Boston 1775

Dorringtons Accused of “Blowing Up Flies”

2009-07-19T09:07:00.001-05:00

As I quoted back here, Boston selectman Timothy Newell recorded that on 14 July 1775:

Dorrington his son and daughter and the nurse for blowing up flies in the evening, they are charged with giving signals in this way to the army without.

Though Newell didn’t record this detail, William Dorrington was the keeper of the smallpox hospital in the west end of town, and therefore answered to the selectmen. Presumably “the nurse” worked at the hospital as well.

The Dorrington party were examined in court on 18 and 19 July and dismissed on the 26th. Fellow prisoner Peter Edes later wrote a list of nasty acts by the prison officials that included: “Also three dollars was demanded of Dorrington, and the provost kept his bed and bedding six days, and then delivered them up.”

A few months back John A. Nagy, an author who’s looking into Revolutionary War espionage, asked me what I thought “blowing up flies” meant. The Dorringtons’ fellow prisoners used that phrase and called the family “the Fly blowers,” so apparently it didn’t strike them as odd or in need of explanation.

I found another use of the phrase in the Annual Register for 1794, which gives a clearer sense of the act:

Brighthelmstone. A dreadful accident happened yesterday at Hove, in consequence of the inadvertency of a boy who was attempting to blow up flies with gunpowder, at a public-house. He had formed a train, for this purpose, across the side of the room, at the end of which stood a closet containing a great quantity of powder. A spark of the former unfortunately got among the latter, and, such were the dreadful consequences of the explosion, that the boy had one of his eyes blown out, and his face most shockingly mangled.

Two soldiers have likewise suffered so much by the same, that their lives are despaired of. There were several more in the apartment, who escaped unhurt. That part of the room, however, where the gunpowder stood, was intirely knocked down by the violence of the shock, and the house considerably damaged.

So it looks like “blowing up flies” meant exactly what it looks like: using gunpowder to set off small explosions in order to kill flies. A lot of flies, I hope, given the trouble and risk involved. Given that cleansing the smallpox hospital involved “smoking” the rooms and linens, however, perhaps people thought explosions could kill two types of bugs with one blast.

No doubt the besieged British garrison was on edge and suspicious about explosions in town. And the Dorringtons were “blowing up flies” at night, out on the side of the peninsula closest to the Continental troops in Cambridge. So they might have been lucky to be let out so quickly.

“Where the Small Pox has been for sometime past”

2009-07-18T09:09:00.001-05:00

In December 1774, Boston selectmen learned that children in three British officers’ families were recovering from the smallpox—possibly after receiving the disease by inoculation. They wanted to respond quickly. But they heard the news on on a Saturday evening, and weren’t supposed to do business on Sunday.

The selectmen therefore gathered on “Sabbath Evening” and drafted an advertisement for those weekly newspapers that appeared on Monday. Here’s the text from the Boston Evening-Post:

The Publick are here by informed, that there are now but three People in the Hospital at New Boston infected with the Small Pox, who will probably be dismissed from thence this Week; that on Saturday information was given that the Wife of Mr. [Trotter] Hill, Surgeon of the 59th Regiment and three of their Children in a House in Hanover Street, near the head of Cold Lane, also two Children of Lieut. [John] Clark’s of said Regiment, under the same Roof, have the Distemper together, with three Children of Capt. [James] Figg’s of the 59th Regiment, in a House down a Yard opposite the White Horse [tavern], South End:—

As it has been suggested that the eleven Children received the Infection by Inoculation, the Inhabitants may be assured, that such Measures will be pursued with the Delinquents, for the present and future safety of the Town and Country as the Laws of the Land require.

But the selectmen didn’t have a lot of legal options. According to their 19 December discussion:

The Selectmen deliberated on the expediency of removing the Persons infected, from Capt. Clarkes in Hanover Street and Capt. Figs House opposite the White Horse who refused their consent for a removal, and considering the doubtfulness of the Law as to impowering the Selectmen to remove any Person contrary to their consent—therefore Voted that Fences be put up in the Street near the Infected Houses, and that a Flag be hung out in each House to give notice of the Distemper.

The selectmen apparently went to Gen. Thomas Gage and ask that the military use its own resources to look after its sick dependents. The following week they could announce:

No Inhabitant [i.e., local] has hitherto taken the Distemper, & by the care of his Excellency the Governor a Transport is provided for the reception of any Persons Belonging to the Army who should hereafter appear to have the Symptoms of that Disorder

And indeed on 27 December, when the selectmen heard about another case in the officers’ households, the patient didn’t end up in the province hospital:

Information was given Yesterday by Dr. [Charles] Jarvis that a Maid Servant in Lieut. Clarkes House in Hannover where the Small Pox has been for sometime past, was broke out with the Small Pox; She was by consent of the master and the Order of Collo. Hammilton put on hoard the Hospital Ship in the Harbour.

The same day, Dr. Charles Jarvis reported that the “Davis McGraws & Jacksons Children” were well enough to go home safely. But another person didn’t leave the hospital in such fortunate circumstances:

One George Baldwin a Soldier sent to the Hospital from the Barracks in King Street, died on the 13th. Inst [i.e., of this month], when Mr. [William] Barrett had orders to bury him in the Night, carrying his Corps over the Hill to the Burying Ground at the bottom of the Common.

On 4 January, the outbreak appeared to be over. The selectmen stated:

Information having been given that the Hospital at New Boston is now sufficiently smoked & cleansed Mr. Will. Darrington the Keeper had leave for himself & Family to go abroad as usual & Orders were given him accordingly.

But only one week later “a Lad of one Kings a Rigger at the North End” came down with the disease, and he and his mother moved into the hospital. The disease had reached the civilian population, and would continue to spread slowly but steadily through 1775 and 1776. This was an early stage of the continent-wide smallpox epidemic that Elizabeth Fenn discusses in Pox Americana.

TOMORROW: Back to the arrest of William Dorrington. (Remember that?)

“Neither...would own that they had received the Infection by Inoculation.”

2009-07-17T08:25:00.006-05:00

Even though Boston’s selectmen reacted quickly to the news on 22 Nov 1774 that children in two soldiers’ families had come down with the smallpox, they weren’t quick enough. The published records aren’t clear, but it looks like on 26 November there was more bad news:

Dr. [Charles] Jarvis informed the Selectmen that a Child at Magrath in Marshalls Lane the Soldiers House where the other Children were sent from had undoubted Symptoms of the Small Pox—upon which the Child was carried to the Hospital at New Boston by its Father

The next day another child in the same house—now referred to as “Mrs. Megros in Marshalls Lane”—fell ill. This child belonged to Lt. Dennett-Milton Woodward of the 59th. That was the same regiment that the soldiers were in.

The disease began to run its course in the first infected children, Dr. Jarvis also reported. They had a standard response, as in this example from 17 December:

Dr. Jarvis who has the care of the Hospital at West Boston haveg. reported to the Selectmen that three of the Children sent there with the Small Pox vizt. two of one Burkins, and one of Magrath Are now recovered, and that in his Opinion they might be permitted to leave the Hospital with safety to the Inhabitants.

