Confectioner and abolitionist Polly Johnson (1784-1871) specialized in sweets and provided safe lodging to freedom seekers on the Underground Railroad at her 21 Seventh Street home in New Bedford. She and her husband Nathan helped several formerly enslaved people on their journeys to freedom, including renowned abolitionist Frederick Douglass and his wife Anna. As a businesswoman with confectionery and catering businesses, Polly worked hard so that freedom seekers could find “sweet freedom” in New Bedford.

Polly’s early wages as a domestic worker were likely used toward the purchase of four properties on Seventh and Spring Streets, including her and Nathan’s confectionery and catering business. By 1836, New Bedford’s wealthy families regularly purchased Polly’s confections and cakes for parties and weddings. Her confectionery shop at 23 Seventh Street sold such items as ginger snaps, candy sticks, Jackson Balls, John Brown’s Bullets, and spruce gum. Polly specialized in candy, cakes, and ice cream. In 1844, the abolitionist Caroline Weston, then teaching in New Bedford, tried to persuade her cousin, the antislavery orator Wendell Phillips, to speak in the city by promising that “Polly Johnson shall freeze her best ice & ice her best cakes'' if he came. Ever conscious of social justice, Polly’s confectionery shop sold “free labor candy” made from sugar grown on sugar plantations that employed free workers instead of the enslaved.

In 1849, Nathan left New Bedford for the California Gold Rush leaving the properties, valued at more than half a million dollars today, in Polly’s name. Polly ran the business by herself until her death in 1871. Nathan never returned during those 22 years. Polly used her work ethic and business sense to continue the confectionery, paying off her home’s loan, having an addition made to the home, and furthering her abolitionist efforts. Polly was well-read on the social issues of the time and regularly attended antislavery meetings. She provided safe lodging to several other freedom seekers while Nathan was away. New Bedford was a welcoming place for freedom seekers due in part to its tolerance of diversity and a spirit of equality in its maritime trades. It is estimated that during the 1850s, the population of black freedom seekers in New Bedford ranged from 300 to 700.

Polly was well known not only for her cakes and sweets, but also for the care she and Nathan provided to freedom seekers along the Underground Railroad. People arrived in New Bedford looking for the home of the Johnsons. A passionate abolitionist and a successful businesswoman, Polly helped New Bedford become known as a city of tolerance and diversity. She stands as an inspiration for current generations who seek to affect change for a cause important to them.

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Success, ambition, and glamour dominate this block of Benefit Street. John Brown became wealthy from his family’s shipping business, which included privateering, the China Trade, and Triangular Trade. John, along with his brothers Nicholas, Joseph, and Moses, financed the voyage of the slave ship Sally in 1764 that proved a disastrous endeavor, both in loss of life (109 of 196 enslaved Africans died before the ship reached Jamaica), and financially (which convinced all the brothers but John to discontinue their involvement in the trade).

John Brown had this luxurious home built for his family in 1786. The family had previously lived in a townhouse across the street from his brother’s home at 50 South Main Street, which still stands today. One of the grandest in the United States, the Power Street mansions played host to presidents George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and John Quincy Adams. Washington visited in 1790 on his first tour of Rhode Island since becoming president, as he had avoided it while Rhode Island remained a hold-out on the ratification of the Constitution.

The house passed through several Brown descendants until 1901 when it was purchased by Marsden J. Perry, a utilities and transportation magnate. Perry made significant changes to the property in the spirit of colonial revival, filling the house with early American antiques as well as the most complete collection of Shakespeareana in the world. Perry reportedly wanted to acquire a particularly rare folio, and when he lost the bid, he decided to get rid of his whole collection, which became the founding collection of the Folger Shakespeare Library.

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This home of Declaration-signer Stephen Hopkins (1707 – 1785) is among the oldest still standing in Rhode Island and the oldest in Providence. Hopkins lived here with his family and at least seven enslaved people in eight rooms that are now chock-full of antiques, Hopkins’ personal heirlooms, and general 18th-century objects.

