To many, history is just a collection of dates and names on a page, but for me, it is a personal inheritance. Lydia E. Clark (born Lydia Norwood, 1768–1856) is not just a historical figure in a Delaware textbook—she is my 5th great-grandmother.
Tracing my lineage through the generations reveals a direct path to this woman known to her tribe as Nau-Gau-Okwa: AKA Lydia Norwood
- Lydia E. Norwood (1768–1856)
- Mary Caroline Clark (1829–1896), her daughter
- Mary Elizabeth Frame (1873–1916), my 3rd great-grandmother
- Martha Jackson (1888–1979), my great-great-grandmother
- Phoebe Thompson (1920–1981), my great-grandmother
- Joan E Davis (b. 1945), my grandmother
- Jane E Davis (b. 1965), my mother
- Jequan Davis, me
Understanding Lydia’s life offers profound context into the “invisible” history of Native Americans in the Mid-Atlantic.
Context: The Age of Invisibility and Paper Genocide
Lydia lived during an era where the dominant society was determined to believe that Native Americans had effectively disappeared from the coastal regions. This phenomenon, often called “paper genocide,” was an administrative erasure.
For people of Nanticoke and Lenape descent, the simple acts of accepting baptism or becoming successful, tax-paying farmers meant they “ceased to be Indian” in the eyes of the law. Once a person adopted these European-style trappings, they were frequently reclassified as “mulatto” or “free person of color”. This legal shift stripped tribal members of their inherent identity to simplify racial categories for a white-dominated society.
Lydia herself was caught in this trap; while she was a “perfect Indian type” who spoke the Nanticoke language, census records from 1840 and 1850 labeled her as “free colored” or “mulatto”.
The Evasive Label of the “Moors”
To navigate this dangerous racial landscape and avoid discriminatory laws or the threat of being “shipped west,” many in the community—including Lydia’s relatives—adopted the term “Moors”. This evasive nomenclature served as a survival strategy, providing a separate identity that was neither “white” nor “black,” but allowed the community to remain on their ancestral lands.
A Legacy of Leadership and Resilience
Lydia came from a family of leaders. Her brother, Noble “Noke” Norwood, was a tall, “dark copper-colored” man described as a leader in the Indian community during the early 19th century.
The resilience of our family continued through Lydia’s grandson (my relative through Chief Wyniaco’s line), William Russell Clark. He became the first Chief of the formally incorporated Nanticoke Indian Association in 1922. Chief Wyniaco famously contended that Lydia’s 1855 testimony—which suggested our people had African rather than Indian roots—was coerced by the white landowner on whom she was dependent in her old age. He adamantly maintained that she died repentant, having told relatives she had “dishonored her people” through those forced statements.
Why This Story Matters Today
The Nanticoke language was thought to have died with Lydia in 1856, but in 2007, our community began a revival effort using word lists compiled by figures like Thomas Jefferson.
Lydia’s story is a reminder that we are still here. The monuments erected by non-Natives claiming she was the “last” of the aborigines were wrong. She was not a closing chapter, but a bridge. As her descendant, I carry her history not as a “thing of the past,” but as a living reality. Knowing her story means refusing to let the “paper genocide” of the 19th century define who we are in the 21st.
More from this lineage: Trace the full 360-year story in The Life of Amindab, and discover Comfort Harmon, another matriarch of Delaware’s Free People of Color.
[…] 1648, a documented Nanticoke man of Delaware. That is not family lore — it is a paper trail. The Nanticoke were one of the Algonquian-speaking peoples of the Delmarva Peninsula, and my documented ancestry […]
[…] Read more about Lydia E. Clark, the “Last” Nanticoke of Delaware, and how Comfort Harmon’s L2a1 mtDNA connects to this same […]