Enigma of an Arzawan Pirate-King
Archaeological Source Combining to Reconstruct Domestic and Social Activities
An examination of the Arzawa people inhabiting the western area of Anatolia during the 13th century BCE during the late Bronze Age helps to answer a much-disputed question among archaeologists and historians about whether the Arzawa were Hittites, Mycenean Greeks, both, or neither. The answer is in the exploits of Piyama-Radu, an Arzawan prince who turned to piracy and alliance with former enemies after a failed rebellion before ending up as a King and again allied with the Hittites. This paper also discusses how we differentiate between history and myth through archaeological evidence using the examples of real historical figures King Richard III and Pharaoh Tutankhamun contrasted against mythical characters King Arthur and Robin Hood. The overall conclusion is that Piyama-Radu was a historical figure rather than mythical, verified by first-hand documentary and archaeological evidence, and the Arzawa people were a near-equal mix of Hittite and Mycenean Greek cultures with evolving, and often oscillating, self-identification.
Although Piyama-Radu exists as a historical rather than a mythical figure, much of his story intertwines archival evidence, legend, conjecture, and mythology. Historians speculate that Piyama-Radu was the son of the real personage, Piyama-Kurunta, an Arzawan crown prince never to inherit the throne, and the grandson of the last king of Arzawa, Uhha-Ziti (Kopanias 2018). The western Anatolian kingdom of Arzawa, which was considered a client-state of the Hittites, for a long time held close ties with the Hittites in culture, trade, and the military, including during sporadic conflicts with Ahhiyawa, believed by most scholars to be Mycenean Greece (Cline 2015).
That is until the alliance fell apart in ~1323 BCE after Uhha-Ziti gave asylum to refugees from the Hittite vassal regions of Attarimma, Huwarsanassa, and Suruda following a failed rebellion against Hittite rule (Kopanias 2018). Rather than turn over the refugees to Hittite King Mursili II, Uhha-Ziti sent his son, Piyama-Kurunta, into battle against the loyal Hittite region of Mira, while simultaneously allying with former foe, Ahhiyawa (Mountjoy 1998). However, after defeat by a Hittite force led by Mursili II himself somewhere along the Astarpa River, Piyama-Karunta retreated to join Uhha-Ziti in taking refuge in the Anatolian coastal islands under the protection of the Ahhiyawan king. Mursili II then invaded and conquered the Arzawa capital at Apasa before laying siege to the fortress city of Puranda, cornering the rebellious refugees (Kopanias 2018).
During that time, Uhha-Ziti died from causes unknown, a final Arzawan offensive failed, and Piyama-Karunta surrendered to Mursili II (Kopanias 2018). Carted back to the Hittite capital at Hattusa as a captive, Piyama-Karunta’s fate is unknown, and he disappears from both legend and the historical record. Piyama-Radu found himself without a family, without a kingdom, and without anything of value to offer the Ahhiyawan king. While thousands of de-throned princes have disappeared into obscurity in similar situations, Piyama-Radu, instead, turned the tables on history and became a thorn in the side of three different Hittite kings, Muwatalli II, Hattusili III, and Tudhaliya IV, for the next thirty-five years (Kopanias 2018).
Piyama-Radu’s comeback began by pirating Hittite trading vessels along the Anatolian coast, before invading and controlling large areas of former Arzawan land, then recruiting the local population to his cause, and once again allying with the Ahhiyawan king. Archaeological evidence includes the Manapa-Tarhunta, the Tawagalawa, and the Milawata letters, which are cuneiform clay-tablet messages between Hittite kings and unnamed Ahhiyawan kings recovered from the Hittite capital at Hattusa that relate to Piyama-Radu’s attacks and implied victory in sacking and taking over the Hittite-allied city of Wilusa, known today as Troy (Bryce 2002). Piyama-Radu, in effect, carved out an independent kingdom in western Anatolia from the Dardanelles to Millawanda. The Tawagalawa letter asks the Ahhiyawan king to capture and extradite Piyama-Radu, but since that never happened, it suggests that the king of Ahhiyawa stood by Piyama-Radu and rebuked that request. Although there is conjecture involved, many historians believe that Piyama-Radu, Wilusa, and the western Anatolian lands he controlled eventually negotiated peace and returned to vassal status under the Hittites, as evidenced in the Milawata letter, referring to Piyamaradu as a historical figure and discussing treaties between the Hittites and Piyama-Radu’s possible son, King Alaksandu of Wilusa (Kopanias 2018).