Over the almost 45 years that Hopkins owned this house, at least 19 others resided there as well. Among these residents were Hopkins’ first wife Sarah and their seven children; his second wife Anne and her three children; enslaved woman Fibbo (Phoebe) and her two enslaved children Primus and Bonner Jr.; and four enslaved men St. Jago, Prince, Toney, and Adam. Quakers were among the first to speak out against slavery in the colonies. Despite mounting pressures from the Society of Friends, Hopkins emancipated only St. Jago among the people he owned, and lost his membership in the Society as a result. St. Jago went on to work as a sailor and has living descendants today.

The house played host to such luminaries as George Washington in 1776, on one of his four trips to Providence. Then-governor Nicholas Cooke wrote to Washington that “General [Nathanael] Greene [a Rhode Islander] having informed me that your Excellency proposed to set out for Providence this Day I do myself the Honor to acquaint that a House is prepared for you and your Lady.” Martha Washington did not accompany her husband to Providence, and in fact, Hopkins himself was not even present for Washington’s visit: he was at the time attending the Continental Congress in Philadelphia.

Stephen Hopkins became embroiled in the first violent act of resistance to the British Crown in the colonies during the infamous Gaspee Affair, which predates the Boston Tea Party by a year. Serving as Chief Justice of the Rhode Island Supreme Court in 1772, Hopkins was strongly encouraged to make known the names of the men who had set fire to the British customs ship The Gaspee and kidnapped its captain, Lieut. Dudingston. The Crown wanted Hopkins to provide “a full and particular account of all the proceedings had and done by him for discovering and bringing to justice the persons who committed the aforesaid offence.” Hopkins promised to do so “without loss time.” Though he may have agreed to investigate the “offence,” Hopkins, a staunch patriot, apparently had no intention of doing so, as there is no record of any such written account.

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Amistad is based on the 1839 story of Sierra Leone tribesmen, kidnapped as slaves, who staged a mutiny. The mutineers ordered the crew to return them to Africa, but the navigator instead sailed to New England. Importing slaves had been illegal since 1808, but since the Mende couldn’t talk with their captors, authorities presumed them to be American-born runaway slaves. The Mende were arrested and tried for murder in New Haven, Connecticut. While imprisoned, they taught a Yale linguist, Josiah Willard Gibbs, how to count to ten in Mende. Gibbs walked along the docks counting until a Mende sailor looked up. With the sailor serving as a translator, the men told their story and were set free. In Amistad, Newport’s Washington Square stands in for the New Haven Green, with Colony House serving as the courthouse. Djimon Hounsou starred as Cinque, leader of the Mende, and Anthony Hopkins played an astute John Quincy Adams.  Matthew McConaughey played the Mende’s lawyer, Roger Sherman Baldwin; Stellan Skarsgård was Lewis Tappan, an abolitionist who supported the Mende; and Morgan Freeman was cast as fictional abolitionist Theodore Joadson. The film crew used the first floor of the Colony House for staging, while the second and third floors became the court. Secondary locations included Queen Anne Square and Saint John’s Episcopal Church in Newport’s Point neighborhood. During filming, McConaughey was often spotted at Newport’s bars. The film encountered modern-day challenges beyond parades. Heavy wind turned the dirt used to cover modern asphalt roads into billowing clouds. The barely clothed actors portraying the Africans suffered in the cold. They covered themselves with blankets between takes although Spielberg reportedly wanted them to look genuinely cold. Newport’s changing weather posed a lighting issue for interior scenes. To handle fluctuations, the film crew mounted giant, adjustable screens on the outside of the building. Visitors can still tour the Colony House, now operated by the Newport Historical Society. Though not the site of the actual Amistad trial, the Colony House has served many purposes since its construction in 1736. The Declaration of Independence was read on its steps, the British Army resided in the building during the Revolutionary War, and it served as the statehouse of Rhode Island until 1901. 

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Primus Collins was a man with great responsibilities within his community. He mediated disputes, ensured that laws were obeyed, and handed out punishments when necessary. He was similar to any other governor, with one exception—Primus Collins had once been a slave.

