As United States soldiers fought in the trenches of Western Europe during the First World War, another fight was brewing in York County.
In 1918, Virginian and then-President Woodrow Wilson issued a presidential proclamation creating the Yorktown Naval Mine Depot, but the proclamation also forced out hundreds of African-Americans from land they’d inhabited since before the Civil War.
A group of local residents wants the legacy of Wilson’s unilateral action remembered fully.
Vicki Simons’ ancestors lived and worked the land off the York River for decades, before a decree by the president gave them one month to relocate elsewhere.
A descendant of Anthony and Octavia Hundley, Simons’ roots are deep in York County.
Charles Corner was the name of the hamlet where the Hundleys and 76 other families lived, Simons said.
The area had three churches, hundreds of residents, and a lot of commerce related to the nearby river, according to Simons.
Residents of the corner were expected by Wilson to move out before they received payment for their land, Simons said.
One of Simons’ relatives, Joseph “Doc” Hundley was an oysterman who worked one acre of oysters on the river, Simons said. The federal government forced him to accept $25 for his property, less money than the property was likely worth.
“The eminent domain moved them out, and scattered communities and scattered families,” local historian John Allen said. “In 2018, my thoughts were that it was done because of who they were.”
While the families dispersed over a one month period, from Charles Corner to Grove in James City County and the new Lackey area of York County, they worked hard to make a living during the Jim Crow south.
“It wasn’t like they had all these places to go, it was a conclave,” Simons said. “It’s not like people had their arms open to receive them in other areas of the state or other areas of the county.”
As the centennial anniversary of Naval Weapons Station Yorktown approaches in August, Simons and other descendants of the residents of Charles Corner are looking back at the village and its history.
“It was a viable community of families, of institutions, of school, they had churches,” Allen said. “My grandfather was a farmer and waterman. My great-grandfather was the same thing. They had land. They owned property which is the American dream.”
Not much remains of Charles Corner, and access to the former site is restricted by the Navy, Simons said. What does remain is a small cemetery filled with the bones of those 77 families’ ancestors.
Once the Kiskiak Cemetery, the families buried their loved ones there until the entire area was seized by eminent domain in 1918. Today, the cemetery goes by another name: the Cheesecake Cemetery
Within the confines of the weapons station, the cemetery’s humble beginnings of working-class African-American freedmen have given way to the perils of time.
As the centenary of the “hallowed” grounds’ closure nears, Simons is looking to work with the Navy to have the entire area listed on the Register of Historical Places.
“Not only is the cemetery sacred ground, it’s a unique part of American history,” Simons wrote in an email.
