West Springfield High School
6100 Rolling Road
Springfield, Virginia 22152
703-913-3800
FAIRFAX COUNTY
PUBLIC SCHOOLS
May 31, 2015
Dear Parent(s) and Student:
Welcome to Advanced Placement United States History (APUSH). We are looking forward to another
great year at West Springfield High School.
This letter is to inform you of the summer assignment for the course. One of the greatest challenges in
AP US History is amount of content material students are expected to utilize. This summer assignment
is designed to help give students a “jump start” on some of the information and to expose them to the
concepts from Period 1 in American history. It will ease them into the rigorous pace required of the
course, which their competition across the nation typically begins coursework 1-2 weeks prior to Labor
Day. If you wish to begin reading your textbook over the summer, make arrangements with one of us in
rooms 259 or 260.
Your assignment requires each student will have to read and type (minimum) 1-page summaries or
“reductions” from articles from reputable scholars on topics from this period. They include:
1491, by Charles C. Mann
The Long History of American Slavery, by Christina Snyder
In addition, every student should purchase a new 2015 AMSCO review book. These books can
become backordered quickly, so students are strongly encouraged to purchase the book early in
the summer. United States History: Preparing for the Advanced Placement Examination by John
J. Newman ISBN: 978-078918904-2. It can be purchased directly from the publisher at:
http://www.amscopub.com/viewProduct.php?productID=1287101
Thanks for your time, attention, and support. Your positive attitude and patience is a vital piece to
success in AP US History. Again, we look forward to an academically rigorous, yet fulfilling school
year. If you have questions, you may contact one of us via email during the summer.
Sincerely,
Brian Heintz
BJHeintz@fcps.edu
Joanne Pendry
JBPendry@fcps.edu
Rubric For APUSH Article Reductions/Summaries (one for EACH article)
Each summary is:
□ Typed
□ At least 1 page long. (Font no larger than 12, Times New Roman or smaller, margins no larger than 1 inch.)
□ Summarizes the entire article and NOT the introduction.
□ Summarizes the author’s main points, arguments within the 1st paragraph.
□ Brings up 2-3 specific point from the reading, and uses quotes to illustrate those points.
The Atlantic Monthly | March 2002
1491
Before it became the New World, the Western Hemisphere was vastly more populous and sophisticated than has been
thought—an altogether more salubrious place to live at the time than, say, Europe. New evidence of both the extent of the
population and its agricultural advancement leads to a remarkable conjecture: the Amazon rain forest may be largely a
human artifact
BY
C HARLES C. M A NN
Historians have long wondered how many people lived in the Americas at the time of contact. "Debated since Columbus
attempted a partial census on Hispaniola in 1496," William Denevan has written, this "remains one of the great inquiries of
history." (In 1976 Denevan assembled and edited an entire book on the subject, The Native Population of the Americas in
1492.) The first scholarly estimate of the indigenous population was made in 1910 by James Mooney, a distinguished
ethnographer at the Smithsonian Institution. Combing through old documents, he concluded that in 1491 North America had
1.15 million inhabitants. Mooney's glittering reputation ensured that most subsequent researchers accepted his figure
uncritically.
That changed in 1966, when Henry F. Dobyns published "Estimating Aboriginal American Population: An Appraisal of
Techniques With a New Hemispheric Estimate," in the journal Current Anthropology. Despite the carefully neutral title, his
argument was thunderous, its impact long-lasting. In the view of James Wilson, the author of The Earth Shall Weep (1998), a
history of indigenous Americans, Dobyns's colleagues "are still struggling to get out of the crater that paper left in
anthropology." Not only anthropologists were affected. Dobyns's estimate proved to be one of the opening rounds in today's
culture wars.
Dobyns began his exploration of pre-Columbian Indian demography in the early 1950s, when he was a graduate student. At
the invitation of a friend, he spent a few months in northern Mexico, which is full of Spanish-era missions. There he poked
through the crumbling leather-bound ledgers in which Jesuits recorded local births and deaths. Right away he noticed how
many more deaths there were. The Spaniards arrived, and then Indians died—in huge numbers, at incredible rates. It hit him,
Dobyns told me recently, "like a club right between the eyes."
It took Dobyns eleven years to obtain his Ph.D. Along the way he joined a rural-development project in Peru, which until
colonial times was the seat of the Incan empire. Remembering what he had seen at the northern fringe of the Spanish
conquest, Dobyns decided to compare it with figures for the south. He burrowed into the papers of the Lima cathedral and
read apologetic Spanish histories. The Indians in Peru, Dobyns concluded, had faced plagues from the day the conquistadors
showed up—in fact, before then: smallpox arrived around 1525, seven years ahead of the Spanish. Brought to Mexico
apparently by a single sick Spaniard, it swept south and eliminated more than half the population of the Incan empire.
Smallpox claimed the Incan dictator Huayna Capac and much of his family, setting off a calamitous war of succession. So
complete was the chaos that Francisco Pizarro was able to seize an empire the size of Spain and Italy combined with a force
of 168 men.
Smallpox was only the first epidemic. Typhus (probably) in 1546, influenza and smallpox together in 1558, smallpox again
in 1589, diphtheria in 1614, measles in 1618—all ravaged the remains of Incan culture. Dobyns was the first social scientist
to piece together this awful picture, and he naturally rushed his findings into print. Hardly anyone paid attention. But Dobyns
was already working on a second, related question: If all those people died, how many had been living there to begin with?
Before Columbus, Dobyns calculated, the Western Hemisphere held ninety to 112 million people. Another way of saying this
is that in 1491 more people lived in the Americas than in Europe.
His argument was simple but horrific. It is well known that Native Americans had no experience with many European
diseases and were therefore immunologically unprepared—"virgin soil," in the metaphor of epidemiologists. What Dobyns
realized was that such diseases could have swept from the coastlines initially visited by Europeans to inland areas controlled
by Indians who had never seen a white person. The first whites to explore many parts of the Americas may therefore have
encountered places that were already depopulated. Indeed, Dobyns argued, they must have done so.
Peru was one example, the Pacific Northwest another. In 1792 the British navigator George Vancouver led the first European
expedition to survey Puget Sound. He found a vast charnel house: human remains "promiscuously scattered about the beach,
in great numbers." Smallpox, Vancouver's crew discovered, had preceded them. Its few survivors, second lieutenant Peter
Puget noted, were "most terribly pitted ... indeed many have lost their Eyes." In Pox Americana, (2001), Elizabeth Fenn, a
historian at George Washington University, contends that the disaster on the northwest coast was but a small part of a
continental pandemic that erupted near Boston in 1774 and cut down Indians from Mexico to Alaska.