The adventures of Piyama-Radu are similar in many ways to predominantly mythical figures, King Arthur and Robin Hood, but more closely resemble verified historical personages like King Richard III of England and Pharaoh Tutankhamun of Egypt’s 18th dynasty. The differences are evidenced and demonstratable through the archaeological record and archival evidence.
In the case of King Arthur, there is no valid physical evidence, either documentary or archaeological, proving his existence as an individual. His name is absent in contemporary writings concerning conflicts between the invading Saxons and the defending Britons (Green 2007). In the 6th century book, De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae, Gildas discusses the Battle of Badon Hill ~500 AD but does not mention Arthur, although the victory is attributed to him over 300 years later in Nennius’ Historia Brittonum in 829 AD (Green 2007). There is not even archaeological evidence that the battle ever happened, as the location of Badon Hill is unknown. There are various possibilities as to the historical root of Arthur’s legend, including Roman cavalry leader, Lucius Artorius Castus, 5th century Briton warlord/king Riothamus, and Scottish-Irish warlord/prince Artúr mac Áedáin (Wood 2007). Many scholars believe Arthur is an amalgamation of multiple post-Roman warlords (Green 2007).
The evidence for Robin Hood is at least as obscure as for King Arthur. There is no material culture directly attributed to Robin Hood, and the written record is not historical but literary. The first literary reference to Robin Hood is in the poem by William Langland, Piers Plowman, in the late 1300s (Stapleton 1899). Not only is the name “Robert” and its hypocorism, “Robin”, and the surname, “Hood” ubiquitous for the time—the names “Robinhood”, “Rabunhod”, “Robehod”, and “Robbehod” appear in English court records innumerably from the 1200s to the 1300s—but “Robin Hood” was often used as a sobriquet for a person who robs while wearing a hood (Holt 1982). Different historians speculate several possible personages as the basis for Robin Hood or even a conglomeration of many. A few theories, notably by English Parliamentarian Reginald Scot in 1584 and anthropologist Margaret Murray in the early 1900s, attribute Robin Hood’s origin to medieval mythology and witchcraft cults (Graves 1963). Although stories about Robin Hood associate him with actual locations like Sherwood Forest, the Abbey of Saint Mary at York, and Nottingham, there is no archaeological evidence for his existence (Luxford 2009).
As for King Richard III, who was born in 1452, took the crown in 1483, and died in the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485, historicity is not a debate. Even before the discovery of Richard’s remains in 2012 by the University of Leicester in association with the Richard III Society, first-hand accounts never allowed for doubt. For documentary evidence, there are parliamentary documents, treaties, and signed proclamations. Archaeological evidence, beyond his skeletal remains, at minimum, includes the battlefield site at Bosworth Field (Thompson 2019).
The existence of Pharaoh Tutankhamun as a historical person, similar to King Richard III, is not in doubt. Material and documentary evidence includes the mummified remains of the body, written confirmation in funerary scrolls, tomb hieroglyphics, and contemporary governmental correspondence. Even before the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb in 1922 by archaeologist Howard Carter and his patron, Lord Carnarvon, there was little question of historicity due to written evidence and the presence of the royal cartouche in Egyptian king lists (Burton et al. 1976).
