Lives and Legacies

Tag: Disease

“We encampt here on the banks of the Rappahannock. Oh, it is beautiful country.”

A Personal Look At Civil War Soldiers As Told Through Artifacts

Ferry Farm is most well-known as the Boyhood home of George Washington. While our primary emphasis of interpretation and research has focused on young George and his family’s life on this farm, Ferry Farm has many other stories to tell. The American Civil War had a major impact on the Ferry Farm community, changing both the landscape and the lives of those who lived here. This blog will look at how our archaeological efforts have brought to light artifacts that reflect the experiences of the soldiers that were stationed on the “old Washington Farm.”

Washington House at Ferry Farm

“The Old Mansion of the Washington Family” (1833) by John Gadsby Chapman shows the foundation stones of the house where George grew up at Ferry Farm and trees along the riverbank.

The Washington house and its outbuildings gradually fell into disrepair until by the mid-1830s there was no trace of them on the landscape. But the soldiers still knew the significance of the site. In April 1862, the Civil War came full force to Fredericksburg and to Ferry Farm. Federal Forces took over and occupied the City of Fredericksburg behind the retreating Confederate Army. Encampments and gun emplacements were established all along our side of the river and throughout Stafford County as the army set about maintaining control of the city across the river. Engineers were set to the task of rebuilding the railroad bridge and erecting pontoon bridges, including one at the end of Ferry Road.

Looking over Fredericksburg by Alfred R. Waud

This spring deployment and the military occupation of Ferry Farm was relatively quiet and uneventful. There is no evidence of a large, formal camp at Ferry Farm, but soldiers were stationed here to protect one of the pontoon bridges that ran from the bottom land of Ferry Farm across to the city of Fredericksburg. In August of 1862, the army suddenly retreated from the city and the surrounding countryside to defend Washington, D.C.

In November of the same year, the full force of the Union Army returned to Stafford County in preparation for the retaking of Fredericksburg and their expected march to take over Richmond. Instead, the Federals suffered a devastating defeat at the Battle of Fredericksburg in December and retreated to the north side of the river for winter camp. Now, Ferry Farm was being used more actively as a staging ground for multiple troop movements, bivouacs for soldiers guarding the pontoon bridges, and as a defensive line for the Federal troops.

  A defensive trench, or rifle pit, with an adjoining berm to protect soldiers from gunfire originating on the Fredericksburg side of the river, was dug across the edge of the upper river terrace, stretching north-south from the edge of the stream gully through the remains of the Washington house. A small extension on the south end of the trench was dug out to connect it to the now-exposed cellar.

Artifacts found within the cellar trench fill reflect the extensive use of the house ruins by soldiers during both occupations. In the spring and summer, they used the farmhouse as their headquarters, writing on the plaster walls and leaving graffiti in pencil and charcoal on hundreds of plaster fragments that have been excavated and preserved.

Plaster fragments with graffiti

Various artifacts were abandoned when they left, including canteens, bullets, gun parts, and writing tools. But this blog isn’t about buttons, bullets, and buckles. It’s about the items the soldiers found more dear. Objects they made or relied on for small comforts.

So, on a more personal level, what was everyday life like for the Union soldiers stationed here during the Civil War? When they weren’t directly experiencing the brutal and intense combat fighting on the front, it was a routine-filled life of constant drilling, standing watches, maintaining equipment, and finding imaginative ways to entertain themselves in the camps. But camp life had its own struggles and hardships. Poor shelter, food, and hygiene, along with low immunity rates to communicable diseases, all contributed to high rates of sickness and disease. Add to that boredom and homesickness, and camp life was a private’s first test of survival.

It was very important for the soldiers to recognize that they were standing on the very ground that their hero, George Washington, once stood on. Those sentiments were expressed in a speech by Private Edwin Jones of the 6^th Wisconsin when he said, “We are assembled on sacred soil…It was while living on this plantation, under the direction and blessed with the teaching of a noble mother, that George Washington learned those lessons…fitting him for leadership in war and peace, to lay the foundation of the mighty Nation that we today are fighting to preserve.”

On a more personal note, we know soldiers spent a lot of idle time playing games among themselves. Dice, card games, chess, checkers, and gambling were all very popular, and remnants of these activities are found on all Civil War sites. At Ferry Farm, we have a collection of gaming pieces, including this bone die and a gaming piece crafted from a Minié ball, which could have been used to play chess, checkers, or as markers in a game of chance.

Bone die, one of the many gaming pieces uncovered

Gaming pieces crafted from a Minié ball

And we can’t forget about the importance of music in camp life. Music was a common and welcome pastime activity for troops. Fiddles, guitars, fifes, harmonicas, and accordions all came out at night to entertain the soldiers who relished listening to songs about home and the worries of war. Jaw harps were inexpensive and easily portable, which made them very popular with soldiers. Our jaw harps, one of which was recovered from the civil war trench, is of the style known as a Gloucester type, one of the most common designs in America during Colonial times and after the Revolution.

“Gloucester type” jaw harp

            Nothing is normal about wartime. Many people were forced to improvise, and it’s very hard to determine why a soldier placed four unfired Minié balls in this tin can, which was revealed through X-ray. Did he lose his ammo case? Was it just idle behavior? Were these bullets saved to be turned into gaming pieces? This is the type of artifact that raises more questions than answers.

A tin can filled with four unfired Minié balls,

X-Ray of tin can with four unfired Minié balls

Literacy – Ink Bottle/Pen nib:

Literacy among Civil War soldiers was very high, and much of what we know about daily camp life comes from the letters written and received by the soldiers themselves. Letter-writing to loved ones at home allowed the soldier to keep up with local news, forward monetary and business instructions to those left running the household or farm, and relay war news to their family.

            A complete ink bottle and pen nib recovered from the site evidences the desire for correspondence, both official and personal. The ink bottle itself was found in the Bray cellar hole, which the Union soldiers used as a defensive dugout to avoid Confederate sharp shooters. We can just picture a group of soldiers huddled down inside the cellar, building a small campfire to stay warm, and writing letters home to their families. Was it a hasty departure that left this bottle in the cellar, or perhaps the owner expected to return but didn’t. As archaeologists, we can’t answer all these questions, but we know it was used during the Civil War by a Union soldier and was found in a location many soldiers never wanted to be stuck in.

This particular ink bottle is an ‘umbrella’ shape, one of the most ubiquitous ink bottle forms from this era. The bottle was typically meant for single use and would have been made in one of the numerous American glasshouses present during the 19^th century. It was then filled with ink, affixed with a label, and marketed for single use.

“umbrella” shaped ink bottle and small pen nib

This small pen nib is stamped with a maker’s mark and style name. The Esterbrook Company started making nibs, including the “Relief” style, in 1858 in Camden, New Jersey, and became one of the largest manufacturers of this product in the US. The nib was part of a dip pen, which consisted of a handle made of various materials and the replaceable nib.

The first evidence of self-care in the trenches takes the form of a small double-sided bone comb. Combs were made from an assortment of materials, including bone, ivory, gutta perch, and steel, and were used for grooming the moustache and hair. But their fine teeth were also handy in capturing the pesky lice that were endemic to camp life among men marching and living together in close quarters. This comb would have been an essential component of any soldier’s personal kit.

small double-sided bone comb

Our second evidence of self-care is this intriguing bottle. It is not so much interesting because of what it is – it’s a very common medicine style bottle for the mid-19th century– but rather what’s inside. Clearly visible within the bottle is a hard black substance, and for years, we’ve wondered what the substance may be.