Because smallpox was not endemic in the Americas, colonials, too, had not acquired any immunity. The virus, an equalopportunity killer, swept through the Continental Army and stopped the drive into Quebec. The American Revolution would
be lost, Washington and other rebel leaders feared, if the contagion did to the colonists what it had done to the Indians. "The
small Pox! The small Pox!" John Adams wrote to his wife, Abigail. "What shall We do with it?" In retrospect, Fenn says,
"One of George Washington's most brilliant moves was to inoculate the army against smallpox during the Valley Forge
winter of '78." Without inoculation smallpox could easily have given the United States back to the British.
So many epidemics occurred in the Americas, Dobyns argued, that the old data used by Mooney and his successors
represented population nadirs. From the few cases in which before-and-after totals are known with relative certainty, Dobyns
estimated that in the first 130 years of contact about 95 percent of the people in the Americas died—the worst demographic
calamity in recorded history.
Dobyns's ideas were quickly attacked as politically motivated, a push from the hate-America crowd to inflate the toll of
imperialism. The attacks continue to this day. "No question about it, some people want those higher numbers," says Shepard
Krech III, a Brown University anthropologist who is the author of The Ecological Indian (1999). These people, he says, were
thrilled when Dobyns revisited the subject in a book, Their Numbers Become Thinned (1983)—and revised his own estimates
upward. Perhaps Dobyns's most vehement critic is David Henige, a bibliographer of Africana at the University of Wisconsin,
whose Numbers From Nowhere (1998) is a landmark in the literature of demographic fulmination. "Suspect in 1966, it is no
less suspect nowadays," Henige wrote of Dobyns's work. "If anything, it is worse."
When Henige wrote Numbers From Nowhere, the fight about pre-Columbian populations had already consumed forests'
worth of trees; his bibliography is ninety pages long. And the dispute shows no sign of abating. More and more people have
jumped in. This is partly because the subject is inherently fascinating. But more likely the increased interest in the debate is
due to the growing realization of the high political and ecological stakes.
INVENTING BY THE MILLIONS
On May 30, 1539, Hernando de Soto landed his private army near Tampa Bay, in Florida. Soto, as he was called, was a novel
figure: half warrior, half venture capitalist. He had grown very rich very young by becoming a market leader in the nascent
trade for Indian slaves. The profits had helped to fund Pizarro's seizure of the Incan empire, which had made Soto wealthier
still. Looking quite literally for new worlds to conquer, he persuaded the Spanish Crown to let him loose in North America.
He spent one fortune to make another. He came to Florida with 200 horses, 600 soldiers, and 300 pigs.
From today's perspective, it is difficult to imagine the ethical system that would justify Soto's actions. For four years his
force, looking for gold, wandered through what is now Florida, Georgia, North and South Carolina, Tennessee, Alabama,
Mississippi, Arkansas, and Texas, wrecking almost everything it touched. The inhabitants often fought back vigorously, but
they had never before encountered an army with horses and guns. Soto died of fever with his expedition in ruins; along the
way his men had managed to rape, torture, enslave, and kill countless Indians. But the worst thing the Spaniards did, some
researchers say, was entirely without malice—bring the pigs.
According to Charles Hudson, an anthropologist at the University of Georgia who spent fifteen years reconstructing the path
of the expedition, Soto crossed the Mississippi a few miles downstream from the present site of Memphis. It was a nervous
passage: the Spaniards were watched by several thousand Indian warriors. Utterly without fear, Soto brushed past the Indian
force into what is now eastern Arkansas, through thickly settled land—"very well peopled with large towns," one of his men
later recalled, "two or three of which were to be seen from one town." Eventually the Spaniards approached a cluster of small
cities, each protected by earthen walls, sizeable moats, and deadeye archers. In his usual fashion, Soto brazenly marched in,
stole food, and marched out.
After Soto left, no Europeans visited this part of the Mississippi Valley for more than a century. Early in 1682 whites
appeared again, this time Frenchmen in canoes. One of them was Réné-Robert Cavelier, Sieur de la Salle. The French passed
through the area where Soto had found cities cheek by jowl. It was deserted—La Salle didn't see an Indian village for 200
miles. About fifty settlements existed in this strip of the Mississippi when Soto showed up, according to Anne Ramenofsky,
an anthropologist at the University of New Mexico. By La Salle's time the number had shrunk to perhaps ten, some probably
inhabited by recent immigrants. Soto "had a privileged glimpse" of an Indian world, Hudson says. "The window opened and
slammed shut. When the French came in and the record opened up again, it was a transformed reality. A civilization
crumbled. The question is, how did this happen?"
The question is even more complex than it may seem. Disaster of this magnitude suggests epidemic disease. In the view of
Ramenofsky and Patricia Galloway, an anthropologist at the University of Texas, the source of the contagion was very likely
not Soto's army but its ambulatory meat locker: his 300 pigs. Soto's force itself was too small to be an effective biological
weapon. Sicknesses like measles and smallpox would have burned through his 600 soldiers long before they reached the
Mississippi. But the same would not have held true for the pigs, which multiplied rapidly and were able to transmit their
diseases to wildlife in the surrounding forest. When human beings and domesticated animals live close together, they trade
microbes with abandon. Over time mutation spawns new diseases: avian influenza becomes human influenza, bovine
rinderpest becomes measles. Unlike Europeans, Indians did not live in close quarters with animals—they domesticated only
the dog, the llama, the alpaca, the guinea pig, and, here and there, the turkey and the Muscovy duck. In some ways this is not
surprising: the New World had fewer animal candidates for taming than the Old. Moreover, few Indians carry the gene that
permits adults to digest lactose, a form of sugar abundant in milk. Non-milk-drinkers, one imagines, would be less likely to
work at domesticating milk-giving animals. But this is guesswork. The fact is that what scientists call zoonotic disease was
little known in the Americas. Swine alone can disseminate anthrax, brucellosis, leptospirosis, taeniasis, trichinosis, and
tuberculosis. Pigs breed exuberantly and can transmit diseases to deer and turkeys. Only a few of Soto's pigs would have had
to wander off to infect the forest.
