifact dates, the use of the mean
artifact date deviation and its associated adjusted
artifact distribution therefore is not a case of
editing artifact data to fit the situation. Rather,
use of the mean artifact date deviation to pro
duce significant results represents a valid method
of refining or calibrating an artifact distribution
based on an absolute chronology-the household
cycle. In this situation, household cycles quanti
tatively serve as an absolute chronology. Atten
tion now turns to time sequence results produced
from analysis of the total artifact assemblage
recovered from the Gibbs site.
Although the statistical tests with site survey
data produced disappointing results, to fully
evaluate the effectiveness of the new method,
artifact samples obtained from site excavation
conducted between 1987 and 1991 were subse
quently analyzed using the technique. Interest
ingly, a consistent trend emerged among the
statistical tests conducted with site excavation
data from different recovery contexts. Consid
ered collectively, these results indicate that
the foodways and clothing complexes were the
material domains that were most sensitive to
the influence of household cycles among the
Gibbs family.
Within the foodways complex, a suite of
significant results was obtained using the total
site sample, the midden sample, and the pit
cellar (Feature 16) artifact assemblage (Table
2). The total site sample and the midden date
from the late 18th century to the middle of the
20th century. The pit cellar was filled between
ca. 1792 and 1850. Material from the general
midden in the rear yard continued to accumulate
over the top of the pit cellar between the middle
19th and early 20th centuries after the feature
was filled.
The analysis results indicate that a statistically
significant relationship existed between household
cycles and the individual artifact categories
of faunal remains and redware sherds (Figure
11). Likewise, handpainted ceramics, especially
teaware, and blue shell edge flatware within
the total site sample also produced significant
results.
TABLE 2
SUMMARY OF SPEARMAN'S R CORRELATION TESTS BY RECOVERY CONTEXT
Context
Variable I
Total Site Sample
Time
Time
Household Cycle
Household Cycle
Household Cycle
Household Cycle
Faunal Fragments
Household Cycle
Midden Sample
Faunal Fragments
Time
Household Cycle
Feature 16, Smokehouse Pit Cellar
Household Cycle
Faunal Fragments
Household Cycle
Variable 2
Total Functional Groups
Kitchen Group
Combined Variable I
Combined Variable 2"
Edge Decorated Ceramics
Hand painted Ceramics
Redware
Clothing Group
Redware
Total Functional Groups
Redware
Faunal Fragments
Redware
Clothing Group
P-Value Mean Artifact Time
Date Deviation Interval
.0001 +10 years 1800-1900
.01 +10 years 1800-1900
.01 -20 years 1800-1900
.02 -20 years 1800-1900
.02 -20 years 1800-1900
.0099 -20 years 1800-1900
.005 + 10 years 1810-1910
.04 + 10 years 1810-1910
.001 -10 years 1810-1910
.0001 -10 years 1810-1910
.08 -10 years 1810-1910
.06 +10 years 1810-1910
.03 +10 years 1810-1910
.04 + 10 years 1810-1910
Combined Variable I: edge decorated, polychrome, and blue hand painted ceramic sherds.
Combined Variable 2: edge decorated and polychrome ceramic sherds.
--
--- ----- -
50
1400
1200
1000
800

Size

l'
600 -0- Faunal !
I
400
I--tr-RedWare

200
1840 1860 1880 1900
-200
FIGURE 11. Time sequence analysis, total assemblage by
faunal-redware food ways complex, MADD +10 years.
A data subset composed of two combined
decorated tableware variables was also analyzed.
The first combined variable consisted of edge
decorated, polychrome, and blue handpainted
sherds. The second combined variable was
composed of edge decorated and polychrome
handpainted sherds. Both of these combined
variables produced significant results with the
total site sample (Figure 12).
Concerning ceramic dates and decoration types,
it should be emphasized that redware vessels
were produced in the Ridge and Valley Province
of east Tennessee until the late 19th century
(Smith and Rogers 1979). Comprising 42% of
the total ceramic assemblage, redware use at
the Gibbs site is an anomaly compared to other
domestic sites in the area (Groover 1998a:726).
The very low occurrence of stoneware at the
site, representing 12% of the total ceramic
assemblage, however, indicates that stoneware
was never used extensively by the site residents
during the 19th century. Expense may have
factored into this decision. Based on probate
inventory analysis, stoneware by individual vessel
was usually twice as expensive as redware in
Knox County (Groover 1998a:645-646). Further,
the Gibbs family was originally from Germany,
which may have influenced redware use at the
site (Groover 1998a:762-768).
Regarding decoration types on flatware and
teaware, blue shell edge ceramics with debased
rim decoration were manufactured into the early
20th century. Numerous examples of late blue
shell edge plates with debased rim decoration
were recovered from the Gibbs site. Likewise,
blue handpainted whiteware ceramics, called
brushstroke by collectors and resembling flow
blue, were also manufactured throughout the
19th century and into the early 20th century
(Robacker and Robacker 1978). Pearlware
teaware with underglaze blue handpainted decora
tion was recovered from the Gibbs site for
early contexts. Likewise, blue handpainted
whiteware was also recovered from the site and
was included in the blue handpainted decoration
category. Concerning polychrome teaware, late
18th century pearlware polychrome teaware was
combined with later 19th century polychrome
whiteware teaware for time sequence analysis.
The site residents apparently had specific choices
concerning ceramic decoration, perhaps partially
due to cost, but were not concerned with ware
types in the domain of table and teaware. Con
versely, they were apparently very conscious of
cost differences between redware and stoneware.
In addition to the encouraging results obtained
within the foodways complex, the Clothing
Group artifacts within the total sample (Figure
13) and from Feature 16 (Figure 14) also pro
duced significant results (Table 2). These unex
pected findings were apparently due to the
relationship between household cycles and the
manufacture and maintenance of clothing among
the successive generations of the Gibbs family.
In summary, it is something of a platitude in
historical archaeology that undisturbed midden
and especially large, sealed features are usually
unintentional time capsules. The associated
]40
120
]00
80
L,
r
40
'"
1IlOO 1620 llWO
_'" L . ... .
FIGURE 12. Time sequence analysis, combined painted
tableware, total assemblage, MADD - 20 years.
I
I
I I --0- Hous.hold Sizf
, I -0- Clothing Artilillch
Yuno
FIGURE 13. Time sequence analysis, total assemblage
by Clothing Group, MADD +10 years.
chronological resolution often allows linking
the contents of a deposit or feature with a
specific time period or household. Analysis of
Feature 16 encountered at the Gibbs site aptly
illustrates that features are indeed unintentional
time capsules, and potentially, if excavated
and analyzed carefully, can reveal a pristine,
diachronic record of material consumption and
its relationship to household cycles.
Discussion
The quantitative method called time sequence
analysis introduced in this essay was developed
from basic statistical methods for the dual pur
poses of quantitatively reconstructing medium
duration temporal process and defining the dia
chronically based consumption dynamics associ
ated with successive households in the past. Due
to the fine-grained dating and temporal sequenc
ing of all excavation proveniences, the technique
is a potentially useful analysis method. It is
especially useful for reconstructing diachronic
artifact distributions.
The results of time sequence analysis presented
here, reveal that the material record at historic
sites, rather than being static, contains a distinc
tive, dynamic tempo. Time sequence analysis
reveals that material deposition possesses both
quantitative and temporal characteristics that
exhibit cycles or phases. Interestingly, a battery
of statistically significant tests demonstrated that
the source or catalyst of some, but not all, of
the depositional motion within the archaeological
record is the household cycle.
The Gibbs site is atypical since it contains
the stratified archaeological record that was
generated during a century of habitation by four
successive, biologically related households. The
multigenerational character of the site, coupled
with the very detailed family history assembled
from census records and genealogical sources,
provides an exceptionally unique archaeological
laboratory for identifying the profound and
unmistakable influence of household cycles upon
the archaeological record. In the previously
discussed analysis models, household cycles
served as an absolute chronology. Material
consumption cycles generated from archaeologi
cal data and time sequence analysis, a type of
seriation or relative dating technique, were in
turn chronologically and statistically linked to
the household cycles. In addition to their func
tion as an absolute chronology, the household
cycles were also used as analysis variables in
correlation tests. A suite of statistical tests
was subsequently conducted, producing statisti
cally significant results for archaeological data
recovered from site excavation, particularly
midden, and feature contexts.
The analysis results indicate that faunal frag
ments, ceramic sherds, and clothing artifacts
were the items most sensitive to or influenced by
household cycles among the Gibbs lineal family.
Translated to the past systemic context of the
Gibbs family, household demography appears
to have possessed the greatest direct, material
relationship with meat consumption, redware use,
--<>--HHSil,P
1200
-o-reci
iooc
-x- Killh"n
800
I
-o-fum
l600
I
-Clothing
i-ActiVities
-t-Uid
1820 1840 1860 1880 1900 1920 Yeat'll
FIGURE 14. Time sequence analysis for Feature 16
assemblage by functional categories, MADD +10 years.
I
the use and discard of handpainted tableware and
teaware, and the manufacture and maintenance
of clothes. To a varying extent, all of these
domains were closely intertwined with day-to
day material consumption and discard among
the successive households for approximately a
century.
Concerning the faunal fragments recovered
from the pit cellar, Feature 16, the artifact
distribution was a close visual match to the
Gibbs household cycles, and produced some of
the strongest results in this study. These trends
occurred because daily subsistence needs closely
mirrored household demography. Likewise,
butchering offal was probably immediately dis
carded which reduces the time between process
ing or consumption and deposition. Besides
faunal remains, redware also produced significant
analysis results since this ceramic was closely
associated with foodways activities, especially the
processing and storage of foodstuffs (Guilland
1971; Smith and Rogers 1979; Burrison 1983;
Baldwin 1993; Zug 1986; Comstock 1994).
Interestingly, redware is the only ceramic that
was consistently used throughout most of the
site occupation by the Gibbs family. Redware
first appeared by the 1790s in the artifact series
and continued to be used at the site during
the last quarter of the 19th century. As stated
previously, a small number of east Tennessee
potters continued to manufacture redware until
the closing decades of the 19th century (Smith
and Rogers 1979).
A pit cellar, designated Feature 16, was located
beneath the smokehouse where the processing
and storage of meat occurred. It appears that
the pit cellar was used for storage during the
first quarter of the 19th century. Between ca.
1820 and 1850, it was used as a refuse pit for
butchering waste, consisting of faunal fragments
and redware sherds. The redware was probably
used as storage vessels associated with butcher
ing, processing and preserving meat, and render
ing fat. Because of these foodways activities,
the feature fill was composed predominantly
of faunal fragments from butchering refuse,
particularly pig bones (Lev-Tov 1994), and large
body sherds from redware crocks. The preva
lence of lead glazed earthenware in the pit cellar
is due to the fact that redware crocks during
the 19th century were often used extensively
in smokehouses and pit cellars to store and
preserve meat cuts, lard, and other foodstuffs
(Schneider 1971; Robacker 1973; Stoudt 1973;
Gehris 1985; Barrick 1987; Fegley 1987). The
specific contents of the pit cellar and the func
tion of the associated outbuilding thus explain
why the entire artifact assemblage from Feature
16 produced significant results. Interestingly,
significant results were also obtained using faunal
fragments and redware as analysis variables.
Again, this relationship is due to the prevalent
use of redware for storage containers in smoke
houses and the general association of redware
with butchering and food storage activities.
Simply put, intensive butchering activities
required extensive use of redware to process the
meat cuts at the Gibbs site.
The prevalence of inexpensive redware suggests
that the Gibbs family was strongly influenced
by the variable of cost in purchasing storage
vessels (Groover 1998a:645-646). Ceramic
decoration, which was also influenced by cost
(Miller 1980), likewise appears to have been an
important variable that determined the types of
tableware that were purchased by the family.
The decorated tableware used by the Gibbs
family is dominated by modestly priced, hand
painted ceramics. In the case of refined table
ceramics, decoration rather than ware was the
main factor that influenced ceramic acquisition.
Although the visual similarity was less pro
nounced than items in the foodways complex, the
deposition of clothing artifacts also quantitatively
mirrored the ebb and flow of household cycles
and paralleled the demographic history of the
Gibbs family. Surprisingly, the Clothing Group
artifact sample, which produced significant cor
relation results, is composed of straight pins,
shoe parts, buttons, and beads that were recov
ered from the sheet midden in the houselot and
by water screening the feature fill from the pit
cellar through fine screen mesh. During the 19th
century, the clothing artifacts were consistently
tossed into both the backyard midden and pit
cellar, probably from refuse pails containing floor
and hearth sweepings along with other general
household debris from the log dwelling.
Conclusion
The preceding essay demonstrated that time
sequence analysis is a potentially useful quantita
tive method and might be of interest to historical
archaeologists. The technique, first developed
from site survey information, was replicated and
refined using artifact data from intensive site
excavation and feature contexts. The analyses
presented in this study indicate that the food
ways and clothing complexes were some of the
domestic domains most sensitive to the influence
of household cycles among the Gibbs family.
Future inquiry is required to determine if this
is a trend prevalent or identifiable among other
households or was an occurrence specific to the
Gibbs example. It should be emphasized that
the results generated in this example are perhaps
historically specific to this situation, although
similar results might be obtained with data from
other sites. Redware-use at the Gibbs site is
certainly atypical when compared to several
contemporaneous sites previously excavated in
east Tennessee (Groover 1998a:726).
Although the previously discussed results offer
a new avenue of inquiry in historical archaeol
ogy, realistically, the findings are not surprising.
For example, in a classic study of household
manufactures, Tyron (1966) notes that satisfying
the shelter-food-and-clothing triad was a primary
concern among rural families. Further, archae
ologists typically encounter artifact assemblages
associated with foodways and clothing manu
facture or maintenance at rural domestic sites
(Groover 1994c). However, archaeologists have
not previously linked these important material
complexes quantitatively to household cycles-the
systemic catalyst that apparently provided the
temporal dynamic or motion for the use and
eventual discard of these artifact types.
Having identified important temporal-quantita
tive trends within the total artifact assemblage,
the artifact sample was subsequently divided
into subassemblages and analyzed. The subas
semblages were divided according to two dif
ferent recovery contexts, represented by the
sheet midden and Feature 16, the smokehouse
pit cellar. This exercise was conducted in order
to identify variation in the time sequence models
that may have been caused by differential depo
sitional, functional, or recovery contexts. This
exercise demonstrated that the same distributions,
sometimes in diminished form, were often pres
ent in different depositional contexts. The Gibbs
example demonstrated that feature deposits,
especially features that served as receptacles
for subsistence-related refuse, and especially
faunal fragments, are very productive or pristine
contexts for reconstructing time sequence models
based on household cycles. Likewise, the analy
sis results indicate that refuse features, rather
than being filled quickly by single depositional
episodes, can sometimes possess an appreciable
amount of time depth.
Although most of the interpretive emphasis
in this work was placed upon linking artifact
assemblages to household cycles, in the absence
of the information required to reconstruct house
hold cycles, time sequence analysis is still a
productive technique. Hence, even without site
specific information pertaining to household
cycles, detailed, diachronically based artifact
distributions can be reconstructed to serve as
interpretive tools. In addition, the presence
of artifact cycles in the absence of household
information could be used to potentially recon
struct estimations of family cycles based on
archaeologically derived data. This application
of time sequence analysis might be especially
useful at domestic sites that possess inadequate
historical documentation, such as sites inhabited
by enslaved African-Americans or other rural
laborers (Groover 1998a:797-800, 1998c).
In addition to presenting a new analysis
method and underscoring the material importance
of household cycles and their archaeological
ramifications, the results presented in this essay
also aptly illustrate the role of continuity among
successive, biologically related households. The
significant results from time sequence analysis
demonstrate that persistent, repetitive consump
tion and depositional patterns existed among
households in the past and occur across several
generations at some sites. Without the substan
tial continuity represented by these consumption
and depositional behaviors, their temporal dura
tion could not be reconstructed or detected
archaeologically or statistically. As a conse
quence, distinctive cultural practices among and
across families in the past, expressed through
continuity in artifact assemblages, are strongly
demonstrated by the diachronic trends defined
via material culture from the Gibbs site.
In closing, it is not surprising that through
time the fluctuation of household cycles within
the Gibbs family substantially influenced the
consumption of faunal resources, the use of stor
age vessels and tableware, and the manufacture
of clothes. Archaeologically and statistically
54
demonstrating, however, the relationship between
family cycles and material consumption through
fine-grained quantitative analysis is a new devel
opment. Consequently, further refinement of
this method is contingent upon its future use by
historical archaeologists and its application to a
diverse range of contexts.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The preceding essay was based upon dissertation
research that I conducted at the Department of
Anthropology, University of Tennessee, Knoxville
between 1994 and 1998, I especially thank Charles
H, Faulkner, my dissertation chair, for his help over the
past several years and for providing the opportunity
to study the material culture recovered from the
Gibbs site, I also thank Melanie Cabak, my wife,
for her encouragement and patience while I finished
my dissertation, Melanie also provided constructive
suggestions that helped improve this essay, I
likewise thank George Wingard of the Savannah River
Archaeological Research Program, University of South
Carolina, for drafting several of the figures in the
essay,
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1966 Household Manufactures in the United States.
164{)-1860. A. M. Kelley, New York. NY.
UNITED STATES BUREAU OF THE CENSUS (USBC)
1840 Sixth Population Census ofthe United States. Schedule
4, Population, 5th Civil District, Knox County,
Tennessee. Microfilm, Hodges Library, University of
1853 Seventh Census of the United States: 1850. Robert
Armstrong, Washington, DC.
1880 Tenth Census of the United States. Schedule
I, Population, 5th Civil District, Knox County,
1900 Twelfth Census of the United States. Schedule
I, Population, 5th Civil District, Knox County,
1910 Thirteenth Census of the United States. Population
Schedule I, 5th Civil District, Knox County,Tennessee.
Microfilm, Hodges Library, University of Tennessee,
Knoxville.
VINOVSKIS, MARIS A., AND LAURA MCCALL
\991 Changing Approaches to the Study of Family Life.
In American Families: A Research Guide and
Historical Handbook, Joseph M. Hawes and Elizabeth
I. Nybakken, editors, pp. 15-32. Greenwood Press,
New York, NY.
YOUNG, AMY L.
1991 Nailing Down the Pattern in Historical Archaeology.
Master's thesis, Department of Anthropology,
1994a Nailing Down the Pattern. TennesseeAnthropologist.
19(1):1-21.
1994b Spatial Patterning on a Nineteenth-Century
Appalachian Houselot: Evidence from Nail Analysis.
Southeastern Archaeology. 13(1):56--63.
ZUG, CHARLES G.
1986 Turners and Burners: The Folk Potters of North
Carolina. University of North Carolina Press,
Chapel, Hill.
MARK D. GROOVER
SAVANNAH RiVER ARCHAEOLOGICAL
RESEARCH PROGRAM
SOUTH CAROLINA INSTITUTE OF ARCHAEOLOGY AND
ANTHROPOLOGY
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTH CAROLINA
P.O. Box 400
NEW ELLENTON, SC 29809-0400
58
Laurier Turgeon
French Beads in France and
Northeastern North America
During the Sixteenth Century
ABSTRACT
Although it is generally recognized that the French played an
important role in the bead trade during the early contact period
in Northeastern North America, there have been no serious
attempts to carry out archival research and to locate reference
collections of beads in France; consequently, surprisingly
little is known about French beads. North American bead
researchers are still asking some very basic questions about
the provenience, chronology, and trade of French glass beads.
This study seeks to answer these questions by drawing
on a combination of written sources and archaeological
collections---early French travel literature and collections of
beads from First Nations contact sites. Information from
these relatively well-known sources is supplemented with new
data gathered from post-mortem inventories of Parisian bead
makers and from notarized contracts containing descriptions of
beads purchased for the North American trade. The study also
draws on a unique collection of beads dating from the second
half of the 16th century, recently unearthed in the Jardins du
Caroussel, near the Louvre Museum in Paris.
Introduction
Beads have been the object of much scholarly
investigation by archaeologists, ethnohistorians,
and colonial historians of the eastern United
States and Canada because of the prominent
role they played in the early history of contact
between Aboriginal peoples and Europeans in
North America. Archaeologists have excavated,
inventoried, and studied collections of beads
from hundreds of contact sites in the Northeast.
Elaborate classification systems of glass and shell
beads have been developed, based on method of
manufacture, shape, size, and color (Kidd 1970;
Ceci 1989). Since the assemblages of beads
change rather quickly over time, they have
been seriated and used for establishing chronolo
gies of sites as well as reconstituting trading
networks (Kenyon and Kenyon 1983; Bradley
1983; Rumrill 1991; Moreau 1994; Fitzgerald,
Knight, and Bain 1995). Scholars have begun
to use these findings to study the social and
cultural meanings beads had for Amerindians
and how they were integrated into their thought
worlds (Hamell 1983, 1992, 1996; Trigger 1985,
1991; Miller and Hamell 1986).
It is generally recognized that the French were
very active in the North American bead trade
from the 16th century on. Many scholars of
bead research have even suggested that the large
majority of glass beads found on contact sites
of the Northeast were traded by the French
(Kidd 1979; Bradley 1983; Kenyon and Kenyon
1983; Smith 1983). References and sometimes
descriptions of trade beads occur in the travel
accounts of French explorers and missionaries
such as those of Giovanni da Verrazzano, Jacques
Cartier, Marc Lescarbot, Samuel de Champlain,
Gabriel Sagard (1632, 1866), and Paul Le Jeune.
Early French colonial sites like St. Croix Island
(Bradley 1983), Quebec City (Clermont, Chapde
laine, and Guimont 1992), Montreal (Desjardins
and Duguay 1992), and Sainte-Marie-Among
the-Huron (Kidd 1949) have provided invaluable
collections of glass beads from which to refer
ence those found on contact sites.
Yet surprisingly little is known about French
beads, given their important role in the early his
tory of North America. Unlike Dutch beads, for
which entire assemblages have been unearthed
and studied in Holland as well as North America
(Karklins 1974, 1983; Huey 1983; Kenyon and
Fitzgerald 1986; Baart 1988; Lenig 1996), there
have been no serious attempts to carry out
archival research and to locate reference collec
tions of beads in France. Furthermore, because
French colonial sites were only established in
the 17th century and most of the French travel
literature is also from the 17th century, the 16th
century remains in a sort of limbo. Little is
known about the trade of the French fishermen
and the Basque whalers who began plying the
waters of the Gulf of the St. Lawrence in ever
greater numbers during the first half of the 16th
century (Turgeon 1998:590). There has also
been a tendency to concentrate on glass beads
and to not pay much attention to beads made of
other materials such as enamel/faience (frit-core),
shell, jet, bone, and coral. North American
bead researchers are still asking some very basic
questions about the provenience, chronology,

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61 Turgeon-FRENCH BEADS IN FRANCE AND NORTHEASTERN NORTH AMERICA
TABLE 1
DESCRIPTIONS OF BEADS FROM THE JARDINS DU CARROUSEL COLLECTION
Fig. Color, Shape (Size) Kidd Code n
Glass Beads
a Turquoise round glass, "robins egg," one broken (6 mm dia., 5mm long)
b Apple green round glass (color altered) (5.2mm dia., 6.4 mm long)
c Bright blue round glass (5mm diameter, 7 mm long)
d Blue round glass, color altered (5.8mm dia., 5.9 mm long)
e Translucent round w/white stripes, "Gooseberry" (7 mm dia., 7.5 mm long)
.r Translucent oval w/white stripes, "Gooseberry" (6 mm dia., 11 mm long)
g Blue oval glass w/two white stripes (7 mm in dia., 8 mm long)
h White oval glass (5.5mm diameter, 9 mm long)
Bright navy round glass seed (3 mm diameter, 3 mm long)
j Bright navy circular glass seed (1.9 mm diameter, I mm long)
k Black circular glass seed (2.1 mm diameter, 1.5 mm long)
I Opaque white circular glass seed (3 mm diameter, 2.1 mm long)
m Bright blue tubular glass (2.5 mm diameter, 15 mm long)
n Black tubular glass (4mm diameter, 47 mm long)
o Translucent green tubular glass (2.9 dia., 35 mm long)
p Ultramarine faceted glass (6 by 3 = 18 faces) (6 mm in dia., 8 mm long)
q Dark blue and white seed beads fired on glass paste (7 x 7 mm)
r Black, blue & white seed beads fired on glass (broken) (10 mm dia., 24 mm long)
lIa40
IIa 24*
IIa48 or IIa55
IIa48, IIa50 or lIa55
IIbl8
IIbl9
IIb 67 or IIb73
lIal5
lIa55
IIa53 or lIa56
IIa7
IIal2
lal9
Ia2
Ial2
IIIf2
IIa51lIIa 13
5
I
I
4
3
4
I
2
4
4
4
I
I
I
I
I
1
2
Frit-core (Enamel/Faience) Beads
s Blue oval frit-core or enamel/faience wi white appliques (9.9 mm dia., 11.7 mm long)
Whitish round frit-core or enamel/faience, glaze removed (7 mm dia., 7.3 mm long)
Shell Beads
u
w
White discoidal shell (8-IOmm in diameter, 1-2 mm long, line hole 2 mm dia.)
White discoidal (small) shell (4.5mm diameter, 2 mm long)
White natural shell (marginella) (6mm diameter, 10 mm long)
5
I
I
Jet Beads
x Black discoidal jet (l2mm diameter, 5 mm long)
y Black discoidal jet (7mm diameter, 2 mm long)
z Black faceted jet, 7 by 3=21 faces (7 x 7 mm)
aa Black faceted jet (12 mm in diameter, 14 mm in long)
bb Black melon jet (8.5 mm diameter, 7 mm long)
cc Black melon jet (22 mm diameter, 17 mm long)
dd Black glandular jet ( 12 mm diameter, 14 mm in long)
I
I
I
I
2
I
I
Amber Beads
ee Reddish orange round amber (8 mm diameter, 6 mm long, broken at end)
ff Reddish orange round amber (6.5 mm diameter, 5 mm long)
gg Reddish orange faceted amber (5 by 3=15 faces) (9 mm dia., 7 mm long)
hh Reddish orange faceted (gadrooned) amber (11.2 mm dia., 7.2 mm long)
I
13
I
I
Rock Crystal Beads
ii Translucent faceted rock crystal (8.4 mm diameter, 12.1 mm long)
jj Translucent faceted rock crystal (9.8 diameter, 15.5 mm long)
2
I
Bone Beads
kk Red (dyed) round polished bone (7.3 mm diameter, 7 mm long)
II Beige round polished bone (4 mm diameter, 3.1 mm long)
30
I
Coral Beads
mm Reddish orange round coral (8 mm diameter, 6.9 mm long)
nn Reddish orange round coral seed (3 mm diameter, 2.5 mm long)
00 Reddish orange tubular (broken) coral (3.5 diameter, 5.5 long)
* The color of bead b has been altered, thus it could be a turquoise round glass (IIa40).
and trade of French glass beads. Were beads
manufactured in France? How do the French
assemblages compare with the assemblages found
on colonial and Amerindian sites? Was the
North American trade selective? When did it
develop?
Answers to these questions will be sought by
focusing on a combination of archaeological and
archival sources from the second half of the
16th century. The two sets of sources proved
to be complementary-the archaeological record
supplied an interesting sample of beads while
the archival documents furnished invaluable
data on manufacturing techniques and trading
networks. A collection of beads was located
from the second half of the 16th century recently
recovered from the Jardins du Carrousel in
Paris. The site was excavated as part of a
salvage archaeology project at the Louvre, one
of the official palaces of the French monarchy
in the 16th century and now the French national
museum, when it was being renovated and
expanded in the late 1980s and early 1990s.
Since other collections of beads could not be
located, a search was undertaken in the notarial
records of Paris and some of the port cities
involved in the early Canadian trade: Rouen, La
Rochelle, and Bordeaux. The Parisian notarial
records provided post-mortem inventories of bead
makers. These inventories were drawn up by
notaries after a person's death, at the request of
the inheritors, and they contain detailed lists of
the deceased person's material possessions: land,
buildings, furniture, tools, merchandise, clothing,
and other personal belongings, including bills
and accounts in the case of artisans, merchants,
or shopkeepers. The post-mortem inventories of
bead makers provide lists of beads (often with
an indication of material, color, shape, and size),
descriptions of the tools used in the manufactur
ing process, and sometimes copies of unpaid
bills giving names and places of residence of
clients. Records of purchases of beads and other
trade goods by ship's captains and outfitters
were found in the notarized contracts of the
port cities.
It appeared more promising to study reference
collections in France and undertake archival
research on bead makers and traders than to
attempt to refine bead chronologies from the
analysis of elemental differences in beads. In
recent years, there has been a tendency to carry
out elaborate trace element analysis of beads
and to explain differences by chronological
phenomenon. Although helpful, this method
has limitations. Recent studies have shown
that other factors must be taken into account,
such as differences in regional European manu
facturing recipes (Fitzgerald, Knight, and Bain
1995:133-134). Elemental composition of beads
could vary, from one production center to
another, and sometimes even within the same
production center, depending on the provenience
of raw materials and on the glass manufacturer's
uses of vitrifying and fluxing agents (Trivellato
2001). For example, the elemental composition
of the sodium carbonate, used as a fluxing
agent, changed depending on whether it was
made from potassium (saltpeter) or the ashes
of various plants and trees-sea-weed imported
from either Syria, Egypt, or Spain; musk ivy or
ferns usually of a regional provenience; or again
local trees such as oak, beech, or pine (Agricola
1912:585; Trivellato 2001).
The Jardins du Carrousel Collection
The beads from the Jardins du Carrousel
were recovered from ditches used to dispose
of human waste. Located just west of the
Louvre, the ditches appear to have been dug to
extract the sand needed in the construction of
the Tuileries Palace during the second half of
the 16th century, when it became part of the
Louvre complex (Van Ossel 1991:356). The
construction of the Tuileries Palace was begun in
1564 during the reign of Catherine de Medici.
The project was abandoned in 1572 after the
death of the main architect, Philibert Delorme,
and taken up again and completed by Henri IV
(1589-1610). Varying in depth from 2 to 4 m
(6Y2 to 13 ft.) and covering an area of some
50 to 70 m (160 to 230 ft.), the ditches were
progressively back filled with garbage collected
seemingly from the Louvre and the surrounding
neighborhoods of this central part of Paris. The
waste was occasionally covered with limestone
and plaster, probably in an attempt to control
the smell of the decomposing organic materials.
During the excavations, survey trenches were
dug in three different areas in order to better
understand the structure and contents of the
ditches. Water screening with 0.5 and 2.5 mm
(0.2 and 1.0 in.) mesh screens was undertaken
in two of the trenches; it is in these areas that
most of the beads and other small artifacts were
found (Van Ossel 1991:351-352).
The large majority of identifiable materials
was bone (90%-95% of the col1ection): sheep,
beef, and pig bones especial1y, with some rabbit,
hare, and wild boar, and even a few human
bones. The remaining artifact assemblage was
comprised of ceramics, glassware, coins, pins,
needles, draper's seals, and beads. Most of
the ceramics and glass fragments were Parisian
types datable to the second half of the 16th
century. The variety and the quality of the
ceramic and glass vessels suggests users from
an upper social milieu. The stratigraphy could
not be determined because the deposit had been
continuously stirred, mixed, and leveled. The
artifact chronology points towards a deposition
spread out over time. The 213 coins recovered
helped narrow down the chronology-some coins
had the year of manufacture stamped on them,
which ranged from 1581 to 1599; those bearing
only effigies were given approximate dates run
ning from 1572 to 1603. From this information,
Paul Van Ossel has hypothesized 1590 to 1605
as the period of formation of the deposit (Van
Ossel 1991:354). The collection is presently
preserved at the Direction regionale des affaires
culturelles de l'ile de France, Service regionale
d 'archeologie, in Saint Denis, a northern suburb
of Paris.
A total of 110 beads representing 41 different
varieties were recovered from the site (Table
I, Figure I). One of the striking features of
the col1ection is the wide variety of materials,
shapes, and sizes of the beads. They are made
of eight different materials: glass predominates
(44%), followed by jet (14%), shell (10%),
amber (10%), coral (7%), frit-core (5%), bone
(5%), and rock crystal (5%). The beads come
in an equally large number of shapes: round
(spherical), faceted, discoidal, oval (ovoid),
tubular, circular (torus or doughnut), melon,
and glandular, in that order. Sizes vary from
the large black jet beads, measuring 22 x 17
mm, to the very small bright blue and black
circular glass seed beads, 2 x 1-1.5 mm. On
the other hand, the color spectrum of the beads
is restricted to black, blue, turquoise, green,
white, and red. Furthermore, almost all of the
beads are monochrome; only three glass beads
and one frit-core bead are polychrome.
Although the collection is comprised of an
interesting assortment of beads, it is small and
does have limitations. Given the size of the
sample, there are an exceptionally large number
of bead varieties. Most of the beads (65%) exist
as single examples; rarely are there more than
four examples of the same variety. This is not
due to negligence, nor to a selective procedure
implemented at the time of the excavation.
The archaeologists who worked on the project
have assured me that all of the beads recovered
were inventoried; none was discarded (Fabienne
Ravoire, pers. comm.). Only two varieties were
recovered in fairly large numbers: the round
amber beads (13 examples) and the round red
bone beads (30 examples), probably the remains
of necklaces or rosaries. Generally, the same
bead varieties were not associated with one
another; they were recovered in different trenches
and ditches. For example, only two of the seven
shell beads were found together. The diversity
of the assemblage and scattered distribution of
the beads, as is the case with the other artifacts,
indicates that they came from numerous places
and were deposited at different times. It appears,
then, that the sample is fairly representative
of the varieties of beads worn by Parisians at
the time. Some beads still had wire or thread
attached to them, suggesting they were used
as ornamentation on clothing, which helps to
explain why so many beads were found as single
examples. If one can rely on the ceramics
and coins as chronological and social markers,
there is every reason to believe that these types
of beads would have been worn by well-to-do
Parisians during the last quarter of the 16th
century.
There is a strong correlation between the Jar
dins du Carrousel collection and the assemblages
from early contact sites in Northeastern North
America. Most of the glass beads from the
collection (83%) are also found on First Nations
sites dating from the second half of the 16th
century or the first part of the 17th century.
It was not always easy to identify the beads
because the intense biological and chemical
activity of the deposit altered the surface colors
of some of them. Fortunately, a few of the
beads had been broken and the true color could
be identified by examining the broken fragments
(Figure I c). The color of those which had
not been broken and showed signs of alteration
was determined by scratching and/or wetting a
small portion of the surface of the bead. The
turquoise round (Figure la), the apple green
round (Figure Ib), the bright blue round (Figure
Ie), the translucent white-striped round and
oval ("gooseberry") (Figures 1e, 1), the blue
white-striped oval (Figure Ig), and the white
oval (Figure Ih) beads are very characteristic of
the earliest beads found in Northeastern North
America, a period Ian and Thomas Kenyon
have termed "glass bead period I" (roughly
1580-1600, according to Kenyon and Kenyon
1983:66). The small to very small round or
circular seed beads are less characteristic, but
they do occur during the early period, primarily
on coastal sites, at times in fairly large num
bers-the round and circular bright navy beads
(Figure Ii, j) are present in Massachusetts,
Nova Scotia, Quebec, and New York (Bradley
1983:32; Wray 1983:42; Wray et al. 1991:318;
Auger, Fitzgerald, and Turgeon 1992:62, 1993:64;
Whitehead 1993:111, 164; Moreau 1994:36;
Diamond 1996: 103; Fitzgerald et al. 1997:48-49);
the black circular ones (Figure Ik) as well as the
white circular ones (Figure I() are also present
on sites in the same states and provinces, except
for Nova Scotia. The lower frequency of these
very small seed beads in early assemblages
may be partially related to their size. Unless
a fine meshed screen is used, they can easily
be overlooked during excavations, especially the
blue and black ones, which are often the same
color as the soil. The bright blue tubular beads
(Figure 1m) appear quite frequently on glass
bead period II sites (1600-1625/30); the black
and translucent green tubular beads (Figure In,
0) appear occasionally on glass bead period
III sites (1625/30-1650). Their presence in
the Jardins du Carrousel collection, however,
is an indication that they could be found on
16th century sites. The frit-core blue oval bead
displaying various patterns of raised white appli
qued lines and dots (Figure Is) is a unique bead
variety (Figure 1t is a frit-core enamel/faience
bead which has lost its glaze) and a good time
marker because it is only found on a few early
sites: the Micmac Northport and Hopps sites
(Whitehead 1993:44, 66, 165), the Montagnais
Chicoutimi site (Moreau 1994:36), the Huron
Kleinburg site (Kenyon and Kenyon 1983:60),
the Neutral Carton site (Kenyon and Kenyon
1983:60), and the Seneca Adams and Culbert
son sites (Wray et al. 1987: 115, 211). While
the total sample size of glass beads is small,
the comparatively high frequencies of certain
varieties (Table 1, IIa40-14%; IIa48/50-12%;
IIbI8/19-16%; IIa55/56-19%) seems to corre
spond roughly with their popularity on American
Indian sites. The strong correlation in the
frequency of occurrence on the Jardins du Car
rousel site and Northeastern North American sites
suggests that Paris was an important supplier of
beads for trade to this part of the world.
There are, however, some important differences
between the collection in France and those in
Northeastern North America. The only other
varieties of beads to appear in any substantial
quantities on sites of First Nations people, are
discoidal and marginella shell beads (Figure lu,
v, w). Numerous in the Jardins du Carrousel
collection, faceted beads are almost non-existent
in the Northeastern North American collections
from the 16th and early 17th centuries. Only
a few faceted rock crystal beads (Figures 1ii,
jj) have been found in the collections from an
unidentified site in the Mingan Islands in Quebec
and from the Mohawk Bauder site in New York
(Rumrill 1991:21-22). The two rock crystal
faceted beads from Quebec were excavated by
Rene Levesque on the Mingan Islands in 1968.
The site is not identified, but they are cataloged
under numbers (MA 2034, MA 3878) and are
preserved at the Centre museographique of
Laval University, Quebec City. Only four fac
eted rock crystal beads have been found on
the Mohawk Bauder site dated to about 1640.
Donald Rumrill believed these to be of Spanish
origin because the only other known specimens
at the time were from sites in Florida, dated
to the second half of the 16th century (Smith
1983:148, 155). Their presence in Paris and
on the Mingan Islands in Quebec suggests they
could just as easily be of French origin.
Amerindians seem to have preferred the
smooth polished round, oval, and tubular beads
to the sharp-edged faceted varieties, at least
during this early period of contact. There also
appears to be a preference for the harder glass,
shell, and frit-core beads while the softer and
more fragile jet, amber, bone, and coral beads
(Figures Ix-oo) rarely show up on contact sites.
Only a few jet, coral, and bone beads have been
found in mid-17th century contexts. As far as
is known, no amber beads have been identified
north of Florida. The colonial St. John's col
lection from Chesapeake Bay is the only one
in North America where beads are made up
of a variety of materials. Aside from a large
number of glass beads similar to those found
in Paris, including the ultramarine faceted bead
(Figure 1p) not located elsewhere, it contains
a combination of black faceted and melon jet
beads, round amber beads, as well as round
bone beads (Miller et al. 1983:132-137).
On the other hand, several characteristic bead
varieties from early Native American assemblages
are absent from the Jardins du Carrousel collec
tion: the black-striped red round (IIb1, accord
ing to the Kidd classification), the black-striped
and cored red round (lVb1), the red-in-white
striped light aqua oval (IIbb23), the multiple
layered chevron "star" (Illm 1), the white-in-b1ue
striped red round (IIbb 1), the striped tubular
(I1lb3) and the round "eyed" (IIg, IVg). The
strong presence of these polychrome beads,
more difficult and expensive to manufacture,
on contact sites, suggests that the consumption
of beads was driven, to a certain extent, by
Amerindian interest. It is also an indication
that Native traders had other sources of supply.
These polychrome beads may have been pur
chased from Basque fishermen who acquired
them in La Rochelle, Bordeaux, and the ports of
northern Spain; or from Norman traders supplied
at Rouen, a major center of glass manufacture
in France; or other European centers of produc
tion. They may also have been acquired from
Spanish, Dutch, or English traders along the
Atlantic seaboard.
Post-Mortem Inventories of Parisian Bead
Makers
To provide more context for the Jardins du
Carrousel collection, a survey was undertaken
of the notarial archives of Paris in an attempt to
locate post-mortem inventories of bead makers.
Since there are several thousand Parisian notarial
registers for the second half of the 16th century,
it would have been too time consuming to go
through them all. To make the research manage
able, secondary sources and published inventories
of the Parisian notarial records were used to
find the names of bead makers and references
to some of their post-mortem inventories. Many
useful references were found in the magisterial
work of Rene de Lespinasse, Les metiers et
corporations de la ville de Paris (XIVe-XVIIle
siecle) (1886-1897). It quickly became apparent
that the bead makers' shops were clustered just
north of Les Hailes, the central marketplace
in Paris. A systematic search was carried out
in the records of the notaries residing in this
area; most of the post-mortem inventories were
located in the records of four notaries: Filesac
(St. Martin Street), Chazeretz (St. Denis Street),
Peron, and La Frongne ( both on Aux Ours
Street).
A total of 37 bead makers and 31 post-mortem
inventories were identified for the period 1562
to 1610. Only 26 of the inventories were use
able; five were incomplete, inaccessible, or
gave descriptions of the paternosterers' personal
belongings rather than their beads and tools.
It is not always easy to read and understand
the notarized inventories of this period. The
script leaves much to be desired, because it is
very irregular and sloppy. The records which
remained with the notary were copies of the
originals, usually written quickly by young
clerks using abbreviations to reduce the costs of
reproduction. The original document was given
to the owner and the notary kept a copy as a
warranty against loss or theft. Furthermore,
many of the terms used to designate the beads
and the tools are no longer employed today.
Unfortunately, there are no early treatises on
beads that provide descriptions of the manufac
turing techniques, tools, or terminology used
during the 16th and 17th centuries. The most
complete treatise on glass bead making is that of
a 19th-century Venetian glassmaker, Dominique
Bussolin, titled "The Celebrated Glassworks
of Venice and Murano," originally published
in Italian and translated into French in 1847
(Karklins 1990). Although it provides a fairly
detailed explanation of the two major glass
bead manufacturing techniques, the drawn and
the lamp-wound, it does not give a thorough
description of the different types of beads and
tools used for their manufacture, and the trea
tise is restricted to glass bead production. Dider
ot's mid-18th-century encyclopedia provides
names and illustrations of tools, but none of
the beads themselves (Diderot and D' Alembert
17751-1765). It contains two entries: one for
"paternosterer" which describes the manufacture
of organic beads (bone, wood, jet, etc.) with a
66
turning wheel, and another for enameling describ
ing briefly the production of "enamel" jewelry.
