ANTHROPOLOGICAL PAPERS OF THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY

Number 98: 496 pp. June 14, 2013

Copyright © American Museum of Natural History 2013

ISSN 0065-9452

http://dx.doi.org/10.5531/sp.anth.0098

[PART 4 OF EPUB]

LIFE AMONG THE TIDES: RECENT ARCHAEOLOGY ON THE GEORGIA BIGHT

VICTOR D. THOMPSON

AND

DAVID HURST THOMAS

EDITORS AND CONTRIBUTORS

WITH CONTRIBUTIONS BY

Clark R. Alexander, Keith H. Ashley, Elliot H. Blair,

Ann S. Cordell, Kathleen A. Deagan, Chester B. DePratter, Scott M. Fitzpatrick, Ervan G. Garrison, Royce H. Hayes, Richard W. Jefferies, Deborah A. Keene, Ginessa J. Mahar, Rochelle A. Marrinan, Christopher R. Moore, Matthew F. Napolitano, Alexandra L. Parsons, Vicki L. Rolland, Matthew C. Sanger, Ryan O. Sipe, Amanda D. Roberts Thompson, Robert L. Thunen, John A. Turck, Neill J. Wallis, and Thomas G. Whitley

Proceedings of the Sixth Caldwell Conference

St. Catherines Island, Georgia

May 20–22, 2011

PART IV: mission-period Archaeology

CHAPTER 13: MISSION SAN JOSEPH DE SAPALA: MISSION-PERIOD ARCHAEOLOGICALRESEARCH ON SAPELO ISLAND

Richard W. Jefferies and Christopher R. Moore[1]

INTRODUCTION

The nature of contact and interaction between the Native Americans of coastal Georgia and members of the Spanish clergy and military who attempted to missionize this region has been of great historical and archaeological interest for many years (Swanton, 1922, 1946; Lanning, 1935; Jones, 1978; Milanich and Proctor, 1978; Larson, 1980b; Deagan, 1983; DePratter, Hudson, and Smith, 1983; Hann, 1987; Smith, 1987; Thomas, 1987; Milanich and Milbrath, 1989; Bushnell, 1994; Worth, 1994, 2004a, 2007b; Hudson, 1997; Saunders, 2000a). At the time of Spanish contact in the early 1500s, much of the Georgia coast was inhabited by the Muskogean-speaking Guale Indians. The roughly 120 years following the arrival of the Spanish, known as the mission period (a.d. 1568–1684), was marked by the total cultural collapse of Guale society and the eventual retreat of the Guale from their coastal homeland (Worth, 2007b).

Sapelo Island, one of the Georgia barrier or sea islands, figures prominently in this story of Guale culture change. Sapelo is situated near the mouth of the Altamaha River in McIntosh County (fig. 13.1). It is the fourth largest of the Georgia barrier islands, positioned between St. Catherines Island to the north and St. Simons Island to the south. Sapelo lies approximately 4 mi east of the Georgia mainland, separated by a wide sound containing numerous hammocks and expansive marshes.

Ethnohistorical data indicate that the 17th-century Spanish mission of San Joseph de Sapala, located on Sapelo Island, played a critical role in the story of Guale cultural decline (Worth, 2007b: 194). The mission, situated in the Guale town of Sapala, functioned throughout most of the 17th century as an aggregation point for other Guale mission towns forced to relocate due to threat of attack by the English and their Native American allies. Of particular interest is that brief period from ca. a.d. 1660 to 1684 when extensive demographic shuffling and relocation led to the reorganization of many formerly separate Native American social groups and the emergence of Yamasee cultural identity (Saunders, 2000a; Worth, 2004a, 2004b). Despite more than 50 years of ethnohistorical and archaeological research, investigators have yet to verify the locations of the town of Sapala or Mission San Joseph de Sapala.

In 2003, University of Kentucky archaeologists initiated field investigations just north of the famous Sapelo Shell Ring complex (Site 9Mc23). The purpose of this research was to investigate the site’s Late Archaic component; however, test units and shovel probes placed north of Shell Ring II yielded several items of European origin, including majolica and olive jar fragments and part of a small brass bell.

Associated with these European artifacts were hundreds of Native American ceramic sherds representing several temporal periods ranging from the Late Archaic (ca. 4500 b.p.) to the 17th century. Initial classification of the Native American pottery by Victor Thompson (Jefferies and Thompson, 2006) indicated that many of the sherds were parts of Altamaha vessels made by the Guale. This suggested that this part of the site represented the long sought after Guale town of Sapala and its associated 17th-century Spanish mission. Subsequent field investigations conducted from 2004 to 2008 yielded additional Guale and European artifacts and located several mission period pit features and postmolds.[2]

This chapter discusses the nature of 17th-century Native American–Spanish interactions on the Georgia coast, the results of previous mission period archaeological research in the Sapelo Island area, and the results of our ongoing mission period archaeological project at the Sapelo Shell Ring complex. More complete information can be found in Jefferies and Moore (2009).

ENVIRONMENTAL SETTING

Sapelo Island (fig. 13.1) is approximately 12 mi long and 2–4 mi wide, having a total area of nearly 28 mi2 (Olsen, n.d.). The island is part of the 3200 mi long Atlantic Coastal Plain Province (USGS, 2008). Sapelo’s climate is characterized by short, mild winters and long, humid, hot summers (SRCC, 2007).

Sapelo’s natural environment contains a variety of rich and diverse wetland and terrestrial resource zones that provided the island’s prehistoric Native American inhabitants with the bulk of their food. These resource zones include inshore waters, beaches, dunes, tidal rivers and creeks, salt marshes, and forests (UGaMI, 2008). The island’s interior forests primarily consist of oak, pine, and palmetto trees. A variety of dune grasses and shrubs grow along the inlet margins and the island’s wide, sandy beaches. Marsh vegetation includes smooth cordgrass, with black needlerush, spiked saltgrass, and glassworts growing in the higher areas (Reitz et al., 2008: 51).

In his study of coastal Georgia Native American settlement and subsistence strategies, Thomas (2008: chap. 11, 234–292) identified two major prehistoric settlement types found on the barrier islands. Marshside settlements were located on stabilized dune remnants adjacent to the salt marshes and tidal streams, offering access to the highest ranking marine and terrestrial patch types (Thomas, 2008: chap. 11, 278). A secondary seaside settlement type was located on the leeward side of the dune ridge. Collectively, these locations provided sufficient space for conducting daily activities, places where boats could be stored and launched, and soils suitable for Native American gardening (Thomas, 2008: chap. 11, 278). The probable location of the Guale town of Sapala, north of the Sapelo Shell Ring complex, is situated in a prime marshside setting (fig. 13.1).

PRECONTACT AND MISSION PERIOD CULTURE CHANGE

People have lived on Sapelo Island for more than 4500 years (Waring and Larson, 1968; Crook, 1978b, 1986; Simpkins, 1980; Thompson, 2006). The first evidence of human presence on Sapelo dates to the Late Archaic period (ca. 4500–3000 b.p.). Late Archaic hunter-gatherers of the Georgia coast and barrier islands are best known for the large and small shell rings, which dot the southeast coastal region, and for the manufacture of the first ceramic vessels in North America. It is these people who are responsible for the three circular shell rings at the north end of the island designated as Site 9Mc23 (Waring and Larson, 1968; Thompson, 2006).

Native American people continued to occupy Sapelo Island and, to a varying extent, Site 9Mc23 for the remainder of the next 3500 years prior to European contact. Evidence for the presence of these groups largely consists of ceramic pottery dating to the Woodland (Refuge, Deptford, and Wilmington) and Late Prehistoric (Savannah and Irene) periods (DePratter, 1991; Moore and Jefferies, 2007).

The transition from the Late Prehistoric Irene phase to the historic mission period Altamaha phase (ca. 400–300 b.p.) was a gradual process, and distinctions between their respective ceramics are subtle. Although Altamaha components are defined based on ceramics and the presence of European artifacts, some archaeologists continue to use the term “Irene” when referring to mission period components (e.g., Braley, 1990), while others borrow the term “San Marcos” from Florida (e.g., Brewer, 1985). Despite the specific terminology used, the Altamaha phase on the Georgia coast is typically associated with the Guale Indians and related coastal groups documented by Spanish and other European observers from the late 16th to the early 18th centuries.

At the time of Spanish contact, Guale Indians occupied the south Atlantic coast from the Edisto River in South Carolina to the Satilla River in southeastern Georgia (fig. 13.2). The Guale were organized into several small matrilineal chiefdoms, each consisting of a principal town situated along the mainland rivers and tidal creeks, as well as smaller outlying settlements. Guale subsistence was highly diversified, incorporating hunting, fishing, shellfish and wild plant collecting, and gardening (Jones, 1978: 178–179).

The Guale were among the first Native American groups encountered by the early European explorers of eastern North America. As early as 1526, Spanish explorers led by Lucas Vasquez de Ayllón established a presence within Guale territory. The founding of St. Augustine in 1565 initiated a period of protracted Spanish–Guale interaction as missionaries constructed missions in Guale towns (Jones, 1978: 179–186). By 1572, Spanish Jesuit missionaries had preached all along the southeastern coast to as far north as Virginia, but were unsuccessful in establishing a permanent mission. Later, Franciscan missionaries began building missions between St. Augustine, Florida, and Santa Elena, near present-day Beaufort, South Carolina, but no successful conversions were recorded until after a.d. 1600 (Saunders, 2002b: 34).

Prior to the mission period, most Guale settlements were located on the mainland (Jones, 1978: 178). In fact, in 1595 a Spanish shipwreck survivor reported Sapelo Island to be uninhabited. However, by the early 1600s, Spanish missionaries were encouraging the Guale to move to the barrier islands, with a new mission established on Sapelo Island by about 1610 (Jones, 1978: 184–185; Worth, 2008).

During the first half of the 17th century, large-scale disease-related population loss and slave raiding resulted in a major reorganization of the Guale settlement system. By the mid-17th century, many of the Guale who had lived at the smaller, outlying subordinate villages had relocated to the principal towns where the Spanish built their missions (Worth, 2007b: 10–12).

With the consolidation of the Spanish mission towns, many Guale began practicing a more strongly agricultural way of life that involved the tending of both plants and animals. The Spanish introduced various European fruits and vegetables to the Guale, along with pigs, chickens, and some cows. Wild resources like deer, fish, and shellfish remained major dietary contributors, as well (Reitz et al., 2010). Aside from some changes in ceramic technology, Spanish influence on Guale material culture was relatively minor. Larson (1978: 138) maintains that the Spanish did not give guns, gunflints, brass and silver ornaments, or white clay pipes to their Native American allies:

Spanish contact was reflected dimly in pot manufacture and in the substitution of the iron hoe for its conch shell counterpart, but only a handful of beads and no gun flints, rifles, mirrors, brass or silver ornaments, or white clay pipes ever found their way into Indian hands. These were the things that gave England superiority (Larson, 1978: 138).

Although this depiction certainly underestimates the amount of European material culture possessed by the Guale, it does reflect the difference between the Spanish, who were interested in conversion, and the English and French, who were interested in trade (Larson, 1978: 135). It also explains why northern groups like the Chichimeco (also known as the Westo), who were equipped with English-supplied firearms, were so successful in their raids on southern groups (Worth, 2007b: 17).

Spanish influence on Guale ceramic technology is reflected by the manufacture of new vessel forms like wide-brimmed plates and bowls made to imitate European serving ware (Saunders, 2000a: 108). These vessels were commonly painted red and are known archaeologically as Altamaha Red Filmed pottery. The Guale began producing these vessels no earlier than 1587, and they commonly occur on Spanish mission sites (Saunders, 2000a: 46–48, 2009; DePratter, 2009).

By 1655, the Spanish had divided their possessions in the Southeast into the colonial provinces of Guale (along the northern and central Georgia coast) and Mocama (along the southern Georgia and extreme northern Florida coasts) (fig. 13.2). Ten mission towns were spread throughout the two provinces and presided over by eight Spanish friars. Six of the missions were in the Guale province (fig. 13.3): Santa Catalina on St. Catherines Island (the provincial capital), San Joseph de Sapala on Sapelo Island, San Diego de Satuache near the mouth of the Ogeechee River, San Phelipe de Alave (probably located on the Newport River), Santo Domingo de Talaje/Asajo at the site of the later English Fort King George near Darien, and Santa Clara de Tupiqui on the mainland west of de Sapala (Worth, 2007b: 10).

Starting in 1661, the Guale mission towns became targets of English-backed slave raiding parties. For example, in 1661 as many as 200 canoes carrying from 500 to 2000 Westo warriors armed with firearms provided by the English sacked the mainland town of Talaje. This raid resulted in its residents fleeing to the seemingly more secure Mission San Joseph de Sapala on Sapelo Island. Excavation of part of the Fort King George site in the mid-20th century (J. Caldwell, 1943; S. Caldwell, 1954) yielded evidence supporting the hurried evacuation of Talaje in the form of burned structures and enclosure walls and unusual numbers of relatively complete ceramic vessels. After attacking and destroying the Talaje mission, some of the Westo warriors tried to attack the Sapelo Island mission by boat, but were unsuccessful in their efforts (Worth, 2007b: 16). Later that year, the Talaje mission was reestablished on St. Simons Island under the new name of Santo Domingo de Asajo (Worth, 2007b: 18). Figure 13.3 illustrates changes in mission locations during the mid-17th century.

Although the Westo were only partially successful on the coast, they were much more so in the interior. In 1662, they attacked the town of Huyache, causing the Spanish to move the nearby Mission San Diego de Satuache to the south, where it became incorporated into Santa Catalina de Guale on St. Catherines. In 1662, the Spanish established a small military garrison on St. Catherines to provide more protection for the mission (Worth, 2007b: 16–19).

Also at this time, Spanish records first make mention of the Yamasee, located between the Westo (entrenched in the middle Savannah River region) and Guale provinces (Worth, 2007b: 19–20). According to Saunders (2001), the Yamasee consisted of a clearly defined sociopolitical entity that probably formed out of the collapsed chiefdoms of the Ocute, Altamaha, Ichisi, and possibly Toa. Once on the Georgia coast, the Yamasee became major players on the sociopolitical landscape, sometimes allying with the Spanish and living among the Guale (Worth, 2007b: 20–22). The Yamasee established at least one new community at the southern end of Sapelo Island during this time (Worth, 2008).

The remaining Guale mission towns existed in relative tranquility during much of the 1660s, largely due to the presence of the Spanish military. However, the founding of Charles Towne in South Carolina in 1670 resulted in increased competition between English and Spanish interests (Worth, 2007b: 22). Shortly thereafter, Mission San Phelipe de Alave relocated southward to Cumberland Island, leaving the northern frontier of Spanish Florida exposed to the English. By the early 1670s, the last remaining mainland mission, Santa Clara de Tupiqui, relocated to the Mission San Joseph de Sapala (Worth, 2007b: 23).

By 1675, only four Guale mission towns remained. The St. Catherines Island town of Santa Catalina, along with the remnants of Satuache, was the largest and farthest north. San Joseph de Sapala, along with Tupiqui, remained on Sapelo Island. Santo Domingo de Asajo, which had relocated in 1661, was on the north end of St. Simons Island, and San Phelipe was far to the south on Cumberland Island (Worth, 2007b: 28).

In 1680, the Westo and their English-backed allies once again attacked the Spanish settlements in Guale province. Their first attack was against the Yamasee town of San Simón on St. Simons Island. Next, they launched an unsuccessful attack against Santa Catalina de Guale, burning the town and mission in the process. Frightened by this attack, the town’s native inhabitants refused to rebuild. Shortly thereafter the combined populations of Santa Catalina and Satuache retreated southward, joining the residents of Sapala and Tupiqui on Sapelo Island (Worth, 2007b: 31–34).

By 1683, the water-edge locations of the Guale mission towns had become highly vulnerable to attack by English and French pirates. In that year, the French pirate Grammont attacked the Spanish at St. Augustine, overrunning the guard post at Matanzas. A Spanish counterattack was able to retake the outpost and capture one pirate vessel, but the remaining vessel escaped to the north where it attacked the Mission San Juan del Puerto in Florida and San Phelipe on Cumberland Island, causing the majority of the Yamasee to flee north and ally themselves with the English. This Yamasee retreat left the Spanish highly vulnerable and greatly diminished their labor force, so plans were made to abandon the Guale and Mocama provinces (Worth, 2007b: 37–38). By August 22, 1684, the towns of Santa Catalina and Satuache had already relocated to the town of Santa Maria on Amelia Island, Florida (Worth, 2007b: 39).

In October 1684, a second pirate assault began against the Spanish coast. In response, the provincial lieutenant ordered the Sapala missionaries to retreat, taking the church furnishings to the mainland. Soon thereafter, the inhabitants of Sapala and Tupiqui were relocated to the mainland where they were joined by the residents of Asajo and virtually the entire population of St. Simons Island following a pirate raid there. The small Spanish garrison on Sapelo followed a short time thereafter, leaving what remained of the town undefended. Two days later, pirates sacked the Sapelo mission, ultimately leading to the Spanish/Guale abandonment of the Georgia coast (Worth, 2007b: 36–42).

The final chapter in the history of the Mission San Joseph de Sapala occurred in 1686 when the Spanish returned to Sapelo to attack the Yamasee who had taken up residence there (Worth, 2007: 194). The Spanish apparently burned the priest’s brick house (probably wattle-and-daub) during this raid, along with the mission and several other houses. William Dunlop, who visited Sapelo Island from the Carolinas in 1687, reported that the Spanish had not only destroyed the mission, but also cut down many of the remaining citrus trees that grew in the priest’s gardens (Dunlop, 1929b: 131–132).

PREVIOUS mission period ARCHAEOLOGICAL RESEARCH

Excavations in Georgia and Florida since the 1940s have provided a great deal of information to complement and augment this ethnohistoric account of the Guale and the mission period on the Georgia coast. Major excavations at Mission sites containing evidence of Guale occupation have been conducted at St. Augustine (Deagan, 1983, 1987), Fort King George (J. Caldwell, 1943; S. Caldwell, 1951, 1954; Kelso, 1968), Harris Neck (Braley, O’Steen, and Quitmyer, 1986), the Thomas Landing site (Larson, 1958b), and on St. Catherines Island (Thomas, 1987, 2008: chaps. 11 and 15).

Sapelo Island has been the subject of mission period research, namely a search for the Mission San Joseph de Sapala, for some time. Post-Spanish descriptions of the mission were first offered by Captain William Dunlop (1929b [1687]), who visited the island soon after a series of Spanish attacks in 1686 (Grimball, 1928 [1686]; Dunlop, 1929a [1686]). The following is Dunlop’s (1929b: 131–132 [1687]) account of the island:

Moving early we came about noon to Sapale to very large plantations where we see the ruins of houses burned by the Spaniards themselves We see the Vestiges of a ffort; many great Orange Trees cut down by the Spaniards in septr last There was great plenty of ffigs peaches; Artechocks onions etc. growing in the preists garden his house had been of Brick & his small chappell, but all had been burned to Ashes last harvest by themselves; we see the remains & rags of old clothes wch.some of our people know to have belonged to the Inhabitants of Port Royall [sic].

Of note are the facts that the priest’s house was small but constructed of “brick” and that the Spanish had burned this structure and several houses that had remained standing after their retreat in 1684.

The first recorded Irene/Altamaha Period ceramics from Sapelo were sherds recovered by Waring and Larson (1968: 274) from Shell Ring I at Site 9Mc23 and classified by them as Lamar. Although of little interest considering the Archaic focus of the project, subsequent surveys and excavations by West Georgia College (now University of West Georgia) from 1974 to 1979 resulted in the identification of mission period Spanish ceramics and Irene/Altamaha wares at Kenan Field, Bourbon Field, High Point, and Site 9Mc23 north of Shell Ring II (fig. 13.1) (Larson, 1980b). Additionally, Larson (1980b: 37) stated that, while structures identified on the 1760 Yonge and DeBrahm map are “in all likelihood the product of settlement that had occurred after the founding of the Georgia colony by Oglethorpe in 1733, they certainly appear to have been placed where there may already have been clearings or old field situations.”

West Georgia College test excavations in the vicinity of Shell Ring II indicated intact Late Archaic deposits overlain by mission period ceramics and artifacts possibly related to the Mission San Joseph de Sapala. These historic materials, discussed by Simpkins (1980), extended south to Shell Ring I but were concentrated near Shell Ring II, where wrought nails/spikes, glass, white clay pipe stems, European ceramics, including blue-on-white majolica and olive jar sherds, and low-fired brick fragments were recovered. Irene and Altamaha ceramics were also in association (Simpkins, 1980: 68). Examination of these artifacts by Jefferies in 2011 indicated that they are identical to specimens recovered by the University of Kentucky investigations north of Shell Ring II.

Additional contenders for the location of the Mission San Joseph de Sapala include the Kenan Field and Bourbon Field sites (fig. 13.1). At Kenan Field, the mission period is represented by a large sectional wall trench building containing Irene/Altamaha pottery and European ceramics (Crook, 1986: 45).

At Bourbon Field, investigators found Irene/San Marcos (Altamaha) ceramics over a 13.7 ha area. Olive jar fragments were recovered from the site and an Irene/Altamaha shell midden was radiocarbon dated to 310 ± 90 radiocarbon years b.p. (Crook, 1984: 253).

Based on existing archaeological and ethnohistorical data, most researchers have placed the site of San Joseph de Sapala at Bourbon Field (Larson, 1980b; Worth, 2007b: 194). However, intensive testing of the site by University of West Florida archaeologists in 2007 and 2008 yielded only limited evidence for a Spanish presence (two olive jar sherds) (V. Thompson, personal commun., 2008). The low frequency and diversity of Spanish artifacts suggest that Bourbon Field is no longer a strong candidate for the mission site.

UNIVERSITY OF KENTUCKY mission period RESEARCH (2003–2008)

Beginning in 2003, University of Kentucky archaeologists initiated a new research program designed to assess the nature, intensity, and extent of mission period activity near Shell Ring II (Jefferies and Thompson, 2006). Initially, the University of Kentucky research focused on a 60 × 60 m area within the larger, more generally defined Shell Ring II project area (fig. 13.4). The 60 × 60 m area is situated immediately north of Shell Ring II’s northern perimeter.

The selection of this area for intensive investigation was based on several factors. First, the recovery of several Spanish artifacts (e.g., a brass bell and olive jar sherds) from a 2003 test unit suggested that this area had a high potential for yielding mission period features. Second, shovel probing yielded numerous artifacts of Guale and Spanish origin and fragments of pig (Sus scrofa) bone (M. Compton, personal commun., 2005), suggesting relatively intensive mission period activities in this portion of the site. Third, the area contained all or parts of 10 low shell piles likely representing mission period household middens (e.g., Pearson, 1984). Field investigations conducted outside the 60 m square largely consisted of systematic shovel probing conducted in 2007 and 2008.

Data recovery strategies employed during the University of Kentucky field investigations were designed to identify the spatial extent and diversity of mission period activities. To date (2012), we have excavated 314 shovel probes and 24 test units and conducted geophysical survey and detailed topographic mapping in the vicinity of Shell Ring II. Only those investigations conducted prior to 2009 are reported herein.

Shovel probing has yielded numerous objects of European manufacture and hundreds of Guale-manufactured Altamaha ceramic sherds. These probes have confirmed our original assessment that, while there is a light scatter of mission period artifacts throughout the Shell Ring II area, these materials are concentrated immediately to the north (fig. 13.4). This area also contains at least 15 circular to oval shell piles ranging from 10 to 20 m in diameter and up to 60 cm high (fig. 13.5). Clusters of circular shell piles like these are typical of Late Prehistoric Period sites on the Georgia coast (Pearson, 1984: 5). The association of Altamaha ceramics and test excavations in two of the Sapelo shell piles supports a mission period origin for these features. Preliminary surface reconnaissance indicates that dispersed shell piles like these extend north of the shell ring complex for several hundred meters.

Test units excavated north of Shell Ring II (fig. 13.6) yielded abundant evidence for mission period activity including pit features, postmolds, and an assortment of Guale and Spanish ceramic, glass, and metal artifacts. Mission period features include three deep, circular shell-filled pits (features 2B, 3, and 5), averaging about 80 cm in diameter and 55 cm in depth (figs. 13.7 and 13.8). In addition to abundant oyster and clam shells, the pits contained Altamaha Red Filmed pottery, fragments of Spanish olive jars and majolica vessels, wrought iron nails, a fancy button, and glass beads. The three pits were separated by less than 3 m, suggesting that they are contemporaneous and perhaps associated with the same event or activity. Analysis of the ceramics from the pits supports the hypothesis that they are refuse pits used in the disposal of subsistence remains and broken cooking and serving vessels after one or more short-term meals or feasting events. Several smaller pits or large postmolds occurred near the shell-filled pits, some containing wrought iron nails and other objects of European origin.

Postmolds located near the features suggest that one or more structures were present nearby (fig. 13.7). Several of the postmolds contained mission period artifacts, indicating that the posts and their associated structures date to the mission period.

Interestingly, features resembling the three shell-filled pits were excavated at the Harris Neck Airfield site (9Mc41) in the late 1980s (Braley, O’Steen, and Quitmyer, 1986: 50–54). These Irene/Pine Harbor phase (ca. a.d. 1400) pits, measuring approximately 2 m in diameter and 1.5 m deep, were flat-bottomed, straight-sided, and filled largely with densely packed oyster shell, sherds, and vertebrate skeletal remains. The pits, located within 4 m of each other, were situated about 15 m from the remains of a structure (Braley, O’Steen, and Quitmyer, 1986: 50–51). Ceramic refits indicated that at least two of the pits were used contemporaneously (Braley, O’Steen, and Quitmyer, 1986: 54). The similarity in morphology, contents, and age of the Harris Neck and Shell Ring II shell-filled pits suggests that they reflect similar kinds of activities.

A fourth large, oval, midden-filled pit (feature 9-2003) contained Altamaha and Spanish ceramics, a wrought iron nail, and part of a small brass flushloop bell (fig. 13.9). Based on the exposed portion, the diameter of the entire feature, if circular, would be between 3.5 and 4.5 m. Maximum depth of the intact portion of the feature was approximately 60 cm. Three circular shell concentrations ranging from 15 to 25 cm in diameter located along the feature margin may represent postmolds. The basin’s size and shape, along with the possible postmolds, suggest that this feature marks the location of a semisubterranean structure. Based on the presence of Spanish and Altamaha pottery and other European artifacts, the feature is interpreted to derive from the mission period component. However, numerous older sherds indicate that the feature fill is a mixture of mission period and prehistoric debris. Many of these earlier sherds are ceramic hones and may represent items that were scavenged and recycled by later site occupants.

NATIVE AMERICAN MISSION PERIOD ARTIFACTS

Ceramics

Analysis of Native American ceramics from the Shell Ring II vicinity was divided into a typological analysis of all sherds larger than 4 cm2 and an attribute level analysis of all sherds larger than 1 cm2. Of the 1062 recovered sherds and ceramic artifacts larger than 4 cm2, 725 (68.3%) could be classified as belonging to the mission period Altamaha ceramic series. With the exception of smaller fragments of Altamaha Red Filmed colonoware sherds briefly mentioned later, only these diagnostic Guale-manufactured ceramics are discussed in this section.

The distribution of Altamaha ceramics recovered during shovel probe survey confirms that the mission period component is concentrated north of Shell Ring II (fig. 13.10), although some use of Shell Ring II itself is indicated by the presence of Altamaha sherds in and around this Late Archaic feature. All major features and postmolds excavated during the 2003–2008 field seasons, including the three shell-filled pits, also can be positively associated with this component. Altamaha ceramics comprise between 88% and 98% of the ceramics found in each of these pits. Only Altamaha ceramics were recovered from the four postmolds that contained sherds larger than 4 cm2. The only small pit or large postmold containing more than one sherd contained 85% Altamaha ceramics. The aforementioned possible house basin contained 45% Altamaha ceramics and a mixture of Refuge/Deptford, Savannah, and Irene period sherds and ceramic hones that may have been recycled during the mission period use of this feature.

A combined analysis of the vertical distribution of ceramics from four adjacent excavation units indicates that the site is relatively well stratified. Although all excavation levels of these units contain a majority of Altamaha ceramics, within-type relative frequencies of sherds indicate that St. Simons ceramics are most prevalent in the lowest levels, while Middle Woodland, Refuge/Deptford, and Savannah period ceramics are most prevalent in levels 3 and 4. A notable increase in Altamaha ceramics occurs in level 4, but most Irene and Altamaha sherds are found in levels 2 and 3. The relative dearth of sherds in levels 1 and 2 illustrates continued postoccupational deposition and partial burial of the site (fig. 13.11).

Like all major Altamaha components on the Georgia coast, the Site 9Mc23 assemblage contains predominantly Altamaha Overstamped ceramics. This type comprises 54.8% of all Altamaha series sherds, followed by unidentifiable eroded/spalled Altamaha sherds (24%), and lower frequencies of Altamaha Plain, Complicated Stamped, Burnished Plain, Incised, and Check Stamped sherds (fig. 13.12). A total of 37 sherds (5.1%) could be classified as Altamaha Red Filmed colonoware, although the red filming attribute was recorded on 130 sherds larger than 1 cm2.