Indeed, the calamity wrought by Soto apparently extended across the whole Southeast. The Coosa city-states, in western
Georgia, and the Caddoan-speaking civilization, centered on the Texas-Arkansas border, disintegrated soon after Soto
appeared. The Caddo had had a taste for monumental architecture: public plazas, ceremonial platforms, mausoleums. After
Soto's army left, notes Timothy K. Perttula, an archaeological consultant in Austin, Texas, the Caddo stopped building
community centers and began digging community cemeteries. Between Soto's and La Salle's visits, Perttula believes, the
Caddoan population fell from about 200,000 to about 8,500—a drop of nearly 96 percent. In the eighteenth century the tally
shrank further, to 1,400. An equivalent loss today in the population of New York City would reduce it to 56,000—not enough
to fill Yankee Stadium. "That's one reason whites think of Indians as nomadic hunters," says Russell Thornton, an
anthropologist at the University of California at Los Angeles. "Everything else—all the heavily populated urbanized
societies—was wiped out."
Could a few pigs truly wreak this much destruction? Such apocalyptic scenarios invite skepticism. As a rule, viruses,
microbes, and parasites are rarely lethal on so wide a scale—a pest that wipes out its host species does not have a bright
evolutionary future. In its worst outbreak, from 1347 to 1351, the European Black Death claimed only a third of its victims.
(The rest survived, though they were often disfigured or crippled by its effects.) The Indians in Soto's path, if Dobyns,
Ramenofsky, and Perttula are correct, endured losses that were incomprehensibly greater.
One reason is that Indians were fresh territory for many plagues, not just one. Smallpox, typhoid, bubonic plague, influenza,
mumps, measles, whooping cough—all rained down on the Americas in the century after Columbus. (Cholera, malaria, and
scarlet fever came later.) Having little experience with epidemic diseases, Indians had no knowledge of how to combat them.
In contrast, Europeans were well versed in the brutal logic of quarantine. They boarded up houses in which plague appeared
and fled to the countryside. In Indian New England, Neal Salisbury, a historian at Smith College, wrote in Manitou and
Providence (1982), family and friends gathered with the shaman at the sufferer's bedside to wait out the illness—a practice
that "could only have served to spread the disease more rapidly."
Indigenous biochemistry may also have played a role. The immune system constantly scans the body for molecules that it can
recognize as foreign—molecules belonging to an invading virus, for instance. No one's immune system can identify all
foreign presences. Roughly speaking, an individual's set of defensive tools is known as his MHC type. Because many
bacteria and viruses mutate easily, they usually attack in the form of several slightly different strains. Pathogens win when
MHC types miss some of the strains and the immune system is not stimulated to act. Most human groups contain many MHC
types; a strain that slips by one person's defenses will be nailed by the defenses of the next. But, according to Francis L.
Black, an epidemiologist at Yale University, Indians are characterized by unusually homogenous MHC types. One out of
three South American Indians have similar MHC types; among Africans the corresponding figure is one in 200. The cause is
a matter for Darwinian speculation, the effects less so.
In 1966 Dobyns's insistence on the role of disease was a shock to his colleagues. Today the impact of European pathogens on
the New World is almost undisputed. Nonetheless, the fight over Indian numbers continues with undiminished fervor.
Estimates of the population of North America in 1491 disagree by an order of magnitude—from 18 million, Dobyns's revised
figure, to 1.8 million, calculated by Douglas H. Ubelaker, an anthropologist at the Smithsonian. To some "high counters," as
David Henige calls them, the low counters' refusal to relinquish the vision of an empty continent is irrational or worse. "NonIndian 'experts' always want to minimize the size of aboriginal populations," says Lenore Stiffarm, a Native Americaneducation specialist at the University of Saskatchewan. The smaller the numbers of Indians, she believes, the easier it is to
regard the continent as having been up for grabs. "It's perfectly acceptable to move into unoccupied land," Stiffarm says.
"And land with only a few 'savages' is the next best thing."
"Most of the arguments for the very large numbers have been theoretical," Ubelaker says in defense of low counters. "When
you try to marry the theoretical arguments to the data that are available on individual groups in different regions, it's hard to
find support for those numbers." Archaeologists, he says, keep searching for the settlements in which those millions of people
supposedly lived, with little success. "As more and more excavation is done, one would expect to see more evidence for
dense populations than has thus far emerged." Dean Snow, the Pennsylvania State anthropologist, examined Colonial-era
Mohawk Iroquois sites and found "no support for the notion that ubiquitous pandemics swept the region." In his view,
asserting that the continent was filled with people who left no trace is like looking at an empty bank account and claiming
that it must once have held millions of dollars.
The low counters are also troubled by the Dobynsian procedure for recovering original population numbers: applying an
assumed death rate, usually 95 percent, to the observed population nadir. Ubelaker believes that the lowest point for Indians
in North America was around 1900, when their numbers fell to about half a million. Assuming a 95 percent death rate, the
pre-contact population would have been 10 million. Go up one percent, to a 96 percent death rate, and the figure jumps to
12.5 million—arithmetically creating more than two million people from a tiny increase in mortality rates. At 98 percent the
number bounds to 25 million. Minute changes in baseline assumptions produce wildly different results.
"It's an absolutely unanswerable question on which tens of thousands of words have been spent to no purpose," Henige says.
In 1976 he sat in on a seminar by William Denevan, the Wisconsin geographer. An "epiphanic moment" occurred when he
read shortly afterward that scholars had "uncovered" the existence of eight million people in Hispaniola. Can you just invent
millions of people? he wondered. "We can make of the historical record that there was depopulation and movement of people
from internecine warfare and diseases," he says. "But as for how much, who knows? When we start putting numbers to
something like that—applying large figures like ninety-five percent—we're saying things we shouldn't say. The number
implies a level of knowledge that's impossible."
Nonetheless, one must try—or so Denevan believes. In his estimation the high counters (though not the highest counters)
seem to be winning the argument, at least for now. No definitive data exist, he says, but the majority of the extant evidentiary
scraps support their side. Even Henige is no low counter. When I asked him what he thought the population of the Americas
was before Columbus, he insisted that any answer would be speculation and made me promise not to print what he was going
to say next. Then he named a figure that forty years ago would have caused a commotion.
To Elizabeth Fenn, the smallpox historian, the squabble over numbers obscures a central fact. Whether one million or 10
million or 100 million died, she believes, the pall of sorrow that engulfed the hemisphere was immeasurable. Languages,
prayers, hopes, habits, and dreams—entire ways of life hissed away like steam. The Spanish and the Portuguese lacked the
germ theory of disease and could not explain what was happening (let alone stop it). Nor can we explain it; the ruin was too
long ago and too all-encompassing. In the long run, Fenn says, the consequential finding is not that many people died but that
many people once lived. The Americas were filled with a stunningly diverse assortment of peoples who had knocked about
the continents for millennia. "You have to wonder," Fenn says. "What were all those people up to in all that time?"