There is no entry for glass bead making. Like
wise, the voluminous treatise on metallurgy by
the 16th-century German metallurgist, Giorgio
Agricola, who claims to have spent two years
in Venice and Murano, dedicates only eight
pages to glass making, and none to glass beads
(Agricola 1912:584-592). Antonio Neri's (1662)
very popular, The Art of Glass, published in
Italian in 1612 and later translated into English,
German, and French, reveals the "secrets" of
Venetian glass making and glass dyeing, but has
precious little on bead manufacture. To complete
the information provided by these works, 16th
and 17th-century French dictionaries and on
the inventories themselves were relied upon,
which sometimes gave clues about manufacturing
procedures and bead terminology. Since the
notaries were probably not very familiar with
the specialized vocabulary, they sometimes went
to the trouble of defining certain terms.
Although the sample is not very large and the
information contained in the inventories sketchy,
it does give a general idea of the occurrences
of materials, shapes, sizes, and colors. The
bead materials listed in the inventories and their
proportions are very similar to those found in the
Jardins du Carrousel collection (Table 2). As in
the archaeological collection, glass, enamel, and
jet are the primary materials, followed by shell,
amber, coral, cornelian, chalcedony, rock crystal,
wood, horn, bone, copper, and ivory. The only
difference is that there is a larger variety of
materials in the inventories and a larger propor
tion of glass, enamel, and jet beads. Glass and
enamel represent more than half (51.5%) of the
beads listed in the inventories, a figure slightly
higher than that of the Jardins du Carrousel
collection (44%). In keeping with the practice
followed in the inventories, glass and enamel are
separated even though enamel is really a form
of glass. According to Bussolin's 19th-century
treatise, the term enamel ("email") is used to
designate high-quality glass beads, also known
under the Italian word conteries (the brilliance
is enhanced by the addition of lead oxide),
whereas the word glass ("verre") is used for
ordinary and cheaper types of beads, sometimes
called rocailles (Karklins 1990:69-70). A care
ful examination of the post-mortem inventories
indicates that during the 16th and early 17th
centuries the word enamel meant, quite on the
contrary, a lower grade of opaque or colored
glass.
There were in fact four categories of glass
beads designated by the Parisian notaries of this
period: crystalline, glass, enamel, and "turquin"
(undoubtedly the round turquoise beads, IIa40
in the Kidd classification). For example, the
inventory of Jehanne Gourlin in 1573 lists all
four types: crystalline of several colors in
the form of tubes or rods ("canon de plusieurs
couleurs de cristallin"), glass beads ("perles de
verre"), enamel in the form of beads and tubes
or rods ("grains d'ernail et canons demail"),
and turquins ("turquyns" are in a category
of their own, perhaps because of the very
particular chemical makeup of these beads)
(Archives Nationales, Minutier Central des
Notaires [ANMCN] 1573:IX-154, 20 October).
The rather high price of crystalline beads indi
cates they were made of high quality translucent
glass and were manufactured of the same mate
rial that was used to make crystal drinking
glasses. Not surprisingly, the same word is used
to designate beads and glasses-for example, the
inventory of glass-maker Jean Delamare lists 60
glasses of "cristallin" (ANMCN 1574:IX-155, 26
January). Crystalline beads were manufactured
with quartzite pebbles containing high quantities
of silica (up to 98%). These pebbles were
heated and ground into a fine white powder,
and then mixed with fluxing agents--especially
sodium carbonate (that made from the ashes
TABLE 1
MATERIALS OF BEADSFROM PARISIAN POST
MORTEM INVENTORIES 1562-1610
Glass 28.5%
Enamel 23.0%
Jet 16.3%
Shell 6.6%
Amber 4.8%
Coral 4.8%
Rock Crystal 4.4%
Cornelian 2.4%
Chalcedony 1.2%
Wood 1.2%
Bone 0.8%
Hom 0.8%
Copper 0.4%
Ivory 0.4%
of Syrian or Egyptian sea-weed was considered
the best), as well as some calcium, potassium,
and magnesium. The mixture was placed in a
reverberatory fumace and heated at approximately
800C for a few hours. The now liquid masse
was poured into crucibles and heated at I,200C
in the main furnace for one to two days. At
this stage, manganese or metal oxides could be
added to color the glass or enhance transparency.
The molten glass was then ready to be blown or
drawn into rods or tubes (Trivellato 2001).
The less expensive glass and enamel beads
would have been manufactured with cruder
vitrifying and fluxing agents, and they would
have been fused for a shorter period of time,
given that raw materials and fuel generally
represented three-quarters of the production costs
of finished crystal and glass objects (Trivellato
2001). The prices of glass and enamel beads
were similar and they appear to have the
same status. In the post-mortem inventory of
Gabriel Bellanger, the notary priced some of the
glass and enamel beads together, clearly indicat
ing that their values were similar (ANMCN
1585:XLV-160, I October). Regarded as very
poor quality, the oval frit-core glazed blue beads
with white appliqued lines and dots, so charac
teristic of this early period, are described in the
inventories as being made of enamel ("olives
a cottes mouchetees aussi d'ernail") (ANMCN
1603:1-41, 3 May). It is legitimate to think that
the frit-core enamel/faience beads would have
been included in the enamel category since they
were fired and had an enamel type glaze. In
the case of the characteristic blue oval bead,
the raised white appliqued lines and dots appear
to have been applied to the glaze. Fine white
glass thread was likely fired onto the bead with
an oil lamp to produce the motif. These frit
core beads are not mentioned in the Bussolin
treatise probably because they were no longer
being manufactured in the 19th century. There
are other examples of mid-19th-century tenninol
ogy not applying to the 16th century-certain
terms, such as conteries and rocailles, are never
mentioned in the 16th-century notarial records.
Beads were worked into all sizes and shapes:
oval, round, circular, discoidal, tubular, melon,
and faceted. As in the Jardins du Carrousel
collection, round and oval appear to be the
preferred shapes; faceted beads are also preva
lent. Tubular beads are less frequent; however,
they are present early-the inventory of Jacques
Leroy, drawn up in December 1562, contains
large numbers of them (ANMCN 1562:LIX
25, 28 December). Parisian bead makers used
specialized terms to designate the shapes of the
beads: olive ("olive") for oval, flute ("flute")
or canon ("canon") for tubular, cut ("taille en
miroir," "taille a facette" or "taille en plein")
for faceted, blackberry ("mure") for the corn
bead (W II d according to the Kidd classifica
tion, Figure 1q, r), and glandular ("falYon de
gland") for the acorn shaped beads (Figure Idd).
"Strawberry" beads ("a la fraise") may have
been the melon shaped ones because the word
strawberry was used in 16th-century France to
designate the fashionable high coll ared ruffs
shaped like a melon (Figure Ibb). The nota
ries very seldom designate medium size beads
("moyennes"); but large beads are often described
as big ("grosses"), and small to very small beads
by terms like grain ("grains"), small ("petites"),
tiny ("menues"), or seed ("semances"). Here
also, the color spectrum is restricted to basic
colors: black, white, red, turquoise, blue, violet,
and green, in that order; yellow is the only other
color mentioned and it occurs only once. The
presence of polychrome beads is suggested
by the expression "tubes of several colors"
("canon de plusieurs couleurs"); however, it
does not occur frequently, which leads to the
conclusion that the majority of beads inventoried
are monochrome.
Some beads are described as imitations of
Italian models and others as being imported
from Venice or Milan. Jeanne Gourlin had in
her shop some 43,000 "turquins of the manner
of Venice," indicating they were made in the
Venetian style. The word "turquin" is defined
in dictionaries of the time as a "Turkish [hue]
between blue and azure" or "Venetian blue"
(Cotgrave 1950; Desainliens 1970). In the post
mortem inventories, they are almost always
designated as blue. Some beads were imported
from Italy because the same inventory also
lists 100,000 "false glass pearls from Venice"
(ANMCN 1573:IX-154, 20 October). Likewise,
the shop of Judith Rousselin, wife of the
deceased Pierre Rousselin, had in it 17 pounds
and 2 ounces of marguerites ("margueritaires")
from Milan (ANMCN 1584:XCI-130, 22 March).
In Bussolin's 19th-century treatise, marguerites
68
(daisies) designated small Italian embroidery
beads of enamel and colored glass. In the
French dictionaries of the late medieval period
and the 16th century the definition is more
restricted-the marguerite is described simply
as a fine white and round pearl (Huguet 1961;
Godefroy 1982). These references to imported
beads in the inventories are exceptional. The
vast majority of the beads were made by the
bead makers themselves because the inventories
often refer to equipment and tools used in the
manufacturing process: marble or clay furnaces
("fourneau de marbre" or "fourneau de terre")
to fuse glass; iron pestles and morters ("mortiers
et pilons de fer") to crush materials for making
the frit; slabs of marble or stone ("planche
de marbre blanc" or "pierre de Lyon") with
gathering irons ("mollets") for retrieving and
marvering the glass; pincers ("tenailles") for
drawing molten glass into canes or rods; iron
molds ("rouelles de fer") for molding glass or
enamel cakes; lamps ("lampes") and bellows
("soufflets") for making lamp-wound beads;
copper pans ("ecuelles de cuivre") to tumble
beads; tin screens ("sasets de fer blanc") for
sorting beads; scissors and tongs ("paires de
ciseaux") to cut and manipulate them; knives
("couteaux") and chisels ("ciseaux") to cut
organic beads; turning wheels ("rouet") to tum
and polish beads; wooden oak molds for shaping
turned beads ("moulures de bois de chene avec
leur rouet"); and files ("limes") to facet them.
The Parisian bead-makers were part of a
recognized guild (Lespinasse 1897 [2]:96-97)
and were still designated as paternosterers
("patenostriers")-a loan word from Italian
meaning rosary bead makers-because beads
had been used in late-medieval Italy almost
exclusively for making rosaries. By the second
half of the 16th century, paternosterers were
manufacturing beads and related products for a
large variety of uses: beads for rosaries, but
also for rings, bracelets, necklaces, belts, dresses,
and hats. They manufactured glass earrings,
buttons, and cup ids, even glass tooth-picks.
Although most simply designated themselves
as paternosterer, some hinted at a more special
ized type of activity by using terms such as
paternosterer of jet or paternosterer of enamel.
An examination of the equipment and tools
listed in the inventories indicates the Parisian
bead makers were involved in the manufacture
of at least four different categories of beads:
organic turned beads, drawn glass beads, mold
pressed glass or enamel beads and lamp-wound
glass beads. Half a dozen were specialized in
the production of turned beads made of organic
materials. Their workshops appear to be small
and equipped with simple tools for cutting,
turning, and polishing beads: a workbench,
knives, chisels, files, grindstones, a turning
wheel ("rouet" and sometimes the word "moulin"
is used), iron drills (rforets"), and threaders
("enfileurs"). Hugues Marchonaye had nothing
more than a workbench, a turning wheel, a mold,
several files, and a "grindstone from Tripoli
for polishing jet" (ANMCN 1579:XX-135, 19
May). Most of these paternosterers concentrated
on one type of material-for example, Hugues
Marchonaye, Denis Hende, and Gregoire Saulsaye
worked jet whereas Jehan Pieron favored shell.
His inventory listed more than 500 shell beads,
12 whole shells, three grinding wheels equipped
with belts, and 37 oak molds of different lengths
to hold the beads (ANMCN 1581:XX-128, 7
January). Only Jehan Dulaye and Crespin
Hebert were equipped to turn out beads of
several types of materials: jet, coral, shell, and
amber.
The majority of the bead makers manufactured
drawn glass and enamel beads, which demanded
more equipment and labor than the organic
beads. Although the production of drawn beads
remained a cottage industry, with the workshops
generally located in the homes of the bead
makers, it required at least one furnace to melt
the frit and a fair amount of space to draw the
molten glass into tubes or canes. With an iron
blow pipe, the glass maker would blow a pocket
of air into the mob of molten glass, and two
helpers would quickly grasp the fusing glass
with gathering irons and pull it by running in
opposite directions, forming a perfectly uniform
tube with a hollow cylinder in the middle cre
ated by the air pocket. Once hardened, the
tubes were cut into the desired lengths and the
ends rounded off with a grinding instrument to
make tubular beads. To make oval or round
beads, the tubular pieces of glass were mixed
with sand and charcoal in copper or iron pans,
heated in the furnace, and stirred continually
with an iron rod. The longer the beads were
stirred, the rounder they got. The beads were
then set aside to cool, screened to separate them
from the sand and charcoal, polished in bags of
sand and bran, and threaded on strings according
to size and quality (Kidd 1979; Smith and Good
1982; Sprague 1985; Opper and Opper 1991).
Several of the bead makers of our sample appear
to have been fusing glass and drawing it into
tubes in their workshops. The shop of the
deceased Pierre Rogerel contained 684 pounds of
sodium carbonate ("soude"), commonly used as a
fluxing agent, and 290 pounds of coloring agents
("preregot autrement dit couleur") (ANMCN
1573:XCI-124, 11 March).
Mold-pressed beads were formed of glass or
enamel/faience in a mold (Sprague 1985:95-97).
The glass variety were made by pressing plastic
glass into molds, often in a pliers-like device,
of the desire size and shape. When cooled they
were removed and the mold seam might be
ground and polished. The enamel/faience type
were made of wet paste of quartz fit with an
alkaline flux in metal or wooden molds. The
holes were made by wires which was removed
after the bead was dry. They were then fixed
in a furnace and given a salt glaze. Parisian
bead makers often combined the production of
drawn and mold-pressed beads because the two
processes used many of the same tools.
The 1584 inventory of Georges Ferre, which
lists enamel beads, had all of the equipment and
tools necessary to draw or mold glass beads:
two furnaces (a large and a smaller one), cru
cibles, three workbenches, two chairs, a marver
ing stone from Lyons with its gathering iron,
seven pincers, boards to set the tubes on the
ground during the cooling process, perforated
iron plates, an iron pestle and morter, nine dozen
iron molds ("rouelles de fer"), two threaders,
files, boards, and small wooden boxes ("layettes")
for storing beads (ANMCN 1584:XCI-130, 6
April). Ferre may have employed as many as a
dozen workers. Benoit Vincent's workshop was
even bigger-his inventory lists three furnaces,
four workbenches, molds, many iron plates, two
pairs of scales, and a turning wheel ("rouet").
He was specialized in the production of enamel
and glass beads because the 50 square and round
boxes, made of white spruce, as specified in
the inventory, contained primarily these types of
beads. His inventory also mentions 80 lb. (36
kg) weight of enamel tubes of different colors
and 40 lb. (18 kg) weight of white enamel in
tubes as well as in cakes (ANMCN 1603:1-41, 3
May). Both Giorgio Agricola and Antonio Neri
indicate that the larger workshops were equipped
with three furnaces: the first for turning frit
into molten glass, the second for re-melting
the glass cakes to manufacture glass products,
and the third for slowly cooling the glass
objects to prevent them from breaking (Agricola
1912:586-589; Neri 1662:239-249). The smaller
workshops would have two or only one furnace,
in which all three operations would have to be
carried out. Some paternosterers seem to have
been purchasing glass and enamel tubes from
glass factories rather than manufacturing them
themselves. Jehanne Gourlin's inventory lists
some 1,112 lb. (504 kg) weight of crystalline
and enamel canes in cases and only one small
furnace, suggesting her operation was specialized
in transforming the canes into tubular or rounded
beads (ANMCN 1573:1X-154, 20 October).
The manufacture of lamp-wound beads was
much less common. These were made with
solid glass canes of various sizes heated with a
lamp and a bellows used to direct and increase
the temperature of the flame. The heated glass
cane would wind itself around the iron wire as
it melted and form a rounded bead. The bead
could be further shaped by the movement of
the worker's fingers or the use of small molds
according to Bussolin (Karklins 1990:74). Only
two inventories listed lamps and bellows. Symon
Grue's 1584 inventory mentions a workbench, a
bellows ("soufflet"), a lamp ("lampe"), and iron
wire, but also a furnace, three morters and three
pestles, iron boards, chisels, pincers, and other
tools usually employed in the manufacture of
drawn beads (ANMCN 1584:IX-111, 23 Octo
ber). The inventory suggests a hybrid opera
tion combining the production of drawn and
lamp-wound beads. Anthoine Grandsire's oper
ation seems to have been more specialized;
his workshop contained only a bellows "for
bead makers" ("de paternostrier") and a work
bench with "several lamps" ("plusieurs lampes")
(ANMCN 1630:XLII-77, 22 March). Interest
ingly, two display panels of beads are listed
as exhibited in his "boutique" which contained
enamel as well as "faience" (frit-core) beads.
Since these are the first inventories to mention
bellows and lamps, they suggest that it is around
this time that lamp-wound glass beads began
to be manufactured in Paris. According to Bus
solin, the technique for making these types of
70
beads was invented in Venice in 1528 (Karklins
1990:75); it is not surprising that it took some
time before they were introduced into France,
given the secrecy surrounding the manufacture
of glass beads in Venice.
The numbers of bead makers seem to increase
during the second half of the century as they
become progressively more involved in the
clothing industry. Boniface Marquis, an active
member of the guild, gave paternosterer as his
profession in 1562 (ANMCN 1562:IX-25, 28
December), but was designated as haberdasher
("mercier") in his post-mortem inventory of
1581 (ANMCN 1581:IX-162, 14 February).
Several of the inventories of the last quarter
of the century listed sewing goods along with
beads: thread, needles, thimbles, scissors, ribbon,
lace, and cloth (ANMCN 1578:1II-437, 13 July;
1580:III-191, 10 January; 1578:XCI-130, 22
March; 1603:1-41, 3 May; 161O:X-13, 21 June).
In some cases, gloves, belts, and purses are
described as being embroidered with beads,
which is an indication that clients were leaving
these accessories in shops to have beads sewn
onto them (ANMCN 1569:III-436, 2 May;
1570:III-322, 30 May; 1572:LIX-27, 19 Febru
ary). The use of beads to decorate garments
became widespread during the 16th century with
the development of the Renaissance fashion of
embellishing clothing with precious stones and
beads (Boucher it is this new
and growing market that probably explains the
upsurge in the number of bead makers rather
than simply the manufacture of rosaries. Beads
embellished hats, gloves, boots, belts, shirts, and
coats, and ever more frequently bed canopies,
cushions, altar cloths, and chasubles (De Farce
1890:37; Rocher 1982; Wolters 1996:36-39).
Costume books attest to the increased associa
tion of beads and precious stones with costume
during the second half of the 16th century
(Bruyn 1581; Vecello 1590; Glen 1602). Amer
indian traders likely saw them on the bodies and
the clothing of ship captains or even ordinary
sailors. Mariners often wore shell necklaces
or bracelets as proof of their travel to distant
lands and also perhaps as a way of identifying
themselves with the sea. It was a well-known
custom among seamen to wear a spiral brass
earring to protect oneself against bad eyesight
(Witthoft 1966:205).
France became a major center for the manu
facture and trade of beads during the 16th
century. Members of the court and wealthy
merchants encouraged Italian glass bead makers
to practice their trade in France. Glass factories
were established in Lyons, Nevers, Paris, Rouen,
Nantes, and Bordeaux. By the end of the cen
tury, they were present in most of the major
French cities (Barrelet 1953 :62-65, 91-95).
These glass factories produced colored glass in
the form of rods and canes on a large scale and
sold them to paternosterers who worked them
into beads of different forms and sizes. France
exported large quantities of beads to England
and North America (Kidd 1979:29); they were
purchased by merchants for the North American
trade at La Rochelle (Archives Departernentales
des Charentes-Maritimes 1565:3E 2149, 20 June),
at Bordeaux (Archives Departernentales de la
Gironde [ADG] 1587:3E 5428, 5 February) and,
primarily, at Paris (ANMCN 1599:3 November).
Merchants in the provincial cities were often sup
plied by Parisian bead makers or haberdashers.
Charles Chelot, one of the most prominent bead
merchants (mercer/haberdasher) in Paris, provided
beads to Guillaume Delamarre of Rouen, Samuel
Georges of La Rochelle, and Pierre Bore of
Bordeaux, all merchants actively involved in
the early trade to Canada (ANMCN 161O:X-13,
21 June).
The presence of shell beads in the post-mor
tem inventories as well as at the Jardins du
Carrousel collection is an important find because
it has been assumed by most North American
bead researchers that shell beads were exclusively
of Aboriginal origin (Beauchamp 1901; Ceci
1989; Sempowski 1989; Hamell 1996). Several
Parisian bead makers specialized in the manu
facture of shell beads, commonly called porcelain
("porcelaine") in French, a term derived from the
Italian porcellana which designates the cowry
shell (Harnell 1992:464; Greimas 1992). When
the word porcelain is used in the inventories,
there is no question that the notaries are refer
ring to shell beads and not frit-core or faience
beads; whole shells or scraps of unused shell
("coquilles") are mentioned, but none of the
tools needed to manufacture glass and frit-core
beads are listed (ANMCN 1570:III-321, 30 May;
158l:XX-128, 7 January; 1591:XXIII-135, 13
June). When the terms enamel and porcelain are
71
Turgeon-FRENCH BEADS IN FRANCE AND NORTHEASTERN NORTH AMERICA
sometimes used together in the same inventories;
the notaries are clearly referring to different
beads because the latter are always more expen
sive than the former, or than most other beads
for that matter. Furthermore, the word porcelain
is used to designate shell beads in all of the
early French travel literature of North America
(Vachon 1970:260; Karklins 1992:13) as well as
in the royal charters (Lettres patentes) of the
Parisian bead makers (Lespinasse 1892[2]: 109;
Franklin 1895 [16]: 156). Some of these shell
beads were making their way to North America.
Charles Chelot, who had strong ties to many
of the merchants outfitting ships to Canada,
sold large quantities of sheIl beads in 1599
to Pierre Chauvin, a well-known Canadian fur
trader (ANMCN I599:XCIX-65, 3 November).
Lescarbot also specifies, in his travel account,
that the Indians "make great use of Matachiaz,
[the Micmac word is employed here to designate
marine shell beads] which we bring to them
from France" (Lescarbot 1612: 732). Since
shell beads were already ornamental and valued
objects for most First Nations groups of the
Northeast, it is not surprising that they would
have been attracted early on by this familiar
and, at the same time, exotic object of European
origin. SheIl beads remained an important
French trade item throughout the colonial period.
The King's stores in Quebec City always kept
large quantities of shelI beads on hand and they
were much more expensive than glass beads.
According to Nathalie Hamel, one shell bead
was worth 1,224 glass beads during the period
1720-1760 (Hamel 1995:13-14). Likewise,
shell beads always far outnumber glass beads in
the inventories of trade goods from the trading
posts of the Chesapeake during the 17th century
(Miller, Pogue, and Smolek 1983:127-130).
It should be possible to visually distinguish
the Native manufactured sheIl beads from the
European ones. The latter would have been
manufactured with iron drills and should have
more regular forms and shapes. Unfortunately,
it appears that chemical trace element analysis
will not be very helpful in identifying the geo
graphical origins of the shell because, accord
ing to Cheryl Claassen and Samuella Sigmann
(1993:336, 345), most beads are not large
enough to provide reliable data.
To better understand the cultural transfer of
important to have more information on the dif
ferent types of French shell-beaded objects and
the ways in which they were used in France.
There is a substantial body of information on
Native American uses of shell bead, but surpris
ingly little on their usages in Europe. French
practices may have inspired Amerindian adapta
tions and innovations. Although such a research
agenda is beyond the scope of this article, it is
worth mentioning that the inventory of Jehan
Pieron, who specialized in the manufacture of
sheIl beads, lists a belt made of white sheIl
beads ("corps de ceinture de porcelaine blanche")
(ANMCN 1581:XX-128, 7 January). The use
of the word "corps" (body) in French suggests
the beads were braided into the belt. This may
have been the precursor of the North American
wampum belt. Beaded belts appear to have
been fashionable at the time. several have been
encountered in the inventories: a belt garnished
with enamel grains ("grains d'email en garniture
de ceinture," ANMCN 1573:IX-154, 20 Octo
ber); a small belt of white and black enamel
garnished with small paternoster beads ("petite
ceinture demail noir et blanc garnie de petits
patenostres," ANMCN 1584:XCI130, 6 April);
and a belt of enameled gold stones containing
121 round pearls ("une ceinture de pierres d'or
ernaillees contenant 121 perles rondes," ANMCN
1631:VI-210, 16 June). Shell beads were
also used to decorate purses. Jehan Dulaye's
inventory lists five purses embroidered with
white shelI ("cinq escarcelles faites de coquilles
blanches brodees," ANMCN 1570:II1-321, 30
May).
A Chronology for French Trade Beads in
Northeastern North America
The evidence of trade of French marine shell
is an invitation to open up North American bead
research to other types of beads, and to all
European trade goods for that matter, in order
to gain a better understanding of the chronology
of contacts and their impact on First Nations
groups. Although glass beads were a major
trade item, they appear rather late on North
American contact sites, long after sheIl and
copper beads for example, and their use as a
time marker has led us to assume that trade
before glass bead period I (ca. 1580-1600)
shell beads from France to America, it will be was quantitatively insignificant and, therefore,
72
unimportant. There has been a tendency to
concentrate on the larger collections of glass
beads and to forget the isolated shell beads, the
rolled copper beads, and the few scraps of iron
found on earlier sites. These first small and
apparently trivial objects may have had a more
significant impact on Native groups than has
been assumed until now. Our attention is now
turned to this earlier period and hypothesize that
the European presence was felt very early in
the 16th century and that French trade goods
increasingly circulated in Northeastern North
America from the time of the Verrazzano and
Cartier voyages in the 1520s and 1530s.
In the Northeast, marine shell beads are the
first exotic objects to appear on Native sites of
the interior. They are all but absent from the
archaeological record during the late prehistoric
era (A.D. 1000 to 1500), a period of profound
localism showing little if any archaeological
evidence of trade or contact between groups
(Bradley 1987:25). Most of the beads found
on these sites are made with local materials:
freshwater shell, animal bone, deer phalanges,
and mammal teeth (Wray 1987:147; Ceci
1989:68; Lennox and Fitzgerald 1990:423; Rams
den 1990:370-371). The late prehistoric sites
where a few discoidal andlor tubular marine
shell beads have been excavated are, in fact, so
late, they could be considered to date from
the early historic period: one bead on the
Seneca Alhart site (1440-1510) (Hamell 1977),
another on the Mohawk Elwood site (1475-1500)
(Kuhn and Funk 1994:78-79), three on the
Huron Kirche site (ca. 1495-1550) (Pendergast
1989:98), nine on the Saint Lawrence Iroquoian
Mandeville site (ca. 1500) (Chapdelaine 1989:102,
Figure 7.15) and a dozen on the Onondaga
Barnes site (ca. 1500) (Bradley 1987:42). Fur
thermore, the dates indicated for these sites
are those given by the authors at the time of
the study. In recent years, dates of sites in
western New York have been advanced in time
for example, A1hart to 1500-1550, Elwood to
1500-1535, and Barnes to 1540-1560 (Lenig,
pers. comm.). Since marine shell has been
assumed until now to be of Native American
origin and the presence or absence of European
trade goods has been the primary criterion for
dividing the prehistoric from the historic periods
(Hamell 1992:458), there has been a tendency
to push the dates of sites containing marine
shell beads back into the prehistoric period. If
the introduction of marine shell were a contact
related phenomenon, then these sites could just
as easily be placed in the early historic period.
The lroquoians may have acquired shell beads
from Europeans or, while waiting for them,
from coastal Algonquian groups who began
manufacturing beads at about the time of these
first contacts (Ceci 1989:72; Fenton 1998:226).
From the information provided by the Jardins
du Carrousel collection, it appears legitimate
to hypothesize that the discoidal and marginella
shell beads were of European origin and the
tubular shell beads (proto-wampum) were of
North American provenience. Native groups
encountered Europeans during the very first
decades of the 16th century when English,
French, and Portuguese fishing vessels began
establishing shore stations to dry cod (as early
as 1501) and when explorers such as Gaspar
Corte Real (1501) and Thomas Aubert (1509)
not only encountered Indians along the coasts,
but also brought some back to Europe to be
sold as slaves or exhibited as curiosities (Quinn
1977:123-131). These voyages were followed
by those of Verrazzano (1524), Gomes (1525),
and Cartier (1534-1542). Verrazzano exchanged
gifts, including "azure crystals" (bright blue
glass beads) (Winship 1905:15-16), with several
Native groups of New England, and Gomes
traded European goods for sables and other
valuable furs with the First Nations of Cape
Breton Island (Quinn 1979[1]:274). During
his first voyage in 1534, Cartier presented the
Micmacs he encountered in Chaleur Bay with
hatchets, knives, beads ("patenostres"), and other
wares; a few days later, he gave the group of
Iroquoians at Gaspe "knives, glass beads, combs,
and other trinkets" (Bideaux 1986: 112, 114).
During his second voyage in 1535-1536, Cartier
again distributed large amounts of French goods
in the form of gifts: he gave the women of
Stadacona (present-day Quebec City) knives
and glass beads, and the chief two swords and
two large brass wash basins; on the way to
Hochelaga (present-day Montreal), he distributed
knives and beads; at Hochelaga, he provided
the men with hatchets and knives, the women
with beads and other "small trinkets," and the
children with rings and tin agnus Dei (Bideaux
1986:139, 143, 149, ISO, 155). Upon returning
to Stadacona the same year, he gave the men
knives "and other wares," and a tin ring to each
of the women. Throughout the long winter spent
there, Cartier exchanged knives, awls, beads, and
other "trinkets" for foodstuffs (Bideaux 1986:159.
162). These represent fairly large quantities of
beads and other goods, thus some should appear
in the archaeological record.
Narratives of the European presence certainly
circulated quickly and widely, and Indian groups
must have traveled to the coasts to see these
strange creatures. The St. Lawrence Iroquoians
encountered by Cartier on the Gaspe Peninsula
in 1534 had likely come with this intention;
indeed, the absence of Iroquoian material culture
in the archaeological record of the area points
towards a recent and sporadic occupation rather
than a long-lasting seasonal migratory movement
(Tremblay 1998: 116). The small amounts of
marine shell beads that appear on sites of the
interior may very well be the first tangible signs
of migratory movements to the eastern seaboard
to establish contacts with Europeans. Although
groups from the interior may have also been
acquiring European shell beads through trade
with coastal groups, one should not exclude the
possibility of seasonal expeditions because it
was undoubtedly important for Amerindians to
see and to have direct contacts with Europeans.
As Cheryl Claassen and Samuella Sigmann
(1993:334) have pointed out, there has been
a tendency in the archaeological literature to
presume rather than demonstrate that trade is the
transport mechanism responsible for the presence
of exotic materials on sites. The movement of
objects always entails the movement of peoples,
at least to a certain extent.
European copper beads occur on Algonquian
and Iroquoian sites during the second quarter
of the 16th century, slightly before glass beads.
Small pieces of copper cut from kettles, often
rolled into tubular beads, and some rare iron
objects (awls and celts), sometimes found in
association with marine shell discoidal beads,
may be considered a horizon style artifactual
assemblage for this period. As James Bradley
has pointed out, the first European objects on
Algonquian early contact period sites in New
England are small brass/copper beads as well as
small pieces of sheet brass or copper (Bradley
1983:30). These same materials turn up on
Iroquoian sites of the interior. Copper beads
and a few iron awls and celts are found on
Huron sites from the early to mid-16th century
(Ramsden 1990:373). The first object, indisput
ably of European origin, to appear in Neutral
archaeological assemblages is a rolled brass bead
recovered from the MacPherson site dated to the
middle of the century (Lennox and Fitzgerald
1990:429). Further to the south, on the Onon
daga sites, scrap pieces of copper were located
on sites from the 1525-1550 period: one piece
at Temperance House and two at Atwell (Bradley
1987:69). The Seneca Richmond Hills site,
dated 1540-1560, contained a tubular copper
bead, a copper ring, a tiny scrap of sheet copper,
and iron nail (Wray et al. 1987:240; Kuhn
and Funk 1991:80). The Mohawk Garoga site
(1525-1545) also had a small but compelling
assemblage of copper objects: two tubular
beads, an unidentified ornament, and a piece
of scrap (Snow 1995:154-158). Most of the
shell bead assemblages that appear on sites from
this period are dominated by the same types of
shell beads found in the Jardins du Carrousel
collection-centrally perforated small discoidal
beads and an occasional marginella bead (Lenig,
pers. comm.).
This characteristic artifactual assemblage, found
on numerous sites spread over a large part of
the Northeast, very likely corresponds to the
development of trade with French fishermen and
Basque whalers on the Atlantic seaboard in the
1530s and 1540s. The number of French cod
fishing ships outfitted to Newfoundland rose in
earnest during this period. In the Bordeaux
notarial archives, for example, the vessels outfit
ted for the cod-fishery increased from I or 2
per-year in the 1530s to more than 20 per-year
in the 1540s (Bernard 1968:805-826). These
high levels are corroborated by those of two
other large French ports actively involved in
the Newfoundland cod fishery-La Rochelle and
Rouen. These three ports alone were outfitting
more than 150 ships a year towards the end
of the l550s (Turgeon 1998:590-591). As the
number of vessels increased, they spread out into
the Strait of Belle Isle and the Gulf of the Saint
Lawrence, and set up shore stations on land to
dry cod. In the late 1530s, French and Spanish
Basques began fishing and hunting whales in
the Strait of Belle Isle; there may have been
as many as 15 to 20 large whaling ships and
1,000 European men on the Labrador coast by
mid-century. These vessels would have had on
board copper kettles for cooking meals for crew
members; additionally, each whaling ship would
have carried as many as three or four large
copper cauldrons used in the rendering of whale
blubber into train oil. Fishermen and whalers
had in their possession all sorts of iron tools
and objects-axes for making ship repairs and
building shore stations, knives for gutting fish
and cutting whale blubber, and large amounts of
nails for constructing wooden docks, platforms,
and shelters.
Coastal Algonquians and even Iroquoians from
the interior traded with Europeans at these
seasonal shore stations. At least two of the
groups Cartier met during his first voyage to the
St. Lawrence region in 1534, appeared familiar
with European trade-the Micmacs of the Bay
of Chaleur who made signs to him to come to
shore and held skins on sticks, and the Montag
nais group he encountered on the North Shore
of the St. Lawrence "who came freely aboard
his ships as if they had been Frenchmen" (Cook
1993:20, 31). St. Lawrence Iroquoians from the
Quebec City area were definitely trading with
the Basques in the Strait of Belle Isle in the
1530s and 1540s. In the depositions taken from
Basque fishers by the Spanish Crown in 1542
to inquire about the Cartier voyages to Canada,
a ship's captain from Bayonne, Robert Lefant,
testified that he had been cod-fishing five years
earlier, that is in 1537, in a port called "Brest"
(Riviere St. Paul), where the Indians traded
"marten skins and other kinds of skins" for
"all kinds of ironware." He added that the
"Indians understand any language, French, Eng
lish, and Gascon, and their own tongue" (Biggar
1930:453--454). In order for the First Nations
to have acquired even a minimal knowledge of
European languages by 1537, trade relations
must have been established some time earlier.
Another witness, Clemente de Odelica, from
Fuenterrabia, who had set sail in a vessel from
St. Jean de Luz in 1542," said that "many sav
ages came to his ship in Grand Bay [Strait of
Belle Isle], and they ate and drank together and
were very friendly, and the savages gave them
deer and wolf skins (possibly sea wolves, i.e.
seals) in exchange for axes and knives and other
trifles." Although dressed in skins, Odelica
warned that these were men of skill and that
further up the river the inhabitants were much
the same, "for they gave them to understand that
one of their number was the leader in Canada"
(undoubtedly St. Lawrence Iroquoians). Armed
with bows and arrows and pinewood shields, and
having many boats (undoubtedly canoes), they
claimed to have killed more than 35 of Cartier's
men (Biggar 1930:462--463). The presence of St.
Lawrence Iroquoians in this area at that time
is also supported by the archaeological record;
the rim sherd of a St. Lawrence Iroquoian pot
was found inside a collapsed shelter at Red
Bay, Labrador, dating to about mid-century
(Chapdelaine and Kennedy 1990:41--43).
The Basque appear to have pursued their
trade with the First Nations in this area, at
least intermittently-the 1557 will of a Basque
fisherman from Orio mentions cueros de ante
(probably caribou hides) from the "New Found
Lands" (Barkham 1980:54). European fishers
and whalers may have been venturing up the St.
Lawrence themselves in search of furs, for in
1610 an elderly seaman refers to ships going to
Tadoussac for the last 60 years, which suggests
Europeans had been in the area since 1550
(Biggar 1922-1936[2]: 117). In 1545 the French
navigator Jean Alfonse noted in his sea rutter
that large quantities of fur were available on
the Acadian peninsula and the coast of Maine,
suggesting trade was already taking place there
(Biggar 1901 :31). Fishers were expected to
bring back all types of marketable merchandise
from the New World, not just fish, train oil, and
whale blubber, as indicated in the hundreds of
charter-parties and supply contracts examined
from Bordeaux. The following formula appears
in the contracts around mid-century to describe
the return cargoes: "fish, oil, grease, merchan
dise, and other things . . . from the New Found
Land." Sometimes the stipulation that "the
master and crew shall neither conceal nor traffic
in anything . . . from the suppliers" was added,
suggesting that fishermen were illegally portaging
hides and pelts in their trunks. Some North
American pelts were reaching Paris during this
period; in 1545, beaver pelts are referred to for
the first time in the post-mortem inventories of
Parisian furriers (Allaire 1995:82).
In the late 1550s, out of this portage trade,
carried out seemingly on a small scale, grows a
more sustained commercial activity organized by
merchants supplying vessels with items selected
for the fur trade. Notarial records reveal more
than a dozen outfittings for the trade on "the
coast of Florida" between 1558 and 1574. Since
the La Rochelle and Rouen notarial records have
not been well preserved for this period, the
actual numbers of ships outfitted for "Florida"
must have been much higher. Most of the ves
sels were Norman, from the ports of Rouen, Le
Havre, and Honfleur. The few outfitted at La
Rochelle and Bordeaux were partly sponsored
by Norman merchants or captained by men
of Norman origin, such as L 'Aigle de La
Rochelle, a new 100 ton vessel bound in 1565
for "Florida to fish for cod and trade goods"
(Archives Departementales des Charentes-Mari
times 1565:3E 2149, 21 May, 22 June).
The "coast of Florida" would seem, at first
glance, to indicate the Northeast coast of the
Florida peninsula, where the French attempted to
establish a colony from 1562 to 1565 (de Pratter
et al. 1996:39-48). Yet a careful reading of the
records shows that the Florida trade is always
mentioned in conjunction with cod-fishing, which
cannot be practiced south of Cape-Cod. In fact,
for the Spaniards, "Florida" encompassed a vast
territory stretching over North America from the
Florida peninsula and New Spain (Mexico) all
the way to Cape Breton Island. Contemporary
French maps likewise refer to the "coast of
Florida" when designating the whole North
American Atlantic seaboard-those of Le Testu
(1556), Levasseur (160 I), and Vaulx (1613), for
instance (Beguin and Beguin 1984:27-28, 33;
Mollat du Jourdin and La Ronciere 1984:233,
244-249, charts 49, 50, 67, 71). The map of
Jacques de Vaulx, who had been part of a
French expedition to map the coasts of North
America between 1585 and 1587, appears to be
more precise; it indicates the shores of present
day Maine, in and around the mouth of the
Penobscot River, as being the coast of Florida
(Litalien 1993:134). In the minds of the Norman
fishermen, Florida likely designated a larger
territory, including the higher latitudes of the
Acadian peninsula, for in 1604, Jean de Ros
signol, the master of the Levrette from Le Havre,
claimed he was on the Florida coast ("coste de
la Fleuride"), while fishing and trading at Port
Mouton (near the present-day city of Halifax)
(Beaudry and Le Blant 1967: 166-172). The
coast of Florida did not, however, extend as
far north as Cape Breton Island because the
notarized charter-party for the Jehan de Honfleur
in 1564 indicates clearly the ship's destination as:
"to Newfoundland to fish for cod and to Cape
Breton for the fur trade" (Archives Departemen
tales de la Seine-Maritime 1563/64:2EI/881, I
March).
The example of Jehan de Honfleur indicates
a dual operation with part of the crew setting
up camp in a shore station to fish during the
summer and the others sailing along the coast
and into the main estuaries in search of furs.
It is in this fashion that Etienne Bellenger, a
merchant of Rouen, skirted the coasts from Cape
Breton Island to the Gulf of Maine in search
of furs in 1583. He returned with a rich cargo
of hides (probably moose hides), marten, otter,
and lynx pelts, and enough beaver to make
600 hats (Quinn 1979[4]:307). These Norman
traders may have been coasting as far south as
Chesapeake Bay and the Florida peninsula, for
official Spanish documents claimed in 1560 that
the French were visiting the southeastern coast
every year to trade (Quinn 1979[1]:217-218).
Coasting vessels carried cargoes of goods
selected for trading with First Nations. The
trade goods making up the cargo of L'Aigle de
La Rochelle in 1565, for example, included white
glass beads ("marguerites"), blue tubular or oval
beads ("canon bleuz"), bracelets ("manilles"),
mirrors, hawk bells ("clochettes"), pendant ear
rings, scissors, bells ("sonnettes"), chaulking irons
"of all sorts," German knives and axes, billhooks,
haberdashery, and Flemish embroidery material
"of all colors" (Archives Departernentales des
Charentes-Maritimes 1565:3E 2149, 20 June).
Even if the materials from which the goods
were made, are not specified, the bracelets, the
bells, and the pendant earrings would probably
have been made of brass or copper, which were
common at the time (Trocrne and Delafosse
1952: 100). It was undoubtedly these coasters
who were supplying the 6,000 hides and pelts
that Pedro Menendez de Aviles claimed in 1565
were arriving annually at La Rochelle (Quinn
1979[2]:400). One should not exclude the pos
sibility of the establishment of a small-scale
portage trade in marine shell-Norman fishermen
and sailors could have easily brought back whole
shells used to manufacture discoidal beads in
the seaport cities and Paris for resale in North
America. This possibility should be kept in
mind when doing analysis of shell species to
trace their origin. A shell bead made from a
76
North American shell does not necessarily imply
that it was manufactured by Native Americans.
This period of "Norman" trade corresponds to
a particular artifactual horizon on contact sites
characterized by a sharp increase in the number
of copper/brass, shell, and iron objects, and
the appearance of glass and frit-core beads.