As discussed earlier, the Altamaha Red Filmed type is commonly associated with Spanish missions and military garrisons, so the high frequency of red filmed sherds at Site 9Mc23 provides strong support for this being the location of the Mission San Joseph de Sapala. Unfortunately, most red filmed sherds are too small to identify vessel types, and all larger sherds were from wide brimmed colonoware plates (fig. 13.12A). Of the 130 sherds with some evidence of red filming, most are red filmed only on their interiors, although rimsherds tend to have red filmed lips as well. Ten sherds are red filmed on their exteriors, four of which are red filmed on both the interior and the exterior of the vessels. Most sherds are overstamped, plain, or burnished plain. The diversity of surface treatments present in the Site 9Mc23 red filmed assemblage suggests that a variety of vessel forms are present.

Most Altamaha sherds from Site 9Mc23 are grit/sand-tempered (81.2%), but a diverse array of other temper recipes is present. Single and mixed temper constituents include clay, bone, shell, and broken sherds. Fine sand tempering is most common in Altamaha Plain and Incised vessels, possibly indicating that finer pastes were preferred for these serving vessels. The highest within-type diversity of temper recipes and the highest relative frequency of mixed clay tempering are found in Altamaha Red Filmed vessels, possibly indicating the diverse social contexts within which these vessels were manufactured. Interestingly, 33% of all grit/shell-tempered Altamaha sherds and 57% of all clay/sand-tempered Altamaha sherds were recovered from shell-filled pits.

Like Altamaha temper types, Altamaha decorations are highly diverse (fig. 13.12). All decorated body sherds are incised (N = 9), although incised rims also occur. The majority of decorated rims have rim fold/strips decorated with a single row of punctations created using a number of distinct styluses including fingers, fingernails, partial or whole canes, jagged edged knives or flakes, and several unidentified tools that left triangular, round, crescent, square, semicircular, and oval punctates. One rim is decorated with vertical stamping.

One unique decorated rim form contains what we are calling the deer track punctate motif (fig. 13.12E and F). These sherds contain two rows of punctations created by pressing a narrow, pointed stylus into the clay twice at acute angles to form a “V” that resembles a deer track. These two rows of deer track punctations run in opposite directions around vessel necks above and below a trailed scroll. This decoration type is found on Altamaha Overstamped vessels and has also been identified in mission period assemblages at Santa Catalina de Guale on St. Catherines Island and at the mission-period component of Fort King George near Darien.

The majority of Altamaha rims are either unmodified or contain wide rim fold/strips, consistent with a later Altamaha occupation of the site (fig. 13.12B and D). A few sherds contain narrower rim fold/strips that may indicate an earlier, poorly represented Altamaha component. The few sherds with rim strips set below vessel lips were classified as Irene. With the exception of the deer track punctate rims and a few Lamar bowls, no Altamaha sherds exhibited nodes or punctations on unmodified rims (i.e., rims without rim fold/strips).

Consistent with Altamaha ceramics elsewhere along the coast, all but 10 of the Altamaha Overstamped and Complicated Stamped sherds had relatively wide lands and grooves. Altamaha Complicated Stamped sherds tended to be stamped with a line block motif (fig. 13.12B, D, E, and G–I).

Analysis of body sherd thicknesses indicates an increase in sherd thickness during the Altamaha Period. A comparison of all sherds from Site 9Mc23 found the highest mean body thickness occurring among St. Simons sherds (9.4 mm) and declining steadily thereafter to the Savannah Period. Savannah Period ceramics are the thinnest sherds at the site, with a mean maximum body thickness of 6.5 mm. After the Savannah Period, average body thickness increases through the Irene Period into the Altamaha Period. Altamaha body sherds have a mean maximum body thickness of 8.2 mm (fig. 13.13). Braun (1987) noted a similar trend in the Midwest where thinner vessel walls were interpreted as evidence of a need for greater thermal shock resistance for processing greater quantities of starchy seeds. This trend was confounded by a trend toward thicker walls needed to support larger vessels. Unfortunately, the lack of significant numbers of reconstructable vessels at Site 9Mc23 precludes an assessment of changes in vessel sizes that would allow a better assessment of these trends.

Typological analysis of the Altamaha ceramics from Site 9Mc23 indicates that it is very similar to other late mission period sites on the Georgia coast and confirms the presence of a significant Guale/Spanish presence to the north of Shell Ring II. The addition of a detailed attributes analysis illustrates the within-series diversity of temper recipes and decoration forms, as well as several other traits not discussed here. This diversity suggests that much more remains to be learned from detailed ceramic studies along the coast. Unfortunately the current lack of comparable data from other Georgia mission period sites precludes such a comparison at this time.

Shell

Although most shell artifacts could not be assigned a specific cultural affiliation, the association of several shell beads and a shell cup with definite mission period artifacts (e.g., glass beads, military items, Altamaha pottery) suggests that they were manufactured and used by the Guale. Shell beads consisted of small disc-shaped specimens ranging from 3.1 to 9.2 mm in diameter. These beads often occurred in the same contexts as European glass beads.

The shell cup or dipper was made from a whelk shell. It is 11.4 cm long and has a maximum width of 10.4 cm. Native Americans who lived throughout the Southeast and Midwest during the Mississippian/Late Prehistoric period used shell cups as serving vessels for many different kinds of beverages. Among these was yaupon tea or the Black Drink (Milanich, 1979; Eyles, 2004: 124). The use of marine shell cups in the ritual lives of the southeastern Indians was documented in drawings and writings of early European visitors to the region (Merrill, 1979: fig. 4). Ilex vomitoria, the plant used to make yaupon tea, grows along the Georgia coast, so it seems likely that the Guale participated in ritual activities that incorporated the consumption of the Black Drink (Merrill, 1979: maps 1, 2). According to Merrill (1979: 51–52), the early 16th-century historian Peter Martyr described the possible use of Ilex vomitoria by the Chicora and Duhare Indians. Swanton (1922, cited in Merrill, 1979: 51) equated these groups with the historically known Guale or Cusabo Indians of the Georgia coast. About 1595, Fray Andrés de San Miguel reported that the Guale Indians who lived on St. Simons Island used cassina or Ilex vomitoria. The priest reported that the Guale used this beverage in a ceremony in which only the leading men of the town participated (Merrill, 1979: 52).

Analysis of shell from excavation units and features identified more than 100 possible tools. Most of these (N = 25) are hammers made from Knobbed Whelk (Busycon carica) shell. These objects exhibit evidence of hafting (notching and a hole in the body whorl) and have extensive chipping or spalling on the end of the columella. An additional 21 columella sections display beveling on the end, suggesting that they functioned as adzes, gouges, or choppers. At least 122 bivalve shells display chipping, notching, smoothing, or beveling along one or more edges, suggesting that they are expediently produced scraping, cutting, engraving or woodworking implements (Webb, n.d.).

EUROAMERICAN CULTURAL MATERIAL

Field investigations conducted from 2003 to 2008 yielded more than 150 items of probable Spanish/European origin, most of which came from test units. European artifacts were classified using a modified version of Stanley South’s Carolina Artifact Pattern format (South, 1977), which he used to analyze Spanish artifacts from Santa Elena in South Carolina (South, 1988a: 19–20).

South’s classification system was designed to organize artifacts into eight functional groups or categories that would permit archaeologists to detect relationships at a generalized level of site analysis and allow for intersite comparisons (Van Wonner, 1996: 1). However, Native Americans did not necessarily use European items for the same purposes as their manufacturers, and in some cases, they substantially altered their form and function and used them in a completely different cultural context. Because of this and other potential sources of bias, the Sapelo artifact analysis used South’s artifact groups for strictly descriptive purposes with no functional implications.

The Sapelo Spanish-related artifact collection (n = 159) includes eight of South’s (1977) artifact groups: (I) Kitchen (N = 59), (II) Architecture (N = 32), (III) Furniture (N = 2), (IV) Arms (N = 9), (V) Clothing (N = 1), (VI) Personal (N = 43), (VII) Activities (N = 3), and (VIII) Other (N = 10).

Kitchen Group

The kitchen group includes ceramics, glassware, and kitchenware associated with the “patterned acquisition, preparation, and serving of food and the breakage of associated items of material culture, and the discard of such by-products in a frequently patterned manner” (South, 1977: 99). Thirty-seven percent (N = 59) of the Shell Ring II Spanish/European artifacts belong to the kitchen group. These consist largely of coarse earthenware and majolica sherds, a few pieces of porcelain and glass, and a carved bone knife handle (fig. 13.14). Temporally diagnostic sherds generally date from a.d. 1600 to 1700, roughly conforming to the time of the mission period occupation.

Coarse Earthenware: According to Deagan (1987: 30), the term “coarse earthenware” refers to soft-pasted pottery fired at temperatures ranging from 1100° to 1200°C. Excluding the majolica group, most coarse earthenware vessels are included in the utilitarian or nontableware category of ceramics. One of the most common kinds of coarse earthenware vessels found on Spanish-occupied sites in the Americas is the olive jar. These vessels were made from ca. a.d. 1500 to the 1800s and are particularly common at archaeological sites dating to the 16th and 17th centuries. According to Deagan (1987: 31) and others (Goggin, 1960; James, 1985 cited by Deagan, 1987), olive jars were primarily used to store liquids for long-distance transport.

The University of Kentucky excavations yielded 39 sherds of coarse earthenware pottery. Most appear to be parts of Spanish olive jars (fig. 13.14K–M, O, and P). Of the 31 probable Spanish olive jar sherds, 28 are body sherds; the remainder include a jar neck from a middle style jar (ca. a.d. 1560 to 1800) and a handle from a possible early style jar (ca. early to mid-1500s).

Nineteen specimens exhibit evidence of interior or exterior slipping, glazing, or painting, while the remaining sherds have no obvious surface treatment. Fourteen sherds have a white exterior slip. The interiors of four body sherds are glazed; one is glazed green. The 16 body sherds for which wall thickness could be measured range from 7 to 13 mm thick with a mean of 10.4 mm. The thicknesses and surface treatments represented by the Shell Ring II body sherds generally conform to those described by Deagan (1987: 34) for middle-style Spanish olive jars.

The coarse earthenware collection includes one piece of Pisan slipware manufactured in Italy from ca. a.d. 1600 to 1650 (fig. 13.14J). In other parts of the Americas, Pisan slipware is often found in association with late 16th- (e.g., Columbia Plain, Ligurian Blue on Blue, and Santo Domingo Blue on White) and early 17th-century (e.g., Ichtucknee Blue on White or Sevilla Blue on White) majolica wares (Deagan, 1987: 47). The Shell Ring II sherd came from a red-bodied vessel, the exterior of which was covered with a cream or white marbleized slip.

Majolica Tin-Enameled Earthenware: According to Deagan (1987: 53), majolica is a distinctively Hispanic kind of glazed, wheel-thrown pottery that is distinguished by its soft earthenware paste and an opaque vitreous glaze or enamel covering. Majolica ceramics were probably introduced to southern Spain by Moors during the 13th century, becoming firmly fixed in the Spanish ceramic tradition by a.d. 1500. Varieties of majolica pottery were produced throughout Spain and other parts of the Mediterranean region, ultimately being introduced to the Americas by the Spanish during the 16th century.

Excavations near Shell Ring II yielded 10 small pieces of majolica pottery, six of which could be assigned to a probable type (figs. 13.8 and 13.14 A–I; table 13.1). Identification of ceramic types is based on photographs and data contained in the Florida Museum of Natural History historical archaeology digital type collection (Deagan, 2004) and Deagan’s (1987) work on Florida’s Spanish colonial artifacts. All of the Shell Ring II majolica sherds were found north of the ring in the vicinity of the shell piles. Recent (2011) examination of artifacts collected from the interior of Shell Ring II in the 1970s by University of West Georgia archaeologists identified several similar majolica sherds.

Majolica sherds from the University of Kentucky investigations consist of examples of glazed Aucilla Polychrome, Puebla Polychrome, San Luis Blue on White, and possibly Ichtucknee Blue on White or Puebla Blue on White wares. With one possible exception, all of the Shell Ring II majolica was produced in either Puebla or Mexico City, Mexico.

The small size of the sherds makes a functional assessment of the represented vessels difficult; however, the thickness and shape of the five rimsherds suggest they are fragments of serving vessels such as plates, cups, or bowls. Based on the dates of production of the different types of majolica, most of the Shell Ring II majolica pottery was probably brought to the site sometime between a.d. 1650 and the Spanish abandonment in 1684. A mid-17th-century date fits well with the age of the temporally diagnostic olive jar sherds. In addition to ceramic vessels, a 2010 metal detector survey of the shell piles yielded part of a cast iron cooking pot resembling specimens found at Jamestown, Virginia (Cotter and Hudson, 2005) and Plymouth, Massachusetts (Pilgrim Hall Society, 2005) (fig. 13.14S).

A well-preserved whittle-tang knife handle found in a postmold dates to the early 17th century or before (B. Straube, personal commun., 2007). The handle (fig. 13.14Q), which has been extensively modified by carving, is 83 cm long, and has a 4 mm diameter hole drilled from one end to the other. The metal tang of the knife passed through this hole and was attached to the handle at its butt end. A similar knife handle was found during the excavation of the 1607 fort at Jamestown, Virginia. In this case, the iron knife tang and associated blade were attached to the handle by a copper alloy finial still fixed to the butt end of the handle (Buchanan and Jordan, 1998). A similar method of attachment probably was used to hold the Site 9Mc23 specimen in place.

Architecture Group

The architecture group represents those items directly related to the architecture on a site and includes objects such as nails and spikes lost during building construction or the remains left after a building has been burned, torn down, or abandoned (South, 1977: 100). Nails, spikes, and tacks represent important by-products of architectural construction on sites containing 16th- and 17th-century Spanish occupations, as exemplified by the abundance of these items at Santa Elena (South, 1988b: 33–57) in South Carolina and Mission San Luis in northern Florida (Friends of Mission San Luis, Inc., 2008). The architecture artifact group comprises 20.1%
(N = 32) of the total sample of Spanish/European artifacts from the site.

Archaeological investigations in the vicinity of Shell Ring II yielded numerous iron items that were classified as belonging to the architecture group (fig. 13.15). Based on the morphology of their heads and shafts, 23 specimens appear to be wrought iron nails, spikes, or tacks that probably date to the mission period. Differentiation of these three categories was based on size and overall design and morphology. The close proximity of these iron artifacts to ceramics and glass beads dating to the mission period strongly supports their association with the Spanish occupation.

The presence of large iron spikes suggests the construction of substantial mission period architecture north of Shell Ring II (fig. 13.15G–M). Two of the specimens were more than 10 cm long, and the square shaft portions of two other spikes measured 11 × 11 mm. The size range of the nails probably reflects a variety of construction and maintenance activities (fig. 13.15A–F). The use of nails in mission period building construction is supported by the presence of part of a large (46 mm long) nail in a postmold. Smaller nails may have been employed in the construction of wooden boxes, furniture, or architectural detailing.

Large-headed tacks, known as estoperoles (South, 1988b: 57), were used to fasten grass matting to the stanchions of ocean-going ships as a way of holding cargo in place (fig. 13.15N). Once the cargo was unpacked, the tacks were probably recycled for land-based purposes (South, 1988b: 57).

Shovel probe and test unit excavations yielded four very small red brick fragments. Interestingly, Simpkins (1980: 68) also reported fragments of low-fired brick from the Shell Ring II area. William Dunlop (1929b: 131–132 [1687]), the English traveler who visited Sapelo Island in 1686, reported that the priest’s house was built of brick. However, it remains uncertain as to the exact nature of the “brick” to which he refers; that is, it is not certain whether he saw high-fired bricks used in modern construction or burned clay from a wattle-and-daub structure. If the brick fragments recovered during our excavations are attributable to mission period activity, then they provide strong support for the proximity of the actual Spanish mission and its associated structures.

Furniture Group

The furniture group largely consists of furniture hardware such as latches, handles, tacks, and locks (South, 1977: 95). The furniture artifact group comprises 1.3% (N = 2) of the Spanish/European artifacts from the site. One of these items was part of a small iron box hinge that was associated with numerous other items of Spanish/European origin, including a large iron tack, olive jar and majolica sherds, iron spike fragments, numerous glass beads, and lead shot. Excavations also yielded an iron handle or drawer pull from a piece of furniture.

Arms Group

The arms group consists of musketballs, gun parts, shot, sprue, and by-products resulting from the use, maintenance, and repair of weapons (South, 1977: 100–101). The arms group comprises 5.7% (N = 9) of the Spanish/European artifacts from the site, consisting of a probable trigger mechanism from an arquebus matchlock gun, a lead musketball, miscellaneous lead shot, part of an iron cannonball, and a possible iron projectile point (fig. 13.16).

The arquebus was a matchlock gun developed by the Spanish in the late 1400s and used by European armies until the late 17th century (Quest, 2007). Along with the crossbow, these guns were important parts of the Spanish military’s arsenal in 16th and early 17th century America (Steen, 1988: 96). The Spanish used two types of arquebuses. One was a light caliver having a 4 ft long barrel that shot a 0.75 in. diameter lead ball, and the other a heavier musket that had a 5 ft long barrel and a larger bore.

The trigger mechanism found near one of the shell midden piles north of Shell Ring II appears to be from an arquebus like one of those described above (fig. 13.16E). However, it is possible that it was part of a crossbow since the two weapons had similar trigger mechanisms (Steen, 1988: 97). Since most of the other Shell Ring II Spanish artifacts date to the 17th century, the arquebus seems the more likely possibility.

The Shell Ring II investigations yielded five examples of musketballs or lead shot (fig. 13.16C). The largest specimen was 17.8 mm (0.70 in.) in diameter. Carl Steen’s (1988) analysis of lead shot from Santa Elena and Fort San Felipe found that musketballs measuring less than 0.75 in. in diameter were the preferred ammunition, so the Shell Ring II specimen would have been an ideal size. The musketball’s diameter would have made it well suited for arquebus ammunition. Excavations also yielded several smaller pieces of lead shot ranging from 2 to 21 mm in diameter.

Test unit excavations yielded approximately 60% of an iron cannonball (fig. 13.16A and B). The specimen weighs 1715 g or 3.78 lb and is approximately 96 mm (3.7 in.) in diameter. The complete cannonball would have weighed about 6 lb, a standard size for European cannons during the 16th and 17th centuries (NPS, 1955). Comparison of the Sapelo cannonball with historical records for Spanish and English cannons suggests that a 6 lb ball would have been fired from a gun using a 4–6 lb powder charge. A typical Spanish gun of this type was the Media Sacre, which shot a 5–7 lb ball, or the English Saker, which shot a 6 lb shot using 4 lb of powder. The Saker gun barrel weighed 1400 lb and was nearly 7 ft long. This kind of cannon had a “point blank” range of approximately 400 m and a maximum range of ca. 3500 m (NPS, 1955).

Site investigations also yielded a small piece of lead sprue associated with the casting of musketballs. Sprue occurs in the form of irregularly shaped masses of lead or narrow lead strips from which cast musketballs were cut. Analysis of lead sprue from Santa Elena and nearby Fort San Felipe revealed that more lead shot casting was conducted inside the fort than in the town of Santa Elena, demonstrating the close association of this material with military activities (Steen, 1988: 87).

Clothing Group

The clothing group includes buttons, buckles, straight pins, and related materials associated with the manufacture, use, and repair of clothing (South, 1977: 101). The clothing artifact group comprises 0.6% (N = 1) of the Spanish/European artifacts from the site. A fancy cloth-covered button found in the midden from immediately above a shell-filled pit is the sole example of a clothing group artifact (fig. 13.17). The button is covered with a composite woven fabric, probably a plain weave with a warp of one fiber and a weft of another. One of the elements has degraded in the soil, probably the warp since it would have been difficult to use the complex yarns that remain as warp (L. Welters, personal commun., 2006).

Buttons having mixtures of fabric like the Shell Ring II specimen are sometimes found on 17th-century sites. Fabric combinations include silk/wool, cotton/wool, and cotton/silk. The original fabric may have had a striped appearance with two smaller yarns alternating with a larger yarn. Two things about this button imply that it came from a rather expensive garment. First, composite fabrics were more expensive than plain wool, cotton, or linen. Second, the complex yarns that created the striped effect also imply a more costly garment. Seventeenth-century western European “high fashion” clothing was known for its buttons, bows, and lace; therefore, this button may not have been functional. It could have been sewn onto the side seam of a pair of breeches or applied to embellish a cuff (L. Welters, personal commun., 2006).

Personal Group

The personal group largely consists of small objects that are carried on or used by a person while conducting his or her daily activities. Artifacts that fall into this group include keys for locks and doors, beads, coins, crucifixes, earrings, ornaments worn on clothing, and dice and other gaming pieces (South, 1988c: 157). Shell Ring II personal artifacts comprise 27% (N = 43) of the total sample of Spanish/European artifacts from the site. The items consist of glass beads, shell disc beads, part of a small brass bell, and a small brass wire earring (fig. 13.18).

The Spanish exchanged glass beads of all sizes, colors, and shapes with the Indians. Blair, Pendleton, and Francis’s (2009) comprehensive analysis of beads from Santa Catalina de Guale clearly demonstrates that Spanish missionaries gave many beads to the Guale Indians, as evidenced by the more than 70,000 beads recovered by the American Museum of Natural History’s archaeological investigations. Most of these beads came from the cemetery where they were found in direct association with the Guale individuals interred there (Blair, Pendleton, and Francis, 2009), contradicting Larson’s (1980b: 138) opinion that the Guale received few beads from the Spanish.

Most of the Shell Ring II specimens are small (≤ 4.0 mm in diameter) spherical to oval glass beads that probably were used for decorating Guale clothing, as well as in necklaces and other kinds of ornaments (fig. 13.18A). The smaller members of this group (< 3 mm diameter) fall into the class of beads that are traditionally called “seed” or “embroidery” beads (Deagan, 1987: 169). These beads range from 1.2 to 3.0 mm in diameter, with a mean diameter of 2.6 mm. All beads are monochromatic, consisting of dark blue to black (N = 13), blue (N = 5), yellow (N = 2), red (N = 1), white (N = 4), green (N = 3), and unknown (N = 1) colored specimens.

Larger beads include a broken, barrel-shaped bead; a faceted, barrel-shaped bead; and a Seven Oaks Gilded Molded bead. The recovered portion of a broken black or very dark blue barrel-shaped bead was approximately 5 mm in diameter, but the estimated diameter of an unbroken bead like this one would be about 6 or 7 mm. The estimated original length is around 6 mm. This bead resembles the type 17 bead from Santa Catalina de Guale (Blair, Pendleton, and Francis, 2009: pl. 1p). A dark blue or black faceted, barrel-shaped bead measured 6.1 mm in length and 3.3 mm in diameter (fig. 13.18B). The bead is hexagonal in cross section.

Perhaps the most informative of the Shell Ring II beads is a Seven Oaks Gilded Molded bead from one of the shell-filled pits (fig. 13.18D). The specimen is 8.3 mm in diameter and 11.2 mm long. The bead is decorated with a series of incised longitudinal lines with alternating rows of punctations. Gold foil once covered the entire bead, but most of what now remains occurs in the recesses of the punctations and lines. John Goggin reported identical gilded beads from several Florida mission period sites, estimating that they dated from the late 16th to the early 17th centuries (M. Smith, personal commun., 2007).

Incised gilded beads like the one from Shell Ring II are not commonly found at southeastern mission period sites. The exception is Santa Catalina de Guale, where excavations yielded 437 gilded beads. Most of the Santa Catalina specimens were spherical (N = 264), oval (N = 22), or ring (N = 46) varieties. Fewer than 100 specimens were incised like the Sapelo bead, and, of those, only 11 were the same Oval Dot-Incised Gilded Glass bead (comb A) type (type 104) (Pendleton, Blair, and Powell, 2009: 46–47). The Santa Catalina de Guale specimens ranged from 5 to 8 mm in diameter and from 9 to 11 mm in length. They were made of translucent green glass gilded with gold (Pendleton, Blair, and Powell, 2009: 47).

In addition to the beads of obvious European manufacture, the Shell Ring II excavations yielded eight small shell beads found in direct association with items of European/Spanish origin. Although there is no historical record of the Guale using shell beads, shell bead making did take place at Mission Santa Catalina de Guale. Therefore, it seems likely that the Guale collected local shells and made beads from them (Francis, 2009: 106).

In addition to beads, other “personal” items from the Shell Ring II area included the upper hemisphere of a small brass bell and a brass wire loop, possibly from an earring (fig. 13.18I and J). Both items came from feature contexts. The Spanish commonly gave or traded small metal bells to the Indians, who either wore them as items of personal adornment or attached them to other items (Brown, 1979a: 197). Unlike earlier bells that were cast metal, the Sapelo bell was modeled from thin brass or brass alloy sheet metal. Although crushed sometime prior to its excavation, the specimen was originally about 24 mm in diameter. The small brass suspension loop soldered to the top of the bell is about 3 mm wide and has an inside diameter of 6 mm. Two narrow grooves encircle the specimen near its equatorial seam. Traces of a silver-colored metal around the bell’s equatorial seam indicate that the upper and lower hemispheres were once joined by soldering.

Based on his analysis of artifact photographs, Marvin Smith identified the Sapelo specimen as a flushloop bell (M. Smith, personal commun.). Flushloop bells, which first appeared in the Southeast early in the 17th century and remained popular throughout the 18th century (Smith, 1987: 43), are typical of bells found at Georgia coastal mission period sites (M. Smith, personal commun., 2003)

A small, ringlike object made from thin brass or copper wire probably represents part of an earring. The loop, from one of the shell-filled pits, is approximately 18 mm in diameter and the wire forming the loop is 0.7 mm in diameter. The two ends of the wire are joined together by bending the wire to form small interlocking loops. Figure 94 (right bottom) of South’s (1988c: 159) report on Spanish artifacts from Santa Elena is a Spanish painting (ca. a.d. 1555) of a woman wearing an earring made from a wire loop similar to the Shell Ring II specimen. A garnet bead is suspended from the loop in the painting.

Activities Group

The activities group represents a diversity of functions reflecting a wider range of activities than the other artifact groups. These activities include basket making, brass working, fishing, establishing and maintaining Indian relationships, and performing maritime activities (South, 1988d: 173).

The activities artifact group comprises 1.3% (N = 3) of the Spanish/European artifacts from north of Shell Ring II. These objects include an iron cotter pin, a sheet iron pail, and a brass harness rivet (probably post-mission period), and were found during metal detector survey. The cotter pin is represented by the eye portion of the pin and part of the shaft. The pin has been split approximately 25 mm below the eye, with the two shaft sections diverging at an approximately 45° angle. South (1988d: 179) indicates that several cotter pin-shaped iron objects were found at Santa Elena and Fort San Felipe (South, 1988d: fig. 114). Some of these pins were interlocked, suggesting they may have functioned as hinges for doors or lids. One was attached to what may be a hasp or fastener (South, 1988d: 179).

The well-preserved sheet iron pail was found near the edge of one of the circular shell piles (fig. 13.19). Photographs of the artifact were sent to curators at the Association for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities (APVA), who are working with roughly contemporary (ca. a.d. 1607) European artifacts found at historic Jamestowne. Based on their examination of the photographs, they supported our preliminary identification of the object as being a riveted sheet iron pail. They indicated that while 16th/17th-century copper pots made in this way are relatively common, similar containers made of sheet iron are rare (D. Gamble, personal commun., 2008).

The Shell Ring II container has been smashed, resulting in one side of the pail being pressed inward against the interior of the opposite side. Despite its condition, some minimal observations on the pail’s size, shape, and method of manufacture were possible. Before crushing, it was approximately 18 cm tall and 16 cm in diameter. Its cylindrical body is made from one piece of sheet iron. The bottom of the pail is made from a separate piece of metal. The edges of the bottom are bent upward at a 90° angle, forming a 10 mm high flange. This flange, positioned exterior to the body walls, appears to have held the body in position once it and the bottom were joined. The pail’s rim is folded over, producing a ca. 7 mm wide rim strip. The metal used to make the pail’s body and bottom was approximately 2 mm thick.

Food Remains

Excavations of the mission period midden yielded a variety of faunal and botanical remains, many of which relate to Guale/Spanish subsistence practices. For the most part, these materials still await analysis. In contrast, the recovery and identification of the partial skeletal remains of two young pigs (Sus scrofa) provide an interesting insight on Guale-Spanish interaction. Morphological attributes of the pigs’ teeth and skull fragments indicate that the animals were less than 1.5 months old when they died. The identical ages of the two individuals, combined with the fact that pigs of that age are generally not weaned and thus stay together as a group near their mother, suggest that the piglets came from the same litter (M. Compton, personal commun., 2004). The direct association of the pig remains with Altamaha ceramics suggests that the animals were associated with a Guale household.

