Getting Your Hands Dusty… Oh Yeah, and Google

I love to conduct archival research. My first (and only) publication came from my unwillingness to believe that eighteenth-century author Mary Deverell died without her passing being recorded somewhere in a British periodical.640px-archive_boxes1
But let me back-track here just a little so I can explain why I was interested in Mary Deverell’s day of death.
In a feminist theory seminar at Auburn University, I was given a list of British authors from the eighteenth century on the first day of class, and I was told that which ever author I picked would be my object of study for the entire semester; any theory I learned would be applied to my specific author’s work. Being a fan of early American literature, I choose the English author Mary Deverell, writer of sermons, two collection of poems and a play.
One of the first assignments I was tasked with in this course was to learn everything I could about Deverell’s life… hmm, I didn’t find much. In fact, all the biographies listed were educated guesses on when and where she was born, a list of her publications, and a question mark as to the day she died. I knew that Deverell was a “forgotten” woman writer, but I found it hard to believe that, with all the interest in recovering women’s writing over the last twenty or so years, no one had found any document that could tell us a little more about her life. Using Google as my research method,  I typed “Mary Deverell” into the search engine and went through pages and pages of garbage until I found the periodical that mentioned her burial at an Anglican cemetery in England. SCORE!!!! Not only did I discover that she died in 1805, I also know knew that at the time of her death she was Anglican–despite her Quaker-esq mentality regarding human equality. Armed with this new information and a renewed sense of purpose, I went on to discover that an excerpt of her work was published in New Jersey in the 1790s and that she contributed to magazines under a pseudonym before she began publishing her larger works under her own name.  All of this to say, I get a weird high from conducting archival research–recovering the once important but now forgotten.

So why, in the beginning, was I not very excited about our end of semester archival research project? My best

Traffic on I35 in Fort Worth, Tx

Traffic on I35 in Fort Worth, Tx

guess is that the drive to Denton irritated me. When it takes an hour and a half at 2pm on a Tuesday for me to drive from Fort Worth to Denton–40miles max–I’m not happy.

My first trip to Denton was with Amanda, Sam and Heidi. Our first stop was at UNT, my Alma mater. They had some neat archives, but after we got all excited about the possibility that we had found AWESOME archive materials on our first trip, they hit is with the boom: “All of our archives have been digitized.” Damn. So we thanked the kind folks at UNT, typed Texas Woman’s University into Sam’s GPS and headed toward downtown Denton.
Upon arrival we asked Ms. Ross, the keeper of the special collections at TWU, if she had any pre-1865 archives from minority writers that had NOT been digitized. While we filled out the required paper work, Ms. Ross went to that magic room somewhere in the library that has old stuff  and grabbed a single box that she felt would fit our needs. In the box were four diaries written by Clara Miller Dabney. These diaries covered a large portion of Dabney’s teenage life in New Orleans in the late 1850s and early 1860s. The covers of the diaries were hard and elaborate, Diary II’s cover was a range of blue, thick squiggly lines. We slowly peeled back the covers, trying not to disctub the secrets within. Inside were pages upon pages of neat, cursive writing that held the key to recovering Clara Miller Dabney’s life. Before leaving the archives that day, I declared that Diary II, a diary recording her journey across Canada, the north-eastern U.S, and the south-eastern U.S in 1858. I choose this diary specifically because I have ALWAYS been a fan of studying early American texts with plots and themes that are focused on physical and cultural shifting, whether it be Mary Rowlandson, Sarah Kemble Knight or John Tanner. Our pre-rush hour drive back to Fort Worth took almost two hours.

My second trip to TWU was when the transcribing began. It was a frustrating day. I left school at noon on a Friday, so traffic on I35 going through Fort Worth was awful. With a pencil in hand and a notepad near by, I sat down to transcribe. Within three pages I was regretting my choice to transcribe Diary II. You see, I did not take into consideration that a travel diary, especially one that begins in Canada, would name rivers and towns that were french in root; her early American hand writing did not make my life any easier. I did the best I could that day, but there were many words partially transcribed, followed by a “?”. I knew better than to leave Denton at 5:00, so I did some homework on my dying computer until 6 and then got on the road. Two hours later I arrived at my apartment.

Reverehouse

The Revere House

A few days later I got out my notes. After a few minutes on Google, I figured out that what I had transcribed as the “Guequany” river was actually the Saguenay River, and that boat she was on, the “Guequany Steamer”, was actually a pretty famous steamer, the Saguenay, which transported tourists up and down the St. Lawrence River in Quebec. Thanks to Google, there were a lot of moments like these that day. My frustration turned to delight as I started to realize that during Dabney’s travels, she was hitting all of the nineteenth century hot tourist spots, such as the Island of New Orleans, Mount Washington, and Paul Revere’s house, to name a few.