The Seneca Adams site, dated 1560-1575, con
tained many of the trade goods described in
the cargo list of L 'Aigle of La Rochelle. The
assemblage of exotic goods was comprised
of 594 copper/brass objects (521 beads, 43
rings and spirals, 15 cones, coils, and discs,
13 bracelets, a knife, a hawk bell); 98 glass
and frit-core beads; 15 iron objects (awls, axes,
knives, swords, and spikes); as well as 1,712
marine shell beads. The neighboring Seneca
Culbertson site and the not so distant Onondaga
sites from this period contained a similar array
of exotic goods (Bradley 1987:69-90; Wray et
al. 1987). As James Bradley and Terry Childs
(1991) have demonstrated, these assemblages
are characteristic of collections from Southern
lroquoians (Susquehannock and Five Nations
Iroquois), but not of Northern lroquoian groups
(St. Lawrence lroquoians, Huron, Neutral, and
Petun), suggesting the mid-Atlantic coast as the
point of entry of these goods rather than the St.
Lawrence. Perhaps the wars that lead to the
disappearance of the St. Lawrence lroquoians
made trading along the St. Lawrence difficult
during this period. The Mohawk involvement
in these wars could explain the relative scarcity
of exotic objects on the sites of this Southern
lroquoian group during the 1560s and 1570s
(Rumrill 1991:6--7; Snow 1995:160-190).
The 1580s witnessed another major shift in
French commercial activities in North America
with the development of the Basque and Breton
trades along the St. Lawrence River. The disap
pearance of the St. Lawrence lroquoians may
have facilitated the reestablishment of trading
in the area, as well as the sharp rise in the
prices of furs in Paris (Turgeon 1998:599). In
the 1580s there was a dramatic increase in
the numbers of beaver pelts reaching Paris
from different seaports of the Atlantic coast
of France (Allaire 1995:83). The notaries of
Bordeaux and La Rochelle recorded the outfit
ting of 18 Basque vessels from St. Jean de Luz
and Ciboure between 1580 and 1587 "for trade
with the savages of Canada," as many specified.
There is also evidence that the St. Malo seamen
from Brittany outfitted as many as a dozen ves
sels for the St. Lawrence fur trade during the
same period (Turgeon 1998:598). Unfortunately,
very little is known about the makeup of the
cargoes of the St. Malo vessels. The objects
traded by the Basque, however, are fairly well
recorded. The Basque purchased hundreds of
copper kettles in Bordeaux and La Rochelle.
Micheaux de Hoyarsabal, a well-known trader
from St. Jean de Luz procured 209 "red copper"
kettles in 1586 and 200 more the following year
for the Canadian trade (ADG:1586 3E 5424, 30
April; 1587:3E 5428, 6 February). The copper
kettles were described as being "trimmed with
iron," meaning the handles and bail attachments
were iron. Basque cargoes included substantial
quantities of axes, knives, swords, and "other
ironware." In 1584, for example, the vessel
named the Marie from Ciboure counted 1,921
knives, 50 axes, and several swords among the
trade goods aboard. Haberdashery of "diverse
kinds" as well as hats, bed linens, jackets
(ADG 1584:E 5425, 28 April), and, from Scot
land, what was probably a thick woolen cloth
("foreze") (ADG 1586:3E 5427, 1, 3 May)
complemented the metalware. Some of the
beads purchased for the North American trade
are identified by name: jet beads ("patinotes
de gayet") (ADG 1584:3E 5425, 28 April),
marine shell beads ("porcelaine") (ANMCN
1599:XCIX-65, 3 November), and turquoise glass
beads ("turgyns"). In 1587, the Basque ship
master Johannis Dagorrette bought 50,000 of
these turquoise glass beads (IIa40), paying the
rather modest sum of 1 (livre tournois) per
thousand, the price of a small beaver pelt at the
time (ADG 1587:3E 5428, 28 February).
Most of the durable trade goods making up
the Basque cargoes are found in assemblages
of contact sites from glass bead period I (ca.
1580-1600). During this period, the quantities
of copper- and iron-made objects, as well as
shell and glass beads increase dramatically. The
Basque metal wares can be distinguished from
those of other European traders by their superior
quality-the copper kettles are thicker, the iron
axes heavier, the iron knives and swords longer
(Fitzgerald et al. 1993; Turgeon 1997). The
Micmac had direct access to these goods, thus
their sites are laden with them. For example,
the two secondary burial pits of the Pictou site,
which only contained the skeletal remains of
eight adults and a child, had an overwhelming
number of European grave offerings-some 400
glass and frit-core beads (all of these beads, with
two exceptions [lIa8 or lIa61 and IVb29], are
present in the Jardins du Carrousel collection),
232 forged iron spearheads, more than 100 iron
awls, 17 large knives, II caulking irons, 14 iron
daggers, 8 large axe heads, 8 two-edged swords,
7 whole iron banded copper kettles and the
fragments of at least 7 more, as wen as woolen
blankets and linen (Whitehead 1993:49-70). The
presence of a small green glazed beige ceramic
apothecary jar, very similar to the ceramics
found on Basque sites at Red Bay, Middle Bay,
and l'Ile aux Basques, confirms the Basque
provenience of the assemblage. As one moves
away from the center of trade, European objects
are sparser and often broken down into frag
ments. Most of the Basque iron banded kettles
found on the Iroquoian sites of the interior
had been cut into bracelets, pendants, rings,
spirals, and tinkling cones (Fitzgerald 1990:424;
Bradley 1987:69-74). As William Fitzgerald
has pointed out, the contemporaneous Kleinburg
Huron ossuary in southern Ontario, more than
1,500 km (900 mi.) from the Gulf of the St.
Lawrence, where the disarticulated remains of
some 500 people were recovered, contained
the same types of European objects, but in far
fewer numbers. The assemblage of unmodified
European objects is limited to 10 iron axes,
5 iron knives, I tanged iron blade, I iron skil
let, and 33 glass beads. The assemblage also
includes copper bracelets, rings, beads, and other
ornaments manufactured from pieces of copper
kettles and basins. Although no intact copper
containers were recovered from the Kleinburg
ossuary, some have been found on the con
temporaneous Milton Heights Neutral ossuary
(Fitzgerald 1995:33-34).
Conclusion
A close examination of French notarial records
and the Jardins du Carrousel collection from
Paris suggests that France played a major role
in the manufacture and trade of European beads
in Northeastern North America during the 16th
century. There are some striking similarities
between the Jardins du Carrousel beads and
collections from contact sites-most of the
Parisian glass, frit-core, and shell beads are
found in Northeastern North America. These
similarities as well as new information drawn
from notarial records has led to the hypothesis
of the existence of four rather distinctive periods
of French trade in Northeastern North America
during the 16th century, each relating to a char
acteristic artifactual assemblage on Amerindian
sites. The first period (1500-1535/40) represents
the initial fishing expeditions and voyages of
exploration which attracted First Nations groups
to the Atlantic seaboard, and is characterized by
the appearance of marine shell beads on these
sites. It has been suggested here that Iroquoians
from the interior acquired marine shell beads
either directly from Europeans (especially the
discoidal and marginella beads) or through
their encounters with Algonquian groups along
the coast (the tubular proto-wampum types).
The second period (1535/1540-1555/1560) cor
responds to the development of a more direct
trade in copper and iron with the crews of the
increasing numbers of cod-fishing and whaling
vessels in the Strait of Belle Isle and the Gulf
of the St. Lawrence. On contact sites, these
activities translate into the emergence of scrap
pieces of copper, tubular copper beads made
from kettle fragments, and a few iron objects
like nails, awls, and axes, as well as larger
numbers of discoidal shell beads and the occa
sional marginella bead. During the third period
(1555/1560-1580), there seems to be a shift in
trade from the Gulf of the St. Lawrence to the
mid-Atlantic region as well as from a small
scale portage trade to a more commercial type
of activity. Norman outfitters begin supplying
vessels with large quantities of goods selected
for the fur trade, and Amerindian contact sites
witness a sharp increase in manufactured copper
ornaments, iron objects, and shell beads, and the
appearance of glass beads. The fourth period
(1580-1600) is characterized by an apparent
decline, but not a complete disappearance, of the
Norman mid-Atlantic trade and the rapid growth
of the Basque-Breton St. Lawrence-based trade;
the quantities of copper-made objects (including
entire kettles), iron objects, and shell and glass
beads increase dramatically on Algonquian and
Iroquoian sites of the St. Lawrence and Great
Lakes regions. This very rough chronology is
only meant to be a tool for exploring the impact
of early contact on First Nations groups of
78
the Northeast. It will need to be modified
and refined as more information about l oth
century European beads, early trade networks
in North America, and assemblages of contact
sites becomes available. It will also have to be
used cautiously so that regional characteristics
are taken into account.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Much of the research for this article was financed
with grants from the Social Sciences and Humanities
Research Council of Canada and from the Fonds
pour les chercneurs et I'aide a la recherche of the
Province of Quebec. The inventory of the beads from
the Jardin ou Caroussel collection was carried out
with the assistance of Dominique Orssaud. I am very
grateful to Jean Chapelot for informing me of this
invaluable collection, Fabienne Ravoire and Dominique
Orssaud for showing it to me, Paul Van Ossel for
giving me permission to use it, and Paul Charniot
for photographing it. My gratitude also goes to my
research assistant, Bernard Allaire, who did much of
the painstaking research in the post-mortem inventories
of the Parisian bead makers. The article was written
while I was a Mellon Fellow at the Newberry Library in
Chicago. I would like to thank Wayne Lenig, Martha
Sempowski, William Fitzgerald, Marshal J. Becker,
Peter Cook, and the three anonymous readers for
their invaluable comments on the first draft of the
article; I am particularly indebted to Karlis Karklins
Francesca Trivellato, and George Hamell for their
insightful thoughts on glass, enamel, frit-core, and
shell beads. I would like to express my appreciation
to Carla Zecher for helping me refine the ideas and
the language of the text and to Lucie Morisset for
scanning the individual slides of the beads with
photoshop software.
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LAURIER TURGEON
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CANADA
83
John Bedell
Delaware Archaeology and the
Revolutionary Eighteenth
Century
ABSTRACT
Many theorists see the 18th century as a time of profound
change in European America. This paper tests some of these
theories with data from 21 different 18th-century archaeological
sites in Delaware that have been extensively excavated. The
sites date to all parts of the 1680-1830 period, and their
occupants span the social range from poor tenants to well-to-do
planters. Eighteen of the excavations were sponsored by the
Delaware Department of Transportation, and the techniques
employed in the excavation and analysis of these sites were
quite similar. Comparing the house remains, farm layouts,
ceramics, glass, tablewares, clothing-related artifacts, and
faunal remains from these sites reveals a complex pattern
of developments. Certain parts of the material culture of
rural Delaware did experience profound and relatively rapid
change, especially ceramics and tablewares. Other aspects
of life, however, including housing and meat consumption,
changed very little, if at all. The archaeological record does
not support the view that the 18th-century saw changes in
outlook and thinking that influenced every part of American
life.
The Agenda
To many historians, the modem world began
in the 18th century. It was the century of
revolutions: the American Revolution, the French
Revolution, the industrial revolution, the scientific
revolution, the Enlightenment, the demographic
transition, the explosion of world trade, the rise
of Western Europe to world domination. Within
the domain of daily life and material culture, on
which archaeologists usually focus, we have seen
discussion of the Consumer Revolution (Carson
1994), the Creamware Revolution (Martin 1994),
the rise of the Georgian Mindset (Deetz 1977),
and a great increase in "personal discipline"
(Shackel 1993). If we extend the century's
boundaries a few years in each direction, as
historians always do when they discuss these
things, we can see in the period from 1680 to
1830 a long list of changes in how people lived.
The introduction of the tea ceremony brought
caffeinated drink and refined manners into the
homes of many ordinary people. The fork, the
individual place setting, and the dining room
table and chairs led to great changes in how
people ate. Creamware dishes, made in British
factories and brought to North America by
the hundreds of thousands in the 1770s, were
just one in the series of new, mass-produced
consumer goods that may have changed our
relationship to material things. The spread of
clocks and watches changed how people viewed
time and work. People abandoned their old
houses with one or two multi-purpose rooms and
began to build homes with separate bedrooms,
kitchens, dining rooms, and other specialized
spaces. They also segmented the space on their
farms, turning their front yards into decorative
receiving areas and moving the work to the
back. Urbanization and industrialization brought
many people off the farm altogether and into
tenements, factories, and offices where time and
space were even more rigidly segmented. The
argument goes, that because of these changes,
the people of 1830 had undergone a mental shift
and were no longer medieval, but modem.
This article tests these theories of revolutionary
change in the 18th century using the archaeologi
cal data from Delaware. The 21 sites under
discussion represent the period from 1680 to
1830. They provide particularly rich information
on housing and farm layouts, and they also
produced extensive collections of artifacts and
faunal remains. Analysis of this material sug
gests that social change in the 18th century
was more gradual than is sometimes claimed,
not radically different from the rates of change
experienced in previous centuries.
Theories of Hevolution
The Consumer Revolution
The question of how and when western society
came to be made up of consumers, defined
by what they buy, is old and much debated.
(See the discussion in Shammas 1989). Most
important for our purposes is the large body
of recent scholarship, summarized by Carson
(1994) and Martin (1996), which points to the
18th century as the key period for development
84
of modem consumer culture. According to this
view, it was in the years between 1650 and
1800 that household objects first became a key
component of the average person's social status
and self-definition. In traditional European
society, these scholars argue, status was largely
determined by a family's wealth in land and
livestock, the value of which their neighbors all
knew. By 1800, status was generally judged
by a new definition of proper behavior that
rested largely on a person's skill in using certain
household objects. The tea ceremony and a
new way of dining, around oval tables with
forks and matching sets of dishes, are the best
examples of this new relationship between status
and household objects. Martin (1996:77) cites
several examples of people who were considered
uncouth because they didn't know how to drink
tea or use a fork, and concludes, "Society was
no longer merely divided into the haves and the
have-nots, but, increasingly, the knows and the
know-nots," The great importance attached to
rather simple things like forks led to the culture
of mass consumerism we live with today and
sparked a demand for mass-produced goods that
helped ignite the industrial revolution. A great
rise in advertising and other marketing techniques
helped fuel the consumption boom, along the
way bringing us new forms of literature like the
newspaper and the fashion magazine (McKend
rick 1982). This "consumer revolution" spread
Georgian canons of order and beauty to ordinary
people, and their local artistic and craft tradi
tions were swamped by a tide of classically
inspired, mass-produced, cleverly advertised, and
internationally recognized fashion.
The Georgian Mindset and Personal
Discipline
The "consumer revolution" is only one way
historians have imagined the allegedly transform
ing changes of the 18th century. Another con
ception emphasizes the development, in Europe,
of new intellectual and social norms; in Britain
and America these ideas are usually referred
to as "Georgian," following the influential writ
ings of James Deetz (1977). To Deetz, the
introduction of the "Georgian mindset" was
nothing less than the end of the medieval, com
munal approach to life and the beginning or our
modem, individualistic society. Georgian ideas
emphasized order, cleanliness, privacy, and the
separation of public and private spheres. Private
life became more important, interaction with the
neighbors less so. The term is adopted from
an architectural style, and changes in housing
were an important part of this development.
In traditional European houses, even those of
kings, sleeping, eating, and entertaining had
been conducted in the same spaces. Under
the influence of the new norms, the better-off
white people of America remade their houses
and farms to provide a more orderly and private
existence. They began constructing separate
bedrooms, dining rooms, and parlors. Privies,
unknown in rural contexts from the 17th century,
were dug, and small sheds were built over them
to allow privacy. While the interiors of houses
were changing to provide greater privacy, the
exteriors were reshaped to provide a proper
presentation of the owner's wealth and status.
The Georgian facade, with its perfect balance
and grand scale, was an almost philosophical
statement of the order of the universe and the
owner's role as an upholder of that order.
Deetz's work has been extended by a group
of scholars associated with Annapolis, Maryland.
Mark Leone (1988) emphasizes the association
of Georgian culture with capitalism and the
political dominance of the capitalist class. Paul
Shackel (1993; Shackel and Little 1994) sees
the changes in l Sth-century personal habits as
symptoms of a broad shift in western society
toward a more disciplined way of life. The
material corollaries of this new discipline include
dishes and tea sets, which represent a more
meticulous way of eating; clocks, which impose
tight control on the use of time; scientific instru
ments, which represent the imposition of law
on nature; formal gardens and grid street plans,
which bring rigid order to the landscape; and
toothbrushes and chamber pots, which represent
the imposition of discipline on the body. Paul
Shackel explicitly relates his ideas to Michel
Foucault's work on prisons, which, according
to Foucault, represent an attempt to impose a
discipline favorable to the upper class on the
criminal elements and the poor (Foucault 1978).
We are thus led to imagine that the 1650 to
1800 period saw a great change in the western
world, from a rather lax medieval society in
which work was task-oriented, table manners
atrocious, towns random in form, and criminals
85 Bedell-DELAWARE ARCHAEOLOGY AND REVOLUTIONARY 18TH CENTURY
out of control, to a tightly disciplined modem
society governed by the police, the clock, the
surveyor's sextant, and the etiquette book. This
"Georgian Revolution" rests essentially on the
same data as the "consumer revolution," viewed
through different ideological filters. It is interest
ing to note that while Carson and Shackel both
believe that the cultures of the rich and poor
grew closer together in the 18th century, Carson
sees this as evidence that the poor were striving
to imitate the rich as best they could, while
Shackel believes that the rich were forcing the
poor to behave in ways useful to their betters.
Evaluating Claims of Revolutionary Change
Substantial claims are made for the importance
of social change in the 1680 to 1830 period.
On the one hand, these changes reflect a major
shift in the way people conceived of their soci
ety, related to their neighbors, learned how to
do their work, even thought about their bodily
functions; on the other hand, these changes
caused yet further developments, including the
American Revolution (Breen 1988) and the
industrial revolution. The claims, if correct,
therefore seem to justify the notion of a social
revolution in the 18th century. It is equally
possible, however, to see the rise of consumer
ism and personal discipline as parts of much
broader social changes that took centuries to
develop.
It is first of all important to distinguish the
inevitable consequences of frontier settlement
from changes representing a broader social
transformation. Accounts of early American
history are full of pioneers who lived in shacks,
wigwams, or even in hollowed-out tree stumps
when they first settled their land. Later on,
they replaced these unusual lodgings with more
substantial houses. We should not assume
from these accounts that the settlers ever found
hollow trees to be acceptable, normal dwellings,
or that the houses they built later represent a
change in their idea of what a house should be.
Of course, the rigors of frontier life and their
consequences are important historical themes,
and their impact on American culture should
not be discounted, but simply comparing the
house built by an early settler with the one his
grandson built 50 years later can be deceptive.
The initial settlement and subsequent "civiliz
ing" of many parts of America was going on
at the same time as the alleged 18th-century
transformation of British and Anglo-American
society, and it is vitally important to keep these
developments separate in our minds.
A broader critique of these theories emphasizes
their dependence on a certain model of historical
change. The theorists under discussion all seem
to take a "revolutionary" view of human history,
that is, they seem to believe that the past can be
divided into eras of very slow change separated
by brief revolutionary periods when change was
very rapid or profound. It is also possible,
however, to see historical change as more or
less constant, and to think that both stable
eras and revolutions are mostly in the eye of
the beholder. A revolutionary model of the
medieval/modem transition seems to assume
that a wealthy, educated burger of 15th-century
London had more in common with a 9th-century
Saxon peasant than with an educated Londoner
of the late 18th century. In this view, the 9th
century peasant and the 15th-century townsman
shared a "medieval" outlook, while the late 18th
century Londoner shares a "modem" outlook
with us. It is by no means obvious that
this is so. A random assortment of important
changes that took place during the "stable" mil
lennium before 1700 could include the rise of
the national kingdoms that were the forerunners
of our modem nation states, the major religious
upheaval of the 16th century, and, very important
for our purposes, major changes in housing that
began in the 14th century with the introduction
of the chimney and the development of the hall
parlor house (Hoskins 1953; Machin 1977).
One can easily make 18th-century changes in
consumption and house building seem important
by isolating them from other changes in the
society, but put back into context they can be
seen as part of very long-term developments.
Carson says almost nothing about the Renais
sance, which seems a striking omission in a
work about the transformation of early modem
Europe. If, as Carson maintains, the visible
marks of status ceased to be lands and jewels
and came to be a refined way of behaving, the
classical education emphasized by humanist
intellectuals is surely one of the most important
parts of that new code (Bush 1939; Elias 1978).
New standards of taste, which led to the redesign
of houses and furniture, were also inspired by
Renaissance classicism, and grid street plans
were copied from Roman models. Leone and
Shackel do deal with the Renaissance as a
concept, but they simply equate l Sth-century
Britain with Renaissance Italy, lumping together
two very different societies at quite different
stages of economic and social evolution. (The
English Renaissance, to most historians, was
the Elizabethan period [Rowse 1972].) The
introduction of the Renaissance to the discussion
again takes us back to the 14th century, greatly
stretching the time frame of these "revolutionary"
changes.
Social discipline has long been one of the
major themes of Renaissance historians. The
Protestant Reformation has often been seen
as a quest for a disciplined church, especially
as practiced by John Calvin, John Knox, and
their Puritan followers (McNeill 1967; Schilling
1981; Strauss 1978). The modern army, with
its uniforms, matched weaponry, system of rank,
and regular drill, was an invention of this period,
developed by men who wanted to recreate an
ancient Roman or Spartan standard of military
discipline (Oestreich 1982). The stoics, the
ancient philosophers who emphasized personal
discipline over all else, were widely read and
quoted in this period (Allen 1957). Modern
athletics, which can be seen as another way of
disciplining the body, also developed greatly
toward the end of the 18th century, often under
the influence of classical models. These issues
take us from Martin Luther's Ninety-five Theses
(1519) to the renewal of the Olympics (1896),
again greatly stretching the time frame of the
revolution.
Leone wants to place the origin of "Capital
ism" in the 1650 to 1800 period, at least in
the English-speaking world, but many medieval
historians believe this development took place
much earlier, in the 1200s or even the 1100s
(Lopez 1971; Little 1978). The merchant de
la Pole family became Dukes of Suffolk in
the 1300s, signaling the rise of the merchant
class to political power in England and the
increasing fusion of the wealthy merchants
with the aristocracy. Joan Thirsk (1978) has
admirably documented the great enthusiasm for
entrepreneurial activity that overtook Elizabethan
England, producing schemes for everything from
woad growing to the settlement of Virginia.
The early 17th century saw the establishments
of the first stock markets, and of great joint
stock companies like the East India Company.
However we define capitalism, it was clearly
present in both England and Holland by 1680,
before the allegedly "revolutionary" period
began.
Carson also asserts that the "consumer revolu
tion" led to a great rise in demand for con
sumer goods and therefore caused the industrial
revolution, but this equation suffers from a
mismatch between the commodities important
to the two developments. The objects Carson
emphasizes are houses, furniture, dishes, and
cutlery. Although the form of houses and fur
niture certainly changed in the 1680 to 1830
period, the way they were made, by hand labor
with simple tools, did not. The manufacture of
ceramic dishes and cutlery was transformed by
factory techniques, but these items represent such
small segments of the 18th-century economy
that it is hard to see how they could have had a
revolutionary economic impact. The key indus
tries of the 18th century were cloth manufacture
and iron and steel production (Mathias 1988;
Landes 1998). Carson's model actually asserts
that cloth and clothing became less important
status markers at this time, and we know that
iron and steel production was more closely
related to military needs than to consumer
demand. Carson's evidence that ordinary people
became more interested in the acquisition of
consumer goods like those of the rich comes
from sermons and other moralizing tracts com
plaining about the "uppity" behavior of the
poor, who didn't know their place as they used
to. Since examples of such moralizing could
be produced in large numbers for every period
of European history, these texts are actually
evidence only of their authors' traditional moral
bent and tell us nothing at all about 18th
century behavior (Owst 1961; Harte 1976; Jar
dine 1996). Complaints about rampant, inappro
priate consumption were particularly widespread
in Elizabethan England (Thirsk 1978). Again, it
seems more appropriate to see both changes in
consumption and the new style of manufacturing
as deriving from intellectual changes begun in
the Renaissance.
Nor is it clear that, as Carson asserts, con
sumer goods did not play a great part in defin
ing social groups before 1650. Medieval people
did not use forks or teacups, but they were very
conscious of how people used other possessions.
Knowing how to ride a horse, for example,
was a key element of aristocratic behavior. (It
remained so in 18th-century America.) If one
objects to the use of the horse as an example,
on the grounds that it is not a manufactured
good, what about a sword? Every medieval
gentleman (outside the church) had to own a
sword, and his status was judged in part by the
style with which he used it. There is certainly
a difference between knowing how to ride a
horse or use a sword and knowing how to make
tea elegantly, but the difference does not lie in
the importance of properly using manufactured
goods, which is essential in both systems. As
for refined manners, Europeans had believed
from at least the time of the Iliad and the
earliest Irish sagas that an aristocrat could be
recognized by his behavior no matter how far
from home he went, even by people who had
no idea of the amount of land he owned. The
"courtly love" of the 12th and 13th centuries
has frequently been seen as a code of behavior
that separated the aristocracy from everyone
else, since only the aristocrats had the time to
learn the complex rules of courtly romance (Elias
1978). Richard Bushman (1992) has empha
sized the conservative side of what he calls
the "refinement of America," that is, the way
the new culture of gentility preserved ancient
aristocratic norms in a changing economic and
political situation.
Questions have also been raised about the
degree of change that actually took place in
the 18th century, and many scholars see strong
expressions of traditional attitudes well into
the 19th century. Traditional rural patterns of
neighborhood sharing, as expressed in communal
activities such as barn raisings and quilting
bees, interest-free loans between neighbors,
and simple barter exchanges like meat clubs,
remained common in the 19th century, suggesting
that market attitudes and the desire to acquire
consumer goods remained second to neighborli
ness for many people (Henretta 1978; Martin
1984). Amy Friedlander (1991) has argued that
in early 19th-century New Jersey most farmers
continued to use their wealth in a way Carson
calls traditional, preferring investment in bigger
barns and more livestock over the purchase
of consumer goods. Some architectural histo
rians (Larkin 1988; Chappell 1994) believe
that there was no great change in American
housing until after 1800, and traditional building
forms remained common in some parts of North
American into this century (Glassie 1968; Noble
1984). Studies of bones from archaeological
sites suggest that traditional dietary patterns
remained entrenched in rural areas in the 19th
century (Bedell et al. 1994). The recognition
that many traditional lifeways endured into the
19th century, and that many of the undoubted
developments of the 18th century were rooted
in the Renaissance and the Reformation, turns
the "consumer revolution" into a SOO-year-long
event, and suggests that the important changes
in the ways 18th-century people ate and drank
were part of a very slow process, not signs of
a sudden social transformation.
The Sites
To test these theories requires a body of
archaeological data that allows us to view social
and technological change across the 1680 to
1830 period. One such body of data is provided
by a large group of archaeological sites has been
excavated in Delaware over the past 20 years.
This paper considers evidence from 21 Delaware
sites (Table 1; Figure 1). The excavation of
18 of these sites was funded by the Delaware
Department of Transportation, and the work
was primarily done by two consultants: the
University of Delaware Center for Archaeological
Research (ten sites) and Louis Berger & Associ
ates (five sites). There were many similarities
to the approaches taken on all the DelDOT
sites, making these data particularly useful for
comparative analysis. The sites date primarily
to the period after 1740, and only two sites, the
Richard Whitehart and John Powell Plantations,
produced significant artifact deposits dating to
before that year. Most of the sites were farms
(13 sites) or rural dwellings (7 sites); there
was only one urban site, deposits associated
with the parsonage of Old Swedes Church in
Wilmington. Some additional urban perspective
can be gained by using sites in Philadelphia,
with which Delaware had close economic and
social ties. The occupants of the sites spanned
the socioeconomic spectrum from poor tenants to
wealthy landowners. Slaves lived at least three
sites. One site, Bloomsbury, was occupied for
a time by Native Americans, and the Augustine
88
TABLE 1
EXCAVATED HISTORIC SITES IN DELAWARE, 1680-1830
Site Name Dates Property type Occupied by
Richard Whitehart 1 6 8 1 ~ 1 7 0 1 farm owner
John Powell 1691-1735 farm owner/tenant
William Strickland 1726-1762 farm owner
Augustine Creek S. 1726-1760 farm/workshop owner
Thompson's Loss & Gain 1720-1780 dwelling tenant
Thomas Dawson 1740-1780 farm owner/tenant
Loockerman's Range 1740-1765 dwelling tenant
Ogletown Tavern 1740-1820 tavern tenant
Augustine Creek North 1750-1810 dwelling tenant
McKean/Cochran 1 1750-1790 farm tenant
William Hawthorn 1750-1961 farm owner
Whitten Road 1750-1830 farm tenant
Old Swede's Parsonage 1757-1768 parsonage parson
Bloomsbury 1761-1814 farm tenant
Charles Robinson 1762-1781 farm owner
Benjamin Wynn 1765-1822 farm/workshop tenant
Darrach Store 1775-1860 store/dwelling tenant
Marsh Grass 1780-1820 farm
McKean/Cochran II 1790-1830 farm
Charles Allen 1790-1830 dwelling
Thomas Williams 1792-1920 dwelling
H. Grant Tenancy 1800-1870 dwelling
Creek North site may have been occupied in the
1790 to 1810 period by free blacks. Otherwise,
so far as we know, the occupants of these sites
were of European descent. The primary data
that will be considered here consists of house
foundations, farm plans, animal bones, ceramics,
and miscellaneous small artifacts such as forks
and buttons.
Housing
"Georgian" entered the historical discourse as
an architectural style, and changes in housing
remain central to the notion of a "Georgian
Mindset." The archaeological evidence from
Delaware, however, does not give any support
to the notion that 18th-century people were
experiencing major changes in their outlook.
Those who have argued for major changes in
the 18th century have worked mainly from
standing buildings, but there are good reasons
for believing that standing houses are not a
representative sample of the housing stock of
tenant
owner
tenant (?)
tenant
tenant
Reference
Grettler et al. 1995
Catts et al. 1995
Bedell et al. 1998b
Guerrant 1988
Bedell et al. 1999
Grett1er et al. 1991 (Ph 11)
Coleman et al. 1990
Bedell et al. 1998b
Bedell et al. 1998a
Coleman et al. 1984
Shaffer et al. 1988
LeeDecker et al. 1990
Heite and Blume 1998
Thomas et al. 1994
De Cunzo et al. 1992
Thomas 1983
Bedell et al. 1998
Basilik et al. 1988
Catts and Custer 1990
Taylor et al. 1987
the 18th and early 19th centuries (Carson et al.
1981; Chappell 1994). Therefore, any conclu
sions about changes in mentality based on the
evidence standing structures are liable to be
strongly biased, and we must turn to archaeology
for a more balanced picture.
To date, the most salient archaeological finding
about l Sth-century Delaware houses has been
their great variability (Table 2). The dozen or
so 18th-century houses that have been excavated
in the state are all remarkably different from
one other. No two are alike. Substantial stone
foundations, measuring at least 500 ft.' (45 m")
have been uncovered at four sites: the Charles
Robinson Plantation, the William Hawthorne
site, the McKean/Cochran Farm, and the Charles
Allen site. The occupants of these sites were all
quite prominent people. Charles Robinson was a
well-to-do farmer who styled himself "yeoman,"
and the later house at the McKean/Cochran Farm
was for a time the residence of Letitia McKean,
a niece of the governor of Pennsylvania. Tax
records show that the occupants of the William
Hawthorne site were in the wealthiest 5% of the
population. None of these houses, however, had
a symmetrical, Georgian plan, with matching end
chimneys, such as one would expect at a stylish
residence of the period. So far as could be told
from the archaeology, all of them seemed to
have traditional, hall-parlor plans.
Smaller houses with cellars were found at
three other sites. The house at the Augustine
Creek South site also had a full basement, and
it probably had brick foundations, although the
bricks had almost all been removed. This house
was probably built in the l720s, and it measured
16 x 25 ft. (4.9 x 7.6 m) The first house at the
McKean/Cochran Farm, built around 1750, had
stone foundations and measured 15 x 18 ft. (4.6
x 5.5 m) while that at the H. Grant Tenancy
site, built around 1800, included a stone-lined
cellar hole measuring 16 x 15.5 ft. (4.9 x 4.7
m).
The other Delaware houses were much less
substantial than these seven. Construction tech
niques included post-in-the-ground or earthfast
lE'NES
ARCHAEOLOGICAL SITES
1 Richerd WI1I11111111 S ~ .
2 Jal'ln Po_II f'illnl.lloo S ~ .
3 Thompson's LOBIand Gain
4 'MiliaIT' Smc.kl.nd Sill!l
5 AUllultll'Nl Creek Soulh sue
6 Thomn Oll'If&Qn Sitt
7 Looc.il.erm.n', R."l111
8 AUIIUIII'" Creek North Sola
9 McKur\lCoehllnFlllmSde
10 Oglelown llvlrn
11 Willl;lmHewfllornS,lfI
12 Whitten ROlid sue
13 Bloom.bury
14 Charillll Roblnlon S ~ .
15 BilnJllT'ln'Nynn S ~ I I
16 MlllhGr..,Si18
17 DlifTllCh SIOfllSil1l
18 "ThorNIaWIIi.msSilll
111 CherlalAllenSlI1I
20 H Or.nIT.nancy
21 Old S_de'll PlII10nege
10MILES
FIGURE 1. Map of site locations.
construction at the Richard Whitehart, Thomp
son's Loss and Gain, Benjamin Wynn, and Whit
ten Road sites, and ground-laid sills at the John
Powell and Thomas Dawson sites. On several
other sites, evidence for the main house was
actually meager and the construction technique
must be inferred. Only hints of foundations
were found at the William Strickland site, even
though by the time of his death in 1760 Strick
land was in the top 10% of his community by
wealth. No foundations of any kind were found
at the Bloomsbury site, and there was no trace
of the later structures that must have stood at the
Whitten Road site. Flimsy foundations destined
to last no more than a couple of decades were
clearly very common in this period. Window
glass has been found on all of the excavated
18th-century sites, indicating that by 1750 almost
every house in Delaware had at least one
window.
The picture of ordinary housing in Delaware
provided by archaeology is unequivocally tradi
tional. Most people, even most people in the
richest tenth of the society, lived in one- or two
room houses that lacked any of the refinements
cited by Deetz and Carson as indicating an
architectural and social transformation. On this
point the archaeology can be supplemented by
the study of Orphans' Court documents (Herman
1987; Bushman 1992). These records provide
detailed descriptions of hundreds of Delaware
farms, mostly dating to the period after 1770.
The records clearly show that in the 1770 to
1830 period most houses were fairly small
wooden constructions, and many were in bad
condition (Tables 3, 4). In the realm of housing,
the people of Delaware had experienced no
revolution.
Farm Layouts
There was a Georgian tradition in landscape
design as well as in architecture, and some
examples of this style can still be seen at Mon
ticello, Mount Vernon, the William Paca house
in Annapolis, and other Georgian showplaces
(Kelso and Most 1990). The importance of
imposing order on the landscape to some people
in the l Sth century is well illustrated by an
essay written in 1786 by Benjamin Rush, a
Philadelphia intellectual. Rush divided the farm
ers of the Delaware Valley into three "species"
90
(Herman 1994). At the bottom of this hierarchy
Rush placed the rough frontiersman, his rude
cabin and half-cleared fields symbolizing his
lawless, ignorant nature. At the top was the
model fanner, a civilized man whose belief in
education, law, and religion was reflected in
his straight fences, completely cleared fields,
large barn, and embrace of new agricultural
technology. In between was the nonn, a sort
of middling civilized state. This ethic equated
progress with ordering the landscape, and implied
a strong equation between that order and the
creation of wealth. Texts like Rush's essay seem
to support the notion of a "Georgian mindset"
connecting an ordered landscape to capitalism
and political reform, but they do not tell us
whether anyone actually lived in the way he
described. The Delaware site sample actually
provides no evidence that ordinary Delaware
farmers paid any attention to Rush's edicts
before 1830.
To date, the farm plans that have been uncov
ered in Delaware seem mostly random. Good
examples are provided by the John Powell, Wil
liam Strickland, and Charles Robinson Planta
tions; enough evidence of outbuildings and fences
was found at these three sites to give us some
idea of what the farms looked like when they
were occupied. Six structures were identified
at the John Powell site (Figure 2), arranged
in a rough arc. The only fences were three
small pieces, unconnected at both ends and not
defining anything in particular. The William
Strickland site was similar (Figure 3), a cluster
of buildings not aligned with each other and not
arranged in any particular way. At the Charles
TABLE 2
HOUSE REMAINS AT RURAL SITES IN DELAWARE, 1680-1830
Occupation Dimensions"
Site Dates of House Description of Remains
Richard Whitehart 1681-1701 15x30 Post pattern and hearth
John Powell 1690-1730 15x30? Log sills in shallow cellar, lOxII, plus
shallow pits and possible posts
Augustine Creek South 1724-1760 16x25 Full basement with traces of brick
foundations
William Strickland 1726--1762 24xl7 Partial post pattern with large root cellar
Thompson's Loss & Gain 1720-1780 18x24 Post pattern with central and comer earths
Thomas Dawson 1740-1760 12x14? Wooden sills in deep basement, 11.8x13.6
Loockerman's Range 1740-1765 ? Hearth and small root cellar
Ogletown Tavern 1740-1820 18xl5 Cellar with partial stone foundations; IOx7
addition
Whitten Road 1750-1800 24xl6 8x16 post pattern with possible 16x16
addition, based on pits
McKean/Cochran I 1750-1790 15xl8 Stone foundations in full basement,
probable stone interior chimney
William Hawthorn 1750-1816 21x29 Stone foundations of two-story log house
Charles Robinson 1762-1781 23x26.5 Stone foundations in full basement
Benjamin Wynn 1765-1820 24x30? Partial post pattern with lOxI0 cellar and
wooden chimney
Bloomsbury 1761-1814 15x20? Blue beads that may have marked
dwelling comers
Marsh Grass 1780-1820 ? Partial post pattern, root cellar, and hearth
Mckean/Cochran II 1790-1830 18x28 Stone foundations in full basement; one
interior stone chimney
Thomas Williams 1792-1840 ? Two root cellars and one large post
H. Grant Tenancy 1800-1870 15.5x16 Stone foundations in full basement;
addition 15.5x6
Charles Allen 1790-1830 21.5x25.5 Stone foundations, end chimney, lOx14
addition
Dimensions in feet. For sources see Table I.
a
~ ~ ~ .
0\811
0 \
'8
0
'\c,
="'I
e
FIGURE 2. Plan of the John Powell site, ca. 1691-1735.
(From Greltler el al. 1995.)
Robinson Plantation, the outbuildings and wells
were all on the same side of the house, so they
may have been behind it, but they did not align
with the house or define any kind of courtyard.
Not a single example of a formal plan has been
identified in the Delaware site sample. At most
of these sites it is difficult even to identify a
front yard, since all available spaces seem to
have been treated as work areas. No matter
how a visitor approached the Mahoe/Wallace
farm, he or she would have had to pass shallow
pits full of animal bones and other domestic
trash (Figure 4). The distribution of artifacts
in the plowzone from these sites suggest that a
good deal of trash on these sites was trampled
into the earth of the yard where it fell, in the
front yard as well as the back.
Today, the space around most farm houses in
Delaware is organized according to a pattern that
we could plausibly call Georgian. The space is
usually divided into an ornamental front yard,
facing the nearest road, and a working back
yard where all the outbuildings are clustered.
This pattern is old enough to be spoken of as
"traditional" (Heite 1983), but the archaeological
evidence shows that it was not the norm in the
18th century. The arrangement of space we see
on farms today is a more recent development,
probably of the Victorian period (Garrison 1991;
Bushman 1992; Larkin 1994).
Faunal Remains
Faunal analysis has been a regular part of
historical archaeology in Delaware, and a sub
stantial collection of data is now available (Table
5). The acidic soil of Delaware is harsh on
bone, so the collections from most of these sites
were actually rather limited and in poor condi
tion. Of the ten sites in Table 5, only three
really had the kind of large, well-preserved col
lections faunal analysts prefer to deal with: Wil
liam Strickland, Thomas Dawson, and McKean!
Cochran. The other collections are too small
and poorly preserved to sustain a high level of
analysis. In addition, the analysts who have
studied the Delaware materials have use widely
varying techniques and presented their results
in quite different ways. Some analysts simply
give the number of pieces of bone found, a
number called the Total Number of Fragments,
or TNF. A problem with TNF values is that the
same amount of bone broken into smaller pieces
would provide a higher count. Many analysts
therefore prefer to determine the smallest number
of bones (skeletal elements) that could have
produced the recovered bone fragments. Most of
the analysis done on Delaware historic sites has
been performed by the laboratory at UDCAR
or by Marie-Lorraine Pipes, who has analyzed
0'
FENCE
UNFINISHED
CEUAA HOLE
FIGURE 3. Plan of the William Strickland site, ca.
1726-1760. (From Catts el at. 1995.)
92
TABLE 3
MATERIAL OF HOUSES IN ORPHANS' COURT PROCEEDINGS, 1770 TO 1830
St. Georges Appoquinimink Duck Creek
Hundred Hundred Hundred Total
log 33 25 55 113
frame 35 15 16 66
wood 3 21 3 27
brick 16 12 30 58
brick and frame I I
stone and wood I I
unknown 20 5 6 31
total 107 79 III 297
Source: Center for Historic Architecture and Design (1980-1985).
the collections from sites excavated by Louis
Berger & Associates. Pipes and the UDCAR lab
employ slightly different techniques for calculat
ing the number of bones, a value UDCAR calls
NISP (number of identifiable specimens) and
Pipes MNU (minimum number of units). The
main difference is that Pipes groups more ele
ments together, especially from skulls and jaws,
making her counts slightly lower.
With these caveats made, Table 5 does still
show a common pattern to the ten sites. Cattle
and pigs provide the bulk of the meat in every
case. Sheep (or possibly goat) bones were
found on every site and were common on most
of them. Horse bones, in many cases butchered,
were found on all the sites, indicating that
horse meat was commonly eaten. The eating
of horse seems to have declined over time,
since the highest count was at John Powell
(1691-1735) and the sites from after 1760,
except for Benjamin Wynn (1765-1820), all
produced low counts. Chicken bones were
identified on all of the sites where the bird
bones were analyzed in detail, and turkey and
goose were also common. Overall, domestic
animals provided the great majority of the meat
eaten. Dog and cat bones were common, but
showed no evidence of butchering, so these
animals were probably not eaten. On the other
hand, the bones turned up in the same trash pits
as the kitchen scraps, so people did not treat the
corpses of their pets with much sentimentality.
