Wormsloe State Historic Site

If you haven't had a chance to stop by the Visitor Center lately, there is an incredible new installation on display.

We are currently hosting a mixed-media art exhibit featuring works by talented University of Georgia students. Inspired by the raw beauty and visual ecology of the Georgia coast, each work is a collection of deeply personal, specific observations, and the quiet details that moved these artists to create.

Take a look at some of the featured artwork below, and make sure to stop in and see them in person before the exhibit closes on June 27th.

MONUMENTAL MOMENTS: MAY 30TH, 1781
THE MAYHAM TOWER AND THE LIBERATION OF AUGUSTA

By late May 1781, the war for the Georgia interior had ground to a brutal, dusty stalemate. Loyalist forces under Thomas Brown were completely bottled up inside Augusta’s Fort Cornwallis. The fort’s thick earthen walls were formidable, the surrounding clearing offered no cover, and the Patriot forces simply didn't have the heavy artillery needed to pierce the defenses.

On the night of May 30, 1781, they began constructing a secret weapon that would completely change turn the tides in Augusta.

Invented by Major Hezekiah Mayham, the concept was as simple as it was ingenious. Under the cover of darkness on May 30, backcountry militia and Continental soldiers quietly felled massive pine trees, hauling the logs just outside the range of British muskets.

Working frantically through the night, they notched and stacked the timbers to build a massive, hollow square tower, packing the base tightly with dirt to keep it stable. Their goal was simple: build a structure taller than the fort itself, the Mayham Tower.

When the sun rose over Augusta, the British garrison woke to a terrifying sight. A massive wooden tower now loomed directly over their walls.

Patriot sharpshooters climbed to the top, accompanied by a single six-pounder cannon. For weeks, British soldiers had been perfectly safe behind their parapets. Now, the Patriots could fire straight down into the interior of the fort. The British inner defenses were rendered useless, and any soldier who stepped into the open became a target.

Just days later, on June 5, the garrison officially surrendered. The fall of Augusta shattered British control over the Georgia backcountry. It allowed the exiled Patriot government to finally return to Georgia soil, re-establish the legislature, and assert the state's independence as the war entered its final chapters.

MONUMENTAL MOMENTS: MAY 20TH 1776
GEORGIA BREAKS THE STALEMATE IN PHILADELPHIA

The morning of May 20, 1776, brought a heavy, unrelenting rain to Philadelphia, but inside the Pennsylvania State House, the atmosphere was charged with a different kind of storm. For Dr. Lyman Hall, walking into the chamber that Monday morning was a moment of profound vindication.

For months, Hall had sat in the Second Continental Congress in a state of political limbo. He had been sent to Philadelphia early on to represent only the radical citizens of St. John’s Parish, rather than the colony of Georgia as a whole. He had been a delegate with a voice, but without the full weight of his province behind him.

This morning, everything changed. Standing alongside Button Gwinnett, Hall presented the official credentials issued by the Provincial Congress of Georgia. The document did not merely recognize them as official representatives of the entire colony, it granted them what John Adams would admiringly call "unlimited powers."

While delegates from the middle colonies remained paralyzed by cautious instructions from home to avoid any talk of separation, Hall and Gwinnett were now entirely unshackled.

As Hall took his official seat, he could feel the immediate shift in the room's political gravity. By bringing Georgia fully into the fold, he and Gwinnett had helped solidify a unified southern bloc. They had effectively broken the long-standing congressional stalemate, aligning the South perfectly with the revolutionary fervor of New England.

Looking around the chamber, Hall could see the immediate reactions to their arrival. To one side, John Adams was already preparing letters celebrating the event, noting that independence was now "rolling in like a torrent." On the other side of the room, anxious moderate delegates like Maryland's Thomas Stone would later write that the arrival of the empowered Georgians meant the "dye was cast" and the chance for reconciliation with the Crown was officially dead.

For Lyman Hall, the rainy May morning was the culmination of a lonely, uphill diplomatic battle. He was no longer just an observer from a fractured frontier parish, he was now the fully authorized representative of a unified colony, stepping into the current of history that would lead him, just months later, to sign his name to the Declaration of Independence.