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving break, I went back to TWU to try and finish transcribing the diary (I didn’t even come close, by the way). I furiously transcribed page after page of material. 44 pages were transcribed in all, which gave me a clear enough sense of her diary to complete the project for this course. As I sat in traffic on the way home, I cursed the I35 gods, swearing I would seek revenge if I didn’t make it back to TCU in time to teach (I did, with five minutes to spare).

When I finally began to build my website, the archive detective in me really kicked in. I wanted to create a page titled “Biography,” but I needed to know more about her life than what was currently known, which was just about nothing.
“If it ain’t broke don’t fix it,” so back to Google I went. Several pages later, I found what I was looking for–a transcribed article from the LDS Family History Center in Fannin County, Tx that had new details regarding Dabney’s life. For me, Christmas came early this year, y’all.

I don’t know where I’ll go from here with my work with Clara Miller Dabney, but I do have one great take away: getting your hands dusty in the archives goes hand in hand with digital research, as more and more documents are transcribed and their content placed on the web.

Oh Yeah, my other great take away: I35 is for the birds

(Re)writing Early America- Continued

In a previous blog post I explored how two African-American slaves, Phillis Wheatley and Jupiter Hammon, (re)wrote their own ethnic histories, an act of resistance against the dominant culture’s narrative of African slaves in the American colonies. In this blog post I will extend the previous inquiry by exploring how other minority writers in early America, namely Elizabeth Ashbridge; Mary Ann Talbot; and William Apess, rewrote their own cultural narratives in early America, challenging eighteenth-century connotations for the words “Indian” and “woman.”

In her autobiography, Elizabeth Ashbridge grapples with the cultural assumption that women were always beholden to a higher, human power. She understood that, as a young woman living in eighteenth-century England, her parents made the decisions regarding her current and future state until she was married, at which point her husband would take over the roll of her parents. Thus, as a teenager, when Ashbridge married a man without her parents consent, she wrote that it was her parent’s “right” to have “disposed of [her] to their content,” remorseful that she went against their will in marrying a man without their consent. Here, in the beginning of her autobiography, Ashbridge brought together two often-coupled terms, woman and obedience. The consequences of being disobedient to her parent’s wishes was damaging; Ashbridge’s father never forgave her, and the next few years of her life are a series of tragic events that all could have been avoided if she would have been the obedient young woman she knew she was expected to be. This scene in the beginning of her narrative confirms her compliance (albeit through defiance) of the cultural norm that argues for her obedience to a higher, human power. A few years later, Ashbridge found herself remarried and turned Quaker, a religious association her husband did not like. He beats her severely and threatens her livelihood if she does not quit the Society of Friends. Again, Ashbridge found herself in a dilemma: as a married woman, she was obligated by cultural norms to be obedient to her husband; however, Ashbridge challenges this notion by choosing to be obedient to God. After being at the receiving end of several beatings from her husband for being a Quaker, he finally accepts her religious affiliation, at which point Ashbridge writes, “I was overcome with joy, and began already to reap the fruits of my obedience.” Here, Ashbridge acknowledges that she did not pass from the hands of her parents to the hands of her husband; rather, she choose to be obedient to God before man, even if that meant redefining the culturally acceptable relationship between the words “obedience” and “woman.” While by today’s standards Ashbridge’s act of defiance may seem minor, rewriting eighteenth-century hierarchical constructs was no small feat.

talbot01Similar to Ashbridge, Mary Ann Talbot is a late eighteenth/early nineteenth-century woman who redefines the word “woman” because of her lack of a human, higher power who would assure she fulfills her expected, feminine role in society. Talbot was orphaned upon the death of her mother at childbirth (her father was willingly absent). Upon reminiscing over this experience, Talbot wrote that she felt irreparable loss upon losing her “protector and guide through life.” And while Talbot claimed this loss “doomed” her, her narrative shows that women, in fact, function successfully in the dominant culture, albeit in an unacceptable manner. Talbot is forced to don male clothes and become the footboy to Captain Bowen, the first in a series of male roles she excels in. With no “protector” to stop her, Talbot successfully becomes a ‘man,’ challenging gendered norms regarding the contribution of the sexes in eighteenth-century Anglo society. Talbot rewrites the cultural narrative regarding ‘women’s work’ and women’s socioeconomic contributions.