Collins was born in Newport, Rhode Island, in 1777, to enslaved parents Sorphox and Phillis. At the age of four, Primus’s master gave him to Colonel William Richmond of Little Compton with a term of twenty-five years of servitude. During the Revolutionary War, Richmond gained fame by raising a regiment to fight for America’s independence.

According to the 1800 Federal census, Collins belonged to a small group of twenty-two enslaved African-Americans in Little Compton. Colonel Richmond owned other enslaved persons, including Saul and Saul’s wife (name unknown). Richmond gave one of the couple’s children to local clergyman Mase Shepard.

By the end of the American Revolution, most slaves in Little Compton had been freed or their contracts turned into apprenticeships. Some had joined the black regiments in the Revolutionary War with the promise of freedom in exchange for serving. Primus remained enslaved.

Around 1800, Colonel Richmond freed Collins, releasing him from his term of service about five years early. There are no records to indicate why Richmond’s attitude toward slavery changed, but he also gave Collins a farm plot adjacent to his own land that became known as Primus’ Flat Iron because of its triangular shape.

This land gave Collins the legal right to vote in state and local elections as a free, property-owning man. However, the first time Collins tried to vote, the moderator at the polling station would not allow him to cast a ballot. His former master, Colonel William Richmond, who had encouraged Collins to vote in the first place, interceded on his behalf, raising his cane and shouting, “That man shall vote!” and Collins was able to cast his ballot.

The legal status of freed slaves was unclear in early nineteenth century America. The voting laws in some states allowed people like Primus Collins access to local politics. Perhaps in response, Little Compton’s Isaac Wilbour, Chief Justice of the Rhode Island Supreme Court, supposedly inserted the word “white” into the state voting statute. The voting rights issue would not be resolved until the passage of the 15th amendment in 1870.

In spite of this, Collins continued to vote in Little Compton throughout his long life. He married, purchased additional land, and upon his death in 1858 left this inheritance to his daughters, including Lucy, shown in the photograph. Collins was nominated to serve on the Rhode Island General Assembly, but racial sentiments prevailed and he was not appointed.

Throughout the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, black communities in New England chose their governors on an appointed “‘Lection Day,” an event that combined North American and West African celebratory traditions.

‘Lection Day usually began with a procession to the polling place, and a “grand jollification” when the ballots were counted and the winner of the election was declared. The celebration included singing, dancing, and another procession to the home of the new governor, who treated supporters to food and rum.

It was a fitting celebration for a new governor, and for the life of a remarkable man who achieved success far beyond the boundaries that confined him. His grave is located in the Old Burial Grounds next to his wife and daughters.

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It was March 28, 1676, and Zoeth Howland was riding through the deep woods of Tiverton. According to the story that has been told for more than 300 years, Howland never made it to his destination. Later that day, town residents discovered his tortured and mutilated body, a casualty of the bloodiest war in American history.

Relations between native people and New England settlers had been tense since the Pilgrims arrived in 1620. Colonists encroached on local lands, and natives retaliated by raiding settlers’ homes and property. By the 1670s, the English colonists had abandoned diplomacy and resorted almost exclusively to force in their dealings with local tribes. Wampanoag leader Metacom—known by the English as King Philip—struck back. An alliance of Wampanoag, Narragansett, and Nipmuck people led by Metacom embarked on a guerilla campaign that, over the course of fourteen months, left an indelible mark on the landscape and history of New England.

The English colonists responded to the “many notorious and execrable murders, killings, and outrages” committed by Metacom’s men with extreme violence of their own. Three months before Howland’s murder, English soldiers shot and burned alive up to 600 Narragansett men, women, and children in what the victors named the “Great Swamp Fight.” Tribes that remained neutral early in the war sided with Metacom as the war spread across New England, devolving into a racial struggle.

