“Franklin was no friend of Wilkes…”

Last month the History of Parliament blog shared Dr. Robin Eagles’s review of Benjamin Franklin’s dislike and distrust of John Wilkes, based on his correspondence in Founders Online.

Eagles writes:

Franklin was no friend of Wilkes, who was ejected from his seat in the Commons following the infamous affair of North Briton number 45 and the printing of the scandalous Essay on Woman. They had much in common – both running newspapers and having voracious appetites for knowledge. They may also have coincided at the so-called ‘Hellfire Club’. Yet Franklin was repelled by Wilkes’s excesses.

I wrote about Franklin and the Baron le Despencer’s club a year ago. My conclusion was that those two men didn’t become friends until years after the baron had let the club lapse, in large part because Wilkes was blabbing about it. Some books do point to evidence for a connection between Franklin and the club; however, that evidence was made up by a British author who was a habitual liar.

Back to actual documented history.

After Wilkes had fled overseas in December 1763 leaving his case to be tried by the Commons in absentia, Franklin followed his case closely, satisfied to see Parliament resolved to rid itself of someone he considered unsuitable. On 11 February 1764 Franklin, briefly back in America, responded to his friend, Richard Jackson, MP for Weymouth and Melcombe Regis, that he was ‘pleas’d to find a just Resentment so general in your House against Mr. W.’s seditious Conduct, and to hear that the present Administration is like to continue’.

Franklin’s perspective may have altered somewhat when he became friendly with Wilkes’s brother, Israel. He was even invited to ‘eat his Christmas dinner’ with the Wilkeses at the family house in Red Lyon Square in 1766. [Mr and Mrs Israel Wilkes to Franklin, 23 December 1768] He remained, though, appalled by the disorder prompted by John Wilkes’s actions and recorded in detail the riots and destruction in London and beyond during the chaotic election year of 1768.

Nonetheless, reports of those same disturbances and Parliament’s expulsions convinced the Whigs in faraway Boston that Wilkes would be a good ally in their fight to reform the British administration. 

How Many British Soldiers Are Buried beside the North Bridge?

How many British soldiers are buried beside the North Bridge in Concord?

On some night late in 1891, George R. Brooks and other local worthies took a cranium given up by the Worcester Society of Antiquity and interred it in the patch of ground beside the bridge long marked as the grave of two redcoats.

In doing so, they believed they were restoring one of two skulls that had been removed from that grave decades before.

That would have left slightly less than two British soldiers buried there.

Those men were convinced that the phrenologist Walton Felch had dug up those skulls with the permission of the Concord selectmen back around 1840, shortly after the town had erected its obelisk monument to the fighting on 19 Apr 1775.

They were also convinced that the skull they had failed to return was damaged, based on a series of musts:

• If the two skulls were unearthed in Concord, they must have come from the grave beside the North Bridge because that was the only grave of British soldiers in town with two bodies.
• If the skulls came from the grave at the North Bridge, they must have belonged to the soldiers killed at that bridge, including the one Ammi White hit in the head with a hatchet.
• If one of those skulls came from a man killed by a hatchet blow to the head, that skull must have shown severe damage.

And thus, even though no one reported actually seeing a damaged second skull in the latter half of the 1800s, people became convinced that it was “demoralized.”

But what if the initial premise of that logical chain was wrong? Because that’s what the evidence from ante-bellum Concord says.

First of all, in 1840 schoolboy Edmund Quincy Sewall, Jr., went to hear the phrenologist Walton Felch at the Concord Lyceum. Right afterward, Edmund wrote in his diary that the man had the top part of the skull of a British soldier with a bullet hole through it, and that cranium had been “dug up in Lincoln,” not Concord.

Second, in 1850 Henry David Thoreau spoke with William Wheeler, who described seeing Felch dig up two skulls years before in an “almost unused graveyard in Lincoln.” Wheeler’s description of a bullet hole through one cranium matched young Edmund’s.