MONUMENTAL MOMENTS: MAY 18TH
THE BIO OF JOHN BAKER

This is the story of Colonel John Baker, a man whose name you might not know, but whose fierce unyielding devotion helped shape the very ground we walk on today.

Behind the military title was a man of intense conviction, a dedicated father, and a resilient leader who refused to break, even when the tides of war turned completely against him.

John Baker was a husband to Mary Jones and a father to six children. Living on the edge of the volatile southern frontier meant that family life was anything but peaceful. With British and Loyalist raiders constantly targeting the coastal settlements, Mary and the children faced the terrifying reality of sudden evacuations, forced to flee into the woods at a moment's notice.

For Baker, defending his neighbors and protecting his household wasn't just a duty, it was the driving force behind his willingness to repeatedly take the field.

Baker was never a cautious moderate. From the earliest days, he threw his social and physical safety entirely behind the radical Whig cause. He balanced the commanding presence of a wealthy planter with the resilience required to survive on a war-torn border.

When his military operations ended in absolute disaster, Baker didn't retreat to nurse his wounds. He possessed perseverance, continually stepping back into command to reorganize broken militia forces and shield the Georgia coast.

Baker was an avid horseman who specialized in breeding and training quality mounts. This passion directly fueled his service, as he raised, financed, and commanded the volunteer cavalry units known as the Georgia Light Horse.

When the fighting finally ceased, Baker shifted from wartime defense to reconstruction. He returned to Spring Plantation. Like most planters of his era, his agricultural success and status were built upon the labor of enslaved individuals.

In his quiet years, Baker served as a revered elder statesman in the Georgia House of Representatives, helping draft foundational laws before his passing in June 1792.

MONUMENTAL MOMENTS: MAY 17TH, 1777
THE BATTLE OF THOMAS CREEK

Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Brown’s scouts, a mix of Loyalist Rangers and Creek warriors, had been tracking Colonel John Baker’s horse militia for days. Hoping to gather intelligence, Brown sent a small detachment of fifteen Indians to slip into the American camp under the cover of night to steal Baker's horses.

But, Baker’s guards were alert and the Americans gave chase. In the chaotic shootout that followed, a prominent warrior from the Chiaha town of the Creek Nation was killed.

The retreat turned bitter when the Americans reportedly mutilated the fallen warrior's body. In Creek culture, the desecration of a soldier's body was a violation that demanded atali, a blood oath of revenge. This personal loss completely transformed the British-allied forces. When Governor Patrick Tonyn later wrote his official report, he noted that this specific event "greatly exasperated the Savages," setting a dark tone for the main battle.

When Colonel Baker moved his men west to wait for Commodore Bowen’s Navy, he chose a position along the banks of Thomas Creek, believing the dense wetlands would protect his flank. He did not realize that Thomas Brown’s scouts had already mapped his exact position and had set the classic “hammer and anvil” trap.

At 9:00 AM Brown’s men unleashed their surprise attack, a deafening volley of gunfire from the front and side. The American militia riders instinctively pulled on their reins, spinning their panicked horses around to retreat the way they came.

This was exactly what Prevost anticipated. By turning back, the disorganized militia rode directly into the bayonets of the three British regular columns closing in from the rear. The Americans were squeezed between the "anvil" of Brown's hidden line and the oncoming "hammer" of Prevost's regular infantry.

Panicked men abandoned the fight entirely, throwing themselves off their mounts to flee into the deep Florida swamps. The desperation was so high that one fleeing soldier even stole Colonel Baker’s horse, forcing the commander to wade into the treacherous wetlands on foot to survive.

Eight Americans were killed in the skirmish with over 30 Americans taken prisoner, many of whom would be subjected to the Creek warriors right to atali. Driven by the loss of the Chiaha warrior, they executed over half of the American captives.

MONUMENTAL MOMETNS: MAY 16, 1777
THE FATAL RIVALRY OF GWINNET AND MCINTOSH
On this anniversary of one of Georgia’s most infamous encounters, we look back at the morning of May 16, 1777, when political rivalry turned fatal just outside the Savannah town limits.