The wild meat came from a wide variety of
mostly small animals. Squirrel, rabbit, and
raccoon were the most common wild mammals.
The only sites to yield many deer bones were
the John Powell and William Strickland plan
tations, which are two of the earliest in the
sample. At the John Powell Plantation, occupied
between 1691 and 1735, the 205 deer bones
TABLE 4
CONDITION OF HOUSES IN ORPHANS' COURT PROCEEDII\JGS, 1770 TO 1830
St. Georges Appoquinimink Duck Creek
Hundred Hundred Hundred Total
bad or sorry 37 41 16 94
middling or tolerable 34 13 23 70
good 7 15 8 30
not specified 29 10 64 103
total 107 79 III 297
Source: Center for Historic Architecture and Design (1980-1985).
FIGURE 4. Artist's reconstruction of the Augustine Creek
South site, ca 1750.
came from at least three different adults, making
up a substantial percentage of the total meat on
the site. The bones from the William Strickland
Plantation included a deer skull that had been
mounted as a trophy. Otherwise, small animals
predominated. Turtle bones were found on all
sites, including a large variety of species. The
most common fish were catfish, perch, and shad,
all of which can be taken with a hook and
line in many Delaware streams. The wild food
came mostly from animals that men and boys
could catch in their spare time, without any
kind of elaborate gear. Hunting and fishing
seem to have been common pastimes rather
than economically central activities. The one
common wild food that may have been col
lected by professionals was shellfish. Oyster
and clam shells were found at all of the sites,
including those, such as Thomas Dawson and the
Augustine Creek sites, which were miles away
from any oystering grounds. These collections
span the period from 1680 to 1830, but the only
changes over time are the rapid decline in deer
and a slow rise in muskrat, which first becomes
common in the collections from the Darrach
Store (1805-1840) and the later features at the
McKean/Cochran Farm (1790-1830).
In terms of the way the bones were butchered
and prepared, there was no evidence of any
change. Carcasses were hacked with axes and cut
with knives, following the traditional European
pattern. None of the sites produced bones that
had been sawn into small portions like steaks
and chops, the new pattern that began to appear
in the 19th century. Bones representing both
high- and low-value meat cuts were found in
all the substantial collections, without any clear
class differences such as those that have been
identified at some urban and plantation sites. In
terms of the meat they ate, the people of rural
Delaware seem to have been entirely traditional.
Artifacts and Consumer Culture
Dining and Taking Tea
The sites under consideration have all yielded
impressive collections of ceramics, as well as
glass table wares, utensils, and other equipment
for cooking and eating. These artifacts do show
significant changes in the domestic habits of
ordinary people, but they also suggest that these
changes were limited and do not necessarily
imply a rejection of traditional dietary or social
patterns.
Ceramics were the most common artifacts on
all of these sites. Minimum vessel analysis
has been performed on most of the material,
and the frequency of ware types by vessel for
these sites is shown on Table 6. The ceramic
collections from the rural sites are very similar
in many respects. Table 6 shows that coarse
earthenwares are the most common vessels on
all the rural 18th-century sites except Thomas
Dawson; when we recall that refined vessels are
easier to identify and therefore over-represented,
the preponderance of coarsewares is even greater.
On urban and tavern sites, refined wares are a
larger part of the assemblage, which one would
expect, since many of the coarseware forms were
used in dairying and other farm work. Toward
the end of the 18th century, and especially early
in the 19th, the percentage of refined vessels
climbs. This change is caused primarily by
an increase in the number of refined vessels,
especially creamware and pearlware plates, bowls,
and teawares, not a decrease in the importance
of coarsewares. In the Delaware Valley, coarse
earthenwares remained important well into the
19th century.
Table 7 compares the vessel forms identified
at our group of Delaware Valley sites. Although
different ceramic analysts use different terms for
vessels and classify them in somewhat different
ways, there seems to have been enough similarity
in the approaches taken with these sites to make
a comparison useful, at least at a basic level.
One important observation that springs out from
the data is the rapid spread of teawares. Neither ... --_
HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY 35(4) 94
TABLE 5
FAUNAL REMAINS FROM DELAWARE FARM AND RURAL DWELLING SITES, 1730-1830
Analyst UDCARMarie-Lorraine Pipes E. Otter
Method NISP N1SP N1SP NISP TNF MNU MNU MNU MNU TNF
Richard John Wm. Darrach Benj. Aug. Thomas McKean! McKean! Bloom-
Site Whitehart Powell Strickland Store Wynn Crk. S Dawson Cochran 1 Cochran 11 sbury
Mammal
Cattle 66 470 987 81 156 178 296 133 208 46
Pig 6 700 1139 74 120 143 426 135 452 166
Sheep/Goat 106 249 12 26 43 60 86 95 9
Horse 241 95 4 99 8 10 9 9 3
Dog 191 75 I 23 1 3 4 5
Cat 3 3 2 I 6 27
Deer 12 205 99 3 I 1
Rabbit 16 3 3 20 12 29
Raccoon 34 2 2 2 3 2
Squirrel 21 1 4 37 1 19
Opossum 3 2 5 4 5
Muskrat 2 39 43 7
Woodchuck 3 2
Rat 3 28 16 96
Mink 2
Rodent 2 24
Small 76 18 46 21 77
Medium 129 4672 48 53 128
Large 530 72 32 10 21 561
Subtotal 237 1953 7962 246 426 470 989 512 1246 802
Bird
Chicken 8 18 51 64 129 2
Turkey 3 3 8
Goose 10 II 2 17 50
Duck 5 5 22
Pigeon 1 15 19
Blue Jay
8
Woodpecker
2
Medium
14
Unidentified 10 61 69 17 29 43 35 120 I
Subtotal 10 61 21 80 17 49 102 139 358 18
Fish
Catfish 61 2 7 4 17 69 I
Perch 14 I II 25
Gar
2
Shad 44 9 53
Striped Bass 5 I 15
Drum 271
Cod I
Unidentified 4 14 95 2 619 194 238 129 3666
Subtotal 4 20 170 5 675 481 265 267 3694
Reptile
Snapping Turtle 5 228 2 12 2
Box Turtle 7 42 6 43
Terrapin 81 2
Diamondback T 38
Blanding'sT
4
Musk Turtle
Wood Turtle
95 ARCHAEOLOGY AND REVOLUTIONARY 18TH CENTURY
Pond Slider
Soft-Shell T
UnidTurtle 44 212 33 9
Subtotal 44 305 115 9
Amphibian
Unid Frog 18
Subtotal \8
Bone
Unidentified 6 4816 381
TOTAL 389 7155 8286 721
of the two early 18th-century sites yielded any
identifiable teawares, but they were found on
all of the sites dating to after 1740. Teaware
vessels were quite common on the William
Strickland, Augustine Creek South, and Thomas
Dawson sites, all middle- to upper-middle-class
farms occupied around mid-century. At the
Augustine Creek North site, probably the resi
dence of poor tenants, no teawares were found
in a cellar deposit dating to before 1770, but
sherds of teacups and a teapot were found in
plowzone deposits that date to the 1790 to 1810
period. By this evidence, teawares first appeared
in the homes of ordinary Delaware farmers some
time between 1730 and 1750, and by the end
of the century tea was being drunk even in
the dwellings of poor tenants. Wherever they
appear, teawares are the finest vessels in the
collection. Most of the porcelain from these
sites was tea-related, as was a majority of the
scratch blue decorated stoneware and the early
pearlware. The ordinary farmers who lived at
Augustine Creek South had a set of scratch blue
cups and saucers. Thomas Dawson owned two
truly exceptional teaware vessels, a Burslem
white salt-glazed stoneware teapot and a red
stoneware teapot or creamer made by the Elers
brothers and decorated with die-cut figures
(Figure 5).
Teacups and pearlware plates indicate change
in habits, but the survival of other vessel forms
shows that those changes were only partial.
Redware dishes and pans and especially por
ringers show that some traditional dining habits
persisted. Dishes and pans were used for many
different purposes, but one of their main uses
was in the preparation and serving of por
ridges, puddings, and other mushy, grain-based
foods. These foods were major parts of tradi
2
I
11 6 10 27
228 14 8 35 74
317 2 117
989 1199 1587 925 1910 4706
tional northern European peasant cooking, and
the numbers of pans and dishes found on the
archaeological sites suggest that they remained
so in the Delaware Valley. Porringers, which
are essentially small bowls with handles, are
also part of this tradition (Janowitz and Affleck
1998). The handle provides a secure hold on
the vessel and implies that the vessel is held in
the hand while eating or while feeding another;
FIGURE 5. Sherd from an Elers Brothers creamer found at
the Thomas Dawson site, ca. 1740-1755.
96
TABLE 6
CERAMIC VESSELS FROM DELAWARE VALLEY SITES, BY WARE TYPE
Site Date Type
Richard Whitehart 1681-1701 Farm
lohnPowell 1690--1735 Farm
Wm. Strickland 1726--1764 Farm
Augustine Creek S. 1724-1760 Farm
Thomas Dawson 1740--1780 Farm
Augustine Creek N. 1750--1770 Tenant Farm
Old Swedes 1757-1768 Town Parsonage
McKean/Cochran I 1750--1790 Tenant Farm
Charles Robinson 1760--1782 Farm
Ogletown Tavern 1740--1820 Crossroads Tavern
New Market St.' 1765-1775 Urban Privy
Benjamin Wynn 1765-1822 Tenant Farm
Whitten Road 1760--1830 Tenant Farm
Darrach Store 1775-1860 Tenant House
McKean/Cochran II 1790--1830 Farm
Thos. Williams I 1792-1840 Tenant Farm
Charles Allen I 1790--1830 Dwelling
T" & Arch Streets' 1800--1820 Urban Households
Sources in Table I except: 'Cosans 1981; 'Dent et al. 1997
in recent times porringers have been particularly
connected with feeding children. Porringers
are best adapted for liquid or mushy foods
eaten with spoons, and many archaeologically
recovered porringers have heavy stirring and/or
scoop marks.
The number of porringers in use in Delaware
seems to have declined after 1760, but they
remained fairly common in the early 1800s.
Porringers hark back to the earlier tradition
of food consumption, in which people did not
always sit at table together. The ceramics found
on Delaware sites in the later 18th and early
19th century exhibit a mixture of old and new
traditions. On the one hand, these households
were keeping to traditional foodways, but on
the other hand, they were adopting new, genteel
ways of presenting food. Plates and teacups
indicate the acceptance of new. Their reluctance
to abandon all of their old eating habits is
symbolized by their heavily used porringers. It
is uncertain how people mixed the two styles,
but perhaps they sat at table for one major meal
a day-probably dinner, at midday-and ate
their breakfasts and suppers more casually, as
many people do today. The porringers are an
Coarse Coarse
Earthen- Stone- Refined Porce
wares wares Wares lain Total
88.0 12.0 25
72.5 27.5 51
65.5 4.4 25.8 4.4 229
54.4 1.2 43.0 1.0 309
46.8 0.8 52.7 4.7 405
68.0 2.0 30.0 50
51.2 38.4 10.5 86
52.5 37.0 10.5 200
57.2 2.1 35.8 4.9 528
38.7 61.3 4.5 375
26.8 0.7 54.9 17.6 403
45.4 0.5 53.7 0.5 218
61.5 1.6 33.3 3.6 384
58.6 1.6 35.9 4.0 251
30.8 1.2 51.8 16.2 517
23.5 67.8 8.7 174
25.3 2.4 61.8 11.2 249
23.7 l.l 64.5 10.7 262
important clue to how the adoption of modern
dining took place: like most important social
changes, it was slow and partial; it did not
completely change the ways of the people who
experienced it (Sahlins 1981).
Glass minimum vessel lists have been gener
ated for several Delaware sites. The practice has
not been quite as common as calculating MNVs
for ceramics, but we still have a substantial
group of lists (Table 8). The lists are mostly
rather short, with many fewer vessels than the
ceramic vessel lists from the same sites. A
comparison with the early 19th century deposits
from the privies at 7th and Arch streets in
Philadelphia shows how relatively sparse these
collections are. Little analysis has been per
formed on these lists, but even a quick glance
reveals some interesting results. Drinking glasses
were identified on all the sites except Benjamin
Wynn, and that site yielded two "unidentified
tablewares" that were probably glasses of some
kind (Figure 6). Since drinking glasses are not
common in probate inventories, their discovery
on so many archaeological sites is an important
discovery, both about 18th-century culture and
the limits of probate inventories as sources
97 ARCHAEOLOGY AND REVOLUTIONARY 18TH CENTURY
I
50
'111"1111111111",' ,
111'1 I' I :
inthe,' 1 2 i 3: 4, I
FIGURE 6. Stemmed glasses from the McKean/Cochran
Farm site, ca. 1750-1790.
(Bedell et al. J999). The number of vessels
found on the Delaware sites shows a steady
increase, indicating increasing wealth and sophis
tication.
Overall, the artifacts indicate that fashionable
dining and the taking of tea were widespread
in Delaware by 1750, and could be found even
among poor tenants by J800. Ceramics provide
the best archaeological evidence of the change,
but supporting evidence is provided by other
artifact types, and by written documents. Forks
have been found on most of the sites, beginning
with the John Powell site (1691-1735), so they
seem to have been common by 1730. Knives
with rounded ends, intended to be used with
forks, were found at the William Strickland,
Augustine Creek South, Thomas Dawson, Charles
Robinson, and McKean/Cochran Farm sites.
Table glass became more common. Probate
inventories show us that ownership of tables and
chairs was also spreading; in a sample of 200
New Castle County inventories, the ownership of
tables among estates with a value of less than
50 increased from 25% in 1730-1749 to 91%
in the 1790s (Bedell et al. 1998b:70).
Buttons, Buckles, and Fashion
Clothing was a much larger part of the l8th
century economy than ceramics or cutlery, and
its study ought to provide useful information on
consumer behavior. Clothing-related artifacts do
show that some Delaware farmers took up stylish
dressing. Fancy shoe buckles have been found
at many sites, including impressive collections
from the William Strickland, Thomas Dawson,
Augustine Creek South, and Charles Robinson
FIGURE 7. Shoe buckles from the Augustine Creek South FIGURE 8. Cuff links from the Thomas Dawson site,
site, ca. 1724-1760. ca. 1740-1755.
98
TABLE 7
CERAMIC VESSELS FROM SELECTED DELAWARE VALLEY SITES
Richard John Wm. Aug. Thomas Aug. McKean! Old
Whitehart Powell Strickland Crk. S. Dawson Crk. N. Cochran Swedes
Tea Cup 19 30 34 2 13 II
Saucer 10 37 24 I 19 6
Teapot 3 8 9 I I 4
Misc 1 5 5
Table Plate 7 26 6 3 2 17
Bowl 24 18 19 12 8
Porringer 4 18 9 10 1
Pitcher 1
Platter 3 2
Misc 4 8 8
Non-Tea Mug 2 15 30 14 8 7
Drinking Cup I 5 10 3
Mug/jug 41 3 16
Punch bowl I
Storage Jar 2 8 4 20 9 10
Pot 2 13
Food Milk pan 7 7 23 20 17 15 11
Prep- Pipkin I I I
aration Colander 1
Multi- Dish 8 21 II 4 10 15
Function Pan 2 I 23 9 I 14 2
Jug 3 4 4 6 I 5
Bottle I
Large bowl 3 15 2 2 3
Sanitary Chamber pot 9 3 2 3 6
Ointment pot 4 I
Drug jar I
Other Toy 1
Vnid Hollow 2 20 52 223 50 31
Flat
4
Vnid
19
Total 25 54 237 309 405 24 202 140
Ogletown Benj. Whitten Charles McKean! Charles Darrach 7th&
Tavern Wynn Road Robinson Cochran 11 Allen I Store Arch St.
Tea Cup 30 32 37 58 64 26 23 32
Saucer 11 32 12 52 71 8 5 39
Teapot 2 9 5 46 15 5 2 8
Creamer
I
Mise 10 8
Cup/sm 5 18
Bowl
Table Plate 59 26 21 36 89 52 33 46
Dish 14 I 1 5
Bowl 32 25 23 27 54 27 19 19
Porringer 1 3 5 3
Pitcher 5 1 6 4 12 6
Platter 4 3 4 1
Misc 2 2 1 7 2 5
Non-Tea Mug 46 6 5 8 18 3 4 11
Drinking Cup 39 10
Punchbowl 3 1
Storage Jar I 11 32 34 15 I 4
Pot 10 I 14
99
Bedell-DELAWARE ARCHAEOLOGY AND REVOLUTIONARY 18TH CENTURY
Food Milk pan 7 6 5 30 16 2
Prepar- Colander I
ation Cooking pot 6 2
Multi- Dish 8 27 73 91 14 18 8
Function Pan 4 17 90 21 12 9
Jug 5 6 9 7 3 4 4
Bottle 2 I 3
Large bowl 20 13 13 54 1 4 22 4
Sanitary Chamber pot 12 I 9 6 2 6 2 14
Ointment pot I I
Basin 3
Activities Toy 2 10
Flowerpot 4
Unid Hollow 22 8 47 22
Flat 23 6
Unid 3 68 79 54 10
Total 375 229 384 528 431 249 251 252
sites (Figure 7). These elaborately-molded on the earlier Richard Whitehart and John Powell
buckles, which sometimes cost more than the sites. Decorative buttons and cuff links were
shoes, were regularly condemned as frivolous another fashion accessory widely attested in
expenditures by 18th-century moralists, but the the Delaware archaeological record. A particu
Stricklands, Dawsons, and their neighbors appar larly impressive collection was recovered at
ently ignored these teachings (Scharfenberger the Thomas Dawson site (Figure 8). Again,
1998). Buckles of these types were not found these items become much more common after
TABLE 8
GLASS VESSELS FROM SELECTED DELAWARE VALLEY SITES, 1680-1830
Vessel Type
Richard
Whitehart
John
Powell
Wm.
Strickland
Aug.
Creek S.
McKean!
Cochran I
Whitten
Road
Benj.
Wynn
McKean!
Cochran II
7th&
Arch'
Drinking Glass
Tumbler
Stemmed
Bottle
Wine
Square Case
Flask
Pharmaceutical
Vial
Conical Ink
Snuff
Other Mold-Blown
Unid Bottle
Other
Candlestick
Lamp Chimney
Unid Tableware
Unidentified
5
6
4
I
I
I
3
20
5
I
3
2
2
3
12
2
3
6
7
3
7
7
3
2
16
5
2
8
9
2
2
4
3
14
I
II
9
5
4
45
12
14
I
15
17
I
I
6
Total 6 15 35 28 29 26 23 52 113
Sources in Table I except: 'Dent et at. 1997.
100
1740 (Table 9). Of course, stylish dressing
was not an invention of the 18th century, but
the Delaware site sample suggests that over the
1700 to 1750 period it may have become more
widespread among ordinary farmers.
Conclusion
The argument for sweeping change in 18th
century society can be summarized as follows:
During the 1680 to 1830 period, changes took
place in many areas of life. These areas
included housing, the layout of farms, the dis
posal of trash, the style of dining, and the
importance of fashion. While individually these
changes might not be of great importance, taken
together they constitute a revolutionary change
in human behavior. Furthermore, this behavioral
revolution was the expression of significant
mental changes. People changed their houses,
farms, meals, and personal hygiene because their
thinking had changed.
The data from the Delaware sites suggest a
note of caution about sweeping cultural change
in the 1680 to 1830 period. Some aspects
HISTORICALARCHAEOLOGY 35(4)
of the society did change rapidly. The tea
ceremony was adopted very widely, even by
quite poor people. Forks and place settings
became commonplace. Stylish dressing seems
to have spread widely. Other aspects of society
did not change significantly, however. Housing
and farm layouts remained traditional, and the
new Georgian patterns were not widely adopted.
Meat consumption remained traditional, and the
evidence of porringers and pans suggests that
the eating of traditional porridges and bread
puddings remained important. We know, from
later 19th-century data, that those aspects of
life did change for many ordinary people after
1830 (Larkin 1988; Bushman 1992). The long
time gap between the adoption of forks and tea
drinking by ordinary Delawareans (before 1750)
and their construction of new-style houses and
farms (after 1830) makes it hard to see these
developments as part of a single mental shift.
It seems more sensible to view these changes
as parts of the long-term evolution of western
culture, a development that included important
changes both before 1680 and after 1830. "Rev
olutionary" is perhaps not the best way to char-
TABLE 9
CLOTHING-RELATED AND KITCHEN ARTIFACTS FROM DELAWARE SITES
R. Whitehart John Powell Aug. Crk S. Wm. Strickland T. Dawson
1680-1700 1691-1735 1724-1760 1726-1762 1740-1760
Clothing
Gilt Buttons 5 9
Brass Buttons 2 3 6 20
Pewter Buttons 4 3 4
Tombac Buttons 2
Bone Button I
Copper Buttons 6 4 3 5
Button Inlays 3 2 5
Metal Cuff Links 4 2
Inlaid Cuff Links 2 2 2
Mise Fasteners 2 3
Shoe Buckles 2 8 15 18
Other Buckles 6 6 3
Kitchen
Knives 2 2 8 17
Fork I I 4 2
Spoons 3 3
Utensil Handle I 6 6
Metal cookware 3 5 20 16
acterize such slow and gradual developments,
however profound they may have been.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author would like to thank all of those who helped
him with the work on which this article is based,
including Meta Janowitz, Marie-Lorraine Pipes, Ingrid
Wuebber, Mallory Gordon, Gerry Scharfenberger, Rob
Jacoby, Rick Vernay, Doug Tilley, Earl Proper, Charlie
LeeDecker, Kevin Cunningham, Gwen Davis, Alice
Guerrant, the many field archaeologists who worked
on the SR 1 project, and our sponsor, the Delaware
Department of Transportation.
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JOHN BEDELL
THE LOUIS BERGER GROUP
1819 H. ST.
WASHINGTON, DC 20006-3603
William A. Griswold
The Archaeology of Military
Politics: The Case of Castle
Clinton
ABSTRACT
The West Battery, later renamed Castle Clinton, was constructed
off the tip of Manhattan, New York, between 1808 and 1811.
Following Paul J. F. Schumacher (1955) and John L. Cotter
(1962), William D. Hershey conducted excavations inside the
castle for the National Park Service (NPS) reconstruction
efforts in 1963 (Hershey 1963). His excavations revealed
several discrepancies between the fortifications that were
planned and those that were built. These modifications to
the original design were never satisfactorily explained. In
the early I960s, the archives of Col. Jonathan Williams, the
architect of the West Battery, were discovered, transcribed, and
compiled by NPS historian Thomas Pitkin (1963). This paper
attempts to reconcile the design changes in the construction of
Castle Clinton with the archives of its architect and builder Col.
Williams. This reconciliation provides additional information
concerning the construction of fortifications in New York
Harbor, the flexibility accorded the early engineers, and the
politics of the early 19th century military.
Introduction
Situated comfortably inside the present Battery
Park seawall at the tip of Manhattan Island,
New York, Castle Clinton National Monument
is a testimonial to the durability of early Ameri
can engineering efforts (Figure 1). Castle Clin
ton was constructed between 1808 and 1811,
approximately 200 ft. (60 m) off of the earlier
Manhattan Battery, in about 35 ft. (10 m) of
water. It was constructed in this locale to com
mand ship movement on the Hudson River and
to protect the city of New York during the War
of 1812. Since its construction, Castle Clinton
has served as a fortification, a civic center, an
immigration station, and an aquarium. The
site faced its greatest adversary in the 1940s
and early 1950s when Robert Moses, New York
City Parks Commissioner, tried to tear down the
structure. The budding preservation movement
finally prevailed over Moses and the site was
declared a National Historic Monument in 1950.
Since being restored to its early military appear-
105
ance during the 1970s, it has been administered
as part of the Manhattan Sites unit of the
National Park Service (Figure 2).
Several excavations were conducted on Castle
Clinton during the 1950s and 1960s in anticipa
tion of its reconstruction. These include the
1955 archaeological investigations conducted
by Paul J. F. Schumacher (1955), the 1962
archaeological excavations by John L. Cotter
(1962), and the 1963 excavations by William
D. Hershey (1963). Hershey's 1963 excava
tions were the most extensive and the best
documented. The reports of these excavations,
however, exist only in manuscript form. Very
few artifacts were collected by any of the exca
vators.
In 1962, Thomas Pitkin, Park Historian,
located the archives of Lt. Col. Jonathan Wil
liams, the designer and builder of the West Bat-
Staten
Island
FIGURE 1. The location of Castle Clinton, lower Manhattan,
New York City.
106
tery in the Lilly Library at Indiana University.
Pitkin (1963) transcribed from microfilm all the
letters concerning the West Battery. Additional
correspondence relating to Williams and the
West Battery can be found at West Point, Yale
University, University of Michigan, New York
Historical Society, American Philosophical Soci
ety, Historical Society of Pennsylvania, and
the National Archives (Pitkin 1960; Fredriksen
1999[23]:484). Maps and drawings of Castle
Clinton are available in the National Archives.
Pitkin assembled 58 documents in his com
pilation. Prior to this, Pitkin had collected
other primary source documents relating to the
construction of Castle Clinton for the Historic
Structures Report (Pitkin 1960). For the 1963
work, Pitkin collected letters pertaining only to
the construction of Castle Clinton, even though
Williams was in charge of constructing five
fortifications in the New York Harbor area. The
original letters were first secured on microfilm
and then transcribed onto file cards (Pitkin
1963). The transcribed file cards are now stored
in the collections office of the Manhattan Sites
unit, currently in Federal Hall. These docu
ments span the period between 1805 and 1811
when New York City was undergoing fortifica
tion. Many of the letters in the collection
are addressed to Williams, but the collection
also contains copies of letters from Williams to
various individuals.
These contemporary historical documents have
never been used to interpret the archaeological
discoveries made by Hershey during his 1963
season. This paper reconciles the archaeologi
cal and historical record. The Williams cor
respondence archive reveals the reasons for the
changes in construction and provides explanations
for the variances observed in the archaeological
record. These documents also provide insight
into the functioning of the military's construc
tion program, the flexibility given to the early
engineers, and the politics of construction.
Background
New York City, the harbor, and the all-impor
tant trade routes that connected to it were practi
cally defenseless at the turn of the 19th century
(Erney 1979:62). The people of New York City
and surrounding areas began to fear attack from
Great Britain as early as the 1790s. Bedlow's,
FIGURE 2, Castle Clinton as it appears today,
Governor's, and Ellis' islands were all fortified
around this time. The tension experienced by
the inhabitants of the area escalated in the first
decade of the 19th century. This growth in
apprehension was the result of three events that
took place in 1806-1807. The first occurred
in April 1806 when a squadron of British ships
consisting of the 50-gun Leander, the 44-gun
Cambia, and the 18-gun Diver appeared off
Sandy Hook and began impressing seamen from
every ship going in or coming out of the harbor.
The second event occurred toward the end April
1806 when upwards of 20 British vessels entered
New York Harbor and fired 100 shots at various
points in the harbor and on the shore. The third
event was the unexpected attack on the American
frigate Chesapeake off Hampton Roads in June
of 1807 (Guernsey 1889-1895:63; Cushman
1950:1-2).
From 1789 to 1801, the peacetime army of
the new nation under the Federalists was gradu
ally built up from 840 to 5,400 men (Hickey
1990:6). The navy was rebuilt and $1 million
was devoted to the construction and repair
of coastal forts (Hickey 1990:6). During the
Republican years of the early 19th century
(1801-1812) approximately $2.8 million, almost
three times the amount spent in the last decade
of the 18th century, was spent on coastal fortifi
cations. While the spending on coastal fortifica
tions increased during this time, the lack of
Republican interest in a strong navy meant that
the coast was unprepared for a naval attack
(Hickey 1990:8).
107 Griswold--THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF MILITARY POLITICS: CASTLE CLINTON
A survey of the New York Harbor, along with
recommendations for the construction of various
fortifications, had already been conducted by Lt.
Col. Jonathan Williams in 1805. Williams, the
first superintendent at West Point and one of
only four military engineers on the East Coast
(Erney 1979:217), was ideally suited to oversee
the fortification of New York. In 1807, three
individuals, including Williams, Vice President
George Clinton, and Secretary of War Henry
Dearborn, submitted their recommendations
for defending the city to President Thomas Jef
ferson (Pitkin 1960:9). They recommended the
fortification of three harbor islands (Bedlow's,
Ellis', and Governor's) and the construction of
two casemate batteries (fortified artillery enclo
sures) off Manhattan Island (Pitkin 1960:9).
Construction on the West Battery began in
1808. This battery would have been built in
two or three tiers, accommodated a garrison of
soldiers, and would have had 30 to 50 guns
(Bresnan 1978:2). Williams' plan originally
called for a circular fortification 50 ft.(l5 m) off
the battery (Pitkin 1960:9). The West Battery
was connected to the mainland by a long timber
causeway and drawbridge. The octagonal rip
rap (submerged foundation of the castle also
known as the counterguard) was so expensive
to construct that only one tier of New Jersey
brownstone, mounting 28 guns, was actually
built (Figure 3). The final fortification was
circular in design except for the area of the
sallyport or gateway, which was constructed
with a straight side, paralleling the edge of the
Manhattan Battery. The grand sallyport gateway
was the only portion of the fortification not
designed by Williams (Figure 4). Instead, John
McComb is credited with the design of this
magnificent edifice (Pitkin 1960:20). The West
Battery was finally completed in 1811, but was
too small to accommodate a garrison (Bresnan
1978:2-3). The West Battery was later renamed
Castle Clinton to honor retired New York mayor
DeWitt Clinton. Other fortifications built for the
defense of New York during this time include,
among others, Fort Wood on Bedlow's (Liberty)
Island, Castle Williams on Governor's Island,
and Fort Gibson on Ellis' Island.
By 1822, Col. Joseph G. Totten of the Army
Engineers wrote that "Castle Clinton may be
struck out of the present system of defence
[sic] without essentially weakening it" (Pitkin
1960:13). So, in 1823 the battery was decom
missioned and turned over to the City of New
York (Bresnan 1978:3).
Castle CIinton after 1823
Following the decommission of Castle Clinton
as a military fortification, it was adapted to
become one of New York City's best known
civic centers. Renamed Castle Garden, "fine
gardens, flowers, ornaments and fountains trans
formed the Parade [ground] into an elegant
setting, vast awnings were hung at the sallyport
entrance and a roof promenade covering provided
a magnificent viewing stage" (Bresnan 1978: 12).
Castle Garden became a focal point for the city
with many major cultural events taking place
inside or around it. "Band concerts, fireworks,
FIGURE 3. Profile for the construction of the counterguard of Castle Clinton, ca. 1810. (Courtesy of the
National Archives [1810])
108
FIGURE 4. The sallyport gateway.
balloon ascensions, scientific marvels, a great
Croton fountain and nearly every President from
Jackson to Pierce was welcomed there" (Bresnan
1978: 12). Jenny Lind was one of the most
famous performers at Castle Garden. Promoted
by P. T. Barnum, "the Swedish nightingale"
gave a series of recitals in September of 1850
(Berengarten 1934:61-65).
In 1855 Castle Garden was again adapted to
become a state-run Immigrant Landing Depot.
During its heyday from 1855 to 1890, Castle
Garden witnessed the immigration of over
8,000,000 people (Bresnan 1978: 14). Of the
3,772,707 foreigners arriving at Castle Garden
from 1855 to 1879,40% became residents of the
State of New York (Berengarten 1934: 91). The
state immigration station at Castle Garden was
the direct predecessor to the federally operated
Ellis Island immigration center, which opened its
doors in 1892. By 1870 the area around Castle
Garden was filled in, connecting it to Manhattan
(Bresnan 1978:14).
In 1892 a bill passed the New York State Leg
islature authorizing the city to spend $150,000 to
refurbish the structure as a public aquarium. The
project was finished in 1896 and the aquarium
was run by the city until 1902, when manage
ment of the facility was transferred to the New
York Zoological Society. By 1920, some 43
million people had visited the aquarium (Beren
garten 1934:104-105).
In 1941, city parks commissioner Robert
Moses closed the aquarium (Bresnan 1978: 17).
It was clear from the very beginning of the
12-year shutdown that Commissioner Moses
wanted Castle Clinton torn down, once even
describing it as a "large red wart" fixed on the
face of the city (Bresnan 1978:18). Years of
controversy began between the public, state, and
federal government officials and Commissioner
Moses. At one point Moses declared the battery
to be in the way of the Brooklyn Battery tunnel
(Bresnan 1978: 17). Concerned citizens began
to band together in defense of the monument.
Public debate began concerning the fate of
the monument. George McAneny and Alex
ander Hamilton of the American Scenic and
Historic Preservation Society championed the
cause to save the battery. While people were
busy attempting to save the battery, Moses
demolished the aquarium additions. A court
battle ensued until finally in 1948 New York
Supreme Court Justice Samuel Null ruled
that the battery should be spared (Bresnan
1978: 18-19). In 1950 the property was con
veyed by deed from the city to the federal
government (New York Times 1950:33).
Castle Clinton National Monument, part of the
National Park Service, was established in 1950.
Presently, the structure has been restored to its
early military appearance. A narrow heptagonal
path placed around the battery to delineate the
original counterguard now serves as the official
boundary for NPS ownership.
Schumacher's 1955 Investigations
Paul J. F. Schumacher conducted two weeks
of excavation at Castle Clinton in June of 1955
(Figure 5). In Trench I he exposed a water
pipe, terra cotta drainpipe, and a large amount
of rubble. Water was encountered 28-32 in.
(70-80 em) below the surface, and the excava
tors concluded that the water was due to poor
109 Griswold-THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF MILITARY POLITICS: CASTLE CLINTON
drainage of the old fish tank floors. Ultimately
it was the infiltration of water that led to Trench
I being abandoned (Schumacher 1955).
Portions of some of the aquarium's fish tanks
were found in both Trenches 2A and 2B. The
excavators were forced to dig around the fish
tanks because the cement of the fish tanks could
not be broken without a jackhammer. Two
mortar and stone walls were found in Trench
2B. The stone fill between the two walls was
removed and the base of the walls was exposed
approximately 6 ft. 7 in. (2 m) below the ground
surface. Schumacher concluded that these walls
were footings for the parade ground. Excavation
in the northern portion of Trench 2B revealed "a
solid foundation floor of some sort, probably of
Castle Garden or Aquarium Period" (Schumacher
1955:3). Identical stone walls were found in
Trench 2A but the working space was narrow
and more dangerous and was not attempted.
Cotter's 1962 Excavations
John L. Cotter also explored several areas
inside the battery (Figure 6). One of the areas
that Cotter selected to investigate was the area
way just to the west of the officers' quarters.
The officers' quarters, immediately inside the
Gate, had previously been emptied of their
contents, and it appears the workmen excavating
FIGURE5. Planof Schumacher's excavations (Schumacher
1955)
FIGURE 6. Plan of Cotter's excavations (Cotter 1962).
the areaway were throwing the backdirt inside
the officer's quarter's compartments. Cotter
noted a wall 8 ft. (2.4 m) in front of (west) of
the front wall of the officers' quarters, defining
the western extent of the areaway. This areaway
had been interrupted by aquarium-period brick
wall partitions, set on a slate floor. Cotter
concluded that the areaway was original to the
battery, but the seven steps at the southern
extreme, and the sides of the stairwell, were
from the aquarium period (Cotter 1962).
After the cement slabs of the aquarium tanks
were broken up, the north and south cisterns
were located. The aquarium tanks had been built
over the masonry walls of the cistern. Cotter
described the cisterns as having been filled with
sandy earth. Artifacts recovered from the fill
included fragments of stoneware, earthenware,
and bottle glass. The entire assemblage, accord
ing to Cotter (1962), indicated that the cisterns
were filled between 1875 and 1911.
Exposure of the hot-shot oven proved to be
even more of a challenge. To get down to the
approximate level of the feature, the workmen
had to remove 2Y2 ft. (0.8 m) of scrap iron and
rubble, and then jackhammer through 1Y2 ft.
(Y2 m) of concrete. After much effort a hole
of approximately 5 ft. (I Y2 m) in diameter was
opened. Portions of sandstone blocks, cemented
with 19th century type mortar, were exposed
below the seal tank. Cotter believed that these
110
fragments could be part of the battery's hot-shot
oven (Cotter 1962).
Hershey's 1963 Excavations
William D. Hershey and his field assistant
John Hanna began work at the site in August
1963. By the time Hershey arrived at the site,
heavy equipment was being used to clear the
aquarium rubble. The contractor had cleared
the rubble away to completely expose the top
of both the north and south cisterns. Heavy
equipment had also removed the rubble from
the area below the seal tank. This seal tank
had proved to be one of the main impediments
to the earlier excavations. Working from a ca.
1810 map obtained from the National Archives
(1810), Hershey attempted to investigate six
fortification features: the hot-shot furnace, the
south cistern, the north cistern, the parade ground
in front of the officers' quarters, the flagpole,
and the casemate supports; three "test holes"
excavated by a building contractor were also
examined for archaeological features (Figure 7).
Trench 4, a 5Y2 ft. (1.7 m) long irregular
unit, was excavated to examine the evidence
for an octagonal magazine or a hot-shot oven.
Excavation revealed only rocks thought to be
the rock fill used to build the counterguard.
Hershey's calculations indicated that the bottom
of the trench was well below the low water
mark of the ca. 1810 drawing. No evidence
was found for either the octagonal magazine
illustrated on the maps or for the hot-shot oven
purportedly built in the same place in 1814.
Hershey dismissed even the brownstone rocks,
identified by Cotter as the possible remains
of the hot-shot furnace, as being patternless
(Hershey 1963:10-13).
Hershey found the cisterns to be soundly
constructed, even though catch basins installed
during the construction of the aquarium had par
tially damaged the west side of each cistern. A
later 14 in. (36 ern) drainpipe had been installed
through the north cistern and had caused addi
tional damage. On the south cistern, a I Y2
in. (4 ern) pipe and an intrusive north-south
stone wall had been installed. Hershey had
to concentrate his efforts on the north cistern
because the contractor had left a large pile of
rubble fill over most of the south cistern. The
interior diameter of the cisterns measured 14 ft.
, ~ .......... I uounl"...
FIGURE 7, Plan 1 from Hershey's excavation report
(Hershey 1963),
(4.3 m) and both had been set in square stone
foundations with a circular rim rising 16-17 in.
(41-43 em). Hershey was unable to tell whether
or not the rim of the cisterns had at one time
been higher. The cisterns also had a 2Y2 ft.
(0.8 m) wide rim at the then ground surface. It
appeared to the excavators that the north cistern
was better constructed than the south. Only
a portion of the south cistern was excavated,
but these excavations revealed a wooden floor,
possibly a wooden lining, and a stratigraphic
profile lacking any dateable artifacts (Hershey
1963:14-22).
The excavations in front of the officers' quar
ters revealed some "enigmatic walls," which
Hershey concluded were not of the military
period (Hershey 1963:40-41). The area around
the flagpole had been disturbed and was filled
with aquarium rubble. As a result, no evidence
was found for the flagpole (Hershey 1963:24).
The Casemate Foundation Walls
Hershey also conducted extensive excavations
just south of the south cistern on the casemate
foundation walls (Trench I). Here he discovered
that the original plans for the fortification had
been modified (Figures 8, 9). Specifically,
Hershey noted that the casemate was shortened
from 28 to 18 ft. (8.5 to 5.5 m) and a flagstone
walkway was used to cover the gap left by the
shortened casemate (Hershey 1963:26). Origi
111
Griswold--THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF MILITARYPOLITICS
nally, T-shaped traverses were designed for
walls to be built on top. While these T-shaped
traverses were built, the subsequent shortening
of the casemate meant that the brick columns,
substituted for the walls, were set on the 4
ft. (1.2 m) wide tongue of the traverse, 17-18
ft. (0.43-0.45 m) inside the main fortification
wall. Other walls were then built connecting the
T-shaped traverses, 17 ft. (5 m) within the outer
wall of the fort. These connecting walls were
approximately 2 ft. (0.6 m) wide and stabilized
the tongues of the T-shaped traverses as well
as provided support for the flagstone paving
and the wooden planking of the casemate inte
rior. Hershey noted that the mortar used in
the construction of these walls was identical to
the mortar used in the rest of the fortification
(Hershey 1963:28-34).
Hershey described the construction phases in
detail, referencing measurements of the walls,
macro-mortar analysis, and how the final con
struction differed from the planned construction.
It was surprising to find that the alterations
in the casemate design were made after the
substructure for the interior casemate T-shaped
supports had already been constructed. The
construction of the subterranean casemate sup-
FIGURE 8. Later plan of Castle Clinton, ca 1820s: a,
casemate width; b, brick support columns; c, flagstone
sidewalk to cover the design changes. (Courtesy of the
National Archives [1820s].)
CASTLE CLINTON
FIGURE 9. Design plan for the construction of Castle
Clinton, ca. 1810.: a, casemate width; b, interior supports.
(Courtesy of the National Archives [1810].)
ports required the expenditure of an enormous
amount of labor (Figure 10). Hershey never
determined the reasons for the modifications, but
he concluded the alterations could not have been
due to economy (Hershey 1963:37).
Col. Williams' Papers
The letters within the Williams archive intro
duce the names of four individuals critical to this
paper: Col. Williams, the architect and builder;
Gen. Henry Dearborn, Secretary of War under
Jefferson, 1801-1809; William Eustis, Secretary
of War under Madison, 1809-1812; and Capt.
George Bomford, the individual responsible for
the completion of Castle Clinton.
Jonathan Williams (1750-1815) was born in
Boston, attended Harvard College, studied under
the aegis of his great-uncle Benjamin Franklin,
and later became a military engineer (Fredrik
sen 1999:483--484). His great-uncle Benjamin
Franklin is credited with having instilled in
Williams a love of science. In later life, Wil
liams published several articles on his scientific
interests in the Transactions of the American
Philosophical Society as well as a tract on
Thermometric Navigation (Fredriksen 1999:484).
Williams obtained a commission as a major in
the Second Regiment of Artillery and Engineers
from President John Adams in February 1801.
Williams' involvement in the scientific com
munity brought him into contact with Thomas
112
FIGURE 10. Plan 5 from Hershey's excavation report, detailing the discoveries made during the casemate excavations:
S, interior support: b, shabbily built support wall (Hershey 1963).
Jefferson, who, as President, later appointed him
inspector of fortifications and superintendent of
the military post at West Point. On 20 June
1803, Williams resigned because of difficulties
encountered within the fledgling academy. These
difficulties included poor funding and staffing
of the academy and the refusal of line officers
to follow Williams' orders, citing that he could
command only fellow engineers (Fredriksen
1999:484). Jefferson persuaded Williams to
reenlist as a lieutenant colonel of engineers at
West Point in 1805. Williams was one of the
few engineers available, thus Secretary of War
Dearborn had him draw up sketches and a set
of general principles which would be adapted to
particular situations where many of the fortifica
tions were to be built (Erney 1979:217). Wil
liams instituted a modem curriculum of scientific
engineering during his tenure at the academy
(Fredriksen 1999:484).