Third, in 1836 the town of Concord chose to erect its monument near where two soldiers had been shot and buried. Lots of people paid attention to that spot, including the Rev. Dr. Ezra Ripley, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and other town leaders. There was also a contingent in Concord who had wanted the monument built elsewhere. The selectmen couldn’t have authorized opening the soldiers’ graves without people in town knowing, and at least some of them criticizing the idea. There would have been no secrets.

In contrast, Lincoln had had a lot more British soldiers to bury back in April 1775. So many that local men simply carted those bodies to the town burying-ground and placed them in a single grave in the paupers’ section. By the 1830s that old cemetery was largely ignored. Lincoln didn’t put up any marker for those bodies until 1884. In sum, few people in Lincoln probably cared whether those bodies were disturbed.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Lincoln’s town records from the late 1830s show the selectmen granting Felch permission to explore the cemetery. And I wouldn’t be surprised if those records say nothing about Felch’s request; the selectmen may not have cared enough to take formal action. Unlike in Concord, how to treat the remains of British soldiers in Lincoln wasn’t a monumental decision.

In the following years Felch described his skulls as those of soldiers killed in the “Battle of Concord.” Some listeners heard, or remembered, that as meaning the soldiers had died in the town of Concord. By the time Albert Tyler and Daniel Seagrave were asking his widow about the skulls, Felch wasn’t around to correct that idea. So those men and their Worcester Society of Antiquity colleagues understood the skulls as having come from Concord.

That mistaken belief led to museum labels and newspaper articles about the remaining skull from Concord—reportedly unearthed with the selectmen’s approval. Men from Concord started to whisper about how that reflected on them and their forefathers. They constructed the logical chain above. And ultimately we reach the moment in 1891 when Concord antiquarians were secretly digging in the dirt beside the North Bridge, not to investigate but to partially rectify a breach of etiquette from fifty years before.

But that wasn’t really necessary. The last time that skull had been in Concord, it was still healthy, even if its owner might have come under fire. That soldier didn’t die until a bullet pierced his brain in Lincoln. In 1891 the rest of that man’s body was still in Lincoln, and whatever remains of it is there now.

Buried in the grave beside Concord’s North Bridge are slightly more than two British soldiers.

“The skulls of those two British Soldiers killed at the bridge”

James H. Stark (1847–1919) was born in Britain and brought to Boston at the age of nine.

Stark became an American citizen but maintained ties with his native country, promoting immigration and friendly relations.

Like Isaiah Thomas, the Rev. Albert Tyler, Daniel Seagrave, and other men who took up studying and preserving history without a college education, Stark started out in the printing business. In his case, he mastered the new technology of electrotyping and ran the Photo-Electrotype Company of Boston.

In the late 1800s Stark published several guides to the British West Indies illustrated with photographs by himself and others.

He also published books on local history through his firm: Illustrated History of Boston Harbor (1880) and Antique Views of ye Towne of Boston (1882) both reproduced many historic images of the town.

Stark might have made the biggest splash with his thick book The Loyalists of Massachusetts and the Other Side of the American Revolution, published in 1910. Coming at the end of the Colonial Revival, he challenged the accepted American view of the Loyalists as aristocrats and traitors, highlighting their complaints of being mistreated. For this, critics charged that Stark was a historical muckraker and a controversialist, and indeed he probably was.

Among the stories Stark examined was the tale of the two British soldiers’ skulls dug up by a phrenologist. In doing so, however, he spread misinformation about that tale.

This chapter of the story started in 1908 with a man named Albert Webb coming from Worcester, England, to Worcester, Massachusetts, on a sister city project. On 31 March 1909, Webb wrote to the Boston Transcript suggesting that someone should place a larger marker near the North Bridge in Concord, commemorating the two British soldiers killed and buried nearby with some lines by James Russell Lowell.

The editor of the Transcript wrote a response endorsing the idea but also insisting that the grave had been maintained with “old New England reverence.”

Stark replied with a letter to the newspaper’s “Notes and Queries” department asking:

1. Can anyone give the names of the two British soldiers killed at Concord Bridge, or inform me it there were any papers taken from their bodies that would identify them? I have been informed that there were.

2. One of the soldiers was left wounded on the bridge; what was the name of the “young American that killed him with a hatchet”?