Mercury bottle, mercury was used for a variety of medicinal reasons at the time

So we chipped off a little fragment of the substance and sent it to Ruth Ann Armitage, our chemist friend at Eastern Michigan University. The sample was analyzed using scanning electron microscopy to map out specifically what elements were present in the sample. Our sample was also run through DART (direct in real time) mass spectrometry. This technique is good at detecting organic components within a substance.

            Almost immediately, Dr Armitage responded, and we weren’t disappointed: “Did you know there’s mercury in this?” Nope, we did not.

However, this discovery was not too surprising given the use of mercury in many medicines for thousands of years. Nowadays, it’s common knowledge that you shouldn’t drink mercury…or touch it…or inhale it, but for a long time, mercury was seen as a potent healing metal, and it was readily rubbed on skin, consumed, and vaporized for immediate effect on the lungs.

And while all these treatments using mercury did little to address the body’s underlying medical problem, mercury did cause an immediate bodily response, which convinced people it was working to cure their ailments. When applied topically, it burned. When introduced into the body, it caused a person to sweat, salivate, and have diarrhea. The mucous membranes also went into overdrive, leading many to believe that the bad stuff in your system making you sick was being purged by the mercury. The reality, of course, was that the body was trying desperately to rid itself of poison.

So, if the residue inside our bottle was medicine, what was its exact formula? All we can say at this point is that it was mercury-based and that it could have been in either liquid or pill form. Common Civil War-era uses for mercury-based medicines were for treating skin sores and lacerations, internal and external parasite infections, syphilis, and constipation, to name but a few. On a side note, an almost identical bottle also containing mercury was found across the river in Fredericksburg at a site that was well known to be a Union field hospital. It was found in a knapsack discarded in a trench that included amputated limbs.

Lastly, we’d like to highlight one of our favorite artifacts, a tiny hatchet about two and a half inches long, recovered from the bottom of the Civil War trench. For such a diminutive object, it speaks quite loudly to our local history in Fredericksburg, Virginia. Initially, earlier archaeologists at Ferry Farm assumed it was a pewter toy souvenir given out or sold in 1932, when our country and Fredericksburg celebrated the 200th anniversary of George’s birth. Indeed, cheap pewter toys were very popular during this time period.

Lead toy hatchet found in Civil War-era trench with traces of tin and nickel.

Lead toy hatchet found in Civil War-era trench with traces of tin and nickel.

A recent reexamination of all the artifacts from the context where the hatchet was found revealed that nothing from that stratum had any 20th-century artifacts in it, nor did the two strata above it. In fact, the youngest artifacts from these strata were all mid-19th century. Additionally, although the archaeologists who excavated the hatchet didn’t know it at the time, the excavation unit from which the hatchet came sat right inside the Civil War-era trench.

This revelation shut the door on our ‘it’s a 20th-century souvenir’ narrative but opened the door to an even cooler one. A close examination of the hatchet showed that it didn’t have mold seams, which are always present on cast pewter toys. Furthermore, for some reason, it had one smooth side and one textured side, leading us to believe that it was handmade, not machine-cast. This was supported by a thorough internet search to find an identical toy hatchet, which came up empty, further supporting our new theory that this piece was a one of a kind. The textured side resembled the grain of wood, so we surmised it had been cast in a simple hand-carved wooden mold. All of these clues, combined with its location within a Civil War trench, made us suspect that the hatchet was crafted by a soldier, likely from a lead Minié ball. The hatchet is likely ‘trench art’, which is defined as objects of art either made by soldiers, POWs, or by civilians to create mementos of the war experience.

To further support our identification of the hatchet as trench art, we took the artifact to the Virginia Department of Historic Resources, where Katherine Ridgeway analyzed it using XRF, or X-ray fluorescence analysis. This non-destructive technique determines the composition of metal. We also brought along a few Minié balls recovered from the same unit for comparison. It turned out that what we thought was a pewter hatchet was actually a lead hatchet with a similar compositional profile to Minié balls, which are mostly lead with trace amounts of other metals such as tin and nickel.

One can just imagine a bored Union soldier whittling the mold and then melting down some of his bullets to pour into it. He likely chose the hatchet form because of the famous cherry tree story, in which young George Washington owned up to hacking his father’s cherry tree with a hatchet by proclaiming, ‘I cannot tell a lie.’ The soldier would have been well-versed in the Washington cherry tree myth at Ferry Farm, created by Mason Locke Weems in his first biography of Washington, published in 1800. By the 1860s, the story was nationally known. Additionally, letters Union soldiers wrote while encamped at Ferry Farm indicate they knew the site’s connection to Washington. They even went so far as to send home cherry seeds for their families.

Grant Wood — Parson Weems’ Fable (1939)

While the identification of the hatchet is now secured, we have so many more questions. Who was this soldier? How many hatchets did he make, and why did this one come to be left behind in his trench? Was it a souvenir for himself, or did he send one home to his family, or share with fellow soldiers? Did he survive the war? Unfortunately, these are mysteries that will likely never be solved, but that make for great pondering.

Mara Kaktins, Archaeologist and Lab Manager

Judy Jobrack, Archaeology Co-Field Director

June 3, 2025
Bane of the Washingtons: Deaths in the Next Generation and Amongst the Enslaved

Welcome back to our 3-Part Blog charting tuberculosis (TB) in the extended Washington Family. If you are new to this series, Part I examined how the disease works, charted its history and explained standard courses of treatments in the 1700s. Part II looked at victims from George’s generation, including his brothers Lawrence and Samuel and brother-in-law Fielding Lewis. You can find those blogs here and here. In our final entry, we will continue to look at individuals who suffered from the disease and see more evidence of how the disease stayed within a family.

George Steptoe Washington (1771-1809, aged 37)

George Steptoe Washington Source: MESDA

As covered in Part 2, George’s brother Samuel died of tuberculosis, as did several of his sons, including George Steptoe Washington. A product of his father’s fourth marriage to Anne Steptoe, George Steptoe became an orphan at age ten. He and his siblings then fell under the care of their uncle, George Washington. George Steptoe would go on to marry Lucy Payne, the sister of Dolly Madison. Like his father, the point of infection cannot be determined but is likely derived from a family member. George Steptoe certainly faced exposure to TB via his father from the moment of his birth but may have caught it later in life. Regardless, his health experienced a serious decline sometime after 1800, and he ultimately traveled to Augusta, Georgia, in search of health benefits. He died there on January 10, 1809.