The letters in the archive collection indicate
that while Williams was in control of the day
to-day management of the West Battery con
struction, he was not solely responsible for its
completion. An 1808 letter from Secretary of
War Dearborn cautioned Williams to use fiscal
restraint in the construction of the battery (Pitkin
1963:8-9):
New York July 15, 1808
Taking into consideration the limits of the appro
priations and the number of Works to be erected in
different parts of the United States, it becomes neces
sary to restrict in some measure the interior defence
[sic] of New York to a less extensive plan than was at
first proposed. Colonel Williams will therefore please
to observe the following Instructions.
The Works on Governors Island are to be perfected
on the present plan.
The Batteries on the north River and at the S.W.
point of the City [Castle Clinton] instead of being
casemated Towers, are to be open Barbettes of earth,
walled on each Side of the Parapet. In like manner
an open Barbette is to be substituted for the proposed
Casemated Tower on Ellis's Island.
The mortar Battery and Redoubt on Bedlows may
be cornpleated [sic] as begun.
Col. Williams will exercise his own judgement
in fulfilling the views of the Government only observ
ing to economise [sic] the expenditures as much as
possible.
H. Dearborn
While further correspondence rescinding this
construction order has not been found, it is
clear that Williams did not completely adhere to
Dearborn's request in constructing Castle Clinton
(Pitkin 1963:9).
The West Battery, as originally proposed by
Williams, was to be built much closer to shore
and in shallower water. The letters contained
within Pitkin's compilation indicate that design
changes were underway from the very beginning
of the project. Williams had to extend the
length of the causeway so that the battery would
not violate individual water grants made for
the extension of streets and the construction
of wharves, yet still command the river (Pitkin
1963:5). Later correspondence from the secretary
of war to Williams illustrated Dearborn's dismay
at the cost of the construction of the fort's
substructure, which now had to be built in
approximately 35 ft. (10m) of water. Dearborn
requested that Williams build the fortification
100 ft. (30 m) off shore, as opposed to the
200 ft. (60 m) requested by Williams (Pitkin
1963: 10). Williams, however, proceeded with
his proposed plan and the fortification was
constructed approximately 200 ft. (60 m) off
shore. Constructing the counterguard in deeper
water, as opposed to the 15-20 ft. (4.5--6 m) of
water originally expected, meant that progress,
especially visual progress of the foundation, was
much slower than expected.
Discounting Williams' statements, as noted
in the Pitkin compilation, the newly appointed
secretary of war, William Eustis, questioned
the progress of the project. Eustis was a
former congressman from Massachusetts. He
was trained as a physician and served as a
surgeon during the Revolution, where his mili
tary service was limited to practicing medicine
(Hanson 1999:590-591). History portrays him as
a well-connected politician with very little actual
military experience (Ingersoll 1845[1]:68).
The New York congressional delegation began
pressuring Eustis to investigate the project due
to the lack of observable progress. Eustis' letter
to Williams expressed his dissatisfaction (Pitkin
1963:21-22):
[no date]
Sir,
Your letters of the 5'h & 7'" inst are received. When
the members of the Govt. from the State of New
York and others were expressing to me (and when I
perceived it a subject of general conversation) their
regret at the unfinished state of the works, my own
disappointment was revived.
After the liberal appropriation which had been made &
with the means which had been afforded. I did think
& I do still think the public had a right to expect
greater proficiency than has been made. In course &
in unison with the confidence of former intercourse
my confidential letter was written, but having been
made acquainted by information to be perhaps acted
on with the causes of the delay, I could only express
generally my own regret with that of others. To this
was added the necessity of doing better in future and
the possibility or probability (keeping no copies of this
intercourse, I do not recollect which) that some inquiry
would be made into the causes of disappointment; this
latter might or might not be necessary.
W. Eustis
A 19 January 1810, letter addressed to Gov
ernor Tompkins, responding to the secretary of
war's critiques, indicated that Williams believed
the construction on the battery would be com
pleted in a year and a half (Pitkin 1963:23).
Even with this critique of his progress, Wil
liams remained steadfast in his conviction to
build a multi-tiered castle like that on Governor's
Island (Pitkin 1963:23). Williams maintained this
position even though the counterguard was cost
ing more than had been expected and was taking
longer to construct than had been anticipated.
Earlier correspondence from Eustis made it clear
that the battery was to have only one tier, but
was to be built with the capabilities of accom
modating more than one tier if it were later
deemed necessary (Pitkin 1963:19). Eustis real
ized that the construction of circular fortifications
was a departure from the standard design and
was not convinced of its soundness. In a 10
June 1809 letter to Williams, Eustis indicated
that he wanted both of the Manhattan fortifica
tions, at least for the present, to be built of only
one tier until any defects in the tower already
erected on Governor's Island could be found
(Pitkin 1963: 19). Eustis firmly responded to
Williams' plan to construct a multi-tiered battery
(Pitkin 1963:26):
February 5th. 1810
Sir,
Your letter of the Ist Instant is received.-The works
on the several Islands are to be finished on the plan
agreed on by my predecessor, who also concurred with
me in opinion that the tower off the old battery and
that at the end of Hubert Street should be constructed
for one tier of guns only, as stated in our conversation
in the summer. The plan of the works being settled,
the estimate of the expense having been based on that
plan, and appropriation having been made comformable
thereto, it remains for us to conform to our plan and
to observe our means. . .
W. Eustis
Many factors no doubt led to the decision
slow progress, pressure from the New York
congressional delegation, mild annoyance with
114
Williams-of the secretary of war to order
Col. Henry Burbeck, a senior Artillery officer,
to assume command in New York on 13 June
1810. Two weeks later, Williams, after defend
ing his work, requested "to retire from further
superintendence of the works in this Harbour"
(Pitkin 1963 :31). Eustis rejected Williams'
resignation. For cost-of-completion estimates
requested by the secretary of war, Williams
continued to include estimates for a second
tier on the battery (Pitkin 1963:40). The cor
respondence contained within Pitkin's compilation
indicate that Col. Williams wanted to construct
Castle Clinton like the three-tiered Castle Wil
liams on Governor's Island. Without a second
tier, the fortification would contain only 28
guns (as opposed to 56 with a second tier) and
provide no quarters for a garrison of soldiers.
This perceived inadequacy bothered Williams
as he continued to press for the construction
of additional tiers. A further letter dated 29
December 1810, from Williams to Eustis, esti
mated the costs for a second tier to be added
to the fort. Williams estimated it would cost
$51,531.71 to complete the battery with one tier,
while an additional $83,303.86 would be needed
to complete the second tier (Pitkin 1963:40).
With Col. Burbeck's appointment to New
York, Williams became discouraged. He moved
upriver to West Point and left junior officers in
charge of construction on each of the fortifica
tions being built by him. In 1811, Williams left
Capt. George Bomford in charge of completing
the West Battery; however, Bomford frequently
consulted with Williams on relevant issues (Pitkin
1963:41). One such letter from Capt. Bomford
to Williams, dated II March 1811, says, "It
is your decided plan, 1 presume at present, to
finish the work at the Battery on one tier: if
so, the remaining quantity of stone wanting
may be ordered in time . . ." (Pitkin 1963:41).
Bomford was careful to request clarification on
an issue that he no doubt knew to be a source
of contention between Williams and Eustis.
This inquiry was made in the final stages of
construction, even though Eustis, in earlier
correspondence with Williams, had made his
position perfectly clear.
The correspondence never clarified the antago
nism between Williams and Secretary of War
Eustis. Eustis now offered Williams the oppor
tunity to return to West Point and leave the
fortification of New York to Burbeck and the
completion of the West Battery to Bomford
(Pitkin 1963:42):
March 13, 1811
Dr. Sir,
As it is desirable that you should be with the Acad
emy this summer to gather remains of those who
are attached to it, to (indecipherable) them with the
acquirements they have attained, and to superintend
their proficiency, so far as the means furnished by
the Government will permit, it has seemed to me that
you might be very willing to be excused from the
superintendance [sic] of the finishing what remains to
be done in N. York and that Captn. Bamford who has
become acquainted with your wishes, might be able.
under directions from you and your casting an eye on
him two or three times in the course of the season,
to complete them in a manner satisfactory to yourself
and to the public expectation. I consider the plan as
executed in its great outlines & that the remaining
detailed operations may be performed by him. Should
you concur in this opinion, and the arrangement be
perfectly consonant to your wishes it will be made
accordingly. On the other hand, sh'd you prefer to
have them concluded under your own eye, such shall
be the course.
W. Eustis
The West Battery was finally commissioned
on 25 November 1811. Pitkin notes that Wil
liams was then requested to submit a plan for
supplemental fortifications around New York City.
Much of it was discarded, but he was asked to
carry some of it out (Pitkin 1963:50).
A few months later, Col. Williams wrote to
President Madison requesting a command posi
tion for himself. While Madison was evidently
in favor of this, junior Artillery and Infantry
officers circulated a petition against placing
an Engineering officer in a command position.
Subsequent to this, Williams resigned effective
31 July 1812 (Pitkin 1963:50).
After his resignation, Williams became briga
dier general of militia defending New York
Harbor (Fredriksen 1999:484). Before the end
of the War of 1812, however, Williams moved
to Philadelphia to supervise the construction of
defensive works. He later ran successfully for
Congress, but died in 1815 before taking his
seat (Fredriksen 1999:484).
Discussion
Williams' correspondence, as contained in
Pitkin's compilation, provides an important frame
115 Griswold--THEARCHAEOLOGY OF MILITARYPOLITICS: CASTLE CLINTON
work from which to re-examine the archaeologi
cal remains uncovered by Hershey in 1963. The
archaeological record provided by Hershey's
excavations documents the disagreement between
Williams and the secretaries of war, first Dear
born and later Eustis. During his tenure in
supervising the construction of Castle Clinton,
Williams managed to build the counterguard
for the fortification, the largest and most time
consuming portion of the project. The construc
tion of this substructure turned out to be a
much larger project than either Williams or the
secretaries of war had anticipated. It is clear
from Capt. Bomford's letter to Williams that the
above ground features of the fortification were
completed in Williams' absence.
The discovery of the T-shaped traverses during
Hershey's excavations indicates an enormous
amount of effort was spent constructing sub
structure features that were never fully utilized
(Hershey 1963:28-34). These T-shaped traverses,
or inner pier supports, would have been used to
hold up the additional tiers of the castle if they
had been built and conformed to the original
plan of the battery. Instead, design changes
done late in the project forced the features
constructed for the original design to be adapted
to fit the later alterations. These later altera
tions documented by Hershey (shortening of
the casemate, the use of brick support columns
rather than the pier supports, the construction
of the shabbily built interior walls used to tie
together the tongues of the T-shaped traverses
which supported the brick columns, and the
flagstone walkway used to cover the gap left by
a shortened casemate) were done according to
a later design (Figure 11). Williams at least
recognized that design changes would be neces
sary if Castle Clinton were to be completed
as he envisioned. In an estimate dated 29
December 1810, Williams informed Eustis that
"... the Roof and Piers to support it will be
a total Loss in case the Battery should be first
completed as for one, and afterwards be raised
for two Tier" (Pitkin 1963:40).
When Williams left the completion of the fort
to Capt. Bomford, the project was over budget
and progress on the fortification was less than
expected. After Williams' departure to West
Point, it is not clear how much direction he was
able to provide or whether Bomford completed
the fortification on his own. The correspondence
between Bomford and Williams indicates that
Bomford completed the construction of the West
Battery under Williams' guidance. Even if
Williams did not provide specific directions for
the modifications it is possible that Bomford
may have used the design information from
one of the fortification templates that Williams
had drawn up for Secretary of War Dearborn.
In either case, the design changes documented
in the archaeological record indicate some of
the steps taken to complete a project that the
secretary of war had perceived was consuming
too much time and money.
The correspondence between Williams and
Dearborn/Eustis reveals that a great deal of
latitude was accorded Williams in the design
and construction of the West Battery. Williams
enjoyed the greatest flexibility early on. As the
project progressed and costs began to mount, he
FIGURE 11, Reconstruction, illustrating shortened
casemate, brick support column, and flagstone walkway,
116
was granted less discretion to do as he pleased.
Still, Washington could only guide the direction
of the project, not manage the daily details
of construction. Lack of an effective com
munications system no doubt hampered interac
tion between New York and Washington. This
enabled an individual like Williams to rely on
his best judgment for most of the decisions.
Note that Williams could erect the West Battery
in a different location than had been ordered
by Secretary of War Dearborn and not bear
any serious repercussions. After Williams left
for West Point, Bomford was placed in charge
and assumed the day-to-day management of
the project, though with Williams' continued
influence.
Historical documents record other instances
where economic and political realities were
factored into the military's idealized plans. For
example, Governor Edward Cornwallis yielded
to economic considerations during his program
of constructing fortifications to further British
authority in Nova Scotia in the 18th century.
After exceeding his financial estimates for the
first two years of his administration, the Lords
of Trade instructed Cornwallis:
... as to publick Works you would therefore do right
to carry on as many of them as the Appropriation of
the Money to other Expenses will permit; but always
remember that nothing is so essentially requisite to the
Welfare and future Success of your undertaking, as to
preserve the good Opinion and Affection of Parliament
towards it, which cannot be done but by keeping to
that Rule and Degree of Expence [sic], which they
prescribe in their Grants from a sense of what the
Circumstances of the Nation can bear. . " We must
advise you rather to postpone even the most necessary
Works than to exceed the Estimate (Young 1980:23).
In other instances, economics and politics
played an equally dominant role in determining
whether the military would erect certain fortifica
tions. For example, in the early 18th century
the colony of Massachusetts refused to re-fortify
Pemaquid, even after repeated directives from
the Crown (Bradley and Camp 1994:12). The
reasons cited by the colony of Massachusetts
included the cost and the strategic insignificance
of Pemaquid. Their refusal foreshadows the
later relationship between the Massachusetts
colony and England at the time of the Revolu
tion (Bradley and Camp 1994:12).
Conclusion
The reconciliation of the historical documents
and the archaeological record has provided
additional information concerning the construction
of Castle Clinton, the flexibility accorded Wil
liams in its construction, and the politics of the
early 19th century military. The understanding
garnered by the synthesis of disciplines is better
than either history or archaeology can produce
alone. The numerous letters, both to and from
Williams, provide a deeper understanding of
the people, politics, and logistics involved in
constructing fortifications. The archaeological
excavations conducted by Schumacher (1955),
Cotter (1962), and Hershey (1963) detail the
physical history of the construction.
It is difficult to assess how the design changes
would have affected the performance of the
battery, especially since Castle Clinton never
fired a hostile shot during the war. Obviously,
the secretary of war would have had better
information on the British threat to New York
than an engineer like Williams. It is difficult
to tell, however, whether the secretary of war's
bottom line was money or security. Dearborn
and Eustis, as bureaucrats and political appoin
tees, had to balance several interests, in contrast
to Williams, whose goal as an engineer was to
design and construct a better fort. The fact that
the counterguard of Castle Clinton has survived
nearly 200 years is a testimonial to Williams'
competency.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author wishes to acknowledge the assistance
of several individuals who helped bring this project
to fruition Park staff who were particularly helpful
included Joe Avery, MASI Superintendent, Doug
Cuillard, MASI Deputy Superintendent, Bob McCully,
MASI Curator, Mike Schreiber, Interim Curator, and
Judith Mueller, the new MASI Curator. Some members
of the Northeast Cultural Resource Center also deserve
special recognition including Dr. Steven Pendery,
Chief, Archeology Branch, and Judy Jacob, Senior
Conservator. The author also wishes to thank the
three anonymous reviewers and the journal's associate
editor, William Turnbaugh, in helping to tighten the
focus and presentation of the paper.
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BRESNAN, ADRIENNE GREEN
1978 Fort Clinton 1808-1975. The Municipal Engineer's
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COTTER, JOHN L.
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1979 The Public Life of Henry Dearborn. Arno Press,
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[1820s] Plan Map of Castle Clinton. Map Drawer 36-32,
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118
Reviews
Edited by Vergil E. Noble
The following review article by Alaraic Faulkner considers
several related monographs devoted to a long-term research
program in Quebec. Although the publications span several
years, and each may stand alone, Faulkner's overview ably
demonstrates that their contribution to the archaeological
literature is even greater when considered in combination.
Tapping the Data-Rich Resources of Quebec
City Archaeology: Recent Research Reports
of CELAT
Introduction
American historical archaeologists have long recognized,
appreciated, and indeed envied the generally high quality
of publications in historical archaeology that have emanated
from Canada. Numerous publication series in English from
universities, federal agencies, and provincial governments have
caught our attention and imaginations. Many who attended
the 2000 annual conference for The Society for Historical
Archaeology held at Quebec City, discovered the high quality
of active research in Quebec and the concomitant wealth
of publications in French. Those few American historical
archaeologists who are actively engaged in cross-border
topics involving French Canada are presumably already
taking advantage of these resources. Nevertheless, the burden
of cross-fertilization between these realms of archaeology has
clearly been born largely by French-speaking archaeologists.
These researchers, who are themselves under increasing
pressure towards monolingualism, have made the effort to
incorporate the research of their English-speaking counterparts
as part of their own footings.
By now the shoe is, or should be, on the other foot. The
contributions of Quebec archaeology go far beyond cross
border comparisons, and have become of such moment that
they cannot be ignored by anyone purporting to present
a balanced approach to North American historical archaeol
ogy. The benign neglect that most American archaeologists
have paid their French-speaking colleagues should not be
excused.
Here, in a somewhat unorthodox review format, the
author attempts to convince even the most diehard Anglo
American researchers, and especially graduates students,
of the relevance of Quebec historical archaeology to their
own work. The focus need not be on matters relating to
French-Canadian ethnicity at all, but rather may range from
the urban archaeology of port cities, changing foodways,
English material culture, zooarchaeology, ethnobotany, and
any number of other topics. Those with even a marginal
competence in French are encouraged to peruse these and
similar publications and give them the attention they deserve.
Historical Archaeology; 2001.35(4):118-135.
Even the linguistically timid should find these publications
generally well written and the technical French familiar and
easy to follow. Here, in somewhat greater detail than is
generally followed, the author hopes to give Anglophone
graduates students a taste of the opportunities and products
of their French-speaking counterparts.
The series Cahiers d'archeologie du CELAT, or "CELAT
Archaeological Reports," serves as our present example, as
it is a relatively new report series, covering research dating
from the early 1990s to the present. The acronym CELAT,
all but forgotten even by those within the program, translates
as the "Inter-University Center for Studies in Humanities,
Arts, and Traditions." CELAT is a consortium of scholars
from the University of Quebec at Montreal, the University
of Quebec at Chicoutimi, and Laval University, and fosters
research in a number of areas including history and ethnohis
tory. It is particularly well known, however, for its active
program in historical archaeology under the direction of
Prof Marcel Moussette and his colleagues.
The present series publishes archaeological reports prepared
by Moussette's students and colleagues. In general, this
comprises research conducted cooperatively under the joint
aegis of the Department of Urbanism of Quebec City, The
Ministry of Culture and Communications of Quebec, and
Laval University as represented by CELAT. They range
in scope from well-crafted seasonal field reports, which
are generally M.A. theses, to completion reports of major
projects by established professionals.
Publication of these Cahiers is a laudable achievement,
in some cases giving M.A. candidates their first significant
exposure in print, and elevating reports beyond "gray litera
ture" status. The accomplishment mirrors Moussette's own
excellent publication example for which he was honored, in
part, with the SHA's Award of Merit in 2000. Unfortunately,
however, no indication is given in the reports themselves of
their scholarly origin. While we will attempt to rectify this
matter here, such minimal background information, along
with brief biographies of the authors, would be appreciated
in future numbers.
Five of the eight volumes, Numbers I, 2, 6, 7, and 8,
deal with successive field seasons of archaeology at the
Hunt Block on the waterfront of the Lower City of Old
Quebec. With the exception of Number 2, all are M.A.
theses, conducted first under Marcel Moussette's direction and
later under his colleague, Reginald Auger. Built on land cre
ated by French merchants in the late 17th century, the Hunt
Block shows continuous occupation to the present. This
study area proved to be a region of particular significance in
the 19th century, during the waves of immigration through
Quebec, and informs on the subsequent process of urbaniza
tion in this port city. While these works give a successive
chronology of excavation campaigns, they are more than
annual field reports, as each attempts to resolve a specific
set of research problems. Nevertheless, successive volumes
repeat, expand, and refine the archaeological picture, so
that the later works are inherently more informative than
the earlier ones.
119
REVIEWS
While the archaeology of the Hunt Block is the focus
here, the remaining three CELAT volumes deserve mention,
and will be reviewed separately in the near future. Rather
than being seasonal reports or M.A. theses, they are com
pleted studies conducted by established professionals.
Two of three discuss projects directed by City of Quebec
archaeologist William Moss. Number 3, by far the largest
volume in the series and illustrated in color, is a multi-part
archaeological study of the grand house of merchant Aubert
de La Chesnaye. This site is located in an earlier portion
of the Lower City of Quebec, dating from the 1660s, and its
significance largely pre-dates the English regime. Number
4 is a similar multi-part site report on the archaeology of
the Recollet Monastery in the park area of the Cathedral of
the Holy Trinity in the Upper City of Old Quebec. The
remaining volume, Number 5, is a work in human osteology,
and covers the remains of some 225 individuals from two
cemeteries associated with the basilica of Notre Dame de
Quebec in the Upper City.
Five Seasons of Archaeology of the Hunt
Block, 1991-1995
Excavations at the Hunt Block cover essentially half an
urban block named for its 19th-century owners, and known
at mid-century as "Hunt's Wharf." It is situated in the
Lower City of Old Quebec about two blocks north of La
Place Royale, where Champlain built his second habitation
in 1624, and adjacent to the modern Museum of Civilization.
The entire property was constructed on made land impounded
by merchants from La Place Royale, and has experienced
continuous use since the closing decade of the 17th century.
Most of the buildings in the Hunt Block were razed before
1960, and it was not until after its purchase by a real estate
developer in 1990 that archaeological work began. Today
the excavation site is located largely beneath the parking
lot of a small, stone hotel, rehabbed from the truncated
remnants of an 18th-century warehouse: the Auberge Saint
Antoine.
Although each volume is distinctive, all generally follow
a formula layout. Discussions of research strategy and
historical background are followed by a description of the
season's excavations. The latter, systematized in a fashion
that would be recognized and appreciated by Sir Mortimer
Wheeler, is complete with detailed stratigraphic analyses,
unit by unit. that are separated into major events according
to the Harris Matrix. There follows a data-rich analysis
that is the particular focus of the individual report or
thesis, accompanied by numerous illustrations and supporting
appendices. Usually each section is clearly summarized,
which proves to be of particular benefit to non-Francophone
readers.
Appropriation de I'espace et urbanisation
d'un site de la basse ville de Quebec:
Rapport de la premiere campagne de
fouilles aI'Tlot Hunt (1991).
MYRIAM LECLERC
CELAT, Universite Laval, Quebec City, 1998.
Cahiers d'ercneoloqie du CELAT, no. 1. xvii
+ 147 pp., 46 figs., 4 tables. $15.00 (CI\JD)
paper.
The first in the 110t Hunt, or "Hunt Block," series covers
the four-week exploratory excavations conducted by Laval
University's archaeological field school in the spring of
1991. Here Myriam Leclerc's thesis ambitiously purports
to cover "the appropriation of urban space, and the process
of urbanization" in Quebec. She distinguishes this approach
from that of Old World urban archaeologists who seem to
be dedicated to preserving and explaining the significance of
particular monuments of many periods within an urban set
ting. She takes as her perspective a more holistic approach,
focusing on urbanization as a process. She sets out to study
the city in its totality from its earliest beginnings in order to
follow the evolution of "the urban fabric," or what we might
refer to as "the development of the urban landscape."
Although presented within this broader context, the results
are more particularistic, and are most valuable here in
introducing the volumes that follow. Leclerc introduces
a rigorous documentary trace of this waterfront property.
The transformations are fully illustrated with schematic
plans showing the evolution of land grants and changes of
title, and are supplemented with contemporary maps and
illustrations.
Archaeologists familiar with the evolution of urban
waterfronts will find the evolutionary sequence familiar
(Alaric Faulkner, 1977, Port and Market: Archaeology
of the Central Water Front. Newburyport. Massachusetts.
National Park Service, Atlanta). Quebec's waterfront, like
so many others, developed upward and outward into its
harbor. In Quebec, moreover, its early significance was both
commercial and military. With new waterfront land grants
in the 1680s, merchant entrepreneurs built wooden and stone
wharves into the Saint Lawrence River. In the first half of
the 18th century, this made-land became the footings for
successive lines of defense. The first Dauphine battery
was erected in 1707 reacting to the British threat posed
by the War of Spanish Succession; the second Dauphine
battery in 1745 was built after the fall of Louisbourg. The
first residence, a three-story stone dwelling, appears on the
property in 1727. Although it was destroyed with most of
the rest of the lower city, during the siege of Quebec in
1759, it was apparently rebuilt a few years later.
120
After the English conquest, the defensive function of this
neighborhood was abandoned, and the waterfront expanded
into the Saint Lawrence, nearly doubling in area, and during
this period the Hunt Block began to take form. Success ive
occupants subdivided the land for residential and commercial
purposes. By 1815, another house was constructed on the
street comer, accompanied by stables and other dependencies.
A third habitation soon followed in 1824. Their occupants
were engaged in waterfront activities, and included the
cooper John Cillas and, eventually, beginning in the late
1820s, the families of brothers James and Thomas Hunt, the
latter a master sailmaker.
As will become apparent, the archaeology of the Hunt
Block informs significantly on 19th-century transformations
of Quebec. During the period of the Hunts' occupation,
comprising roughly the second quarter of the 19th century,
Quebec experienced unprecedented immigration, coupled
with dramatic overpopulation and major epidemics. By mid
century, the Hunt Block approached its maximum building
density. Over the second half of the century land use
became more diversified. By 1875, when the area had
passed its peak as a port facility, the familiar Sanborn Atlas
insurance plans show the Hunt Block with mix of ancillary
port businesses and commercial enterprises: warehouses,
ships chandlery, and wholesale grocers together with a
hardware store and a branch bank office.
The first year's limited excavations give a good representa
tion of what was to come. The two excavation units ran
alongside the sidewalks and in the adjacent parking lot of the
Auberge Saint Antoine, and uncovered some undocumented
details of the margins of the first Dauphine battery, as well
as presumed rubble from the second. Leclerc also identifies
a trash dump thought to have accumulated during the 18th
century as residents threw their domestic trash up against
the defensive works. Above this lay levels associated with
the occupation of the two 19th-century habitations on the
block, an accumulation that continued up until 1960, when
the houses were demolished.
The excavations are clearly described and illustrated in
plan and section. Halftone photographs of excavations and
artifacts are large and carefully selected to give a representa
tive coverage of these explorations. Unfortunately, the loss
of gray tones in reproduction often renders them "muddy"
so that their information content varies from acceptable
to barely comprehensible. A detailed, descriptive faunal
analysis for the two excavation units is appended and shows
proportionately comparable percentages of mammal bird and
fish remains in that order. Detailed, but largely "undigested,"
these data have little comparative value until seen in the
context of subsequent excavation.
Le site de t'llot Hunt: Rapport de la deuxieme
campagne de fouilles (1992).
PAUL-GASTON L'ANGLAIS
Cahiers d'archeoloqie du CELAT, no. 2. x +
189 pp., 23 figs., 6 tables, 1 app. $15.00
(CND) paper.
The second season of excavation at the Hunt Block in
1992 was conducted under the direct supervision of profes
sional archaeologist, Paul L' Anglais. This second season
was more ambitious than the first, designed to delimit the
early 17th-century quays, the defensive works built upon
them in the early 18th century, and the stone walls that
marked vestiges of the original land grants. The results of
this ground-truthing, L'Anglais asserts, "exceeded our most
optimistic hopes."
In this detailed report, L'Anglais gives an excellent
stratigraphic interpretation of the evolution of the Hunt
Block, refining and expanding on the early history outlined
in the first volume. In one of the three major units, for
example, L'Anglais was able to identify some 34 tightly
dated events, neatly keyed to the documentary history of the
site. Indeed this carefully reasoned and integrative approach
is a model of stratigraphic interpretation, especially given
the complexity of this urban setting.
Excavations examined the first expansion of the Lower
City into the Saint Lawrence, new land created by fill
taken from the banks of the river. Here in the 1680s were
constructed wooden and stone wharves on land granted
to Charles Aubert de la Chenaye, whose grand housing
complex, one may recall, is the subject of Number 3 in this
series. In the landfill, L'Anglais was able to distinguish
six distinct deposits, which included a major waterlogged
stratum rich in both artifacts and vegetal ecofacts. The
entire stratum was recovered, and macrobotanical remains
were separated by flotation for analysis, which is appended
to this volume. Also associated with the stone quay was a
cistern that apparently served the neighborhood for nearly
two centuries, ending up as the water source for a mid-19th
century bakery, before being filled sometime after 1863.
L' Anglais tracks the development of the first defensive
works along the quay, beginning in 1707. This is followed
by subtle evidence for a second fortification of the waterfront
shortly before the taking of Quebec by the English in 1759.
He also documents their leveling by merchants clamoring for
access to the waterfront and eager to build on the reclaimed
land. During the English regime, the site sees major wharf
expansion, and construction of houses, warehouses, and
related outbuildings, their footings lying in some cases
directly above the remains of the former defensive works.
By the mid-1820s, the Hunt Block has thus largely taken
shape.
L' Anglais then carries the stratigraphic evidence through
the complex urbanization of the region that occurred over
the remainder of the 19th century. At every tum, he gives
clear indications of the facilities that were exposed and
available for use during each event. These meticulous
analyses are essential for a thorough interpretation of the
waterfront, and provide the archaeological underpinnings for
the succeeding works.
Appended is the complete ethnobotanical report of the late
17th-century quay fill, reported Catherine Fortin, "Analyse
paleoethnobotanique du materiel contenu dans Ie caisson
de quai de l Tlot Hunt, Quebec." This analysis shows
characteristics typical not only of latrine sediments, but also
of domestic refuse disposal. As this was a comparatively
novel application of paleo-ethnobotany to historical archaeol
ogy, Fortin goes on to suggest more practical and cost
effective sampling strategies for macrobotanical remains
from similar contexts. L' Anglais uses the inclusion of both
noxious weeds and foodstuffs to characterize landfilling of
the quays in the main body of the text. This, he argues,
was a gradual process rather than an instant episode of
landfilling, leaving sediments exposed for long intervals.
121 REVIEWS
Also included is a quantitative analysis of the ceramics
and glass recovered from a trash deposit of 1828. This
study is useful not only for its data, but is also noteworthy
for the systematic, hierarchical approach to standardized
artifact classification championed by L'Anglais.
This second volume is illustrated with a series of sche
matic historical plans attempting to show the evolution of
the Hunt Block, expanding on those in the first number.
The presentation suffers because, although they have brief
captions, they lack labels and figure numbers, presumably
a production oversight. Consequently, the reader is left with
jigsaw puzzle of irregular shapes that give only a general
sense of the dynamics of the waterfront evolution. Sections
and excavation plans, also lacking figure numbers, are
nevertheless clear and reproduce well. The photographs of
the site and recovered artifacts are limited to four halftones,
a selection that reproduces more successfully than those in
the first volume.
Des vestiges d'une erriere-cour a I'histoire
de I'hygiene publique a Quebec au XIXe
siecle: la troisieme campagne de foui/lles
arcMologiques aitlot Hunt.
MANON GOYETTE
Gahiers d'arcMologie du GELAT, no. 6. xi +
216 pp., 49 figs., 6 tables, 4 apps. $15.00
(CND) paper.
The third publication on the Hunt Block, Number 6 in
the CELAT series, approaches the process of urbanization as
it was manifested in archaeology of a 19th-century backyard
shared by the Hunt Block residences, businesses, and stables.
Manon Goyette's thesis focuses on human adaptation to
changing conditions of public health occasioned by the rapid
growth of the lower city in the 19th century. The data
are typical of an urban backyard posed between a city and
its harborside: refuse deposits and drainage and sewage
systems. The work charts the evolutionary history of a
system of gutters, drains, septic systems, and related facilities
designed to carry off the ever-increasing overflow of urban
sewage. It also incorporates study of contemporary trash
deposits, some of which were encountered in earlier field
seasons.
As a representation of the ecological adaptation of the
urban environment of Quebec, the study is necessarily
incomplete. The Hunt Block's backyards and stables,
however, do present an appropriate platform for discussing
how history and archaeology can mutually inform on the
subject of public health. Goyette attempts to consider this
not as an isolated site, but rather in the context of a broader
adaptive system, in the hope of contributing to a general
theory of urbanization. The approach is clearly processual,
drawing on concepts of general systems theory and cultural
ecology, with frequent references to major works in these
fields.
The thesis covers a critical period when Quebec was
experiencing unprecedented growth and was beset with
numerous plagues, including the well-known cholera epidem
ics that accompanied waves of immigration during the 1830s.
Because of Quebec's role as one of the two primary ports
of entry for Irish newcomers in the 19th century, Goyette's
case study should be required reading for northeastern urban
archaeology students. She begins with an overview of
the social and political disruptions of 19th-century Quebec
that bear both on the back yard of the Hunt Block and on
seaports of the northeast in general. To paraphrase Goyette,
these considerations go beyond immigration, expansion, and
industrialization of the waterfront to include concomitant
problems: overpopulation, congestion, unsanitary practices,
and poverty. Especially devastating for residents of Quebec
were the epidemics of typhus, cholera, scarlet fever, smallpox,
and diphtheria. How public officials addressed or failed to
address these scourges, particularly the ravages of cholera
between 1832 and 1852, may be reflected to some degree
in the evolutionary design of sanitary facilities that are
manifest in the Hunt Block. It is then from a functionalist
perspective that Goyette analyses the backyard cesspit
and drainage system, as human adaptive responses to the
necessities of urban life.
With the same rigor displayed by L'Anglais for the
previous field season, Goyette describes in reasoned detail
some 39 major events distinguished in the expanded excava
tions. These resolve into five major stages of functional
organization of the back yard, including three arrangements
of sewage systems, each shedding light on changing attitudes
towards public health and refuse disposal practices. These
begin with the garbage dumps built against the ruins of
the former battery in the 18th and early 19th centuries,
and continue to include the first wooden drains that served
individual buildings surrounding the courtyard. Following, in
the middle of the 19th century, is a communal, wood-lined
cesspit that served the 1815 and 1824 houses on rue Sainte
Antoine. Also considered is the role of backyard stables in
the use of the septic system, and its eventual obsolescence
as municipal sewage facilities were constructed towards the
end of the century. Finally, during the 1900s, the yard took
on its present function as a parking lot.
The history of construction, maintenance, and reconstruc
tion of these features by itself would seem to be of little
value were it not for Goyette's ability to place them in
historical context. Quebec, during this period, was one
of the most accessible and important ports of entry into
the interior of eastern North America, and experienced
extraordinary waves of immigration from England, Scotland
and Ireland. The immigration tax was lower than in New
York, thus, Quebec became a haven for the "less fortunate."
The Lower City tripled in population density between
1818 an 1851, and the older quarters bore the brunt of
overpopulation, lack of sanitation, and consequently disease.
The port city's waterfront deteriorated and became host to
an itinerant population of soldiers, sailors, and immigrants.
Permanent residents of the waterfront were no longer a
wealthy merchant class, but rather were citizens of modest
means engaged in port commerce, ship construction, and
various support services. Gradually, throughout the second
half of the 19th century, the residential component of the
quarter gave way to commercial uses as Quebec's economy
shifted to manufacturing of textiles and leather products.
Goyette's historical overview covers many issues of
general interest that have manifestations in the refuse and
sewage disposal in the yard. She marks the contribution of
domestic animals to the congestion and unhealthy conditions
of the lower city, and the changing city regulations on their
122
maintenance, especially pigs, within the city limits. Several
cited quotations comment on the sanitation conditions in the
city, their relationships to the spread of epidemics throughout
the lower city, and the regulations of the city authorities
in attempts to rectify the situation. These observations are
well chosen to distinguish responses prior to Pasteur, when
cholera was thought to propagate from "miasmas" emanating
from latrines, from reactions dating after ca. 1880, when
the modem contagion theory of disease became generally
accepted. Following one contemporary authority, Goyette
suggests that the unorganized system of loose fitting, leaky,
wooden drains and gutters may actually have been more
of a threat than a benefit to public health. The primitive
facilities contaminated the soil while they polluted wells
and cisterns, and thereby served as conduits for disease,
particularly during the spring runoff when they regularly
overflowed.
Within the limits of the production technique, the volume
is clearly illustrated with maps, line drawings, and numerous
photographs of artifacts. Excavation photographs, however,
suffer substantially, as pertinent details are lost in the
dark shadows. As in volume Number 2 in the series, an
analysis of macrobotanical remains is appended, authored
by Catherine Fortin.
Etude socio-economique des habitants de
mot Hunt d'epres la collection
ercneotoqique, 1850-1900: cinquieme
campagne de fouilles archeologiques.
PIERRE BOUCHARD
Gahiers d'archeologie du GELAT, no. 7. xii +
130 pp., 34 figs., 14 tables. $15.00 (CND)
paper.
The fourth season of archaeology of the Hunt Block, in
1994, apparently involved the exploration of architectural
features, including a well and the foundations and interiors
of houses along rue Saint-Antoine. At present, this work
has not yet been reported separately in this series. The fifth
and final season, in 1995, however, saw a massive expansion
in the scale of excavation, focusing in earnest on the large,
wood-lined cesspit turned trash pit in the court area that
was described by Goyette. This final year of excavation
provided material for the next two studies in the series,
which are slimmer, yet perhaps more concise volumes; both
give good overviews of the project as a whole.
Number 7 in the series, a thesis by Pierre Bouchard,
attempts to present the denizens of the Hunt Block in
socioeconomic perspective. Bouchard's discussion begins
with an economic and demographic review of Quebec during
the second half the 19th century, a period that saw rapid
and significant changes reflected in microcosm in the study
area. After noting the decline in shipbuilding and lumbering
and the growth of commerce and the leather industry, he
enters into a brief comparison of Quebec with Montreal.
While the latter grew by more than 360% over this 50-year
period, Quebec grew by only by about 50%, indicating that
that, relatively speaking, many people were fleeing Quebec.
This he attributes partly to various political decisions,
including the loss of its garrison and its position as the
seat of government. Important, too, were major fires of
the 1850s and 1860s that devastated workers' quarters.
The Anglophone community dropped substantially during
this period, as well, as those who had survived the earlier
plagues and had even prospered, now left for more-promising
opportunities. The city's social stratification became more
clearly divided into Upper and Lower City. Merchants,
government officials, and professionals occupied the Upper
City, while the Lower City housed the working class and
small businessmen. The traditional old port area fell into
disuse. New growth focused on industry, and developed in
the sectors of the city located along the Saint Charles River
to the northwest. During the last half of the 19th century,
however, the Hunt block saw rebirth as a multifunction
business district, attracting occupants who were financially
better off than either the former occupants or the new factory
workers to the northwest.
Bouchard's particular discussion of the demographics
of the study area is necessarily constrained in statistical
significance by the small size of the Hunt Block, but he
does identify some general trends. Overall depopulation
in the Block is characterized by a general decrease in the
number of stores and artisans' workshops. More striking in
the occupations is a drop not only in the number of shop
owners and others involved in commerce, but also in the
rapid disappearance and later reappearance of unspecialized,
non-professional occupations represented in census data. It
is from this somewhat confusing documentary perspective
that Bouchard looks to the archaeological record.
Following the format of the previous numbers, Bouchard
identifies in careful stratigraphic detail some 18 separate
events associated with the enlarged excavations, a chronology
that serves as a good summary of the project as a whole.
Particularly relevant here, however, is the identification of
five separate episodes of deposition associated with the
use, abandonment, and subsequent filling of the cesspit in
question during the second half of the 19th century.
The following brief chapter, key to the subject matter
of the volume, is largely a ceramics analysis. It relies
heavily on Miller's index of economic scaling (George L.
Miller, 1980, Historical Archaeology. 14[ I]: 1-41; 1991,
Historical Archaeology, 25[ I]: 1-25) to rank the relative
value of ceramics recovered in the several episodes of
deposition. Acknowledging Miller's own reservations about
the application of this technique for the late 19th century,
Bouchard nevertheless applies it to the Hunt Block trash
deposits. An initial reading of the data using the index
alone showed a rise in economic prosperity from 1850 to
1875, followed by a subsequent decline lasting to the end
of the century. A second reading, after the ceramics were
divided into three groups according to expense, shows ever
increasing access to the most expensive ceramics over the
period. To test this pattern further, Bouchard compares the
Hunt Block data with the results of earlier excavations at
Grand Place in the industrial Saint Roch quarter of Quebec
City. He finds that at mid-century the two areas were
comparable in socioeconomic level, but by the end of the
century, the Hunt block inhabitants appear to have been
substantially better off than their ceramic ally impoverished
counterparts at Grand Place.
123 REVIEWS
There follows a more integrated discussion of the five
levels of deposition that attempts to account for the people
who may have generated them. The lowest, fragmentary
residue, left after the final purging of the system shortly after
1850, is attributed largely to the non-specialized workers
who inhabited the boarding houses served by the system.
The first stages of fill. after abandonment of the system in
1860, show apparently less costly ceramics in use. Bouchard
passes this off as being due to the extreme volatility in
prices during this period, however, rather than an actual drop
In socioeconomic status. Yet he characterizes the following
deposit, laden with butchered animal remains deposited
before 1870, as representing a population that was better
off-the customers of a hotel then in operation.
Bouchard uses Fortin's earlier analysis of macrobotanical
remains (Vol. 6) to interpret deposits of the 1870s, which
are contemporary with the construction a new sewage system
for this portion of Quebec. The earlier deposits showed
evidence of edible plant remains consistent with the waste
from latrines. The later sediments, however, lack these
characteristics, indicating that this function of the cesspit
had been totally abandoned. Human waste was now appar
ently relegated to a recently installed municipal system of
stoneware pipe drains and brick sewers that now served the
houses and presumably allowed for flush toilets. The cesspit,
now an open trash dump, was filled rapidly and the ground
leveled, an event contemporaneous with the installation of
pillars for a new warehouse that partially overlapped the old
cesspit. A final addition of trash shortly thereafter appears
to have been added to compensate for subsidence of the
earlier fill, thus leveling the yard.