3. When did the selectmen of Concord give Professor Fowler permission to dig up the two bodies of the British soldiers and remove the skulls to be used for exhibition purposes?

The only response to the newspaper was: “before the alleged action of the selectmen excites the Concord people, they should insist upon his producing adequate evidence.”

But in The Loyalists of Massachusetts, Stark published this 12 April letter from Ellery B. Crane, librarian of the Worcester Society of Antiquity, as what he deemed adequate evidence:

Mr. Barton has handed your letter to me and I write to say that the skulls of those two British Soldiers killed at the bridge in Concord were once the property of this Society, we having purchased them of the Widow of Prof. Fowler, the phrenologist, who some years ago went about the country giving lectures and illustrating his subjects.

Prof. Fowler got permission to dig up those skulls from the Selectmen of Concord, and he carried them about with him and used them in his lecturing. After his death one of the members learned of them and we purchased the skulls and they were in our museum some time.

The late Senator [George F.] Hoar learning that we had them, came to know if we would be willing to return them to Concord that they might be put back in the ground from whence they were taken. As he seemed quite anxious about it, consent was given, and they were sent to Concord to be placed in their original resting place. Presume they are there at the present time.

This letter offers yet another version of our story, with two skulls returned to the grave in Concord. Otherwise, it accords with what Hoar wrote in his 1891 letter returning one skull, and with what people in Concord gossiped about according to an 1895 Boston Sunday Globe article.

But that account doesn’t match what the Rev. Albert Tyler wrote out for the Worcester Society of Antiquity in 1905, in a paper read to members by none other than Ellery B. Crane. Nor what Crane had told society members during an excursion to Concord in April 1906. Both of those accounts had recently been printed in the society’s Proceedings, presumably under Crane’s direction.

Nor does the belief that the Worcester Society of Antiquity owned two British soldiers’ skulls match the intermittent newspaper accounts in the late 1800s about its display of a single skull.

Furthermore, Stark and Crane got the name of the phrenologist wrong. Orson Squire Fowler (1809–1887) and Lorenzo Niles Fowler (1810–1896) were prominent proponents of that new science in the mid-1800s. (Lest we think of the Fowler brothers as total loons who did nothing for American society, they also quietly paid Walt Whitman’s costs for printing the second edition of Leaves of Grass.) But all other sources are clear that the phrenologist who lectured with British soldiers’ skulls was Walton Felch.

Stark’s Loyalists of Massachusetts was widely distributed. It’s useful on some points of genealogy and real estate, notoriously misleading on others, such as the engraving of Paul Revere as a bearded rider with a coonskin cap and a pistol. Stark’s book and Ellen P. Chase’s Beginnings of the American Revolution, also published in 1910, appear to be the first books to print the name of Ammi White as the young man who killed a wounded soldier at the North Bridge.

A thick book, especially one in lots of local libraries for genealogists to consult, is harder to ignore than a gossipy newspaper story. The Loyalists of Massachusetts turned the tale of Concord’s selectmen letting a phrenologist make off with the two soldiers’ skulls into a long-lasting part of the town’s local lore.

Even though that lore was based on a mistake.

TOMORROW: Back to the disinterment.

The Rumor of a “Demoralized” Skull

When Sen. George Frisbie Hoar sent the Worcester Society of Antiquity’s skull of a British soldier to friends in his home town of Concord, he also wrote about the other soldier’s skull that phrenologist Walton Felch had collected.

Once again I’m relying on the summary of Hoar’s 27 Nov 1891 letter to George M. Brooks in Douglas Sabin’s April 19, 1775: A Historiographical Study.

Hoar’s understanding was that:

In his letter to Mr. Brooks, Senator Hoar further explained that the skull was purchased from the widow of Walton Felch along with another skull. Both skulls were subsequently donated to the Worcester Antiquarian Society by the purchasers, a Mr. [Daniel] Seagrave and others. One of the skulls featured a bullet hole which passed through the head “from side to side”. The other skull, in the words of Mr. Seagrave, was much “demoralized”.

That term apparently meant “damaged,” with an overlay of disapproval.