When Columbus appeared in the Caribbean, the descendants of the world's two Neolithic civilizations collided, with
overwhelming consequences for both. American Neolithic development occurred later than that of the Middle East, possibly
because the Indians needed more time to build up the requisite population density. Without beasts of burden they could not
capitalize on the wheel (for individual workers on uneven terrain skids are nearly as effective as carts for hauling), and they
never developed steel. But in agriculture they handily outstripped the children of Sumeria. Every tomato in Italy, every potato
in Ireland, and every hot pepper in Thailand came from this hemisphere. Worldwide, more than half the crops grown today
were initially developed in the Americas.
Maize, as corn is called in the rest of the world, was a triumph with global implications. Indians developed an extraordinary
number of maize varieties for different growing conditions, which meant that the crop could and did spread throughout the
planet. Central and Southern Europeans became particularly dependent on it; maize was the staple of Serbia, Romania, and
Moldavia by the nineteenth century. Indian crops dramatically reduced hunger, Crosby says, which led to an Old World
population boom.
Along with peanuts and manioc, maize came to Africa and transformed agriculture there, too. "The probability is that the
population of Africa was greatly increased because of maize and other American Indian crops," Crosby says. "Those extra
people helped make the slave trade possible." Maize conquered Africa at the time when introduced diseases were leveling
Indian societies. The Spanish, the Portuguese, and the British were alarmed by the death rate among Indians, because they
wanted to exploit them as workers. Faced with a labor shortage, the Europeans turned their eyes to Africa. The continent's
quarrelsome societies helped slave traders to siphon off millions of people. The maize-fed population boom, Crosby believes,
let the awful trade continue without pumping the well dry.
Back home in the Americas, Indian agriculture long sustained some of the world's largest cities. The Aztec capital of
Tenochtitlán dazzled Hernán Cortés in 1519; it was bigger than Paris, Europe's greatest metropolis. The Spaniards gawped
like hayseeds at the wide streets, ornately carved buildings, and markets bright with goods from hundreds of miles away.
They had never before seen a city with botanical gardens, for the excellent reason that none existed in Europe. The same
novelty attended the force of a thousand men that kept the crowded streets immaculate. (Streets that weren't ankle-deep in
sewage! The conquistadors had never heard of such a thing.) Central America was not the only locus of prosperity.
Thousands of miles north, John Smith, of Pocahontas fame, visited Massachusetts in 1614, before it was emptied by disease,
and declared that the land was "so planted with Gardens and Corne fields, and so well inhabited with a goodly, strong and
well proportioned people ... [that] I would rather live here than any where."
Smith was promoting colonization, and so had reason to exaggerate. But he also knew the hunger, sickness, and oppression
of European life. France—"by any standards a privileged country," according to its great historian, Fernand Braudel—
experienced seven nationwide famines in the fifteenth century and thirteen in the sixteenth. Disease was hunger's constant
companion. During epidemics in London the dead were heaped onto carts "like common dung" (the simile is Daniel Defoe's)
and trundled through the streets. The infant death rate in London orphanages, according to one contemporary source, was 88
percent. Governments were harsh, the rule of law arbitrary. The gibbets poking up in the background of so many old
paintings were, Braudel observed, "merely a realistic detail."
The Earth Shall Weep, James Wilson's history of Indian America, puts the comparison bluntly: "the western hemisphere was
larger, richer, and more populous than Europe." Much of it was freer, too. Europeans, accustomed to the serfdom that thrived
from Naples to the Baltic Sea, were puzzled and alarmed by the democratic spirit and respect for human rights in many
Indian societies, especially those in North America. In theory, the sachems of New England Indian groups were absolute
monarchs. In practice, the colonial leader Roger Williams wrote, "they will not conclude of ought ... unto which the people
are averse."
Pre-1492 America wasn't a disease-free paradise, Dobyns says, although in his "exuberance as a writer," he told me recently,
he once made that claim. Indians had ailments of their own, notably parasites, tuberculosis, and anemia. The daily grind was
wearing; life-spans in America were only as long as or a little longer than those in Europe, if the evidence of indigenous
graveyards is to be believed. Nor was it a political utopia—the Inca, for instance, invented refinements to totalitarian rule that
would have intrigued Stalin. Inveterate practitioners of what the historian Francis Jennings described as "state terrorism
practiced horrifically on a huge scale," the Inca ruled so cruelly that one can speculate that their surviving subjects might
actually have been better off under Spanish rule.
I asked seven anthropologists, archaeologists, and historians if they would rather have been a typical Indian or a typical
European in 1491. None was delighted by the question, because it required judging the past by the standards of today—a
fallacy disparaged as "presentism" by social scientists. But every one chose to be an Indian. Some early colonists gave the
same answer. Horrifying the leaders of Jamestown and Plymouth, scores of English ran off to live with the Indians.
As for the Indians, evidence suggests that they often viewed Europeans with disdain. The Hurons, a chagrined missionary
reported, thought the French possessed "little intelligence in comparison to themselves." Europeans, Indians said, were
physically weak, sexually untrustworthy, atrociously ugly, and just plain dirty. (Spaniards, who seldom if ever bathed, were
amazed by the Aztec desire for personal cleanliness.) A Jesuit reported that the "Savages" were disgusted by handkerchiefs:
"They say, we place what is unclean in a fine white piece of linen, and put it away in our pockets as something very precious,
while they throw it upon the ground." The Micmac scoffed at the notion of French superiority. If Christian civilization was so
wonderful, why were its inhabitants leaving?
Like people everywhere, Indians survived by cleverly exploiting their environment. Europeans tended to manage land by
breaking it into fragments for farmers and herders. Indians often worked on such a grand scale that the scope of their
ambition can be hard to grasp. They created small plots, as Europeans did (about 1.5 million acres of terraces still exist in the
Peruvian Andes), but they also reshaped entire landscapes to suit their purposes. A principal tool was fire, used to keep down
underbrush and create the open, grassy conditions favorable for game. Rather than domesticating animals for meat, Indians
retooled whole ecosystems to grow bumper crops of elk, deer, and bison. The first white settlers in Ohio found forests as
open as English parks—they could drive carriages through the woods. Along the Hudson River the annual fall burning lit up
the banks for miles on end; so flashy was the show that the Dutch in New Amsterdam boated upriver to goggle at the blaze
like children at fireworks. In North America, Indian torches had their biggest impact on the Midwestern prairie, much or most
of which was created and maintained by fire. Millennia of exuberant burning shaped the plains into vast buffalo farms. When
Indian societies disintegrated, forest invaded savannah in Wisconsin, Illinois, Kansas, Nebraska, and the Texas Hill Country.
