Like most blacks in the pre-Civil War South, the African-Americans of this old colonial town had few choices when it came to worship.
Enslaved or free, illiterate or learned, they crowded shoulder to shoulder in the rear balconies of the white churches, forced there by laws that barred them from gathering by themselves. And despite outnumbering their white brethren by 9 to 1 in such places as Hampton Baptist
, they had little say over how they practiced their faith.
Those long years of silence and submission came to an end, however, with the landmark upheaval that rocked this
town first - and then spread through the Confederacy - during the Civil War.
Founded by a pioneering band of free and enslaved blacks, one of the first independent African-American churches born in the conflict between North and South rose from the ashes of a place that had been abandoned and burned by its rebellious white population. And so deeply did the roots of First Baptist
take hold in this seemingly unpromising soil that its legacy can still be felt nearly 150 years later.
"I don't know how they viewed sitting in the 'Negro pews' back then. But the fact is that they did fill the balcony. They wanted a place to worship," former
member William Wiggins says.
"But there was always this longing for a
of their own where they could worship in their own way. And when the war gave them the chance, they took it right away."
Few Southern locales had a
population more prepared to exploit a white power vacuum - and the crowds of slaves seeking asylum behind Union lines - than Hampton.
More than 200 free African-Americans lived here in 1860, says historian Robert Engs, author of a groundbreaking study of Civil War Hampton called "Freedom's First Generation." And many were literate and skilled property owners.
Among them was Thomas Peake, husband of pioneering free
teacher Mary Peake, who had died in 1862 after founding one of the first schools to teach the town's burgeoning numbers of runaway "contraband" slaves.
Also prominent was free
preacher William B. Taylor, a carpenter who not only had purchased his own freedom by hiring out his own time but also bought his wife and daughter.
For many years before the war, Taylor had served as the de facto head of Hampton's "colored Baptist
," where he'd earned permission to perform nominal marriages between slaves. He'd also won fame as a "fiery exhorter," practicing his oratorical skills at the 1856 dedication of
as well as in clandestine worship meetings held in and around Hampton and surrounding
In his audiences were many literate, self-employed slaves who hoped to imitate Taylor's example.
"Hampton was very different - almost cosmopolitan in some ways - compared to other places in the South, and the blacks here were very different, too," Wiggins says.
"They had more opportunities and experiences here because whites exerted less control - and they built upon this ready-made foundation very quickly after whites fled the growing Union presence at
Meeting first in the ruins of Hampton in 1863, the congregation soon began building in the Pee Dee section of town on land obtained from the daughter and son-in-law of free
Revolutionary War hero Cesar Tarrant.
They moved to a new and much larger structure on North King Street not long after the war ended, providing more than 1,000 members with not only spiritual guidance, but also a pathway to political power and economic independence.
During the Reconstruction Era, Deacon Thomas Peake won posts as deputy sheriff, school trustee and head of the county poorhouse. Deacon R.M. Smith served as Commissioner of Revenue and Deacon Isaiah Lyons sat in the state senate.
Sister Harriet Taylor co-founded the United Order of Tents as the nation's oldest fraternal benevolent group for
women. She later was buried alongside her husband - the charismatic and widely admired Rev. Taylor - in the graveyard of the town's most prominent white
Pastor Richard Spiller, similarly, played a leading role in the Republican Party. He helped establish the People's Savings and Loan Association - which financed hundreds of
homes - in the
These are only a few examples, however, of the post-war influence that have led scholars such as Engs to note "that there was more prestige to being a junior deacon at First Baptist
than a senior deacon somewhere else."
"There's this great myth about what slavery did to blacks - this distorted idea that it left them unprepared for freedom," he adds.
"But people here showed that wasn't true. They knew exactly what to do when they got the chance."
churches, First Baptist's power waned after Reconstruction gave way to the legalized racial bias of the Jim Crow era. It was also tested sorely in 1944, when the substantial brick structure the congregation had constructed at its height in the late 1880s was gutted and partly destroyed by fire.
"I was 5 years old. We all ran down Union Street and watched it burn," lifelong
member Jean C. Hunter recalls.
"We couldn't believe it."
Still, First Baptist not only rebounded but went on to weather the loss of many of its members' homes to urban redevelopment in the 1970s.
It also made a huge investment in its future during the mid-1990s, when it completed a massive 71,000-square-foot expansion costing $4.4 million.
is currently exploring ways to reclaim and preserve its
1880s structure, which has been mothballed since the expansion.
"We are very much aware of our history and our contributions to this community over the years," says Pastor Richard Wills Sr., whose flock now includes 1,350 members.