This reorganization of the back yard, according to
Bouchard, is representative of the significant change in
function of many buildings of the Lower City in the closing
decades of the century. The area was becoming increasingly
commercial, taking on the function of redistribution of
merchandise. As the 1875 Sanborn Atlas demonstrates, the
region was increasingly used for multiple purposes. The
construction of Dalhousie Street along the former waterfront
now effectively separated the Hunt Block from its former
wharf. Bouchard presents this rearrangement and the instal
lation of the new sewage system as adaptive responses to
economic obsolescence. It was, he maintains, an effective
effort at modernization, attempting to attract occupants to
the area who were financially better off.
One values this rendition of the socioeconomic history
of the Hunt Block, one must consider as a strong point the
summary of the project's excavation history put forth in
this volume. Particularly useful are the 34 relatively high
quality illustrations that include detailed and carefully labeled
maps, finished plans, and sections. Equally valuable are
photographs of the excavations and artifacts, which in this
case preserve the tonal range of the images reasonably well.
From fancy drawer pulls and escutcheons, to toothbrushes
and a piggy bank, illustrations of artifacts attempt to give
some additional sense of the economic well-being of the
later Hunt Block residents.
Les habitudes alimentaires des habitants de
t'ilot Hunt (CeEt-110) de 1850 a 1900: etude
archeozoologique.
GUYLAINE BOUCHER
Gahiers d'archeologie au GELAT, no. 8. xii +
186 pp., 45 figs., 22 tables. $15.00 (CND)
paper.
The last number to this point in the Hunt Block series
is a faunal analysis investigating the food ways of the
Hunt Block occupants between 1850 and 1900 written
appropriately enough, by Guylaine Boucher (whose las;
name translates as "butcher"). Like the previous work,
it serves as a fine summary volume of the project as a
whole, as it benefits from the all the earl ier reports. Her
introduction and first chapter give perhaps the most succinct
and readable synopsis of the project, especially of its 19th
century aspects.
The data fueling Boucher's work derive from the same
cesspit and drainage system first described by Goyette (No.
6) and later analyzed for the socioeconomic implications of
its artifact assemblage by Bouchard (No.7). The second
chapter gives a concise, but detailed description of this dual
chambered, plank-lined feature, along with a well-reasoned
interpretation of its evolutionary history. Initially the feature
was interpreted as a septic tank for the wastewater derived
from the three surrounding habitations. Boucher notes,
however, that it is equally possible that the structure began
its history, at least in part, as a pit for compo sting manure
from an adjacent outbuilding constructed in 1845. This
building, which housed domestic animals, apparently was
linked to the cesspit by wooden drains to evacuate liquid
waste. Evidently, the pit had been fitted with an access
cover so that solid waste could be added and then periodi
cally cleaned out, as require by law.
Following Goyette and Bouchard, however, Boucher agrees
that ca. 1860 the pit took on an entirely new function as
a trash dump, within which nearly whole artifacts were
deposited in several stages, even filling the inlet drain. The
abandonment of the cesspit function was surely complete
ca. 1875, when a replacement outbuilding was erected on
pillars that intruded into a portion of the feature, and a new
municipal sewage system was installed.
Boucher identifies the users of this backyard as occupants
of three houses and a shop that shared this common backyard
during the second half of the 19th century. These structures
were of combined commercial and residential use, and at
least one of them housed a hotel and various saloons and
restaurants. Boucher notes that it would not be surprising
to find that among these were steakhouses or "steak bars"
which were in favor among the business classes at this time.
Within this functional context, Boucher notes the ethnic
shift in the population from almost exclusively English
and Irish in 1851 to nearly equal proportions of Irish and
French in 1891,
124
Boucher's third chapter discusses the evolution of the
market places and butcher shops of Quebec in order to
explain the availability of local animal foodstuffs for purchase
by the denizens of the Hunt Block. She then describes
the specific taxa of mammals, birds, and fish that were
offered-a discussion that, considering the ethnic diversity of
Quebec, may have comparative value for other urban studies.
These she contrasts with domesticates kept as pets or as
utilitarian beasts by the Hunt Block residents, principally
horse, cat, and dog. Interestingly, like Goyette, Boucher
notes the use of dogs as traction animals. Apparently dogs
were regularly harnessed to small carts to carrying barrels,
firewood, milk, and other provisions.
Up to the present analysis, it had apparently been well
established from zooarchaeological studies that domestic
mammals provided the bulk of the faunal diet in Quebec
during all historic periods, supplemented by both wild and
domesticated birds, followed by fish. During the 19th
century, however, a greater variety in the choice of meats
became available. Although supplemented by hunting and
fishing, the primary source of meats was clearly the butcher
shops where one could purchase not only cuts from the
carcass, but also the head, tail, and hooves. By the middle
of the century grocers also sold a variety of meats, although
in smaller quantities, and while the products of the butcher
shops were local, the groceries offered largely imported
meats from the United States. Also, Boucher observes, some
citizens may have raised and slaughtered their own animals,
although on a much more limited scale. Finally, following
Deetz (1977, In Small Things Forgotten, Doubleday, New
York), Boucher notes that since the previous century the use
of the saw in butchering allowed carcasses to be cut into
individual matching portions; that cuts of meat perceived
as "better" were sold at higher prices; and that brains and
tongue were also regularly consumed.
The meat of Boucher's study begins in the fourth chapter,
which comprises a detailed faunal study of nearly 11,000
bone fragments from more than 15 em' of fill within the
trash dump. Of this assemblage, an unbiased, representative
sample of 50% was selected for descriptive and quantitative
analysis. There follows an obligatory discussion of methods
that attempts to account for the various transformation
processes, both natural and cultural, that affected the sample,
including issues of pertaining to recovery techniques and
preservation. Boucher outlines her methods of identification
into taxa and for classifying and cataloging data. Similarly,
she discusses the particulars of determining age and sex in
this sample. Her methods also include commentary on the
various surface markings on the specimens, ranging from the
tooth marks of scavenging rodents and dogs, to butchering
cuts and fractures resulting from the cooking process and
exposure to the elements. Finally she engages in a familiar
discussion concerning the relative merits of quantification by
"number of identified specimens" versus the more elusive
"minimum number of individuals." Although clearly biased
towards the information provided by the former, Boucher
dutifully performs both calculations for each of the five
levels of the trash deposit. She further gives percentage
data for the changing number of identified specimens in
each taxon over each depositional episode.
An overview of the results indicates relative homogeneity
in the taxa of mammals represented over time, while there
is more variation in the bird and fish taxa. This is easy to
understand, considering that the mammals are concentrated
in just five taxa, whereas the far less numerous fish and
birds are distributed among 17 and 16 taxa respectively.
Mammals comprise primarily equal percentages of beef and
mutton, followed by about half as much pork, and only
traces of hare and domestic rabbit. Among birds, domestic
chickens and passenger pigeons were the clear favorites,
followed by both domestic and wild geese and brants, as
well as various pheasants or partridges that could not be
identified to the species level. Cod, Atlantic salmon, and
American eel were the most common fish, followed by
various indeterminate species of bass. Boucher goes on to
make comparisons between wild and domesticated species,
present in proportions of 21% and 71.4%, respectively, with
the remainder presumably indeterminate. Among these, she
identifies several taxa that probably were not food remains
such as black rat and domestic cat, and animals trapped for
fur such as fox and muskrat.
There folIows a section on 19th-century butchering
practices, including thorough, if not original, illustrations of
the various cuts of beef, mutton, and pork, together with a
ranking of their contemporary "quality" or value. Butchering
marks are illustrated schematically in an appendix. In beef,
Boucher sees a general improvement in the quality of meats
towards the end of the deposition sequence, as choice cuts
come to outnumber less costly ones. With the exception
of the earliest deposit, choice cuts of mutton predominate
throughout the period, gradually increasing to make up more
than 87% of the mutton represented. Cuts of pork are not
so numerous, but seem to follow the same general trend.
Boucher concludes that during the second half of the 19th
century, the Hunt Block inhabitants (or customers) seem to
have enjoyed an increasingly higher socioeconomic status
represented by their ability to purchase higher quality meats.
She cautions, however, that personal and ethnic preferences
often can compromise this simplistic interpretation. Further,
a more expensive cut of meat is often a better buy even for
the disadvantaged, considering the amount of usable meat
that it may provide. Finally, the presence of a steakhouse
in the 1815 structure on the premises would certainly have
contributed to the high quality of cuts found in the trench.
Boucher compares the Hunt Block food remains to those
from three neighboring and contemporary deposits in the
city, two of which were from sites immediately to the north
of the Hunt Block where the Museum of Civilization now
stands. These assemblages do differ somewhat in their
origin, as in some instances butchering had been conducted
in place, so that butchering waste is included among the
processed food remains. The major distinction between the
Hunt Block sample and the well-established pattern from
the other three sites, however, is the order of predominance
of the principal mammals. In the other assemblages the
order is clearly beef, mutton, and pork, whereas in the
Hunt Block sample mutton is slightly more common that
beef, and pork comes in a distant third. Boucher would
have us ascribe this difference to the ethnic and personal
food preferences of the Irish, who consistently made up
a major proportion of the Hunt Block population during
this half century.
In a summary, Boucher attempts to integrate the socio
economic information derived from documents and the
artifact interpretation with the faunal data. She observes
that the number of bones from young animals increases
125
REVIEWS
over the course of the second half of the 19th century,
just at the time less well-off occupants were replaced by a
better-salaried class. The dominance of younger animals,
of course, implies that they were raised specifically for
slaughter and were not simply dispatched at the end of
service for milk or wool production or similar uses. Over
the same period, higher quality cuts of meat increase
steadily. The major distinctive element of this deposit
over its contemporaries is the predominance of mutton over
beef. which among other possible dispositions is the major
ingredient in Irish stew.
As a window on food consumption habits at the Hunt
Block during the second half of the 19th century, the work
seems to be largely successful; however, its laudable goal
of attempting to integrate the record of faunal remains with
the locally available market supplies is less fully developed.
Plans, elevations. and other images of markets abound in the
illustrations, but their relevance is not fully explained in the
text. Nevertheless, this volume is a good capstone report
for the Hunt Block project, and carries with it well-crafted
location maps, plans of the finished excavation, and carefully
selected historical paintings and photographs, most of which
reproduce acceptably. Urban archaeologists especially should
explore this publication and its companions for comparative
information.
ALARIC FAULKNER
DEPARTMENT OF ANTHROPOLOGY
UNIVERSITY OF MAINE
ORONO, ME 04469-5773
Old and New Worlds.
GEOFF EGAN and R. L. MICHAEL, editors
Oxbow Books, Oxford, England, and the
David Brown Book Co., Oakville, CT, 1999.
x + 396 pp., 95 figs. $60.00 (40.00).
Old and New Worlds consists of the proceedings of joint
meetings held by The Society for Post Medieval Archaeology
and The Society for Historical Archaeology to mark their
30th anniversaries in 1997. The first meeting was held at
the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation in April of that year
followed by a meeting in London in November. British
and American archaeologists presented papers at each venue,
42 of which are grouped in this volume under the parts
"Approaches to the Evidence," "Communities of the Old
and New Worlds," "Bridges and Divisions-Crossing the
Seas and Military Operations," "Manufactured Goods," and
"Humans, Plants and Landscapes." Norman Barka and Geoff
Egan organized the conferences and the published papers
were edited jointly by Geoff Egan and R. L. Michael.
In the volume's first part, contributors Paul Courtney and
Robert Schuyler answer all of your nagging questions about
the history of both organizations save one: why did it take
30 years to hold a joint conference? (except for the joint
meeting in Bristol on 20-23 September 1979). Are British
and American archaeologists indeed a single people divided
by a common discipline, as well as a common language?
Do the differences between our fields, the anthropological
basis of historical archaeology and the more historical focus
of post-medieval archaeology, interfere with communication?
If so, what has changed?
Matthew Johnson and Deidre O'Sullivan answer these
questions in their papers by describing the increasing
diversity of post-medieval archaeology and its growing profile
in British academia during the 1990s. Johnson sketches out
"a truly scientific and anthropological (approach)," argues for
greater "attention to particularities and to close contextual
detail" and for a post-medieval archaeology that is more
wide ranging in its arguments (p. 17). There is a professed
new interest in American archaeological theory reflected in
several of the British papers that follow. Interestingly, several
of the American contributors selected to participate in the
conferences are now active doing post-medieval archaeology
in Britain. Historical and post-medieval archaeologists
are both thinking and digging globally and finding that
they have much in common. At the same time there is a
growing awareness of the importance of the local context
and renewed commitment to extracting the most and best
information out of the archaeological record.
Marley Brown Ill's contribution, "The Practice of Ameri
can Historical Archaeology," is the first of seven excellent
papers on the archaeology of the Chesapeake, one of the
strengths of the volume. Brown summarizes research under
taken by the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation investigating
the quest for permanency in architecture and growth of
regional economy and market dependency as evidenced by
faunal remains. His larger point is to demonstrate the benefit
of "long-term research aimed at solving complex historical
problems" for which archaeological data are relevant (p. 29).
The reader is then treated to a group of excellent studies in
architecture and urbanization in London ("Rowand Terrace,"
by Robin Leech, and "London-Axis of the Commonwealth","
by Geoff Egan) and in the Chesapeake in chapters by Julia
A. King and Edward Cheney and by Henry Miller. One of
the surprises of this volume is the near-absence of American
urban archaeology, being represented here by chapters
on Lowell, Massachusetts, by Stephen Mrozowski and on
Sacramento, California, by Adrian Praetzellis. The latter
study, "The Archaeology of Ethnicity: An Example from
Sacramento, California's Early Chinese District," however,
exemplifies the best of what American urban historical and
anthropological archaeology can offer. Praetzellis defines the
local context of guanxi, or system of interpersonal, reciprocal
relationships, and other factors to explain the material culture
of mid-19th-century overseas Chinese sites, reminding us
again that "artifacts do not have fixed meanings that can
be deduced without reference to the contexts in which they
were used" (p, 134).
North American historical archaeology differs fundamen
tally from post-medieval archaeology by virtue of the types
of communities available to excavate and to reconstruct.
Historical archaeology and ethnohistory can inform us
about the transformation of Native-American life in face of
European contact in ways that historical sources alone cannot
do. Kathleen Bragdon successfully integrates these sources
into her review of the evidence for emerging chiefdoms in
southern New England at the time of contact with Europeans.
African-American archaeology practiced in different regions
of the United States has enriched our understanding of the
complexities of American slavery and freedom. Ywone D.
Edwards-Ingram reviews recent developments in this area of
historical archaeology with a focus on Virginia and on the
Colonial Williamsburg Foundation's innovative programs in
archaeology and public education.
126
Norman Emery paints a vivid picture of material life on
the remote Hebridean archipelago of St. Kilda based on
Durham University excavations in the late 1980s. His fine
study also documents the frustration of a discipline that can
readily deploy methods to wrest and analyze environmental
data from the field and yet be stymied in face of deficient
research on the most common types of pottery, glass, and
leather artifacts, "which is really needed to understand
the lives of people in the recent past no matter how poor
they were" (p. 169). Our ignorance about key material
underpinnings of the early post-medieval world work also
extends to the areas of ship and boat construction. In
his article "Echoes of Adzes, Axes and Pitsaws," Damian
Goodburn reveals how basic information on post-medieval
ship construction may be extracted from multiple London
waterfront salvage projects of the past two decades. This,
and Robyn P. Woodward's survey of underwater archaeology
in the Americas that follows, marks the volume's seamless
transition into the part on "Bridges and Divisions-v-Crossing
the Seas and Military Operations" with additional contribu
tions in this latter area by Geoffrey Parnell and David
Starbuck.
The fourth part of Old and New Worlds contains some
notable American contributions including "A Perspective on
Artefacts and Historical Archaeology in the Americas" by
Barbara Little, Stanley South's study of the evidence for
John Bartlam's 18th-century creamware pottery produced
in Charleston, South Carolina, a study of ceramics on the
British frontier by Teresita Majewski and Vergil E. Noble,
and a review of American fur trade archaeology by Charles
Cleland. The plum of the entire volume, however, consists
of a series of eight chapters by a stellar group of scholars
reviewing different aspects of post-medieval British ceramic
production. The combined chapters by David Gaimster,
David Barker, Beverly Nenk with Michael Hughes, Jacqueline
Pearce, Roy Stephenson, Richard Coleman Smith, and John
Allan is a tour de force exposition of the current state of
affairs of British post-medieval ceramic studies. This is
followed by a review of clay tobacco pipe studies, past
and present, by David Higgins of the Society for Clay Pipe
Research. A chapter by Charles Cleland on the history
of the British North American fur trade rounds out this
section.
Cleland concludes that historical archaeology "is in an
excellent position to make a real contribution to the study of
the process which developed in the intercultural negotiations
which in turn produced and sustained the fur trade .
."(pp. 328-329), which implies, of course, that this has
not yet happened. This is almost a reversal of the role of
archaeology in the post-medieval papers. Gaimster, Barker,
and others have used cumulative archaeological data to
document trends we would otherwise be ignorant of, trends
that can be further explained by reference to economic and
anthropological theory.
The final section, "Humans, Animals, Plants, and Land
scapes," contains chapters in the areas of human osteology
by Simon Mays, archaeobotany, by John Giorgi, colonial
English foodways, by Charles Cheek, Chesapeake ecology
and animal husbandry by Joanne Bowen, and garden and
landscape archaeology by Brian Dix, Lisa Kealhofer, and
Richard Newman, respectively. The quantity of papers in
this volume prevents all from being individually reviewed,
but most are of the highest quality.
In conclusion, Old and New Worlds threatens at first
glance to be simply the sum of its parts (all 42 of them).
Its presentation may reinforce this perception, lacking intro
ductory or concluding chapters to the papers as published.
The grouping of papers into the categories discussed above
is relatively weak and lacks reinforcement in the body of
the book. Fortunately, the papers are all well written and
illustrated, supported by excellent editing and containing
relatively few typographic errors. The volume appears to
capture the delightful juxtaposition of Old and New World
papers as presented at the 1997 conferences and can be
recommended as a sampler of sorts. Its strengths in British
ceramic reviews and Chesapeake field studies will appeal to
archaeologists with those topical and geographical interests,
as well.
STEVEN R. PENDERY
ARCHEOLOGY BRANCH
NATIONAL PARK SERVICE
400 FOOT OF JOHN STREET
LOWELL, MA 01852-1128
A Historical Archaeology of the Ottoman
Empire: Breaking New Ground.
UZI BARAM and LYNDA CARROLL, editors
Klewer Academic/Plenum Publishers, New
York, 2000. xiv + 272 pp., 52 figs. $67.50.
As the editors note in the introduction, and as many of
the contributors echo in their articles, scholars often either
ignore the Ottoman period or treat it as a stagnant epoch
of few accomplishments. It is in large part to dispel this
conventional notion that Baram and Carroll convened the
conference at Binghamton University on which this volume
is based. In publishing the proceedings, they have gone
some ways towards rehabilitating that image. The editors
and various authors deserve kudos for this effort. While
it must be admitted that the contributions are uneven in
quality, with some of a high caliber but others whose content
indicates little revision from the oral presentations, the
volume does make a convincing case for the need to study
the Ottoman period systematically.
In the introduction, Baram and Carroll carefully layout
the theoretical foundation for the book. To place the era
in context, they observe correctly that study of the Ottoman
Empire in many of the regions that it formerly ruled is
complicated by nationalist agendas that view the period of
Turkish occupation as one of "alien domination" (p. 7). As
a result, little or no attention is paid to the archaeology of
that period. Second, the editors make a compelling case
for the benefits that would accrue from the archaeological
examination of the Ottoman period. Of utmost importance
to the discipline, such study would support the move to
a truly global historical archaeology. The editors also
argue that the archaeology of Islam, Middle Eastern studies,
ethnoarchaeology, and critical historical analysis are among
the fields or methods that could have a potent reciprocal
relationship with Ottoman archaeology. The other articles
in the volume touch on one or more of these themes, with
special emphasis given by most to the role of archaeology
in dispelling the Orientalist (read Western, ethnocentric)
perspective and its often negative representation of Middle
Eastern people past and present. While there is certainly
some substance to this criticism, several of the authors
overstate the case. The final point that the editors make is
the need to investigate the Ottoman period as the archaeol
ogy of empire; this is certainly appropriate in light of the
extent and diversity in the empire. The brief discussion
of world-systems analysis as one way to conduct such an
examination highlights several concepts (e.g., incorporation)
of which other contributors make good use.
The next eight chapters are substantive contributions that
discuss particular regions, sites, or monuments. In the
first of these, Brumfield reports the findings of a modern
site survey in eastern Crete. This excellent ethnographic
and ethnoarchaeological investigation, carried out in conjunc
tion with an archaeological survey, revealed that in this
rugged region smallholders worked dispersed plots with little
interference from Venetian and Turkish overlords, unlike
central and western Crete where large estates tciftliks; were
the norm. Brumfield recorded the presence of villages,
isolated farmsteads, and agricultural installations (water
mills, oil and wine presses). The presence of such diverse
land-holding arrangements on one island underscores the
need to explore the range of variation and avoid monolithic
explanations for the Ottoman, or any other, period.
Geographically, of the remaining studies two deal with
Palestine (Ziadeh-Seely, Baram), three with AnatolialTurkey
(Kuniholm [also includes a few sites in the Balkans], Car
roll, Snyder), one with a shipwreck off the coast of Egypt
(Ward), and one with Transjordan (LaBianca). Each of the
articles employs methodological and theoretical approaches
by which the authors demonstrate how Ottoman archaeology
is fully compatible with, and in fact can expand on, what
mainstream historical archaeology does. The article by
Kuniholm provides dendrochronological dates for 50 sites
in the Balkans and Turkey. Baram uses the concept of
entanglement (a variation on the world-systems notion of
incorporation) to explore how such modern habits as the use
of tobacco and coffee reflect the ways that people engaged
the global system actively, transforming some of these
elements to fit their own cultural needs. By examining the
ceramic industry at the key centers of Iznik, Canakkale and
Kutahya, Carroll shows that the production of non-elite wares
increased as imports became popular among the affluent;
she notes, however, that the distribution and consumption
of such non-elite goods is not well understood. In addition
to the exotic cargo of Chinese porcelain, earthenware water
jars, pepper, coconuts, spices, incense, coffee, and other
items, the Sadana Island shipwreck (18th century) provides
information on a large merchant vessel in the Red Sea
trade; Ward's clear description of the remains and their
significance for understanding Ottoman trade at a crucial
period of transition for the empire is a highlight of this
collection. LaBianca suggests the use of a food systems
approach (which includes everything from acquisition to
metabolizing and disposing of food) to understand how
people in rural Jordan used the landscape, especially in
response to imperial policy. She suggests that local people
developed "hardiness structures" (p. 209; among the seven
forms are residential flexibility and hospitality) over several
millennia and used them to resist imperial intervention, e.g.,
by not living in permanent settlements throughout much
of the Ottoman period to avoid taxation. Snyder uses an
art history approach to examine the changes in mosque
architecture from the 14th to the 16th centuries. At the
formal level, she discusses three periods of mosque design
(multi-cell, double dome, and single dome empire-style) in
terms of how the buildings handled the use of light, and
what that may say about contemporary Ottoman society.
The architectural detail Snyder gives would aid archaeologists
in dating various structures on a stylistic basis.
The book concludes with two commentaries. Silberman
argues strongly for an activist historical archaeology that will
help people "grasp fully the global dimensions and material
transformations of 'modernity" (p. 249). In doing so, he
suggests that the discipline will confront and perhaps realign,
if not completely break through, the accepted boundaries of
archaeology. For Silberman, the study of Ottoman archaeol
ogy has as much a political dimension as an academic one.
Many of the contributors make the same point.
Kohl discusses more directly the value of ideas raised
in the individual studies. He also states that Ottoman
archaeology ought, when possible, to evaluate objectively
the impact (clearly variable in nature) of imperial policy
in various areas. Kohl refers to the "ethnic ambiguity" (p.
259), i.e., the inability of scholars to assign a monument
to a particular cultural group, of many remains in former
Ottoman territories as no more than one should expect
in a vast empire whose people experienced assimilation
and borrowing. Archaeologists should observe and honor
that indistinct nature as a reflection of a complex cultural
reality.
While I agree with the commentators that this volume
breaks new ground, it does not give us a uniformly tilled
field. Several of the papers propose potentially interesting
investigations, but do not offer the data to support the
theoretical or methodological premises; they leap from
abstract formulation to conclusions without much in the
way of empirical support. There is a strident anti-Western
tone in some of the contributions that wears thin from
repetition. While generally well referenced, there are several
instances in which important parallel studies are not cited.
Perhaps the single most irritating aspect of the volume is
the unusually high number of typographical and grammatical
errors. Despite these drawbacks, there is much of worth
in this collection. The majority of the substantive articles
offer intriguing interpretations of a period long neglected by
mainstream archaeology. With one or two exceptions, all
the contributors bear out the editors' contention that Ottoman
archaeology contributes significantly to the development of a
truly global historical archaeology. I hope that we will see
more such work in the future.
P, NICK KARDULIAS
DEPARTMENT OF SOCIOLOGY AND ANTHROPOLOGY
PROGRAM IN ARCHAEOLOGY
KAUKE HALL
COLLEGE OF WOOSTER
WOOSTER,OH 44691-2363
128
Dolly's Creek: An Archaeology of a Victorian
Goldfields Community.
SUSAN LAWRENCE
Melbourne University Press, Victoria,
Australia, 2000. xv + 217 pp., 47 figs., 5
tables, 2 apps. $32.95 (ALID) paper.
Susan Lawrence instantly captured my attention in her
introduction to Dolly's Creek by retelling the story of
a tragic event that took place in 1859 on the goldfields
of Victoria, Australia. This story, based on Lawrence's
compilation of historical records, conveys the setting of a
historic mining district and sets the tone for the rest of the
book. The general goal of this book seeks to understand
what it was like to live on the 19th-century Victorian
goldfields, specifically the settlement of Dolly's Creek on
the Moorabool diggings, located about 60 km (37 mi.) west
of Melbourne.
Lawrence collectively examines the landscape and the
residents of the Moorabool diggings and social relationships
at community and worldwide levels. She emphasizes the
community of subsistence miners, defining subsistence miners
as "the men, women and children who lived and worked on
'poor man's diggings' ... " (p. 8). Lawrence highlights
the presence of women and their participation in goldfields
life throughout the book, and her reanalysis may debunk
the popular symbol of the rugged bushman as the mythic
representation of Australian identity.
She points out that many studies of goldfields from the
19th century have emphasized men and machines and that
her study differs from these by examining the everyday life
of self-sufficient subsistence miners, including and emphasiz
ing their families. Her research will likely have wide
applications as a case study of this facet of mining culture
and I would recommend this book to anyone interested
in understanding another dimension of historic mine opera
tions.
In the first chapter, Lawrence defines her use of the term
"gold rush" and discusses the characteristics of other gold
rushes from the 19th century. In doing so, she ties the
specific history of the 1850s-1880s Moorabool diggings
with the broader context of the world's great gold rushes.
In the second chapter, Lawrence synthesizes documentary
evidence to present the Moorabool mining landscape and
its settlements, as they would have appeared during the
mining heyday.
Lawrence devotes the third chapter to work on the
Moorabool diggings, emphasizing the interdependency
of labor by men and women to create an image of two
inseparable environments of industry and domestic life.
She reminds readers that, as "wives" of subsistence miners,
women often had to run small farms, tend vegetable gardens,
nurse the sick, wash laundry, run their own shops, sell
alcohol, or even work gold claims.
The fourth chapter is devoted to the archaeological record,
and Lawrence presents a narrative about her fieldwork
excavating the remains of four structures at Dolly's Creek.
She conveys the thrill of discovering artifacts and emphasizes
the historical value of those discoveries to build a picture
of the types of homes people made while they worked on
the Moorabool goldfields and to underscore the value of an
archaeological approach to understanding past life.
Lawrence also attempts to address the problem of "mean
ing" from the Dolly's Creek assemblage. For example,
on the subject of tableware, she notes with surprise that
there are ceramic rather than tin dinner plates, teacups, and
saucers showing up in the assemblage from Dolly's Creek.
The element of surprise is a result of documentary evidence
suggesting that tin was preferred due to its versatility,
portability, and unbreakable nature while ceramic tableware
was impractical, heavy, and fragile. The decision to use
ceramic tableware instead of tin is interpreted to imply
deliberate attempts to create a respectable domestic environ
ment amidst rugged conditions. Lawrence makes a strong
case for this notion of meaning by using additional lines
of evidence from other artifacts recovered from Dolly's
Creek, and in so doing, provides an even more detailed
picture of the subtle complexities of everyday life on the
Moorabool diggings.
The fifth chapter is appropriately titled "Denouement" as
Lawrence uses this chapter to explain the outcome of events
that made up the gold rush on the Moorabool diggings. She
describes the gradual shift from mining to farming and notes
how tensions arose between the mine and farm communities
in the region by the 1880s.
While this is a book about mining on Australia's Victorian
goldfields, it emphasizes the people working in and around
gold mines. Lawrence may be criticized for a lesser
emphasis on the "men and machines," but she notes how
those topics have already been covered. If someone is
looking for a technical description of mining technologies
on the Moorabool diggings, they will not get complicated
mechanical descriptions here, but will instead get Lawrence's
succinct explanations of activities such as "dollying" and
hydraulic sluicing. Lawrence's descriptions of mining
methods are easy to understand and complement her goal of
bringing life to the 19th-century Victorian goldfields.
Susan Lawrence has a writing style that clearly portrays
the various stages of historical archaeology and does so in
a way that will be engaging and informative to newcomers
to the discipline. She presents archaeology as a journey
through piles of documents, visits with "old-timers," rainy
days of field excavations, and final analyses of artifacts.
Finally, she demonstrates the importance of pulling all
these areas of hard work together to visualize past activities
effectively on the landscape we see today. While this is a
familiar journey to many practitioners of historical archaeol
ogy, it is a new journey to many archaeology students and
interested laypersons. This will be a useful book for a
course in historical or industrial archaeology, because it
clearly points out the integration of documentary and mate
rial resources and does so in a manner that reveals the
path of discovering and synthesizing information. As a
result, I would recommend Dolly's Creek as a companion to
standard field methods and theoretical texts for course work
in both historical and industrial archaeology. This book
will certainly reach a wide range of audiences, and Susan
Lawrence is to be commended for articulating her research
in such a concise and engaging manner.
KELLY 1. DIXON
COMSTOCK ARCHAEOLOGY CENTER & DEPARTMENT OF
ANTHROPOLOGY
UNIVERSITY OF NEVADA
MAIL STOP 096
RENO, NV 89557
129
REVIEWS
Interpretations of Native North American Life:
Material Contributions to Ethnohistory.
MICHAEL S. NASSANEY and ERIC S.
JOHNSON, editors
University Press of Florida, Gainesville,
and The Society for Historical Archaeology,
2000. xv + 455 pp., 78 figs., 9 tables.
$55.00
Ethnohistory is an interpretive exercise. As such, it is
an interdisciplinary exercise that reifies Fernand Braudels
observation in On History (1982, University of Chicago
Press) that history entails more than "a dialogue of the
deaf." Nassaney and Johnson's edited volume also serves
to underscore the often-neglected roles that method founda
tions and academic lineages assume in history and science.
Finally, interpretive exercises are most successful when they
entertain explanation. The conjoining of the mental and the
material is but one line of evidence that ethnohistorians have
at their disposal. Interpretations of Native North American
Life adequately demonstrates this. Historical method and
its counterpart, scientific method, share the underlying tenet
that each is self-corrective and that each culminates in
cumulative knowledge.
The 15-chapter volume and its introductory essay derive
from a 1995 two-day symposium convened at the American
Society for Ethnohistory meetings in Kalamazoo, MI, and
organized by Nassaney and Johnson. The pared-down roster
of 15 case studies spatially encompasses most geographical
areas or "culture areas" of North America, with the pos
sible exception of the Puebloan Southwest and the Arctic.
Temporally. many chapters focus on recent (post-A.D. 1000
and typically post-Columbian) remains with sometimes
limited reference to their historical antecedents. Nassaney
and Johnson's introductory essay outlines the three primary
themes that serve both as organizational and heuristic bench
marks for these material-culture studies: (I) Ethnogenesis
and Ethnic Identity, (2) Change and Continuity in Daily
Life, and (3) Ritual, Iconography, and Ideology.
Part I comprises five essays that deal with "ethnogenesis
and ethnic identity." Kathleen H. Cande's "Ritual and
Material Culture as Keys to Cultural Continuity: Native
American Interaction with Europeans in Eastern Arkansas,
1541-1682" sets the tone for this set of studies in its
interdisciplinary scope and problem orientation. Cande
examines material culture and documentary referents for
ritual and ethnic identity as she compares the Mississippian
peoples initially contacted by the de Soto entrada with the
Quapaws met by the French about a century later in the
lower Mississippi Valley of eastern Arkansas. The late James
F. Pendergast's contribution, "The Identity of Stadacona
and Hochelaga: Comprehension and Conflict," explores
ethnic identity for the two aforementioned sites encountered
by Jacques Cartier in the St. Lawrence River valley near
present-day Montreal. Regrettably, these are Pendergast's
last words on reconciling archaeological, cartographic, and
historical records. The utility of constructing genealogies
of documentary and cartographic evidence in problem
oriented ethnohistory mirrors that advanced by W. R. Wood
in "Ethnohistory and Historical Method" (in Michael B.
Schiffer, editor, 1990, Archaeological Method and Theory,
Vol. 2, University of Arizona Press, Tucson). John P.
Staeck's "Echoing the Past: Reconciling Ethnohistorical and
Archaeological Views of Ho-Chunk (Winnebago) Ethnogen
esis" uses oral-tradition narratives as a line of evidence for
constructing group origins in the Upper Great Lakes. Eric
S. Johnson's "The Politics of Pottery: Material Culture and
Political Process among Algonquians of Seventeenth-Century
Southern New England," argues for increased group identity
as manifest by collared and castellated ceramics. Essentialist
or typological thinking in ceramic analysis overshadow and
offset the contributions drawn from attribute-based investiga
tions. "Emblems of Ethnicity: Ribbonwork Garments from
the Great Lakes Region" by Susan M. Neill also argues for
attribute-based analyses in another material medium.
Part II consists of six chapters that center on "change
and continuity in daily life." Alice Beck Kehoe's "Francois'
House, a Significant Pedlars' Post on the Saskatchewan"
examines Native gender roles and cultural interactions
through the materialist lens at a late-18th-century trading
house. "Improving Our Understanding of Native American
Acculturation through the Archaeological Record: An
Example from the Mono Basin of Eastern California," by
Brooke S. Arkush, focuses on local settlement history among
the Northern Paiute-speaking kucadikadi. Sean B. Dunham's
"Cache Pits: Ethnohistory, Archaeology. and the Continuity
of Tradition" looks at the functional uses for subsurface
storage features at a Native homestead in Michigan. Carol
I. Mason and Margaret B. Holman's contribution. "Maple
Sugaring in Prehistory: Tapping the Sources," reviews
archaeological and historical evidence for the antiquity of this
subsistence pursuit in eastern North America. "Archaeology
of a Contact-Period Plateau Salishan Village at Thompson's
River Post. Kamloops, British Columbia," by Catherine C.
Carlson, offers a preliminary report that explores culture
contact among Shuswap peoples. Mark S. Parker Miller's,
"Obtaining Information via Defective Documents: A Search
for the Mandan[ s] in George Catlin's Paintings," explores
the value of Catlin's artwork for framing testable hypotheses
about Mandan ethnicity and material culture on the Upper
Missouri in the early-19th century.
Part III concludes with four entries that examine "ritual,
iconography, and ideology." Larissa A. Thomas evaluates
gender representations in Mississippi-period (A.D. 900-1500)
"portable art" in the American Southeast in her contribution
"Images of Women in Native American Iconography."
Likewise, Barbara Brotherton's "Tl ingit Human Masks as
Documents of Culture Change and Continuity" proposes
a chronology for style development among a sample of
shaman's masks. "One Island, Two Places: Archaeology,
Memory, and Meaning in a Rhode Island Town," by Paul
A. Robinson, explores 20th-century Native and Euroamerican
perspectives regarding the history of Jamestown on Conanicut
Island, especially with regard to long-term mortuary uses by
Native peoples. Michael S. Nassaney's "Archaeology and
Oral Tradition in Tandem: Interpreting Native American
Ritual, Ideology, and Gender Relations in Contact-Period
Southeastern New England" focuses on explaining two
anomalous Native mortuary features at a cemetery in Rhode
Island, based on evidence garnered from oral tradition
and the archaeological record. Finally, the appended
Selected Bibliography serves both as a logical terminus and
a springboard for further reading on many of the topics
broached in the volume.
130
The breadth of Interpretations is among its greatest
strengths as an edited compilation. The essays are well
written and amply documented overall. Nassaney and
Johnson are to be congratulated for assembling a diverse
panel of knowledgeable contributors. This work bodes
well for increased interdisciplinary dialogue into the next
century. Many of the topics addressed in the text also serve
as constant reminders that the contributions made by pioneers
in Americanist anthropology, archaeology, and ethnohistory
will not be erased from our collective memory. These
include works by scholars such as Lewis Henry Morgan,
Daniel Wilson, Franz Boas, and William Henry Holmes.
Material culture remains a lynch pin in data-driven arguments
in ethnohistory.
Editorial glitches and typographical errors in references
cited are bound to crop up in edited volumes of this scope
and size. These are minimal (pp. 93, 132, 137) and gener
ally do not detract from the overall value of the work, but
the standard editorial practice of figure insertion following
the first textual mention is not always followed. In some
instances (Johnson, Chapter 4), this practice rises above mere
annoyance. In this reviewer's estimation, captions for Figs.
4.2 and 4.3 (pp. 128, 135) warrant additional text to be
properly understood. The S-rim vessel illustrated in (Parker
Miller, Chapter II) Fig. 11.7 (p. 309) is almost certainly
not of 18th-century derivation despite that attribution in
the Logan Museum of Anthropology collections at Beloit
College, Wisconsin. Rather, its likely temporal placement
would fall some three centuries earlier, based on attributes
such as rim height and angle/curvature, widely-spaced
incised rim treatments imitating decorative elements typically
executed by twisted cordage, and possibly by the vessel's
check-stamped body-surface treatment. Finally, the paucity
of tabular summaries of qualitative and quantitative data
sometimes results in extended, narrative discourse that,
if presented as tables, would have made the papers more
concise, clear, and short.
The diversity of documentary and material-culture research
subsumed under the umbrella of ethnohistory at the close
of the 20th century is manifested by the archaeologists,
historians, and art historians who contributed to this volume.
Ethnohistorical research may incorporate and illuminate the
material along with the mental in "producing knowledge," as
Patricia E. Rubertone's Annual Review of Anthropology (2000,
Annual Reviews, Palo Alto, CA) article "The Historical
Archaeology of Native Americans" attests. The Interpreta
tions volume is recommended for use in advanced under
graduate courses and graduate-level seminars in (ethno)history,
anthropology, and archaeology. Problem-oriented research in
ethnohistory and archaeology supports Charles E. Cleland's
(p. xii) observation in the Foreword that "artifacts are good
to think with."
PAUL R. PICHA
HISTORIC PRESERVATION DIVISION
STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY OF NORTH DAKOTA
612 EAST BOULEVARD AVENUE
BISMARCK, ND 58505-0830
They Died with Custer: Soldiers' Bones from
the Battle of the Little Bighorn.
DOUGLAS D. scorr P. WILLEY, and MELISSA
A. CONNOR
University of Oklahoma Press, Norman,
1998. xix + 389 pp., 93 figs., 4 maps, 17
graphs, 47 tables. $29.95.
Skeletal biologists, like me, who work with both archaeo
logical material and forensic cases are often struck by the
contrasts in the accountability that are imposed in the two
arenas. In a bioarchaeological context, our interpretations
of individual skeletons (age, sex, ancestry, height, patholo
gies) are rarely challenged. Since there is no way of ever
knowing what the actual age at death is in any case, the
only vulnerability lies in the methods used or perhaps the
legitimacy of the age ranges. Every forensic case, on the
other hand, is a potential final exam. If, for example, we
reconstruct a skeleton to represent a female who was in her
mid-20s when she died and the remains are later identified,
our work is checked. It would be troubling to learn that we
have actually studied the remains of a 42-year-old male.
Historical archaeology puts a different twist on the issue.
As They Died with Custer illustrates, skeletal biology offers
the potential to verify and question some of the conclusions
drawn from the historic record. In one chapter the authors
evaluate the stereotypical view of the westerner as "rugged
individualist ... in the peak of mental and physical health"
by examining the physical evidence of the skeletons. By
today's standards the young soldiers with rampant back
problems, arthritis, and dental disease were not very healthy
at all. The volume, of course, ventures well beyond merely
substantiating historical records.
On 25 June 1876, Col. George Custer led the men of the
U.S. Seventh Cavalry into the valley of the Little Bighorn
River in Montana Territory to prepare for an attack on a
nearby Indian village. He divided his 12 companies of
troops into four elements. His own five companies were to
attack the village from the north; another three companies
(under the command of Captain Frederick Benteen) were
sent to cut off escape routes to the south; a third group
of three companies (under the command of Major Marcus
Reno) were to attack the village from a different position;
and a single company was sent to guard "the pack train."
By the morning of 27 June the battles were over. Reno
and Benteen suffered heavy casualties to the south of the
village, while Custer and all of his men were killed on a
battlefield to the north.
A fascinating integration of history, archaeology, and
physical anthropology, They Died with Custer uses the
human bones recovered from the various battlefields not only
to reconstruct details of the conflict but also to understand
the men of the Seventh Cavalry. The eight-chapter volume
begins with a prologue that recounts the archaeological
recoveries at Little Bighorn carried out in the 1980s. The
bones of 52 individuals were excavated from the battlefields,
discovered in the National Monument's museum collection
REVIEWS
and other museums in the U.S., or excavated from the
Custer National Cemetery.
The second chapter starts off with a spellbinding account
of the events leading up to and during the Little Bighorn
battle, wherein 268 American soldiers were killed. A
description of the regimental structure and the men of the
Seventh Cavalry sets the stage for the later discussion of
the remains. Members of the various companies are named,
and details are provided about how and where they served
in the battle. Tables describe individual officers, including
their rank, battle location, and whether they were killed or
wounded. More tables and graphs summarize the men's
ages, heights, and ancestry. Chapter 3 provides accounts of
the treatment of the dead immediately after the battle and
of the handling of their remains through the years. The
hasty burial of victims where they were found in the days
soon after the battle was followed by reburials in 1877 and
1879. A mass reburial in 1881 was commemorated with
a granite monument.