Is it possible that the Indians changed the Americas more than the invading Europeans did? "The answer is probably yes for
most regions for the next 250 years or so" after Columbus, William Denevan wrote, "and for some regions right up to the
present time."
The Long History of American Slavery
By Christina Snyder
The peculiar institution used to be quarantined in American history. Safely confined in time and space, slavery
was formerly a tragic story of southern exceptionalism, one that did not threaten a master narrative focused on freedom.
Recently, however, scholars have upset that narrative by tracing the deep roots and continental reach of bondage. Slaves
worked on Mississippi cotton plantations, Ivy League campuses, in Detroit trading posts, Texas missions, urban factories,
Massachusetts kitchens, California brothels, and at the governor's mansion in Santa Fe. Much of this reorientation results
from historians' expansion of their field of vision to include the experiences of indigenous people. Historian Brett Rushforth
has calculated that from the late fifteenth through the mid-nineteenth century, two to four million Native American slaves
were traded by colonizers in the Americas. We are only beginning to understand the nature and implications of this
overlooked slave trade, but it is clear that colonists routinely captured Natives in warfare or purchased them from Indian
middlemen, sometimes trading them over vast distances. Apache captives of war, for example, were purchased by sugar
planters in the Caribbean; the wife and child of Metacom (King Philip) and many other Wampanoags were sold as slaves in
Bermuda in the wake of King Philip's War; some Iroquois taken hostage in New France ended up alongside North Africans
as galley slaves in Marseilles. The African and Indian slave trades linked North America to a noxious global commerce that,
until the nineteenth century, helped facilitate the bondage, in serfdom or slavery, of three-fourths of the world's population.
America looks less and less like the land of the free and more and more like a “slave country.” (1)
The history of American slavery began long before the first Africans arrived at Jamestown in 1619. For
hundreds, perhaps thousands of years prior, Native Americans had developed their own forms of bondage. This should not
be surprising, for most societies throughout history have practiced captivity. If captivity is nearly ubiquitous, it is also highly
adaptable, compatible with a diverse range of societies ranging from pastoralists to agriculturalists and hunter-gatherers to
industrialized nations. But here, it is useful to make a distinction between captivity and slavery. Captivity is the broader of
the two categories, encompassing all people forcibly detained. In Native North America, captives were usually acquired as
prisoners of war or via trade, and if we look elsewhere in the world, we can add debt bondage and imprisonment for crimes
to this list. Captivity functioned as a spectrum, and its victims endured fates including adoption, death, or slavery. Slavery
can be defined as a mode of captivity distinguished by its exploitation of bonded laborers to enrich the social or material life
of the master. All slaves were captives, but not all captives became slaves. In North America, captivity and its most extreme
form—slavery—shaped indigenous societies before Europeans' arrival and, thereafter, intersected, blended with, and
sometimes challenged notions of slavery brought by white newcomers. (2)
Captivity can be hard to see in the archaeological record, but it is not invisible. Certainly, signs of warfare are
unmistakable: fortified towns, burned villages, art with martial themes, and scored crania consistent with scalping. Indeed,
the onset of the Little Ice Age, which produced significantly colder temperatures beginning around 1300 C.E., resulted in
lower agricultural yields and increased competition for resources, leading to heightened warfare in many areas of North
America (and, indeed, globally). Native art depicts aspects of pre-Columbian violence, including captivity. Of particular
interest are carved stone pipes recovered from sites in the Southeast and Midwest that feature kneeling and bound captives
(See Figure 1). These pipes may represent mythic or legendary events, but it is also likely that artists drew upon what they
observed in their own societies. Human remains also offer clues about captivity. At Cahokia, ancient America's largest city,
the burial of two elite men included the ritual execution of fifty-three young women, whose skeletal dietary signatures
suggested that they came from outside the region. Elsewhere, individuals who experienced unusual burials or survived
violent trauma, especially those with foreign dietary signatures, were probably captives as well. (3)
Figure 1.
This effigy pipe, recovered from the Spiro site in eastern Oklahoma but
made at Cahokia sometime between 1100–1200 C.E., depicts a warrior with
a bound captive at his feet. Courtesy National Museum of the American
Indian, Smithsonian Institution (Catalog Number 214088.00). Photo by
David Heald.
Documentary evidence indicates that in North America, as elsewhere, captivity followed a general pattern:
usually, captives were violently torn from their natal societies, then endured a ritual death that stripped them of their former
identity in favor of a new (usually degraded) status. Some Native oral traditions speak to the ritual death and rebirth of
captives. The Choctaws, for example, tell of how they captured the Crawfish people. The Crawfish once lived in
underground caves and rarely came out into the open, but “Choctaws used to lay and wait for them to come out into the sun,
where they would try to talk to them and cultivate an acquaintance.” But the Crawfish “spoke no language at all, nor could
they understand any.” Nonetheless, the Choctaws succeeded in smoking the Crawfish out of their caves and then “treated
them kindly—taught them the Choctaw language—taught them to walk on two legs—made them cut off their toe nails, and
pluck the hair from their bodies.” After teaching the Crawfish people the proper way to speak and behave and transforming
their physical appearance, the Choctaws finally “adopted them into their nation.” This oral tradition commemorates a
specific event that happened around 1730 to a people the Choctaws called Shåktci Homma(“Chakchiuma” in French
documents) meaning “Red Crawfish.” Plagued by war and disease, these refugees were adopted into the Choctaw Nation
and given a new clan designation. More broadly, however, this story reflects a deep and broadly held belief among Native
North Americans in the power of ritual, which transformed former enemies—even those stigmatized as sub-human—into
family. (4)
In many ways, North American practices confirm sociologist Orlando Patterson's influential argument that
disparate global unfreedoms all featured the social death of the captive. But social death cannot encompass all experiences
of captivity. Sometimes invading conquerors left captive populations in place, incorporating them as tributaries and
changing little about their former lives. Sometimes bondage was a temporary state, terminating, for example, with the
repayment of a social or economic debt. And sometimes captors valued—even specifically selected—captives for their
skills, including mediating with their former people, and supported the continuation of the captive's natal identity in some
way. The erasure of a captive's former life was rarely complete, and captives themselves struggled against it. The story of
the Crawfish people represented a cultural ideal, while other oral traditions speak to the perils of captivity: prisoners who