On that day in March 1676, Howland’s journey from his home in Dartmouth to worship in Newport with fellow Quakers should have been an easy one. Howland had moved to Dartmouth in 1657 from Plymouth, where his religious beliefs led to persecution from Puritan clergy, including time spent in the stocks. As Howland rode alongside a small brook, six Native Americans suddenly beset him. Seemingly attacked without provocation, he was tortured until he died, his mutilated body thrown into the brook.

By late summer of 1676, King Philip’s War was nearly over. Metacom had been shot and killed in August, and the English commander ordered his body cut into pieces. The Pocasset Indian who killed him received one of Metacom’s hands as a reward. His head was carried back to Plymouth and mounted on a palisade of the town’s fort, along with the proudly exhibited dismembered heads of other “heathen malefactors.” Metacom’s head remained on display for twenty years, a clear message that the colonists had staked their claim on this land.

Only one of the men involved in Howland’s murder was ever identified in court records. “Manasses,” alternatively written as “Molasses,” was turned over to colonial authorities and sold as a slave.

Many Natives Americans who survived the war were sold into slavery. Colonial authorities shipped more than 1,000 Natives to labor on Caribbean sugar plantations. Of a total Native population of about 20,000, at least 2,000 had died as a result of battle, another 3,000 died of sickness and starvation, and thousands fled the region. The total Native population declined by 60 to 80 percent as a result of the war. Plymouth Colony lost about 8 percent of its men, compared to losses of 4 to 5 percent of American men during the Civil War.

The unnamed brook where Howland’s body was found became known as “Sinning Flesh Brook.” Did this refer to the sinful killing of a pious Englishman? Or did some people consider Howland a sinful man for going against Puritanical teachings? Perhaps you can ask Zoeth Howland yourself. Some say his spirit still flits along the hiking trails that crisscross what is now called “Sin and Flesh Brook.”

(Sin & Flesh Brook runs southwesterly from the area around Fish Road near Route 24 and empties into Nanaquaket Pond. The best place to see it on foot is by hiking on the trails in Fort Barton Woods.)

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On the night of July 9, 1777, a young Rhode Island militia officer named William Barton and a small raiding party slipped through British defenses on the Portsmouth shore and carried away General Richard Prescott—wearing nothing but his nightclothes.

Colonel Barton was second-in-command of the fort at Tiverton Heights, a small foothold against the British forces that occupied Aquidneck Island across the Sakonnet River. That spring, Rhode Island’s General Assembly declared it a disgrace that no attack ``hath, as yet, been made against the enemy.’’ The assembly set bounties on the capture of British soldiers, from $20 for a private to $1,000 for a general.

Barton opted to go after the big prize, the officer in charge of 4,000 British and Hessian soldiers occupying Newport. His plan was so bold that it bordered on foolishness. Besides the troops under his command, Prescott was on an island, protected by a squadron of warships.

On July 3, Barton asked the regiment at Tiverton Heights to undertake a hazardous mission. According to lore, every man stepped forward. He selected forty strong rowers, including Thomas Austin, who carried the scars of 300 lashes on his back, ordered by Prescott after Austin refused the use of his oxen to haul British cannon.

On July 4, 1777, they launched three whaleboats into the Sakonnet for a roundabout trip across Mount Hope and Narragansett Bays before doubling back toward Portsmouth, their oars muffled with sheepskin. They rowed between two British warships, passing so near to one of them that the oarsmen could hear the watch on deck calling out the time.

Finally, the boats crunched ashore at Portsmouth. The men’s feet smudged the dew in the fields as they hiked to the farmhouse of Mr. Overing, where Prescott spent his nights, crossing a creek then cutting through the edge of an orchard hoping to avoid detection.

Led by African-American Guy Watson, who may have been Barton’s slave, the men kicked in the door and stormed into Prescott's chambers. The raiders led the partially-clothed general back across the fields, sat him in a whale boat and rowed him across the bay. The daring raid had succeeded.

The General Assembly made good on its $1,000 reward, a prize that Barton divided among his men. Continental Congress voted to present him “an elegant sword,” even though Barton wrote that he preferred cash. The sword is now in the collection of the Rhode Island Historical Society. The fortification at Tiverton Heights now bears his name, Fort Barton.