The chapter entitled "Human Remains" is, to my mind,
the heart of the book. It is organized according to the
sources of the skeletons including the various battleground
sites, some that were excavated for reburial in the Custer
National Cemetery and a short section of miscellaneous
sources. Each skeleton is described in detail. The bones are
listed, "osteo-biographies" are presented (age, sex, ancestry,
height, and antemortem skeletal and dental pathologies) and
evidence for perimortem injuries (apparent cause of death,
trauma, evidence for scalping, and mutilation) are discussed.
One of the skeletons from the cemetery, for example, a
"white male about 5 feet, 8'/2 inches tall and twenty to
twenty-five years old" with terrible dental health, displayed
evidence for coffee drinking, smoking, possible snuff use,
several healed skeletal fractures, regular horseback riding, and
habitual squatting. Numerous cuts on his bones indicated
that he was scalped, dismembered, and mutilated. Also
in this chapter the authors describe attempts at personal
identification. Clay facial approximations provide visages
that are compared to photographs of soldiers and skull/photo
superimposition reveals details of correspondence between
skulls and faces. Consistent with current forensic standards,
none of the five individual identifications made by these
means is certain.
In chapters that follow, the reconstructed biology and
lifeways of the soldiers are summarized and used to chal
lenge some of the conceptions about 19th-century life in
America; antemortem skeletal and dental pathologies are
described and compared to romantic images of the western
ers; and evidence for peri mortem and postmortem trauma
is compared to historic accounts of battlefield mutilation
and causes of death. In many cases the bioarchaeology
corroborates the historic record; in others it does not.
According to the authors, one of the "major biases in
the historic record ... is the bias toward officers in the
accounts" (p. 332). The greater number of enlisted men in
the ranks is reflected in the remains but not in the historical
accounts, which focus on officers. Other inconsistencies
involve the location of the remains of specific individuals
and historic reports of where they were buried. A final
chapter places the evidence for the treatment of the dead at
Little Bighorn in the context of prevailing views of death
in Victorian America.
131
The volume is illustrated with maps and a number of
photographs. While most of the photos are fine, some could
have been framed more carefully and lighted better. A cut
mark that indicates scalping only makes sense if enough
of the skull is shown so that the readers knows where the
lesion comes from and its orientation. An interesting mix-up
resulted in the repeat of the same facial approximation in
figures 37 and 62. Since facial approximations made by
the same artist often look alike, I initially wondered if I
were looking at two very similar reconstructions. I am
curious if the image is of Burial I from the Custer National
Cemetery (legend on Figure 37) or Farrier Vincent Charley
(legend on Figure 62). That instance aside. the book is
quite free of errors.
This volume stands as an excellent and rare example of
the integration of field archaeology, physical anthropology,
and historical documentation. Each source alone provides
essential parts of the story of the past, but collectively they
provide an understanding of not only the spectacular events
like the battles of the Little Bighorn and of the officers of
the Seventh Cavalry but of the mundane trials of everyday
life and the enlisted soldiers. It is clearly written (with
periodic humorous passages) in non-technical terms, and a
glossary and appendix will help the general reader understand
some of the necessary details of human osteology. As a
skeletal biologist, I was frustrated by occasional lapses of
explanation. How was ancestry determined in a skeleton
with no skull; how could a height of 5' 8" be estimated
from a clavicle and humerus; and what were the identifying
criteria in the cases skull/photo superimposition that were
not shown? These minor distraction notwithstanding, the
volume would make an excellent text in courses on historical
archaeology or bioarchaeology, and I should think it is a
must read for mavens of U.S. military history and life in
the 19th-century West.
NORMAN 1. SAUER
DEPARTMENT OF ANTHROPOLOGY
MICHIGAN STATE UNIVERSITY
EAST LANSING, MI 48824
Historical Archaeology, Identity Formation and
the Interpretation of Ethnicity.
MARIA FRANKLIN and GARRETT FESLER,
editors
Colonial Williamsburg Research
Publication, Colonial Williamsburg
Foundation, Williamsburg, VA, 1999. vi +
149 pp., 27 figs. $18 paper.
The material expressions of ethnicity and cultural identity
has been a topic of historical archaeology since the early
days of the discipline. The Colonial Williamsburg Founda
tions' Historical Archaeology, Identity Formation and the
Interpretation of Ethnicity, edited by Maria Franklin and
Garrett Fesler, brings together six papers originally presented
at the 1998 Conference on Historical and Underwater
Archaeology in Atlanta. Included with the papers are Fesler
and Franklin's "Introduction," a summary chapter by Frazier
Neiman, and a forward by Robert Schuyler. The result is
a fresh look at ethnicity and identity in the archaeological
132
record that provides a broad geographic and theoretical
range of perspectives on the subject. The six papers, which
are the heart of the volume, include "Industrial Transition
and the Rise of a 'Creole' Society in the Chesapeake,
1600-1725," by John Metz; "Where Did the Indians Sleep?:
An Archaeological and Ethnohistorical Study of Mid
Eighteenth-Century Piedmont Virginia," by Susan Kern;
"Buttons, Beads, and Buckles: Contextualizing Adornment
Within the Bounds of Slavery," by Barbara Heath; "'Strong
is the Bond of Kinship': West African-Style Ancestor
Shrines and Subfloor Pits on African-American Quarters,"
by Patricia Samford; "Stirring the Ethnic Stew in the South
Carolina Backcountry: John de la Howe and Lethe Farm,"
by Carl Steen; and "In Search of a 'Hollow Ethnicity':
Archaeological Explorations of Rural Mountain Settlement,"
by Audrey Horning.
Metz uses the brick industry of colonial Virginia to
explore the relationship between England and the Colonies.
He presents the emergence of a Creole society in Virginia in
terms of economics and power, arguing that the creolization
came about in part as an effort by the colonists to become
self-sufficient. Metz draws particular distinction between
permanent sites employing kilns and brick clamps, temporary
site-specific facilities used on many early plantations.
While Metz sees the development of both types of brick
manufactories as a measure of Virginians' self-reliance and
the formation of a Creole culture, by the late 18th century
clamps had become the most common brick manufacturing
facility. Metz thus suggests two stages of self-sufficiency
that mark the development of a Virginia creole culture-the
first marked by establishment of brick kilns as an expression
of self-sufficiency from Great Britain, and the second marked
by the pervasive use of brick clamps, suggesting the self
sufficiency of the plantations themselves, as well as the
transfer of technology to Virginia's African workforce. His
examination of creolization within an industrial context is
interesting, and his linkage between self-sufficiency and
creolization deserves exploration in other settings.
Kern interweaves archaeology and history to look at the
interaction between Native Americans, European colonists,
and African slaves on the Virginia frontier. Working with
material from Shadwell Plantation, the birthplace of Thomas
Jefferson, Kern examines an assemblage of 31 Native
American artifacts found during excavations at the site and
relates those artifacts to Native-American interactions with
the colonists as recorded. She reveals that Ontassete, a
Cherokee leader, stayed with the Jeffersons on journeys to
and from Williamsburg, and speculates that Ontassete would
have been accorded the status and honor of sleeping in
Jefferson's house, while the rest of his traveling party likely
stayed in other plantation buildings or slept in the open.
The Native-American artifacts found at the site thus may
have been left as gifts during one or more of these visits.
While their status is uncertain, Kern sees their significance in
their representation of Native-American culture, an important
marker on trips to the Capital when the Cherokee's were
likely clothed in European goods and carrying guns, not
bows and arrows. In a similar vein, Barbara Heath looks
at beads, buttons, and buckles from Poplar Forest in concert
with the study of run-away slave ads to discuss styles of
adornment in the African-American community. Her paper
highlights the complexity of understanding the meaning
of these artifacts in the slave community, and suggests
that identity and style were complex and varied, based on
regional, economic, and gender lines as well as individual
expressions of value. The use of gilt buttons as status
markers within the slave community highlights the multiple
social settings that existed within ethnic communities.
Samford examines a feature frequently associated with
African-American dwellings in the mid-Atlantic, the subter
ranean pit cellar, and posits a different function-that these
features may have served as ancestor shrines. Combining
ethnographic studies from West Africa with archaeological
excavations from the Virginia and North Carolina, and
working in particular with two subterranean pit features
and their contents from Utopia Plantation, Virginia, and the
Eden House, North Carolina, Samford makes a convincing
argument for the use of some of the subterranean features
as shrines; archaeologists working with such features should
examine their contents in light of her analysis. Through an
examination of John de la Howe's Lethe Farm site in South
Carolina, Steen presents an alternative view of two artifacts
prominently associated with African ethnic identity in that
state: colonoware and earthwalled architecture. Steen
suggests that the Native-American contribution to colonoware
has been undervalued by recent studies, and points to a
French earth-walled architectural style, poteaux en terre, in
the construction of de Ie Howe's home, as evidence that
the appearance of earth-walled architecture on lowcountry
plantations, such as Yaughan and Curiboo, may have been
as a much a product of the French Huguenot owners as the
African Americans who built and lived in those dwellings.
Steen argues that the colonial period was an "ethnic stew"
and suggests that the artifacts of this time speak to ethnic
interaction in the formation of a Creole society, as much as
any particular ethnic identity.
Horning's paper takes identity into the modern era, look
ing at the perception and reality of ethnic identity in the
Appalachians. As Horning demonstrates, the portrayal of
Appalachian hillbilly ethnicity during the 1930s does not
match the reality of Appalachian sites and appears to have
been, in part, a measure used to justify the relocation of
Appalachian families from lands that would become part of
the National Park System. Horning also shows that "ethnic
ity" varied from place to place within the Appalachians
and that, rather than a unified whole, the Appalachians
constituted a series of communities each with its own
particular identity.
In the forward by Schuyler, the introduction by Fesler
and Franklin, and the conclusion by Neiman, the meaning
of ethnicity in the archaeological record is reviewed. As
all of those authors note, the papers in the volume reveal
that the search for specific artifacts as ethnic markers is
spurious. The papers as a whole demonstrate that the
meaning of artifacts is drawn from social contexts and
that ethnic identity can be recovered from the way things
were used more than what was used. Context is the key
dimension in each of these papers, and the volume as a
whole highlights both the difficulty and complexity of
interpreting ethnicity in the archaeological record. Historical
Archaeology, Identity Formation and the Interpretation
of Ethnicity is an important contribution to the study of
133 REVIEWS
ethnicity and cultural identity and should be read by any
historical archaeologist interested in the topic.
J. W. JOSEPH
NEW SOUTH ASSOCIATES, INC.
6150 EAST PONCE DE LEON A VENUE
STONE MOUNTAIN, GA 30083
"Upon the Palisado " and Other Stories of
Place from Bruton Heights.
JOHN METZ, JENr'\IIFER JONES, DWAYNE
PICKETT and DAVID MURACA
Colonial Williamsburg Research
Publication, Colonial Williamsburg
Foundation, Williamsburg, VA, 1998. x +
137 pp., 58 figs. $18.00 paper.
In 1989 the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation (CWF)
"acquired the Bruton Heights School" (p. I), located at the
margins of Williamsburg's historic area. The Foundation
then initiated an archaeological and documentary research
project that was to "last seven years" (p. v). Upon the
Palisado summarizes much of the recovered record from the
period prior to 1800, including information on a probable
section of an important 6 mi. (10 km) long palisade erected
in 1634 when Middle Plantation was established. This
palisade line is believed to have formed part of the bound
ary of Colonel John Page's land. Page was one of the
vital forces in developing this early settlement. Excava
tions identified the brick manor house built by Page ca.
1662 and other structures composing this early example of
Page's residential complex. This research thus provides an
extraordinary view of life at Middle Plantation during its
formative years and throughout the 18th century.
A brief "Preface" by David F. Muraca and a page of
acknowledgements provide an indication of the goals and
complexity of this project and a listing of the many people
involved. Chapter I, the "Introduction," describes the
archaeological work planned in association with CWF
development of this property. The authors summarize the
transition planned for this site that "for nearly a half century
after 1940 ... was a school for African-American high
school students" (p. 115). CWF's goal was to use the
renovated building and its grounds as the "Bruton Heights
Educational Campus" (p. v).
Chapter 2, "Before the English," begins the chronological
review of the project's findings with a description of two
Native-American procurement camps identified on the
property. The term "procurement camp" is applied to
transient or short-term occupation sites that native peoples
"visited repeatedly over a long period of time" (p. II). The
findings from the prehistoric period are placed within the
general context of Indian activities in this area over the past
10,000 years. The third chapter offers a summary of the
complex relations that developed between the native peoples
of the Powhatan Chiefdom and the English settlers. In 1634,
a year after "an Act of Assembly in 1632/3" established
Middle Plantation as "the first major inland settlement for
the colony" (p. 15), a palisade was erected that "stretched
six miles across the peninsula" (p. 20). This palisade
extended from Jamestown to Chiskiack, on the York River,
completely crossing the peninsula then being colonized by
the English. This was a larger version of the "two-mile long
palisade [that] was constructed across a neck of land" by
Deputy Governor Sir Thomas Dale after "he established the
settlement of Bermuda Hundred" (p. 21) in 1613. Chapter 3
also includes a summary of the 1993 publication by Muraca
and Jon Brudvig, entitled "The Search for the Palisade of
1634" (Quarterly Bulletin of the Archaeological Society
of Virginia, 48: 138-150). Other general data related to
palisades, a topic of particular interest to me, provide readers
with some of the information necessary in the interpretation
of the archaeological evidence for this type of barrier.
"John Page and the Growth of Middle Plantation" (Chapter
4) describes how Page "arrived in York County in 1655, a
man from a prosperous English family" (p. 33) and rapidly
put his resources toward amassing considerable property and
to developing "a working plantation called Mehixton" (p.
34). Page's land at Middle Plantation, however, acquired
"soon after he arrived in the colony," became the place that
he chose for "the construction of his brick manor house in
1662" (p. 36). About 80 m (260 ft.) east-northeast of the
manor, and near a local clay source, Page erected a kiln
and all the other facilities needed for making building bricks
and roofing tiles. The manor and the other buildings around
it were, therefore, constructed largely from materials that
Page found on his own property. The archaeology of this
kiln complex and a description of the social and economic
implications of brick production and the construction of
brick buildings form the core of this chapter.
The archaeology of the manor house, the central feature
of the Page estate, and of a particularly large brick structure
"identified approximately fifty feet [15 m] northwest of
the Page house at Bruton Heights" (p. 64) is presented
in Chapter 5. Also included are the relevant historical
documentation and a summary of the analysis of the artifacts
recovered from excavations at the manor. Chapter 6,
"The Emergence of Williamsburg," reviews the growth in
power and prestige of Middle Plantation during the last
quarter of the 17th century. A major church as well as a
college became part of the infrastructure of this important
community. The extent of the shift in the importance of
Middle Plantation, particularly after Bacon's Rebellion in
1676, set the stage for its becoming the capital after the
1699 Jamestown fire had destroyed that city for a second
time. Middle Plantation then was renamed Williamsburg.
John Page had died in 1692 and did not live to see the
transformation, but his legacy to this community was
considerable. Page's manor burned in 1727. In a peculiar
way that fire preserved an important record, here summarized
in the description of the archaeology and the artifacts
recovered from this important brick building.
By 1747 the land on which Page had built his manor,
having passed through several hands, was held by Mathew
Moody. Chapter 7 describes the historical record regarding
those land transfers and documents Moody's sales of tracts
as small as one acre from the property. In this chapter
a note (fn. 4) to the brief section entitled "The Historical
Background" (pp. 99-100) indicates that this unit "is an
abridged version of Cathy Hellier's research published in
Muraca and Hellier (I 992)." The exploration of the lots,
and the documentation of the record needed to interpret the
findings, provides the focus for the concluding portion of this
chapter. A brief "Epilogue" (Chapter 8) then summarizes
this volume.
Of particular note in this work is the extensive use of the
popular sidebar technique that features general information
on important related subjects in special texts, here set off
from the narrative by being printed on a gray background.
These sections usually appear at the tops of one or more
pages. For example, Chapter I has a two-paragraph note
on the environment. Nearly half of the text of Chapter 2
appears as "Tidewater's Prehistory," in which an overview
of local native history is separated from the specific findings
of this project. Each of the other chapters has one or more
sidebars, providing general information on subjects such as
the manufacture of brick and tile, Bacon's rebellion, and
separate analyses of the vessels excavated, the animal bones,
and the materials recovered from a separate midden. For
general readers these contributions bridge an important gap
between the detailed archaeological and historical findings
and a reconstruction of life in general as it was lived by the
natives and the 17th century colonists in this area.
As Muraca notes, "[t]his is not a site report" (p. iii).
This work summarizes a vast and extremely important body
of data of which very little has been published. A relevant
M.A. thesis and various reports filed with the CWF are
listed in the references. Here some of this information
is combined with a rapidly growing data base relating to
these topics to provide an overview of the project and its
importance. While there is much to critique about the
data presented, a more obvious problem is the mode of
presentation. The editorial process involved in the production
of this volume leads me to wonder how the venerable and
respected CWF could invest so much in the basic research
and fail to provide the oversight merited by this publication.
This may be the most poorly edited and frustrating work
that I have ever read. The text reads like a good first draft,
but is far from being what I would accept as a publishable
work. Problems with typographical and grammatical errors
pale in the shadow of numerous ambiguities and repetitions.
For example, the same brief texts from William Strachey
and Ralph Hamor appear on p. 20 and again on p. 23. In
addition to being repetitive, variations appear within the
cited quotations! Slight as these may be, they provide
distressing indications of editorial problems that were not
resolved, including poor ordering of the data presented and
plans reduced to a scale that renders some information on
them as blurry if not altogether illegible. The figures often
include scales suggesting that the measurements of features
differ considerably from those reported in the text, indicating
that the text has not been edited for archaeological precision.
I also find the excavation strategy to be puzzling. For
example, why would a simple "irrigation trench" (Figure
4) be traced for a distance that exceeds the exposed length
of the supposed palisade of 1634? Only five postholes
supposedly relating to that important 1634 feature have been
revealed. The irregular spacing between these five holes
leads me to question the interpretation. What these five
features may represent is not adequately addressed here.
One may wonder how this volume passed through any
editorial process, and particularly that of the CWF. Since
this work was published soon after the appearance of R.
Handler and E. Gable's critical review of the structure of
the CWF (1997, New History in an Old Museum, Duke
University Press, Durham, NC) one would assume that a
special effort would have been made to monitor educational
publications available to the general public. This publication
presents a very poor image to its readers, not at all in
keeping with the impressive record of research associated
with Colonial Williamsburg (e.g., Gerald Kelso et aI., 1997,
"Exploratory Pollen Analysis of the Ditch of the 1665 Turf
Fort, Jamestown, Virginia," Northeast Historical Archaeolo
gist). Scholars who are concerned with specific questions
might tum to the authors' many cited works for clarification
and perhaps more accurate information. How the general
public will react to the problems evident in this volume
might well be considered by an editor representing the
Research Division of the CWF.
The many editorial and production problems evident in
this text and its illustrative materials make it extremely
difficult to determine the overall value of this report. The
subject addressed is not only of considerable interest, but
the archaeological data relating to these studies are valuable
contributions to the literature. We can only hope that a
much revised and well-edited second edition is planned for
this important volume, and that the CWF cares enough to
rectify what seems to be an unfortunate oversight.
MARSHALL JOSEPH BECKER
WEST CHESTER UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA
WEST CHESTER, PA 19383-2106
Freedman s Cemetery: A Legacy of a Pioneer
Black Community in Dallas, Texas (2 vols.).
DUANE E. PETER, MARSHA PRIOR, MELISSA
M. GREEN, and VICTORIA G. CLOW, editors
Texas Department of Transportation,
Environmental Affairs Division, Archeology
Studies Program, Report No. 21, and Geo
Marine, Inc., Special Publication NO.6. xxvii
+ 564 pp., 147figs., 118tables, 10apps.
(on CD-ROM). $45.92 paper
In 1869, a one-acre tract was set aside for a cemetery to
serve the thriving African-American community of Freedman's
Town in what is today known as North Dallas. Freedman's
Town became the largest segregated community in the city,
and "emerged as the social, cultural, and economic center
of Black life in Dallas" in the early 20th century (p. I).
By the I940s, due to vandalism, lack of maintenance, and
highway construction impacts (including the North Central
Expressway, U.S. Route 75), physical evidence of Freedman's
Cemetery had all but disappeared.
Historical research for the 1985 proposed expansion of
North Central Expressway alerted the Texas Department of
Transportation (TxDOT) to potential impacts on unmarked
graves in Freedman's Cemetery, thus beginning a long-term
archaeological and historical study detailed in this extensive
two-volume report. Due to the sensitive issues revolving
around the removal of human remains, this study became a
collaborative effort between TxDOT, Black Dallas Remem
bered, Inc., and the African American Museum in Dallas.
It ultimately developed into a community-based research
effort involving local archivists, historians, researchers, and
members of the descendant community.
135 REVIEWS
From May 1991 to August 1994, TxDOT archaeological
staff, assisted by the University of Texas Southwestern
Medical Center, excavated remains of 1,157 individuals, and
by the end of 1994 reinterment of all human remains and
associated personal effects was complete. Geo-Marine, Inc.,
contracted in 1998 to conduct analysis and write this report,
which combines the artifactual, osteological, archival, and
historical data to tell the story of Freedman's Town/North
Dallas.
Section I describes the logistical intricacies of a project
that needed to address the concerns and encourage the
involvement of the local African-American community,
particularly descendants of those buried in Freedman's
Cemetery. This included the formation of a steering com
mittee and negotiations for a Memorandum of Understanding
with various civic, social, and religious groups that specified
methods of disinterment, extent of scientific study of human
remains, and appropriate reinterment and commemorative
services. This history of the Freedman's Cemetery project
makes for an interesting read and provides valuable pointers
for planning similar projects. Archival research used to
produce a "time line" for Freedman's Cemetery revealed
racist acts and attitudes fueled by Jim Crow laws that led to
the 1907 condemnation of the cemetery and suspicious land
speculations beginning in the 1920s that resulted in many
impacts to the old burial ground.
Section Il focuses on the socioeconomic history of
African Americans in Dallas, specifically the development of
Freedman's TownlNorth Dallas into a self-sustaining com
munity within the rapidly emerging city. While challenges
of socioeconomic development for African Americans after
the Civil War is mirrored throughout the South, specific
details of the struggles of the Freedman's Town/North
Dallas community are examined. The evolution of African
American institutions (such as churches and schools) and
socioeconomic endeavors, all occurring within the bounds
of discrimination and segregationist policies, are detailed
and highlighted in the lives of prominent church leaders,
educators, businessmen and women, health care workers, and
social reformers. Demographic changes and the physical
appearance and architecture of Freedman's TownlNorth Dallas
are also discussed. Of particular interest is the narrative
on increased racial tensions in the post-World War I era,
which resulted in the establishment of a local chapter of the
National Association of the Advancement of Colored People
(NAACP) and a Dallas branch of the Ku Klux Klan, which
became one of the largest in the country.
Archaeological investigations at Freedman's Cemetery
are presented in Section Ill, with detailed descriptions of
excavations and interpretations of cemetery use into Early
( l 8 6 9 ~ 1884), Middle ( l 8 8 5 ~ 1899), and Late ( l 9 0 0 ~ 1907)
periods based on coffin morphology, mortuary hardware,
clothing items, and other artifacts associated with the burials.
The narrative on grave goods and mortuary practices briefly
touches on traditional African spirituality and attempts
to identify nearly 6,000 artifacts (recovered during heavy
equipment scraping to define burial shafts) as grave goods.
The study of the human remains focuses on healthways of
this African-American community by examining osteological
evidence for mortality, nutrition, infection, biomechanical
stress, and trauma. Comparisons are made with 16 other
burial populations. Geo-Marine's in-depth analyses of
artifacts and human remains, all of which were reinterred
in 1994, were based on notes, data sheets, photographs, and
one osteological report by previous researchers. Section
IV is a brief summary of the Freedman's Cemetery project,
focusing on demographics, quality of life, and socioeconomic
and cultural dynamics in Freedman's TownINorth Dallas.
TxDOT and Geo-Marine, Inc., should be commended
for a job well done, which includes the high quality of
production of this report. It contains extensive, easy to read
maps (many in color), numerous tables, quality illustrations
and historical renderings of coffins, coffin hardware, and
clothing items, and photographs of artifacts (the color artifact
photographs, however, tend to have a pinkish tinge). Ten
appendices, including a 12-page oral history questionnaire,
project maps, historical documents, coffin wood analysis,
metal conservation techniques, and artifact and osteological
data sets, are provided on a CD-ROM in an envelope
attached to Volume 2.
Considering the large number of contributing authors, the
editors created a well-written, flowing narrative, and the
quality and depth of historical research is evident. Informant
interviews, oral histories, and numerous primary sources,
such as Freedman's Bureau records, NAACP files, city and
county records, death and burial records, city directories,
and newspapers (including those published by African
Americans) were used extensively. These combine to create
an intricate story of the socioeconomic and cultural growth
of Freedman's TownINorth Dallas.
The Freedman's Cemetery project should serve as a model
for similar projects based on its successful planning phase,
implementation, and the publication of this absorbing report.
On the other hand, one must wonder that if this had been
the burial ground of white pioneers of Dallas, would this
highway expansion have been considered an unavoidable
impact.
BONNIE GUMS
CENTER FOR ARCHAEOLOGICAL STUDIES
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTH ALABAMA
MOBILE, AL 36688-0002
i_
138
manuscript. Ideally all manuscripts will be reviewed by persons who, at least in combination,
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Submit an original and three high-quality photocopies (including original figures and three
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THE SOCIETY FOR HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY STYLE GUIDE
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("color" to "colour" or "archaeology" to "archeology").
III. Style Guide
A. General
This style guide supersedes earlier editions of "Publication and Style Guidelines." The style
for The Society for Historical Archaeology publications differs significantly from that of other
professional archaeological journals due to the heavier historical focus of this journal. In the
event of conflicts between this style guide and other journals or the above-mentioned references,
the directions provided here are to be followed. The Chicago Manual of Style, chapters 15 and
16 and other published sources pertaining to references are significantly different from those used
by anthropologists and archaeologists. It is strongly recommended that as either a new or as an
experienced author that you read this guide from beginning to end and then make a copy to keep
near your computer for easy reference.
B. Style Sources
For matters of style not included here, authors should consult the following sources:
Brusaw, Charles T., Gerald J. Alred, and Walter E. Oliu
1997 Handbook of Technical Writing, 6th edition. Bedford/St. Martin's Press, Boston, MA.
140
Merriam-Webster
1986 Webster's Third New International Dictionary, Unabridged: The Great Library of the
English Language. Merriam-Webster, Springfield, MA. Also available, as well as the next item,
at: <www.m-w.com/home.htm>
1993 Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, 10th edition. Merriam-Webster, Springfield,
MA.
Strunk, William, Jr., and E. B. White
1979 Elements of Style: With Index, 3rd edition. Macmillan, New York, NY.
Turabian, Kate L.
1996 A Manual for Writers of Term Papers, 6th edition. University of Chicago Press, Chicago,
IL.
University of Chicago Press
1993 Chicago Manual of Style. 14th edition. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, IL.
Questions or comments pertaining to the "The Society for Historical Archaeology Publications
Style Guide" should be referred to the SHA Editor at the address found on the inside front cover
of the latest issue of Historical Archaeology.
C. Manuscript Preparation
The entire manuscript submitted for publication in Historical Archaeology or other publications
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Manuscripts must be submitted with two spaces between all sentences. This is an electronic
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Your manuscript will be converted through electronic composition thus you are preparing a
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hyphen "--" exclusively. Make use of appropriate diacritical marks (I; U 0) and italics.
141 THESOCIETY FOR HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY STYLE GUIDE
IV. Manuscript Sections
A. Summary of Sections
Cover Page (including email address)
Author
Title
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References
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Original tables
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All but the actual figures must be on the submitted disk without any hard page endings
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Failure to do so may result in publication of your manuscript being delayed by as much as two
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C. Name
Your name(s), EXACTLY AS SIGNED ON THE COPYRIGHT RELEASE FORM, is flush
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Van, etc.), be sure that these items are clearly and correctly indicated.
D. Title
The title of your article is flush left, in upper and lowercase letters with all major words
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E. Abstract
The word "Abstract" should follow the article title, be flush left, and entirely in capital letters.
The abstract text follows as a new, un-indented paragraph. The abstract will not exceed 150 words.
It should summarize the contents, significance, and conclusions of the article and not be written to
serve as an introduction to the article. Write in the present tense, and avoid hackneyed phrases
such as "this article will" or "this chapter will attempt to." List your actual process, results, and
conclusions, not what you hope to do. The Abstract should be the last thing you write.
142 HISTORICAL ARCHAEOl-OGY 35(4)
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3 Tertiary headings-Tertiary-level heads will be typed like primary headings and underlined
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single tertiary heading under a secondary level heading.
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G. Acknowledgments
The heading "Acknowledgments" is flush left in all capital letters. The use of the Acknowledg
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the use of academic titles.
H. References
The heading "References" is flush left in all capital letters. Double-space all entries, and follow
the instructions given in the Sample References. The first line of a reference will include only
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repeat the names. The second line (first line of additional references under the same name) will
begin flush left with the date of publication. A five-space tab (not five spaces or an indent) will
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VII for details of referencing. Footnotes and end notes are not used in Historical Archaeology,
with the exception of notes within tables. All note material must be integrated into the text
or deleted prior to submission.
I. Name and Address Block
The author's name and address block (also known as a signature block, biographical data, or
biography) follows the references, is flush left, double-spaced, and in upper and lowercase letters.
A separate name and address block is required for each author of a co-authored or multi-authored
article. Authors are to be listed in the order of seniority as given on the first page of the article.
The name and address block consists of three or more lines: (1) author's name; (2) departmental
affiliation (if appropriate); (3) organizational name (if appropriate); (4) mailing address; and (5)
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THESOCIETY FORHISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY STYLE GUIDE
143
reduced in size, or placed on several pages. All tables will eventually be set in pure text with
only tabs rather than proprietary table software, hence avoid such systems. If such software is
used, Microsoft Word is much preferred to WordPerfect.
2. Number and Title-Number all tables sequentially in the order cited in the text in arabic
numerals. On the first line, flush left, type "Table" in all capital letters plus the number. The
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characters. No periods follow the first two lines.
Sample:
TABLE 1
ARTIFACT CATEGORIES AND COUNTS
3. Rules-Use no vertical rules in tables. Provide one horizontal rule under the table's
columnar headings above the data. Give each column and row a brief heading, with initial
capital letters on all major words.
4. Footnotes-Place notes below the table in the following order:
a) Note: General note pertaining to the whole table.
b) a Superscript letters indicate notes specific to one heading, section, or entry.
c) * or ** Note indicating statistical significance level.
d) Source: Adams (1993:24).
5. Citation-Cite every table in the text. Examples: Glass comprised 34% (Table I); As
provided in Table 1.
6. 1}pe-Unlike the text, the body of the table will be typed single-space. This is the only
exception to the double spaced manuscript policy. All tables will be grouped following the name
and address block and before the Figure Captions. Only typed material that can be composed is to
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7. Informal tables or lists within the text-Short informal tables and lists will be typed within
the regular paragraph structure. For example for short descriptions: "The rim border on ceramic
platters consists of three zones of designs (from top to bottom): (I) vertical lines, with thick dashes
at the rim; (2) a wide, solid line placed parallel to the rim; and (3) a band of Style G panels."
For major lists use the style found in the three paragraphs above (5, 6, and 7).
K. Figure Captions
Do not attach captions to artwork or photographs; instead, attach a Post-it Note with the figure
numbers on the back of each figure and provide a list of Figure Captions on the disk following
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Sample:
FIGURE CAPTIONS
FIGURE 1. Detail of 1807 map of Boston. (Courtesy of the Harvard Map Collection, Harvard
University, Cambridge, MA.)
FIGURE 2. Faience ointment jar forms (Brain 1979:35).
FIGURE 3. Beads and pendant from the cemetery: a, gilded bead; b, pendant; c, faceted amber
bead; d-j, plain drawn beads.
FIGURE 4. Left and bottom, thermometer backplates; upper right, balance scale weights.
FIGURE 5. Gunflints from the Smyth site. (Photo by Ned Johnston; courtesy of London
Historical Commission, London, Ontario.)
L. Original Figures
1. General-All figures (original, camera-ready copy of photographs, drawings, maps, charts,
and illustrations) will be submitted with one original and three copies. Glossy black-and-white
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not mount artwork on stiff backs. Colored artwork, including color transparencies, will not be
accepted. Xerographic copies are not acceptable as original artwork.
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following acceptance of the manuscript for publication. Original artwork accompanying a manuscript
accepted for publication will not be returned upon publication.
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5. Drawing and lettering-Maps and artwork will have no neat lines, borders, or boxes
around or within them. Captions placed on maps and artwork are redundant and will not be
used. All lettering must be professionally done with a stencil, press-on letters, or by computer.
Typed or freehand lettering will not be used. Lettering will be sans serif and large enough and of
a medium thickness to reproduce well even when reduced in size upon publication.
6. Photographs-Glossy black-and-white photographs in the size noted above and with good
clarity and contrast are required. Screened (newspaper) or continuous tone (gray value) computer
generated illustrations will not be submitted as they produce unacceptable reproductions due to
a moire pattern effect. This is also true of large, computer-generated bar graphs with large,
heavy shaded areas.
7. Electronic Media-All electronic media images submitted must be professionally scanned
and prepared. High quality drawing and scanning software and scanners are readily available,
however, images that are suitable for personal or office use are not acceptable for print production.
For print production, all letter, numbers, and lines must be crisp, solid, and black. Fuzzy, gray,
or broken letters and numbers as well as those composed of micro-sized dots are unacceptable.
Computer-assisted design (CAD) generated maps, drawings, and images (including graphs) with
dot-pattern backgrounds are also unacceptable. All electronic media must be saved on previously
unused Iomega Zip disks. Output specifications for suitable images include: halftone (grayscale)
images saved at 100% size, 400 dpi, TIFF format and line art (Bitmap) images saved at 100%
size, 1200 dpi, TIFF format.
8. Composition-Do not compose plates with figure numbers, captions, and pure text legends
as an integral part of the plates. Place such items in the figure caption. When several items are
shown in a single figure, each object is to be designated on the plate by a lowercase italic letter.
The caption must include an explanation of and reference to each of the letters included in the
figure. The formatting of the "Figure Captions" list is noted directly above in section K.
9. Scales and north arrow-If a drawn scale (in.lcm, mi.zcm) is required, place it in the
figure, not in the caption. The north arrow should also be placed directly in the figure. In good
cartographic style the north arrow points to north (the N is at the point of the arrow not on it or
below it) and is as simple as possible without flourishes such a compass rose or Neptune sitting
astride it. The north arrow should also indicate if north is true or magnetic or both.
10. Citation-s-Cue every figure in the text; do not abbreviate as Fig. Examples: (Figure 1),
(Figures la-c, 2, 3), (Figure 5a, b), (Figures 5a, b, 6a), (Figures 1-5); as illustrated in Figure 2.
When citing a figure included in the manuscript plus a reference to another source, cite the figure
used in the current article first, followed by the reference: (Figure 2) (Harrington 1962:22).
V. Format Details
A. Numbers
I. Cardinal numbers-Arabic numerals are to be used for all numbers 10 and above; spell out
zero through nine; for example: three sites, 12 sites.
Exceptions:
a) Always spell out a number that begins a sentence.
b) Spell out numbers in general expressions in narrative text (several hundred years; about
one-half mile). Also spell out general expressions of fractions (About one-half of the workers.)
c) Always use arabic numerals for:
1) Page numbers-Seifert (1991:82-108); Elia (1992:105-117); Farnsworth and Williams
(1992:5), or "on page 5 of the article." Use full page numbers for a range of pages: 121-128
not 121-28 or 121-8.
2) Mathematical copy-(in text) $6 million, (in tables) $6,000,000; n = 9; significant at the
.10 level; 20%-40%; 100C
3) All numbers in a series and all numbers within one sentence will agree in form-The
sample includes 4 pipestems, 32 redware sherds, 7 stoneware sherds, 9 bottle-glass sherds,
and 83 nails.
4) Legal land descriptions (section, range, township}-Sec. 12, R9W, T4S.
5) Measurements-All specific measurements should be typed in arabic numerals and abbreviated:
4 em; 2 in.; 5 ft., 8Y2 x 11 in.; 5 x 5 ft.; 0.5 mi.; 2 hours; 2000 hours; 8 P.M.; 0.25 in.; 50 mi.;
90 angle; 32F; 650C; 10.5, or 10 90' N. The metric unit liter, however, is not abbreviated
due to its potential to be confused with the arabic numeral 1. Abbreviations for metric terms (em,
m) are not followed by a period, but non-metric abbreviations are followed by a period (ft., in.).
Alphabetic abbreviations are not repeated with combined measures (5 x 5 ft.) but are with symbols
(15%-20%). In Historical Archaeology as in other scientific journals, the percentage sign is always
used with arabic numerals in both text and tables (96.5%). Precede decimal numbers less than 1
with a zero (0.4 m, 0.9 mi.) except when by tradition it is otherwise such as in statistical probability
(p <.05) or firearms and ordnance (.22 cal. shell). Precise fractional measurements will use arabic
numerals (Y2 mi.) but spelled out when used in a general sense (about one-half mile). Metric or
English (Imperial) measurements will be followed by the opposite conversion unit in parentheses or
brackets, as appropriate: 20 x 50 ft. (6 x 15 m) or (4 x 5 m [13 x 16 ft.]).
2. Ordinal numbers-Spell out ordinal numbers, first through ninth; use arabic numerals for
10th and above: in the ninth month, the 13th test pit.
Exceptions:
a) Use arabic numerals in tables.
b) Use arabic numerals in references: 1st edition.
146
c) Use arabic numerals for all centuries and hyphenate adjectival usage within narrative text
(artifacts dating to the 17th century, mid-ISth-century artifacts).
Spell out, however, century numerals that begin a sentence and that appear in titles of
manuscripts being submitted to Historical Archaeology (Replicating Fifteenth- and Sixteenth-Century
Ordnance). References will agree with book or article titles as originally published.
d) Use arabic numerals for series unless actually spelled out on title page (45th Annual Report
of the Bureau of American Ethnology).
3. Site numbers-Site numbers, as well as site names, should be included when known. When
trinomial-system site numbers are available, type U.S. numbers consistently according to the
state's conventions or, if inconsistent, site numbers will be reformatted with capital letters for
the county designation and without hyphens (36LYI60). Type Canadian Borden numbers with
one hyphen (DiQw-4).
B. Mathematical and Statistical Copy
1. Square measurements-To avoid confusing the reader, an excavation unit five meters
on each side will be written as "5 x 5 m" in the text (not as "5 m square"). The exponent
always follows the abbreviation in an expression such as 500 m
2
which is read as "five hundred
square meters."
2. Formulas and equations-When including an equation in the text, set it off from the
text by placing it on a line of its own with space above and below. Italicize all mathematical
variables (e.g., letters or other symbols) that should be typeset in italics. Use pencil to mark
symbols that may be ambiguous to the editorial/printing offices. For example: x may represent
a variable (x), a multiplication symbol (x), or the Greek letter chi (X), all of which are set
differently in print.
3. Statistics-All statistical equations should be set on a separate line as follows:
Y = 1931.75-8.25X. When degrees of freedom or probability are relevant to statistical analysis,
they should be typed following the equation; for example: Results are statistically significant based
on the chi-square test of association: X
2
= 52.82, df 4, P <.05.
4. Chemical names-The names of chemical compounds should be lowercase when written.
Chemical symbols should be capitalized, followed with a subscript figure indicating number of
atoms in a molecule. See The Chicago Manual of Style (1993:7.121, 14.54) for further discussion.
Superscript the mass number in front: 14C.
C. Dates
1. Genera/
a) B.c. follows dates, A.D. precedes dates. There is no year O. Convert C.E. (Current Era)
and B.C.E. to A.D. and B.c.
b) Use scientific or military style for all dates: He was born on 19 July 1889. Quotations
will retain their style.
c) Use ordinal numbers for dates, except when beginning a sentence or better, recast the
sentence.
d) Do not use commas in dates (1492), but do use commas with arabic numerals (1,492).
e) Do not use apostrophes in decades (1860s and 1870s, not 1860's and '70's).
t) Fully cite inclusive years (1774-1778, not 1774-78).
g) Never use "from" without "to" when referring to a range of dates (from 1850 to 1860
not from 1850-1860).
h) Abbreviate circa as ca., not c. (ca. 1650).
147 THE SOCIETY FORHISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY STYLE GUIDE
2. Radiometric ages-Radiocarbon age determinations are not dates, they represent a statistical
probability of being within a specific range of dates. Only calendric and tree-ring dates are
absolute.
When radiocarbon ages are reported for the first time they are to follow the standardized format
of the journals Radiocarbon and American Antiquity (57[4]:755-756). If the radiocarbon age being
cited has been previously published elsewhere, citation of that reference (including page numbers)
is adequate. In the first citation of a radiocarbon age, provide the radiocarbon age, date, sigma
error, laboratory number, sample number, the material of the sample dated, whether the date has
been corrected, and the bibliographic reference (if previously published). Use the age alone in
subsequent citations. To present a series of radiocarbon ages and associated technical data in
tabular form, consult the example given in American Antiquity (57[1]:67, Table 2).
More specifically, the uncalibrated radiocarbon age given in the first specific citation must
be based on the 5,568-year half-life of 1
4
C (divide ages based on the 5,730-year half-life by
1.03). The radiocarbon age is to be presented as years B.P. and not converted to calendric years
B.C.lA.D. The l-sigma standard error provided by the laboratory should follow. Include the
sample-identification and laboratory numbers, and what material was analyzed (sample of charred
wood, walnut hulls, etc.). Finally, indicate whether the age has been corrected for isotopic
fractionation (if the lab has provided sigma DC value, then the date has been corrected).
Example:
The age of UCR-2l41 [Goleta rope fiber] was determined to be 120 50 14C years B.P. ([L-303]
Stuiver and Polach 1977:355-363); or 120 50 B.P. (L-303; UCR72141, rope fiber).
3. Tree-ring dates-Tree-ring dates should be given as calendric dates (A.D. 1350; 280 B.C.; 200
B.C.-A.D. 100). Note the spelling of "tree-ring" as established by the profession.