ran away; men who killed in the night; boys who grew up with divided loyalties. (5)
These cautionary tales have a strong gendered dimension, suggesting that men in particular made for dangerous
slaves and untrustworthy adoptees. Documentary evidence, too, indicates that most captives in North America and, indeed,
around the world, were women. As literary scholar Ania Loomba has argued, “The exchange of women has always signaled
the vulnerability of cultural borders.” Archaeologist Catherine Cameron has suggested that scholars looking for material
traces of captivity pay particular attention to crafts usually produced by women. (6)
Archaeologists have tended to view Native cultures as discrete units, attributing change to migration or
diffusion, but recently they have begun to consider how captivity connected societies across the continent and how captives
themselves acted as agents of culture change. A particularly illuminating case study comes from the southern Plains, around
1450 C.E., when Native societies in that region began to turn away from agriculture in favor of bison hunting. Plains people
stepped up their raids on Pueblo villages to the west, along the Rio Grande, where they captured Pueblo women to aid in
buffalo hide processing. These women may have become slaves, but later sources suggest that they more likely were
incorporated into their captors' societies as second or third wives of successful men. In addition to hide processing, captive
women made beautiful, Pueblo-style pottery, though they modified it somewhat, making smaller vessels and more varieties
with handles to accommodate a mobile Plains lifestyle. Despite unequal power relations, cultural exchange was a two-way
street, and captives “brought into the society of their captors novel technologies, ideologies, and social behavior,
transforming that society in process.” (7)
Documents produced during the contact era also provide clues about America's deeper past, especially when
they are read with a critical eye and alongside other sources. Some of the first Europeans to travel extensively through North
America's interior accompanied the expeditions of Hernando de Soto in the Southeast (1539–1543) and of Francisco
Vásquez de Coronado in the Southwest (1540–1542), and both noted the presence of slavery in Native societies. When Soto
and his men met the Lady of Cofitachequi, who ruled an extensive chiefdom that covered much of what is now South
Carolina, they noted that several “slave women” served as her personal attendants (See Figure 2). Contrary to popular
culture representations that depict Native societies as egalitarian and idyllic, most lived in ranked societies where people had
unequal access to resources and power. At the bottom of these social hierarchies were people acquired through war or trade
whose labor served to enhance the prestige of others. In North America, where power was predicated more on the control of
people than the domination of territory, personal attendants such as the Lady of Cofitachequi's slaves served as ever-present
evidence of her mastery of distant peoples. In many polities visited by Soto and Coronado, chiefs, following diplomatic
protocols that predated colonialism, offered them slaves as gifts. Such exchanges created bonds of obligation and alliance
among different people. Captives were probably the most potent gifts in such situations for they “signified the opposite of
warfare, the giving rather than the taking of life.” (8)
Figure 2.
Inequalities in rank elevated Native elites—sometimes literally—over their subjects. This engraving, based on a 1564–1565 drawing by visiting artist
Jacques LeMoyne de Morgues, depicts an elite Timucuan woman from what is now Florida. Reprinted from Theodor de Bry, Brevis narratio eorum quae
in Florida Americae provi[n]cia Gallis acciderunt (Frankfort, 1591), vol. 2, plate 33. Courtesy Lilly Library, Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana.
Captives had important symbolic worth, but masters also valued their labor. At Cofitachequi and another
chiefdom along the Mississippi River, the Spaniards saw male war captives farming the fields of their masters; their feet had
been maimed to discourage escape. Such labor may have been particularly odious to these Native American men because in
North America farming was considered women's work. Later, among the Nootka of the Northwest Coast, male slaves
processed and preserved fish alongside women. In many societies across North America, slaves, including men, hewed
wood and hauled water, menial and arduous tasks that were also performed by lower-status Native women. Assigning
gender-inappropriate work seems to be a transhistorical aspect of slavery, something that Native masters shared with
Virginians who forced African American women to perform heavy agricultural labor usually reserved for men, or with
Nepalese masters whose male slaves served food and then sat in the women's section at village temples. (9)
Terms for slaves also reveal a great deal about indigenous captivity practices. Cherokees called them atsi
nahsa'i meaning “one who is owned.” Similarly, Creeks dubbed slaves este vpuekv, roughly “owned person”; they applied a
similar term to livestock. The Illinois people had dozens of terms to describe enslavement, many of which likened slaves to
dogs or other domesticated animals. All three cases indicate a level of dehumanization and transformation of a human into
an object of ownership. Europeans also heard Muscogee Creeks refer to Hitchitis and other ethnic minorities within their
nation as estenko. English traders understood that it was derogatory but inaccurately translated it as a false cognate,
“stinkard.” Really, the term translated to “worthless hand.” The Iroquois made a similar reference to captives: we-hait-watsha, meaning a disarticulated body scattered around. The last two examples show how captors used bodily metaphors to
suggest that captives—or even entire conquered or refugee populations—could be severed, uprooted, and incorporated into
their own polities. This linguistic evidence, though recorded between the seventeenth and twentieth centuries, points to
indigenous understandings of captives as flexible mediums of power who could be used for work, trade, or even social
reproduction. (10)
If captivity could be a harsh and unpredictable state, it was usually short-lived. Like most societies through
history, Native Americans maintained an open system that offered many paths out of captivity. In this context, the opposite
of slavery was not freedom as we might understand it today but rather kinship. Captives could shed their degraded status by
transitioning from outsiders to people who belonged. Juan Ortiz, a Spanish nobleman captured during the expedition of
Pánfilo de Narváez, lived in captivity among two Native societies in what is now Florida from 1528 to 1539. Although his
first master, Chief Ucita, was abusive, the second, Mocozo, “treated him like a well-beloved brother.” As the Choctaw story
of the Crawfish people suggests, Native Americans developed rituals of incorporation for captive adoption. Later sources
suggest that captives could also marry into captors' societies and thereby gain status. With the exception of Northwest Coast
Indians, slave status does not seem to have passed onto captives' children, who were integrated into captors' societies.
Scholars disagree on the completeness of this transformation, which probably varied from place to place. Iroquois adoption
ceremonies were more accurately “requickenings” in which the captive took on the name and role of a deceased Iroquois.