George Augustine Washington (1759-1793, aged 34) & Frances “Fanny” Bassett (1767-1796, aged 29): George Augustine was another nephew of George Washington through his youngest brother Charles and quickly became his uncle’s favorite. He joined the Mount Vernon household in the early 1780s but had already experienced several periods of ill health that forced him to take leaves of absence from the battlefield. A diagnosis of tuberculosis soon came, leading George Washington to take an involved interest in his nephew’s health. Despite having witnessed the lack of improvement made by his brother Lawrence during such ventures, George funded trips to Berkeley Springs, Barbados, and Bermuda for George Augustine. He returned in May 1785 “in better health than when he set out, but not quite recovered.”¹

Fanny Bassett Source: Mount Vernon

During George Augustine’s absence, Frances “Fanny” Bassett, Martha Washington’s favorite niece, officially joined the household. Upon his return, the two quickly formed an attachment and married on October 15, 1785. George Augustine later became the manager of Mount Vernon, but his health steadily declined, leading his uncle to describe him as “a shadow of what he was.”² Despite barely being able to ride, George Augustine traveled to Berkeley Springs in October 1791 but would be bedridden and coughing up blood by August 1792. After battling the disease for over ten years, he finally succumbed in 1793. His death “had been long expected,”³ but nevertheless caused his uncle to feel “it very keenly.”⁴

The death of her husband left Fanny a young widow with three very young children. Unlike many in that situation, she retained a comfortable lifestyle. As the beloved niece of George and Martha, she always had a home at Mount Vernon and frequently served as an additional hostess. Regardless, she did not remain a widow for long and married Tobias Lear, secretary to her uncle, in August 1795. Sadly, she passed less than a year later, in March 1796, with Lear lamenting, “The Partner of my life is no more!”⁵ Thought to have died of TB, Fanny likely contracted it from George Augustine during their marriage.

Charlotte (~1770-unknown, aged 27+): Charlotte served as an enslaved seamstress at Kenmore and later at Betty Washington’s final home, Millbrook. She first appears, aged eleven, in the 1781 probate inventory following the death of Fielding Lewis. Few details about her life exist apart from the record of a son, George, and another baby in a document from 1797. However, Charlotte clearly held an important position within Betty Washington’s household, given the medical records we have.

Bill for Charlotte’s medical treatments

Charlotte took ill at Millbrook in 1796 with some form of respiratory complaint. Rather than care for Charlotte personally, Betty sent for the doctor seven times over the year. Charlotte underwent throat examinations and notably received treatment with mercury tablets and ammonia liniment for the chest. The former served as a common cure, which “purged” the body of any imbalances, while the latter mimicked early Vicks VapoRub by opening the airways. None of these treatments would have been pleasant, and the mercury certainly did more harm than good, but Charlotte recovered nonetheless. However, Betty Washington Lewis’ death in 1797 prompted the division of her enslaved staff. In an all-too-common occurrence, Charlotte and her son went to different properties (no mention of the baby exists). They likely saw little of each other after this or never met again. At age twenty-seven, we know Charlotte resided on a property owned by Charles Carter in Frederick County, Virginia. After this, she disappears from the record.

The true nature of Charlotte’s illness remains a mystery. She certainly suffered from a respiratory ailment and received treatment in line with that given to tuberculosis patients. Nevertheless, we cannot conclusively diagnose it as TB or determine if it ever affected her again. Despite this, her story reflects an important aspect of life in eighteenth-century Virginia and a failing of history. An interest in keeping the enslaved healthy enough to work existed, but the actual health of an enslaved individual often went undocumented. We only know of Charlotte’s illness due to the bill sent by the doctor listing dates and treatments. Even this reflects a rarity as the lady of the household generally oversaw medical treatment for the enslaved rather than a physician. Considering the widespread nature of TB, its higher prominence in poor and minority communities, enslaved living and working conditions, and the high death rates recorded amongst Philadelphia’s free Black population in the early 1800s, the disease likely accounted for a high number of deaths within Virginia’s enslaved population. Sadly, we may never know how many individuals died of the disease or its impact on their lives.

You can read the full details of Charlotte’s treatment and life here.

Hercules Posey (~1754-1812, aged roughly 64)

Hercules Posey Source: Mount Vernon

One Black individual known to have died of tuberculosis was Hercules Posey. Hercules came to Mount Vernon in 1767 after his previous enslaver, John Posey, failed to pay a mortgage owed to Washington. Having served as a ferryman for Posey, Hercules initially took up the same position. By 1786, he had moved on to the position of cook, for which he is best known. Highly skilled in his culinary abilities, Hercules counted amongst the nine enslaved individuals the Washingtons brought with them to Philadelphia in 1790. Early 1797, however, found Hercules working as a laborer at Mount Vernon, and he acted to self-emancipate in February. In doing so, Hercules left behind at least three children, Richmond, Evey, and Delia, who he shared with his late wife, Alice. Due to Alice’s status as a dower slave, none of their children would receive their freedom in Washington’s will.

After his escape, Hercules made his way to New York City, where he again worked as a chef. He died on May 15, 1812, with the cause given as TB, and his grave lies in the Second African Burying Ground in Lower Manhattan. Given the span of time between his escape to freedom and death, he possibly contracted the disease after leaving Mount Vernon. Then again, it remains entirely possible that he became ill while enslaved in Virginia or Philadelphia. In this case, he either suffered with an active case for many years, with periods of waxing and waning or had a dormant case that reactivated later in life.

Others: Additional members of the extended Washington family contracted the disease as time went on, and the same goes for the enslaved. However, an interesting aspect of tuberculosis is that far more individuals may have had it but remained unaware. As covered in Part I, TB can go dormant by walling itself off in the lungs. Minor symptoms would have appeared at the time of infection, but those pauses when the disease goes dormant. Depending on how long it remained active and how severe, the TB may have gone unnoticed or been misdiagnosed. If the disease never reactivated, a person could live a full life and never know they had it.

Today, we diagnose tuberculosis through symptom analysis and testing. Multiple successful treatments additionally exist to help people overcome the disease. For the 1700s, however, symptoms alone provided the diagnosis, and the dormant phase served as the only successful reprieve from the disease. The fact that our modern technology and medical knowledge would have saved many of the people covered in this 3-part blog appears evident. Nonetheless, it remains unclear just how many people in the extended Washington family actually contracted TB. This then raises the question, if TB testing had existed in the 1700s, would individuals such as George and Betty Washington have turned up positive?

Emma Schlauder

Research Archaeologist

Bibliography

Anderson, Alicia K. & Lynn A. Price (editors) 2018     George Washington’s Barbados Diary: 1751-52. University of Virginia Press, Charlottesville, VA.

Budinger, Meghan & Mara Kaktins 2020    Charlotte and the Mercury Pills. Lives & Legacies Blog, The George Washington Foundation <https://livesandlegaciesblog.org/2020/06/17/charlotte-and-the-mercury-pills/>. Accessed April 11 2023.

Chernow, Ron 2010     Washington: A Life. Penguin Books Ltd, London, UK.

⁵Eliassen, Meredith, Tobias Lear. Digital Encyclopedia of George Washington’s Mount Vernon, George Washington’s Mount Vernon < https://www.mountvernon.org/library/digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/article/tobias-lear/>. Accessed April 11 2023.

^1-4Fore, Samuel K. George Augustine Washington (ca. 1759-1793). Digital Encyclopedia of George Washington’s Mount Vernon, George Washington’s Mount Vernon < https://www.mountvernon.org/library/ digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/article/george-augustine-washington-ca-1759-1793/>. Accessed April 11 2023.

Glen, Justin 2014     The Washingtons: A Family History, Vol 1, Seven Generations of the Presidential Branch. Savas Beatie LLC, El Dorado Hills, CA.

Lenhart, Chelsea  Hercules. Digital Encyclopedia of George Washington’s Mount Vernon, George Washington’s Mount Vernon < https://www.mountvernon.org/library/digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/ article/hercules/>. Accessed 11 April 2023.