D. Quotations
I. General-Brackets, not parentheses, are to be used in either form of quotation for setting
off your added material. Parentheses are reserved for parenthetical material incorporated in the
original quote and for citations. Brackets enclosing the phrase [emphasis added] signify recent
author added emphasis; brackets enclosing [emphasis in original] indicate the emphasis was part
of the original text. Sic should be incorporated in quoted material according to the style given
in example 2c, below. Do not over use sic, as for example, when an error is obviously a minor
typographical error or when archaic English is being quoted.
2. In-text quotations-Quotations of fewer than three typed lines or less than two full sentences
should be placed in the text, set off with quotation marks, followed by the citation in parentheses,
and then punctuated:
a) As the author stated, "archaeologists must develop a rigorous model that specifies how
information about the past is transmitted to the present via material remains [emphasis added]"
(Sullivan 1978:184).
b) As Sullivan (1978: 184) stated, "archaeologists must develop a rigorous model that specifies
how information about the past is transmitted to the present via material remains [emphasis
added]."
c) "The [wrestling] match was between a very famous man [emphasis in original] at that time,
Joe Tumr [sic] & some man; nobody could beat him" (Schmidt 1989:132).
3. Block quotations-Quotations of more than four typed lines or more than two full sentences
should be indented, double-spaced, and set off from the body of the text by an extra blank
line before and after the quote. Use full quotation marks (" ") for quotations contained
within a block quote.
4. Ellipses-ellipses (singular ellipsis) are periods (or suspension points) with spaces used to
indicate omitted material in a quotation. They are placed on the line as periods are, not suspended.
Asterisks should not be used in place of periods. Generally they are not used at the beginning of
quoted material but rather a quotation should proceed from your text. Three periods with space
on all sides are normally used in the middle of a sentence to indicate omitted material. Example:
"The system ... supported these beliefs." Four periods are used with the first one serving as a
period when one sentence is ended with a deletion and a new one starts. Example: "This work
does so. . .. His view was similar." Four periods are also used when the final portion of a
quoted sentence is deleted. Example: "It is easy to understand his view. . . ." If an in-text
reference is at the end of the final sentence then the period follows that reference. Example: "It
is easy to understand his view ... " (Ellis 1989:37). Appropriate punctuation such as (, ... ) or
(... : ) may proceed or follow ellipses but only if it makes the meaning clearer.
5. Inscriptions-Inscriptions and mottoes should be set off from the surrounding text and neither
italicized nor set in quotation marks. Use a colon to initiate an inscription and provide periods for
missing letters, brackets for assumed letters, and back slashes to separate original multiple lines of
text. The use of uppercase and lowercase letters should reflect the original usage.
Examples:
a) The label reads: First Class
b) The inscription on the crock reads: C CROL . .. \MANUF[ACTU]RER\N[e]w York.
E. Spelling and Definition of Terms
1. Spelling preferences-American spelling will be used rather than British English or federal
government spellings, i.e., honor not honour but gauge not gage. When alternate spellings exist for
a word, the version listed first in Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, l Oth edition, is to
be used. For words not appearing in this source, consult Webster's Third New International
Dictionary, Unabridged. Examples: acknowledgments not acknowledgements, modeled not
modelled, datable not dateable, focused not focussed, totaled not totalled, usable not useable, gray
not grey, disk not disc, cannot not can not, catalog not catalogue, hollowware not holloware.
SHA policy specifies email not e-mail or E-mail. Contractions will not be used in the text
except in direct quotations.
2. Archaeology vs. Archeology-The etymologically accurate and international spelling
"archaeology" is the preferred spelling listed in the Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary
and is used almost without exception in Historical Archaeology. The spelling of "archaeology"
as "archeology" is acceptable only in a direct quotation or in acknowledgments, references, or
biographies when capitalized as part of a title or an organizational name (Midwest Archeological
Center).
3. Problematical words and phrases-Some troublesome words and phrases are listed, by the
preferred spelling or form:
data (plural) = information; datum (singular) = bench mark
an historic; an historical; an historian
x-ray (verb, adjective); X ray (noun)
percentage rather than percent is the usual form, but always % with arabic numerals
flatware; hollowware; tableware; tea and table wares
terminus post quem (beginning); terminus ante quem (end)
maker's mark (one maker, one mark); maker's marks (one maker, more than one mark); makers'
marks (more than one maker, more than one mark)
Native American (the federal government prefers Native American but some tribes prefer
American Indian, and First Nations is used in Canada. Amerindian is no longer widely used.
Be sure which one to use)
149 THE SOCIETY FOR HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY STYLE GUIDE
The plural for Native American tribal members will use a final "s" not the archaic singular.
Metis; creole
African American; African-American ceramics, Euroamerican (not Euro-American)
black American; white American
database; lifestyle; lifeways; mindset; sociocultural; socioeconomic; sociopolitical; worldview
provenience (archaeological) not provenance (antiques)
4. Definition of terms-Unfamiliar terms may be defined or explained using the format:
machicolations, or arched overhangs; hornos arabes, or Moorish kilns; tinajas, or large fermentation
jars. Continue to italicize each use of such terms throughout the text.
F. Accents and Diacritical Marks
All accents and diacritical marks for English and foreign-language words, proper names, place
names, and titles of publications must be included and clearly marked when used in the text
or cited in the References.
Examples: Ivor Noel Hume, Ales Hrdlicka, Mehmet Yasar lscan, Teotihuacan, Erlenbaeh-Ziirich,
Revista de arqueologia y etnologia (title), raison d'etre, francais, entrepot.
G. Italics
1. Foreign phrases-Do not italicize commonly used foreign phrases and words included in
the main listing of Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, 10th edition, including: e.g., i.e.,
et al., per se, in situ, en masse, sans, a priori. Do italicize all other terms, including: terminus
post quem; words in native languages, such as mako sica (mako, land; sicha, bad); and entries in
Merriam Webster's "Foreign Words and Phrases" chapter.
2. Names of ships-Italicize names of ships: whaler Alta California, British frigate HMS
Orpheus, Union vessel USS Monitor.
3. Biological Taxonomy-Italicize the taxonomic genus, species, and variety of scientific names:
humans (Homo sapiens sapiens), white oak (Quercus alba) but oak (Quercus sp.). Other taxa
are not italicized.
4. Titles-Book and monograph titles are always italicized. Article titles are not italicized
or placed in quotation marks except when used in the text they will be indicated by quotation
marks.
5. Mathematical variables-Letters signifying mathematical variables are italicized X (chi), p
(probability), df (degrees of freedom).
H. Capitalization
1. Specific names and terms-In English, capitalize all proper names, taxonomic names for
genera and higher ranks, names of specific archaeological sites (but not the word "site"), and
specific geographical areas. Use lowercase for general geographic, directional, and generic
division terms. For further guidelines on capitalization of non-archaeological terms, see the
Chicago Manual of Style, Chapter 7. The official title of "the society" is "The Society for
Historical Archaeology."
Examples: Federal-period architecture (but U.S. federal government), Spanish colonial period,
Raritan formation, American Southwest, southwestern United States, southeastern plantations,
Eastern Shore, Washington State, the state of Washington, Stadt Huys block, Yaughan Curriboo
site, Zea mays, Dalton point, Level I (but level or levels when used generally), Ohio River, Ohio
and Monongahela rivers, Main and Spring streets, Lakes Superior and Michigan, Spanish majolica
(Puebla Blue/White type), Maya Lowlands.
2. Foreign names-For American authors with compound surnames such as Van Laer, Van is
generally capitalized whether or not another name precedes it (e.g., Van Laer, Arnold Van Laer).
For names of Dutch authors, van and der are un-capitalized when preceded by another name, but
Van is capitalized when the surname is used alone (e.g., Adriaen van der Donck; Van der Donck; or
in references, Van der Donck, Adriaen; Hans van Regteren Altena; Van Regteren Altena).
I. Hyphenation
I. General-Consult the Chicago Manual of Style (1993:219-231, Table 6.1 ) or Merriam
Webster's Collegiate Dictionary (1993) for hyphenation of non-archaeological compound words.
2. Century-Hyphenate century when used as a compound adjective: 19th-century ceramics,
but, ceramics of the 19th century.
3. Fractions-hyphenate written fractions: five-sixteenths, two-thirds.
4. Compound words-Hyphenate compound words that are not permanent combinations:
transfer-printed pearlware.
5. Associated words-Hyphenate to make associations clear: round-bodied clay vessels,
air-borne winged seeds.
6. Descriptive terms-Hyphenate descriptive terms that include a preposition or article: black-on
black pottery, black-and-white photograph, however hyphens may be omitted when they noticeably
reduce the clarity such as 8 x lOin. photograph in preference to 8-x-lO-in.-photographs.
J. Abbreviations
I. Permissible abbreviations-Although abbreviations are seldom used in the narrative text
of articles, some-such as abbreviations for measurements and acronyms for titles of agencies
appearing in in-text citations-are acceptable. Other acceptable abbreviations include: et al., e.g.,
i.e., cf., vs., and ea., all of which are listed in Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary (1993).
The abbreviation cf. means "to compare" and should only be used in that sense.
2. Format-Abbreviations for names of districts or countries contain no space between letters.
Abbreviations for states are permitted only in tables, references, and name and address block where
they will follow the capitalized, two-character style of the U.S. Postal Service (Alabama = AL,
Alaska = AK, Arizona = AZ, etc.). Acronyms and abbreviations traditionally written in all capital
letters such as SHA, AAAS, or Texas A&M, contain neither space nor punctuation between letters.
The traditional and required exceptions are U.S., A.D, and B.c.
3. Unacceptable abbreviations-Contractions will not be used except in a direct quote. Terms
such as ibid., op. cit., loc. cit., etc. are never used for narrative text citations or references.
Abbreviations such as e.g., i.e., or the word "see" are not to be used within the parentheses of
in-text references. The abbreviations f. and ff. and the word passim are not used as a substitution
for accurate page references. The abbreviation for number when used with a specific arabic
numeral is No., never the symbol # ("Burial No. 7").
VI. Reference Citations in Text
A. General
Authors' surnames are spelled out in full except et al. is used for junior authors' names for
publications with three or more authors. Agency names serving as the author are spelled out in
full in the initial citation and may be abbreviated in subsequent sections if used frequently (usually
determined as over three). Do not use a comma between the author's name and the year. Do
not space between the colon following the year of publication and the page numbers if used.
Text citations will not separate the name of the author from the parentheses containing the year
or year and pages. For example: Rust (1976: 12) said that "the survey was complete." Not:
Rust said that "the survey was complete" (1976: 12). For unacceptable abbreviations in text
citations, see the paragraph above.
B. Examples
1. Simple citation, no page numbers-(Smith 1969); Smith (1969); or Smith's (1969)
discussion.
2. Simple citation, agency-Initial citation: (Philadelphia Registry of Deeds [PRD] 1680:1.6.170
[book. leaf. pagej), subsequent citation of more than three: (PRD 1680:1.6.170). In the References
section list any abbreviations used: Philadelphia Registry of Deeds, Archives of the City and
County (PRD).
3. Two authors-(Little and Shackel 1992) or Little and Shackel (1992).
4. Three or more authors-(Arnold et al. 1992) or Arnold et al. (1992). List all names
in the References section.
5. Three or more authors with the same senior author, more than one reference-List them
chronologically in the text (Olin, Harbottle et al. 1978; Olin, Black et al. 1984); cite them in strict
alphabetical order in the References. In the infrequent instances where the first several names
of two or more multi-authored works are the same and the publications appeared in the same
year, cite them alphabetically both in the text and in the References, as in the following example:
(Arnold, Fleshman, Garrison et al. 1991; Arnold, Fleshman, Hill et al. 1991).
6. Several different authors cited in one place-Use chronological, then alphabetical order:
(McKee 1886; Colton 1959; Deetz and Dethlefsen 1965; Deetz 1967, 1973; Brown 1973; Hall
1973).
7. Several references by the same author-Without pagination: (Hardesty 1985, 1988, 1991a,
1991b) or Hardesty (1985, 1988, 1991a, 1991b). With pagination: (South 1972:23,27, 1977:14-173,
1978a, 1978b) or South (1972:23, 27, 1977:14-173, 1978a, 1978b).
8. Two or more references by the same author or authors in the same year-Organize
chronologically, then alphabetically in the References, and cite as (Barber 1907c; Kelso 1993a,
1993b, 1993c) or Barber (1907c) and Kelso (1993a, 1993b, 1993c).
9. Two or more references by the same author or authors, both as author and as editor, in
the same year--(Rose 1985a, 1985b) or Rose (1985a, 1985b) in the text, but list them separately in
the References with the author citation (1985a) preceding the editor citation (1985b).
10. Citation with pages, tables, or figures specified-Leave no space between colon and
pagination and cite full page references: (Archives departmentales de la Gironde 1584:449--450;
Hall 1969:184-197; Schuyler 1974:17,21; South 1977:chap.4; Kehoe 1978:21,64, Figures 5, 12;
Otto 1984:Table 2; Adams and Boling 1989:82, Table 4, Figure 9a, b; McKearin and McKearin
1948:Plate 22. When several categories are present, cite in the order of: [volume], pages or
folios, chapters, tables, and figures.
11. Book citation when the volume number is required for clarity-For the volume number
use an arabic numeral in brackets followed by a colon with no spaces: (Winsor 1881[1]:533;
Historical Register 1930[2]:5; Garcia 1982[2]; Orser et al. 1987[1]:398--414, [3]:95-106).
12. In-press reference-Avoid using the term "in press" or "n.d." (no date). Provide the firm,
scheduled date of publication when available or use a bracketed date when no date is scheduled
but general consensus exists for the estimated publication date.
13. Electronic sources, found on the Internet (World-Wide Web, FTp, and Gopher sites
and pages)-It is incumbent upon scholar's referencing these sources to maintain a copy of the
information as cited, treating these copies as personal papers. because of the lack of ability to
archive original electronic sources. Text citations for electronic sites/pages are the same as other
citations with the author and date: (Steen 1997) or Steen (1997).
14. Electronic personal communication (Discussion Lists, Usenet Group, and email)-It is
incumbent upon scholar's referencing these sources to maintain a copy of the information as cited,
treating these copies as personal papers, because of the lack of ability to archive original electronic
sources. Use the author's full name, date of communication, and "elec. comm.": (Lester A.
Ross 1997, elec. comm.) or Lester A. Ross (1997, elec. comm.). You must secure permission and
provide the editors with written or electronic permission to cite these communications. Personal
communications are not listed in the references section.
15. Personal communication-Use the author's full name, date of communication, and "pers.
comm.": (Alfred E. Dade 1987, pers. comm.) or Alfred E. Dade (1987, pers. comm.). You must
secure and provide the editors with written permission to cite these communications. Personal
communications are not listed in the references section.
16. No author given-Do not use anonymous, cite the agency issuing the report, the series
title, or the publisher: (National Park Service 1984; Norfolk Gazette 1815; CRM Archaeology
Inc. 1998).
17. Citation of a play---(Shakespeare, Hamlet 2.2.259-261 [act.scene.linesj).
18. Citation of published book reviews-Schuyler's review of Deetz, American Antiquity
45:643-645, is cited in-text as (Schuyler 1980:644).
19. Citation of newspaper-Give the year and pages (New York Times 1988[sec. 4]:Ell;
Pennsylvania Gazette 1875:2). Do not list the day and month in the text reference but they must
be listed in the reference section.
20. Citation of document in archives-Cite by title of document with abbreviations for long
titles: (Essex Institute Sample Books 1794[1]:Book 14).
21. Citation of a publication or quotation cited in another source-Cite the original source
whenever possible, and include it in the References. In the occasional case when the original is
153 THE SOCIETY FOR HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY STYLE GUIDE
so obscure that it cannot be easily located or retrieved, then list only the source used. Do not
use this as a cover for poor research.
22. Citation of publication located elsewhere in the current volume-(Reitz, this volume).
Such citations are not listed in the References section.
VII. References Cited
A. General
I. Names-Cite the full first names of authors and editors as given in a publication or byline
(Robert L. Schuyler, not R. L. Schuyler). When an authors' full name is unknown or the personal
preference is such (L. S. Cressman not Luther S. Cressman) use initials. When two initials are
used there will be a space between the first and second (K. C. Chang not K.C. Chang). Repeat
the family name of a married couple (Kovel, Ralph M., and Terry H. Kovel not Kovel, Ralph M.,
and Terry H.) When names have changed and are not obvious, combine all of them under the
author's preferred name with a cross references to that name (Kjorness, Annalies Corbin 1965
See Corbin, Annalies). Do not cross-reference obvious variations or where the non-preferred
variations can be listed in brackets (Wylie, Jerry [Henry G.]). Correct obvious and well-known
printers errors (James A. Teit not James H. Teit). Do not add periods after initials where none
properly exist (J Harlan Bretz). Normally there is a comma between a name and junior or senior
but not with roman numerals (John Paul Jones, Jr.; Allan P. Slickpoo, Sr.; J. Barto Arnold III).
Religious orders use a comma after the name and no spaces within the abbreviation (Robert
I. Burns, S.J.). Electronic communications will include an email address following the name
(Steen, Carl <diacarl@oal.com always including the required left and right angle brackets
(greater than and less than symbols). For multiple authors in an electronic source, include at
least one email address.
2. Dates-For multiple editions use the date of the edition in hand, but attempt to find and
use the appropriate edition, generally the earliest or latest. For a classic or historical work the
earliest date is the most appropriate. For theoretical works and compilations the latest edition is
preferred. If a reprint edition is used, list the original copy date with the reprinted date listed
following the title. Avoid using n.d. for "no date." Every work has a date of some kind. For
a work with no specific date of publication, the approximate date or date range should be placed
in brackets ([1979], [1930s]).
3. Titles-For books, list the title as found on the title page, not on the bastard title page or
spine. If an alternate title such as on the spine is well known then it is appropriate to list it in
parentheses following the official title. For historical titles from the 18th century or earlier keep
the original capitalization and spelling. Titles of books and journals are typed in italics. In a
multiple volume work and where the volumes are distinct or with different publication dates, it
is permissible to list only those volumes used. The edition of a book will follow the title (2nd
edition). In this specific case use only arabic ordinal numbers. Publisher's series titles (e.g.,
Civilization of the American Indian series, University of Oklahoma, Norman; Studies in Historical
Archeology series, Academic Press, New York, NY) should not be confused with occasional series
titles and are not listed. If a title is not italicized it is not published thus the term "unpublished"
is redundant and will not be used.
Capitalize all words in titles except for articles, coordinate conjunctions, and prepositions not
following punctuation. Always capitalize the first word following a colon in a title. For titles
in any language but English, capitalize only the words that would be capitalized in normal prose.
In French, Spanish, and Italian titles, capitalize the first word and those proper nouns capitalized
in the original title. In German titles, capitalize the first word and all nouns-both common and
proper-but not proper adjectives. In Greek and Latin titles, capitalize the first word, proper
nouns, and proper adjectives. It is a courtesy to readers to provide an English translation of all
foreign titles and is required for any titles not in Roman type (Cyrillic, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese,
etc.). The title will be followed by the translated title in parentheses.
4. Series Title-A series title will always be italicized. If a sub-series is within another higher
series, italicize the highest level only (14 below); however, if they are parallel series, italicize both
(12, 21 below). Be careful to italicize only those portions of the title that should be but likewise
do not omit italics from any part of the official title (33 below). When a title is especially
generic such as Research Reports, it is acceptable to place an institutional or society identifier
before the italic title (12, 33 below).
5. Publisher-For books and occasional series published in North America always follow the
city of publication with the state or province except when the publisher is already identified with
a state such as a specific state university press. Use postal abbreviations to indicate the state of
publication (CA or NY, not California, Calif., Ca., New York, or N.Y.). Do not list the city of
publication for periodicals except when they are obscure or long out-of-print. Newspapers will
always have the city of publication indicated. If you are not sure if a series is an occasional
series or periodical, include the city of publication; it is easier to edit it out than look it up
later. Outside of North America list the country following the city of publication. Do not
include "Publisher," "Books," "Printing," "Inc.," or "Ltd." for books and monographs; however,
Company or Co. and Press are parts of the name and will be included. List only the primary
city of publication (University of California Press, Berkeley not University of California Press,
Berkeley and Los Angeles).
6. Organization-Authors are listed in alphabetical order. A single author entry precedes a
single editor entry, then a multi-author entry beginning with the same name. Names of agencies
serving several times as authors may be abbreviated in in-text citations if doing so does not add
to reader confusion (if it appears more than three times in the text) with the abbreviation listed
in the References. All works attributed to one author (listed only once) should be listed together
and arranged chronologically by publication date, from earliest to most recent; then arranged
alphabetically by title for more than one publication within one year. Two or more works by the
same author(s) and published in the same year should be distinguished by letters after the date,
e.g., 1976a, 1976b. If n.d. must be used, it follows the last dated source for that author. Repeat
the author's name for edited works and for each new set of multiple authors.
7. Alphabetization-Alphabetize names of authors in strict alphabetical order as they are spelled,
and treat two-part names as though they are one word. Latin-American surnames are alphabetized
by patronymic surnames-or the first of the two surnames (e.g., Morales Padron, Francisco).
Names beginning with Mac and Me should be alphabetized as they are spelled; St. is alphabetized
as if it were spelled out, but it is spelled according to the preference of the person.
Example: Adams, Brown, d' Abrosca, Davis, De Bow, deGaulle, de Hostos, DeMille, Dubois,
Evans, Mabie, Macalister, Macaulay, MacMullen, Malloy, McAdoo, McAllister, McCauley, McMullen,
Peters, St. Dennis, Saint-Gaudens, St. Laurent, Sang, Stewart, Van der Donck, van Gogh, Van
Rensselaer, Van't Veer, Vaughan Williams, Willey, Williams.
When the surname occurs first as in Chinese and some other languages, do not reverse the
order (Lee Bo not Lee, Bo). Company names when used as the author, such as with catalogs,
will be alphabetized by the first letter of the company name excluding articles. Example: The
Autocar Company; Montgomery Ward & Co.; S. D. Kimbark Co.; Sears, Roebuck and Co.; T.
Eaton Company).
THE SOCIETY FOR HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY STYLE GUIDE 155
B. Sample References
If vital data are missing such as the author's full name, correct full title, year of publication,
publisher, or city of publication; go to the Library of Congress on Line (http://www.loc.gov/catalog/).
If you have a reference that is not covered by any of these examples, provide the editor with all
pertinent information in the closest logical format.
1. Book, single author-
Ferguson, Leland
1992 Uncommon Ground: An Archaeology of Early African-America 1650-1800. Smithsonian
Institution Press, Washington, DC.
2. Book, reprint of an earlier edition-In the first example the earlier edition is preferable for
historical reasons. In the second example the latest edition is preferable for its currency.
Ernst, Robert
1949 Immigrant Life in New York City, 1825-1863. King's Crown Press, New York, NY.
Reprinted 1994 by Syracuse University Press, Syracuse, NY.
Deetz, James
1996 In Small Things Forgotten: The Archaeology of Early American Life, expanded and
revised from 1977 edition. Doubleday, New York, NY.
3. Book, frequently edited such as textbooks or annuals-
Fagan, Brian M.
1988 In the Beginning: An Introduction to Archaeology, 6th edition. Scott, Foresman/Little,
Brown, Boston, MA.
4. Book or other publication, edited-
Schuyler, Robert L. (editor)
1978 Historical Archaeology: A Guide to Substantive and Theoretical Contributions. Bay-
wood, Farmingdale, NY.
5. Book or other publication, translated or annotated-
Ortega y Gasset, Jose
1984 An Interpretation of Universal History, Mildred Adams, translator. W. W. Norton, New
York, NY.
6. Book, multiple authors-List all authors' first and last names but write only the senior
author's name in reverse order.
Cotter, John L., Daniel G. Roberts, and Michael Parrington
1992 The Buried Past: An Archaeological History of Philadelphia. University of Pennsylvania
Press, Philadelphia.
7. Two or more references by same author or authors, both as author and as editor, in same
year-CRose 1985a, 1985b) or Rose (l985a, 1985b) in the text, but list them separately in the
references section with the edited source second thus:
Rose, Jerome C.
1985a Cedar Grove and Black American History. In Gone to a Better Land, Jerome C. Rose,
editor, pp. 146-152. Arkansas Archeological Research Series, No. 25. Fayetteville.
Rose, Jerome C. (editor)
1985b Gone to a Better Land. Arkansas Archeological Research Series, No. 25. Fayetteville.
8. Pseudonym used, but name known-
Ceram, C. W. [C. W. Marek]
1953 Gods, Graves and Scholars. Alfred A. Knopf, New York, NY.
9. No author given, but name supplied
[Blank, Henry K.]
1910 Art for Its Own Sake. Nonpareil Press, Chicago, IL.
10. Book, society, or government agency as author-
United States Bureau of the Census
1936 United States Census of Agriculture: 1935, Vol. 1. U.S. Department of Commerce,
Washington, DC.
11. Book, in a multi-volume publication-
Deagan, Kathleen A.
1987 Artifacts of the Spanish Colonies of Florida and the Caribbean, 1550-1800, Vol. 1,
Ceramics, Glassware, and Beads. Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington, DC. [In this case
Vol. 1 is part of the title thus it is italicized. Volume is spelled out if it is spelled out as
part of the title.]
Fenton, William N.
1978 Northern Iroquoian Culture Patterns. In Handbook of North American Indians, Vol. 15,
Northeast, Bruce G. Trigger, editor, pp. 296-321. Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. The
general series editor is not listed.
12. Book or article, title within a title-
Wylie, Alison
1989 Archaeological Cables and Tacking: The Implications of Practice for Bernstein's "Options
Beyond Objectivism and Relativism." Philosophy of the Social Sciences, 19:1-18.
13. Book, published by author or privately printed-
Cotter, John L.
1968 Handbook of Historical Archaeology. John L. Cotter, Wyncote, PA.
Heinton, Louise 1.
1972 Prince George's Heritage. Privately printed, Baltimore, MD.
14. Book, no given publisher and/or no place of publication-
Griswold, Don L., and Jean Griswold
1958 Colorado's Century of "Cities." Smith-Brooks, n.p.
15. Monograph or irregular series volume-The first example is also an example of a parallel
series where both are italicized. Note the placement of the comma before Bulletin to agree with
the published title in the first example. In the second example the name of the society is not part
of the title but is added before to clarify the generic title.
Osborne, Douglas
1957 Excavations in the McNary Reservoir Basin near Umatilla, Oregon. Bureau of American
Ethnology, Bulletin 166, River Basin Surveys Papers, 24. Washington, DC.
Staski, Edward (editor)
1987 Living in Cities: Current Research in Urban Archaeology. The Society for Historical
Archaeology, Special Publication Series, No.5. California, PA.
16. Article or chapter in an edited work-Included are books, monographs, irregular series
volumes, proceedings, and transactions.
Garrow, Patrick H.
1981 The Use of Converging Lines of Evidence for Determining Socioeconomic Status. In
Consumer Choice in Historical Archaeology. Suzanne M. Spencer-Wood, editor, pp. 217-231.
Plenum Press, New York, NY
Smith, Marvin T.
1983 Chronology from Glass Beads. Proceedings of the 1982 Glass Trade Bead Conference,
Charles Hayes III, editor, pp. 147-148. Rochester Museum and Science Center, Research Records,
No. 16. Rochester, NY. (Note in this example that only the primary series title is italicized.)
Wall, Diana DiZerega
1987 Settlement System Analysis in Historical Archaeology: An Example from New York City.
In Living in Cities: Current Research in Urban Archaeology, Edward Staski, editor, pp. 65-74.
The Society for Historical Archaeology, Special Publication Series, No.5. California, PA.
17. Article in a journal, magazine, or newsletter-Do not provide a place of publication for
a journal unless it is obscure or long out of print as in the first example. Also provide reprint
information for old or obscure journals as in the third example. Always include the issue number
(in parentheses) if the series has them. Provide the usual volume, number, and pages for popular
magazines (Time, New Yorker) as for journals, not just dates.
American Antiquarian
1889 An Aboriginal Coat of Mail. American Antiquarian, 11(3):196-197. Chicago.
Beaudry, Mary C.
1990 Looting by Any Other Name: Archaeological Ethics and the Looting Problem. The
Society for Historical Archaeology Newsletter, 23(1): 13-14.
Osborne, Douglas
1955 Nez Perce Horse Castration-A Problem in Diffusion. Davidson Journal of Anthropology,
1(2):113-122. Seattle. Reprinted 1987 in Northwest Anthropological Research Notes,
21(1&2): 121-140.
Reitz, Elizabeth 1.
1986 Urban/Rural Contrasts in Vertebrate Fauna from the Southern Atlantic Coastal Plain.
18. Article in a journal, magazine, or newsletter with no author
Semi- Weekly East Oregonian
1882 The Competing Road. Semi-Weekly East Oregonian, 7(84):3. Pendleton, OR.
Time
1968 The Man They Ate for Dinner. Time, 9(19):98.
19. Book review or comment-
Ayres, James E.
1990 Review of Wong Ho Luen: An American Chinatown, Great Basin Foundation, editor.
20. Article in government document-Include abbreviation in parentheses, if cited more than
three times in text. The Government Printing Office (GPO) is never listed as the publisher. It
is only the printer, the publisher is the bureau, division, or other unit responsible for the work
(Smithsonian Institution, National Park Service, Department of Agriculture, Department of the
Interior, etc.). The last example is also an example of parallel series both of which are italicized.
Include the Serial Set numbers for that series.
Mason, Otis T.
1900 Pointed Bark Canoes of the Kutenai and Amur. United States National Museum Report
for 1899, pp. 523-537. Washington, DC.
Kaye, Clifford A.
1961 Pleistocene Stratigraphy of Boston, Massachusetts. u.s. Geological Survey Professional
Paper, 424B:73-76. Washington, DC.
Stevens, Isaac I.
1854 Report of Isaac Stevens, Governor, Superintendent. Annual Report of the Bureau of
Indians Affairs for the Year 1854, pp. 392-462. 33rd Congress, 2nd Session, Senate Executive
Document, 1(1) (Serial Set 746) and House Executive Document, 1 (Serial Set 777). Washington,
DC.
21. Newspaper, authored article-Include both the date and the volume, issue, and page
numbers if known (many newspapers do not have volume and issue numbers).
Baker, Herbert C.
1950 Natron Cut-off Makes Eugene a Rail Center. RegisterGuard, 23 July:3-4. Eugene, OR.
THE SOCIETY FORHISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY STYLE GUIDE 159
22. Newspaper, unauthored-
Bonners Ferry Herald
1987 Upfront, the Mystery of the "Chinese Ovens." Bonners Ferry Herald, 14 June, 97(3): I.
Bonners Ferry, ID.
Pennsylvania Gazette
1729 No title. Pennsylvania Gazette, I :3. Philadelphia, PA.
23. Newspaper advertisements-Provide pagination and specific advertiser if available.
New York Evening Post
1858 Ebenezer Collamore: Advertisement. New York Evening Post, 21 December. New York,
NY.
24. Dissertation available from University Microfilms International (UMI)-Note italics. If
you are unsure concerning a dissertation being listed by UMI, see the front matter of a recent
Dissertation Abstracts volume for a list of Participating Institutions with the first year of their
participation or lookup the author and title at <http://wwwlib.umi.com/dxweb/search>. Use the
more inclusive Doctoral rather than Ph.D.
Shackel, Paul A.
1987 A Historical Archaeology of Personal Discipline. Doctoral dissertation, Department of
Anthropology, State University of New York at Buffalo, Buffalo. University Microfilms Interna
tional, Ann Arbor, MI.
25. Unpublished dissertation or thesis-Note no italics. The only U.S. institution currently
giving doctoral degrees in historical archaeology and not participating in UMI is Harvard
University. Do not use the redundant "unpublished." If the title is not italicized it is obviously
not published.
Corbin, Annalies
1995 Material Culture of Nineteenth Century Steamboat Passengers on the Bertrand and Arabia.
Master's thesis, Department of History, East Carolina University, Greenville, NC.
26. Unpublished manuscripts and internal reports-In the third example the date is part of the
title and thus retains its form. Never use the redundant "on file at."
Jones, Olive R.
1989 Squares, Rounds, Octagons, Flasks, and Vials; Dark Green Glass Bottles. Manuscript,
Parks Canada, Ottawa, Ontario.
Ross, Lester A.
1976 Fort Vancouver, 1829-1860: A Historical Archeological Investigation of the Goods
Imported and Manufactured by the Hudson's Bay Company. Manuscript, Fort Vancouver National
Historic Site, Vancouver, WA.
Schumacher, Paul 1. F.
1960 Archeological Field Notes, Whitman Archeological Excavations, October 1-28, 1960.
Manuscript, National Park Service, San Francisco.
27. Unpublished gray literature and contract report-Cite by author(s) or editor(s), date, and
title (not italicized) followed by "Report to" agency or company that contracted for the work
(with the city) "from" unit and institution or company (with the city) that prepared the report.
Do not use the redundant "unpublished" or "on file at."
Adams, William H.
1972 Component I at Wawawai (45-WT-39): The Ethnographic Period Occupation. Report to
the National Park Service, Seattle, from Laboratory of Anthropology, Washington State University,
Pullman.
Brauner, David R.
1989 The French-Canadian Archaeological Project Willamette Valley, Oregon: Site Inventory.
Report to Oregon State Historic Preservation Office, Salem, from Department of Anthropology,
Oregon State University, Corvallis.
Minor, Rick, and Stephen Dow Beckham
1984 Archaeological Testing at Fort Cascades and the Cascades Townsite (45SA9). Report to
U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Portland District, from Heritage Research Associates, Eugene, OR.
28. Published gray literature and contract reports-Reports in a named series will have
the series title italicized. Carefully check the proper italicization of titles as seen in these
two references.
Adams, William H.
1977 Silcott, Washington: Ethnoarchaeology of a Rural American Community. Washington
State University, Laboratory of Anthropology, Report of Investigations, No. 54. Pullman.
Blukis Onat, Astrida R.
1976 Archaeological Excavations at Site 45-JE-16, Indian Island, Jefferson County, Washington.
Washington Archaeological Research Center, Project Report, No. 30. Pullman.
29. Unpublished paper presented at a meeting-
Neiman, Fraser D.
1984 An Evolutionary Approach to House Plans and the Organization of Production on the
Chesapeake Frontier. Paper presented at the 17th Conference on Historical and Underwater
Archaeology, Williamsburg, VA.
30. Manuscript, in press-
Whitman, Slim
2002 The Contribution of the Tenor Yodeler to Historical Archaeology. Historical Archaeology,
in press.
31. Primary document-Primary documents and archival manuscripts should be described in a
logical sequence from the specific document, to the file, to the collection, to the repository, to the
institution, to the city, and to the state or country. In the first example an office holder rather
than a named individual is the author.
THESOCIETY FORHISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY STYLE GUIDE 161
Adjutant General, Department of the Columbia
1886 Letter to Commanding Officer, Fort Coeur d'Alene from the Assistant Adjutant General,
Department of the Columbia. Manuscript, Letters and Telegrams Received, Fort Sherman, Idaho,
Part V, Entry 8, Box 8, 1886-764, Record Group 393, National Archives, Washington, DC.
Downer, Samuel
1850 Letter to Horace Mann, 8 August. Horace Mann Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society,
Boston.
Maryland State Archives
1671 Inventory of the Estate of Robert Slye. Testamentary Proceedings, 5:152-190, Maryland
State Archives, Maryland Hall of Records, Annapolis.
Stimson, Henry L.
1918 Stimson Diary and War Letters, February. Henry L. Stimson Papers, Special Collections,
Sterling Library, Yale University, New Haven, CT.
32. Primary document, unknown date-Use bracketed date, never n.d. when a date is not
given on title page but consensus exists for probable date of publication (note un-capitalized
descriptive title).
Essex Institute Sample Books
[1794] Sample books of candlesticks, teapots, and other objects. Essex Institute, Salem, MA.
33. Primary documents on microfilm, microform, microfiche, videocassette-Use this format
only if this is the only source known or readily available.
Missouri Historical Society
1983 American Fur Company Account Books. Microfilm, Missouri Historical Society, St.
Louis.
Carlin, William
1887 Letter to Assistant Adjutant General, 15 August. Manuscript, Letters Received, Adjutant
General's Office 1889-1887, Microfilm 689, Roll 533, Frames 349-351, War Department, Main
Series, 1881-1889, Record Group 93, National Archives, Washington, DC.
George, Donald
1983 Interview by Lavina Felsman, 15 March. Manuscript and audio tape, Coeur d'Alene
Tribal Memory Project: Oral History In Coeur d'Alene Language, Tape 2, Coeur d'Alene
Education Department, Desmet, ID.
Gibby, Lon, director and writer
1979 Echoes of Yesterday. Donald Ball, producer, 16 mm film and video. Creative Audio
and Video, Spokane, WA.
34. Unpaginated auction catalogs listing lots
Christie's
1988 Gold and Silver of the Atocha and Santa Margarita. Auction catalog for 14--15 June,
Christie's, New York, NY.
162 HISTORICALARCHAEOLOGY35(4)
35. Maps, published-
United States Geological Survey (USGS)
1979 Blackstone. Massachusetts, Quadrangle Map. 7.5 minute series. U.S. Geological Survey,
Washington, DC.
36. Electronic sources: general comments-Electronic sources found on the Internet include
electronic sites (World-Wide Web, FTP, and Gopher sites and pages) and electronic communications
(discussion lists, Usenet Group, and email). It is incumbent upon scholar's referencing these
sources to maintain a copy of the information as cited, treating these copies as permanent personal
papers, because of the lack of ability to archive original electronic source. Electronic sources are
referenced using the following basic format:
Author's last name, first name and initial <author's Internet address>
Year Title of site/page, or subject of message <Internet address>. institution, city (if known).
Date of site/page creation/update, or date of message.
37. Discussion Lists-listserv, majordomo, listproc, etc.
Steen, Carl <diacarl@aol.com>
1997 Re: Button marks-help. <histarch@asuvrn.inre.asu.edu>. 22 January.
38. Usenet Group-
Legg, Sonya <legg@harquebus.cgd.ucar.edu>
1994 African History Book List. In Usenet Group. <soc.culture.african>. 5 September.
39. Email-
Ross, Lester A. <Lester@spiretech.com>
1997 Book Review Reply and Glass Beads. Personal communication to Brooke Arkush.
<barkush@weber.edu>. 24 January.
40. World- Wide Web, original works-
Clouse, Robert A.
1996 American Fur Company District Headquarters, Mendota, Minnesota, USA; Minnesota His
torical Society, Archaeology, Excavations On-line. <http://www.umn.edu/marp/dig/sitel.htrnl>.
41. World Wide Web, published or archived works-
Ogden, Peter Skene
1909 Peter Skene Ogden's Snake Country Journal, 1825-1826. Originally published in the
Quarterly of the Oregon Historical Society, 1O(4}. <http://www.xmission.com/-drudy/mtman/htmi/
ogdn2526.htrn1>.
42. FTP
Edwards, Dean
1994 Shamanish-General Overview-Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ). <ftp://lucy.ukc.ac.ukI
pub/Papers/shaman_FAQ>. 19 April.
THESOCIETY FOR HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY STYLE GUIDE 163
43. Gopher-
Lovell, Margaretta, and Dell Upton <upton@uclink.berkeley.edu>
1994 Syllabus for Theory and Practice of Material Culture, Anth 279X, Departments
of Architecture and History of Art, University of California, Berkeley. <gopher:/
/gopher.inform.umd.edu:70/00/EdRes/CoIleges/ARHU/Dept/AmericanStudies/ MatCulture/Syllabi/
upton>. II October.
VIII. Final Summary of Things to Check Before Sending Your Manuscript
DO NOT:
Do not use headers (running heads) or footers.
Do not right justify; flush left only.
Do not center anything.
Do not use forced returns (except at the end of a paragraph).
Do not use hyphens to split words (turn off the automatic hyphen function).
Do not use hard page ends.
Do not use hanging indents at any time including the references section.
Do not space between paragraphs except as required above and below indented quotes.
Do not use small caps under any circumstances.
Do not use underlining (with one minor exception below), but do use italic type if appropriate.
Do not use tabs in normal text (tables and the references section are exceptions).
Do not use the redundant "see," "e.g.," or Latin terms in references or "see" with figures.
Do not begin sentences with Because, However, And, But, or Thus.
DO:
Do use Times New Roman 12 point if possible.
Do use italic and superscripts and subscripts when appropriate.
Do double space all text, quotes, abstract, references section, and captions (but not tables).
Do indented paragraphs 0.5 in. (an indent is not the same as five spaces or a tab).
Do indicate long quotes by setting off with an extra blank line before and after.
Do indent the first line of block quotations only if it is the beginning of a quoted paragraph.
Do use a comma before "and" or "or" in a series of three or more objects, ideas, or phrases.
Do place all commas and periods inside of the final quotation marks.
Do use arabic ordinal century designations, 18th, not eighteenth or 18
th
.
Do use the full preferred name of authors and editors, not just initials.
Do spell and punctuate et al. correctly.
Do make sure that all of the original figures are with the manuscript when submitted.
Do be sure that all permissions for figures and personal communications are enclosed.
Do use two spaces to separate all sentences in a paragraph.
Do include your home phone and especially your email address with your manuscript.
Do run spell check one last time.
Do save all of your manuscript as one file on a new, clean disk placed in a static-free envelope
and then placed in the envelope containing the hard copies and illustrations of your manuscript.
Do save an electronic and hard copy of the final form for your own records and later reference.
FINALLY! PLEASE DO be absolutely sure that all in-text references are in the references
section and that all items in the references section are used in the text. This is the major problem
and the most costly of time and funds in the whole copy-editing process.
HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY
Quarterly Issues
Volume 24:1-35:4
1990-2001
Price Each: $12.50
Index 1967-1986: $7.50
Volume 16: I & 16:2, "The East Liverpool, Ohio, Pottery District: Identification of Manufacturers and Marks," by William
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SPECIAL PUBLICATION SERIES
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No.2 "Historical Archaeology and the Importance of Material Things," edited by Leland G. Ferguson
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No.3: "Reconstructing Historic Subsistence with an Example from Sixteenth-Century Spanish Florida," by Elizabeth
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No.5:
Peter E. Pope, and James A. Tuck (1996). Price: $15.00.
"The Archaeology of French Colonial North America,"
(1997). Price: $20.00.
compiled by Gregory A. Waselkov
READERS IN HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY
2000
2000
"Approaches to Material Culture Research for Historical Archaeologists,"
by David R. Brauner. Price: $25.00.
"Studies in Material Culture Research," edited by Karlis Karklins. Price: $35.00.
2nd edition, compiled
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Society for Historical Archaeology
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SOCIETYfor
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ARCHAEOLOGY
PO Box 30446 - Tucson, AZ 85751-0446 - USA
520.886.8006 phone- 520.886.0182fax
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ISSN 04409213

2001, 35

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