apess William Apess, a Pequot Native American, challenges the dominant culture’s use of the word “Indian,” with the hopes of addressing his reader’s misconceptions of Native Americans in his autobiography, Son of the Forest. Apess wrote, “I know nothing of so trying of a child as to be repeatedly called by the improper name. I thought it disgraceful to be called an Indian… The proper name which out to be applied to our nation… is that of ‘Natives’.” Here, Apess acknowledges that the connotations associated with the word Indian are “degrading.” If we construct Apess’ autobiography around said claim, then his narrative works to rewrite Native American history and (then) present day culture by showing how the connotations associated with the word Indian, which gave Natives a certain history and culture, were incorrect. Apess argues that his autobiography is “narrating the truth,” and one of his claims, among many, is that Natives are a “peaceful people” with a “spirit of kindness” who have suffered “injustice” at the hands of Anglo colonizers and frontiersman. By arguing for a new signifier, Native, as the appropriate sign for Native peoples, Apess rewrites Native American history, with the hopes of changing the cultural narrative of his kinsmen in the American landscape.

With these two blogs I hoped to have shown that rewriting the cultural narrative of minority groups in the eighteenth-century Western world was an act of resistance, even when the narratives, at times, confirm the dominant cultures ideologies and practices. As a means of control, when the dominant culture writes the lives and histories of minority people, they control the narrative; they are the producers of the knowledge from which meaning is made. In writing their own narratives, Jupiter Hammon, Phillis Wheatley, Elizabeth Ashbridge, Mary Ann Talbot and William Apess define the words African, Indian, and Woman in ways that both supported and countered the narratives written by the powers at be, allowing readers to see how minority groups in Early America helped make meaning and culture.

What’s up with all the food in Sarah Kemble Knight’s Journal?

sarah kemble knight

On Tuesday, October 3, 1704, Sarah Kemble Knight wrote in her journal that she and her guide were travelling towards New Haven “without observing any thing remarkable” between eight o’clock in the morning and lunch. Thus, her journal for this specific day and time frame includes no observations of her surroundings. She observes nothing likely to attract attention, conspicuous, or noticeable. So what is remarkable for Knight? Well, one answer to that question is food. During her journey through New England, Knight finds food noteworthy, as evidenced through her repeated remarks regarding the food she is served during her travels.

This blog post has a simple purpose: I will explore why Knight finds food, I dare say, the most remarkable aspect of her journey. I would like to posit this question in a context that Knight herself proposes. While traveling at night, Knight becomes frightened by the darkness that surrounds her. She writes that the surrounding darkness “was enough to startle a more Masculine courage.” In this quote, Knight has gendered her environment: those who possess more masculine courage would be startled by the darkness of the night, too, but not as quickly or to the extent that Knight was. Thus, I believe her comment here begs the question: what, for Knight, is ‘feminine courage’ and in what environment can ‘feminine courage’ be proven?’ Thus, below, I will discuss Knight’s seeming obsession with remarking on food in context of ‘feminine courage.’

On October 3, 1704, after arriving at the post’s second stage, Knight writes:

Here, having called for something to eat, ye woman bro’t in a Twisted thing like a cable, but something whiter; and laying it on the bord, tugg’d for life to bring it into a capacity to spread; wch having wth great pains accomplished, shee serv’d in a dish of Pork and Cabage, I suppose the remains of Dinner. The sause was of a deep Purple, wch I tho’t was boil’d in her dye Kettle; the bread was Indian, and every thing on the Table service Agreeable to these. I, being hungry, gott a little down; but my stomach was soon cloy’d, and what cabbage I swallowed serv’d me for a Cudd the whole day after.

In this passage, the bread is “Indian” and all of the other food on the table might as well be. Given Knight’s commentary on non-white peoples in her journal, especially Native Americans, we can assume that Knight labeling the woman’s prepared meal as being agreeable to Indian bread is not a compliment. So why would Knight included such a detailed description of the woman’s preparation of the meal as well as descriptions of the dishes served? I propose that Knight, being on a journey few women would have undertaken by themselves in 1704 for safety and social reasons, finds that she can show off her superior ‘feminine courage’ through hypercritical, detailed condemnations—and approvals, later— of food.

To support my argument, I will turn to a passage in which Knight reveals that her courage through language is setting/context specific. Knight hears an Indian name so “barbarous” that she refuses to repeat it in her writing:

But I could get no sleep, because of the Clamor of some the of Town tope-ers in next Room, Who were entred into a strong debate concerning ya Signifycation of the name of their Country, (viz.) Narraganset. One said it was named so by ya Indians, because there grew a Brier there, of a prodigious Highth and bigness, the like hardly ever known, called by the Indians Narragansett; And quotes an Indian of so Barberous a name for his Author, that I could not write it.