Furthermore:

According to Hoar’s 1891 letter to Brooks, the “demoralized” skull passed into the hands of a Dr. Bates, who died without leaving a family. Apparently, Mr. Seagrave tried to locate the “demoralized” skull without success.

The Concord gossip published in the Boston Sunday Globe in 1895 offered a somewhat different story. According to this article, evidently based on conversations with people in Concord rather than documentary sources and not checked with men in Worcester, Seagrave and the phrenologist Felch (misspelled “Felt”) knew each other from “a lodge.” (Both men were Freemasons, but from different eras.) Seagrave bought both skulls from Felch’s widow, one showing bullet holes and the other “shattered as if with an axe.” Seagrave then gave the second skull “to a surgeon in Worcester,” and it got lost.

The Rev. Albert Tyler contradicted the major points of both Hoar’s private letter and the Globe article (which he’d probably seen) when he wrote out his own recollection for the Worcester Society of Antiquity in 1905. Tyler had been Seagrave’s business partner for years. Tyler was also, as he told it, a crucial actor in the effort to locate the soldiers’ skulls: he remembered seeing a phrenologist named Felch display those skulls, and he spotted Felch’s name decades later around 1875. But when he and Seagrave met the man’s widow, she had only one skull in her possession.

According to Tyler, Dr. Joseph N. Bates later disclosed that he had received that second skull from Felch back in 1872, when the phrenologist/hydrotherapist was dying. After Bates himself died in 1883, nobody could locate it. What’s more, Tyler never indicated that Seagrave nor anyone else saw that second skull in Bates’s custody, and Tyler wrote nothing about it being damaged. Hoar evidently believed that Daniel Seagrave had seen and helped to buy that skull, but by Tyler’s telling that was impossible.

Only three people left descriptions of seeing Felch with his skulls and casts:

• Edmund Quincy Sewall, Jr., in 1840 described the bullet hole through one cranium but wrote nothing about another skull being damaged.
• William Wheeler in 1850, as recorded by Henry David Thoreau, related how he “saw a bullet hole through & through one of the [two] skulls” when Felch dug them up, but said nothing about damage to the other.
• Albert Tyler in 1905, recalling a lecture he attended around 1840, wrote down no specific details about the skulls he saw.

Thus, there’s very little solid evidence that the second British soldier’s skull Felch owned was badly damaged. Regardless, the men of Concord convinced themselves that the Worcester Society of Antiquity or its members had at one point owned just such a “demoralized” artifact but then let it get away.

TOMORROW: A historical muckraker.

(The picture of Daniel Seagrave above was made by Travis Simpkins, a professional artist who specializes in, among other things, portraits of Freemasons.)

“Grave of British Soldiers Opened”

In the late 1800s, the Google Book Ngram Viewer shows, there was a spike in the use of the phrase “Old Concord.” That seems to be an effect of the Colonial Revival and nostalgia for pre-industrial America, including not only the Revolution but the “American Renaissance.” Margaret Sidney wrote a book with that title.

On 25 Aug 1895, the Boston Sunday Globe played off that newish trope with an anonymous article headlined “IN NEW CONCORD.”

The subheads were:

Only Pilgrims Preserve its Old Traditions.
“Immortals” Seem as Remote as Actors in Revolutionary Drama.
Grave of British Soldiers Opened—Changes Among Inhabitants.

The article was gossipy, not easy to follow unless one already knew a bit about Concord already. There were inside anecdotes about the Hoar family. After discussing the 1889 attempt to break into Ralph Waldo Emerson’s grave, the journalist segued to:

There was another and more successful violation of a grave in Concord a long time ago, the story of which has never been published, and which will be interesting to the recent visitors to the revolutionary sites there. . . .

Somewhat more than 50 years ago a phrenologist named Felt [sic] was lecturing upon his science in Concord. The story runs that he obtained permission from some authority to open and examine the soldiers’ grave, which he interpreted as a license to make what professional use he pleased of the remains therein.

At all events, Felt took the two skulls from the spot and carried them off, and as far as is known, nobody in Concord was any the wiser for nearly half a century!