At sunrise, two of Georgia’s most powerful leaders, Button Gwinnett, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, and Lachlan McIntosh, a high-ranking Continental officer, met at Sir James Wright’s pasture.

Standing only 12 feet apart, both men fired simultaneously. Both were struck in the thigh. While McIntosh would eventually recover, Gwinnett’s wound turned gangrenous, leading to his death just three days later.

The shot heard 'round Savannah was the result of months of escalating tension. As acting President of Georgia, Gwinnett had arrested McIntosh’s brother on suspicion of treason, a move McIntosh saw as a personal vendetta.

After Gwinnett bypassed McIntosh to lead a disastrous expedition into British Florida, the two traded public blame for the defeat. The Breaking Point came during a meeting of the Georgia Assembly, McIntosh called Gwinnett a "scoundrel and a lying rascal." Under the code duello of the 18th century, Gwinnett felt his honor left him no choice but to issue a formal challenge.

This duel didn't just end a life, it nearly derailed the Revolutionary movement in Georgia. The loss of a signer and the temporary exile of a General left the young state’s leadership in a fragile position during the height of the war.

MONUMENTAL MOMENTS: MAY 13TH 1780
PRISONERS OF WAR

By May 13, the reality of occupation had fully set in for the soldiers of the Georgia Line and the families who had sought refuge within the city walls of Charleston.
The ceremony of surrender began at 11:00 AM on May 12th as the gates of the Hornwork at Marion Square swung open. Under the watchful eyes of British Regulars and Hessian Jägers, nearly 5,500 men filed out to ground their arms.

Because the "Honors of War" had been denied, the Continental troops were forced to march with their colors cased and furled in black leather. The spoils collected by the British were staggering, representing the total disarming of the Southern department:
• Over 5,000 muskets
• 391 pieces of ordnance
• Over 33,000 rounds
• 8,000 pounds of black powder

By the morning of the 13th, the British began the grim task of processing their prisoners. The Enlisted Men, approximately 2,500 Continental soldiers were marched toward the Cooper River. They were crowded onto disease-ridden prison ships, where nearly a third of them would eventually perish from smallpox and yellow fever.

The Officers and Exiles, including Brigadier General Lachlan McIntosh and Colonel Samuel Elbert were spared the ships due to their rank. Instead, they were required to sign Parole of Honor documents. Noble Wymberly Jones and his fourteen-year-old son, George, were among the Georgia exiles forced to sign documents of parole as well.

Fourteen-year-old George was no longer a mere observer of the war; by signing his parole, he became a legally bound prisoner of the Crown. While this status protected him from the horrors of the prison ships for a time, it also placed him on a British ledger of "dangerous rebels," a list that would lead to his eventual arrest and incarceration.

As the British Union Jack flew over the city for its first full day, the men of the Georgia, along with their Continental and Militia brethren, began their long journey as prisoners of war, their flags furled and their future uncertain.

MONUMENTAL MOMENTS: MAY 11TH 1780
HONORS OF WAR

For the soldiers of the Georgia Line, May 11th 1780 was defined not by the sound of cannons, but by the agonizing stillness of a diplomatic stalemate.

Flags of truce passed steadily between the lines, crossing the narrow no-man's-land that separated the British third parallel from the American hornwork. General Benjamin Lincoln was no longer negotiating for the city, that was already lost, but for the honors of war.

He sought the right for his Continentals to march out with colors flying and drums beating a defiant American tune, a traditional mark of respect for a brave but defeated garrison.

Sir Henry Clinton, however, remained cold and unyielding. Embittered by the Americans' long resistance, he issued a calculated insult, he denied the honors. Clinton demanded the Americans march out with their colors cased and their drums playing a British or Turkish march, a formal military sign of a disgraced foe.

Inside the city, Brigadier General Lachlan McIntosh sat in a somber council of officers. The civilian authorities, haunted by the memory of the falling "meteors," pleaded with the military to yield rather than face another night of fire.