Rankin-Hill, Lesley M. 1997     A Biohistory of 19^th-Century Afro-Americans: The Burial Remains of a Philadelphia Cemetery. Bergin & Garvey, Westport, CT.

June 28, 2023
Bane of the Washingtons Part II: The Deaths of Lawrence, Fielding, and Samuel

Welcome back to our 3-Part Blog charting tuberculosis in the extended Washington Family. If you are new to this series, Part I examined how the disease works, charted its history, and explained standard courses of treatments in the 1700s. You can find the blog here, and we encourage a review of the “Treatment” section. In Part II, we will begin to look at the family members who suffered from the disease and how this impacted their lives and those around them.

Lawrence Washington (1718-1752, aged 33/34):

Lawrence Washington Source: Mount Vernon

Perhaps the best-known case of tuberculosis in the Washington family pertains to Lawrence Washington. George’s eldest half-brother, credited as serving as a role model, died of the disease in 1752, which subsequently laid the foundations for George to inherit Mount Vernon and become the Father of His Country. Behind this, however, lies one of the more clear timelines for the devastation the disease.

            Lawrence may have contracted tuberculosis during his service in the War of Jenkins’ Ear (served 1740-1742) or after his return to Virginia in 1742. Certainly, he had developed severe enough symptoms, particularly a cough, by the end of 1748, to cause him to take a leave of absence from the House of Burgesses. He resumed his duties in the spring of 1749, but his illness forced him home for a final time in May. That same month, George wrote hoping for news that his brother’s cough had improved and that he had “given over the thoughts of leaving Virginia.”¹ Lawrence could not provide his brother with the news he desired, and sailed to England in the summer of that year to consult with physicians. Lawrence returned in November with little encouragement, but set out for Berkeley Springs in July 1750, to take the waters. George accompanied his brother on this venture, but they did not stay long.

By 1751, Lawrence had exhausted any hope of finding a cure at home and his doctors recommended visiting a warmer climate. Following this advice, Lawrence and George sailed for Barbados on 25 September and arrived on 2 November. Shortly after their arrival, George recorded that a doctor came “to pass his opinion on [his] brother’s disorder, which he did in a favorable light, giving great assurances that…a cure might be effectually made.”² George mentions little else of Lawrence’s condition in his journal, a month of course went undocumented as George had smallpox, and he returned to Virginia alone in December.

Lawrence, having not found the relief he hoped for, decided to try Bermuda and journeyed there after George left. In an April 1752, letter to a friend, Lawrence referred to Bermuda as his “last refuge, where [he] must receive [his] final sentence.”³ Describing himself as “a criminal condemned, though not without hopes of a reprieve,”⁴ Lawrence followed his doctor’s treatment plan by “abstaining from flesh of every sort, all strong liquors, and by riding as much [he] could bear.”⁵ His doctor advised to take what benefit he could from the climate as another winter in Virginia would surely kill him. While Lawrence remained somewhat hopeful in this letter, he soon wrote again about his “unhappy state of health”⁶ and expressed the belief that, if it should worsen, he would “hurry home to [his] grave.”⁷ Evidently, Lawrence soon resigned himself to his impending death as he returned to Mount Vernon and set his affairs in order with the aid of his half-siblings and stepmother. He died on 26 July 1752.

Upon Lawrence’s death, he left behind his wife Anne Fairfax and daughter Sarah. Three other children had already died all under the age of two. Infant mortality frequently occurred in the 1700s, so it proves impossible to know what caused each death. However, it remains a possibility that they contracted tuberculosis from their father, which then killed them quicker due to their age and weaker immune systems, or left them vulnerable to secondary infections. Sarah would suffer a similar fate in 1754, aged four, and her mother, having married into the Lee family, would die in 1761, aged thirty-three. These deaths allowed George to inherit Mount Vernon.

Fielding Lewis (1725-1781, aged 56):

Fielding Lewis

The husband of Betty Washington and the mind behind Kenmore, Fielding Lewis served his country during the war by funding various supply and defense lines. One of the richest men in Virginia, Fielding had the ability to provide aid and, as the brother-in-law of the commander-in-chief, could hardly stay out of the conflict. While his efforts did much for the cause, Fielding drew the short straw by spending nearly all of his money. Accounts of Fielding Lewis’ death often insinuate a connection to the stress of losing his fortune. While this certainly put him under strain, and would not have helped his health, Fielding’s case of tuberculosis meant that he would have died regardless of his financial status.

Tracing tuberculosis in Fielding’s life proves more difficult than that of Lawrence. Mentions of Fielding as ailing exist for several years prior to his death. However, with no description, one can hardly say if this references tuberculosis or some other affliction. Like many, he frequented Berkeley Springs and even purchased property there. Fielding recorded little of his visits, but his interests lay in the spring’s supposed medicinal benefits and, to that end, undertook an annual August trip from 1772 onwards. Throughout the war, Fielding held the rank of colonel and, though he never received a formal posting, oversaw Fredericksburg’s gun manufactory and the defense of the Rappahannock. This position required no military action and had strong connections to his background as a merchant. However, the choice of assignment may have derived from knowledge that he would never be well enough to effectively command troops. Then again, Fielding was in his fifties and had no military experience. In any case, the position reflected a strategic choice that played to Fielding’s strengths and lessened the impact of field inexperience and ill health.

If Fielding hoped for a peaceful death, he would not receive it. In the summer of 1781, with the British encroaching on Fredericksburg, the Lewis household and Mary Washington fled. At this stage, Fielding’s health had significantly deteriorated, leaving him an invalid confined to his home. A sudden evacuation by carriage would have done little to ease his discomfort as the household hurried to another property in Frederick County, Virginia. Once there, Fielding focused on putting his affairs in order and likely did not have the strength to visit nearby Berkeley Springs. The news of the Yorktown victory undoubtedly brought some emotional respite, but it proved short-lived as Fielding died mid-December 1781. The location of his burial site on the Frederick County property remains unknown. Fielding’s death brought immense grief to his widow, Betty Washington, who had lost her brother Samuel to the same disease only three months earlier.

Samuel Washington (1734-1781, aged 46):

Samuel Washington Source: Mount Vernon

The second son of Augustine Washington and Mary Ball, Samuel grew up at Ferry Farm with his full-siblings. Said to have suffered from tuberculosis for most of his life, it remains unknown where, when, and from whom he contracted it. However, by visiting Lawrence in July 1752, to help put his half-brother’s affairs in order, seventeen-year-old Samuel certainly faced exposure. Samuel died at his home Harewood, near Charles Town, West Virginia, in September 1781, shortly before the victory at Yorktown. The home itself lies conveniently close to Berkeley Springs, which may indicate that its location and Samuel’s move from Stafford County, Virginia, derived from a desire for easy access to the springs and their reputed health benefits.

Despite dying just shy of age forty-seven, Samuel famously married five times. His final wife, Susannah Perrin Holden (1753–1783, m. 1778), survived him, and the fourth, Anne Steptoe (1737–1777, m. 1764), died of complications from a smallpox inoculation. However, the deaths of his first three wives, Jane Champe (1724–1755, m. 1754), Mildred Thornton (roughly 1741–1762, m. 1756), and Lucy Chapman (1743–1763, m. 1762), have long been associated with tuberculosis.