Orders were accordingly given to Mr. William Darrington Keeper of said Hospital to permit their leaving it so soon as he had well smoked and cleansed them, and fresh Suits of Clothing were provided for them.

However, that evening the selectmen heard more disturbing news:

Information being given by Dr. Latham that the Small Pox was broke out in Dr. [Trotter] Hills House in Hanover Street, and at Capt. Figgs opposite the White Horse [tavern] South End—Dr. Jarvis was directed to examine into the Circumstances of these Families & Report their state.

Dr. Jarvis Reported, that he had visited these Familys, & found that Dr. Hills Wife & three Children were nearly passed thro’ the Small Pox and that several of Capt. Figgs Children had the Disorder—but that neither the Capt. nor Dr. would own that they had received the Infection by Inoculation.

It’s obvious that Jarvis and the town officials thought that Hill, an army surgeon, had inoculated his children and perhaps those of Capt.-Lt. James Figge. (The captain’s name is transcribed in the published town records as “Trig.” However, in the newspapers and lists of army officers it appears as some variation on “Figge.”)

Such inoculation carried the risk of spreading the disease, and was therefore supposed to take place only under controlled conditions. Even then, many people distrusted the process; earlier in 1774, Marbleheaders had rioted and destroyed a smallpox hospital that was about to open in their harbor because they feared its patients would spread the disease. And now Boston’s highest officials suspected Dr. Hill had decided to carry out the procedure on his own authority, ignoring local rules—a metaphor for everything the Patriots resented about the government in London.

TOMORROW: The selectmen look for a response.

Boston’s Selectmen Fight the Smallpox

2009-07-16T09:08:00.006-05:00

On 22 Nov 1774, the Boston selectmen learned that smallpox had broken out in town. Frightening as this disease was, the selectmen had procedures for limiting epidemics among the inhabitants. This outbreak became complicated, however, because it involved military families, and thus competing lines of authority.

The initial report came from the surgeon of the 59th Regiment of Foot, Dr. Trotter Hill. There were two families involved, headed by soldiers named McGrath (though spellings varied widely) and Burkins. The regiment was one of several that had arrived in Massachusetts in the preceding months.

The selectmen responded quickly:

The five Children with the Small Pox in the House of one Magraw a Soldier of the 59th Regiment [under] Collo. [Otho] Hammelton were removed this morning to the Hospital at at [sic] New Boston under the care of Mr. [William] Dorrington, the Parents of the Children consenting to the same.

Voted, that Dr. [Charles] Jarvis have the care of the Children as their Physician.

The Mother of three of the Small Pox Children, and the Father of two of them, were permitted to go into the Hospital, to attend their Children.

Agreed with Mr. Joseph Vose to supply the Hospital with Mutton for three Weeks, at 3 Coppers p. pound.

That afternoon a smaller set of selectmen continued to deal with the health crisis. They posted “a Guard...to prevent the Soldiers going into the Infected Rooms” of the house. They ordered Dorrington as keeper of the hospital to “prevent any Persons from coming in and going out of your House, unless they have our Permission,” and to “conduct in such a manner as to give satisfaction to the Sick and their Friends, at the same time that you guard against needless expences.”

Hiring William Barrett to deliver supplies to the hospital, the selectmen said he “must keep an Account of in a small Book for our Inspection.” They also ordered Barrett to treat the house where the infected families had lived to keep the disease from spreading:

You must Smoke and cleanse the Rooms of the House the Sick were taken from well with Rossom [rosin] and Brimstone, and the Bedding and other things to prevent the Infection being communicated and if you should observe that the Guard permits any Person going in without our permission, give us immediate notice there of

Smoking clothing, linen, and other goods was the standard way to prevent the spread of smallpox. I’m not sure it had any effect on the virus—perhaps the heat, dryness, or simple passage of time was helpful. More likely, the effort let people think they were doing something.

TOMORROW: The situation grows worse.

William Dorrington: keeper of the hospital

2009-07-15T08:48:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I quoted Boston selectman Timothy Newell recording the arrest of “Dorrington his son and daughter and the nurse” by British military authorities on 14 July 1775.

William Dorrington was one of the town of Boston’s relatively few employees. He had started to work in the public sector on 4 Nov 1761 when the selectmen appointed him “the Head or Constable of the Watch at the North end.”

On 11 June 1762, the selectmen were worried that “the Fire was not extinguished in the Ruins of the Buildings at Williams’s Court” that day, so they ordered Dorrington and several other watchmen to watch “the Fire the whole of the Night, and that they imploy themselves in throwing Water upon the same till it is quite extinguish’d.”

Dorrington left that job in the summer of 1763—perhaps the hours were getting to him. He reappears in the town records on 22 Apr 1772, when the selectmen appointed him the keeper of “the House at New Boston, being the Province Hospital.” This was on the sparsely settled western wing of the Boston peninsula. Smallpox patients were quarantined there. Dorrington and his family, who must have had the disease already, would apparently get to live in that building year-round in exchange for taking care of patients when necessary.

Dorrington reported that day that “the Hospital House at New Boston requires glazing [i.e., windows], and he was directed to apply to the Province Glazier, for the same.” He also supplied an inventory of items in the hospital, which promptly led to a list of hospital property that the previous keeper had taken with him.

On 27 April, the selectmen—including John Scollay, John Hancock, and Newell—gave Dorrington his formal charge:

We having appointed you Keeper of the Province Hospital at New Boston under our care and inspection, and delivered up to your Keeping sundry Utensils belonging to said Hospital as specified in an Inventory taken thereof. Our Orders and directions are that you take proper care of these Articles and apply and use them only for the convenience & necessitys of such sick and diseased Persons as may from time to time be Sent to you.

You must also take good care of the House and admit no unnecessary Visitors, and see that the several Apartments and Rooms for the sick are properly aired, and when any Repairs are wanted let us have speedy Information that so everything may be ready to receive any sick Persons upon the most sudden notice.

TOMORROW: How this system responded to a smallpox outbreak.

“Imprisoned some time past”

2009-07-14T09:10:00.007-05:00

In 2007-08, I transcribed the diary of selectman Timothy Newell during the siege of Boston, but somehow I managed to miss this entry:

14th [July 1775]. Last night was awoke by the discharge of cannon on the lines—

Master James Lovell, Master [John] Leach, John—Hunt, have been imprisoned some time past—all they know why it is so is they are charged with free speaking on the public measures.

Dorrington his son and daughter and the nurse for blowing up flies in the evening, they are charged with giving signals in this way to the army without.

John Hunt was charged on 19 July with “speaking treason,” and five days later the prison provost—William Cunningham may already have held that post—added that “Mr. Hunt had hurt his puppy dog and by God he should be confined a month longer.” But that apparently didn’t sway the military authorities, and Hunt was freed on 25 July.

Lovell and Leach were schoolteachers. British officers found some letters on Dr. Joseph Warren’s body that appeared to come from a teacher inside Boston, perhaps signed with the initials “J.L.” The army arrested both men on 29 June. Leach was set free in October, but Lovell (who had in fact sent those letters) was shipped to Halifax as a prisoner in March 1776.