Although there are not and likely will never be skeletal remains or a mummy identified as Piyama-Radu, there is sufficient evidence to conclude that, like King Richard III and Pharaoh Tutankhamun, the adventures of Piyamaradu originate in fact. Because of first-hand documentary evidence, including the Manapa-Tarhunta, the Tawagalawa, and the Milawata letters, a tablet reciting a Hittite queen’s prayer for Piyama-Radu’s capture, and some partial texts, historians do not doubt that Piyama-Radu was an actual historical figure. Archaeological evidence also matches the dates of Piyama-Radu’s attack on Troy, coinciding with evidence of war in the layer known as Troy VI in ~1250 BC (Cline 2015).
Yet, the story of Piyama-Radu is not without its myths. While educated conjecture fills in significant gaps in Piyama-Radu’s story today, various legends, both practical and fantastic, grew up around his exploits since his lifetime. Some historians speculate that Piyama-Radu is the source for Priam, king of Troy in Homer’s Iliad, noting that “Piyama-Radu” evolving into “Priam” over time is a strong possibility (Kopanias 2018). Also supporting this theory is the verified historical figure of Troy’s King Alaksandu, whose name is the Luvian cognate of the Greek “Alexandros,” also known as “Paris” in Homer’s Iliad (Kopanias 2018). Others suggest that Piyama-Radu is the root of the mythical figure, Achilles, pointing out multiple shared characteristics. Both were heirs of de-throned kings who found refuge in the Anatolian coastal islands, both were heralded warlords acting with autonomy in the service of the Ahhiyawan king while basing military operations in Millawanda, both conquered the land of Mysia, the island of Lesbos, and a king named Kukkunni/Kyknos, and both shared an association with Alaksandu/Alexandros (Kopanias 2018).
Just as Piyama-Radu’s loyalty seesawed between the Hittite and Ahhiyawan kings, the culture of the Arzawan people similarly contained mixtures of both, varying over time. Architecture, writing, language, and pottery demonstrate Hittite characteristics, especially earlier in the record, with Ahhiyawan/Greek influence increasing towards the end of the Late Bronze Age (Mountjoy 1998). This evidence is particularly predominant in the coastal regions around Millawanda and Lukka (Roosevelt and Luke 2017). To answer the question, were the Arzawans and Piyama-Radu Hittite or Greek, the answer is neither in detail, but more broadly both.
The land of Arzawa originated in Anatolian culture and shared many of those traits with the Hittites. Although Arzawa was semi-autonomous, its status as a vassal state of the Hittites brought stability in the early Bronze Age. Later, towards the Middle- and Late Bronze Ages, characteristics of architecture, pottery style, language, and writing evolved under Greek influence. As the hero, Piyama-Radu’s loyalty shifted from Hittite to Greek and back to Hittite, and so too did the Arzawan culture. In truth, the Arzawans were never truly Hittite and never truly Greek, but ever-changing mixtures of both. Besides the absence of physical remains, Piyama-Radu is more similar to historical figures King Richard III and Pharaoh Tutankhamun than mythical ones King Arthur and Robin Hood, as the documentary and archaeological evidence demonstrate. So, as a representative of the Arzawa culture, was Piyama-Radu a Hittite prince or a Greek pirate? Undoubtedly, as a man of his times, a man of action, and a man of the Arzawan people, he was whichever one he needed to be at the time, and something more—a man of indomitable spirit who refused to lose.
References:
Burton, Harry, Howard Carter, and A. C. Mace. Wonderful Things: The Discovery of Tutankhamun’s Tomb. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1976.
Bryce, Trevor R. “The Trojan War: Is There Truth Behind the Legend?” Near Eastern Archaeology, 65:3 (2002): 182-195.
Cline, Eric H 1177 B.C.: The Year Civilization Collapsed. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2015: 84-85.
Graves, Robert. English and Scottish Ballads; Edited with an Introd. and Critical Notes. London: Heinemann Educational Books, 1963.
Green, Thomas. Concepts of Arthur. Stroud: Tempus, 2007: 31.