Spanish explorers introduced pigs into the Southeast in the 16th century. De Soto brought a herd of pigs with him in the mid-16th century, many of which were lost or escaped during the four-year long expedition (Hudson, 1997: 439). Many southeastern Indians liked to eat pork, as indicated by numerous accounts of their attempts to steal Spanish pigs (Hudson, 1997: 266).

Elizabeth Reitz (1982) analyzed faunal remains excavated by Lewis Larson from the Shell Ring II area. Although originally considered to date to the Irene Period, these materials are now thought to be associated with the mission period occupation of the site (E. Reitz, personal commun., 2012). The Site 9Mc23 faunal assemblage analyzed by Reitz (1982: 55) consisted of 8.4% terrestrial mammals; 0.9% marine mammals; 4.7% birds; 1.9% turtles and alligators; 1.9% snakes; 78.5% fish, sharks, and rays; and 3.7% nonfood species like rodents. Additional faunal remains and soil flotation samples were collected during the 2004 to 2008 field investigations. These samples will be analyzed as funding becomes available.

SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS

Starting in 2003, University of Kentucky archaeological investigations have yielded important new information concerning prehistoric and historic cultural activities in and north of Sapelo Island’s Shell Ring II. Of particular significance are the artifacts, features, and postmolds attributable to the island’s 17th-century mission period occupation. Excavation of the well-stratified cultural deposits has yielded thousands of Altamaha sherds attributable to Sapelo’s Guale inhabitants. The presence of high densities of Altamaha pottery immediately north of Shell Ring II indicates that this location was the scene of intensive mission period Native American activity that is probably associated with the Guale town of Sapala or one of its outliers (fig. 13.10). The technological and stylistic attributes of the site’s Native American ceramic assemblage generally conform to those documented at other nearby mission period sites. Some of the Guale-manufactured vessels are colonoware forms made for the island’s Spanish residents. Melcher (2008) and Saunders (2000a) have linked the presence of these red filmed colonoware vessels to sites where the Spanish lived, as exemplified by their abundance at Mission Santa Catalina de Guale on nearby St. Catherines Island (Saunders, 2000a: 45–48) and missions near Pensacola, Florida (Melcher, 2008).

Field investigations also have yielded numerous Spanish/European artifacts, reflecting a variety of activities. These items include coarse earthenware olive jar and majolica sherds, a bone knife handle, hand-wrought spikes and nails, brick fragments, spherical or oval glass beads, a brass wire earring, part of a brass flushloop bell, the trigger mechanism from a matchlock musket, an iron cannonball, lead musketballs, and a fancy cloth-covered button. The military items, like the matchlock trigger, musketballs, and the cannonball, suggest that the Spanish garrison was located nearby.

Worth (2006: 200–201) maintains that ethnohistoric information and artifact distribution studies suggest that many items of European manufacture found on mission sites were not normally used by mission Indians. Instead, they were discarded by “resident friars, soldiers, and passing Spanish visitors” (Worth, 2006: 201). Based on these observations, the artifact assemblage from north of the Sapelo shell rings supports an argument for an occupation of the site by not only Guale Indians, but also the Spanish.

Three shell-filled pits containing Altamaha pottery and European-manufactured artifacts may reflect ritual and/or feasting activities that involved both the Guale and the Spanish. The diversity of ceramic stylistic and technological attributes exhibited by the features’ ceramics may be indicative of greater Native American cultural diversity brought on by the aggregation of formerly independent Guale groups at Shell Ring II after 1660. Postmolds near these features, along with the large circular basin located to the east, may represent the remains of structures built and used by the community’s Guale and/or Spanish inhabitants.

Collectively, these data make the area north of Shell Ring II a strong candidate for the location of the Spanish mission of San Joseph de Sapala and its associated Guale communities. Future archaeological research should focus on further defining the size and composition of this important mission period occupation and exploring the kinds and intensity of cultural interactions and exchanges that took place between mission period Native American groups, like the Guale and the Yamasee, and the Spanish clergy and military personnel who lived among them.

Figure 13.1. Archaeological sites on Sapelo Island, Georgia, with mission period components.

Figure 13.2. Guale territory and territories of surrounding 17th-century Native American groups.

Figure 13.3. Locations and movements of Spanish missions from 1655 to 1684 (adapted from Lanning, 1935).

Figure 13.4. Natural and cultural features at site 9Mc23.

Figure 13.5. Distribution of probable mission period shell midden piles north of Shell Ring II.

Figure 13.6. Locations of test units excavated by the University of Kentucky Mission Period Archaeological Project from 2003 to 2007.

Figure 13.7. Plan view of units 20–22 of 9Mc23 showing the distribution of features and postmolds of composite levels 5 and 6. Exterior line shows extent of excavation.

Figure 13.8. Distribution of selected mission period features and artifacts. Features 2B, 3, and 5 are large shell-filled pits that contained Altamaha ceramics and Spanish artifacts.

Figure 13.9. Profile and plan view of Unit 16 Extension.

Figure 13.10. Distribution of A, shovel probe locations; B, all shovel probes containing Altamaha ceramics; C, probes containing Altamaha Red-Filmed ceramics; and D, shovel probes containing probable Spanish artifacts.

Figure 13.11. Distribution of Native American ceramics by level in units 19–22.

Figure 13.12. Mission period Altamaha series ceramics from north of Shell Ring II exhibiting diagnostic rectilinear line block and overstamped surface treatments (B, D, E, G–I); wide punctated rim fold/strips (B, D); complex punctated and trailed line motifs (E, F); fine line incising on burnished plain bowls (C); and red filming on colonoware vessel forms (A).

Figure 13.13. Box plot showing body sherd thickness (in mm) by time period.

Figure 13.14. Examples of kitchen group artifacts: majolica pottery (A–I); Pisan slip ware (J); olive jar rims (K–L); olive jar body sherds (M, O–P); porcelain (N); bone knife handle (Q); bottle fragment (R); and iron cauldron fragment (S).

Figure 13.15. Examples of architecture group artifacts: nails (A–F); spikes (G–M); and tack (N).

Figure 13.16. Examples of arms group artifacts: outer surface of cannonball (A); obverse of cannonball (B); lead musket balls and shot (C); possible iron projectile point (D); and possible matchlock trigger mechanism (E).

Figure 13.17. Examples of clothing group artifacts: cloth-covered button and 16th-century garment sleeve having similar buttons.

Figure 13.18. Examples of personal group artifacts: small glass “seed” beads (A); miscellaneous larger beads (B–H); brass bell fragment (I); and brass wire ring (J). Abbreviation: dia. = diameter.

Figure 13.19. Sheet iron pail representing the activities group.

TABLE 13.1. Shell Ring II Majolica Sherds

Catalog number

Type

Dates

Place of origin

UK666

Ichtucknee Blue on White

or Puebla Blue on White

1600–1650 1675–1800

Spain

Puebla

UK669

Aucilla Polychrome

1650–1700

Mexico City

UK671

Aucilla Polychrome

1650–1700

Mexico City

UK667

San Luis Blue on White

1550–1650

Mexico City

UK668

Puebla Polychrome

1650–1725

Puebla

UK678

Puebla Polychrome

1650–1725

Puebla

CHAPTER 14: THE GUALE LANDSCAPE OF SANTA CATALINA DE GUALE: 30 years of Geophysics at A SPANISH COLONIAL MISSION

Elliot H. Blair[3]

Colonialism and Practice

For the last two and a half decades, theories of practice have had increasing influence on archaeological thinking (e.g., Shanks and Tilley, 1987: 71–72; Dobres, 2000; Barrett, 2001; Pauketat, 2001; Dornan, 2002). In particular—most often drawing upon the work of Anthony Giddens’s (1979, 1984) structuration theory or Marshall Sahlins’s (1981, 1987, 1990) explorations into the relationship between structure, event, and history—colonial archaeologies have employed or advocated practice-based approaches (Lightfoot, 1995, 2005, 2006; Lightfoot, Martinez, and Schiff, 1998; Martinez, 1998; Silliman, 2001a, 2001b, 2006, 2009, 2010; Mills, 2002; Wesson, 2008). These approaches have had considerable influence because they successfully shift the analytical framework of colonial archaeology from objects to actions. This is of particular importance for archaeological studies of culture contact that have increasingly rejected acculturation models that often rely upon simplistic and problematic artifact ratios to quantify culture change (e.g., Redfield, Linton, and Herskovits, 1935, 1936; Herskovits, 1938; Quimby and Spoehr, 1951; Foster, 1960; Spicer, 1961; White, 1975; Brain, 1979; Brown, 1979b, 1979c; Farnsworth, 1987, 1992; Smith, 1987). Such approaches have been rejected, among many reasons, for being either too unidirectional in how they model the effects of power relationships for culture change or for failing to account for structural power imbalances (e.g., Cusick, 1998; Worth, 2006). While other approaches for theorizing and describing colonial culture change have been employed, such as creolization (Ferguson, 1992; Deetz, 1996; Cusick, 2000; Dawdy, 2000; Delle, 2000; Mullins and Paynter, 2000; Wilkie, 2000), hybridization (e.g., van Dommelen, 2005), and ethnogenesis (Sider, 1994; Hickerson, 1996; Hill, 1996, 1998; Voss, 2008a, 2008b; Stojanowski, 2010), practice-based approaches have been effective by highlighting native agency, as well as by being particularly well suited for archaeological materials. Indeed, as Lightfoot, Martinez, and Schiff (1998: 201–202) have argued:

Change and persistence in multi-ethnic contexts pertaining to the construction of social identities may be best addressed by considerations of daily practices involving domestic life and the organization of space…. it is through daily practices—how space is structured, how mundane domestic tasks are conducted, how refuse is disposed of—that people both organize and make sense of their lives… The ordering of daily life may be observed in archaeological contexts by examining the arrangement and use of space in the built environment (both intramural and extramural areas), the organization of domestic activities (e.g., food preparation, cooking, tool production and maintenance), and the spatial pattern of refuse disposal.

In addition to focusing on what objects are incorporated into peoples’ daily lives, rather than how they are incorporated, acculturation models have also been heavily critiqued for reifying a simplistic colonized/colonizer dichotomy that fails to account for indigenous diversity. But, in addition to shifting the locus of investigation from things to actions, a focus upon daily practices also allows closer attention to be paid to the interactions and associations of multiple subordinated communities within colonial settings. That is, such an approach can allow us to move beyond a colonized/colonizer dichotomy and consider the entanglements of diverse native peoples brought into contact during colonial situations. In this vein, Lightfoot and Martinez (1995: 488) argue that while colonial interactions must be explored at multiple scales, an emphasis upon the microscale investigation of multiple, and overlapping, axes of social organization is particularly warranted. Specifically, they suggest that:

cross-cutting, overlapping groups and boundaries may be defined and recombined at different temporal and spatial scales of analysis in colonial contexts. Depending on the axes of variation used to recruit members into factional groups (e.g., kin, gender, social relations, political affiliations, religion, class), different combinations of people may be mobilized together for social, political, and economic reasons.

Both of the above points—that a practiced-based colonial archaeology can both avoid the pitfalls of acculturation studies and help frame research questions around the intersections of new factional groups in colonial contexts—are appropriate for thinking about mission research in the southeastern United States. This is particularly true as we increasingly understand that colonial communities (at Spanish missions and elsewhere) were comprised of diverse, and sometimes poorly integrated, populations. In this chapter I explore how ongoing work at Mission Santa Catalina de Guale on St. Catherines Island is currently addressing these concerns. I begin by giving a brief overview of the limited spatial information available on mission pueblos in Spanish Florida (see fig. 14.1), followed by a discussion of indigenous diversity and identity in the Spanish mission province of Guale. I follow this with an overview of 30 years of geophysical survey at Mission Santa Catalina, suggesting that this research provides one possible methodological foundation for engaging with contemporary theories of colonialism. Specifically, I argue that geophysical surveys—by providing broad-scale spatial data about how communities are organized—facilitate practice-based archaeological investigations that explore interactions between households, neighborhoods, and diverse, multiethnic residential units.

Mission santa catalina de Guale and La Florida: The Spatial Organization of Communities

Following Pedro Menéndez de Avilés’s 1565 founding of St. Augustine, the administrative capital of the Spanish colony of La Florida, missionization was quickly initiated among the indigenous populations of Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina. And, after several missionization attempts and failures in the 16th century (Lowery, 1905; Oré, [1617–1620] 1936; Marotti, 1984, 1985; Lyon, 1984, 1987, 1992; Hoffman, 2002; Francis and Kole, 2008, 2011; Kole, 2009; Worth, 2009b), Mission Santa Catalina de Guale, the principal doctrina of the province of Guale, was firmly established on St. Catherines Island in 1605 (Lanning, 1935; Geiger, 1937; Thomas, 1990; Worth, 1995; Milanich, 2006; Worth, 2009b).

Archaeological survey and excavations at Mission Santa Catalina, conducted by David Hurst Thomas and the American Museum of Natural History in the late 1970s and 1980s, in conjunction with documentary research, systematic augering, and geophysical evidence, established the location of the mission and defined the general structure of the central mission quadrangle. These excavations have yielded considerable information about the architecture of the mission quadrangle (Thomas, 1987, 1988a; Saunders, 1990; Thomas, 1993b, 2009a, 2009b, 2010a), the biocultural and bioarchaeological makeup of the mission population (Griffin, 1989; Larsen, 1990; Schoeninger et al., 1990; Griffin, 1993; Griffin, Lambert, and Driscoll, 2001b; Larsen, 2001a; Larsen et al., 2001; Stojanowski, 2001, 2004, 2005a, 2006, 2010; Winkler, 2011), mission burial practices (Thomas, 1988a; Blair and Sanger, 2007; Blair, 2008a; Blair, 2009a; Blair, Pendleton, and Francis, 2009; Winkler, 2011), the exploitation of vertebrate resources (Dukes, 1993; Reitz and Dukes, 2008; Reitz et al., 2010), and mission-era ceramics (Brewer, 1985; Saunders, 1992, 2000a, 2009; May, 2008; Thomas, 2009a). The mission complex itself (see fig. 14.2), likely surrounded by a stockade, consists of the church (iglesia), two friaries (conventos) built sequentially, one on top of the other in the 16th and 17th centuries, a 17th-century kitchen (cocina), two wells, and a central plaza. Associated with the church is a shell-covered atrio and the mission cemetery (campo santo) (Thomas, 1987, 1988a; Saunders, 1990; Thomas, 1993b, 2009b).

The cemetery, located beneath the floor of the church, was excavated by Clark Spencer Larsen from 1982 to 1986 and yielded the remains of 431 native neophytes, many found with extensive grave furnishings (Larsen, 1990; Blair, Pendleton, and Francis, 2009; Winkler, 2011; Russell, Hutchinson, and Larsen, n.d.). Surrounding the mission complex is the aboriginal habitation area (pueblo), including the sites designated as Fallen Tree (9Li8) and Wamassee Head (9Li13) (Thomas, 1987; May, 2008). This surrounding area (see fig. 14.3) has been variously subdivided as the Pueblo North, Pueblo East, Pueblo West, and Pueblo South for a variety of analytic purposes (Blair, Pendleton, and Francis, 2009; Thomas, 2009a; Reitz et al., 2010; Thomas, 2010a), but the designations of these sectors have not been demonstrably linked to any type of emic spatial structure (e.g., ethnic neighborhoods, chiefly lineages).

While no historic maps exist of the pre-1680 mission on St. Catherines Island, archaeological identification and interpretation of excavated features were aided by a 1691 map of Mission Santa Catalina de Guale de Amelia (Florida) (Thomas, 1987, 1988a, 1993b) (see fig. 14.4). This site, located on Amelia Island, Florida, was the post-1684 iteration of Mission Santa Catalina de Guale (Georgia) (Milanich and Saunders, 1986; Saunders, 1988, 1993; Worth, 1995, 2009b, 2009a). Several researchers have suggested that this map might represent a more generalized plan for Spanish missions in Florida, and thus may be directly applicable to the St. Catherines Island mission (Thomas, 1987; Saunders, 1990, 1993).

Additional details and expectations for the site structure can be derived from the 1573 Laws of the Indies, City Planning Ordinances, particularly the spatial relationship between the plaza, church, etc. (Crouch and Mundigo, 1977; Mundigo and Crouch, 1977; Crouch, Garr, and Mundigo, 1982; Thomas, 1987; Saunders, 1990).[4] Both the historic maps and the planning ordinances, however, emphasize the organization of the mission quadrangle, not the outlying habitation areas of the mission residents. At Mission Santa Catalina, systematic augering conducted within a roughly 150–200 m radius around the mission quadrangle overwhelmingly confirmed the presence of dense concentrations of mission-era occupational debris in this region (Thomas, 1987: 114–116, figs. 25, 27).

Recently, Thomas (2008: chap. 32, fig. 32.14), has extensively described the distribution of Altamaha (mission) period sites on St. Catherines Island, noting the contraction of mission period components to the vicinity of Mission Santa Catalina. Indeed, he documents only 14 sites on the entire island having Altamaha or Spanish ceramics—most of which occur within 1 km of the mission. Figure 14.5 plots the location of all sites on St. Catherines Island from which either Altamaha ceramics and/or 16th–17th-century European ceramics have been recovered. This figure differs slightly from that presented in Thomas (2008: chap. 32, fig. 32.14) in that it also includes sites from the St. Catherines shoreline survey (DePratter, Paulk, and Thomas, 2008), burial mounds with contact-era interments (Larsen and Thomas, 1982; Larson, 1998), as well as isolated finds and recent survey and excavation data. Tables 14.1 and 14.2 briefly summarize these mission period sites and isolated finds.

Even with this updated redraft of Thomas’s (2008: chap. 32) figure 32.14, the pattern is the same: mission-era ceramics on St. Catherines are almost entirely concentrated in the immediate vicinity of Mission Santa Catalina (see also Thompson et al., chap. 16, for further discussion of this distribution). Indeed, if we exclude burial sites and sites where fewer than five Altamaha and/or colonial-era historic sherds were recovered, the picture becomes even more circumscribed.

Altamaha ceramics have been recovered in small quantities at transect sites to the north of the mission: site 9Li210, located roughly 300 m to the northwest of the current extent of mapping at SCDG, appears to be primarily an Altamaha Period site,[5] with site 9Li186, 500 m further north, also potentially containing Altamaha ceramics. To the south, Shell Field 2 (9Li15) contains olive jar fragments and Altamaha sherds (Griffin, 1965; Thomas, 2008: chap. 20, 582–583) as does the adjacent site 9Li2042.[6] To the east of the mission, Altamaha ceramics have been found in low concentrations for almost the full width of the island—most recovered in a number of shovel test pits excavated along transect I-6 (Thomas, 2008: chap. 20). Outside of this area, the only nonburial mound concentrations and nonisolate mission-era materials recovered have been from Little Sam Field (9Li242) and 9Li94 (DePratter, Paulk, and Thomas, 2008; Thomas, 2008: chap. 32, 1041). Very broadly then, we might suggest that the mission pueblo spans an area of roughly 1.5 km north-south and about 1.5 km east-west—much of this, particularly as the site extends to the east, likely consists of outlying fields, rather than habitation areas (Thomas, 1993b).

While this is a large area, it does not come close to the area described by Captain Dunlop in 1687, who wrote: “…where the great Setlement was we see the ruins of severall houses which we were informed the Spaniards had deserted for ffear of the English about 3 years agoe; the Setlement was great, much clear ground in our view for 7 or 8 miles together” (Dunlop, 1929c: 131). And, even though his description is very likely considerably “exaggerated” (Thomas, 1993b: 25), it is clear that the mission pueblo at SCDG was a very extensive settlement.

Beyond this brief overview of the archaeology of the central quadrangle of Mission Santa Catalina and of the distribution of mission-period artifacts on St. Catherines Island, the question remains: what do we actually know about the spatial organization of mission pueblos? The answer to this question is pretty simple: not really that much. In 1978, Lewis Larson described contact period Guale settlements (his Sutherland Bluff Complex) as follows:

The Sutherland Bluff villages, like those of their pre-Spanish Guale ancestors, were located along the tidal creeks and rivers. These sites present a different picture from the Pine Harbor sites. The numerous shell middens of the earlier sites are absent during the Spanish period—not that shell was no longer present in the middens, rather the low moundlike heaps were not now built. The Sutherland Bluff shell seems to have scattered over the entire site in rather an even layer. Perhaps, as evidence from the Harris Neck site seems to indicate, the shell was deposited along the edge of the site bordering the marsh or river.[7] One has the feeling that, quantitatively, the amount of shell on the sites is much smaller than that on Pine Harbor sites. [Larson, 1978: 132]

In more detail, and drawing upon historical documents describing the 1666 town of Orista, Jones (1978) described the likely appearance of a mission-era Guale town, categorizing it as having a “dispersed” pattern, with individual homes and field plots scattered around the town plaza and ceremonial buildings (see also Thomas, 1987, 1988a, 1993b; Saunders, 2000a, 2000b; Worth, 2004a; see also Sipe, this volume, chap. 12). But, beyond these two descriptions—one an impressionistic observation and the other a documentary account of an unmissionized, non-Guale town (cf. Jones, 1978)—we still have little archaeological data about the actual physical layout of a mission pueblo.[8] The most detailed descriptions of Guale mission communities, in fact, are primarily drawn from considerably limited ethnohistoric and archaeological data and are somewhat, and openly, speculative (Thomas, 1987, 1988a, 1988b, 1990, 1991, 1993b, 2011b; Saunders, 2000a, 2000b; Worth, 2004a). But, almost certainly, as described by Thomas (2009a: 72), the pueblo likely consisted of rectangular structures, separated by streets, and perhaps divided into neighborhoods. Also present would have been a ball court and a council house (perhaps two!—see Worth, 1995: 30).

In addition to the work at Mission Santa Catalina, excavations have occurred at several mission sites within the province of Guale (for an extensive review of these excavations see Thomas, 1987). At Fort King George, the likely location of Mission Santo Domingo de Talaje (through 1661) (J. Caldwell, 1943; S. Caldwell, 1953, 1954, n.d.; Kelso, 1968; Thomas, 1987: 94–97, fig. 14, 15; Worth, 1995), excavations have yielded a number of overlapping native structures dating to the Spanish period. A posthole pattern, located beneath a midden at the Pine Harbor site, the possible location of Mission Santa Clara de Tupiqui (through 1674) (Larson, 1978, 1980b: 42, fig. 44), is the lone interpretable set of structural remains excavated at this site. Moreover, much of the site was destroyed prior to extensive mapping (Larson, 1984), leaving us with a poor understanding of its broader spatial organization. Larson (1953) does report, however, more than 100 discrete shell middens ranging for about a mile along the marsh edge and up to a quarter of a mile inland. Mortuary excavations by Cook (1980a) provide much of the evidence for mission-era components at this site.

The Sutherland Bluff site has been proposed by Francis and Kole (2011) and Jones (1978: 205) as the location of Nuestra Señora Guadalupe de Tolomato. Excavations there (Larson, 1953), revealed a number of postholes with mission-
period artifacts, but no alignments were discernible (see Thomas, 1987). Excavations at the Thomas landing site at Harris Neck, proposed by Worth (2009a) to be the early location of Mission Tolomato and by Francis and Kole (2011) to be the location of Mission Talapo, have revealed seven Spanish period structures (Larson, 1980b: 39, fig. 32; Braley, O’Steen, and Quitmyer, 1986: 35, fig. 3 and 13; Thomas, 1987: 100. fig. 116). Additionally, mapping of both shell middens and subsurface features has occurred at this site, but the overall town plan is still little understood.

Most recently, excavation and survey at Mission San Joseph de Sapala (Jefferies and Moore, 2010; this volume, chap. 13) on Sapelo Island provides some detail about mission site structure. They note at least 10 discrete shell middens containing mission-era materials in the immediate vicinity of Shell Ring II that continue to the north for several hundred meters (Jefferies and Moore, 2010: 78, figs. 6.5 and 6.7).

To the south, in the province of Mocama, on Amelia Island, Florida, significant excavations have been conducted at the sites of Mission Santa María de la Sena (through 1665) and the relocated site of Mission Santa Catalina (1683–1702) (Saunders, 1988, 1990, 1993, 2000a). Additionally, recent work has also occurred at San Juan del Puerto (Dickinson and Wayne, 1985; Dickinson, 1989; Gorman, 2008a), San Pedro de Mocama (Rock, 2006, 2010), and Santa Cruz y San Buenaventura de Guadalquini (Ashley, Rolland, and Thunen, this volume, chap. 15). In neither Guale nor Mocama to the south, however, has substantial work taken place within the habitation areas of the native pueblos to the extent necessary to yield detailed evidence of either settlement structure or to provide extensive architectural detail regarding domestic structures.

Elsewhere in Spanish Florida (e.g., interior Timucua and Apalachee), excavations outside of mission quadrangles have happened at San Martín de Timucua (Weisman, 1992; Saunders, 1996), Mission Patale (Marrinan, 1993), and Mission San Luis de Talimali in Apalachee province in western Florida (McEwan, 1991, 1992; Scarry and McEwan, 1995; Shapiro, McEwan, and Vernon, 1992), as well as extensively at the Nombre de Dios site at Fountain of Youth Park in St. Augustine (Deagan, 2009c). In most cases, however, these investigations have yielded little data about the spatial patterning of the pueblo areas of the mission complex (cf. McEwan, 1992; Deagan, 2009c), focusing instead on architectural details of individual structures. There are some more extensive details of town plans provided by research in the Apalachee province (Shapiro, 1987; Bryne and Marrinan, 1988; Marrinan, 1990; McEwan, 1991, 1992; Shapiro, McEwan, and Vernon, 1992; Marrinan, 1993; Scarry and McEwan, 1995; Hann and McEwan, 1998), but these too generally highlight individual structures rather than broader spatial patterning. For example, at Mission San Luis, archaeological work—particularly topographic mapping and intensive auger survey—identified the fort, church complex, cemetery, central plaza, and Apalachee and Spanish villages (including evidence of animal corrals) (McEwan, 1992; Hann and McEwan, 1998). Testing in the Apalachee village area, however, only revealed evidence of one aboriginal domestic structure—a round building roughly 20 m in diameter. This has been interpreted as a likely elite (chief’s) residence. The absence of additional domestic structures, as well as additional settlement pattern survey data (Bryne, 1986) and ethnohistoric accounts, has been interpreted as an indicator that the broader community was dispersed in a series of hamlets and farmsteads, rather than nucleated around the mission itself (McEwan, 1992; Scarry and McEwan, 1995; Hann and McEwan, 1998).

This brief summary highlights the still considerably limited understanding of the spatial organization of mission communities in La Florida. As emphasized by Lightfoot, Martinez, and Schiff (1998), however, this is exactly the type of research that is crucial in order to engage in a practice-based archaeology of colonialism.

Native Identity and Mission Santa catalina

At the time of first contact, Guale can best be described, at least sociopolitically, as a complex chiefdom—consisting of roughly 50 communities organized with two tiers of political organization above the community level (Jones, 1978; Worth, 2003, 2004a). While there has been debate over the boundaries, membership, and organization of the Guale chiefdom, most researchers agree that it can be subdivided into between three and six constituent local chiefdoms. Each local chiefdom likely consisted of principal paired towns, alternating as the local seat of power, and a number of smaller subordinate communities (Jones, 1978). During missionization it was the principal towns within each subordinate chiefdom that were initially established as doctrinas. Following the establishment of the doctrinas the Spanish initiated various reducción policies, where native peoples residing outside the doctrina were relocated into aggregated communities, to both combat population loss and to facilitate conversion and missionization (Stojanowski, 2006; Worth, 1995, 1998, 2009a).

While it seems intuitive that such population movements would have significant implications for internal community solidarity and integration, during the 17th century the Spanish argued that the social effects of such population aggregation were negligible. Indeed, in 1617, in response to significant population loss in the Timucuan administrative province, several Franciscan friars petitioned the king, writing:

We request that Your Majesty would be served to command that, whenever these necessities occur, as long as the governors are advised by the [Franciscan] prelate, these disordered [settlements] should be drawn together since there is not one inconvenience, through those that have to join together not being from different families or languages, but rather friends of friends, brothers of brothers, and relatives of relatives beforehand [Worth, 1998: 28; emphasis added by Stojanowski, 2006: 40, citing Pareja et al., 1617].

Such an argument (extrapolated to Guale), however, would presuppose a cohesive “Guale” identity. Discussing just this issue, for both the Guale and their precontact ancestors, Rebecca Saunders (2001: 82–83) states that “the primary allegiance and identity of the Guale … was with the village that served as the [local] chief’s residence and area ceremonial center … [and] it is still unclear from the documents the extent to which the historic Guale considered themselves a coherent group. [The Guale] … seemed to have maintained more allegiance to a town…than to any larger group.” Recent ethnohistorical research, considering factionalism and intrachiefdom conflict, has also explored this same issue, asking similar questions about the degree of political and social solidarity within Guale (Kole, 2009; see also Thomas, 2010b; Francis and Kole, 2011).