Here, Indian names are so barbarous that they cannot be repeated; by not repeating the name she overheard, she symbolically refuses to engage in the men’s conversation. Given the specific environments that she is in during her journey, as I have previously noted, it is no wonder that she chooses not to invoke her ‘feminine courage’ here, and consume the barbarous name of the Indian (by repeating it in her journal—the completion of consumption) like she does the ‘Indian’ food at the woman’s house.

AmericanStageCoach1795-300x208Thus, we can see why Knight finds food, among all of the events that must have taken place during her journey, to be remarkable. In a journey where she may have felt less-than courageous in moments (many of which are documented in her journal), she finds that she can prove her ‘feminine courage’ when she discusses, details, analyses and consumes the food she is served on her trip, as this process seems to create for Knight a mental and physical safe space. In these moments, she seems to feel a freedom in reconstructing the particulars of the meal, a feeling that she does not possess in other settings, such as when she is alone in an inn in the middle of Narragansett, with drunk men rambling below her.

In this blog post, I hoped to have shed new light on why Knight’s journal is, by and large, centered around food.

(Re)writing Early America

Map-of-Colonies

Around the year 1700, two white, Puritan men, Cotton Mather and Samuel Sewall, published their arguments for or against slavery in the American colonies, emphasizing how Puritan religious beliefs, as well as the Puritan people’s socioeconomic concerns, did or did not support the institution of slavery.

In the mid to late eighteenth century, two African slaves living in New England, Jupiter Hammon and Phillis Wheatley, wrote publically of their opinions regarding slavery in the American colonies, emphasizing how their Calvinist belief system, as well as their civil rights philosophies, did or did not support the institution of slavery.

In today’s blog post I will attempt to discover how Hammon and Wheatley resisted the dominant white narrative of Early America regarding slavery, blackness, civil rights, and Christianity by (re)writing the narrative of the African American slave in the American colonies, which worked to challenge the transatlantic vision of black bodies as lesser-than white bodies, as shown in Mather’s and Sewall’s works.

For Cotton Mather, Christianizing African slaves was ‘good’ “revenue” for the Puritans, both for their spirits and their wallets (11). Spiritually speaking, Mather argues that the Puritans are presented with an “opportunity,” and this opportunity is to see whether or not they can Christianize “the most Bruitish of Creatures upon earth.” Specifically, Mather calls this opportunity a “trail.”  By using the word, trial, we can see that Mather argues that Christianizing slaves is an opportunity for Puritans to test their own souls, proving whether or not they are true Christians, thus able to convert “the Blackest Instances of Blindness and Baseness, into admirable Candidates of Eternal Blessedness.” If conversion is successful, Mather argues that, upon their death, God will take into account the actions of those Puritans who have converted heathens into servants of God; God would be pleased with these Puritan Converters of heathens because then “the Great God might have Revenues of glory from [African Slaves].” While Puritans believed that only those Christians who are predetermined to be elected to enter heaven will enter heaven, due to the Puritan belief in limited attainment, Mather seems to imply that the symbolic act of successfully converting heathens to Christianity could be an outward sign that said converters are the elected, and, at the very least, converting the heathen can’t hurt their chances of getting into heaven. Thus, he argues that Puritans should own slaves because it gives the Puritans an opportunity to convert heathen to Christians, allowing God to gain revenue from the institution of slavery.

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Puritans did not come to New England to be laborers: land and other natural resources were available to be taken, with the intention of significant monies being made. For many Puritans, and Mather in particular, the enslavement of Africans in America was the means by which natural resources could be cultivated cheaply, without putting Puritans to ‘work.’ Mather seems to have an acute awareness of how Christianizing African slaves could work to the Puritans’ advantage, by utilizing the Bible’s hierarchal, master/servant rhetoric. Just as the Puritans saw themselves dutiful servants of their master, God, Mather argued that slaves could become dutiful servants of their masters by extension, Puritans: “Were your Servants well tinged with the Spirit of Christianity, it would render them exceeding Dutiful unto their Masters… afraid of speaking or doing any thing that may justly displease you.” Here, Mather recognizes that to teach slaves the “spirit” of Christianity is to teach them the “spirit” of servitude, which means for monetary revenue in Puritan pockets. What I have shown here is the benefits Mather saw in Christianizing African slaves for monetary purposes.