Creeks did not believe in literal requickening; as Chief Malatchi explained in the early eighteenth century, “it is in no Man's
Power to bring our People that have been killed back to Life again.” Although Creeks frequently adopted or married
captives, some residual stigma may have remained. As one observer noted, Creeks called children of war captives “of the
slave race,” claiming that they “cannot arrive to much honorary distinction in the country on that account.” Scholars have
suggested that the language of kinship usually employed in captive adoption can express “the closeness of a relationship”
but also “authority and subordination.” Whether or not the memory of captive ancestry lingered, most Native groups sought
to incorporate these outsiders or their descendants as valued members of society. (11)
Scholars of indigenous slavery stress that Europeans did not introduce the practice to North America but rather
that colonialism brought disparate and evolving slaveries into contact with one another. The exchange of people and
practices began immediately. In the sixteenth century, dozens of Spanish colonists, in the wake of shipwrecks, battles, or
failed invasions, experienced captivity among Native people. In turn, both Coronado and Soto received some Native
American slaves as gifts, but they kidnapped hundreds of others. One Teya woman who hailed from the Texas panhandle
was already living as a slave in the Pueblo town of Cicúye (or Pecos) when the Coronado expedition took her. She managed
to escape her new masters in Witchita country and ran southeastward where, several days later, she was unlucky enough to
run into the Soto expedition. Re-enslaved, she marched with the Spaniard army back to the Mississippi River. Assuming
that she survived that expedition's desperate flight down the river in makeshift rafts, the Teya woman likely spent the rest of
her life as a slave in New Spain. (12)
The fate of the Teya woman presaged a massive colonial commerce in Native American slaves, one in which
colonizers tapped into preexisting indigenous captivity practices, but also distorted and exponentially amplified them.
Colonial societies, with their voracious demand for labor, offered new inducements, including political alliances and access
to firearms that encouraged Native American societies to capture and sell unprecedented numbers of slaves. The resulting
warfare, compounded by virgin soil epidemics, accelerated this trend. To combat population stress, many Native societies,
including the Iroquois and Comanches, engaged in further warfare with the goal of incorporating captives to strengthen
themselves. Thus, while captive adoption was probably ancient in Native societies, it may have been much more common in
the eighteenth century, as Native nations struggled to retain their numbers. (13)
Since ancient times, Native Americans had practiced disparate forms of captivity, and, after the European
invasion, colonial and indigenous practices blended—and sometimes clashed—creating a patchwork of American slavery
that varied from one region to the next. In the Southeast, early planters used various forms of unfree labor, including Native
American and African slaves as well as indentured servants, but after Indian nations retaliated against British trade practices
and nearly destroyed South Carolina during the Yamasee War (1715–1717), the region turned almost exclusively to black
slavery. By the late eighteenth century, Native peoples had adopted many of their white neighbors' captivity practices,
including the transgenerational enslavement of African Americans. Colonists in New France wanted to participate in the
Atlantic slave trade, but they had very limited access to it. Instead, powerful neighboring Native nations drew them into an
Indian slave trade that generated a form of slavery markedly different from that of the French Caribbean or Louisiana. In the
Southwest, the interaction of Spanish and indigenous cultures produced a borderlands slavery that, as the historian James
Brooks puts it, “grew from shared patriarchal structures of power and patrimony.” (14)
Forty years ago, the historian Peter Wood, in Black Majority, argued that colonial-era slavery was a far cry from
the nineteenth-century version that U.S. scholars had assumed was timeless. Since Wood's revelation, early American
scholarship has moved away from a teleological narrative focused on the birth of the United States and towards a more
critical look at the competing aims and visions of diverse groups of colonizers, slaves, indigenous people, and creoles in
early America. Just as Wood demonstrated that colonial America was not simply prologue for the antebellum era, I argue
that ancient American history was much more than a staging ground for the colonial drama that followed. Too often,
historians cast pre-Columbian America as a static, pristine backdrop to highlight the changes wrought by colonialism; or
conceive of Indian polities as monolithic; or calculate all Native culture change as cultural loss. Cutting-edge scholarship in
Native American and early American history stresses dynamism, adaptation, hybridity, movement, and exchange, themes
that apply to the pre-Columbian period as well. Through the incorporation of individual captives or small groups of
conquered people, Native people forged polities that were multiethnic and even multilingual. The Lady of Cofitachequi's
chiefdom, for example, included Muskhogean, Catawban, and Cherokee speakers, and Cahokia absorbed—perhaps
forcibly—outsiders whose ritual lives and material culture differed from the majority. In the colonial era, as chaos
threatened to consume their world, Native people drew on their long history of captivity to build diverse and inclusive
(although not necessarily egalitarian) nations (See Figure 3). The enslavement of African Americans in the South rightfully
looms large in our history but by broadening our scope of understanding, American historians can better participate in
global conversations about diverse forms of bondage, including its endurance up to the present. Indeed, global and
indigenous perspectives on captivity reveal that Atlantic slavery is an outlier, rather than the norm: while most slave systems
have been moderated by the prospect of inclusion, eighteenth and nineteenth-century Atlantic slavery is the most closed
system the world has ever known, remarkable for the rigid racial ideologies it created and its concomitant brutality. Native
captivity practices created pain, sorrow, and conflict but also kinship between disparate peoples as well as the exchange of
people, ideas, and technology across the continent, contributing to America's dynamic and complicated history before and
after the colonial invasion. (15)
Figure 3.
This 1732 drawing by Alexander de Batz, “Choctaws Painted as Warriors Who Carry Scalps,” shows how Choctaws used diverse forms of captivity. These
scalps represented conquered enemies whose deaths compensated for fallen kin. At least two living captives appear in the image: a Natchez war chief
appears at top right and an African boy kneels at bottom right. Courtesy of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Harvard University, PM#
41-72-10/19 (digital file# 99020021).
Footnotes

↵ 1 Brett Rushforth, Bonds of Alliance: Indigenous and Atlantic Slaveries in New France (Chapel Hill, 2012), 9; James F. Brooks,Captives and Cousins: Slavery, Kinship, and
Community in the Southwest Borderlands (Chapel Hill, 2002); Alan Gallay, ed., Indian Slavery in Colonial America (Lincoln, 2009); Paul Timothy Conrad, “Captive Fates: Displaced American Indians in the
Southwest Borderlands, Mexico, and Cuba” (Ph.D. diss., University of Texas at Austin, 2011); Adam Hochschild, Bury the Chains: Prophets and Rebels in the Fight to Free an Empire's Slaves (New York,
2005), x; and Adam Rothman, Slave Country: American Expansion and the Origins of the Deep South (Cambridge, Mass., 2005).

↵ 2 Christina Snyder, Slavery in Indian Country: The Changing Face of Captivity in Early America (Cambridge, Mass., 2010), 2–9; Jack Goody, “Slavery in Time and Space,” in Asian
and African Systems of Slavery, ed. James L. Watson (Berkeley, 1980), 25–26; Catherine M. Cameron, “Captives and Culture Change,” Current Anthropology, 52 (April 2011), 179; Brooks, Captives &
Cousins, 63.