Even British Lt. Frederick Mackenzie gave grudging respect to Barton and his men for pulling off the capture: "The Rebels certainly run a great risk in making this attempt. They however executed it in a masterly manner, and deserve credit for the attempt. It is certainly a most extraordinary circumstance, that a General Commanding a body of 4,000 men, encamped on an Island surrounded by a Squadron of Ships of War, should be carried off from his quarters in the night by a small party of the Enemy from without, & without a Shot being fired."

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During August 1778, Tiverton was the fulcrum on which the American Revolution teetered. From all over New England militiamen marched along dusty roads to rendezvous at the fort on Tiverton Heights.

From Gloucester, Newburyport, and Marblehead came 265 fishermen to ferry American troops across the Sakonnet River.

From Boston came John Hancock, in command of the Massachusetts militia including Paul Revere, who wrote home, “It seems as if half of Boston was here.”

From New York came 1,000 Continental troops led by Rhode Islander Major-General Nathanael Greene, and another 1,000 led by the 19-year-old Marquis d’Lafayette.

Perhaps most importantly, from France came a fleet of twelve warships commanded by Comte D’Estaing, gun ports open, brass cannon glinting in the sun, the lead ship flying the French colors.

The French were not impressed by the American troops gathered at Tiverton. Lafayette’s aide wrote: “I have never seen a more laughable spectacle; all the tailors and apothecaries in the country must have been called out. They were mounted on bad nags, and looked like a flock of ducks in cross-belts.”

The target of this amassed force was Aquidneck Island, a short row across the Sakonnet. The British occupied the island with a garrison of 6,700 men. Their surrender might break England’s will, resulting in victory for the Americans.

D’Estaing knew that the British fleet expected reinforcements to arrive any day, which would mean certain destruction for the French ships. On the morning of August 10, D’Estaing decided to attack the enemy fleet anchored in Newport, but the British commander ordered his ships to flee. They receded toward the horizon with the French fleet after them, preparing to battle in the Atlantic.

American commander John Sullivan decided to press the land attack without French naval support. He ferried troops, cannon, horses, and supplies across the Sakonnet River, and the force of 10,000 marched toward Newport.

For days, both sides fired cannons at each other mostly without effect, while keeping an anxious eye on the sea, wondering what happened to the naval fleets that had slipped away from Newport to do battle. Whose sails would appear on the horizon?

Fog shrouded Newport on the morning of August 20, so thick it was difficult to see fifty yards. When skies cleared after noon, the sails of twelve large ships appeared. They drew nearer until a look through field glasses revealed the French tri-color flying from their masts.

But the French fleet had been crippled, not through battle with the British but by a storm at sea, and D’Estaing intended to sail into Boston for repairs.

Without support from the French fleet, many militia men wanted no part of British bullets and bayonets, and they began crossing the Sakonnet back to Tiverton in droves. The time had come to end the siege of Newport, but it would not be easy. Sullivan had to ferry nearly 5,000 men across the Sakonnet with an enemy force of 6,000 at his back.

The American retreat was defended by the Rhode Island First Regiment, a segregated unit of enslaved Rhode Islanders—African-Americans, Narragansetts, and men of mixed race—who were promised their freedom in exchange for enlisting. The solders of the 1st wore uniforms of cream-colored pants and jackets, with tall white hats emblazoned with blue anchors and topped with big blue feathers.

Twice the Hessians charged with their bayonets. Twice, in deadly hand-to-hand fighting, the 1st Rhode Island drove them back. The Hessians took on reinforcements and again attacked. With the help of reinforcements, the 1st “soon put the Enemy to rout,” Nathaneal Greene reported to General Washington, and the American forces escaped to Tiverton.

The Battle of Rhode Island resulted in a military draw. The Americans lost 30 dead and 137 wounded, while British losses were 38 dead, 210 wounded. The enemy temporarily kept their stranglehold on Rhode Island, but the underdog Americans stood toe-to-toe with the mighty British and had driven them back.