All three experienced rapid declines in health after their marriages to Samuel, and in correlation with several pregnancies. Pregnancy and childbirth proved extremely dangerous during this period, so these deaths could simply be tragic examples. However, as pregnancy exacerbates tuberculosis, the common interpretation remains that the women contracted the disease from Samuel, saw it worsen at an alarming rate due to pregnancy, and the strain of one or more births on top of the disease made it impossible to recover. Regarding his children, several died quite young, which may mirror the fate of Lawrence’s children, and three of his sons who reached adulthood would ultimately die of the disease.

Coming Up

            In our final blog on tuberculosis, we will be taking a look at how the disease impacted the next generation of the extended Washington family and those they enslaved. This will be coming out on June 28^th.

Emma Schlauder

Research Archaeologist

Bibliography

^2-7Anderson, Alicia K. & Lynn A. Price (editors) 2018     George Washington’s Barbados Diary: 1751-52. University of Virginia Press, Charlottesville, VA.

¹Chernow, Ron 2010     Washington: A Life. Penguin Books Ltd, London, UK.

Felder, Paula S. 1998     Fielding Lewis and the Washington Family: A Chronicle of 18^th Century Fredericksburg. The American History Company.

Glen, Justin 2014     The Washingtons: A Family History, Vol 1, Seven Generations of the Presidential Branch. Savas Beatie LLC, El Dorado Hills, CA.

May 31, 2023
Bane of the Washington Family Part I: The Disease

Epidemics and pandemics loom large in history. Few have not heard of the Black Death or Spanish Flu, and Covid-19 still affects our lives. Short, two to three-year outbreaks of these diseases kill quickly and in staggering numbers, but what about the diseases that have stuck around throughout history and brought about death in a much slower fashion?

Tuberculosis (TB) represents one disease that humanity has never managed to shake. A devastating illness marked by a cough and wasting of the body, it has infiltrated all corners of the world, killing more than any other microbial pathogen. The 1700s proved no exception, and the level of contagion associated with the disease meant that once it entered a family, it proved hard to eliminate. Sadly, this became the fate of many members in two generations of the Washington and Lewis families and, undoubtedly others who came in close contact with them. In Part I of this examination of TB in the Washington family, we will examine the disease itself.

Watercolor of a TB Victim by R. Cooper, ca. 1912 (Wellcome Collection)

Brief History of TB

Tuberculosis originated in East Africa, possibly around 3 million years ago, and evolved into our modern strains between 250-1000 years ago. This makes it one of the oldest diseases still in existence. While primarily a disease of the lungs, TB has the potential to infect most tissues and organs. Skeletal deformities caused by certain strains make it identifiable in the archaeological record, which help to date the disease. As humans migrated across the world, they brought the disease with them. Evidence even exists to suggest that TB thrived in parts of the Americas before the arrival of Europeans. Its presence makes it one of the rare diseases that Europeans did not introduce, though encroachment on indigenous groups and confinement of them to specific areas did lead to a rise in cases. Various names have applied to the disease, but in the Western World, the most common historical names include “consumption,” “White Plague,” and “phthisis.”

Highly contagious, the disease could strike anyone, with those living in cramped and unhygienic conditions experiencing a higher risk of infection. Cities, therefore, had more cases than the countryside. However, the true rate of infection for the 1700s remains unknown as the recording of disease cases did not start until the early 1800s. Once this practice got underway, TB ranked as the leading cause of death in places such as Philadelphia, where it accounted for nearly 15% of all deaths in two separate periods (1807-1826: 7,972 deaths or 15.04%; 1831-1840: 6,093 deaths or 14.23%). From statistics such as this, estimates for previous eras can occur with TB likely causing 25% of all deaths in Europe from the 1600s-1800s and similar numbers occurring in North America.

With such a high rate of infection, and its tendency to spread within families, some came to interpret the disease as inherited, while others continued to support the theory of miasma. A more radical thought blamed vampires, leading to several periods of panic in New England during the 1800s. Today, we understand germ theory, but this would not become mainstream until late 1800s and early 1900s—nevertheless, suggestions of TB’s true contagious nature date to at least 1546. German scientist Robert Koch put the debate to rest when he identified Mycobacterium tuberculosis as the causative agent behind the disease in 1882. The rod-shaped bacteria thus gave the disease its common name. This discovery helped lead to the realization that several strains and forms of the disease exist. While M. tuberculosis spreads via the air and droplets, the zoonotic form of the disease, Mycobacterium bovis, thrives in cattle and their relatives before jumping to humans. This occurs through the consumption of contaminated dairy products and produces a near identical infection to M. tuberculosis.

Mycobacterium tuberculosis (NIH)

Despite the pathogen’s deadliness, though also in part of it, TB took on a romantic and fashionable nature. Many a character would suffer from the disease in 19^th-century literature, with it running as rampant in the novels of the Brontë sisters as it did in their family, and Lord Byron once lamented his good health since a case of TB would make his appearance more interesting to women. The pale, slim, feverish appearance of the infected fit the ideal female body image that emerged between the late 1700s and mid-1800s. On the extreme end of things, some individuals purposefully exposed themselves to the disease in the hopes of achieving this appearance. A more manageable level saw fashion attempt to mimic the symptoms with corsets and skirts creating the illusion of slim waists while makeup lightened the skin and tinted the cheeks.

Sickness

            As with every disease, the onset, severity, and progress of the infection varies depending on the health of the infected individual. For instance, tuberculosis could burn through very young children before anyone identified the disease in the 1700s. Likewise, someone with a stronger immune system might fall ill for a longer period before all the symptoms came to together to provide a diagnosis. Nevertheless, TB has several key identifiers.

The disease develops in two basic forms, pulmonary and extrapulmonary. The former sees the infection restricted to the lungs and serves as the most common manifestation. Typical symptoms included a cough, which produces blood at a progressed stage, extreme weight loss, decline in appetite, sweats, fever, fatigue, and paleness. The disease can occur over several attacks, interrupted by brief respites, which worsen with time. As the disease progresses, it leaves holes in the lung tissue giving it an appearance akin to Swiss cheese. Extrapulmonary cases pertain to TB that has spread to an organ or tissue outside of the lungs. The standard symptoms remain in addition to physical indications in the impacted areas. This may include enlarged lymph nodes, sores, and spinal deformities that develop over time. Two forms include Pott’s Disease, TB of the spine, and Scrofula, TB of cervical lymph nodes.

While TB can affect all age groups, historically, it has most often struck the young. In Ancient Greece, Hippocrates noted, “phthisis makes its attacks chiefly between the age of eighteen and thirty-five.”¹ Higher rates of death amongst those in their twenties and thirties added to the tragedy of the disease, though hope of relief did exist. TB has a unique ability to go dormant during which it walls itself up in the lungs or simply pauses in other parts of the body. While this latent state can reverse at any point, meaning a victim could have years between symptoms and still die of it, the disease may never reactivate. In this scenario, a person would test positive under modern examinations, but suffer no impact to their health or prove contagious to others.