Holt, James Clarke. Robin Hood: J.C. Holt. London: Thames and Hudson, 1982.
Kelder, Jorrit M. The Kingdom of Mycenae: A Great Kingdom in the Late Bronze Age Aegean. Bethesda, MD: CDL Press, 2010.
Kopanias, K. “Deconstructing Achilles. The Stories about Piyama-Radu and the Making of a Homeric Hero.” (2018): 51-62. Academia.edu. Accessed December 1, 2019. https://www.academia.edu/26943966/Deconstructing_Achilles._The_Stories_about_Piyama-Radu_and_the_Making_of_a_Homeric_Hero.
Luxford, Julian. “An English Chronicle entry on Robin Hood,” Journal of Medieval History, 35 (2009): 70–76.
Mountjoy, P. A. “The East Aegean-West Anatolian Interface in the Late Bronze Age: Mycenaeans and the Kingdom of Ahhiyawa.” Anatolian Studies 48 (1998): 33–68. https://doi.org/10.2307/3643047.
Roosevelt, Christopher H., and Christina Luke. “The Story of a Forgotten Kingdom? Survey Archaeology and the Historical Geography of Central Western Anatolia in the Second Millennium BC.” European Journal of Archaeology 20, no. 1 (2017): 120-147. https://doi.org/10.1017/eaa.2016.2.
Stapleton, Alfred. Robin Hood: The Question of His Existence Discussed, More Particularly from a Nottinghamshire Point of View. Workshop: Sissons and Son, 1899.
Thompson, Angelina. “King Richard III: How a Man Becomes a Monster.” UF Journal of Undergraduate Research 20, no. 2 (2019). https://doi.org/10.32473/ufjur.v20i2.106210.
Wood, Michael. In Search of Myths and Heroes: EXPLORING FOUR EPIC LEGENDS OF THE WORLD. Berkeley: Univ Of California Press, 2007: 255.
Photos:
Arthur_Tapestry.jpg By Unknown – International Studio Volume 76, via http:/www.bestoflegends.org/kingarthur/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4366920
Arzawan_King.jpg By Klaus-Peter Simon – extracted from another file: Karabel1.jpg, GFDL, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=74573978
Hittite_Empire.png CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=632128
King_Richard_III.jpg By Unknown artist; uploaded to Wikipedia by Silverwhistle – Richard III Society website via English Wikipedia, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=20472954
Tudhaliya_IV.jpg By Carole Raddato from FRANKFURT, Germany – East wall of Chamber B depicting in a niche the God Sharruma (son of the Thunder God Teshub) embracing King Tudhaliya IV, Yazılıkaya, the Hittite sanctuary of Hattusa, Turkey, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=51813132
The public tends to think of the archaeological method in terms of artifacts. Indiana Jones springs to mind for most people, recovering golden idols, the Arc of the Covenant, the Holy Grail, and, if we must, crystal skulls. There is little thought given to the architectural and documentary information an archaeologist uses to determine relationships among people and specifically in the reconstruction of domestic activities and social relations within households. For essential research on domestic actions and social relations, archaeologists focus on households because they are “the fundamental social unit in many human communities (Allison 1999, p. 1; Ashmore and Wilk 1988, p. 1; Franklin 2004, p. xiii; Hirth 1993a, p. 21; Robin 2003, p. 308; Santley and Hirth 1993, p. 3 from Pluckhahn 2010, 332). There is also an immense amount of research value through a comparison of the micro-level household compared with the macro-level archaeology study of social and cultural change. The study of historic households delivers invaluable information about agency and power, gender, ritual and symbolism, and identity and ethnicity” (Pluckhahn 2010, 343). The archaeological study of households began focusing on economic and reproductive activities (cf.Hammel 1984; Netting 1993; Wilk and Rathje 1982 from King 2006, 297). The archaeological study of the historic household offers “a framework for comparative analyses through time and space” (Blanton 1994; Hirth 1993a, p. 21; Wilk and Netting 1984, p. 1 from Pluckhahn 2010, 332). More recently, a more comprehensive approach has developed, which considers household dynamics as “a more complex social practice” (King 2006, 297). This approach defines historic households as a process of evolving social life, rather than a static condition (King 2006, 297). King identifies several historic household interpretive methods that use theoretical frameworks “from those that abstract patterns from sets of site assemblages to more recent approaches emphasizing individual human agency and the contingencies of particular situations” (King 2006, 299).