For Samuel Sewall, a Puritan and peer to Cotton Mather, slavery was an affront to an emergent ideology circulating in Great Britain and the colonies regarding Christianity’s core principle—every man’s God-given right to liberty. Drawing from passages/narratives in the Bible, Sewall makes his argument against slavery: He that Stealeth a Man and Selleth him, or if he be found in his hand, he shall surely be put to Death. Exod. 12.16” and “It is most certain that all Men, as they are the Sons of Adam, are Coheirs; and have equal Right unto Liberty, and all other comforts of Life.” Here, Sewall destabilizes the rhetoric of hierarchy that permeated European Christianity for centuries, and instead turns to the emerging rhetoric of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that argued for God’s gift of liberty on earth to men. As for the Christian duty of converting the heathen, Sewall counters Mather’s argument by claiming that the good deed of conversion does not ‘right’ the wrong of slavery. In summary, while Sewall is an abolitionist on the grounds of every man’s natural right to liberty, he has no interest in bringing African slaves to the colonies or Christianizing them. Sewall believes the “Welfare of the Province” would benefit more from employing “White” indentured servants, who “embody” British-Americanness, as a slave supposedly never could. In short, Sewall is an abolitionist, but he does not believe that Africans should not be interwoven into the American Colonies’ historical narrative.

Both of these writers show how two British-American white males saw the future (or lack thereof) of African peoples in the colonies. While these men do not represent the only way in which Early Americans envisioned slaves in the colonies, they are two powerful voices that undoubtedly had many followers.

Jupiter Hammon is a slave who is concerned for the souls of his fellow slaves in the after-life. While abolitionist sentiment was budding around him, Hammon’s focus was not on creating anti-slavery literature; rather, his works looked to build a Christian community of black slaves, his brethren, who focused not on their hardships of the terrestrial world, but instead served God in whatever capacity He saw fit while on earth, with the goal of making it to Heaven upon death through dutiful service, even if that meant being a slave. To put Hammon in conversation with Mather might, at first glance, seem that Mather’s dream came true: British-Americans have successfully converted the heathen, and the Bible is used as a means to make the slave dutiful and profitable for Euro-Americans. However, a close look at Hammon’s work reveals that he is also aiding in the growth of a community of Christian slaves who speak directly to each other on divine and civil matters, without the intervention of white males. In “An Evening’s Improvement,” an “Address to Miss Phillis Wheately,” and “An Address to the Negros of the State of New York,” Hammon uses print as a means of communicating his observations on the spiritual and civil well-being of the black community in the colonies. In “An Evening’s Improvement,” Hammon calls on his brethren to not take part in the war between the colonies and Great Britain (96), and in “An Address to the Negros of the State of New York,” he calls on his brethren to not partake in any form of civil disobediance, as these acts could hurt the chances of slaves ever attaining freedom. Basically, Mather was right in arguing that Christianity could be used to make some slaves more dutiful, but he did not realize that Christianity would also be used as a means of resistance against white intrusion into the slave community.

Sewall did not believe that Africans could ever be members of the British-American community, but Phillis Wheatley proved him wrong. Through her printed works, Wheatley fights for a Christian community in America, in which both the white British-American and the “ethiop” are all members. Unlike Hammon, Wheatley does not just write for her black brethren, she writes for the transatlantic world: her poem titles include, “To the Kind’s Most Excellent Majesty,” “On the Death of the Rev. Dr. Sewell,” On the Death of a Young Gentleman,” “To Captain H – – – – – D, of the 65th Regiment.” As these titles suggest, her reach was extensive, and Wheatley found commonality in this multicultural and multiethnic community by using the language of Liberty in a similar mode as Sewall—Biblical rhetoric. She describes freedom as a “flame” that burns in the bosom of both Patriots and Africans, as both parties fight against the “iron chain” of “wanton Tyranny” (“To the Right HONORABLE WILLIAM, Early of DARTMOUTH, His Majesty’s Principal Secretary of State for North America”). As liberty increasingly became viewed as a God-given right to man, Wheatley used Christianity’s (now) dominant rhetoric to argue against the enslavement of Africans on the grounds that Africans are capable of loving liberty alongside British and American lovers of liberty.

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As these readings show, the enslavement and Christianization of slaves evolved through time to produce an outcome that neither Mather or Sewall predicted. While Christianity is often viewed as a means of control, and is indeed used in this way often, Hammon and Wheatley prove that Christianity can also be used by slaves to resist institutionalized slavery and racism. Christianity allowed Hammon an avenue to form a community of slaves, where he could speak directly to his brethren on religious and civil matters. For Wheatley, the ideological principals of mid-to-late eighteenth-century Christianity allowed her to create a community of white and black transatlantic readers founded on a shared principle, Liberty. Thus, Hammon and Wheatley resist Mather and Sewall’s narratives of black peoples living as slaves in the colonies by writing their own histories.