Additionally, the Pareja quotation above refers to only one variety of population relocation and minimizes the extent and importance of social identities internal to the various provinces of Spanish Florida. Christopher Stojanowski (2006: 29) has defined four different varieties of population aggregation in Spanish Florida: stage 1 and 2 congregación and types 1 and 2 reducción. Stage 1 congregación refers to the aggregation of local villages into a single doctrina while stage 2 is the aggregation of different doctrinas of the same province to a single location. Type 1 reducción is the complete replacement and relocation of populations across provincial boundaries and type 2 reducción refers to the in-migration of nonmissionized native groups from outside Spanish Florida. Each of these types of population movements and consolidations would have different implications for the social and biological structure of mission communities. Here I will briefly provide an overview of how Mission Santa Catalina de Guale was involved in each of these stages of population aggregation (see table 14.3).

Beginning in 1605 with the redistribution of Franciscan friars after the resolution of the 1597 Guale rebellion, it is certain that stage 1 congregación began, at least informally (Stojanowski, 2006: 38). While the specifics of such community-level aggregation are little documented and are rarely mentioned by the Spanish, the names, lineages, and identities of the relocated subordinate communities persist in the documentary record throughout the 17th century—that is, spatially distinct satellite and subordinate communities continue to be documented as distinct lineages and entities even after being physically relocated and aggregated within central towns (Worth, 2002).[9] Episodes of stage 2 congregación—in which principal doctrinas are aggregated—are much better documented than stage 1. Mission Santa Catalina was involved in several such moves. These include the aggregation of Mission San Diego de Satuache with Mission Santa Catalina on St. Catherines Island in 1663 and the 1680 relocation of this aggregated community with the combined San Joseph de Sapala and Santa Clara de Tupiqui missions on Sapelo Island. In 1683–1684 this aggregation of four Guale doctrinas (Santa Catalina, San Diego, San Joseph, and Santa Clara) was involved in an episode of type 1 reducción when the aggregated community was moved to Amelia Island within the Mocama mission province, the latter to the north end of the island and the three former to the previous location of Mission Santa María de Sena. While immigrant Yamassee and Escamaçu groups were involved in episodes of type 2 reducción—short-term relocations into the Guale and Mocama provinces—there are no clearly documented instances where such incidents of reducción would have directly affected the structure of the Mission Santa Catalina community (at its original location), nor is there documentary evidence that type 1 reducción affected Mission Santa Catalina at its original location on St. Catherines Island (for detailed discussions of this process see Worth, 1995, 2009a).

But, did the well-documented examples of stage 1 and stage 2 congregación at Mission Santa Catalina have any substantial effect on either the social or biological structure of the mission community? The previously discussed letter from Father Pareja et al. (1617 [translated by Worth, 1998]) suggests that such episodes of congregación should have been a virtual nonevent in terms of social effects. Similarly, Christopher Stojanowski (2001, 2005a, 2006) has argued that because both stage 1 and stage 2 congregación operated entirely within Spanish defined provinces and extant indigenous chiefdoms, there should be no biological significance to such aggregation. John Worth (1995: 47, 2002) has demonstrated, however, that population aggregation—even intraprovincial consolidation—was not a process of aggregating and “homogenizing,” but rather a process during which (some) preexisting social identities were maintained and perpetuated.

Indeed, Stojanowski’s own evidence from Santa Catalina shows a level of biological heterogeneity, postaggregation, that is unexpected if “Guale” is understood to be a biologically integrated group. Using dental measurements from the Mission Santa Catalina cemetery, Stojanowski evaluated the phenotypic variability of the population—comparing the assemblage with precontact communities and with other mission populations, both from Guale and from elsewhere in Spanish Florida. Importantly, he found significantly increased phenotypic variability at Mission Santa Catalina (GA) compared with precontact Irene communities on the Georgia coast (Stojanowski, 2001, 2003, 2004, 2005a, 2005b, 2006; Stojanowski and Schillaci, 2006). While other biodistance studies of the Guale missions have suggested that there may not be a direct ancestral relationship between the precontact residents of the Georgia coast and the burial population at Mission Santa Catalina (Griffin, 1989, 1993; Griffin, Lambert, and Driscoll, 2001a; see also Kole, 2009), the important point in Stojanowski’s study is that while measurements of phenotypic variability are not a means of assessing direct biological relationships, the phenotypic variability within this temporally and geographically distinct precontact population is significantly less than the Mission Santa Catalina population—emphasizing increased biological diversity of the mission community. There are several conclusions—none mutually exclusive—that can be drawn from this: (1) There were significant, and undocumented, incidents of type 1 and type 2 reducción occurring and restructuring the biological population at Mission Santa Catalina; (2) individuals of Spanish, African, etc. descent may have contributed more to the biological population at Mission Santa Catalina than has previously been considered; (3) the phenotypic variability documented by Stojanowski is more directly related to factors other than population aggregation (e.g., epidemics, changes in diet, the inclusion of commoners within mission cemeteries); and/or (4) the biological impact of stage 1 and 2 congregación has been significantly underestimated.

What seems clear—especially if this final possibility is entertained—is that the enhanced diversity documented by Stojanowski, the persistence of distinct chiefly lineages, and perhaps little loss of town-level social identities during aggregation would indicate that reduced mission settlements—including “single-ethnicity” ones (Worth, 2009a) like Mission Santa Catalina—were actually diverse and pluralistic communities. The question then is: how can the social entanglements that must be correlates of mission aggregation be explored archaeologically? The answer, in my opinion, as expressed earlier, is certainly a practice-based approach to colonialism, which, if taken seriously, necessitates a greater emphasis on household archaeology (e.g., Wilk and Rathje, 1982; Hirth, 1993; Tringham, 1995; Allison, 1999; Tringham, 2001; Wesson, 2008; Pluckhahn, 2010) specifically paying attention to intrasite diversity (e.g., Thomas, 1993b: 25; Reitz et al., 2010) and how households interact across the neighborhood and community scales.

Geophysical SurveyS at Mission Santa Catalina de Guale

In the previous two sections I presented two discussions that connect to the theoretical introduction to this chapter. First, I suggested that the spatial organization of neophyte pueblos at southeastern Spanish missions has been considerably underexplored, but that this is precisely the type of data needed in order to conduct a robust, practice-based study of mission-era colonial entanglements. Second, I suggested that the indigenous diversity and factionalism internal to the province of Guale needs to be better explored and the same type of data (i.e., the spatial organization of mission pueblos) from aggregated (both within and across provincial boundaries) mission communities is also precisely what is needed to address this research question. In the following section I discuss how geophysical survey at Mission Santa Catalina has been, and continues to be, a powerful methodological tool for addressing such concerns.

Geophysical survey has been an important methodological tool for archaeologists working on the Georgia coast for a considerable period of time (Shapiro and Williams, 1984; Garrison, Baker, and Thomas, 1985; Thomas, 1987; Keene, 2002; Thompson et al., 2004; Thompson, 2006; Mahar, 2010, this volume, chap. 3). For the last 30 years, geophysical surveys have played a critical role in archaeological and geological research on St. Catherines Island. While many of these surveys have had notable successes as prospection methods, much of this research has also proceeded with an agenda specifically designed to link the “technology into the mainstream of archaeological theory” (Thomas, 1987: 64). Thomas (1987: 64–67) forcefully argues that geophysical surveys must be integrated into archaeological middle-range theory building—specifically linking archaeological concepts with observed phenomena. Somewhat similarly, Thompson et al. (2011) argue for an “inquiry-based geophysics” in which the theoretical justification for an archaeological project must be directly connected with the geophysical methods employed (see also Thompson and Pluckhahn, 2010). In their example they suggest that shallow geophysical techniques can be linked with theoretical approaches such as persistent place (e.g., Schlanger, 1992; Barton et al., 1995; Dooley, 2004; 2008; Daehnke, 2007; Thompson, 2010) grounded in landscape archaeology. Kvamme (2003) discusses the potential for geophysics to be linked to landscape-based approaches due to the increased survey coverage that is possible because of the increasing speed of newer geophysical instruments and the increased processing power of modern computers. At Mission Santa Catalina, such enhanced coverage—if not broad enough to facilitate a landscape approach—can allow for a “community study approach” (e.g., Cusick, 1995) and provide the type of resolution necessary to facilitate comparative analyses of households and neighborhoods. Indeed, such enhanced resolution is essential in order to obtain the degree of community spatial understanding necessary to conduct a comparative, practice-based archaeology of colonialism as advocated earlier—particularly one concerned with internal social diversity.

At Mission Santa Catalina, the history of geophysical surveys can be roughly divided into three iterations, occurring in the 1980s, 1990s, and at present, each of which can be explicitly articulated as an “inquiry-based approach” (Thompson and Pluckhahn, 2010; Thompson et al., 2011). The first iteration had three specific goals: (1) locating and defining the mission complex; (2) defining the configuration of unexcavated structures and features, and (3) employing remote sensing as a tool for middle-range theory building (Thomas, 1987). The second iteration, discussed in Thomas (1993b), had similar goals but was additionally oriented toward specific questions about the spatial layout of the Guale pueblo. The most recent iteration has the same goals as both of the previous series of surveys, but with a theoretical focus transformed by recent developments in archaeologies of colonialism, household archaeology, and guided by new insights emerging from ethnohistoric research (discussed earlier). Each iteration has also capitalized on advances in geophysical instrumentation and increased computing power.

Early Geophysical Surveys on St. Catherines Island[10]

Magnetometry: The very first shallow geophysical survey at Mission Santa Catalina occurred in May of 1981. At this time, using a Geometrics Proton Magnetometer, Model 806A, Ervan Garrison and James Tribble conducted a magnetometer survey of Quad IV at 2 m intervals (Garrison, Baker, and Thomas, 1985; Thomas, 1987). Initial field testing of high-magnitude anomalies resulted in the identification of three mission-era structures: the church (St. 1), the cocina (St. 2), and a barrel well (St. 3). Because the initial results were so promising, magnetometry survey was expanded to cover portions of 9 ha (Quads I, II, III, IV, VI, VII, XX, XXI, and XXII) (Garrison, Baker, and Thomas, 1985; Thomas, 1987: 122, fig. 134). In this follow-up survey a Geometrics G-816 proton magnetometer was employed using similar field procedures. These data, including a resurvey of Quad IV using the latter instrumentation, is what is presented in Thomas (1987) and Garrison, Baker, and Thomas (1985). Based on these initial surveys, several initial conclusions were drawn about site structure at Mission Santa Catalina and some middle-range theories, equating specific magnetic signatures with their archaeological correlates were proffered (Thomas, 1987: 118–126; fig. 132–137).

Resistivity: In May of 1982 an electrical resistivity survey was initiated at Mission Santa Catalina when Mark Williams and Gary Shapiro, using a Williams Model 103 resistivity meter (Williams, 1984), surveyed portions of Quad IV (Thomas, 1987: 126–134). The initial results were so successful that the survey was expanded to Quad IV in its entirety, and some quite extraordinary conjectural interpretations of site structure across Quad IV were generated (Shapiro and Williams, 1984; Thomas, 1987: fig. 42–43). These surveys directly resulted in the identification and excavation of structure 4, the mission convento.

Ground Penetrating Radar: Ground Penetrating Radar (GPR) was also employed within Quad IV, and while the results have been described as a considerable success (identifying potential palisade and bastion architectural features to the northwest of the mission quadrangle), the profiles are still mostly unanalyzed (Thomas, 1987: 140). Additionally, because they were conducted prior to the use of GPR time slice software (Goodman, Nishimura, and Rogers, 1995; Conyers, 2010), they provide little broad-scale interpretable imagery.

At roughly the same time these “first generation” surveys were taking place at Mission Santa Catalina de Guale (and the Pueblo North and Pueblo East sectors), similar geophysical exploratory surveys were occurring south of the freshwater creek at the Fallen Tree site (9Li8) (May, 2008)—elsewhere subsumed as a portion of the Pueblo South sector (Blair, Pendleton, and Francis, 2009; Reitz et al., 2010). In 1983, May conducted limited GPR surveys at Fallen Tree; these were most successful in identifying the extent of shell middens and the location of Lewis Larson’s 1959 excavations (May, 1985). May (1983; 2008) also completed roughly two-thirds of a hectare of magnetometry survey at Fallen Tree, using similar instrumentation and protocols to those described earlier (conducted in portions of Quads I, II, and XXVIII). These surveys were hindered by the large quantity of modern metal debris scattered across the site (May, personal commun., 2011) but provided some assistance in placing excavation units.

Geophysical Survey on St. Catherines Island in the 1990s

As was strongly articulated by Thomas (1987), the initial geophysical surveys at Mission Santa Catalina were not conceived merely as prospection tools, but rather they were intended as tools for delineating site structure and building middle-range theories linking geophysical signatures and archaeological features. As part of this vision, and building upon a belief in multitechnique geophysical methods, beginning in the early 1990s, a second iteration of geophysical survey with new instrumentation and data processing techniques was initiated at Mission Santa Catalina (Thomas, 1991; 1993b). This second phase of geophysical research was designed to both help delineate the broader site structure of Mission Santa Catalina, as well as test the utility of additional geophysical techniques (e.g., electrical conductivity). Based upon preliminary testing at Meeting House Field (9Li21) using paired proton precession magnetometers, a fluxgate gradiometer, and an EM conductivity meter, as well as testing of 1200 m2 in Quads IV and XX at the mission pueblo using conductivity and gradiometry, a broad-scale geophysical survey of the mission pueblo was initiated using paired proton precession magnetometry and electrical resistivity (Weymouth, 1990a, 1990b, 1991, 1992, n.d.). During this time, approximately 7.3 ha (Quads I, II, III, IV, VII, XX, XXI) were surveyed using a Geoscan RM-15 resistivity meter and approximately 2.3 ha of magnetometry data were collected using two Geometric 856 magnetometers. While these surveys were promising, and in fact were highly successful in terms of prospection—directly leading to the partial excavation of two Mission Period structures (structures 5 and 6, see Blair, 2009b: 155)—because of the lack of powerful geophysical data processing software and modern mapping software, the potential for these surveys to reveal large-scale community patterning was significantly limited. However, Weymouth (1992) correctly noted that the resistivity surveys were particularly good at identifying broad-scale patterns, but that the magnetometry data appeared to be limited to identifying metal point features—either artifacts from the colonial period or modern trash. This latter conclusion, however, is partially due to a limitation of the technology used in the survey. While the Geometric 856 instrument was quite sensitive (± 0.2 nanoteslas [nT]) the sampling interval (1 m) was not nearly fine-grained enough to identify low-magnitude features or identify low-magnitude broad-scale patterning.

21st-century Geophysical Survey on St. Catherines Island

Beginning in 2006, a third round of geophysical surveys on St. Catherines Island was initiated and continues to be conducted. While these initially focused upon the two Late Archaic shell rings on the island, the St. Catherines Shell Ring (9Li231) and the McQueen Shell Ring (9Li1648) (Sanger, Blair, and Semon, 2007; Mahar, 2008, 2010, this vol., chap. 3; Elliott, 2009; Sanger and Thomas, 2010), there has also been a renewed interest in geophysical data from Mission Santa Catalina de Guale. In 2007, Lauren Hayden (2007), as part of her Master’s thesis research, initiated a reexamination of the extant geophysical data from Mission Santa Catalina. From this she was able to resurrect large portions of the second-generation resistivity data, transforming unformatted data files into interpretable xyz data spreadsheets, which she subsequently imported into Surfer. But, due to the difficulties inherent in attempting to utilize a mapping software as a substitute for a geophysical processing software (see Keene, 2002), she found many edge discontinuities in the data due to the fact that the St. Catherines pueblo surveys had occurred over several years and had employed varying instrumentation settings (primarily determined by varying soil moisture conditions). Additionally, she also found much of the magnetic data to be stored in now unreadable file formats, though, as noted earlier, these data had previously been largely useful only as a means of identifying specific metallic point features.

In part based on her observations, in 2009 we began a multistage geophysical project at Mission Santa Catalina that was designed to begin addressing some of the “gaps” in the previous research. First, while it was clear that magnetometry has great potential at the site (Garrison, Baker, and Thomas, 1985; Thomas, 1987), we were still unable to clearly identify broad-scale, low-magnitude magnetic anomalies from the site. And, as was evident from the second-generation survey (see Weymouth, 1992), significantly greater sampling density was required for the benefits of magnetic survey to be truly reaped. Therefore, we began conducting additional magnetic surveys across all quads of the mission pueblo using a Geoscan FM256 fluxgate gradiometer (0.1 nT resolution), with a sample interval of 0.125 m and a traverse interval of 0.5 m. To date, approximately 9 ha of magetometry survey have been conducted using this instrument configuration at the mission pueblo, including Fallen Tree. This survey includes all of Quads I, II, III, V, VI, VII, XX, XXI, XXVI, and XXVIII, as well as portions of Quad X.

The second stage in the reinitiated geophysical research involved importing the 1990s resistivity data (primarily decoded by Hayden [2007]) into the Geoplot geophysics processing software. Importing the old data into a geophysical processing software allowed despiking, edge-matching, multiplication, and high-pass filtering to be applied to the data to remove the majority of edge discontinuities, enabling broad-scale patterns to become increasingly discernible across a uniform dataset. Additionally, the ability to high-pass filter the data allows higher and lower resistance data to be readily separated for independent analysis. Because the entire mission pueblo was not surveyed in the 1990s, we are also collecting additional resistivity data from unsurveyed areas (specifically Quads V, VI, X, and XXVI) striving to ensure graphical continuity between data collected on multiple instruments over a 30-year period. Figure 14.6 shows the clear congruency between these data.

DISCUSSION

The collection, analysis, and interpretation of the shallow geophysical data collected at Mission Santa Catalina is a continuing endeavor, with the integration of several decades of surveys and an enormous quantity of data presenting significant analytical hurdles. Nevertheless, the three decades of geophysical surveys already conducted continue to provide important insights into the site structure and community organization of Mission Santa Catalina, and these insights are critically important as we strive to conduct a practice-based archaeology of colonialism that examines how native peoples selectively incorporated both new and traditional material items into their daily practices within a variety of contexts.

Focusing on one area of the mission pueblo (see fig. 14.6)—the area located to the north and west of the mission quadrangle (Quads VII, X, XX, XXI, and XXVI)—it is quite apparent from the resistivity data that shell middens (some buried, some mounded), unequivocally correlated with low-resistance features, are not undifferentiated sheet midden.[11] It is very clear from the geophysical patterning that mission-era shell middens have a discrete and bounded configuration similar to those found during the late prehistoric Irene Period, though generally lesser in elevation.[12] Likewise, they are presumably associated with individual households or clusters of households (Crook, 1984, 1986; Pearson, 1984; Saunders, 2000b, 2000c; Thomas, 2008). It also seems highly likely that the high resistance, rectilinear features found interspersed among the discrete shell middens can be equated with domestic structures and open-space features. Indeed, Thomas’s (1988a; 1993b) speculation about the spatial patterning of the mission pueblo (i.e., rectangular buildings separated by “streets”) is well supported by the geophysical data. A close look at the data appears to show roughly linear areas of low resistance (“streets”) separating the low-resistance shell deposits. These inferences from the geophysical data provide the foundation for future analyses at Mission Santa Catalina grounded in household archaeology and investigations of pluralistic social identities in a colonial context.

Zooming out, it is also clear that the pueblo surrounds all sides of the mission quadrangle, with the densest concentrations of midden deposits appearing to occur to the north, south, and west, with sparser deposits to the east. While these have previously been identified generically as the Pueblo East, Pueblo North, Pueblo West, and Pueblo South, these may have a rough correlation with differentiated neighborhoods within the pueblo.

Reitz et al. (2010: 153–158; see also Thomas, 2010b) have noted that the pueblo sector located to the south of the freshwater creek within what is known as the Fallen Tree site had access to greater quantities of venison and differential access to high-quality cuts of meat than did the people living north of the creek—both to the south and the north of the mission quadrangle. There were also significant differences in fishing strategies, fish diversity, and trophic-level exploitation between the different regions of the pueblo (Reitz et al., 2010).

Elsewhere I have observed that shell bead blanks occur in significantly greater quantities at Fallen Tree than at other regions of the pueblo, suggesting that the individuals living south of the freshwater creek were engaging in shell bead manufacture more intensively than those in other regions of the pueblo (Blair and Francis, 2008: 760; Blair, 2008b, 2009b: 155). While there are clearly multiple explanations for such spatial diversity across the pueblo, and Reitz et al. (2010) mention the use of different screen sizes, localized activity areas, and social differences (e.g., status or ethnicity) as possibilities, this differentiation highlights my earlier point that greater attention needs to be paid to multiple axes of indigenous diversity in colonial contexts. While these two pieces of archaeological data highlight more general differentiation, it is only when we can look within neighborhoods and among households that we can truly begin to tease apart the various factional alliances that emerge and persist in colonial settings.

CONCLUSIONS

Shallow geophysical surveys have been conducted at Mission Santa Catalina for more than three decades, and these have directly resulted in the identification and excavation of numerous archaeological features at the site (Thomas, 1987; 1988a; 1993b). Since the initial surveys were conducted in the early 1980s, geophysical instrumentation, computing power, and software processing capabilities have increased so that more, and higher resolution, data can be examined with more sophisticated graphical modeling techniques. Indeed, geophysical survey should not be a “one and done” enterprise—new surveys can continue to enrich our interpretive capabilities. Much has been made of the nondestructive nature of geophysical survey, and one implication of this is that sites can (metaphorically) be reexcavated, yielding new data and enabling new archaeological understandings to emerge. At Mission Santa Catalina this ability to survey and resurvey is allowing us to continue to address both the current relative lack of understanding of the spatial organization of mission communities and our emerging understanding of the diverse and pluralistic nature of colonial communities of Spanish Florida—providing precisely the types of information necessary to explore how “people repeatedly enact and reproduce their underlying structural principles and belief systems in the performance of ordering their daily lives” (Lightfoot and Martinez, 1998: 201). High-resolution, broad-scale geophysical surveys are a particularly powerful means of delineating community structure, providing the foundation for us to utilize practice-based theoretical approaches to culture contact on the household and community scales.

Figure 14.1. Map of Spanish Florida showing Spanish missions and provinces mentioned in the text.

Figure 14.2. Map of Mission Santa Catalina de Guale quadrangle, oriented along the mission grid system, with “mission north” at the top of the page (after Blair, Pendleton, and Francis, 2009: fig. 15.8).

Figure 14.3. Map of Mission Santa Catalina de Guale and Pueblo (after Blair, Pendleton, and Francis, 2009: fig. 15.7).

Figure 14.4. Redraft of the Mission Santa María map (after Thomas, 1987: figs. 7 and 8).

Figure 14.5. Distribution of Altamaha Period sites and isolated finds on St. Catherines Island (after Thomas, 2008: fig. 32.14).

Figure 14.6. Composite image of 1980s, 1990s, and 2010 resistivity data at Mission and Pueblo Santa Catalina de Guale (Quad IV; Quads II, VII, X, XX, XXI, and XXVI).

TABLE 14.1. Distribution of Altamaha Period Sites on St. Catherines Island

State no.

Common name

AMNH no.

Transect

Altamaha ceramics

All diagnostics

Non-diagnostics

Historic sherds

Total ABO

9Li003

South End Mound I

114

—

32(a)

—

—

—

—

9Li008(b)

Fallen Tree

441

I-6

345

382

920

3

1302

9Li013(b)

Wamassee Head

208

I-6

2926

3374

1637

265

5011

9Li015

Shell Field 2

473

I-1

1

47

43

2 olive jar

90

9Li018

Johns Mound

110

—

30

—

—

—

975

9Li019

King New Ground Field

202

F-6

1

859

260

—

1119

9Li021

Meeting House Field

203

—

0

—

—

1 Columbia Plain

—

9Li084

Jungle Road 3

335

M-1

3

90

32

—

122

9Li091/163(c)

—

342

N-1

0

38

83

6 El Morro; 1 annular ware

121

9Li094

—

345

—

13

13

75

—

88

9Li128

—

379

L-6

1

65

5

—

70

9Li166/134(d)

—

385

A-1

2

7

2

—

9

9Li170

—

411

C-6

2

—

—

—

58?

9Li186

—

430

H-6

92

176

34

—

210

9Li195

South New Ground Field 7

443

I-6

3

4

30

—

34

9Li210

—

475

H-1

63

98

187

—

285

9Li214

Cracker Tom Hammock

483

J-6

4

70

63

—

133

9Li223

South New Ground Field 4

492

H-1

1

26

20

—

46

9Li242

Little Sam Field

517

B-1

21

30

30

—

60

9Li250

—

525

G-6

2

57

7

—

64

9Li274

Mission Santa Catalina de Guale

600

I-6

—

—

—

—

—

9Li2042

—

663

—

present

—

—

1 olive jar

—

(a) This number does not include the Altamaha Line Block burial urn illustrated by Moore (1897).

(b) The ceramic counts reported from these sites only include sherds recovered in the transect survey excavations (Thomas, 2008).

(c) Ceramic counts from this site only include sherds recovered during transect survey excavations (Thomas, 2008). Ceramics recovered during excavations in 1992 and 2007 are not included, though Altamaha sherds are noted in the 1992 fieldnotes.

(d) Thomas (2008: table 14.1) reports this site as 9Li134; elsewhere it is designated 9Li166.

TABLE 14.2. Distribution of Altamaha Period Isolates on St. Catherines Island

Shovel test

Transect

Closest site

Note

31

F-6

40 m from 9Li178

1 Altamaha stamped

50

G-6

1 Irene complicated or Altamaha Line Blocked and a glass fragment

1

I-6

associated with 9Li8/13

1 Irene/Altamaha punctated rim

6

I-6

associated with 9Li8/13

1 Altamaha Incised, 1 Altamaha stamped or Irene

17

I-6

60 m to 9Li196

1 Altamaha or Irene stamped

21

I-6

45 m north of 9Li193

1 Altamaha stamped

22

I-6

25 m south of 9Li192

1 Altamaha Line Blocked

23

I-6

17 m north of 9Li192

1 Altamaha Incised and punctated

28

I-6

9Li190

1 Altamaha

29

I-6

9Li190

3 Altamaha

7

J-6

9Li194

1 Irene/Altamaha

16

J-6

9Li194

2 Irene/Altamaha (1 decorated)

TABLE 14.3. Types of Population Aggregation in Spanish Florida, with Examples Involving Mission Santa Catalina de Guale

Aggregation process

Definition

Example

Source

Stage 1 Congregación

Aggregation of local villages

Largely undocumented aggregation of subordinate communities of the Guale-Tolomato chiefdom aggregating at Mission Santa Catalina

Stojanowski, 2006: 38

Stage 2 Congregación

Intraprovincial consolidation of doctrinas

Relocation of Mission San Diego de Satuache to Mission Santa Catalina de Guale ca. 1663–1666

Worth, 2009a: 186

Type 1 Reducción

Interprovincial consolidation of doctrinas

Relocation of Mission San Diego de Satuache and Mission Santa Catalina de Guale to the former Santa María on Amelia Island in 1684

Worth, 2009a: table 8.4

Type 1 Reducción

In-migration of nonmissionized groups

Yamassee community established at Santa María on Amelia Island

(1667–1683)

Worth, 2009a: table 8.3

CHAPTER 15: MISSIONS SAN BUENAVENTURA AND SANTA CRUZ DE GUADALQUINI: RETREAT FROM THE GEORGIA COAST

Keith H. Ashley, Vicki L. Rolland, and Robert L. Thunen[13]

INTRODUCTION

The Spanish Mission San Buenaventura de Guadalquini[14] was first established by the Franciscan Order at the southern end of St. Simons Island, Georgia, during the opening decade of the 17th century. For about 75 years it represented the northernmost Mocama mission. Threats of attack by English-sponsored slave raiders and French corsairs in the early 1680s, however, forced its removal to northeastern Florida as part of a widespread southward retreat of Georgia coastal missions. In Florida, the mission (renamed Santa Cruz y San Buenaventura de Guadalquini) was occupied from 1684 until 1696 when its inhabitants moved again, this time to the nearby Mocama mission of San Juan del Puerto. Though the exact location of the original St. Simons Island mission is unknown, we propose that the relocated community of Santa Cruz is associated primarily with the Cedar Point site (8Du81) on Black Hammock Island, Florida.

In this chapter, we first explore the pre- and postcontact Guale and Mocama territories of the Georgia coast, as we grapple with the possible shifting cultural affiliation of southern St. Simons Island or “Guadalquini.” Next, we review the mission period archaeology of St. Simons Island in an attempt to gain insights into the location of the original San Buenaventura mission. Following a brief overview of the mission’s history, our attention turns to the northeastern Florida coast as we summarize the results of recent excavations by the University of North Florida at the Cedar Point site. Emphasis is placed on the site’s temporally restricted material assemblage (1684–1696) and how it compares to other coastal mission sites.