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Thomas Tew gained such renown for his exploits from 1692 until 1695 that he was nicknamed the Rhode Island Pirate. Tew, a privateer from Newport who turned to piracy, led two major voyages, and accrued more treasure than he could spend before he met a violent death. Due to his colorful role in the city’s history, the Newport Distilling Company named their first product after him--Thomas Tew Rum. Tew’s namesake is not the first rum to be made in these parts. Before the nineteenth century, Newport was the “rum capital of the world.” Today’s rum distillers use a process similar to that employed in the eighteenth century, mixing blackstrap molasses with local water and fermenting it in tanks using yeast from the adjacent brewery. This process yields a liquid called a “wash” that is then distilled twice. The resulting spirit is aged for several years in oak barrels before water is added to lower the proof. Finally, the rum is individually bottled, corked, and sealed with wax. Rum played a central role in “the triangle trade,” a term used to describe the selling of rum, sugar, goods, and enslaved Africans among the nations of Europe, Western Africa, the Caribbean, and the Eastern United States. Rum-making and the triangle trade historically provided much of Newport’s wealth, and depended on the labor and selling of enslaved Africans and African Americans whose contributions are too often ignored. In addition, African Americans contributed a great deal to the culinary heritage of the Ocean State, such as the oysters and other foods offered by restaurateur George T. Downing at the Sea Girt Hotel in Newport, another stop on this tour and on the Rhode Island Black Heritage Tour. Today, visitors to the Newport Distilling Company can go on free tours of the facility, also home to Newport Storm Brewery, and reflect on the shifting social and political climates of the past three centuries that have led to the revival of this once-ubiquitous spirit.

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The worn wooden collection box, passed from hand to hand, slowly made its way through the crowded Quaker meeting. Many looked away, while some murmured angrily . . . radicals . . . disturbing the peace! A few people contributed coins, perhaps moved by the plaintive sentiments inscribed on the plain wooden box of the Rhode Island Anti-Slavery Society. Founded in 1836, the Rhode Island Anti-Slavery Society tirelessly advocated for the rights of African Americans – with limited success. Despite New England’s reputation as a hotbed of abolitionist activity, the efforts of the Rhode Island Anti-Slavery Society were far from welcome in a state whose economic interests were closely interwoven with slavery. Southern plantation owners supplied Rhode Island’s textile industry with raw materials like cotton and indigo. In return, many mills produced low-quality, inexpensive fabrics – generically marketed as “negro cloth” – deemed suitable for clothing enslaved peoples. Rhode Island also had strong social ties to the south. A number of plantation owners summered with their families in luxurious Newport mansions, and intermarriage with Rhode Island residents was not uncommon. For many Rhode Island elites, it was easy to condemn the Rhode Island Anti-Slavery Society as a radical, fringe organization. The most egregious offense of the Rhode Island Anti-Slavery Society was their call for “immediate, unconditional, and universal” emancipation. At the time, many abolitionists favored “gradualism” or the slow emancipation of slaves over many years. Instead, the Rhode Island organization supported the views of Bostonian William Lloyd Garrison, who, from 1831 until 1865, published The Liberator, a highly controversial newspaper. Due to some states’ laws banning any anti-slavery speech, it was not unheard of for people to even be arrested for possessing an issue of The Liberator. The Rhode Island Anti-Slavery Society’s decision to ally themselves with the radical “Garrisonian abolitionists” cost them the support of some other anti-slavery supporters. By the beginning of the nineteenth century, most Quaker meetings banned their members from owning slaves and advocated for gradual emancipation. As the abolitionist community became more divided, however, some Quaker meetings began to expel radical Garrisonian abolitionists from their ranks. In Rhode Island, abolitionist Elizabeth Buffum Chace didn’t wait to be banned from the congregation – when her Quaker meeting refused to take a more radical and active stance against slavery, she stopped attending meetings, turning all of her attention to the Rhode Island Anti-Slavery Society. Chace became a tireless advocate for immediate emancipation, even harboring fugitive slaves in her own home. She and other women managed most of the day-to-day aspects of running the Rhode Island Anti-Slavery Society, particularly after a scandal and political conflict weakened the organization’s male leadership. As fellow abolitionist Daniel Mitchell remarked: “I must say that it is mainly by their efforts that the office is sustained…The devotion of these women to the cause of suffering humanity is probably second to none, and none labor more assiduously for its support than does this little band.”