TOMORROW: The Dorrington family.

(Irresistible puppy courtesy of the Massachusetts Department of Animal Health.)

Mary Greenwood Crosses the Siege Lines

2009-07-13T17:27:00.000-05:00

On 13 July 1775, Lt. Col. Joseph Reed, military secretary to Gen. George Washington (shown here courtesy of the University of Pennsylvania), provided a pass to a woman named Greenwood allowing her to travel through the siege lines into Boston. Reed sent this note to Gen. Israel Putnam, adding precautions that “she receive no papers from anyone,” according to a précis of the commander’s papers created by the Library of Congress.

This woman was Mary Greenwood. She had been born “in some Irish garrison town in 1725,” according to her son John’s memoirs. She and ivory-turner Isaac Greenwood recorded their intention to marry in Boston on 21 Jan 1757, and they raised their children in the North End. Isaac’s apprentice Samuel Maverick was the youngest person killed in the Boston Massacre.

Mary Greenwood left Boston on 16 June 1775 to hunt down her son Johnny, who was then fifteen years old and had run away from his uncle’s up in Maine. He has joined the provincial troops as a fifer, and was more than a little startled to see his mother. That’s a story in itself, which I’ll tell one day. For now, here is his later account of her passage into besieged Boston:

One day, as I was standing by my tent, who should I see but my mother coming toward me in company with Sergeant (afterward Major) Mills.

“Well, Johnny,” said she, “I am going at last to see your father, thank God! I hope you will behave like a soldier, and who knows but what you may be a general.”

She bade me good-by, and the sergeant who had the care of conducting her to the British lines went with her to a fort on Prospect Hill, or as the enemy, believing it impregnable, had called it, Mount Pisgah. It was nothing, however, but a common dirt fort made of ground and covered with sods of grass, mounting about eight or ten iron guns, from 9- to 18-pounders, nevertheless it was strong enough for them.

John Greenwood frequently ridiculed the British army’s prowess in his memoir, not always accurately. For instance, he claimed that at Bunker Hill, “The British had ten men to our one, as history will inform you; and I was an eye-witness.” An accurate count is impossible, but the best estimates today say the British troops numbered about 3,000 and the Americans about 2,400.

Back to Mary Greenwood’s trip into Boston.

She…asked them [American officers] what she should say if the English asked her any questions about them. Their answer was: “Tell them we are ready for them at any time they choose to come out to attack us.”

My mother was then taken to the lines and walked alone from the American to the British sentry, whereupon a portion of the guard came down from Bunker Hill and escorted her into the fort. There the commanding officer, Major [John] Small, an acquaintance and friend of my father, treated her with the greatest politeness (for every person who was acquainted with him knows he was a real gentleman) and waited upon her himself to her residence in Boston, whence she was desired to attend on Governor [Thomas] Gage.

Mary Greenwood reportedly told the British commander exactly what American officers had instructed her to say. Her son insisted that Gage was “frightened” by her remarks.

“Get a Horse for Pappa.”

2009-07-12T08:49:00.006-05:00

In August 1776, Abigail Adams realized that if she wanted her husband John to come home from the Continental Congress in Philadelphia, she would have to make the trip possible. Procuring his own horses was too hard for him—perhaps because everyone expected a big battle around New York.

So on 22 August, Abigail reported that she had convinced a neighbor named Bass—probably Joseph Bass, who had worked as John’s servant in 1775—to ride to Philadelphia with an extra horse and accompany John home. As to those horses:

I shall write to my Father to request of him that he would endeavour to procure for you a couple of Horses. I shall try some other Friends and will fix of Bass as soon as tis possible to procure Horses for you. . . .

As to applying to —— [she probably meant the Massachusetts government] for Horses, I remember the old proverb, he who waits for dead mens shooes may go barefoot. It would only lengthen out the time, and we should be no better of, than before I askd. I will have them if they are to be had at any price, and they may pay for them. I think you have done your part.

Abigail had other worries on her mind. Nabby, Charly, and Tommy Adams were still getting over their smallpox inoculations, and they wanted their father home. On 25 August, Abigail sent John this anecdote to remind him of his paternal responsibilities:

I was talking of sending for you and trying to procure horses for you when little Charles who lay upon the couch coverd over with small Pox, and nobody knew that he heard or regarded any thing which was said, lifted up his head and says Mamma, take my Dollor and get a Horse for Pappa.

In that same letter, Abigail reported some success at finding mounts:

Our Friends are very kind. My Father [the Rev. William Smith] sends his Horse and Dr. [Cotton] Tufts has offerd me an other one he had of unkle [Quincy] about 5 year old. He has never been journeys, but is able enough. Mr. Bass is just come, and says he cannot sit out till tomorrow week without great damage to his Buisness. . . . Tho I urged him to sit of [i.e., set off] tomorrow, yet the Horses will be in a better State as they will not be used and more able to perform the journey. I am obliged to consent to his tarrying till then when you may certainly expect him.

Bass is affraid that the Drs. Horse will not be able to travel so fast as he must go. He will go and see him, and in case he is not your Brother has promised to let one of his go.

Bass finally departed with the two horses on 29 August.

On 5 Sept 1776, John wrote back:

I am rejoiced that my Horses are come. I shall now be able to take a ride. But it is uncertain, when I shall set off, for home. I will not go, at present. Affairs are too delicate and critical.

I usually admire Abigail Adams more than I sympathize with her, but in this case I feel like she deserves a free swing of the frying pan.

“Necessary to procure two Horses”

2009-07-11T08:43:00.007-05:00

In August 1776, with the Continental Congress just having declared independence and the British army and navy massing in huge numbers around Staten Island, what was on John Adams’s mind?

Among other things, he was whining about not having a horse to ride home on. He complained in letters to his wife Abigail about how the Massachusetts Committee of Safety had supplied “an Horse and a fine chaise” for Samuel Adams, but nothing for him. Couldn’t she send him a horse and servant to Philadelphia to accompany him back home?

Of course, that meant she would have to find two horses to spare, all while keeping the farm going. And right then the family was undergoing the smallpox cure in Boston. On 12 August, Abigail told John:

And now about your returning. I am shut up here, and wholly unable to do that for you, which I might endeavour to if I was at home, and then the fate of your poor horse which I must ever lament makes it necessary to procure two Horses and a very great Scarcity there are. I think I should advice you if you could light of a good Horse, to procure one there, as you will stand in need of one when you return.

But John didn’t take the hint. He kept writing things like:

I shall conclude by repeating my Request for Horses and a servant. Let the Horses be good ones. I cant ride a bad Horse, so many hundred Miles. If our Affairs had not been in so critical a state at N. York, I should have run away before now. But I am determined now to stay, untill some Gentleman is sent here in my Room [i.e., until Massachusetts chose another delegate to replace him], and untill my Horses come.

And on 20 August:

I am so comfortable however, as to be determined to wait for a servant and Horses. Horses are so intollerably dear, at this Place, that it will not do for me to purchase one, here.