DELINEATING THE GUALE AND MOCAMA PROVINCES

The 16th-century social landscape of maritime Georgia included scores of native villages dispersed along the mainland coast and on most, if not all, barrier islands (fig. 15.1). Early historic accounts identify two primary indigenous tidewater groups: Timucua (Mocama) and Guale. Both maintained political organizations based on elite lineages and hereditary leadership and mixed subsistence economies that combined coastal foraging and maize farming (Ribault, 1964; Solís de Merás, 1964; Barrientos, 1965; Bennett, 1975; Lawson, 1992). The Guale[15] dominated the northern coastal sector, although the precise geographical extent of their territory has been subject to varying interpretations (see Jefferies and Moore, chap. 13; Blair, chap. 14; and Thompson et al., chap. 16, this volume for discussions on the Guale). Some researchers, such as Grant Jones (1978: 179), extend the Guale spatial range from the lower Satilla River (Georgia) to the North Edisto River (South Carolina). John Worth (2004a: 239–240), on the other hand, describes a smaller domain situated between the mouths of the Altamaha (south) and Ogeechee (north) rivers.

Two main factors account for the discrepancy between these two estimates. First, Jones includes the Orista/Escamaçu (Cusabo) chiefdoms of South Carolina in his depiction of the Guale province, whereas Worth does not. Documentary evidence indicates that the Guale and Orista/Escamaçu were distinct polities during postcontact times, and archaeological data suggest a buffer zone centered at the mouth of the Savannah River separated them (Worth, 2004a: 240). Second, Jones places the Guale’s southern boundary along the Satilla River, a supposition predicated on a once-held belief that San Buenaventura de Guadalquini was a Guale mission located on Jekyll Island. Probably for this same reason, Larson (1978: 120) placed the Guale’s southern border at St. Andrews Sound, where the Satilla River empties between Jekyll and Cumberland islands. But documentary evidence clearly places the 17th-century Guale mission province between the Altamaha and Ogeechee rivers.

Camden County, the southernmost of the Georgia coastal counties, was home to Timucua speakers at the dawn of European contact. In the decades following Hernando de Soto’s entrada through northern Florida, Europeans learned that Timucua speakers covered a broad area, in fact, some 19,000 mi2 of northern peninsular Florida and southeastern Georgia (Milanich, 2004: 219). They also discovered firsthand that the various and dispersed Timucua-speakers were not unified politically, but rather were a diverse collection of autonomous chiefdoms actively engaged in mutually hostile rivalries and peaceful alliances (Hann, 1996: 4). Linguistically, they were divided into at least 11 regional dialects.

Along the Atlantic coast, the Mocama or maritime dialect was spoken by the natives of northeastern Florida and southeastern Georgia (Swanton, 1922; Milanich and Sturtevant, 1972; Deagan, 1978: 91; Granberry, 1993: 6). As the 17th century wore on, Spanish officials frequently referred to the coastal mainland-barrier island region from the St. Johns River (Florida) north to southern St. Simons Island as San Pedro or the Mocama Province (Hann, 1996: 18; Milanich, 1996: 98, 1999: 47; Worth, 2007a: 12). At the same time, the word Timucua was used specifically to refer to the natives of interior northern Florida, west of the St. Johns River and into the southern hinterlands of Georgia (Hann, 1996: 1; Milanich, 1996: 44; Worth, 1998: 16–17).

WHERE IS GUADALQUINI?

Beginning with John Swanton (1922: 41, 89), Guadalquini[16] was routinely equated with Jekyll Island by a litany of modern scholars (e.g., Lanning, 1935; Jones, 1978; Hann, 1986, 1990; Thomas, 1987; Bushnell, 1994). Ross (1923), who correlated Guadalquini with St. Simons Island, was a notable exception. In the mid-1990s, relying on information gleaned from newly translated Spanish documents along with a reassessment of previously available archival and cartographic evidence, John Worth (2007a: 195–196) convincingly argued that the Island of Guadalquini was St. Simons Island not Jekyll Island. The latter was in fact given the name “Isla de Ballenas” (Island of Whales) by the Spanish. Guided by the premise linking Guadalquini to Jekyll Island, past researchers erroneously situated the mission San Buenaventura on Jekyll Island instead of its correct position at the southern tip of St. Simons Island (Worth, 2007a: 195).

GUADALQUINI: MOCAMA OR GUALE?

The question is simple: were the pre- and postcontact inhabitants of the southern end of the Island of Guadalquini Timucua (Mocama) or Guale? The answer, however, is not simple. Or, rather, we think it is not. It is our opinion that a direct ancestral (or ethnic) link between the island’s 16th-century populations and those who occupied the post-1605 Guadalquini mission has yet to be demonstrated. Moreover, it is quite possible that a Spanish-inspired remodeling of the social geography of coastal Georgia in the aftermath of the 1597 Guale rebellion transformed what had been an indigenous Guale island into a Mocama island by the first decade of the 17th century. In the following discussion, we attempt to marshal evidence that casts doubt on any presumed cultural continuity between pre- and postcontact Guadalquini populations. In doing so, we project a social and political dynamic onto the coastal landscape.

We begin with what is currently known about the occupants of Guadalquini. Seventeenth-century visitation records identify the inhabitants of Mission San Buenaventura de Guadalquini as Timucua, specifically Mocama speakers (Worth, 2007a: 195–196). A 1648 visitation reports that from Guadalquini one moved “on to the province of Guale,” providing indirect support for a Mocama ethnic affiliation (Hann, 1996: 176). Three decades later a more definitive cultural link is made to Mocama. As a Spanish emissary moved from the Guale Mission Santo Domingo de Asao at the northern end of St. Simons Island to Guadalquini, he switched from a Guale interpreter to one “of the language of Timucua” (Hann, 1993: 91; 1996: 234). In the early 1680s, as plans were being made to evacuate the Georgia coastal islands, Spanish officials suggested moving the villagers at San Buenaventura de Guadalquini to the Mocama-speaking mission of San Juan del Puerto in northeastern Florida, since both were “of the same tongue” (Bushnell, 1994: 165; Worth, 2007a: 39). There is nothing in the primary literature to suggest that San Buenaventura was anything other than Timucua.

What, if anything, can we garner from the earliest premission documents about Guadalquini? At present, the first known written reference to Guadalquini (Gualquini) appears in Spanish accounts relating to excursions along the lower Atlantic seaboard by French corsairs during the final quarter of the 16th century. In the fall of 1580, two French ships passed though the harbor of “Gualquini” (St. Simons Sound) and soon sought council with the local natives (Ross, 1923: 274, 276). Taking advantage of a warm reception, the French attempted to entice the Guadalquini to participate in a punitive plot against the Spanish and their Indian allies to the north. Lured into an alliance with gold coins, items of silver, and other trade goods, the Guadalquini caciques apparently agreed to seek out allies and sow the seeds of Spanish contempt until the French returned the next spring to launch an assault on the Spanish garrison at Santa Elena (Ross, 1923: 278). Although the French plan of revenge, and perhaps usurpation, never materialized, the Guadalquini seem to have achieved some success in inciting anti-Spanish sentiments north of the Altamaha River, as 22 chiefs joined their alliance and 2000 warriors prepared for battle (Ross, 1923: 280).

Some researchers conclude that in a.d. 1580 the Guadalquini were Mocama, although Ross (1923) provides no direct evidence for this in the primary Spanish documents she cites. Both Hoffman (1990: 280) and Hann (1996: 10) apparently interpret Guadalquini’s acceptance of the French proposal as indication of a rift between Guadalquini and the Guale and Escamaçu to the north. Hoffman (1990: 280) further construes Guadalquini’s agreement to assist the French in an attack on the Spanish and their native supporters as a way for both the French and Guadalquini to “settle their scores with their enemies.” This rendering of events, combined with the absence of Guadalquini from all primary lists of Guale villages and the now-known fact that the 17th-century Mission San Buenaventura de Guadalquini was occupied by Mocama, has led to the conclusion that the Guadalquini of the 1580 documents also were Mocama.

Such an inference, however, is open to question. First, it was the French who were intent on revenge, not the Guadalquini. We see no unequivocal passage in Ross (1923) that implicates the Guale and Escamaçu as enemies of Guadalquini. The Guadalquini appear to have been drawn into the French overture more by the promise of spoils that would make them “very rich” (Ross, 1923: 275) and less by the desire for revenge. The fact that the Guadalquini chief (mico) conveyed specific details of the French plan to at least two Guale chiefs implies little concern for protecting French interests (Ross, 1923: 276, 278). During the 1580 encounter, the French also established good relations with the Guale mico of Tolomato, who appears to have been a coconspirator in fostering anti-Spanish activities (Ross, 1923: 275, 280). The Guale were not united politically at this time, as both pro-French and pro-Spanish factions existed (Bushnell, 1994: 63). Villages seemingly allied themselves with one or the other foreign power in pursuit of their own agendas. The tendency of scholars to depict the province of Guale as politically centralized under a paramount chief and possessing unity of purpose and action in their dealings with Europeans is a criticism of recent historiography (Kole, 2009; Francis and Kole, 2011). By the end of the 16th century, Guale political organization appears somewhat decentralized with varying degrees of chiefly autonomy.

Does the late prehistoric archaeological record of coastal Georgia provide any insight into where St. Simons Island fits in relation to the boundary between Mocama and Guale? While we understand the dangers of correlating pottery types with specific ethnic or political groups (Worth, 2009a: 179–181), we also believe an examination of coastal Georgia ceramics can cast light on the contact-era Mocama-Guale frontier. Since the 1940s, archaeologists working along the northern Georgia coast have attributed the manufacture of grit-tempered Irene pottery to the late prehistoric and contact-era Guale (Caldwell and McCann, 1941: 3; Caldwell and Waring, 1968: 123; Larson, 1978: 121; Pearson, 1978: 56; Cook, 1988: 2; Saunders, 2000a: 39–45; Deagan and Thomas, 2009). Irene pottery was also produced by the Orista-Escamaçu societies of coastal South Carolina as far north as Santa Elena (DePratter, 2009). While regional differences in assemblages likely exist, the Irene series is made up of plain, incised, and complicated (filfot) stamped wares, adorned with a variety of temporally sensitive rim elaborations.

To the south, recent research in southeastern Georgia and northeastern Florida has put an end to any lingering suspicions that the St. Johns tradition is the archaeological correlate of contact (or even precontact) period Mocama (see Ashley, 2009). Clearly, grog-tempered San Pedro pottery is the signature ware of the 16th-century Mocama. The San Pedro pottery series consists mostly of Plain, Obliterated, Cob-Marked, and Check Stamped varieties, but Cord-Marked, Textile Impressed, and Complicated Stamped types also occur in small amounts (Ashley and Rolland, 1997). This is the same sherd-tempered ware collected by Milanich (1971, 1972) from shell middens at the mission site of San Pedro de Mocama on Cumberland Island, Georgia, in the early 1970s.

So where is the dividing line between the distribution of Irene and San Pedro ceramics along the Georgia coast? First, it is important to point out that the southern Georgia coast, between the Altamaha and St. Marys rivers, has long been perceived by archaeologists as a “transitional zone” during the late prehistoric and early historic periods (Larson, 1958b; Cook, 1977; Deagan, 1978; R. Smith, 1984; Crook, 1986). From this perspective, past researchers viewed Glynn County as the southern periphery of Irene (Guale) populations and Camden County as the northern extent of St. Johns II (Timucua) peoples. Although we now know that San Pedro and not St. Johns is the material correlate of the 16th-century Timucua (Mocama) of Camden County, the transitional or buffer zone idea still holds merit.

Moving south from the Altamaha River into coastal Glynn County, there is a clinal decrease in the frequency of Irene pottery. Although a few sites near the northern tip of St. Simons Island and the Kent Mound at the island’s southern end contain occupational middens and burial mounds, little Irene pottery has been found on the adjacent mainland near Brunswick or Jekyll Island to the south (Cook, 1977; Crook, 2007). The quantity of Irene wares reported from these locales pales in comparison to that on sites north of the Altamaha River. South of the Turtle River in Camden County, Irene wares are rare and only occur in protohistoric contexts dominated by mission period San Marcos pottery (Kirkland, 1979: 22; Smith, 1984: 74–75; Espenshade, 1985: 333). San Marcos wares are most often referred to as Altamaha along the Georgia coast (see Jefferies and Moore, chap. 13 and Thompson et al., chap. 16, this volume, for discussions on Altamaha pottery). There are no Irene sites reported for Camden County.

A mirror distribution exists for San Pedro pottery, but this time the gradual decrease is from south to north starting at the St. Marys River in Camden County. San Pedro pottery occurs in high frequencies on sites south of the Satilla River, particularly in the Kings Bay area and on Cumberland Island (Milanich, 1971; Kirkland, 1979; Adams, 1985; Borremans, 1985; Rock, 2009). However, it has not been recorded for sites north of the Satilla River in northern Camden County, along mainland Glynn County, or on Jekyll Island. While perhaps partly influenced by sampling bias and lack of survey data, the tidewater zone between the Turtle and Satilla rivers has produced little, if any, San Pedro or Irene ceramics.

Spanish documents of the late 16th century portray the Atlantic coast of La Florida as a dynamic and volatile landscape marked by both internal and external hostilities. The Guale were known to have had hostile relationships with neighboring groups, including the Orista and Mocama (Worth, 2002: 241). In fact, during the early days of the 1597 uprising, a group of Guale Indians undertook an aborted assault on the Mocama of Cumberland Island in an effort to kill their chief and other Christian Indians “for being allies of the Spanish” (Kole, 2009: 77). If the Guale and their neighbors were as antagonistic as European accounts lead us to believe, then it is likely that buffer zones might have existed between the differing coastal groups. As stated, an uninhabited zone existed from just north of the Ogeechee River to north of the Savannah River in South Carolina, separating the Orista and Guale groups. To the south, we propose that the area between the Turtle and Satilla rivers served as a wedge of unoccupied (or at least sparsely occupied) land between the 16th-century Guale and Mocama populations (see fig. 15.1).

Acceptance of such a buffer zone would place St. Simons Island within the southern limits of the Guale domain. The island[17] has been described as “minimally occupied” during the late prehistoric–early historic period by Cook (1988: 10), although he and others note that appreciable quantities of Irene pottery have been found at three sites (Taylor Mound, Couper Field, and Indian Field) at the northeastern end of the island and one (Kent Mound) near its southern tip (Wallace, 1975; Cook, 1977, 1978; Pearson, 1977a; Pearson and Cook, 2003). Only the latter demonstrated both early and late Irene components, which enabled Cook (1978, 1980b) to document stylistic changes in Irene pottery over time. The Taylor Mound was originally constructed during the Savannah II phase (a.d. 1100–1300), but was revived as a mortuary facility during the late Irene phase (Wallace, 1975; Pearson, 1977a; Pearson and Cook, 2003).

The Kent and Taylor mounds both contained intrusive postcontact Irene burials (flexed) with east-side pottery caches and historic artifacts that included copper coins, iron knife blades, awls, spikes, axes, and glass beads (Wallace, 1975; Pearson, 1977; Cook, 1978). Interestingly, many of these same items were given to the Guadalquini by the Spanish in 1580 (Ross, 1923), although the archaeological materials might somehow be associated directly or indirectly with the failed 1526 Spanish colony of San Miguel de Gualdape (Hoffman, 1992). One significant shortcoming of Irene excavations on St. Simons Island has been an emphasis on burial mounds or other mortuary contexts.

Kent Mound, an Irene “burial mound-village site,” is situated a short distance north of the likely location of San Buenaventura (Cook, 1978: 1). The fact that it contained 16th-century historic burials suggests it was in use during the early postcontact period, perhaps at the same time as the 1580 encounter between Guadalquini and French corsairs. Thus, it would not seem too far of a stretch to equate the cultural affiliation of 1580 Guadalquini to those Irene peoples who interred their dead in the Kent and Taylor mounds. Nearly everything about the Kent Mound shows affinity to Irene phase mounds along the middle and northern Georgia coast, particularly the Pine Harbor mound on the mainland opposite Sapelo Island (Cook and Snow, 1983; Cook and Pearson, 1989). Not only is the pottery stylistically the same (including some late designs suggestive of broadly shared cosmological motifs), but so is the manner in which some vessels were interred in the mound (e.g., side caches) as well as their specific condition or modification (e.g., rim damage, basal perforation, encrustation) (Cook, 1980b: 168). A noticeable percentage of the Irene wares from the Kent Mound, however, were tempered with grit and finely crushed grog, a paste composition not known from any other Irene sites (Cook, 1978: 98).

Beyond pottery, the Kent, Taylor, and Pine Harbor mounds exhibited similar structural composition in the form of a shell core flanked and surmounted by sand fill. Each contained intrusive, 16th-century flexed burials, some of which were associated with European artifacts. Moreover, Kent and Pine Harbor, as well as Townsend mound along the mainland north of the Altamaha River, display “a high correlation between late Irene ceramics and SCC [sic] symbolism, exotic artifacts, and shell cups” (Cook, 1988: 19). A conspicuous difference between Irene mounds on St. Simons Island and those to the north is the absence of cremations and urn burials in Taylor and Kent mounds. Adjacent to all Irene mounds are villages marked by scores of individual shell heaps. While regional variation in Irene pottery and sites certainly exists along the Georgia coast, taken as a whole, a high degree of similarity in refuse disposal, pottery technology, and mortuary ritual suggests a shared culture between Irene sites on St. Simons Island and those north of the Altamaha River—a cultural connection we would label Guale not Mocama.[18] This leads to a final query. If St. Simons Island was a Guale island at contact then why was the Mission San Buenaventura inhabited by Mocama? Admittedly, we do not know, but an answer might rest in the restructuring of the cultural landscape of the Georgia coast following the Guale rebellion of 1597. Subsequent to the killing of five friars by Guale dissidents, Spanish soldiers descended upon the Guale province and burned all villages, surplus stores, and agricultural fields in their sight (Geiger, 1936: 95; Francis and Kole, 2011: 45). In response the Guale fled inland, and “since they were removed from the sea, they could neither fish nor gather shellfish” (Geiger, 1936: 95). It is likely that if St. Simons Island was occupied in 1597, it was abandoned in the wake of Spanish reprisals. With the return of friars to the Guale province in 1605, missionization resumed, but the social geography of Guale was different (Kole, 2009: 69–90).

The raising of a cross at San Buenaventura during the first decade of the 17th century was critical for the Spanish colony, because this new mission represented the only barrier island doctrina between San Pedro on Cumberland Island and Santa Catalina on St. Catherines Island. Owing to its strategic location, this frontier mission would have served as a vital communication and island ferrying point between the Guale and Mocama provinces. To ensure success, did the Spanish move loyal Timucua/Mocama to the St. Simons Island to inhabit this start-up mission, in effect, altering the invisible boundary separating Guale and Timucua speakers? Perhaps Mocama villagers from Icafui/Cascange who were mainland subjects of San Pedro, or from the Mocama mission village of Puturiba at the north end of Cumberland Island, were relocated to the southern tip of St. Simons Island. Coincidentally, the Icafui/Cascange “were awaiting conversion” at the time the uprising broke out (Bushnell, 1994: 67). Interestingly, Cascange disappears from the primary literature around the same time that the Guadalquini mission emerges (John Worth, 2009, personal commun.). The placement of a nonlocal Mocama population at San Buenaventura, while intriguing, lacks documentary support at this time. But, on the other hand, there is nothing in the primary literature to reject such a hypothesis.

MISSION PERIOD ARCHAEOLOGY ON ST. SIMONS ISLAND

Mission-period occupation of St. Simons Island was restricted temporally to the 17th century and included the Mocama mission of San Buenaventura de Guadalquini (ca. 1607–1684), the transplanted Guale mission of Santo Domingo de Talaje/Asajo (1661–1684), the unmissionized Escamaçu (Colones) community of San Simon (ca. 1672–1683), and the “pagan” Yamasee settlement of Ocotonico (ca.1672–1683) (Worth, 2007a). At present, no formal archaeological investigations have been directed at uncovering evidence of any of these mission period sites. This, however, does not mean that artifacts reflective of these mission-related communities have not been found. To the contrary, 17th-century San Marcos/Altamaha pottery has been recovered from several locations on the island. Unfortunately, at some sites, information regarding the quantity and context of mission-period wares is obscured by the use of broad ceramic temper groupings that likely combine temporally distinct pottery types (e.g., Martinez, 1975; Wallace, 1975; Milanich, 1977).

Cannon’s Point, the northeastern fingerlike extension of St. Simons Island, has yielded mission-period sherds. San Marcos pottery was recovered from Couper’s Field (north and south) and Indian Field, being most prevalent at Couper’s Field North (Wallace, 1975). The co-occurrence of Irene and San Marcos vessels in a pottery cache in the Taylor Mound suggests a transitional assemblage (Wallace, 1975). The Taylor Mound vessels were similar to those of the Kent Mound (Fred Cook, 2010, personal commun.). Several archaeologists have implicated Cannon’s Point as the location of Mission Santo Domingo, which was moved to the north end of St. Simons Island in 1661 (Larson, 1980b; Thomas, 1987; Worth, 2009a). Worth (2009a) mentions Hampton (Butler) Point, the island’s northwestern fingerlike extension, as another possible area for this mission (Mullins, 1978).

While primary Spanish documents describe San Simon as 2 leagues south of Santo Domingo and Ocotonico as an additional league to the south, the archaeological locations of these 17th-century “pagan” communities are virtually unknown (Worth, 2007a: 195). Worth (2009a) recently proposed that San Simon might be found within the vicinity of the 18th-century English site of Fort Frederica.

In the 1681 Fuentes census, San Buenaventura is recorded as “being located on the southern point of this stated island [St. Simons] at a distance of three leagues” from Ocotonico on the Bar of Guadalquini (Worth, 2007a: 195). Unfortunately, little can be said at present about its archaeological whereabouts. Larson (1980b: 38) presents a map in which Cannon’s Point and the St. Simons Lighthouse (at the island’s south end) are denoted as “sites of the Spanish period that have been identified archaeologically,” but he does not discuss exactly what this means or what was found at these sites. Thus, it is unclear as to whether or not these represent Spanish mission locations. However, a San Marcos vessel fragment was purportedly part of a pottery collection from the lighthouse vicinity (Fred Cook, personal commun., 2010). A recent examination of the extreme southern shoreline of St. Simons Island by Fred Cook and Keith Ashley resulted in the recovery of a handful of water-worn sherds from the southwestern edge of the island, about one mile northwest (290o) of the modern lighthouse/pier. Diagnostic wares included Savannah check stamped, Irene filfot stamped, San Marcos line blocked, and Spanish olive jar. Thus, the most likely location for San Buenaventura is the southern end of the island between the lighthouse on the east and the Sea Island Golf Club on the west.

SAN BUENAVENTURA Y SANTA CRUZ DE GUADALQUINI: A BRIEF HISTORY

Spanish documents detailing the establishment of San Buenaventura de Guadalquini have yet to be discovered (fig. 15.2). It is not mentioned in any of the friars’ letters of 1602–1604 or listed on visitation registers of village confirmations in 1606 and 1607. Its name, however, first emerges in a series of ecclesiastical papers penned between 1609 and 1616 (Hann, 1996: 75). This archival information places the founding of San Buenaventura likely between 1607 and 1609. The inland Timucua mission of Santa Isabela de Utinahica, situated up the Altamaha River, is believed to have aggregated at San Buenaventura sometime before 1655 (Worth, 2007a: 124). Census data are spotty, but the mission is reported to have had 40 persons (men?) in 1675 and 87 individuals older than 12 years of age in 1681 (Hann, 1996: 263; Worth, 2007a: 37, 199–201). The latter included 45 men and 28 married and 14 unmarried women. Among the adults were 13 chiefs—a situation that attests to the persistence of chiefly lineages in the face of missionization and village aggregation (Worth, 2002). A 1683 census reports an adult male population of 43 for Guadalquini.

Other than an occasional passing reference or inclusion on mission lists, little primary information is available on San Buenaventura prior to the 1660s. In 1661 it is reported that a large contingent of Chichimeco raiders moved down the Altamaha River in canoes and rafts and descended upon the La Florida coast, seeking human merchandise meant for sale at slave markets in English Virginia (and later, the Carolina colony). This was the first of a two-decade long string of slave raids that targeted Spanish coastal missions, signally what has been deemed “the beginning of the end for Guale and Mocama mission provinces” (Worth, 2007a: 15). Though the island of Guadalquini was spared on this occasion, it would not be as lucky in 1684. In the spring of that year a party of warriors invaded the community of San Simon. Although the English-supported slave raiders were repulsed by a mixed band of Spanish soldiers and Christian Indians from San Buenaventura, they reemerged a few days later on St. Catherines Island (Hann, 1996: 268–269; Worth, 2007a: 30–32). It was apparently around this time that a briefly occupied garrison was placed at San Buenaventura.

The final blow to the San Buenaventura mission was not delivered by slave raiding forces, but rather by French pirates (Hann, 1996: 269–271; Worth, 2007a: 41–42). In 1683, corsairs launched a largely unsuccessful attack on St. Augustine and then commenced to loot their way up the coast in an offensive that included pillaging the Cumberland Island missions of San Juan del Puerto and San Felipe (Bushnell, 1994: 162). The following year pirates assaulted the sparsely occupied San Buenaventura mission, burning its church and convento. Having caught wind of the impending mission strike, most of the mission’s villagers withdrew to the mainland opposite the island (possibly near modern Brunswick), taking with them most of their possessions and surplus corn.

Spanish officials could no longer tolerate the onslaught of Indian slave raiders and French pirates, so a decision was made to hasten their planned evacuation of the Georgia coast (see Jefferies and Moore, this volume, chap. 13). The abandonment of San Buenaventura was part and parcel of this coordinated and wholesale retreat of Spanish missions to northeastern Florida. Thus in 1684, the mission’s residents were relocated to a wooded area on the northern side of the St. Johns River, one league west of the primary Mocama mission of San Juan del Puerto on Ft. George Island (Hann, 1996: 271; Worth, 2007a: 198). The Spanish governor apparently wanted the San Buenaventura villagers to move directly to San Juan from their St. Simons Island home, but instead settled a league away. Although the reason for not moving to San Juan is unknown, it appears Guadalquini preferred to remain an autonomous community.

With the transfer to Florida complete, the mission received the name Santa Cruz y San Buenaventura de Guadalquini (or simply Santa Cruz de Guadalquini). In 1685, visitation records mention a principal chief (Lorenzo Santiago), three caciques, and two cacicas. Of the latter is Clara, cacica of Utinahica, the Timucuan mission village that merged with San Buenaventura prior to 1655 (Hann, 1996: 263; Worth, 2007a: 111). According to the same visitation record, Mocama living at Santa Cruz petitioned the colonial government to grant scattered communities of Colones, Yguajas [Guale], and Yamasee residence in their village (Hann, 1996: 271–272; Worth, 2007a: 111, 124). Although their request was approved, it is not known whether these St. Simons Island refugees actually relocated to the mission. Santa Cruz was said to have had a population of 300 (60 families) in 1689, a size estimate more than double that recorded at the same time for the provincial mission of San Juan.[19] Thus, Santa Cruz was the largest Mocama mission at this time. The following year it was reported that Santa Cruz lacked a resident friar, and it is unclear if a priest ever resided there (Hann, 1996: 275). If not, it is likely that the ecclesiastical needs of the community were met by the missionary stationed nearby at San Juan.

According to Captain don Juan de Pueyo, who visited Santa Cruz in 1695 as part of a formal visitation on behalf of the governor of Florida, the community housed the main chief (Lorenzo de Santiago), five other caciques, and at least two inihas (second in command); the named caciques included two non-Mocama Indians from Simon and Colon (Hann, 1993: 241, 1996: 288). This seems to clearly indicate that non-Mocama Indians were living at Santa Cruz in 1695. With regard to Pueyo’s inquiry as to why they had not yet moved to San Juan, Santa Cruz leaders blamed demands made on their time by farming and work they did in service of the king.

Within a year, however, mounting pressure from Spanish officials and “knowing clearly how endangered they are … of being infested by enemies of the mainland,” the community of Santa Cruz packed up and moved to San Juan del Puerto in 1696 (Worth, 2007a: 198). A council house was waiting at San Juan for the villagers of Santa Cruz, having been built at least two years earlier. Shortly after aggregation, the Santa Cruz cacique, Lorenzo Santiago, became the principal chief of the Mocama province (Hann, 1996: 288; Worth, 2007a: 198).

The missions of northeastern Florida came to an effective end in 1702, when Colonel John Moore and a contingent of Carolina militia and Indian slave raiders attacked and burned all Guale and Mocama missions on Amelia and Fort George islands. In the hours prior to the assault on their mission communities, the natives fled the region for safer surroundings near St. Augustine. Although Charles Arnade’s (1959: 15, 21) account of the sacking of San Juan in 1702 implies that Santa Cruz still existed as a separate community, this interpretation is incorrect and based on a later map (discussed later and depicted in fig. 15.3). However, it is possible that the former mission location contained a small sentinel post at this time. Spanish documents suggest that a refugee community known as Pilijiriba surfaced on the south bank of the St. Johns River after Moore’s raid in 1702 or 1703 (Arnade, 1960). Little is known about this community, other than the fact that it housed both Guale and Mocama Indians and that it may have contained two mission churches. By 1705 (perhaps 1704), Native Americans had again vacated extreme northeastern Florida, but this time they never returned.