Some archaeologists consider historical household dynamics in terms of conflict among the racial, class, gender, or ethnic lines, sometimes with a social Darwinian or evolutionary slant. Quite often, the economic and social-class status differentiation is the overarching goal (Pluckhahn 2010, 338). A functional or adaptive archaeological interpretation, a popular trend in the 70s and 80s, explains via patterning as a result of external pressures, social or environmental (King 2006, 299). This functional or adaptive approach received criticism for minimizing the conflicts in a competition for limited natural and social resources (King 2006, 300). It is easy to fall into the trap of considering all households the same, although there is justification for this method used as a comparison between large segments of society. Still, there is value in a carefully built framework for comparing differentiating groups, but it is essential to note the loss of individuality in this method. A modern archaeological approach understands historic households to be how “social and cultural relationships are produced and reproduced almost continuously” (King 2006, 299). This approach implies constant change through negotiation and the construction of meaning (King 2006, 299).
The archaeology of buildings reveals power structures, social status, religious practices, and even class conflict, among other factors, but it is especially powerful in combination with the interpretation of artifacts. The artifacts themselves can often suggest religious beliefs, ethnicities, nationalities, and the race of past generations. Variations in artifactual style, number, presence, or absence can indicate cultural changes and societal perspectives over varying lengths of time. Documentary evidence adds to the context of buildings and artifacts by filling in details impossible to discern otherwise, such as the number, age, occupation, sex, and marital status of former occupants. Documents also reveal the social dynamics of the larger society and how they relate to the household.
Put merely; documentary evidence can tell us about “life and developmental cycles not apparent through archaeology alone” (King 2006, 299). Documents are especially useful in determining social relations within a household by identifying age, gender, race, occupation, and education level. Additionally, documentary evidence often provides a direct or indirect account of changes within the household, such as births, deaths, and marital status changes. Combining building archaeology, excavated artifacts, and documentary evidence is the best-case scenario for archaeology, and honestly delivers more than the sum of the parts.
The excavation of buildings is nothing new in archaeology, although these endeavors were not always used to reconstruct historic households, but focused more on the palaces, citadels, and temples of the elite. Some of the earliest and most famous archaeological excavations that minimally included households are Heinrich Schliemann’s sites at Troy, Mycenae, and Tyrins, Arthur Evans’ Minoan sites on the island Crete, and Leonard Woolley’s excavation of Ur (Greene and Moore 2010, 36-48). In contrast, the excavation of Çatalhöyük, first excavated by James Mellaart in 1958, focuses almost exclusively on reconstructing historic households (Centre 2020). At Çatalhöyük and in general, the study of historic household structures helps to determine domestic functions and activities, the social class of the residents, the amount and nature of resource exploitation, which structures were communally or privately owned, supporting or refuting historical myth, and “compensating for omissions and ambiguities in historical sources” (Turlow 2009, 306). Aligning a structure, east-west or north-south, implies both a religious element and a sophisticated understanding of the physical world. Pluckhahn suggests that archaeologists have and should move from an “archaeology of households” to the archaeological reconstruction of “pasts with households” (Pluckhahn 2010, 341).