Only five or six years since Mr George Tolman of the Concord historical society heard to his surprise that a skull marked as one of the British soldiers buried at Concord was in the museum of antiquities at Worcester.

Investigation showed that it was given by Mr Daniel Seagrave, a member of the society, and a worthy citizen of that town, still living. He had been a fellow-member of a lodge with Felt, and when the latter died at Natick [sic] many years ago he had assisted the widow with the funeral expenses, and had bought these two skulls, one of which was pierced with a musket shot and the other shattered as if with an axe. The shattered skull had been given to a surgeon in Worcester, and had been placed with other bones, so that it was not recognizable.

The other was courteously and promptly given up by the Worcester society, and was reverently restored to its resting place by Judge [George M.] Brooks, the president of the Concord antiquarian society.

As a verification of the story of the abstraction of the heads, which seemed perfectly coherent and plausible, it may be said that, though the other bones were distinctly seen, no traces of the skulls, the most enduring portion of the human skeleton, were found.

George Tolman (1836–1909) was secretary of the Concord Antiquarian Society and wrote many articles for that organization. Here’s a collection of his work and others catalogued under the title of one paper only. Though Tolman’s name didn’t come up in yesterday’s source, he may well have been involved in an effort to get the skull from Worcester.

Like George F. Hoar, Tolman appears to have been protective of his town’s reputation. This page shows him stating that a British soldier whom militiaman Amos Barrett described as “almost dead” was “quite dead a few moments later” without reporting that the change was brought about by a young local striking that wounded soldier’s head with a hatchet.

Whoever wrote the Boston Sunday Globe article wasn’t so reticent. In fact, that journalist didn’t just describe how a young man delivered “a coup de grace with an axe.” He or she was also, so far as I can tell, the first person to name that man in print as Ammi White.

The upshot of this article is that the secret reburial of the British soldier’s skull in 1891 was a matter of public record, or at least public gossip, in 1895.

TOMORROW: A “demoralized” skull?

(The photo above, courtesy of the New York Public Library and Lost New England, shows Concord’s North Bridge as it looked around 1885, before it was pared back to look like the bridge in the Amos Doolittle print.)

“The skull should be returned secretly to the grave”

For this part of the story of the British soldier’s skull I’m relying on Douglas Sabin’s April 19, 1775: A Historiographical Study, prepared for Minute Man National Historical Park and more widely published by Sinclair Street Publishing in 2011.

Sabin’s appendix, “The British Skull Controversy,” reviews a great deal of evidence. In this series I’m quoting additional sources, and my conclusion will be somewhat different.

In particular, Sabin summarized a 27 Nov 1891 letter from George Frisbie Hoar to George M. Brooks (1824–1893, shown here), president of the Concord Antiquarian Society. That organization operates the fine Concord Museum.

As I described yesterday, at that time Hoar was a U.S. Senator from Massachusetts, living in Worcester after growing up in Concord. He was a past president of the American Antiquarian Society. He had clout.

As for Brooks, he was a probate judge and former member of the U.S. House of Representatives. The two men also had a personal tie: Brooks’s half-sister Caroline had married Hoar’s older brother Ebenezer. In fact, all three of those men had served in the U.S. House, two at a time.

According to Sabin:

In his letter to Mr. Brooks, Senator Hoar stated that he was forwarding to Mr. Brooks a box containing a skull sent to him by the president of the Worcester Society of Antiquity. Senator Hoar went on to explain that the Worcester Society of Antiquity felt that the skull should be returned to the grave in Concord from which they believed it had been taken years before.

Other sources clarify that the Worcester Society of Antiquity came to that decision only under pressure from Hoar. He was a member but “never an active member.” The Rev. Albert Tyler wrote that the senator “interested himself” in the skull. In 1906 society librarian Ellery B. Crane said “the late Hon. George F. Hoar induced its return to the authorities at Concord,” and three years later wrote that Hoar asked “if we would be willing to return [the skulls] to Concord. . . . he seemed quite anxious about it.” And, as I said, Hoar had clout.