WHERE IS SANTA CRUZ DE GUADALQUINI?

As was the case with its St. Simons Island counterpart, the transplanted Guadalquini mission was initially placed in the wrong area by scholars. Until the mid-1990s, it was assumed that Santa Cruz was positioned well south of the St. Johns River, in fact, within 10 mi of St. Augustine (Hann, 1990: 500). Confusion surrounding the real location of Santa Cruz stems from information provided in Jonathan Dickinson’s journal. Dickinson, an Englishman shipwrecked along the Atlantic coast of Florida in 1696, wrote of visiting the mission community of “Santa Cruce” some 3 leagues north of St. Augustine, prior to arriving at “San Wans” (San Juan) (Andrews and Andrews, 1981: 65–66). However, Dickinson was mistaken and the settlement he actually visited was not Santa Cruz, but Mission Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe de Tolomato near St. Augustine (Hann, 1996: 271; Worth, 2007a: 198).

A clue to the real locality of Santa Cruz is revealed on an undated Spanish map that Hann (1996: 298) contends was drawn between 1703 and 1705, after San Juan’s destruction by English raiders (fig. 15.3). The map shows Santa Cruz on a mainland point or bulge slightly northwest of San Juan Island (modern Fort George Island); a general location supported by other documentary references that place Santa Cruz 6 leagues south of Santa María on Amelia Island (Worth, 2007a: 198). Present-day Black Hammock Island is separated from the mainland by a thin band of salt marsh divided by a shallow tidal creek, giving an impression that it is part of the mainland. In fact, on most early maps of the area, Black Hammock Island is often represented by a large mainland projection and not as a discrete island. William Jones (1967: 2; 1985), who conducted excavations on the island in the 1960s, long suspected that the southern end of Black Hammock Island, known today as Cedar Point, was the archaeological location of Santa Cruz. The name Santa Cruz may have been bestowed upon the relocated San Buenaventura community because it was settled near the former San Juan visita (i.e., outlying mission settlement visited periodically by nonresident priest) of Vera Cruz, which likely was abandoned before 1630. In 1602, Fray Francisco Pareja reported that Vera Cruz was “half a league” (or a little more than a mile) from his residence at San Juan del Puerto. Cedar Point is a mere 1.4 mi northwest of the northern tip of Fort George Island, and within clear view. Spanish continuity in place names would suggest that the Cedar Point vicinity was known as Santa or Vera Cruz for decades prior to Guadalquini’s relocation.

Taking this information into account, archaeologically we should expect to find evidence of a late 16th/early 17th-century visita (Vera Cruz) at or close to a late 17th-century mission (Santa Cruz de Guadalquini). This appears to be exactly what we have uncovered at the southern end of Black Hammock Island. Archaeological evidence of late mission-period activity, including late 17th-century majolica, olive jar, and appreciable quantities of San Marcos, is found at the Cedar Point site (8Du81) on the southeastern side of the island (Ashley and Thunen, 2009). In contrast, vast amounts of contact-era and early mission-era San Pedro ceramics occur immediately to the west at the Cedar Point West site (8Du63). Being situated on the eastern edge of the island would have been a preferred location for the mission of Santa Cruz because it was in plain sight of both Spanish travel along the inland waterway and the mission of San Juan (fig. 15.4).

CEDAR POINT SITE: LOCATION AND BRIEF DESCRIPTION

The Cedar Point site (8Du81) is one of a series of archaeological sites at the southern end of Black Hammock Island, a leeward barrier island located approximately 6 km west of the Atlantic Ocean and 18 km east of downtown Jacksonville, Florida (fig. 15.5). The southern and eastern boundaries of the site are formed by tidal marshes, except in areas where Horseshoe Creek (natural tributary of the Intracoastal Waterway) breaks through and abuts the island edge. The northern[20] and western site boundaries are more arbitrary and contiguous with the Cedar Point North (8Du64) and Cedar Point West (8Du63) sites, respectively. Spread over these sites is evidence of more than 4000 years of intermittent occupation, spanning Late Archaic through early American plantation periods. Native habitations are revealed as widespread midden deposits that include buried shell middens and scatters, as well as densely packed, mounded shell heaps and ridges. The latter appear randomly distributed across the sites, occurring more frequently near the shoreline, but extending several hundred meters inland.

At present, much of the Cedar Point site is covered in a maritime forest of oak, magnolia, southern red cedar, and sabal palm. Sections of recent disturbance and land clearing are indicated by secondary scrub and herbaceous ground cover. Evidence of subsurface impact varies, but in most areas is restricted to the upper 20–30 cm. A paved road (Cedar Point Road) divides the northern part of the site into eastern and western halves. Its east-central section includes the location of a former 20th-century fish camp that now serves as a public boat launch. The southern part of the site once housed a series of early to mid-20th-century homes, none of which is currently standing. A network of dirt roads and dim trails facilitates movement across the site.

First recorded in 1958 on private property, the site now lies within the boundaries of the Timucuan Ecological and Historic Preserve, a 46,000-acre preserve managed by the National Park Service (NPS). Limited shovel testing of the site was performed by the University of Florida in the early 1990s (Russo, Cordell, and Ruhl, 1993). Between 2003 and 2009, the University of North Florida (UNF) devoted portions of five archaeological field schools to testing within the broad boundaries of the site. These summer projects, which involved 2–4 weeks of work, were a joint and cooperative endeavor between NPS and UNF. The 2003 field season was confined to a Late Woodland Colorinda component in the southern end of the site (Ashley, 2004), whereas the 2005–2007 and 2009 field schools focused on the site’s mission-period component to the north (Thunen, Ashley, and Rolland, 2006, Thunen, 2007; Thunen and Rolland, 2008). The following summarizes the last four field seasons.

Excavations (2005–2009)

Our work at the Cedar Point site involved systematic shovel test sampling and limited unit excavations (fig. 15.6). Fifty cm2 shovel tests were dug at 20 m intervals across the site, with reduced 10 m interval testing performed in selected areas. In all, 169 shovel tests were excavated. Units measuring 1 × 2 m were distributed across the site in locations determined by shovel test results. Factors affecting unit placement included high mission-period pottery density, presence of unique artifacts, and identification of intact features. In some places units were combined to form slightly larger blocks that ranged from 4 to 18 m2 in size. Each unit was dug in 10 cm (or fewer) levels within observable zones. Fill was dry screened through 6.35 mm hardware cloth in the field, while column and soil samples were taken to the laboratory and washed through 1.6 mm mesh. Excavations, to date, total a modest 119 m2 sample of a site area that measures about 4 ha. Unit excavations concentrated in the northeastern part of the site summed 57.3 m2.

Site Structure

Mission-period artifacts, mostly in the form of San Marcos pottery, came from an area about 2 ha in size. This location contained far less shell than areas to the north and south, which were marked by mounded shell middens dating mostly to the Woodland and early Mississippi periods, respectively. Shovel testing across this section of the site revealed a low-density scatter of discarded shell, with localized, yet thin (ca. 10–15 cm), concentrations of shell midden. It is unclear how much construction and operation of Buddy’s Fish Camp (ca. 1920–1990) altered the distribution of shell heaps across this part of the site, but block excavations revealed minimal disturbances and little modern building debris or occupational refuse was recovered. Mission-period deposits are most prevalent east of Cedar Point Road, immediately north and south of the boat ramp access road. Vertically, this is not a deeply stratified site. It is worth reiterating that the Santa Cruz mission was only occupied for 12 years. The overwhelming majority of artifacts were recovered in the upper 40 cm. Intact cultural features were identified.

Analysis of the Cedar Point ceramics shows that while Woodland, early Mississippi, and late mission-period ceramics are well represented, late Mississippi, contact, and early mission-period pottery types are rare. The latter, however, are the dominant wares at the Cedar Point West site, about 500 m to the southwest (see fig. 15.5). Mission-period pottery was easily winnowed from mixed plow-zone contexts, owing to the distinguishing characteristics of San Marcos wares and the virtual absence of a contact/early mission-period San Pedro component at the Cedar Point site. Assigning a depositional or temporal affiliation to animal bone refuse and nondiagnostic artifacts from mixed plow-zone proveniences, however, proved much more difficult and was not attempted in this study. Fortunately, mission-period subsistence information was retrieved from contextually secure shell midden layers and features. Other than identifying the horizontal distribution of mission-period artifacts within the Cedar Point site, few specifics can be offered at this time about village or mission layout. We will, however, offer some general thoughts on this topic in the following sections.

Features and Architectural Remains

Mission-period features at Cedar Point were strikingly elusive until the end of the 2007 field season when a few pitlike deposits were exposed wholly or partially in two contiguous units (units 28 and 30). These units, along with an adjacent shovel test (ST-163), together yielded San Marcos and colonoware sherds, olive jar, carbonized corn cobs, and a peach pit. In 2009 an additional 14 m2 were excavated north and south of units 28 and 30. Figure 15.7, a composite map of block C, shows a shell midden revealed at a depth of 20 cm below surface and features mapped at 40 cm below surface as a result of the 2007 and 2009 fieldwork. These features contrasted sharply with the natural yellow brown sandy subsoil.

Features 4, 7, 9, 10, and 13 are large shell-filled postholes that together form a right angle suggestive of a building corner. In reality, these postholes were filled with shell midden including mission-period artifacts. Of particular note was feature 13, which contained more than 20 San Marcos sherds, one colonoware, one majolica (Puebla Polychrome), one olive jar, one Spanish storage jar, one glass bead, one Spanish liquor bottle fragment, and one hand wrought nail, along with bone and shell (both modified and unmodified). Figure 15.8 depicts several artifacts from feature 13. Older aboriginal potsherds (e.g., St. Johns) were occasionally found in post fill as well, but were assumed to be incidental inclusions. In horizontal size, feature 10 was the smallest (45 × 52 cm) and feature 9 was the largest (93 × 70 cm). Feature 10 was also the shallowest (35 cm deep) posthole, whereas feature 9 was the deepest (83 cm). Post fill included densely packed shell that was crushed near the top of each posthole, likely due to tamping the timber into place. In most cases, it appears that flat-bottomed posts were worked into the hole at an angle, then placed upright against the opposite wall before backfilling (fig. 15.9).

Features 13, 4, 7, and 9 are aligned in a row with an orientation of 14° east of north. Feature 10 appears to be set perpendicular to the line and west of feature 13 at an angle of 284° east of north. Falling within the posthole alignment are features 3 and 8, which differed dramatically from the others in terms of composition. The former was a narrow, linear deposit nearly 1.5 m long. The central section of feature 3 had a depth of about 25 cm, although at the two ends, roughly circular areas dropped to depths of more than 40 cm. The southern dip (about 20 cm in diameter) was positioned between features 13 (east) and 10 (west). This might represent a postmold, but the feature lacked the shell midden fill of the other postholes. It did, however, contain abundant mission-period household debris including pig bones. Feature 8, on the other hand, consisted of a black, organic fill with abundant charcoal flecks, suggesting that it served as a hearth. Surprisingly, the feature yielded four glass seed beads, which were not thermally altered.

Another conspicuous deposit partly intersected by block C was a thin (10 cm) mission-period shell midden situated slightly above and immediately west and north of the right angle alignment of postholes (see fig. 15.7). This is, by far, the most productive mission-period shell midden excavated at the site to date. It was first encountered at 15–20 cm below surface and had a depth of 8–12 cm. The other features were mostly indistinguishable from the surrounding very dark gray matrix at this depth, and did not start becoming discernible until about 30–35 cm below surface. At first glance, the mission-period shell deposit appeared to be within the posthole alignment, bringing to mind some form of flooring, but the lack of shell crushing and vast amounts of refuse suggest it is a midden.

Compared to the oyster shell footers uncovered at Santa Catalina (8Na41) on Amelia Island (Saunders, 1993: 46), the shell midden appears too wide to be a sleeper or building foundation, plus the posthole alignment is set off instead of on the shell. It might represent an apron or midden along the exterior wall of a building that also served to deflect water running off the structure roof. It is somewhat similar in appearance to the walkway or “sidewalk” feature partly exposed around the convento at Santa Catalina Amelia (Saunders, 1993: 45–46), but again it appears to represent a mission-period refuse deposit. Its precise relationship to the posthole alignment is unclear at this time.

Noticeably absent from block C are daub and raw clay fragments, although a few tiny pieces of burned clay were recovered during fine-mesh screening. There is no evidence that the building had been torched, and it appears that the upright posts decayed in situ. Also lacking is architectural hardware such a nails and spikes, which were common at Santa Catalina Amelia. Because the abandonment of Santa Cruz was a deliberate and planned move to San Juan, everything worthy of reuse may have been taken when the mission’s inhabitants left. Alternatively, instead of reflecting a wattle-and-daub building or hand-hewn board structure, the posthole pattern might be associated with a more open-sided building or ramada. At this time, not enough area has been excavated to interpret with a high degree of confidence what is actually represented. More excavations are needed to expand block C and fully expose the horizontal limits of the structure.[21] Reported here for the first time was an unanticipated discovery in 2005. Following the UNF field school, NPS personnel excavated a line of shovel tests along the artificially banked western side of Cedar Point Road to document the degree of roadside impact and to assess the potential for intact subsurface deposits. The road is elevated about 50 cm above a drainage swale to the west. While excavating ST-88, several large bone fragments were encountered at a depth of 80–90 cm below surface. Subsequent to encountering these remains, the shovel test was backfilled. After consultation with NPS officials, UNF excavated a 2 m square (units 12 and 13), with ST-88 in its center, to determine if this was an isolated occurrence of human bone or an intact burial. Only the eastern halves of the units were excavated below a depth of 50 cm.

Unit excavation revealed an upper 30 cm of disturbance followed by 50 or more cm of loose, fluffy dune sand. In the extreme northeast corner of unit 12, slightly below the layer of disturbance, was an arc-shaped concentration of shell that continued into the unit’s north and east walls. Extending west from this shell feature, along the unit’s north wall, was a linear deposit of dense shell. Because we exposed only a small section of this feature, the total size, function, and period of deposition are uncertain. Moreover, the feature’s relationship, if any, to the deeper burials is not known at this time.

About 80 cm below surface, we recognized two slightly darker, yet still loose, gray-brown stains spaced about 20 cm apart. The shovel test had penetrated the larger of the two features, which now looked like a burial pit. Excavation of this feature soon exposed the articulated lower legs of an extended, supine adult burial. The upper portion of the skeleton extended eastward into the unit wall and beneath the existing asphalt road. In a separate smaller pit were the remains of an infant (full term). The burials were in surprisingly good condition given their depth, lack of shell, and exposure to acidic sand. Once the condition and the orientation of the burials were determined, NPS officials required the units to be backfilled. The skeletal materials were viewed in the field by UNF bioarchaeologist Gordon Rakita prior to reburial. The only artifact recovered during excavation was a black, barrel-shaped glass bead from the loose sand well above the burial.

Although excavations were too limited to determine with certainty the cultural affiliation of the interments, burial style and orientation, location within the site’s mission-period component, lack of grave goods or coffin hardware, and presence of small pieces of raw clay in the burial pit fill suggest it is more likely associated with the mission of Santa Cruz than with later plantation or American period occupation of the island. Raw clay has been observed in the mission-period burial pits at Santa Catalina (8Na41) on Amelia Island (Saunders, 1993: 53) and San Juan del Puerto (8Du53) (Gorman, 2008b: 8). It is surmised that pieces of raw clay are inadvertently included in pit fill as a result of burials dug through the clay floor of a church by the mission’s residents. It is worth noting that preparations are currently under way to conduct a GPR survey of this area.

BRIEF COMMENT ON SUBSISTENCE

The villagers of Santa Cruz relied mainly on the natural bounty of the local estuarine salt marsh and maritime hammock environments (table 15.1). With creeks situated literally outside their front door, fishing was a focal point of subsistence, as demonstrated by the recovery of small seatrout, mullet, catfish, redfish, and drum. Oyster is the dominant species in mission-period middens/features followed by quahog and marsh clam, stout tagelus, and Atlantic ribbed mussel, all harvested from the adjacent mudflats and salt marshes. Terrestrial and wetland turtles were also collected and eaten. They hunted or trapped deer, raccoon, opossum, rabbit, squirrel, and bird. The only domesticated animal conclusively identified to date is pig. The primary skeletal elements of pig recovered consist of low-meat portions of the carcass, namely toes, possible butchered vertebrae, and teeth. Evidence of other meatier body parts is likely hidden in the high numbers of shattered long bone indistinguishable from deer.

The villagers at Santa Cruz not only hunted and gathered, but farmed. At present, an ethnobotanical study has yet to be undertaken of the carbonized plant remains from the site, but a cursory inspection identified charred hickory hulls, peach pits, oval beanlike seeds, and maize cobs, kernels, and cupules. In a metric analysis of 42 charred cob fragments from block C, UNF student Mike Foster (2009) determined an average cob width of 14.1 mm and cupule width of 8.4 mm (and an adjusted cupule width of 9.6 mm to compensate for shrinkage due to carbonization). Sixty-nine percent of the cobs contain 8 rows.

MISSION PERIOD MATERIAL CULTURE

With additional excavations planned for the near future, our aim here is to provide a general inventory of the site’s historic artifacts, aboriginal ceramics, and items of modified bone and shell. With regard to pottery, we report baseline information on the range and percentages of San Marcos surface decorations. We also present the results of a preliminary study of San Marcos and colonoware vessel forms based on sherd samples derived mostly from our 2009 excavation of block C. A more comprehensive ceramic analysis of the entire assemblage is currently under way.

European Artifacts

The mission-period material culture of the Cedar Point site includes a variety of European manufactured items (table 15.1). In terms of ceramics, coarse earthenwares (e.g., olive jar, storage jar, green bacin) are much more prevalent than tablewares (e.g., majolica). Although 37 storage jar fragments were recovered, the majority were from block B and might be part of a single vessel. Recognized types of majolica consist of Puebla Polychrome, Aucilla Polychrome, Aranama, or Abo Polychrome, all of which postdate 1650 (fig. 15.10). Most of these tablewares are lip fragments, suggesting that the remaining vessel bodies were still usable. Metal artifacts include a small collection of hand-wrought rose head nails and two brass objects. Other than a coil-shaped piece of brass jewelry accoutrement, the most notable metal artifact is a brass sacred heart of Jesus finger ring (fig. 15.11), similar to the one found at Santa Catalina de Guale on the Georgia coast (Thomas, 1988a: 99; Deagan, 2002: 83). Eleven glass seed beads (aqua, pale green, or blue in color) were recovered from features in block C, and a black glass bead was retrieved from the same unit as the human burials (but well above them). A few dark green liquor bottle fragments, including one modified into a punchlike tool, a gunflint, and four kaolin pipe fragments round out the assemblage of historic artifacts from the Cedar Point site.

Modified Bone and Shell

An interesting aspect of the site’s mission-period faunal assemblage is the large number of modified pieces of animal bone. Such artifacts are rarely reported or discussed for mission sites, which usually focus on more formalized tools of European origin (see Jefferies and Moore, this volume, chap. 13 for a similar discussion). Table 15.2 presents the percentages of modified bone by animal class from the 2009 block C excavations. Two-hundred and thirty-nine bone fragments (739.43 g) show direct and/or indirect evidence of alteration as the result of secondary human use. Modified or utilized bone often displays multiple evidence of use-wear. This situation suggests that block C might represent a living or activity area where expedient bone tools were modified, utilized, and discarded.

The most common form of surface alteration is polishing (53% of modified bone), most frequently seen on the exterior surface of bone. Interior crushing of epiphyseal bone structures as the result of hafting was rarely observed, although interior polishing hints at this attachment process. Exterior surface attrition along shaft fragments (22%) in the form of pitting, loss of thin layers of compact bone, lash scars, or areal abrasion offers indirect evidence of the side effects of tip use. Another category of tool use is suggested by a few of the long bones, which are medially split (8%) and likely employed as broad flat-edge scrapers. Though they varied in length, the linearly split edges are noticeably smoothed.

The ends of many long bones show a repeated pattern of “knapping” to form a tapered point, roughly 2–4 cm long (16%). The extreme tips of these punchlike objects are often snapped, but side-wear reveals light polish. One redfish pectoral spine (midspine to anterior tip) is highly polished. Few double pointed tools were recovered. The inhabitants of Santa Cruz also purposefully fashioned a variety of rough, but efficient smaller hand tools (26%). V-shaped tips, although reminiscent of spokeshave scarring, are cut deeper into the bone circumference. V-shaped use-wear is concentrated on the bone exterior and base of the V. Often thermally altered, round-tipped bone implements were identified. Again, tip-beveling from use is seen on the exterior of this type of tool. U- and C-shaped tips or side-modifications are less frequent. Also observed were squarish wedge-shaped tips and asymmetrical side-wear scrapers in which wear evidence is visible on the interior of the surviving bone.

Single side-notching was noted on 5% of the tool fragments. Notches are frequently associated with hafting scars. Fine cut marks and hacked or cleanly severed butchering cuts (25%) suggest contact with Spanish metal. Only 3% of the modified bone displayed drilled holes. Finally, few modified bone pieces appear to have served as personal adornment. Only one partial bone pin and one possible bird-bone bead were identified. The small pin fragment reveals modest incising and a partial drill hole. Given the amount of shatter of deer metapodials, perhaps the initial construction of a pin took place in this area with finishing performed elsewhere.

Quahog and marsh clams also were chosen for detail-oriented work. One-hundred eight (1487.6 g) whole and fragmented clams bear lip and/or edge wear. Small spokeshave lip indentions are found on 62 shells; multiple notches on a single shell are rarely observed. Perpendicular lip abrasions are more common on the shell exterior. Clams were also fashioned into square or rectangular spacing or scraping tools (N = 50) with two or more worn sides. Eight clams display deep V- or U-shaped scars similar to those observed on bone tools.

Aboriginal Pottery Assemblage

By far the dominant artifact category is aboriginal pottery. UNF excavations to date have yielded 2706 aboriginal potsherds, of which 1373 (50.1%) are San Marcos and 188 (6.9%) are colonowares. The remaining 43% of the collection consists of earlier Woodland and Mississippi period pottery types; contact-period San Pedro wares are rare. Because San Marcos wares are so easy to separate from the earlier pottery types (e.g., St. Johns, St. Marys, and San Pedro) recovered from the site, we have an essentially pure mission-period ceramic assemblage dated to 1684–1696. This represents the most tightly dated assemblage along the Atlantic coast. It offers a benchmark against which to compare other late 17th-century San Marcos/Altamaha assemblages (see Jefferies and Moore, chap. 13 and Thompson et al., chap. 16, this volume). With this in mind, we use the same stylistic and technological attributes and surface decoration categories as Saunders (2000a, 2009) to facilitate comparisons with the San Marcos ceramic collection from the relocated Guale mission of Santa Catalina de Amelia (1683–1702) at the Harrison Homestead site.[22]

Exterior surface decorations associated with San Marcos wares from the Cedar Point site include plain, burnished, stamped, check stamped, incised, and other (table 15.3). The latter consists mostly of unidentified surfaces. The preponderance of sherds falls into the stamped category, which includes simple stamped, cross simple stamped, line blocked, complicated stamped (rectilinear, curvilinear, and unidentified), and unidentified stamped. Simple and cross-simple stamped make up 36.6% of the entire assemblage by count (34.2% by weight) and 49.2% of the stamped category by count (44.3% by weight). Line blocked comprises 11.6% of the entire assemblage by count (14.5% by weight) and 15.6% of the stamped category by count (18.9% by weight). Complicated stamped sherds exhibit very similar results, comprising 11.4% of the entire assemblage by count (15.5% by weight) and 15.3% of the stamped category by count (20.1% by weight). Nearly equal amounts of rectilinear and curvilinear complicated stamped were recovered. The central or raised dot element of line blocked or complicated stamped patterns (fig. 15.12) is evident on 15 sherds (1.1%), less than half the 2.3% recorded for Santa Catalina Amelia (Saunders, 2009: 105).

Table 15.4 presents the totals for each of the five major exterior surface decoration categories. Stamped comprises an impressive 84% of the San Marcos assemblage in terms of both weight and count. Plain surfaces are next at 10% by count and 8.6% by weight, followed by minor amounts of check stamped, incised, and burnished. Table 15.5 shows how the Cedar Point site (Santa Cruz) assemblage compares to that of the Harrison Homestead site (Santa Catalina Amelia). The percentages of incising and check stamping are very similar, but the proportion of stamped to plain/burnished surfaces differs markedly. The Cedar Point site displays significantly more stamped and fewer plain and burnished surface decorations than Harrison Homestead.

The only other late San Marcos assemblage with comparable data is 8SJ3190, located a few miles north of St. Augustine in St. Johns County, Florida (Smith, Handley, and Ferrell, 2004). This site is believed to represent the short-lived Guale-Mocama refugee village of Capuaca (1702–1710). Testing of locus 5 at 8SJ3190 produced 331 San Marcos sherds, of which 89.4% were stamped, 5.7% were plain, and 4.8% were punctated (Smith, Handley, and Ferrell, 2004: 216). The latter were actually stamped rim sherds with hollow tool punctations, bringing the total amount of stamped wares in the assemblage to 94.3%. A developing trend among late 17th- and early 18th-century San Marcos assemblages is the increasing proportion of stamped relative to plain wares.

At present, the best evidence for a structure or activity area at the Cedar Point site comes from block C. Table 15.6 provides a comparison of surface decorations between block C at Cedar Point and the proposed “aboriginal structure” and “kitchen” of Santa Catalina de Amelia. These latter two contexts were selected for comparison because of their high incidence of stamped wares. The percentage of stamped wares for block C is higher than that for both Santa Catalina contexts. Although all categories vary, the general surface decoration profile for block C is more in line with the Santa Catalina “kitchen” than any other provenience there. Labeling the structure at block C “kitchen” is a little premature at this time. But the presence of domestic refuse in the form of a shell midden, the high incidence of expedient bone and shell tools, and the possibility that the structure was open-sided does not preclude such an interpretation. A GPR survey and excavations to expand block C are part of a research design to be submitted to NPS in the near future.

With respect to San Marcos vessel forms and sizes, currently available data for the Cedar Point site derive from a sample of 30 rims from block C (table 15.7). Simple vessels representing hemispherical or straight-walled construction and incurving globular bowls are the most common. Carinated, excurvate, or open rim forms—while recognized less often—were produced in similar size ranges and median vessel sizes. In most cases not enough vessel sherds were available to reconstruct wall length in order to distinguish bowl from jar forms. Unidentified (UID) rim sherds typically were large enough to determine orifice diameter, but not deep enough to register form. The vast majority of vessels recovered near the block C structure are medium-sized containers (11–30 cm orifice diameters). These make up 70% of the measurable ceramic data. The smallest measurable rims are 10 cm in diameter (both for simple rims), and two large vessels (1 open and 1UID form) are 52 cm in diameter. Median vessel sizes are tightly clustered between 16 and 24 cm. It appears that both storage and cooking needs were satisfied by moderate-sized containers that could be moved with little trouble or easily sealed against the elements.

Besides San Marcos pottery, colonowares are part of the site’s mission-period assemblage. Colonowares reflect the negotiated interaction between native women and Spanish male administrators, soldiers, colonists, and friars to reproduce aspects of Spanish culture in La Florida (H. Smith, 1948, 1951; Deagan, 1983). As a result, Spanish medieval serving or tableware forms, such as inflected brimmed bowls or deep plates, mugs and pitchers, and candlesticks were manufactured by aboriginal potters using local clays and generations-old vessel building and firing techniques. Some of these forms exhibit European-style foot rings. Other traits often associated with colonowares include burnishing—especially interior surfaces—and red slipping (a solution of nonlocally available hematite finely ground and mixed with water and clay). At Cedar Point, these finishing techniques varied in application. It was not unusual to recover sherds from a brimmed vessel on which red filming had been applied only above the point of inflection. Occasionally we find small, simple rim sherds with painted zoned red-film interiors that visually mimic an inflected brim. These faux-brimmed bowls, which we consider colonowares, are usually highly burnished.

To date, 188 (869.6 g) sand- or grit-tempered colonoware sherds have been recovered from the Cedar Point site. Combining these numbers with those of the San Marcos series, colonowares represent 12% of the total mission-period pottery assemblage by count and 7.3% by weight. More than half of the colonowares were recovered from block C (59% by count and 63% by weight). The majority of colonoware sherds represent either the thickened or reinforced points of brim or plate marley inflection or small chips of vessel lips. The numbers of lip fragments and incomplete marleys strongly suggest that, although chipped, the container remained serviceable and continued to be used. No foot rings or candlesticks have been recovered from the Cedar Point West site, although we did uncover three mug or pitcher handles, including one from block C. Table 15.8 summarizes the results of a formal analysis of 71 colonoware sherds recovered from block C in 2009. Included in this analysis are 11 complete plate marley (inflection to lip) sherds from outside block C, which were added to provide information on a wider range of formal stylistic choices associated with colonowares.