All active cases, however, lead to a decline in the sufferer’s immune system and leaves them open to secondary infections. Cases of pneumonia, as well as meningitis, prove common. A letter from a Fredericksburg woman, dated March 1867, perfectly illustrates the disease. Her son, who had just passed, suffered an “attack of Hemorrhage of the Lungs” first in 1865 and again in “the summer of ’66.” She reported that he recovered from both attacks, but became ill with the mumps in February of 1867 followed by “the symptoms of fell consumption being clearly developed.”² The boy ultimately lost the strength to rise and found himself confined to a makeshift bed a few months prior to his death.

Treatment

No cure or successful management plan for tuberculosis existed in the 1700s. As such, roughly 66% of cases resulted in death within the first five years of infection. However, lack of success did not stop doctors from prescribing a standard course of treatment that originated in ancient times. To anyone familiar with medical practices of the eighteenth century, the use of emetics, such as mercury and bloodletting, will come as no surprise. Both treatments aimed to purge the body of an affliction, and doctors applied this to nearly every ailment. In truth, these “cure all’s” did more harm than good, with mercury poisoning the patient and bloodletting weakening them. Still, other prescription medicines may have brought some symptomatic relief or, at the very least, not harmed the patient further.

Other forms of treatment involved lifestyle changes in the form of diet and exercise. Viewing items such as meat and alcohol as harmful in large quantities or too difficult for the body to process, doctors instructed TB patients to eliminate them from their diet. Instead, they should consume plenty of milk, preferably from a donkey, and vegetables. On top of this, the patient should increase fast-paced exercise or travel, such as horse riding, to the extent that their strength allowed. This would ideally force clean air into the lungs. While well-intentioned, neither change could treat a bacterial infection.

Other changes involved relocation. Some may be familiar with the phrase “taking the waters” The belief that natural springs, particularly hot ones, provide health benefits dates to prehistory and exists in multiple cultures. Some truth lies in this, but no spring could cure TB beyond the warm waters and steam providing some relief to a weakened, cough-ridden body. Nevertheless, doctors frequently instructed patients to visit springs, giving rise to Berkeley Springs in Colonial Virginia. A destination for wealthy Virginians starting in the mid-1700s, some visited for general health benefits and the social scene, while others went specifically for TB. If none of these treatments worked, doctors would prescribe a course of action that everyone knew served as a last resort: relocating to a warmer climate. In Colonial America, some patients went to the southern colonies while others elected to try the Caribbean (Figure 6). They found no cure in these locations, but the belief in springs and warmer or dryer climates providing relief for TB victims would continue into the 1900s.

Bane of the Washingtons

            All forms of tuberculosis mentioned above existed in the 1700s, but which one did the Washingtons have? Parts II & III of our Tuberculosis Blog will closely examine individuals connected to the Washington and Lewis families that had the disease, but we can make a few conclusions. Regarding contraction of the disease, the number of people afflicted, and their close relations to one another, it remains highly probable that they passed it to each other. Of the eight people identified across two generations, none developed a spinal deformity, and no mention of enlarged lymph nodes appear. This implicates pulmonary TB as the likely suspect in all cases.

Nevertheless, we cannot forget M. bovis. With no knowledge of the disease or methods of pasteurization, the frequent consumption of dairy products and presence of cows on farms made it a key source of potential exposure. The Probate Inventory taken in 1743 after Augustine’s death records an inactive dairy building at Ferry Farm. Whether the Washingtons ever used it for dairy remains unknown, but they certainly obtained and consumed dairy products regularly. We will never know what vector the disease took in entering the Washington Family or when each individual first contracted it, but we can piece together how it affected their lives and ultimately ended them. Stay tuned for Parts II and III: The Victims.

Emma Schlauder

Research Archaeologist

Bibliography

Barberis, Ilaria, Nicola Bragazzi, Lucia Galluzzo, & Mariano Martini 2017     The History of Tuberculosis: From the First Historical Records to the Isolation of Koch’s Bacillus. Journal of Preventive Medicine and Hygiene 58: 9-12.

Brown, Kathleen M. 2009     Foul Bodies: Cleanliness in Early America. Yale University Press, New Haven, CT.

Buchan, William 1772     Domestic medicine; or, The family physician: being an attempt to render the medical art more generally useful, by shewing people what is in their own power both with respect to the prevention and cure of diseases. Chiefly calculated to recommend a proper attention to regimen and simple medicines. Evans Early American Imprint Collection, University of Michigan < https://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=evans;cc=evans;q1=Gout;rgn=main;view=text; idno=N09695.0001.001>. Accessed 11 April 2023.

CDC History of World TB Day. CDC < https://www.cdc.gov/tb/worldtbday/history.htm#:~:text= Johann%20Schonlein%20coined%20the%20term,%E2%80%9Cschachepheth%E2%80%9D%20in%20ancient%20Hebrew.>. Accessed 11 April 2023.

CDC Symptoms of Pulmonary and Extrapulmonary TB Disease. The Division of Tuberculosis Elimination, CDC < https://www.cdc.gov/tb/webcourses/Course/chapter4/4_ diagnosis_of_tb_ disease_4_clinical_practices_symptoms_of_pulmonary_and_extrapulmonary_tb_disease.html>. Accessed 11 April 2023.

² Conway, Mary Catherine Washington Henry 1867     “Letter to Jane ?, Cabin Mill – March 22, 1867.” Access granted by Suzanne Leigh Peake (owner) and Wyatt Falcone,

¹ Daniel, Thomas M. 2006     The History of Tuberculosis. Respiratory Medicine 100: 1862-1870.

Mackowiak, Philip A., Vera Tiesler Blos, Manuel Aguilar, & Jane E. Buikstra 2005     On the Origin of American Tuberculosis. Clinical Infectious Diseases 41(4): 515-518.

Mullin, Emily                                                                                                                                            2016     How Tuberculosis Shaped Victorian Fashion. Smithsonian Magazine, Smithsonian < https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/how-tuberculosis-shaped-victorian-fashion-180959029/>. Accessed 11 April 2023.

Nardell, Edward A. 2022     Extrapulmonary Tuberculosis (TB). Merck Manual < https://www.merckmanuals.com/ professional/infectious-diseases/mycobacteria/extrapulmonary-tuberculosis-tb>. Accessed 11 April 2023.

National Jewish Health 2013     Tuberculosis: History. National Jewish Health < https://www.nationaljewish.org/ conditions /tuberculosis-tb/history>. Accessed 11 April 2023.

Otis, Edward O.  1909     The Great White Plague. Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., New York.

Palmer, Mitchell V.  2011     Bovine Tuberculosis and the Establishment of an Eradication Program in the United States: Role of Veterinarians. Veterinary Medicine International.

Rankin-Hill, Lesley M. 1997     A Biohistory of 19^th-Century Afro-Americans: The Burial Remains of a Philadelphia Cemetery. Bergin & Garvey, Westport, CT.

White, Tim D., Michael T. Black, & Pieter A. Folkens 2012     Human Osteology, 3^rd edition. Elsevier Inc., Burlington, MA.

April 19, 2023
The Fly …uh, Snail… in the Ointment …Pot

It’s flu season again. And for most of us who get sick that means a trip to the doctor, perhaps some prescribed medicines, and lots of rest. But what did George Washington do when he got sick? Although most of us likely think of our first president as perpetually healthy and strong, he was actually stricken by quite a few serious illnesses in his lifetime, many of which occurred while he was growing up at Ferry Farm.