The spatial position of buildings often supplies information about social and household dynamics. Somewhat symmetrical patterns in house location can “represent the emergence of individual nuclear or extended families as the basic economic unit” (Pluckhahn 2010, 346). Most archaeologists agree that higher-status households are more significant than lower-status homes due to having more members, more control over resources, and the performance of more social functions (Pluckhahn 2020, 347-348). Detached kitchens in the 19th-century South “reinforced the subservience of slave women (and women’s work in general) through the habitus of daily life” (Pluckhahn 2010, 355).
King examines the layout of the Maryland colony led by founder and proprietor Charles Calvert, the third Lord Baltimore, in the late 1670s. King asserts that Calvert’s placement of the colony’s magazine on the public approach to his expansive brick home in Mattapany, Maryland demonstrates Calvert’s social and political power over the other colonists (King 2006, 293). Calvert subsequently built a log palisade around his property not only as protection against Native American attack but also as a social barrier between himself and fellow colonists (King 2006, 293). In comparison, King discusses a smaller plantation in the same area called Patuxent Point. Here, the settlers eschewed physical protections and social barriers, relying on the utilization of spiritual and supernatural methods. The colonists at Patruxent Point did not erect a palisade wall at all but instead dug a small pit directly outside their doorway and deposited “four broken inverted case bottles which had been placed in the ground intact, which, along with fragments of heavily rusted iron nails, suggest that these bottles were part of a ritual to defend against a witch’s spell (King 2006, 294). The similarity between the two sites is in the preoccupation with a need for protection (King 2006, 294). King concludes that these practices “illustrate both the meaning of structural remains, as well as the aggregate meaning of structural and artefactual remains” (King 2006, 294).
There is a wide array of archaeological artifacts typically found in the excavation of historic households, and these finds are the most common tool archaeologists use to interpret characteristics, social dynamics, individual roles, religious rituals, and domestic hierarchies in historic households. For example, Davidson’s study of households in Dallas, Texas found household ceramics, food refuse (e.g., animal bone, oyster shell), bottle and table glass, elements of clothing (e.g., buttons, buckles), tools, toys, personal items, and such household decorative items as ceramic figurines and other kinds of bric-a-brac” (Davidson 2004, 102). These items allow for the determination of social class, number, age, and occupation of residents, and also often suggest religious beliefs, ethnicities, nationalities, and the race of historical occupants. Archaeologist Paul Mullins, in a paper on African-American consumerism during the Victorian age, suggests that decorative objects found at nineteenth and early twentieth-century African-American residential sites demonstrate consumerism as a critical means by which blacks might cast off their white-imposed mantle of inferiority and achieve a measure of equality through judicious consumption” (Davidson 2004, 102).
Going even further, Deetz says that artifacts are also an indicator of cultural changes and societal perspectives over time. Studying aggregated assemblages found at New England household sites, Deetz argues that the artifacts reveal “a profound transformation in worldview over two centuries, from a ‘medieval’ perspective emphasizing an ‘organic, corporate commonality’ to the ‘Georgian mindset,’ one privileging rationalism, individualism, and privacy” (Deetz 1977 as cited in King 2006, 300). Many archaeologists influenced by Deetz’s models believe that “the rise of the modern world and the changes it brought about in worldview were clearly (and materially) evident in artifact patterning “(King 2006, 301).
Historical documents, when available, offer unique insight into numerous aspects of historic households and domestic dwellings. Whether these are mundane inventories, transaction records, storage counts, family histories, mythical tales, or religious tracts, documents present voices directly from past individuals, cultures, and organizations. Documents are extraordinarily powerful tools when coupled with archaeological information. According to King, documentary evidence helps to reveal the life and developmental cycles not apparent through archaeology alone (King 2006, 299). King offers the example of probate inventories, which can “reveal an individual’s material goods and debts at a single point in time, while meticulously recovered archaeological evidence can reveal other sorts of material goods, where these goods were used and discarded, and changes in household material culture through time” (Carson 1990; King and Miller 1987; Main 1982 as cited in King 2006, 299).