As shown in table 15.8, both brimmed bowls and plates were constructed in largely the same diameter sizes (average = 20 cm); the same average diameter size is true for the San Marcos sample (see table 15.7). The main difference between bowls and plates is wall depth. Likewise, the two forms exhibit comparable lip thicknesses. Although the present sample is small, brim and marley widths appear more disparate. Marley depths ranged from 19 to 36 mm. Sherd thickness also varies between the two forms. With a measurement taken below the thickened interior part of the brim, the thickness of brimmed bowl sherds averaged 6.7 mm. Plate sherd thickness, taken from below the inflection point separating the marley and the base, averaged 7.5 mm. This probably reflects greater reinforcement of a cantilevered marley versus an upright or only slightly excurvate brim. In somewhat of a contrast, San Marcos sherd thickness and vessel sizes are far more diverse. For example, San Marcos sherds from block C range from 4.1 to 17.3 mm, with an average thickness of 8.2 mm. Theoretically, the same potters were producing both types and staying true to each tradition.

Exterior surface treatments were especially difficult to identify on plate forms. Pressing a carved paddle onto the inflected underside of a plate was certainly more challenging than decorating a straight-walled simple bowl, yet the stamping tradition persisted on colonowares. Simple stamped and cross simple stamped (11%) and unidentified stamped (13%) were most prominent among colonowares in block C. Across the site, however, a far greater number of plain colonoware surfaces were documented (26%), while simple and cross simple stamped (14%) and unidentified stamped patterns (17%) were recovered in comparable numbers.

The frequency of interior surface finishing for colonoware bowls varies from that of San Marcos bowls. Sixty-nine percent of the colonoware bowls from block C are burnished, while 31% display interior surfaces with hard-tooled or less compacted finishes. San Marcos wares from block C reveal a different ratio. For this type, there is a higher percentage of less compacted surfaces (59%) versus burnished interiors (41%).

CONCLUSIONS

If we step back from the Georgia Bight for a moment and take a broader look at Spanish missionization of the Americas, the Mocama come to serve as another example of the myriad ways indigenous groups responded to European presence. Although we know that the Mocama’s (or more broadly, Timucua’s) entanglement with the Spanish ended in their fading from the American landscape, details of how the final century and a half of their history unfolded are far from certain. Case after case of culture contact in the New World has shown that the process of colonization did not play out in an orderly and predictable manner. One reason for this should be obvious: Native Americans were active agents in the colonial experience. And theirs was an agency that varied along many lines including gender, status, age, and ethnicity (Lightfoot, 1995; Silliman, 2005a, 2005b; Thompson et al., this volume, chap. 16). A recognition of native agency should not lead us to discount the active role of differing priests, soldiers, and colonial officials in the colonial encounter.

Living within a colonial setting constrained by forces of exploitation, oppression, and population decline, the historic Mocama negotiated a new tradition by making choices and invoking actions that transformed and redefined their way of life. Although the Mocama of Guadalquini were perceived by the Spanish as mission Indians, they retained an identity that was not Spanish, and in the process, they continued to distinguish themselves from the Guale along the north Georgia coast and from other coeval native converts to Catholicism in La Florida. Even after a century of Spanish mission life, and against a turbulent cultural backdrop marked by the threat of French piracy and British-backed slave raiding, Guadalquini refused to heed to the Spanish plea to move their community to Mission San Juan del Puerto. Instead, they reestablished themselves near San Juan but in a new location that afforded them a degree of social and political autonomy.

Archaeology holds the potential to provide valuable insights into the culture–building process during the mission period; that is, how local native groups internalized the process of European colonization through accommodation, resistance, integration, and even hybridization. Because all contact situations are complex and uniquely conditioned by the social and historical processes specific to the groups involved, we must approach colonial encounters from a long-term historical perspective that crosses the divide between prehistory and history (Lightfoot, 1995). We must also keep in mind that Spanish experiences throughout the Americas also led to an array of ways in which they dealt with indigenous populations that varied across time and space. Not all colonial encounters were the same and the specific courses these interactions followed were far from uniform. These local stories add to the broader effort to decolonize the archaeology of European contact and colonization.

Casting postcontact indigenous societies as watered-down versions of what they once were renders them passive and denies them any culture-making ability. Mocama life under the mission bell in the 1680s clearly differed from that first encountered by the French in the 1560s, as they instructed converts to Catholicism and Spanish moral codes and devoted more time to maize farming. But change is nothing new, because culture is always in motion and its formation is always a mediation between local and large-scale processes (Wolf, 1982). An emphasis on local histories and processes should not preclude comparisons because the archaeology of culture contact and colonialism is well-suited to a comparative approach. Only through cross-cultural comparison are we able to “discuss some of the real commonalities” experienced by native communities and Europeans throughout the Americas (Silliman, 2005a: 274).

In this chapter, we have considered the contact period social landscape of the Atlantic coast of southern Georgia and northern Florida and reviewed the history of Mission San Buenaventura y Santa Cruz de Guadalquini from its establishment on St. Simons Island (Georgia) during the early 17th century to its movement to northeastern Florida and final abandonment in 1696. While the mission was occupied categorically by Timucua speakers during its nearly century-long existence, we are less convinced that the late prehistoric occupants of St. Simons Island (Guadalquini) were Mocama. Our assessment of the archaeological record of the Georgia coast suggests that the island’s precontact inhabitants were rooted in the Irene archaeological culture—not just manufacturing Irene pottery—likely making their cultural affiliation Guale not Timucua (Mocama). The social geography of the middle Georgia coast was altered in ways that we still do not fully comprehend as a result of European contact, native rebellion, and missionization. As Kent Lightfoot (1995: 207) puts it, “[w]ithout a solid grounding in prehistory, it may be impossible to determine the timing, magnitude, and sources of changes involved [in cases of European contact], and to evaluate whether significant cultural transformations were really taking place.”

On the basis of archaeological and documentary evidence, it seems very likely that the original San Buenaventura mission was located at the southern tip of St. Simons Island in the general vicinity of the modern lighthouse. We are more confident of the archaeological location of the relocated mission (renamed Santa Cruz), which we contend is at the Cedar Point site on southern Black Hammock Island, Florida. Though our work at the site has been limited to 119 m2, it has been quite productive. We have identified and bounded the primary spatial concentration of San Marcos pottery, recovered a range of mission-period artifacts, identified a burial area, and partly exposed a structure. The research potential of the site is immense, and our future plans are to resume broad-scale excavations to better understand the physical layout of the entire mission community and daily life of a refugee community trying to reestablish itself in a time of grave uncertainty.

Figure 15.1. Georgia and northeastern Florida coast, including historic Mocama and Guale territories.

Figure 15.2. The Georgia and Florida locations of San Buenaventura de Guadalquini.

Figure 15.3. Color-enhanced version of Spanish map of coastal northeastern Florida, ca. 1705, with red arrow

pointing to Santa Cruz and to San Juan.

Figure 15.4. Map of northeastern Florida, giving location of sites mentioned in the text.

Figure 15.5. Archaeological sites at the southern end of Black Hammock Island.

Figure 15.6. Cedar Point site map.

Figure 15.7. Composite plan map of block C. Feature 13 is circled.

Figure 15.8. Feature 13 artifacts: A, olive jar; B, Puebla polychrome majolica; C–D, San Marcos complicated stamped.

Figure 15.9. Feature 7 profile, view to the south.

Figure 15.10. A, Abo polychrome; B-C, Puebla polychrome, D, Majolica

Figure 15.11. Brass finger ring, unit 10.

Figure 15.12. San Marcos line blocked with raised dot.

TABLE 15.1. Historic Artifacts from the Cedar Point Site

Block B

Block C

Other units

Shovel tests

TOTAL

Sum

Weight (g)

Sum

Weight (g)

Sum

Weight (g)

Sum

Weight (g)

Sum

Weight (g)

Historic ceramics:

Olive jar

18

191.3

11

588.0

2

53.0

3

33.1

34

865.4

Storage jar

35

413.0

2

4.7

—

—

—

—

37

417.7

Green bacin

—

—

—

—

3

97.5

—

—

3

97.5

Coarse earthenware

—

—

9

4.7

—

—

—

—

9

4.7

Majolica

8

8.0

4

12.1

2

3.1

5

5.9

19

29.1

Total

61

612.3

26

609.5

7

153.6

8

39.0

102

1414.4

Metal artifacts:

Hand-wrought nails

4

22.6

2

19.6

—

—

—

—

6

42.5

Unidentified nails

—

—

—

—

—

—

5

80.1

5

80.1

Brass finger ring

—

—

—

—

1

2.1

—

—

1

—

Brass ornament

—

—

—

—

1

1.0

—

—

1

1.0

Glass:

Green bottle

—

—

4

6.1

—

—

—

—

4

6.1

Modified fragment

—

—

1

3.1

—

—

—

—

1

3.1

Beads

—

—

11

.04

1

1.5

—

—

12

1.54

Lithic:

Gunflint

—

—

1

3.5

—

—

—

—

1

3.5

Kaolin pipe:

Bowl

1

4.9

—

—

—

—

—

—

1

4.9

Stem

3

7.7

—

—

—

—

1

0.7

4

8.4

TABLE 15.2. Faunal Remains and Modified Bone from Block C (2009)

Classes

Comments

Total Bone

Modified Bone

Sum (%)

Weight (%)

Sum (%)

Weight (%)

Mammals

Deer, pig, large and medium mammals; rarely mink, opossum, raccoon, squirrel, small rodent

17.0

69.3

50.6

91.1

Birds

Medium and very large

2.0

1.9

2.5

0.3

Reptiles

Snake; small, medium, large pond turtles, gopher tortoise; alligator

8.5

8.8

1.3

0.2

Bony fish

Seatrout, mullet, catfish, redfish and drum

39.8

4.9

1.3

0.1

Cartilaginous fish

Rays only

0.2

0.1

0.0

0.0

Invertebrates

Crab claws

0.2

0.0

0.0

0.0

Unidentified bone

32.3

14.9

44.4

8.2

TOTAL

100.0

99.9

100.1

99.9

TABLE 15.3. San Marcos Surface Decorations, Cedar Point Site

Count

Weight (g)

Sum

%

Sum

%

Plain

121

8.8

847.8

7.8

Burnished

16

1.2

130.4

1.2

Simple stamped

208

15.2

1202.9

11.1

Cross simple stamped

294

21.4

2510.4

23.1

Line blocked

159

11.6

1575.9

14.5

Complicated stamped (curvilinear)

38

2.8

378.5

3.5

Complicated stamped (rectilinear)

34

2.5

459.2

4.2

Complicated stamped (unidentified)

84

6.1

844.3

7.8

Stamped with punctations

16

1.2

102.8

1.0

Stamped (unidentified)

188

13.7

1300.6

12.0

Check stamped

36

2.6

330.8

3.1

Incised

20

1.5

217.5

2.0

Other

159

11.6

959.1

8.8

TOTAL

1373

100.2

10854.9

100.1

TABLE 15.4. Five Major Categories of San Marcos Surface Decorations

Count

Weight (g)

Sum

%

Sum

%

Plain

121

10.0

847.8

8.6

Burnished

16

1.3

130.4

1.3

Stamped

1021

84.1

8374.6

84.6

Check stamped

36

3.0

330.8

3.3

Incised

20

1.6

217.5

2.2

Total

1214

100.0

9895.8

100.0

TABLE 15.5. Cedar Point site (Santa Cruz) and Santa Catalina Amelia Surface Decoration

Abbreviation: Ch. St. = Check Stamped.

Stamp

Plain

Burnish

Incised

Ch. St.

Total

Santa Catalina

Amelia Island, FL

a.d. 1684–1702

Sum (%)

76.1

15.7

3.9

1.4

2.9

100.0

Weight (%)

77.3

13.9

3.9

1.4

3.5

100.0

Santa Cruz

a.d. 1684–1696

Sum (%)

84.1

10.0

1.3

1.6

3.0

100.0

Weight (%)

84.6

8.6

1.3

2.2

3.3

100.0

TABLE 15.6. Surface Decorations, Block C (Cedar Point site) and the Proposed Kitchen and Aboriginal Structure at Santa Catalina Amelia

Block C

Santa Catalina

Kitchen

Santa Catalina

Aboriginal Structure

Sum (%)

Weight (%)

Sum (%)

Weight (%)

Sum (%)

Weight (%)

Plain

7.5

6.4

9.9

9.5

15.9

13.2

Burnished

2.2

1.2

3.2

3.7

2.4

4.3

Stamped

87.5

88.6

82.6

81.8

77.5

78.6

Check stamped

0.7

0.2

2.6

3.5

0.8

0.3

Incised

2.0

3.5

1.6

1.5

3.4

3.5

TOTAL

99.9

99.9

99.9

100.0

100.0

99.9

TABLE 15.7

San Marcos Rim Forms and Orifice Diame. ers, Block C (2009) Sample

Abbreviation: Med. = Median

Orifice

(cm)

Carinated

N = 5

14–26 cm

Med. = 24 cm

Excurvate

N = 2

16, 38 cm

Globular

N = 7

16–30 cm

Med. = 22

Open

N = 4

15–52 cm

Med. = 21

Simple

N = 7

10–46 cm

Med. = 16

UID

N = 5

16–52 cm

Med. = 18

Total

Sum

%

0–10

–

–

–

–

2

–

2

6.6

11–20

2

1

3

2

2

1

11

36.7

21–30

3

–

4

1

2

1

11

36.7

31–40

–

1

–

–

–

2

3

10.0

41–52

–

–

–

1

1

1

3

10.0

TOTALS

5 (16%)

2 (7%)

7 (23%)

4 (13%)

7 (23%)

5 (15%)

30

100

TABLE 15.8: Summary of Colonoware Container Forms

All sherds in the sample are from block C unless denoted with *; N = 71 sherds

Orifice Diameter (cm)

Lip thickness (mm)

Brim depth

(mm)

Brimmed Bowl

(N = 6)

N = 4

Range: 14–26

Average: 20

N = 4

Range: 4.9–5.5

Average: 5.2

N = 2

Range: 12.4, 16.4

Average: 14.4

Plate

(N = 10)

N = 7

Range: 12–24

Average: 20

N = 9

Range: 3.7–6.9

Average: 5.1

N = 11*

Range: 19.1–35.5

Average: 26

Unidentified forms (N = 4)

N = 4

Range: 12–20

Average: 12

CHAPTER 16: ENTANGLING EVENTS: THE GUALE COASTAL LANDSCAPE AND THE SPANISH MISSIONS

Victor D. Thompson, John A. Turck, Amanda D. Roberts Thompson, and Chester B. DePratter[23]

The Guale, known primarily from ethnohistoric documents, are a group of Native Americans that once inhabited the northern half of the Georgia coast during the 16th century. Like most indigenous coastal groups in the Southeast, the Guale experienced intense interactions with Europeans (Worth, 1995; Thompson and Worth, 2011). In many circumstances, these interactions and events shaped Guale lifeways. The questions of how and to what extent such encounters altered the Guale’s traditional patterns of subsistence (Ruhl, 1990, 1993; Reitz, 1993; Worth, 1995; Reitz et al., 2010), settlement (Jones, 1978; Crook, 1986; Reitz, 1988; Keene, 2004; Thomas, 2008: chap. 35), health (Larsen, 1990, 2001b), and material culture (DePratter and Howard, 1981; Saunders, 2000a; Deagan and Thomas, 2009) are the subject of ongoing research by both ethnohistorians and archaeologists (see Thompson and Worth, 2011).

While the studies previously mentioned add to our overall understanding of the Guale, they have for the most part focused on specific sites. Pearson (1977b) and Thomas (2008) have conducted some large-scale studies, but these, by and large, focus on either the large barrier islands as a whole, or data derived from large sites on the mainland and barrier islands. As a complementary perspective to these studies, we take a regional approach to exploring change and continuity among the Guale at contact by including information not only from sites on the barrier islands and the mainland, but also from the smaller islands in between, in the back-barrier area. Specifically, our research seeks to address the following question: to what extent were the traditional land use practices of the Guale altered after the arrival of the Spanish?

In order to address this question and its implications, we first briefly outline some of the theoretical considerations of our study. Specifically, we situate our research within the growing body of literature regarding colonial encounters (e.g., Silliman, 2005b; Stein, 2005; DiPaolo Loren, 2008). Next, we provide a short background on the previous research in the region with a focus on the centuries just before and after European settlement, and the establishment of the Spanish mission system. Following this, we outline our dataset and the analysis. Two main types of data are used to evaluate the research question, a regional dataset of coastal Georgia sites obtained from the Georgia Archaeological Site File (GASF), and intensive shovel test surveys of specific islands. As a supplement to the main analysis, we present excavation data from one small back-barrier island site as an additional line of evidence. From these data, we argue that while some of the Guale population continued to utilize the landscape of the coast, this land use was not as intense as during the period prior to European colonial endeavors. In the concluding section, we suggest that, despite the relatively intense debate regarding Guale settlement patterns, few have looked at them in terms of regional analysis—perhaps the most appropriate scale at which to address such an issue. Our results, beyond simply documenting shifts in land use, have implications for the way the Guale experienced and mediated colonial entanglements.

AGENCY, HISTORICAL ARCHAEOLOGY, AND COLONIAL EVENTS

For more than 40 years, colonial encounters have been an important component of archaeological research along the Georgia coast (e.g., Caldwell, 1954; Larson, 1978; see Milanich, 1999 for an overview). The work at Mission Santa Catalina de Guale on St. Catherines Island by Thomas and colleagues has perhaps had the greatest impact as the most extensive work to date has been carried out on this island. In addition, they regularly place their studies within the larger context of colonial studies (see Thomas, 1988b, 1990, 1993a, 2008 for an overview). Other older and more recent projects have also added to the information on Spanish mission period archaeology (e.g., Saunders, 2000a; Jefferies and Thompson, 2006; Gorman, 2007; Jefferies and Moore, 2009). Finally, the ethnohistoric research of Worth (2004a, 2007a) and Jones (1978) provides insight into Guale lifeways during the time that the Spanish occupied the coast.

This previous research of mission period archaeology along the Georgia coast allows us to contextualize social interaction theoretically in terms of both events and actors. Recent historical archaeology, especially “culture contact” studies, is influenced by postmodernism, deconstructionism, critical theory, gender relations, and an “overarching concern with human agency” (Deagan, 1998: 25; 2004). This specific concern with human agency is present in several studies along the Georgia coast, particularly in the work of Saunders (1998, 2000a, 2002a, 2009) regarding Guale resistance to Spanish hegemony. While we applaud this research as it brings to light the various actions and intentions of actors, recent theoretical scholarship questions traditional applications of agency (Joyce, 2004; Blanton and Fargher, 2008: 5–6). Therefore, these theoretical constructs require some modification, refinement, and exposition in the context of the current study.

Applications of agency, practice, praxis, and the like are de rigueur in anthropological historical archaeology; however, many such studies are critiqued for their lack of attention to structure (Joyce, 2004; see also Francis and Kole, 2011). In addition, the use of agency in archaeology often assumes that all social change comes from the action of individuals, usually the self-interested kind, ignoring other sources of social change (Kristiansen, 2004; Carr and Case, 2006: 36–42). Further, the majority of the time, archaeologists speak only of the agency of rulers, leaders, and the like, often neglecting the agency of commoners (see Pauketat, 2000, for an exception), as well as other agents with a diversity of interests that may or may not be self serving (Blanton and Fargher, 2008: 5–6).

Recent work by Beck et al. (2007) and Blanton and Fargher (2008) attempts to mediate many of the problems associated with previous applications of agency theory by drawing on the work of Sewell. Sewell’s (1992, 2005) refinement of agency and structure, as well as his notion that events are also sources of structural change, has implications for both method and theory in the historical archaeology of colonial encounters. Sewell (1992, 2005), as well as others, posits that agency is universal among people, rather than only limited to leaders. However, agency is not homogeneous between groups, individuals, or social systems (Sewell, 2005: 144–145; see also Beck et al., 2007: 834). That is, an agent or group of agents will vary in their ability, desire, and creativity to engender social change, as these things change across different social situations.

While Sewell’s writing on agency is important, the real contribution of his work comes in his reformulation of Giddens’s (1979) theory of structure. Like Giddens, Sewell (2005: 136) argues for a duality of structure. Sewell (2005: 136) also includes both a virtual aspect (i.e., cultural schemas) and an actual component (i.e., resources), each being the effect of the other. Schemas in this sense are mental structures (see Bourdieu, 1977). Resources, on the other hand, can be both human and nonhuman. Human resources include “strength, dexterity, knowledge, and emotional commitments,” and the like, while nonhuman resources are “objects, animate or inanimate, naturally occurring or manufactured, that can be used to enhance or maintain power” (Sewell, 2005: 133).

Sewell’s (2005: 100, 218) notion of the “event” provides the final theoretical piece that bridges historical thinking with social science concepts (Beck et al., 2007: 833; see also Bolender, 2010). As Beck et al. (2007: 833) explain, an “event is defined as a happening or encounter that transforms the articulation of social structures” and events are the “catalysts for durable structural change.” Further, events are spatial as well as temporal. Finally, it is within the context of events that agents have novel opportunities to engender change. This last point by Sewell is limited in that it only views events as providing opportunities for agency. Theoretically, this may not adequately describe the full range of social situations available to agents for enacting change. Pragmatically, for archaeology, we argue that such archaeological case studies provide some of the best data to examine these types of phenomena in the past.

Such a reformulation of agency and structure, with its focus on both virtual and actual aspects, provides a powerful framework to examine the archaeology of colonial encounters. For the Americas, we think it is safe to say that the entanglement of multiple ethnic groups (e.g., Spanish and Native Americans) that have been separated both temporally and spatially fall into Sewell’s definition of an event. In fact, we would characterize this as a specific type of an event, or series of events, which we refer to as “entanglement events.” In addition to this, however, we must consider the fact that as Silliman (2005b) points out, there are differences between short-term (e.g., first contact) and more protracted interactions (e.g., entanglements). In the case of the Georgia coast, there was a longer history of direct and sustained interactions between Native Americans and colonial groups than was the case in other areas of the American Southeast. The entanglement of Spanish colonists and Native Americans in La Florida was shaped both by long-term structures (i.e., cultural schemas) and short-term structures (i.e., resources). Changes in native and colonial cultural schemas, and changes in resources available to native people and colonists in the Georgia Bight, led to ruptures and structural transformations that are amenable to the kinds of analysis and interpretation outlined by Sewell (2005) and Beck et al. (2007).

The use of Sewell’s work has implications in historical archaeology, some of which have been voiced previously (e.g., Lightfoot, 1995). Specifically, this approach requires us to dispense with notions of “prehistory” that posit that such analyses are somehow substantively different from those where there are written records (see Beck et al., 2007: 835). Lightfoot (1995: 210) argues that the intellectual and methodological divide between historical and prehistoric archaeologists has hindered the ability of archaeology to “evaluate the full implications of Columbian consequences.” Thus, the implication of Lightfoot’s ideas, particularly for those working across event boundaries like the ones we describe here, is that there must be a methodological coherence, or as Lightfoot (1995: 211) states, an integrated research design across the so-called boundaries of “prehistoric, protohistoric, and historic” periods.

There are two relevant points in Lightfoot’s discussion regarding the divide between prehistoric and historical archaeology and the use of Sewell’s concept of event for our research along the Georgia coast. First, since Sewell’s notion of agency, structure, and event contain the view that these concepts are contingent on time and space, then the scale of analysis must incorporate multiple time frames as well as varying spatial scales. Similarly, Lightfoot (1995: 211) suggests that an integrated approach to prehistory/history necessitates “shifting the unit of analysis from the artifact ratios to the spatial organization of the archaeological record.” As such, our analysis of the Georgia coastal colonial event is multiscalar, incorporating regional, islandwide, and site-specific data. The second point relates to the treatment of historical documents in our analysis, or rather, how others have used them to characterize the Guale—specifically their mobility and settlement patterns. Sewell’s concept of the event, as structure changing, forces us to view documents, written accounts, and the like in light of this concept. Thus, we must consider the event as structure changing in any interpretation of written records. While the concept of being critical of written documents is hardly novel, flagrant abuses of direct historical analogy continue, as well as the privileging of documents over other sources of data (Lightfoot, 1995: 205–206). Further, taking this viewpoint forces us to explicitly consider the context in which the document was written, again also advocated by Lightfoot (1995: 205).

In the following section, we outline some of the major studies directly relevant to our current research. This summary will provide the background information along the Georgia coast necessary to evaluate our current arguments. Specifically, we provide information on the coastal environment followed by important research on mobility, health, and subsistence. We then present the methods and results of our regional analysis of the northern Georgia coast. Finally, we frame our concluding discussion in terms of the theoretical constructs that we previously outlined and articulate our findings with past research on this topic.

ENVIRONMENT AND BACKGROUND

The Georgia coast is composed of the tidally influenced mainland, a series of barrier islands, smaller back-barrier islands, and expanses of marsh intersected by tidal estuaries, creeks, and rivers. This area is part of a large, complex ecosystem known as the Georgia Bight, which extends from Cape Hatteras in the north to Cape Canaveral at its southernmost extent (Hubbard, Oertel, and Nummedal, 1979; Pennings et al., 2012). The Guale area of this region, at least during historical times, is thought to fall between the Savannah and Altamaha rivers, encompassing some of the larger barrier islands, such as St. Simons, Sapelo, St. Catherines, and Ossabaw (Worth, 2004a, 2007a).

It is clear from the archaeological research carried out on the large barrier islands and the coastal mainland that large villages of Guale were situated in these areas. More recent research on the smaller back-barrier islands, located in the intertidal areas between the barrier and the mainland, also indicates intensive use by the Guale people (Thompson and Turck, 2010; Turck, 2011; Thompson, Turck, and DePratter, 2013). The back-barrier environment contains numerous islands that date to the Holocene or are former Pleistocene remnants (Hoyt and Hails, 1967; Hubbard, Oertel, and Nummedal, 1979). These back-barrier islands vary in size from relatively small areas of uplands (< 1 ha) to large expanses of land covering several square kilometers (Hubbard, Oertel, and Nummedal, 1979).

Due to the relatively small amount of habitable upland area within the back-barrier area (because of the small size of many of these back-barrier islands compared to the extent of the marsh), the density of archaeological sites in this area is higher than on either the mainland or the barrier islands (Thompson, Turck, and DePratter, 2013). Native peoples occupied many of these smaller islands for much of the time from 2200 b.c. onward, indicating general intensive settlement of the Georgia coast (Thompson and Turck, 2010; Thompson, Turck, and DePratter, 2013). We highlight the marsh islands of the back-barrier environment, as they will be central to our analysis of changes in Guale land use and concomitant changes in the structure of their lifeways.

The distribution of sites in the Guale region, as well as the information gleaned from the zooarchaeological record, reveals that the individuals and groups that occupied this area had a deep knowledge of the coastal environment and its resources (Reitz, 2008; Thomas, 2008; Reitz, Quitmyer, and Marrinan, 2009; Thompson and Turck, 2009; Reitz et al., 2010). While we cannot say definitely that the Guale were the descendants of the first peoples to occupy the coast of Georgia, we can say that they were part of a coastal tradition that spanned over four millennia. It is during the Late Archaic (2200 b.c. to 1100 b.c.) that we see archaeological evidence of large-scale use of estuarine resources, such as those found at shell rings along the coast (e.g., Thompson, 2007; Colaninno, 2010; Thompson and Andrus, 2011). Despite major environmental shifts related to changes in sea level and the overall available land, the Guale and their predecessors utilized coastal resources to varying degrees (Thomas, 2008; Thompson and Turck, 2009, 2010; DePratter and Thompson, this volume, chap. 6).

Reitz et al. (2010: 176–178) nicely summarize the changes in vertebrate subsistence patterns for the Guale during the Irene Period (a.d. 1325–1580) and for the period of European occupation (a.d. 1580–1700). Largely based on work from Santa Catalina de Guale, they find that Eurasian animals were not a part of either the Spanish or Guale diet. Instead, fishes were the most common dietary resource for both groups. The use of fish as a staple resource was common among the Guale and was, most likely, part of long-term traditional subsistence practices. However, several changes were to accompany the arrival and establishment of the missions, at least from the perspective of St. Catherines Island. During the Spanish occupation of the coast, the Guale pattern shifted to incorporate fewer small-bodied fishes. Further, the Guale began to capture fish from higher trophic levels. Sea catfish (Ariidae, Ariopsis felis, Bagre marinus) were also captured with greater frequency (see Reitz et al., 2010).

In addition to certain kinds of fish, the consumption of white-tailed deer also increased during the Spanish occupation of the coast. Reitz and colleagues (2010: 162) interpret this greater reliance on deer as, in part, a product of increased demand by the Spanish. This, of course, would have an effect on traditional hunting practices of the Guale in terms of time allocation. Thus, while garden hunting most likely played a part in deer hunting, on the whole, more labor was expended than prior to the 17th century (Reitz et al., 2010: 162).