Mary, George’s mother, had a few options when caring for her sick children but a hospital was not one. They did not exist yet. The most expensive solution was to call a doctor (Back then, they came to you. You do not go to them). Most people could not afford a doctor’s visit, however, and many distrusted doctors as being worse than the diseases they cured. This fear of doctors was somewhat justified given that George ultimately died of an illness he could well have survived had he not been bled to death by his doctors.

“An ill man who is being bled by his doctor. Coloured etching by J. Sneyd, 1804, after J. Gillray.” by James Gillray. Credit: Wellcome Collection. CC BY

Option number two was to visit a pharmacy. Now, we’re not talking Walgreens. Think smaller and jars full of leeches. Anyone could visit an 18th century pharmacy without any kind of prescription or referral. If you had the money, you could purchase whatever ‘cure’ you wanted. The pharmacist was not necessarily a medical professional and may or may not have been good at diagnosing whatever illness you had. That didn’t mean you couldn’t walk out of a pharmacy with any and all manner of odd concoctions that cured you or did not cure you. For instance, folks were awfully fond of self-treating with mercury tinctures until well into the 19th century, which we now know to be a colossally terrible idea.

‘Michel Schuppach in his pharmacy examining a young woman’s urine who is seated opposite him awaiting the result. Line engraving by B. Hübner, 1775, after G. Locher, 1774.’ by Gottfried Locher. Credit: Wellcome Collection. CC BY

Another popular option was to make your own medicines at home. Recipes for cures were passed down through word of mouth and many households had herb gardens containing medicinal plants, many brought with colonists from Europe. There were also a number of books available that divulged the secrets of pharmacopoeia. Many of the medicines described in these books sound like things a storybook witch might brew up. One such tome available to Mary Washington was Thomas Fuller’s Pharmacopeia Extemporanea, published in 1710. It contains remedies such as ‘Pectoral Snail Water’, said to be good for “Erratic scorbutic Fevers, Flushings, flying Pains of the Joynts, hectic wasting of Flesh, and Night-sweats”. The delicious-sounding ingredients were as follows:

“Snails beaten to mash with their Shells 3 pound
Crumb of white Bread new bak’d 12 ounces
Nutmeg 6 drams
Ground-Ivy 6 handfuls
Whey 3 quarts; distil it in a cold Still, without burning
One half pint brandy”

One can only assume that the last ingredient was to help the mashed snails go down.

We do have evidence showing the use of home medicines at Ferry Farm in the form of numerous ointment pots. At least half a dozen have been identified thus far. Ointment pots were used for holding various medical or cosmetic unguents likely made at home. Generally, such pots were fairly plain with a rolled or flared lip used to secure a textile, hide, or paper lid with a string.

Three white salt glazed stoneware ointment pots excavated from the Washington house cellar at Ferry Farm.

Judging by their lack of use wear, the pots recovered at Ferry Farm were used for storage, not for actually manufacturing medicines. The act of stirring or grinding substances in the pots would have resulted in microscopic striations or scratches in the glaze and these are absent in the Washington family ointment pots. However, they do indicate the storage of medicines at Ferry Farm. Given the nature of home remedies in the 1700s, one’s imagination can run wild thinking of all the interesting concoctions that they may have held!

Mara Kaktins, Archaeologist
Archaeology Lab Supervisor

Further Reading

Fuller, Thomas. Pharmacopoeia extemporanea : or, a body of prescripts. In which forms of select remedies, accommodated to most intentions of cure, are propos’d. London. 1710.

Hume, Ivor Noel. A Guide to the Artifacts of Colonial America. University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia. 2001.

Hume, Ivor Noel. Early English Delftware from London and Virginia. Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, Virginia. 1977.

Mellor, Maureen. Pots and People that Have Shaped the Heritage of Medieval and Later England. Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. 2000.

Skerry, Janine E. and Suzanne Findlen Hood. Stalt-Glazed Stoneware in Early America. University Press of New England, Hanover and London. 2009

January 26, 2018
‘Not Having Been Wett All Over at Once, for 28 Years Past’: Bathing in Early America

Editor’s Note: Looking back in time, people’s personal hygiene, fashion choices, medical treatments, and more sometimes look, at the very least, bizarre, if not outright disgusting. When confronted with these weird or gross practices, our first reaction can be to dismiss our ancestors as primitive, ignorant, or just silly. Before such judgments, however, we should try to understand the reasons behind these practices and recognize that our own descendants will judge some of what we do as strange or gross. Here at George Washington’s Ferry Farm and Historic Kenmore, we’ve come to describe our efforts to understand the historically bizarre or disgusting as “Colonial Grossology.” This the second in a series of “Colonial Grossology” posts that we’re offering on Lives & Legacies.

At least once during his youth at Ferry Farm, probably in July 1750, George Washington went “washing in the river.” We know this because Ann Carrol and Mary McDaniel were arrested and tried and one of them was even flogged for stealing valuables from his clothes while he was in the Rappahannock. Of course, it seems quite safe to assume that young George swam in the river on many more occasions than this one moment chronicled in court records.

The Rappahannock River at George Washington’s Ferry Farm.

Document showing the outcome of a court case involving George Washington. Ann Carrol and Mary McDaniel stole valuables from Washington’s clothes while he was “washing in the river.” Carol testified against McDaniel, who was convicted of petty larceny and “flogged fifteen lashes on her bare back.” Spotsylvania County Court Records, Order Book 1749-1755, Central Rappahannock Heritage Center.

The court records say he was “washing in the river.” But was he bathing to get clean or swimming just for fun? It’s hard to say. In the 1700s, swimming was “rarely intended for hygienic purposes,” though, of course, it made a person clean. Cleaning was not swimming’s intended purpose, however. People went swimming largely to cool off during hot weather. Still, the word “washing” in the court documents seems significant. If Washington was bathing with the purpose of getting clean, his dip in the river was somewhat unusual for more than the fact that he fell victim to thieves.[1]

How often did Washington and his fellow colonial Americans bathe to get clean? The question’s answer is more complicated that you might imagine.

First, the answer largely depends upon what we mean by the word bathing. If we mean head-to-toe immersion in water and scrubbing with soap to get clean, then bathing was quite infrequent. In the 1700s, many people feared immersing the body in water as a sure way to get sick. American settlers came from Europe, where bathing occurred in public bathhouses for much of the early modern period. Before the late 1800s, people did not understand that germs caused disease. Instead, when they got sick, people sometimes blamed the bathhouses and bathing. For much of the 18th century, this suspicion towards bathing “reflected medical theories about the dangers to a healthy body of extremes of heat, cold, wetness, and dryness. Any extreme might disturb the delicate equilibrium of the body’s humors, temperature, and moisture. Compared to the shock of immersion in water, dirt upon the skin seemed benign.” In fact, some people believed dirt helped keep you healthy by “reinforcing the skin.”[2]

Second, an immersive bath was simply a lot of hard work. Unless you had servants or owned slaves to do that hard work, you carried water to the tub from your water source, perhaps a well, a spring, or a nearby stream, two buckets at a time. Multiple trips would be necessary. To warm the water, you had to use precious firewood to build a fire. Building the fire and getting it started were not simple tasks either. The incredible effort it took to bathe also explains why, when baths did actually occur, the same water was used by multiple people in the household. The father bathed first, the sons next, then the mother and daughters, and finally the servants.[3] To add to these practical difficulties, “tubs specifically made for bathing did not make an appearance in America” until the very late 18th century.[4] As a result, daily cleaning for most of the colonial era was “accomplished by washing the face and hands . . . in one’s bed chamber, with a basin and a relatively small amount of water.” We today might refer to this method as a sponge bath.