So it was up to Abigail.

TOMORROW: Abigail Adams finds a solution.

(Photo above courtesy of the Virginia Department of Agriculture.)

“One Misfortune in our family”

2009-07-10T09:25:00.002-05:00

During his trip to attend the Continental Congress at Philadelphia in May 1775, John Adams used a mare who got spooked in New York and destroyed his father-in-law’s sulky, as described yesterday. The same horse might appear in this vignette from a little more than a year later.

On 14 July 1776, Abigail Adams wrote to John, once again in Philadelphia, with important news from their Braintree farm:

There is one Misfortune in our family which I have never mentiond in hopes it would have been in my power to have remedied it, but all hopes of that kind are at an end. It is the loss of your Grey Horse.

About 2 months ago, I had occasion to send Jonathan of an errant to my unkle Quincys (the other Horse being a plowing). Upon his return a little below the church she trod upon a rolling stone and lamed herself to that degree that it was with great difficulty that she could be got home.

I immediately sent for [neighbor] Tirrel and every thing was done for her by Baths, ointments, polticeing, Bleeding &c. that could be done. Still she continued extreem lame tho not so bad as at first.

I then got her carried to Domet but he pronounces her incurable, as a callous is grown upon her footlock joint. You can hardly tell, not even by your own feelings how much I lament her. She was not with foal, as you immagined, but I hope she is now as care has been taken in that Respect.

The last line indicates that this mare might not have been healthy enough for riding or pulling vehicles any longer, but might still pay for her keep by bringing forth a colt. But that left John Adams without a way to come home from Philadelphia.

“Dashed the Body of the Sulky all to Pieces”

2009-07-09T08:54:00.005-05:00

So what did John Adams have to say about the Massachusetts delegates’ entrance into New York on 7 May 1775? Unlike John Hancock and Silas Deane, he didn’t write home about how the crowd had tried to honor those men by unhitching their horses and pulling their carriages along.

For one thing, Adams didn’t have a carriage, only a “sulky,” or two-wheeled cart, borrowed from his father-in-law, the Rev. William Smith. For another, his servant Joseph Bass seems to have been riding in it alone; Adams was apparently in another delegate’s carriage. But most important, things hadn’t gone so well for him.

On 8 May 1775, John told his wife Abigail:

Jose Bass met with a Misfortune, in the Midst of some of the unnecessary Parade that was made about us. My Mare, being galled with an ugly Buckle in the Tackling, suddenly flinched and started in turning short round a Rock, in a shocking bad Road, overset the sulky which frightened her still more. She ran, and dashed the Body of the Sulky all to Pieces. I was obliged to leave my sulky, ship my Bagage on board Mr. [Thomas] Cushings Carriage, buy me a Saddle and mount on Horse back. I am thankfull that Bass was not kill'd. He was in the utmost danger, but not materially hurt.

I am sorry for this Accident, both on Account of the Trouble and Expence, occasioned by it. I must pay your Father for his sulky. But in Times like these, such Little Accidents should not affect us.

When the delegates entered Philadelphia a few days later, the Loyalist Samuel Curwen noted “John Hancock and Samuel Adams in a phaeton and pair,...John Adams and Thomas Cushing in a single horse chaise; behind followed Robert Treat Paine, and after him the New York delegation and some from the Province of Connecticut etc. etc.”

(The thumbnail above is Carl Rakeman’s vision of the Boston Post Road in 1763, painted for the Bureau of Public Roads sometime between 1921 and 1952. The man in the chaise is supposed to be Benjamin Franklin, the woman on horseback his daughter.)

Entering New York in Proper Style

2009-07-08T09:11:00.003-05:00

I’m on a trip to California right now, so I’m devoting a few days to John and Abigail Adams’s epistolary conversations about travel in 1775-76.

In May 1775, less than a month after the Battle of Lexington and Concord, John headed off to Philadelphia for the new session of the Continental Congress. He hired a young neighbor named Joseph Bass to come along as his servant, and traveled in company with the other Massachusetts delegates. The most prominent of that group were John Hancock and Samuel Adams, who had supposedly enjoyed a narrow escape from the British troops at Lexington. (I don’t think they really did.)

In Connecticut the Massachusetts linked up with some of the representatives of that colony and Rhode Island. A great crowd awaited the string of carriages and sulkies when they arrived in New York on 7 May 1775.

That evening, Hancock wrote to his fiancée, Dorothy Quincy:

When I got within a mile of the City my Carriage was stopt, and Persons appearing with proper Harnesses insisted upon Taking out my Horses and Dragging me into and through the City, a Circumstance I would not have had Taken place upon any consideration, not being fond of such Parade.

I Beg’d and Intreated that they would Suspend the Design, and ask’d it as a favour, and the Matter Subsided, but when I got to the Entrance of the City, and the Numbers of Spectators increas’d to perhaps Seven Thousand or more, they Declar’d they would have the Horses out and would Drag me themselves through the City. I repeated my Request, and I was obliged to apply to the Leading Gentlemen in the procession to intercede with them not to Carry their Designs into Execution; as it was very disagreeable to me. They were at last prevail’d upon and I preceded.

Samuel Adams’s family preserved a different memory of such an occasion—possibly this one, possibly some other time—which reflected better on their ancestor and less well on his traveling companion:

The people were attempting to take the horses from the carriage, in order to drag it themselves. Mr. Adams remonstrated against it. His companion, pleased with the intended compliment, was desirous of enjoying it, and endeavored to remove the objection of Mr. Adams, to which he at last replied: “If you wish to be gratified with so humiliating a spectacle, I will get out and walk, for I will not countenance an act by which my fellow-citizens shall degrade themselves into beasts.” This prevented its execution.

And Silas Deane of Connecticut told his wife that he’d shared in the tribute offered to all the Congress delegates:

A little dispute arose as we came near the town, the populace insisting on taking out our horses and drawing the carriages by hand. This would have relieved Mr. Hancock’s horses, for they were well tired; but mine were with difficulty managed amid the crowd, smoke and noise.

Obviously, it was a great honor to have the populace offer to pull your carriage, but it was incumbent upon you to adamantly refuse.

TOMORROW: And what was John Adams’s report on that occasion?

Abigail Adams, Investor

2009-07-07T15:44:00.000-05:00

On Sunday the Washington Post ran an essay by Prof. Woody Holton about the successful investing strategies of Abigail Adams—which included making sure that she saw John’s letters and that he didn’t see hers until she was ready.

You could have read about Abigail Adams’s speculations here on Boston 1775 back in 2007—but only because I’d heard Woody speak about this aspect of his research a few years ago and kept my eyes open for more. His book promises to be interesting.

Armonica Concert at Newton Library, 9 July

2009-07-07T08:31:00.001-05:00

This is a photograph of Benjamin Franklin’s musical invention, the glass armonica or harmonica. The Franklin Institute in Philadelphia explains:

Franklin completed his glass armonica in 1761. (Its name is derived from the Italian word for harmony.) He didn't simply refine the idea of musical glasses, which were played much like children at the dinner table play them today, with notes being determined by the amount of water in the glass. Rather, Franklin made chords and lively melodies possible on his new instrumental invention.