The bioarchaeological record complements many of the shifts that Reitz et al. (2010) note for the use of vertebrate fauna. Studies of the skeletal assemblages from St. Catherines Island and elsewhere along the Georgia coast by Larsen and colleagues (Larsen, 1982, 2002; Larsen and Thomas, 1982, 1986; Larsen et al., 1990, 1992, 2001; Larsen, Shavit, and Griffin, 1991; Larsen, Ruff, and Griffin, 1996; Hutchinson et al., 1998; Ruff and Larsen, 2001) have elucidated several patterns associated with the colonial event. Foremost among these are changes connected to the inclusion of maize as a greater proportion of the diet and shifts in degree of mobility of some Guale.

There is considerable debate as to the nature of pre-Hispanic maize consumption for the Guale (Thompson and Worth, 2011). While Keene (2004) documents maize in pre-Hispanic context, this study is the exception rather than the rule. This is largely because archaeologists have not systematically evaluated the archaeobotanical record for the Georgia coast (Reitz et al., 2010: 50). Therefore, we must depend on the skeletal record for insight into the degree to which farming was a part of the Guale economy. The bioarchaeological record of the Guale and their predecessors along the Georgia coast indicates an increasing reliance on maize beginning around a.d. 1150, based upon isotopic and skeletal markers (Larsen, 1982; Hutchinson et al., 1998; Larsen et al., 2001). Prior to the arrival of the Spanish, this increasing dependence on, or use of, maize led to a decline in oral health and included increases in dental caries and infections (Larsen, 2002: 64). After the arrival of the Spanish, the Guale became even more reliant on maize, and there was a decline in the consumption of the marine component relative to the terrestrial one (Larsen et al., 2001). This shift in dietary patterns, in the context of demographic collapse, engendered a precipitous decline in the overall health of the Guale (Hutchinson et al., 1998; Larsen et al., 2001; Larsen, 2002; Stojanowski, 2006).

In terms of mobility, the dietary patterns and bioarchaeological record lend insight into how the Guale made use of the broader coastal landscape. Particularly interesting is the finding that mobility among the sexes differed in some cases. At Santa Catalina de Guale, women and some men were less mobile, as indicated by skeletal markers, than their pre-Hispanic ancestors (Ruff and Larsen, 2001: 137). However, many men at the mission experienced an increased mobility when compared to the pre-Hispanic period. This is perhaps a product of the repartimiento draft labor system (Bushnell, 1981; see also Larsen et al., 2001). However, increased forays into the estuaries and small islands for subsistence resources and concomitant returns to mission settlements could also be contributing factors.

The information discussed earlier must be considered in light of opposing models of Guale settlement and subsistence, which are heavily rooted in perspectives influenced by ethnohistoric documents. Dubbed the “Guale problem” by David Hurst Thomas (Thomas, 1987: 57–64; 2008: chap. 35, 1095), the debate centers on the relative degree of Guale mobility during the pre- and postcontact eras. One view is that these groups were highly mobile, moving seasonally as they exhausted resources (Larson, 1980a; see also Steinen, 1984; Crook, 1986). Alternatively, others posit a more sedentary existence where the rich estuarine environment supplemented by maize agriculture supported large year-round villages (Pearson, 1977b, 1978; DePratter, 1978; Jones, 1978; Keene, 2002, 2004; Thompson and Worth, 2011).

The view that the Guale practiced residential mobility is largely derived from the ethnohistoric documents of the Jesuit priests that were part of the mission effort in the region (Zubillaga, 1946; Thompson and Worth, 2011) (fig. 16.1). Both Worth (1999) and Thomas (2008) reevaluate the ethnohistoric evidence in light of its climatological context as well as detailed archaeological research on Guale settlement systems, subsistence strategies, and social organization on St. Catherines Island. Worth and Thomas suggest that the Jesuits actually observed the Guale responding to both the strain brought on by climatic changes as well as stresses of the growing Spanish presence on the coast. Increased mobility on the part of coastal Native Americans may have been a deeply ingrained response to environmental stress. For example, Thompson and Turck (2009) argue that a higher degree of residential mobility was one of the ways that Early Woodland groups responded to sea level lowering around 1100 b.c. Did the Guale respond similarly to both environmental and social stressors (i.e., drought and the arrival of the Spanish)? While Worth’s and Thomas’s work provide compelling evidence to support the assertion that this is indeed the case, we provide additional lines of evidence regarding this question. Further, we offer additional insight into this question by contextualizing it within a framework that allows for a more nuanced discussion of the implications of Spanish and Guale cultural entanglements.

METHODS

In order to examine the effect that the arrival of the Spanish and the establishment of the mission system had on the Guale of the Georgia coast, we use the distribution of both sites and ceramics across the landscape to determine the extent and intensity of Guale use of the landscape. Locational data of Irene and Altamaha sites documented in the GASF database are used to assess changes in settlement patterns across the broader region. The second dataset consists of intensive surveys of several back-barrier islands along the coast of Georgia. While there are issues with extrapolating land use from the distribution of both sites and ceramics, taken together, they provide two independent lines of evidence to answer our research question.

Ceramic Background

The premission and mission ceramic types include both the Irene and Altamaha series. In general, the Irene ceramic wares date to the premission era, while Altamaha wares are a postmission phenomenon. Unfortunately, a simple pre- and postmission era designation oversimplifies the dynamics of material culture change in this case. DePratter (1984; see also Thomas, 2009a: 62) originally postulated an end date of a.d. 1550 for the Irene Period. However, recent research at Santa Elena indicates that at least for some areas of the Georgia Bight, Irene Period ceramics continue to be made well into the historic period, suggesting a later end date of a.d. 1580 (DePratter, 1991, 2009).

For the central to northern Georgia coast, the transition from Irene to Altamaha designs may have been abrupt according to research on St. Catherines Island (Thomas, 2008, 2009a; Saunders, 2009: 86). Thomas (2009a: 62) notes the upper 1σ range of available radiocarbon dates associated with Irene ceramics appears to be cal a.d. 1530. Saunders’s (2000a, 2009: 83, 86) research also suggests a rapid change from the filfot cross designs of the Irene ceramics to the less complicated cross simple stamped designs of Altamaha ceramics. Indeed, she posits that this change may have occurred within one generation of pottery between a.d. 1580 and 1595 (2009: 86).

For our purposes, following DePratter (1991, 2009; see also Thomas, 2009a), we recognize the historic date of a.d. 1580 as the terminal date of the Irene Period. While Irene ceramics continue to be fashioned to some degree, Altamaha series ceramics become more prevalent and dominant in most assemblages. This is not only the case for the central to northern Georgia coast, but also for the southern Georgia coast and northern Florida, where Altamaha (also called San Marcos) ceramics were produced (Ashley, 2009; Saunders, 2009). The ending date for the Altamaha ceramic range, according to the radiocarbon dates from St. Catherines Island, falls between cal a.d. 1660 and cal a.d. 1800 (Thomas, 2009a: 79). While the radiocarbon dates indicate a broader range, we use here the historically derived date of a.d. 1700 following DePratter (1991) and Thomas (2009a: 79).

GASF Database

During the 1970s and early 1980s, DePratter instituted an extensive shoreline survey of the Georgia coast. This research involved geoarchaeological research as well as archaeological survey (e.g., DePratter and Howard, 1980). The survey methodology included traveling by boat to small islands, mapping sites visible in surface and shoreline exposures, and extensive probing to find and map buried shell deposits. The survey crew collected artifacts and recorded collection locations. All artifacts were then classified, and all information was recorded in the GASF database. Since this time, many more site data have been added to this database. Thus the GASF database from March of 2010 was used to obtain site location data for the distributional analysis in this chapter. These data reveal a broad perspective on the use of the landscape by the Guale and their ancestors.

Island Survey and Excavation

In order to examine how intensively the Guale utilized the landscape, data from back-barrier islands were also analyzed. In 2007, Thompson instituted a survey project for the Georgia coast that focused on back-barrier islands (also called marsh islands or hammocks). This project was specifically designed to complement the shoreline survey conducted by DePratter. To date, four islands along the central Georgia coast have been surveyed, including Little Sapelo Island (44.9 ha), Pumpkin Hammock (3.3 ha), Patterson Island (18.2 ha), and Mary Hammock (10.4 ha) (fig. 16.2). Thompson and Turck (2010) provide a broad discussion of the specific methodology and the long-term occupational history of these islands (e.g., Late Archaic through historic period). Briefly, the field crew conducted shovel test probes at 20 m intervals across entire islands. These shovel tests were 50 cm in diameter and were excavated until two sterile (ca. 20 cm) levels were encountered.

To supplement these survey data, small-scale excavations and mapping were conducted on Pumpkin Hammock. These excavations included small (1 × 2 m) units in middens, as well as a trench (10 m2) through one of the larger shell midden piles on the island. The purpose of these excavations was to determine the time frame of the greatest midden accumulation on the island. We deemed such information significant to the overall question of how the economic importance of resources (including islands in general) changed over time, specifically with regard to the early historic contact period.

RESULTS

GASF Database

There are 312 sites dating to the Late Mississippian Period on the northern Georgia coast from Jekyll Island and north (fig. 16.3). Of those sites, only 12.8% (N = 40) were continually occupied into the contact period. In other words, only 40 sites have evidence of both Irene and Altamaha ceramics. Thus, 87.2% (N = 272) of the Late Mississippian sites are abandoned at the time of contact. In addition, 37 new Native American historic contact period sites were established (i.e., 37 sites have Altamaha, but no Irene, ceramics) (fig. 16.4). Part of the explanation for this pattern may be due to the abandonment of the northern Georgia coast in the 1500s, or as early as a.d. 1450 (see Anderson, 1994: 249 for a discussion about the Savannah River Valley), resulting in sites in this region not having an Altamaha component. However, site file data indicate that there are, in fact, seven sites with Altamaha components in this area.

Survey information from St. Catherines Island (as part of the GASF database) was also analyzed as a more detailed example of the GASF locational data (figs. 16.5 and 16.6). Of the 66 Late Mississippian sites on St. Catherines Island, only 12.1% (N = 8) are continually occupied into the contact period, with 87.9% (N = 58) of the sites no longer used. Only three new Native American historic contact period sites were established, and they are all associated with the Santa Catalina mission (i.e., within 100 m of the mission).

Island Survey and Excavation

On three of the four back-barrier islands surveyed, there was a large drop in the number of sherds between the Late Mississippian Period and the historic contact period. The respective differences for each of these islands are as follows: Little Sapelo Island (Late Mississippian N = 247; Historic Contact, N = 17), Mary Hammock (Late Mississippian N = 130; Historic Contact, N = 5), and Patterson Island (Late Mississippian N = 82; Historic Contact, N = 8). This suggests that while there was not a complete abandonment of these islands, there was a marked decline in the intensity of occupation (using sherd count as a proxy for intensity of occupation).

In contrast, the survey on Pumpkin Hammock revealed a slight increase in the number of sherds between the Late Mississippian Period (N = 5) and the historic contact period (N = 16). While excavation of a shell midden on this island revealed a large amount of both Irene and Altamaha ceramics, there are actually slightly more Irene ceramics (table 16.1). This indicates a similar intensity of occupation during the Late Mississippian and historic contact periods on Pumpkin Hammock (again using sherd count as a proxy). In addition, the basal date for the shell midden is cal a.d. 1410 to 1470 at the 2σ level, indicating that midden accumulation began during the middle of the Late Mississippian period (see Thompson and Roberts Thompson, 2010). This suggests that intensive occupation of this part of the island occurred during the Late Mississippian and early historic contact periods.

ENTANGLEMENT EVENTS

Does the archaeological record indicate substantial continuity in pre- and postcontact use of the broader landscape by the Guale? Based on our analysis, the answer is no. As such, we should not take the ethnohistoric Jesuit descriptions of Guale mobility, outlined earlier in our background section, as being representative of their land use practices prior to contact (i.e., with Irene phase sites). As both Worth (1999) and Thomas (2008: 1095) note, the idea that the Guale were highly mobile must be considered in the context of climatic changes as well as stresses the Spanish placed on these populations as a result of missionization. While some Guale used new areas of the landscape after the arrival of the Spanish, many areas were abandoned. Furthermore, where the Guale continued utilizing the landscape, it was not as intensive as during the precontact time frame (e.g., on back-barrier marsh islands).

Given what we know from the ethnohistoric and the archaeological records regarding Guale practices in the context of the arrival of Spanish missionaries and the mission system, how do we talk about this event in a meaningful way? We argue that the Beck et al. (2007) application of Sewell’s reformulation of agency into cultural resources and cultural schemas provides the necessary framework to explore some of the more nuanced aspects of the changes we observe on the coast of Georgia.

As we suggested at the outset of this chapter, Spanish contact with the Guale qualifies as an event in terms of Sewell’s definition, because the establishment of the mission system engendered considerable lasting structural change. We take this one step further and argue that this actually represents a very specific kind of event or series of events: an entanglement event. Such events are defined as happenings that engender significant structural changes in multiple communities whose individual histories were, prior to this point, independent of one another. Finally, while individual agents vary, relationships and interactions within these communities have overarching themes of hegemony and subjugation that are expressed physically, ideologically, and/or economically. Though the initial settlement attempts by the ill-fated Ayllón expedition in 1526, as well as settlements outside the immediate area, such as Santa Elena in 1566, were important to understanding the overall process of interaction, they fall under what Silliman (2005) calls short-term encounters, rather than the protracted interactions that we discuss here. In addition, while there is interaction between these groups, such events do not engender the intimate and intertwined histories emphasized here that affect both indigenous and colonial agents alike. We now return to our question: how did individuals and groups negotiate these events?

To some degree, we can conceptualize the entanglement event in terms of Sewell’s (2005: 133) notions of cultural resources and schemas. Given what we know about the archaeological record of the Georgia coast at this time, we view the back-barrier area as a significant cultural resource for the Guale in terms of negotiating tensions created by the mission system. The natural resources available here (which included terrestrial, marsh, and estuarine species) would have provided the Guale with the necessary actual resources to react to the Spanish presence on the coast in a variety of ways.

Based on our analysis here and in previous studies (Thompson and Turck, 2010), we find that, prior to Spanish contact, the Guale (or rather, their Late Mississippian counterparts) intensively occupied the back-barrier landscape, with probable settled villages on the larger marsh islands. After Spanish contact, our analysis indicates a large reduction in the utilization and/or occupation of these islands. While occupation also continued in other areas, for the most part, the Guale’s archaeological footprint over the broader landscape is greatly reduced. This is seen as an abandonment of a large number of sites throughout the coastal zone. In addition, only a small number of new areas were settled. Some of this new settlement was associated with mission locales, as seen with our analysis on St. Catherines Island. Taken together with the idea that the ethnohistorically known Guale were fairly mobile, we suggest that this mobility was a reaction of some of the postcontact Guale population to the increased presence of the Spanish in their territory. In addition, the Georgia coast was experiencing major droughts during the 16th and 17th centuries (Anderson, 1994; Anderson, Stahle, and Cleaveland, 1995; Blanton and Thomas, 2008), which also would have influenced Guale decisions to become part of mission towns. The Guale cultural schema was altered by the contact entanglement event, which in turn allowed the Guale to mediate that event.

We attribute this shift of the Guale cultural schema to two factors. The first is a demographic effect. The sheer number of abandoned sites between the pre- and postcontact times suggests a population decline. It is likely that many of the Guale had begun to suffer the effects of European disease. Related to the abandonment of sites, and thus the demographic effect, is that some parts of the Guale population were drawn into the mission settlements. The second factor is mobility. While the distributions of archaeological sites on the landscape are not isomorphic with mobility patterns, our analysis provides insight into the nature of how use of the broader landscape differed between the pre- and postcontact eras. We argue that the difference in settlement pattern between the Late Mississippian and historic contact period archaeological sites, taken together with the ethnohistoric accounts indicating a highly mobile Guale population at the time of contact, suggests an increased mobility of some portion of the Guale population during the contact era. We suggest that Guale knowledge (i.e., cultural schemas) of the intertidal landscape (e.g., island locations, tides, fishing locations) provided at least some of the population with a way to resist overt control by the Spanish (i.e., through mobility and the broader use of the landscape).

The portion of the Guale population living within the mission boundaries was also able to mediate this new social landscape. However, this impacted their health negatively, as the Spanish pressured them to alter their subsistence practices. As we outlined at the beginning of this chapter, shifts in dietary patterns stimulated a precipitous decline in the overall health of these populations (Hutchinson et al., 1998; Larsen et al., 2001; Larsen, 2002; Stojanowski, 2006). However, we should not take this to mean that they were merely passive participants in an event that would eventually lead to the decimation of their lifeways and of their very existence. Quite the contrary, we argue that by viewing the subject of culture contact through the theoretical lens outlined here and derived from Beck et al. (2007), we are better able to understand and begin to address the varied ways that multiple groups and individuals experienced such events. The event outlined in this chapter can actually be looked at from multiple points of view, from groups that negotiated the events in varied ways, such as Guale living under the mission system, Guale choosing to move about the landscape, Spaniards who resided at the missions, and stakeholders who remained in Spain. We suggest that a future productive area of research would be to articulate these varied experiences in order to present a more holistic view of these colliding worlds.

FINAL THOUGHTS

In addition to the histories of the Guale and Spanish on the Georgia coast, the study presented in this chapter has implications for the nature of archaeological inquiry, specifically as it relates to studies that center on boundaries between time periods with and without written records. For North American archaeology, this is typically the boundary between prehistoric and historical archaeology. As we outlined at the beginning of this chapter, Lightfoot (1995; Deagan, 1988) notes that there is considerable disparity in methods between so-called prehistoric and historical archaeology. Following Lightfoot’s thinking, we suggest that historical archaeology has, for the most part, undervalued regional survey and analysis. Indeed there are few instances of its use beyond locating historical sites mentioned in texts (see Kowalewski, 2008, for a review; but see Braje et al., 2007, for an exception). If investigations into the nature of both space and place provide insight into how people negotiate the social and ecological landscape, then regional analysis can be a powerful tool to explore the nature of such changes during initial shifts, as well as tracking their trajectories over extended time frames.

Figure 16.1. The location of the Guale region with known and hypothesized mission locations. Mission locations in red are Worth’s (2004) suggested locations. Mission locations in yellow are currently under consideration by Michael Francis (with input from John Worth and David Hurst Thomas).

Figure 16.2. The location of the four marsh islands in the present study, and their relation to the mainland and Sapelo Island, one of the major barrier islands on the Georgia coast.

Figure 16.3. The location of Irene Period sites (red boxes) in relation to missions (blue stars) along the Georgia coast.

Figure 16.4. The location of Altamaha Period sites (yellow dots) in relation to missions (blue stars) along the Georgia coast.

Figure 16.5. The location of Irene Period sites (red boxes) on St. Catherines Island and the nearby coast in relation to known/hypothesized mission sites (blue stars).

Figure 16.6. The location of Altamaha Period sites (yellow dots) on St. Catherines Island and the nearby coast in relation to known/hypothesized mission sites (blue stars).

TABLE 16.1

Ceramic Totals from Pumpkin Hammock Excavations (9Mc350)

Ceramic Type

Unit 1

Unit 2

Unit 3

Unit 4

Unit 5

Total

Altamaha Check Stamped

—

—

2

2

1

5

Altamaha Red Filmed

—

—

2

2

2

6

Altamaha Complicated Stamped/Line Blocked

—

—

4

1

6

11

Altamaha Complicated Stamped

—

5

26

24

28

83

Total Altamaha:

—

5

34

29

37

105

Irene Complicated Stamped

—

3

22

23

33

81

Irene Incised

1

1

6

10

19

37

Irene Burnished Plain

—

—

3

1

4

8

Irene Plain

—

—

3

2

5

10

Irene Punctated

—

—

—

1

—

1

Total Irene:

1

4

34

37

61

137

[1] As with most archaeological projects, the University of Kentucky Sapelo Island mission period Archaeological Project (SIMPAP) would not have been possible without the assistance of many individuals, agencies, foundations, colleges and universities, and museums. When you work on an island with no access other than by boat, you rely on the assistance of others even more. In our case, this involved giving us permission to work on Sapelo, providing transportation to and from the island by boat, giving us a very comfortable place to stay, providing vehicles to assist in our fieldwork and helping us to keep the ones we brought with us running, cooking meals for our field school students, and answering the many questions we had about conducting archaeological research in such an isolated location as Sapelo Island. Being able to work on Sapelo is a privilege that few archaeologists ever experience, and we thank all of those who made our work possible. We would especially like to acknowledge the assistance and support of Georgia State archaeologist David Crass and Fred Hay, Dorsett Hurley, and Buddy Sullivan of the Sapelo Island National Estuarine Research Reserve. Without their long-term interest in our work and their strong backing over the years, none of our work would have been possible. Other individuals and groups who have provided invaluable guidance, assistance, support, and advice include Dennis Blanton, Chester DePratter, Ed Henry, Kim and Stephen McBride, Phil Mink, Elizabeth Reitz, Marvin Smith, Stanley South, Beverly Straube, John Worth, David Hurst Thomas, Victor D. Thompson, and the residents of the Hogg Hammock community. We would particularly like to acknowledge the late George Walker of Hogg Hammock who, along with his wife, Lula, cooked the wonderful, delicious, and very filling barbecues and Low Country boils during our stays on the island. This paper is a revised and expanded version of a paper presented at the 2008 meeting of the Society for Georgia Archaeology and published in Archaeological Encounters with Georgia’s Spanish Period, 1526–1700 as a joint publication of the Society for Georgia Archaeology and the Institute for Global Initiatives and edited by Dennis B. Blanton and Robert A. DeVillar (2010). We thank the editors for giving us permission to use this information in this new paper.

[2] Most of the information contained in this chapter is based on field investigations and artifact analyses conducted before 2009. However, a few artifacts recovered since 2008 are shown in the figures because they are better examples of artifact types found earlier.

[3] I would like to thank David Hurst Thomas and Lorann Pendleton for many years of support while working on St. Catherines Island. I would like to also thank the many field crews that have helped me collect geophysical data at Mission Santa Catalina—particularly Rachel Cajigas, Christina Friberg, Matthew Napolitano, Jennifer Salinas, Anna Semon, and Martin Walker, who helped me survey on many brutally hot August days without any complaint. Royce Hayes and the St. Catherines Island staff also provided extraordinary assistance in preparing the site for survey. I am also indebted to Lewis Somers for many hours of discussion about geophysical data collection and processing. Finally, I would like to thank Kent Lightfoot and the volume reviewers for helpful comments on earlier drafts of this paper.

[4] Thomas (1987: 75) has argued that “The laws of the Indies theoretically applied only to permanent civic settlements—not temporary missions or military encampments—but in practice there was little distinction between the two types of settlement in North America. The familiar ordinances were applied equally to urban centers and mission outposts (Crouch et al., 1982: 28; see also Bolton 1917: 44).” Setha Low (1993, 1995, 2000), however, makes a strong argument that many of the features associated with Spanish communities in the New World in fact have many of their origins in pre-Hispanic architectural and spatial forms (e.g., plazas). She convincingly suggests that many of the rules established by the Laws of the Indies were actually appropriated by the Spanish from colonial settlements influenced by indigenous spatial conventions.

[5] Surface collections at 9Li210 in February 2012 yielded significant numbers of Altamaha ceramics.

[6]Slightly further to the south, South End Mound I also contains an Altamaha Line Block, Circle in Square, burial urn (Moore, 1998 [1897], Larson, 1998; Larsen, 2002; Thomas, 2008). Shovel test pits also yielded several possible Altamaha sherds at South End Field (9Li194) (Thomas, 2008: chap. 20, table 20.5) and Griffin (1965: 9) reported Altamaha ceramics from Shell Field 1 and suggested that it might be an “outlying portion” of the mission settlement.

[7] However, more recent work at Harris Neck (Braley, O’Steen, and Quitmyer, 1986: 32) has described middens as “discrete,” and “compact and well circumscribed,” in addition to having areas of sheet midden. The areas of sheet midden however, only yielded sand tempered or undiagnostic sherds—seemingly predating the mission-era deposits.

[8] But see Thompson et al. (this volume, chap. 16) for a discussion of postcontact Guale settlement on a regional scale.

[9] This is similarly true for the other varieties of congregación and reducción.

[10] Here I only briefly discuss the early geophysical surveys at Mission Santa Catalina; these have been covered in considerable detail by others (Garrison, Baker, and Thomas, 1985; see especially Thomas, 1987).

[11] The isomorphic relationship between shell deposits and low-resistance features is supported by subsurface mapping of shell deposits with a total station, as well as by geophysical surveys elsewhere on St. Catherines Island.

[12]Though there are some areas of sheet midden adjacent to the marsh and creek edges that are somewhat less discrete.

[13] We express our sincere gratitude to Fred Cook, Charles Pearson, and Ray Crook for freely sharing their knowledge and enlightening us on the archaeology of the lower Georgia coast. University of Northern Florida students Michael Stull and Michael Foster helped with the final stages of analysis and data input and we thank them. Thanks also to John Whitehurst and the NPS staff at the Timucuan Ecological and Historic Preserve. We appreciate the constructive comments of the volume’s three reviewers. Finally, many thanks to Victor and Dave for inviting us to participate in the Sixth Caldwell Conference.

[14] Alternatively rendered in the primary literature as Boadalquibior, Guadalquina, Guadalquine, Guadarquine, Gualequini, Gualiquini, Gualquini, Hoadalquini, Oadalquini, Obadalquini, Obadalquiny, and Ubadalquini.

[15] In primary Spanish documents the term Guale is used in multiple ways. It refers to a specific village, a regional province, and a language (by extension, those who spoke the language).

[16] Guadalquini was the Spanish name for St. Simons Island and appears to have been used in a general fashion to refer to natives living on the island. There is no direct evidence to suggest that it was the name of a specific group or village. San Buenaventura de Guadalquini is merely St. Bonaventure of Guadalquini, again simply a reference to St. Simons Island.

[17] The northern end of the island was subjected to extensive survey and testing by the University of Florida in the 1970s (Martinez, 1975; Wallace, 1975; Milanich, 1977). Robin Smith (1984: 74) reports that a 1981 survey by Sue Mullins Moore of a large tract on the western side of St. Simons Island “produced very little other evidence of Irene occupations.” Limited archaeological work, however, has taken place in the middle and southern parts of the island, so little is known about the occupational history of these areas.

[18] Worth (2009), however, offers an alternative interpretation by suggesting that precontact Mocama were living on St. Simons Island, but that they were manufacturing Irene, not San Pedro, pottery. No San Pedro pottery (nor sherd-tempered Timucua ware) has been reported for St. Simons Island.

[19] This increase in population compared to the 1683 census on St. Simons Island suggests the refugees did indeed move to Santa Cruz.

[20] Mission-period artifacts covered the northeastern part of the Cedar Point site and the extreme southern edge of the Cedar Point North site. The boundary between these two sites is arbitrary and defined by Russo, Cordell, and Ruhl (1993: 39–42) on the basis of limited shovel testing and observed difference in shell distributions. We see no reason to distinguish between the two sites in discussing the mission-period component. Thus we refer to the area of UNF testing as the Cedar Point site.

[21] Since this was written, UNF has conducted additional excavations in 2011 and 2012 that will be published subsequently. Substantial amounts of daub were recovered to the west, and the structure was determined to be rectangular (10.5 x 7 m) and partially daubed.

[22] Not only is the Harrison Homestead site the indisputable location of Santa Catalina de Guale on Amelia Island (Santa María), but it is also the place of the late 16th-/early 17th-century Mocama visita/doctrina of Santa María de Sena and the late 17th-century Yamasee settlement of Santa María (pre-1673–1683) (Saunders, 1990, 1993, 2000a, 2000b: 8–10; Worth, 2007a: 11, 20, 28, 197). With this said, we need to bear in mind the triple occupation of the site by sequential Mocama, Yamasee, and Guale populations, particularly given the now-accepted notion that all three groups manufactured San Marcos pottery during the 17th century. Therefore, we cannot assume that all the San Marcos pottery from the site was manufactured by late Guale immigrants. It was also produced by the earlier Mocama and Yamasee. Thus site contexts based on the presence of San Marcos pottery might not be as exclusive to the Guale as once thought.

[23] This research was supported, in part, by grants in association with the Georgia Coastal Ecosystems Long Term Ecological Research project and the National Science Foundation (NSF grant OCE-0620959). The Georgia Department of Natural Resources (GDNR), the Sapelo Island National Estuarine Research Reserve, the Department of Anthropology at the Ohio State University, the Department of Anthropology at the University of West Florida, and the Department of Anthropology at the University of Georgia provided additional support. Several individuals were instrumental in supporting our fieldwork and include David Crass, Dorset Hurley, Fred Hay, and Buddy Sullivan. We would also like to thank the undergraduate and graduate students of the 2007 and 2008 University of West Florida archaeological field schools. Their help, enthusiasm, and endurance ultimately made this work possible. The authors would like to thank Steven Pennings, Merryl Alber, and Clark Alexander of Georgia Coastal Ecosystems Long Term Ecological Research project for their support of our past and ongoing research. The authors would also like to thank Mark Williams for access to the Georgia Archaeological Site File database. Finally, the authors thank the reviewers of this volume, Christopher B. Rodning, Thomas J. Pluckhahn, and Torben C. Rick for their helpful comments and critique of this chapter.