Most early Americans washed daily using water from a pitcher and basin. Ornate sets similar to the one depicted would have been found in the homes of the wealthy like Fielding and Betty Lewis.

“A bath in which the entire body was submerged, or showered with water, was generally taken for reasons of pleasure or preventive health maintenance, and in some cases, as a type of remedy for a particular affliction.”[5] Immersive bathing for pleasure and health occurred in resort cities and towns at the sites of warm, mineral springs. For example, George Washington, Fielding Lewis, and kin frequently trekked to Bath, Virginia (now Berkeley Springs, West Virginia) and both gentlemen owned property in the mountain resort.

For most of the 1700s, washing from a basin remained the most common method for getting clean on a daily basis. Indeed, it was so much the norm that when Elizabeth Drinker, a wealthy Philadelphia women, tried the new shower her husband built in the backyard, she wrote in her diary: “I bore it better than I expected, not having been wett all over at once, for 28 years past.”[6]

Zac Cunningham
Manager of Educational Programs

[1] Dorothy A. Mays, Women in Early America: Struggle, Survival, and Freedom in a New World, Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2004: 190

[2] Kathleen M. Brown, Foul Bodies: Cleanliness in Early America, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009: 19-21.

[3] Brown, 209.

[4] Mays, 190.

[5] “Bathing,” Thomas Jefferson Encyclopedia, Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, www.monticello.org/site/jefferson/bathing [accessed February 10, 2015]

[6] Richard L. Bushman and Claudia L. Bushman, “The Early History of Cleanliness in America,” Journal of American History, Vol. 74, No. 4 (Mar. 1988): 1214.

March 25, 2015
Perukes, Pomade, and Powder: Hair Care in the 1700s

Editor’s Note: Looking back in time, people’s personal hygiene, fashion choices, medical treatments, and more sometimes look, at the very least, bizarre, if not outright disgusting. When confronted with these weird or gross practices, our first reaction can be to dismiss our ancestors as primitive, ignorant, or just silly. Before such judgments, however, we should try to understand the reasons behind these practices and recognize that our own descendants will judge some of what we do as strange or gross. Here at George Washington’s Ferry Farm and Historic Kenmore, we’ve come to describe our efforts to understand the historically bizarre or disgusting as “Colonial Grossology.” The following is the first in a series of “Colonial Grossology” posts that we’re offering on Lives & Legacies.

Archaeologists at George Washington’s Ferry Farm have recovered a variety of hair care artifacts, including over 200 wig hair curlers. These baked clay curlers were used exclusively to curl wig hair, and formed part of the Washington family’s regimen of wig maintenance. The regimen included several practices that might seem strange or gross to us today.

Artifacts from Ferry Farm related to eighteenth-century hair care. A) A woman’s bone hair brush, used on natural (not wig) hair. B) An earthenware wig hair curler, made c. 1740-1780. C) A bone grooming or “lice” comb. D) A bone razor guard, used by men to shave their facial hair and to shave the head to accommodate a tight-fitting wig.

Powdered wigs, or ‘perukes’, were highly fashionable among gentlemen of the 1700s, and a few affluent households even insisted that their butlers and coachmen wear them. Some gentlemen, including George Washington, opted not to wear a peruke. To remain fashionable these men often styled their own hair to resemble a wig.

George Washington, 1796, by Gilbert Stuart [Public Domain]. His own hair, not a wig, was pomaded and powdered by his personal valet to look as if he were wearing a wig.
Human hair was often used to make these wigs, but horsehair, cow, goat, yak, and sheep hair provided economical options for consumers on a budget. Owners of perukes made from human hair were often anxious about their quality: it was a widespread concern that the hair of criminals, cadavers, prostitutes, or even plague victims was used to construct wigs.

Throughout the 1700s, whether it was a person’s own hair or a peruke, pomade or pomatum was applied before wigs were powdered. The word ‘pomade’ derives from the Latin word for apple, “pomum,” – since early recipes incorporated apples. One recipe combined a pound of sheep suet (fat) with one pound of pig suet. Sixteen rosewater-boiled apples were added. Fragrance then enhanced this mixture, and might include some combination of rosewood oil, bay leaves, bergamot orange, or Macassar oil. Such fragrances helped to lengthen the interval between hairdressing sessions and counteracted any rancid odors.

Powder was typically made from wheat flour or dried white clay. Beanmeal or cornflour was also used. Powder was often enhanced by fragrances, such as those of orange flowers, rose petals, nutmeg, ambergris, jasmine, orris root, or lavender.

A hairdresser or personal valet added the powder, which was freshly applied every morning, or each time a wig was donned. The combination of lard and powder produced rigid curls and stiff hair styles. Powder made hairstyles heavier: as much as two pounds heavier for the large periwigs popular until the 1730s[1]. A few households featured ‘powder rooms:’ a small room set aside for the application of powder. A power bellows, a ‘carrot’[2], a swan-down puff, or comb was used to dust hair with powder. White or grey powders were especially popular, but adventurous consumers might use black, blue, lavender, pink, red, or yellow.

A gentleman being powdered by his valet. A cone protects the gentleman’s face during the process. Powder was made from starch, often wheat flour, or powdered white clay. The Toilette of the State Prosecutor’s Clerk, c. 1768 by Carle Vernet.

Hairdressers could remove wigs to apply pomade and powder in a separate space, a convenience for wig wearers that men who only wore their own hair likely envied. Men who did wear their own hair used a hairnet to preserve their pomaded locks overnight. Each morning[3], a valet combed out the previous day’s pomade and dirty powder, before applying fresh pomade and powder. This process could take an hour or more. Many hairstyles remained undisturbed for weeks. Headscratchers were kept close at hand: they allowed people to itch their scalps without disturbing their hairstyle too dramatically.

An ivory-handled head scratcher and closeup [inset]. Personal collection. Used with permission
The beginnings of this fashion trend were inspired by disease and lice. Most people did not wash their hair very often. Syphilis was rampant in Europe throughout the colonial period. Symptoms such as hair loss, scabs, and rashes could be partially hidden beneath a voluminous wig. The prevalence of highly contagious head lice, and the difficulty in exterminating them, also encouraged the adoption of false hairpieces. In order to insure a good fit, gentleman shaved their heads, eliminating the hairs upon which lice thrived. While cleaning lice from one’s own hair could be time-consuming, wigs could be conveniently removed – and boiled to eliminate pests and dirt. However, if wigs were not properly maintained, they could become a haven for a variety of pests.

To us today, the wearing of wigs covered in animal fat along with wheat flour or dried white clay may seem bizarre or disgusting or both. Still, to the people of the time the reasons behind the practices made perfect sense. Which of today’s perfectly sensible fashion choices might our descendants living 200 years in the future find strange or gross or both?

Laura Galke
Archaeologist, Site Director/Small Finds Analyst

[1] Periwigs took as many as ten heads of hair to produce.
[2] This was a carrot-shaped, wooden tube from which powder was blown onto the hair.
[3] Ideally fresh pomade and powder were freshened each morning. Frugal gentlemen might wait a week or more.

January 28, 2015