Working with a glassblower in London [Charles James], Franklin made a few dozen glass bowls, tuned to notes by their varying size and fitted one inside the next with cork. Each bowl was made with the correct size and thickness to give the desired pitch without being filled with any water. Franklin also painted them so that each bowl was color-coded to a different note. A hole was put through the center of the glass bowls, and an iron rod ran through the holes. The rod was attached to a wheel, which was turned by a foot pedal. Moistened fingers touched to the edge of the spinning glasses produced the musical sounds.

For about fifty years the armonica was an established instrument, inspiring compositions by Mozart, Beethoven, Donizetti, and others. Then it fell out of favor. Longtime players may have been poisoned by lead in the glass, associating the instrument with madness.

On Thursday, 9 July, at 7:00 P.M., the Newton Free Library will host a free public concert of armonica music by Boston’s foremost player, Vera Meyer. She plans to dress in period costume and play a wide selection of pieces on her instrument, made by the late Gerhard Finkenbeiner. Here’s a profile of Vera at Bostonist, and a YouTube video of her playing in Harvard Square. There are also armonica recordings at Vera’s MySpace page.

The Philadelphia Connection

2009-07-06T08:44:00.006-05:00

Yesterday I reproduced much of the account of the creation of the so-called “Grand Union Flag” from Robert A. Campbell’s Our Flag, published in 1890. That book credited the design to an eccentric, unnamed professor meeting in Cambridge with Gen. George Washington, Dr. Benjamin Franklin, and two other delegates to the Continental Congress.

Campbell acknowledged, “There is no record of any congressional action upon the report of this committee; nor, indeed, any record of any report made by the committee.” But remember the wife of the meeting’s host, who became secretary of their committee? Campbell wrote that he based his account “upon her notes made at the time, and upon her subsequent correspondence.”

And he claimed to have other papers from her as well:

The following memoranda is in the handwriting of the lady who made the notes of the Franklin Committee-meeting in Cambridge, and in the same hand bears this endorsement:

“By direction of Dr. Franklin, now in Paris, I made this copy of the Professor’s memoranda; and today I delivered the original of the same, and also a sealed letter (marked ‘private’ and tied up with it), into the hands of General Washington May 13, 1777.”

The following scrap in the same handwriting and evidently from a letter—but not showing either date, address nor signature—is full suggestion:

“You know how much interest I have taken in the new flag. It seems that there has been considerable attention given to the matter, in a quiet way, by some of our prominent men; and that the Professor’s design is almost universally pleasing to them. Last Friday afternoon I was invited to be present at a little gathering where the subject would be considered; and you may be sure I was greatly surprised, and not a little confused, to find myself the only woman there, while there was men around a dozen. They read the Professor’s memoranda and discussed the design. That is they one and all approved it. I explained to them how I came to be the custodian of the papers, and why they had not been sooner delivered to General Washington. The matter is finally settled, however, for the very next day the Congress here adopted the Stars and Stripes as the flag of the thirteen Colonies. And now that the matter is brought to such a satisfactory issue, you can not, I am sure, at all imagine how pleased I am with the result, and how proud I am with the accidental and humble part I have had in its consummation.”

This letter evidently refers to a meeting held on the afternoon of Friday, June 13, 1777, the day before congressional action upon the adoption of the Stars and Stripes.

Campbell never stated the name of this woman or her husband, and of course no one has produced those historical documents.

Because they never existed.

Our Flag was reprinted by a small Utah press in 1976. Its editor, in an attempt to correlate all American legends about the creation of the flag, suggested that the woman who wrote those papers, who carried the Professor’s design from Cambridge to Philadelphia, was none other than...Betsy Ross!

In late 1775, she did still have a husband, John Ross. But he was an upholsterer in Philadelphia, not the owner of a large house in Cambridge. Details, details.

The Myth of the Professor’s Flag

2009-07-05T08:57:00.015-05:00

Often the legend of the “Speech of the Unknown,” retold yesterday, is paired with another legend of an unidentified man advising the Founders, in this case about the American flag. To the conspiracy-minded, these two men must be the same. To anyone concerned with history based on contemporaneous documents and primary sources, the stories are equally ludicrous.

The oldest version of the flag story appeared in Our Flag, or the Evolution of the Stars and Stripes including the Reason to Be of the Design; the Colors, and Their Position, Mystic Interpretation Together with Selections Eloquent, Patriotic and Poetical, published by Robert A. Campbell in 1890. An extract appears on this webpage. It sets the scene this way:

In the fall of 1775, the Colonial Congress, then in session at Philadelphia, appointed Messrs. [Benjamin] Franklin, [Thomas] Lynch and [Benjamin] Harrison as a committee to consider and recommend a design for the Colonial Flag. General [George] Washington was then in camp at Cambridge, Massachusetts; and the committee went there to consult with him concerning the work in hand.

The Continental Congress did in fact appoint those three delegates as a committee to consult with the commander, but not on the flag. They met in a council of war, which also included other top generals and representatives from the New England colonies, at Washington’s headquarters on 23-24 Oct 1775. Congress’s records show that Lynch and Harrison were back in Philadelphia accepting new committee assignments in early November.

Campbell’s book differs, saying that “The committeemen arrived at Cambridge on the morning of December 13th.” And it describes three more participants in the discussion between Washington and the Congress delegates: “one of the patriotic and well-to-do citizens” of Cambridge, who hosted the visitors; that man’s wife; and

a very peculiar old gentleman who was a temporary sojourner with the family. . . . Little seems to have been known concerning this old gentleman; and in the materials from which this account is compiled his name is not even once mentioned, for he is uniformly spoken of or referred to as “the Professor.”

Since there were few colleges in North America at the time, there were very few professors, and those gentlemen were all very prominent. This man, in contrast, seems to have been some sort of anonymous professor.

After a great deal of detail that makes one wonder if Campbell was trying to fill out pages, he states that the group formed themselves into a committee to discuss the flag. Naturally, the one woman at the table becomes the secretary—this is a late nineteenth-century story, after all.

The mysterious Professor addresses the needs for a flag:

“Comrade Americans: We are assembled here to devise and suggest the design for a new flag, which will represent, at once, the principles and determination of the Colonies to unite in demanding and securing justice from the Government to which they still owe recognized allegiance. We are not, therefore, expected to design or recommend a flag which will represent a new government or an independent nation, but one which simply represents the principle that even kings owe something of justice to their loyal subjects. . . .

“General Washington, here, is a British Subject; aye, he is a British soldier; and he is in command of British troops; and they are only attempting to enforce their rights as loyal subjects of the British Crown. But General Washington will soon forswear all allegiance to everything foreign; and he will ere many months appear before his own people, the people of these Colonies, and before the world, as the general commanding the armies of a free and united people, organized into a new and independent nation.