Davidson successfully coupled documentary evidence from the 1900 federal census with excavated archaeological evidence during his work at the nineteenth-century African-American neighborhood called Freedman’s Town in Dallas, Texas. Davidson notes the additional context provided by the census information that “a total of 71 individuals lived in the 16 residences on this block of Juliette Street” (Davidson 2004, 89). Additionally, the data demonstrated that the typical household on Juliette Street in 1900 was “composed of two-parent nuclear families (in some cases with additional persons, such as lodgers, older parents, etc.) were known in every case, save for three cases of single-parent households resulting from the death of a spouse” (Davidson 2004, 89). Davidson also used the documentary architectural evidence via city maps to provide information not possible through excavation; for example, the architectural footprint for each house, the approximate square footage, and that all of the homes on Juliette Street were single-story frame buildings, (1899 Dallas Sanborn Maps from Davidson 2004, 89-96). Additionally, the maps provided the identification of the largest house, approximately 1,100 square feet, the smallest house, around 300 square feet, and the average square feet per person, about 10 x 14 feet (Davidson 2004, 89-96). Additional information provided by comparing census documents included resident occupation and principal head of household, level of home-ownership and stability, and household cycles such as marriages, births, changes in employment, increase or decrease in wealth, age of residents, and deaths (Davidson 2004, 96).
The University of Florida’s excavation of Kingsley Plantation on Fort George Island, started by Charles Fairbanks in 1968 and continued through 2015 by James M. Davidson, is an excellent example of combining architectural, artifactual, and documentary sources for information. Initially, the field of Plantation archaeology focused primarily on the slave owner and his family’s main house, and secondarily on farming and other structures related to production. This approach is not surprising, since production and consumption are “enduring themes in the archaeology of households” (Pluckhahn 2010, 342), and are elements that “archaeologists have traditionally used to define households (Pluckhahn 2010, 342). The Kingsley Plantation project is the “earliest attempt at plantation archaeology in the United States that specifically addressed issues about slave life” (Davidson 2015, 77). The excavation began with a focus on the architectural investigation of the slave quarters with “excavations exposing all or portions of the interiors of four slave cabins: W-12, W-13, W-15, and E-10” ( Davidson 2015, 79 from Davidson 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2011, 2012). These cabins were among the sixteen tabby-walled slave cabins erected in 1814 by Zephaniah Kingsley on each side of Palmetto Avenue, the main road to the plantation. The cabins formed “an unusual and highly symmetrical semicircle or arc configuration” (Davidson 2007). The use of tabby as a construction material was typical in Florida during the eighteenth century, is a form of concrete made out of sand, oyster shell, and lime mortar (Sickels-Taves and Sheehan 1999 from Davidson 2015). Davidson notes that “Virtually all of the cabins consisted of two rooms, termed a ‘hall and parlor’ configuration” (Davidson 2015, 79).
The excavations within the slave cabins have produced an array of artifacts that “potentially held religious significance for the first-generation enslaved Africans who lived there between 1814 and 1839” (Davidson 2015, 76). The most notable artifact is the remains of a chicken believed to be a ceremonial sacrifice buried just inside a cabin doorway (Davidson 2015, 76).
“The bird’s body was constricted (i.e., wings tightly folded) and in alignment with the east wall of the cabin, with the spine essentially orientated on a true north/south axis. The neck extended from the body northwards, but then turned back towards the south, with the head/beak lying over the lower neck, and the right eye looking straight upward. The beak was completely intact and unaltered” (Davidson 2015, 86).
Research by Fairbanks at Kingsley Plantation led him to create a model emphasizing “socioeconomic patterns and status differentiation, based largely on table ceramics” (Davidson 2015, 78). Kingsley, and later John Solomon Otto, his doctoral student, were able to distinguish between Euro-American and African-American assemblages through the identification of native African utilitarian ceramics and African foodways (Baker 1980; Fairbanks 1974; Ferguson 1980; Orser 1990, pp. 122–124 from Davidson 2015, 78). To achieve the most in-depth understanding, according to Davidson, “one must attempt to discern intent through relatively precise contexts, modification of an object or objects, an unusual assemblage, and unique form” (Davidson 2015, 81). Determining items as mundane or supernatural is inherently speculative and always challenging. Davidson describes the problems of ambiguity and notes, “There can be no easy, mundane rationale that explains it” (Davidson 2015, 81).