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“In Memory of Duchess Quamino, A free black of distinguished excellence: Intelligent, Industrious, Affectionate, Honest, and of Exemplary Piety, Who deceased June 4, 1804, aged 65.”

Quamino’s weather-worn marker, along with nearly 300 others, comprise a section of Newport’s Common Burial Ground known as “God’s Little Acre,” one of the oldest and largest colonial African burial grounds in the United States. Dating from the late 1600s, “God’s Little Acre” offers insight into the lives of enslaved and free Africans such as Quamino through the commemorative words and images etched into stone.

Although described as a “free black” on her marker, Quamino was enslaved in the home of William Channing until she bought her freedom. Quamino also lived in her master’s house, which was customary in urban seaports where slaves worked in trades and crafts rather than on plantations. Many of the slaves brought to Newport were young children who worked alongside their masters to learn skills like rum making, rope braiding, stone carving, candle making, and chocolate grinding. Quamino used her culinary skills to run a catering business out of her master’s house. Her entrepreneurial success allowed her to purchase her freedom and earned her the title “Pastry Queen of Rhode Island.”

Quamino’s inscription praises her “Exemplary Piety” and includes a hymnal verse: “Blessed thy slumbers in this house of clay, And bright thy rising to eternal day.” With these words, William Ellery Channing, the founder of the Unitarian Church and the author of the epitaph, recognized Quamino’s involvement in the religious community of Newport. Quamino’s husband John was also a devout Christian. After gaining his freedom, he studied alongside a minister at Princeton in preparation for missionary work in Africa, but their plans dissolved when John was killed aboard a privateer ship during the American Revolution.

Like many slaves in colonial Newport, the Quaminos experienced the wave of Christian revival known as the Great Awakening during which Protestant America sought to convert the African population. In Newport, some slaves were provided religious education, converted to their master’s religion, and worshipped with the family in the home and at church. The burial ground reflects the breadth of religious diversity present in the city through carvings of angels, Biblical verses, and acknowledgements of those who lived with virtue and piousness.

The markers also tell about the origins of the deceased through the traditions of names. The prevalence of Anglicized or phonetically spelled versions of names from the African Gold Coast revealed the homeland of many Newport slaves to be Ghana. Upholding the naming tradition of the Akan people, the Africans often had names that identified the day of the week and order in which they were born. The name “Quamino” is given to boys born on a Saturday. In Duchess’ case, “Quamino” was her married name after her husband.

Walking through “God’s Little Acre,” the leaning, faded colonial stones are joined by the new markers of their descendants, a tribute to the resilience and preservation of African heritage in Rhode Island.

In November 2025, Duchess Quamino played a prominent role in “Life After Life,” a live performance developed through research and performed by 50 community members in Newport Common Burying Ground in November 2025. Actress Rebekah Acquah embodied Duchess, a transformative experience that gave her profound insight into Duchess’s character: “[This play] allowed me to honor not just [who the characters] were in the books, but also who the person was. It gave me the ability to give life to the dead.” As Rebekah noted, Duchess sparked opportunities for generations to come through her entrepreneurship, determination, and drive: “[Duchess] purchased her freedom and her children’s freedom and then bought a home next to the people who enslaved her. That’s a boss…If it wasn’t for someone like Duchess Quamino and so many others, I wouldn’t have been free to express [myself], to be sitting in this room right now.” You can see Rebekah portray Duchess in the Image Gallery below, and can learn more about “Life After Life” here: centeraquidneck.com/life-after-life-about

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