“The flag which is now recommended must be one designed and adapted to meet the inevitable—and soon to be accomplished—change of allegiance. The flag now adopted must be one that will testify our present loyalty as English Subjects; and it must be one easily modified—but needing no radical change—to make it announce and represent the new nation which is already gestating in the womb of time; and which will come to birth—and that not prematurely, but fully developed and ready for the change into independent life—before the sun in its next summer’s strength ripens our next harvest. . . .”

Having predicted the future—without any apparent response from the officials around him—the Professor then goes on to describe the ideal source for the Continental Army’s flag:

“I refer to the flag of the English East India Company, which is one with a field of alternate longitudinal red and white stripes, and having the Cross of St. George for a union. I therefore, suggest for your consideration a flag with a field composed of thirteen equally wide, longitudinal, alternate, red and white stripes, and with the Union Flag of England for a union.”

So the same company that American Patriots were lambasting as a source of corruption just two years before, during the tea crisis, would be the best source for the new national emblem?

It’s true that the East India Company’s red and white stripes (shown above in one version) looked a lot like the stripes that would eventually be on the American flag. Almost half a century after Our Flag appeared, Sir Charles Fawcett made the same connection. However, since the company’s ships were in the Indian Ocean, not many Americans had seen that flag. (For Peter Ansoff’s interesting detective work on how the company’s flag came to appear in an engraving of the Philadelphia waterfront in 1754, scroll down this page to the American Revolution Round Table’s 4 Mar 2009 event.)

Back to Campbell’s fictional Professor. He expounds on the symbolism of the banner he’s designed:

“Such a flag can readily be explained to the masses to mean as follows: The Union Flag of the Mother Country is retained as the union of our new flag to announce that the Colonies are loyal to the just and legitimate sovereignty of the British Government. The thirteen stripes will at once be understood to represent the thirteen Colonies; their equal width will type the equal rank, rights and responsibilities of the Colonies.

“The union of the stripes in the field of our flag will announce the unity of interests and the cooperative union of efforts, which the Colonies recognize and put forth in their common cause. The white stripes will signify that we consider our demands just and reasonable; and that we will seek to secure our rights through peaceable, intelligent and statesmanlike means—if they prove at all possible, and the red stripes at the top and bottom of our flag will declare that first and last—and always—we have the determination, the enthusiasm, and the power to use force, whenever we deem force necessary.

“The alternation of the red and white stripes will suggest that our reasons for all demands will be intelligent and forcible, and that our force in securing our rights will be just and reasonable.”

Our Flag states that this design was instantly adopted, with “General Washington and Doctor Franklin giving especial approval” (since no one in 1890 really cared what Harrison or Lynch might have thought). The book describes the debut of the Professor’s first flag in Cambridge on 2 Jan 1776—Washington “with his own hands” raising the standard and the Congress delegates still on hand. (More standard accounts discussed starting here.)

In Flags of the World, Past and Present (1915), W. J. Gordon called Campbell “greatly daring” for having claimed to reproduce the Professor’s long speech verbatim, especially since it contained historical errors about the British and East India Company flags. But Gordon nevertheless retold the story—and put that speech into Franklin’s mouth!

TOMORROW: Campbell’s legend continues—in Philadelphia.

Ferling on Washington on CSPAN Today

2009-07-05T08:17:00.002-05:00

Today at noon, CSPAN’s In Depth program will feature John Ferling speaking live from Mount Vernon on his new book, The Ascent of George Washington. This book looks at Washington as a highly successful politician who managed to position himself almost above politics.

Marie Arana reviewed the book in the Washington Post:

According to Ferling, no one worked harder to make us believe this than George Washington himself. He was “mad for glory,” success being a useful obsession for a wartime general or a presidential candidate. There is no doubt he was the right man for America at the right time, but as Ferling shows, he was also as calculating as he needed to be: shockingly capable of blaming others for his errors, so eager for power that he didn’t hesitate to trample anyone who stood in his way. The picture that emerges here is harsher, yet more human, than any we’ve had before.

Max Byrd wrote more provocatively for the Barnes & Noble website:

Somewhere around the age of 30, George Washington turned himself to stone.

Not all at once, and not completely. But so much so that by the time he rode into Philadelphia in 1775 for the Second Continental Congress, at the age of 43, his reputation was permanently fixed: a man of grave, stately bearing, with a “Soldier-like Air,” as a fellow delegate observed, “and a...hard countenance.” “As awful as a god,” added Abigail Adams. “A heart not warm in its affections,” said Thomas Jefferson carefully.

Jefferson was understating the matter badly.

The publisher, Bloomsbury, has a four-minute video of Ferling on the book’s webpage.

Ferling’s earlier portrait of Washington’s personal side is The First of Men.

Identifying the Unknown Orator

2009-07-04T09:06:00.001-05:00

In 1944, the author Manly P. Hall (a name that sounds made up, but isn’t) published a book called The Secret Destiny of America. It had this to say about the Continental Congress’s approval of the Declaration of Independence on this day 233 years ago:

Some years ago, while visiting the Theosophical colony at Ojai, California, A.P. Warrington, esoteric secretary of the society, discussed with me a number of historical curiosities, which led to examination of his rare old volume of early American political speeches of a date earlier than those preserved in the first volumes of the Congressional Record.

He made particular mention of a speech by an unknown man at the time of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. . . . There is no reason to doubt the accuracy and authenticity of Mr. Warrington’s copy, but I am undertaking such investigation as is possible to discover the source of the speech.

On July 4, 1776, in the old State House in Philadelphia, a group of patriotic men were gathered for the solemn purpose of proclaiming the liberty of the American colonies. From the letters of Thomas Jefferson which were preserved in the Library of Congress, I have been able to gather considerable data concerning this portentous session.

In reconstructing the scene, it is well to remember that if the Revolutionary War failed every man who signed the parchment then lying on the table would be subject to the penalty of death for high treason. It should also be remembered that the delegates representing the various colonies were not entirely of one mind as to the policies which should dominate the new nation.

There were several speeches. In the balcony patriotic citizens crowded all available space and listened attentively to the proceedings. Jefferson expressed himself with great vigor; and John Adams, of Boston, spoke and with great strength. The Philadelphia printer, Dr. Benjamin Franklin, quiet and calm as usual, spoke his mind with well chosen words. The delegates hovered between sympathy and uncertainty as the long hours of the summer days crept by, for life is sweet when there is danger of losing it. The lower doors were locked and a guard was posted to prevent interruption.

According to Jefferson, it was late in the afternoon before the delegates gathered their courage to the sticking point. The talk was about axes, scaffolds, and the gibbet, when suddenly a strong bold voice sounded—“Gibbet! They may stretch our necks on all the gibbets in the land; they may turn every rock into a scaffold; every tree into a gallows; every home into a grave, and yet the words of that parchment can never die! They may pour our blood on a thousand scaffolds, and yet from every drop that dyes the axe a new champion of freedom will spring into birth! The British King may blot out the stars of God from the sky, but he cannot blot out His words written on that parchment there. The works of God may perish: His words never!

“The words of this declaration will live in the world long after our bones are dust. To the mechanic in his workshop they will speak hope: to the slaves in the mines freedom: but to the coward kings, these words will speak in tones of warning they cannot choose but hear...