↵ 3 On warfare, see Daniel K. Richter, Before the Revolution: America's Ancient Pasts (Cambridge, Mass., 2011), 31–35, 52–53; Anthony Michal Krus, “A Chronology for Mississippian
Warfare” (Ph.D. diss., Indiana University, 2013). I wrote about Cahokia's Mound 72 in Slavery in Indian Country, 27–28. For a more complete study, see Melvin L. Fowler et al.,The Mound 72 Area:
Dedicated and Sacred Space in Cahokia(Springfield, 1999).
Human remains can yield important insights into health, diet, conflict, and migration, but the theft of Native bodies is also an enduring aspect of colonialism. Most American universities and museums have
not yet com-plied with the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA), passed by Congress in 1990, prompting discussions among anthropologists and Native studies scholars about
research ethics. As historians begin to dissolve the Eurocentric barrier that divides “history” from “prehistory,” we should consider how best to engage with culturally sensitive materials and different
scholarly literatures. On NAGPRA, see Kathleen S. Fine-Dare, Grave Injustice: The American Indian Repatriation Movement and NAGPRA (Lincoln, 2002).

↵ 4 Orlando Patterson, Slavery and Social Death: A Comparative Study(Cambridge, Mass., 1982); Related by Peter Pitchlynn to George Catlin, in Source Material for the Social and
Ceremonial Life of the Choctaw Indians, John R. Swanton (Washington, 1931), 83; and Frank G. Speck, “Notes on Chickasaw Ethnology and Folklore,” Journal of American Folklore, 20 (Jan.–March 1907),
52.

↵ 5 On cautionary tales, see James Mooney, “Escape of the Seneca Boys,” in History, Myths, and Sacred Formulas of the Cherokees(Asheville, 1992), 359; ibid., “The Captive
Alabama,” in Myths and Tales of the Southeastern Indians, John R. Swanton, ed. (Norman, 1995), 157.

↵ 6 Ania Loomba, “‘Delicious traffick’: Racial and Religious Difference on Early Modern Stages,” in Shakespeare and Race, ed. Catherine M. S. Alexander and Stanley Wells (New
York, 2000), 218; Cameron, “Captives and Culture Change,” 192.

↵ 7 Judith A. Habicht-Mauche, “Captive Wives? The Role and Status of Nonlocal Women on the Protohistoric Southern High Plains,” in Invisible Citizens: Captives and Their
Consequences, ed. Catherine M. Cameron (Salt Lake City, 2008), 181–204. Quotation is from Cameron, “Captives and Culture Change,” 169.

↵ 8 James Alexander Robertson, trans., “The Account by a Gentleman from Elvas,” in The De Soto Chronicles: The Expedition of Hernando de Soto to North America in 1539–1543, eds.
Lawrence A. Clayton, Vernon James Knight Jr., and Edward C. Moore (2 vols.,Tuscaloosa, 1993), I, 86; Snyder, Slavery in Indian Country, 37; Brooks, Captives and Cousins, 45–47. Quotation is from Brett
Rushforth, “‘A Little Flesh We Offer You’: The Origins of Indian Slavery in New France,” William and Mary Quarterly, 60 (Oct. 2003), 785.

↵ 9 Garcilasso de la Vega, “La Florida by the Inca,” in De Soto Chronicles, II, 312, 400, 439. Garcilasso's account can be fanciful, but later sources also report the maiming of male
captives' feet. See John Lawson, A New Voyage to Carolina, ed. Hugh Talmage Lefler (Chapel Hill, 1967), 59, 208. For the de-gendering nature of slave labor, see essays in Elisabeth Tooker, ed., The
Development of Political Organization in Native North America (Philadelphia, 1983); Theda Perdue, Slavery and the Evolution of Cherokee Society, (Knoxville, 1987), 15; Goody, “Slavery in Time and
Space”; and Kathleen M. Brown,Good Wives, Nasty Wenches, and Anxious Patriarchs: Gender, Race, and Power in Colonial Virginia (Chapel Hill, 1996).

↵ 10 Perdue, Slavery and Evolution of Cherokee Society, 4; Jack B. Martin and Margaret McKane Mauldin, A Dictionary of Creek/Muskogee with Notes on the Florida and Oklahoma
Seminole Dialects of Creek(Lincoln, 2000), 141, 313; Rushforth, Bonds of Alliance, 383–91; J. Leitch Wright Jr., Creeks & Seminoles: The Destruction and Regeneration of the Muscogee Peo-ple (Lincoln,
1986), 18; and Daniel K. Richter, The Ordeal of the Longhouse: The Peoples of the Iroquois League in the Era of European Colonization (Chapel Hill, 1992), 66.

↵ 11 Garcilasso de la Vega, “La Florida by the Inca,” in De Soto Chronicles, II, 109; Richter, The Ordeal of the Longhouse, 32–33; “Talk of Malatchi,” June 2, 1753, in The Colonial
Records of South Carolina Documents Relating to Indian Affairs, ed. William L. McDowell Jr. (2 vols., Columbia, 1992), I, 404; Caleb Swan, “Position and State of Manners and Arts in the Creek, or
Muscogee Nation in 1791,” inInformation Respecting the History, Condition and Prospects of the Indian Tribes of the United States, ed. Henry Rowe Schoolcraft (6 vols., Philadelphia, 1851–1857), V, 260;
and Cameron, “Captives and Culture Change,” 183.


↵ 12 Brooks, Captives & Cousins, 45–48.
↵ 13 Alan Gallay, The Indian Slave Trade: The Rise of the English Empire in the American South, 1670–1717 (New Haven, 2002); Daniel K. Richter, “War and Culture: The Iroquois
Experience,” William and Mary Quarterly, 40(Oct. 1983), 528–59; and Brooks, Captives & Cousins, 68–69.


↵ 14 Snyder, Slavery in Indian Country; Rushforth, Bonds of Alliance, 298; Brooks, Captives & Cousins, 34.
↵ 15 Peter H. Wood, Black Majority: Negros in Colonial South Carolina from 1670 through the Stono Rebellion (New York, 1974); Ned Blackhawk, Violence over the Land: Indians and
Empires in the Early American West (Cambridge, 2006), 8; Malinda Maynor Lowery, Lumbee Indians in the Jim Crow South (Chapel Hill, 2010), xii; Karen M. Booker, Charles M. Hudson, and Robert L.
Rankin, “Place Name Identification and Multilingualism in the Sixteenth-Century Southeast,” Ethnohistory,39 (Autumn 1992), 399–451; and Thomas E. Emerson and Eve Hargrave, “Strangers in Paradise?
Recognizing Ethnic Mortuary Diversity on the Fringes of Cahokia,” Southeastern Archaeology, 19 (Summer 2000), 1–23.