McIntosh could see from the ramparts that the British saps had reached the very edge of the American canal at Marion Square. There was no ground left to retreat to, and no time left to bargain.

By late afternoon, the decision was finalized. To save the city from total destruction, the Americans would accept the humiliation. On this night, two centuries ago, the men of the Georgia Line sat in the shadows of their works, furling the flags they had carried since the fall of Savannah, preparing for the heartbreak of the following morning's surrender.

MONUMENTAL MOMENTS: MAY 10TH 1780
THE FLAG OF TRUCE
By the morning of May 10, 1780, the atmospheric tension in Charleston had shifted from the terror of bombardment to the heavy silence of the inevitable. The "Night of Meteors" had left the city scarred and smoking. From his position with the Continental command, Brigadier General Lachlan McIntosh looked out upon a landscape transformed by the brutal geometry of siege warfare.

The previous night had been a scene of unparalleled fury. British batteries positioned on Hampstead Hill had maintained a relentless cannonade, launching 469 rounds of solid shot and 345 explosive shells into the American works and the city streets. McIntosh recorded that the barrage had caused significant damage to houses and claimed the lives of several women and children.

At the center of the American defense stood the Hornwork, located at what is now Marion Square. By daybreak, it was clear that the British parallels, those methodical trenches, had reached a point of total dominance. The British were now so close that further resistance offered no tactical advantage, only the certainty of more fire.

General Benjamin Lincoln convened a council of officers early that morning to face the reality of their position. McIntosh, ever the pragmatic soldier of the Georgia Line, was the first to speak in favor of an immediate surrender. He argued that the army was "penned up" and entirely cut off from resources. To delay, in his view, was to uselessly sacrifice the lives of his men and the remaining residents of the city.
The council agreed. A flag of truce was sent to Sir Henry Clinton to negotiate the final terms. For the men of the Georgia Line and the Charleston defenders, May 10th was the day the realization took hold, the wealthiest city in the South was lost, and the largest American army of the southern theater was about to become prisoners.

MONUMENTAL MOMENTS: MAY 9TH 1780
THE NIGHT OF METEORS
After the stalemate at Monmouth, Britain pivoted south, betting the Crown’s future on a supposedly loyalist backcountry. Georgia’s delegates had shouted the warning, Savannah was the perfect gateway, a strategic point between the Caribbean and the Carolinas. But the Continental Congress, broke and exhausted, left the back door wide open.

In December 1778, Archibald Campbell’s 3,100 troops smashed into Savannah. The survivors, the remnants of a government in exile, fled toward Charleston, watching as their predictions of a Southern domino effect began to manifest. By 1780, the British turned their sights on Charleston, the wealthiest jewel in the American colonies.

The city’s geography was a double-edged sword; a peninsula nestled between the Ashley and Cooper rivers that could either be a fortress or a cage. Sir Henry Clinton ensured it was the latter. He arrived with a massive force of 8,700, a multinational expeditionary force of British Regulars, Hessian mercenaries, and Loyalists, supported by a hundred-ship blockade, including 5 ships of the line.

As the Royal Navy choked the harbor, the British army began the sapping process, digging methodical parallel trenches that inched closer every hour. Trapped behind the Hornwork at Marion Square, General Benjamin Lincoln and the weary Georgia Line waited for a relief force that would never come.

On May 9th 1780, the "Night of Meteors," the sky finally fell.
In the darkness, over 200 heavy artillery pieces and mortars opened fire simultaneously. The bombardment was not merely a barrage of iron, it was a psychological terror campaign designed to burn the city into submission.

General William Moultrie, watching from the American lines, described the sky as:
"...a glorious sight, to see them like meteors crossing each other, and bursting in the air; it appeared as if the stars were tumbling down."

While the sight was awe-inspiring, the reality was horrific. The British began firing hot shot cannonballs heated in furnaces until they glowed, specifically aimed at the wooden rooftops of the wealthy historic district.

As the meteors rained down, ammunition chests and temporary magazines within the city began to explode, the concussions shaking the very ground of Marion Square.