“Sign that parchment! Sign, if the next moment the gibbet’s rope is about your neck! Sign, if the next minute this hall rings with the clash of falling axes! Sign, by all your hopes in life or death, as men, as husbands, as fathers, brothers, sign your names to the parchment or be accursed forever! Sign, and not only for yourselves, but for all ages, for that parchment will be the textbook of freedom, the bible of the rights of man forever.

“Nay, do not start and whisper with surprise! It is truth, your own hearts witness it: God proclaims it. Look at this strange band of exiles and outcasts, suddenly transformed into a people; a handful of men, weak in arms, but mighty in God-like faith; nay look at your recent achievements, your Bunker Hill, your Lexington, and then tell me, if you can, that God has not given America to be free!

“It is not given to our poor human intellect to climb to the skies, and to pierce the Council of the Almighty One. But methinks I stand among the awful clouds which veil the brightness of Jehovah’s throne. Methinks I see the recording Angel come trembling up to that throne and speak his dread message. ‘Father, the old world is baptized in blood. Father, look with one glance of Thine eternal eye, and behold evermore that terrible sight, man trodden beneath the oppressor’s feet, nations lost in blood, murder, and superstition, walking hand in hand over the graves of the victims, and not a single voice of hope to man!’

“He stands there, the Angel, trembling with the record of human guilt. But hark! The voice of God speaks from out the awful cloud: ‘Let there be light again! Tell my people, the poor and oppressed, to go out from the old world, from oppression and blood, and build my altar in the new.’

“As I live, my friends, I believe that to be His voice! Yes, were my soul trembling on the verge of eternity, were this hand freezing in death, were this voice choking in the last struggle, I would still, with the last impulse of that soul, with the last wave of that hand, with the last gasp of that voice, implore you to remember this truth—God has given America to be free!

“Yes, as I sank into the gloomy shadows of the grave, with my last faint whisper I would beg you to sign that parchment for the sake of those millions whose very breath is now hushed in intense expectation as they look up to you for the awful words: ‘You are free.’”

The unknown speaker fell exhausted into his seat. The delegates, carried away by his enthusiasm, rushed forward. John Hancock scarcely had time to pen his bold signature before the quill was grasped by another. It was done.

The delegates turned to express their gratitude to the unknown speaker for his eloquent words.
He was not there.

Who was this strange man, who seemed to speak with divine authority, whose solemn words gave courage to the doubters and sealed the destiny of the new nation?

Unfortunately, no one knows. . . .

There are many interesting implications in his words.

He speaks of the ‘rights of man,’ although Thomas Paine’s book by that name was not published until thirteen years later.

He mentions the all-seeing eye of God which was afterwards to appear on the reverse of the Great Seal of the new nation.

In all, there is much to indicate that the unknown speaker was one of the agents of the secret Order, guarding and directing the destiny of America.

Actually, there is much to indicate—such as exact, line-by-line quoting at the start of the speech—that these words were derived from George Lippard’s Washington and His Generals; or, Legends of the Revolution, published in 1847.

Lippard was one of the great fictionalizers of the Revolution in the Philadelphia area. His “legends” were short stories with supernatural overlays and patriotic morals. Though he dropped historical names, he didn’t stick to historical details, such as when Congress actually voted for independence (2 July) and when delegates started signing the famous handwritten copy of the Declaration (2 August). And as histrionic as Hall’s exhortation looks, Lippard’s original version of “The Speech of the Unknown” was even more over the top.

Yet some people repeat this tale as if it were useful history. It’s been quoted by a future President, who had the false understanding, probably from Hall, that Jefferson had described the moment. Other writers have said that the unknown orator was an immortal named Count Saint-Germain, the angel Moroni, or future Maryland delegate John Hanson. But the identity of the unknown is quite simple—he’s fictional.

Henries Vomhavi and Two Captured Horses

2009-07-03T08:49:00.002-05:00

On 3 July 1775, the Massachusetts Committee of Safety considered a special request from a provincial soldier:

Henries Vomhavi, an Indian, having represented to this committee, that he had taken two horses at Noddle’s island, one a little horse, which he is desirous of retaining as some recompense for his fatigue and risk in that action, in which, it is said he behaved with great bravery; it is the opinion of this committee, that said Indian should be gratified in his request, which will be an encouragement to others in the service, provided, the honorable Congress should approve thereof.

I quoted a couple of reports on the fighting on Noddle’s Island back in May 2007. The major purpose of the provincial raid was to seize cattle and sheep, depriving the besieged garrison of meat. Those two horses were a bonus.

The Provincial Congress records for the afternoon of 4 July say:

A recommendation of the committee of safety relative to an Indian’s having a horse, was read, and committed to Doct. [John] Taylor, Mr. [George] Partridge, and Mr. [John] Glover. . . .

The Committee upon the Letter relative to the Indian’s having a Horse, reported. The Report was accepted, and is as follows, viz:

Resolved, That a small Horse, taken by Henries Vomhavi from Noddle’s Island, be granted to the said Henries for his own use, to encourage his further brave conduct and good behaviour in camp.

What about the bigger horse that Vomhavi had secured? The Congress had already put that to use on 13 June, resolving “That Mr. [James] Sullivan have liberty to use the horse in Mr. Fowle’s pasture in this town which was taken lately from Noddle’s island for his journey to Ticonderoga.” The legislature was then meeting in Edmund Fowle’s house in Watertown, now home to that town’s historical society. Evidently the horse was kept as provincial property nearby.

I’d love to know more about Henries Vomhavi, but as far as I can tell this is the only record of him.

“Something of the American Ideal” in Fireworks?

2009-07-02T11:34:00.000-05:00

In anticipation of Independence Day, here’s a quick extract from Steve Macone’s Boston Globe essay about the temptation and dangers of illegal fireworks:

In this state [Massachusetts]—for weeks and months around the date—we celebrate the day in which our government broke away from another in order to make our own rules by violating the rules set by that new government. It’s beautifully, stupidly appropriate—America was, originally, illegal.

The Department of Fire Services reports 45 people were burned on more than 5 percent of their bodies by fireworks between 1999 and 2008, a figure that doesn’t account for eye injuries, smaller burns, or the fact that 12-year-olds are not known for their injury reporting skills in the face of being grounded. “The typical fireworks injury is a boy 7-14,” said Jennifer Mieth of the Department of Fire Services. “They’re not driving up to New Hampshire and buying them themselves. When the kids see Uncle Jim use fireworks with impunity they think, ‘Well, I can do that.’”

We all know what’s good about fireworks. There’s something of the American ideal in their upward trajectory and beauty on the backdrop of open space. The fingers of the explosions, shooting off in exponential pathways, are a sort of Manifest Destiny writ large across the sky. And each beach organization always trying to improve upon last year’s show is like pyrotechnics as a sign of progress.

But that’s where fireworks belong: in the sky, not in kids’ hands—reflected in a child’s glimmering eyes, not lodged there. No one ever watches the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and thinks, “You know, I would like to orchestrate a smaller yet more dangerous version of that in my backyard.”