Documentary evidence from Kingsley Plantation, while not detailing the exact origins of the slaves present on Fort George Island, consists of a list of slaves lost at Kingsley’s former plantation called Laurel Grove, which had been raided by Seminole Indians in 1810. According to Davidson, “This extraordinary list assigns nationalities, language groups, or embarkation points to some individuals, which can through extrapolation offer insight into those Africans who lived on Fort George Island between 1814 and 1839 “(Davidson 2015, 83 from Davidson 2007, p. 24).
Overall, material evidence is the most significant source of archaeological information. The recovery of artifacts provides us with new information about past occupants of a space, possessions, farming methods, political systems, and societal structures, but it can even correct misconceptions often passed down as legend and myth. Material evidence confirms the advanced rate of technological progress, military innovation, and population growth. Even so, the stories that archaeology tells are never as clear, concise, and as complete as possible. For example, determining artifacts as elements of household ritual is difficult, as “ritual objects may be quite ordinary, and ritual activity may be situated within quotidian tasks” (Bradley 2003; Hutson and Stanton 2007; Robin 2003, p. 321 from Pluckhahn 2010, 359). As a result, Pluckhahn suggests that “multiple lines of evidence may be required to identify feasting and other rituals at the household level” (Pluckhahn 2010, 361). The addition of architectural analysis and historical documents pushes our information as close as we can get to the truth.
Combining different sources of evidence to reconstruct domestic activities and social relations within households is an excellent advantage to archaeologists today. Still, determining the internal relationships within households remains a challenge. The archaeological record does not always reveal subtle variations in relationships of domination and resistance within social relations at the household level. The archaeology of buildings is an integral part of determining historical household dynamics, from social class to family size changes. Artifacts allow archaeologists immense insight into daily practices in historical households and are the most valuable tool in archaeology. Documentary evidence will enable archaeologists to zero in on specific individuals, their familial and household relationships, occupations, births and deaths, marriages and divorces, and reveal previous generations’ personalities. One of the advantages of studying historic households, in general, is that the household is a social formation to which many archaeologists can easily relate (Pluckhahn 2010, 333). Most everyone today is or has been part of a household. As long as there is awareness of potential pitfalls, it is a logical approach to consider households as “subsets of larger systems, the latter imposing on each household a degree of uniformity” (Pluckhahn 2010, 336). Although the methods and theories for studying historical domestic activities and social relations vary widely and are sometimes limited in scope, studying archaeology at the household level offers invaluable information that could not otherwise enhance our knowledge of the past. Ultimately, it is the combination of sources, buildings, artifacts, and documents, that gives archaeologists their most powerful tool and their best opportunity to complete accurate descriptions of the past.
Works Cited
Centre, U. W. (n.d.). Neolithic Site of Çatalhöyük. Retrieved August 3, 2020, from https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1405
Davidson, J. M. (2004). “Living symbols of their lifelong struggles”: In search of the home and household in the heart of Freedman’s Town, Dallas, Texas. In Household Chores and Household Choices: Theorizing the Domestic Sphere in Historical Archaeology (pp. 75-106). Tuscaloosa, AL: University of Alabama Press.
Davidson, J. M. (2015). “A Cluster of Sacred Symbols”: Interpreting an Act of Animal Sacrifice at Kingsley Plantation, Fort George Island, Florida (1814–39). International Journal of Historical Archaeology, 19(1), 76-121. DOI:10.1007/s10761-014-0282-1
Greene, K., & Moore, T. (2010). Archaeology: An introduction. Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge. 38-46.