And as another public-safety announcement, here’s a link to my 2006 posting “Ezekiel Goldthwait: fireworks victim.”

What’s the Difference Between a Barquentine and a Brigantine?

2009-07-02T09:12:00.001-05:00

I’ll wind up this short stretch of postings on historic sites welcoming visitors this summer with recognition that Boston harbor will host the Tall Ships on 8-13 July. For the schedule of public events, see the Sail Boston website.

Of course, those sailing ships don’t go back to the eighteenth century, and most use technology not available back then. But we don’t have any other options if we want to see lots of large sailing ships in Boston harbor at one time, as in most of the 1700s. The Sail Boston site offers this handy guide for telling one type of ship from another.

Photo above from Sail Training International.

Did Drayton Hall Have Colonnades?

2009-07-01T09:02:00.001-05:00

I’m sure there are other people in greater Boston who own Drayton Hall T-shirts, but I haven’t met any. When people see me in mine, they ask if that was my college dorm. It’s actually a National Trust for Historic Preservation property in Charleston, South Carolina, built in 1742. It’s now being preserved rather than restored—meaning it looks a lot better from the outside than from the inside.

The latest issue of Preservation contains an article by Arnold Berke titled “Searching for Palladio”, which starts off with a Drayton Hall mystery:

In September 2007, a mysterious photograph arrived at Drayton Hall, the extraordinary 18th-century brick mansion that rises along the Ashley River near Charleston, S.C. Mailed anonymously from Winchester, Va., the photo showed a subtly tinted watercolor of the house and two flanking pavilions, elegantly connected by a pair of sweeping colonnades.

No one had ever seen the watercolor or even heard of anything like it, so the scholars at the National Trust historic site were stunned: The earliest drawing of the house dated to 1845, but showed no colonnades at all—only low iron fences connecting the house and “flankers.”

By his own admission, Executive Director George McDaniel was among the skeptics. The image was “folded up and had ‘Drayton Hall, S.C.’ on the front and ‘1765’ on the back,” he says, “and the sender penciled in ‘Att: Back in the day’ on the envelope ... The thought that came to me was, ‘Is this a forgery?’”

And yet the painting led to an archeological dig that found brick foundations consistent with colonnades rather than just those “low iron fences” appearing in the earliest confirmed images. Of course, the image in the photograph could be accurate without being authentic. And still no one knows where the original painting is.

The Preservation article is about the larger topic of Palladio’s influence on American architecture in the late 1700s. It comes with an online slide show of other Palladian buildings, including the 1750 Redwood Library in Newport, Rhode Island, and Christopher and Rebecca Payne Gore’s 1806 mansion in Waltham, Massachusetts.

Going to Prison in Connecticut

2009-06-30T08:54:00.000-05:00

Anthony Vaver’s Early American Crime offers a traveler’s guide to the Old New-Gate Prison and Coppermine in East Granby, Connecticut.

The site of the prison originally supported one of the first commercial mining operations in the British colonies, before the Connecticut General Assembly decided to convert the mine into Connecticut’s first colonial prison in 1773. Today, a long set of stairs takes you down into the mine shafts, where you are free to wander around without a guide and to discover the eerie cavern once reserved for solitary confinement tucked away in the back of the tunnels.

Outside the mine is a spectacular vista of the Farmington Valley, which must have given some convicts incentive to break out. Despite claims when it first opened that the prison was one of the most secure in the American colonies, its first prisoner escaped only 18 days after his initial incarceration up a 67-foot air shaft, which can still be seen today.

Two years after the prison opened, Connecticut started using it to confine political prisoners. The “Simsbury Mines,” as many people still called the site, became quite notorious among Loyalists. But officials were convinced of its effectiveness. In his 1818 history of Connecticut, the Rev. Benjamin Trumbull (1735-1820) stated that the “prison called Newgate...has been of much greater advantage to the state than all the copper dug out of it.”

I’ve visited the Old New-Gate Prison twice, once while it was open—which was much more interesting. The view and geography are as compelling as the history. The hours on the site’s site are “Fri, Sat & Sun between 10am and 4pm” for walk-in visitors, closed 3 July but open on Independence Day and through October. Vaver recommends visiting on the last Sunday of the month, when a guide offers tours of the Viets Tavern across the road as part of the $5 admission fee.

Mr. Jefferson Is Not at Home Today

2009-06-29T09:18:00.001-05:00

As per Publick Occurrences 2.0, check out New York Times artist Maira Kalman’s visual record of a visit to Monticello.
Of course, what I’d really like to learn is the name of the handsome, part-Jefferson-designed house where Kalman stayed.

William Simpson: fifer, deserter

2009-06-28T08:52:00.005-05:00

Don Hagist, whose work on British soldiers I’ve long admired, has recently started a blog called “British Soldiers, American Revolution” to share some of the results of those researches. Assembling profiles of individual British soldiers is one of the hardest tasks in this little field. Few of them left much in the way of personal papers, and the Crown didn’t care enough to keep good records. But by assembling information from a variety of sources, Don can give us a peek at some men in the redcoat ranks.

Or boys, as in the case of the fifer described is this advertisement from the New York Gazette, or Weekly Post Boy, 10 Sept 1770:

Perth Amboy, New-Jersey, Sept. 6, 1770.

Deserted from the 29th Regiment of Foot, William Simpson, Fifer, aged 19 Years, 5 Feet, 8 Inches high, born in the Regiment, straight and well made, fair Complexion, thin Face, long Visage, large Nose, large Limbs, short brown Hair, blue Eyes, speaks short, and pretty much of the Irish Accent, a large Hole or Hollow on the top Part of his Scull, occasioned by a Fracture received at Castle Island; no Hair growing on it; plays well on the Flute and Fife, and plays a little on the Violin and French Horn.

Had on when he went away, a short yellow Coat, fac’d Red, red Fall-down Collar, red Wings and Lining, the Coat lac’d with Drummers Lace, white Linnen Waistcoat and Breeches, a black Cap, bound with white Tape, the Number of the Regiment in the Front, and a Scarlet Worsted Feather round the upper Part of the Front. Whoever apprehends and secures the above Deserter so that he may be delivered over to the abovesaid Regiment at Perth-Amboy, or to the Commanding Officer of the 26th Regiment at New-York, shall receive Ten Dollars Reward, on Application to either Commanding Officers.

N. B. It is supposed the above Deserter is gone towards Boston or Halifax, having a Brother in the 64th Regiment at Halifax.

Simpson was at Boston during the period of the Boston Massacre. Don’s analysis of this ad touches on his past and his uniform. As for what happened to fifer Simpson, his name reappeared on the 29th’s muster roll at the end of the year and then disappeared, all without explanation.

When you’re done pondering that, check out this dispute between veteran Thomas Mallady and his wife Hannah.

(Standing is for fifer Simpson above is the fifer major of the reenacted Tenth Regiment of Foot, Mary Stone. The unit will appear at the American Independence Festival in Exeter, New Hampshire, on 12 July.)