Sabin’s appendix continued:

Hoar sent the skull with the bullet hole through it to Mr. Brooks under the condition that the skull be restored to its burial place. In the closing paragraph of his letter to Brooks, Hoar expressed his belief that the skull should be returned secretly to the grave without public notice or newspaper coverage. He feared that if the newspapers learned of the skull business the subject would become a topic of ridicule.

In fact, I suspect avoiding ridicule was Hoar’s major motivation from the start. Not jokes about the current action but derision for the Concord selectmen and town leaders back in the 1830s—in other words, Hoar’s revered father and his friends.

What would people say if the public found out that, shortly after erecting a monument near the two soldiers’ grave, Concord had authorized a a quack scientist to dig up those bodies and go off with their skulls? How many thousands of people had visited that monument, including the President of the U.S. of A. in 1875, without being told the full story?

Sabin wrote:

According to the late Lincoln amateur archeologist, Roland Wells Robbins, Senator Hoar’s original 1891 letter to Mr. Brooks contained a notation at the bottom which said “Returned to the grave, December the fifth, 1891”. This notation was signed by E.R. Hoar [the senator’s brother] and Henry L. Shattuck.

However, the Concord Museum couldn’t locate that document for Sabin when he wrote, and the copy of the letter at Minute Man Park doesn’t show the note.

But let’s assume that detail is accurate. In December 1891, some of Concord’s leading men quietly dug into the soldiers’ grave near the Concord Monument, inserted the partial skull sent from Worcester, and covered it up. Nobody would ever know, right?

There were three problems with George F. Hoar’s plan for dealing with this skull. First, he was mistaken about many significant details, starting with what grave it had actually come from.

Second, the lack of public documentation produced a vacuum that sucked in even more misinformation.

And third, Concord’s cranial reinterment stayed out of the newspapers for less than four years.

TOMORROW: Cover blown.

“The most prominent addition made to the cabinet”

On 2 Feb 1877, the Boston Daily Advertiser took note of “an exhibition of antiquarian relics” temporarily open “in the rooms of the National History Society of Worcester.”

The article didn’t provide the name of the group that had organized the exhibit, the Worcester Society of Antiquity, which received its state charter that year.

All the objects on display were probably owned by members. Most were items on paper, including books, deeds, commissions, newspapers, and autographs unfortunately clipped out of documents of greater interest. 

The exhibit did include “Spurs worn by General [Artemas] Ward in the Revolutionary war.” And:

the skull of a British soldier from Concord, April 19, 1775.

The Worcester Natural History Society, founded in 1825 as the Worcester Lyceum of Natural History, went on to open the New England Science Center, now called the EcoTarium.

Meanwhile, the Worcester Society of Antiquity started renting its own space in the building of the Worcester National Bank for its meetings and growing collection. On 6 Apr 1881 the Worcester Evening Gazette reported on the group’s monthly gathering, saying:

The most prominent addition made to the cabinet was the skull of a British soldier, shot at Concord Bridge in the first fight of the Revolution. Two were killed and buried where they fell. In 1844 [sic], by permission of the Selectmen, the bodies were exhumed by a resident, whose widow, who is in reduced circumstances transferred the relic to the Society. The members made up quite a collection of money for the donor. The other skull is in possession of Dr. J. N. Bates of this city.

The soldier’s skull had actually been dug up before 1840 because Edmund Quincy Sewall, Jr., saw Walton Felch display it that year. Sewall also heard that the skull had been dug up in Lincoln, not Concord, and Henry David Thoreau recorded the circumstances later in his journal.

The 1881 article suggests that Daniel Seagraves had just formally donated the skull to the society. As discussed yesterday, Dr. Joseph N. Bates died in 1883, and no one could find the second skull among his effects.

Folks might uncover other newspaper mentions of the British soldier’s skull on display in Worcester in the late 1800s. These are the only two I came across. Notably, they show no squeamishness about displaying human remains.

After a generous gift from a member and some fundraising, the Worcester Society of Antiquity opened its own building on Salisbury Street in 1892. The organization became the Worcester Historical Society in 1919 and the Worcester Historical Museum in 1978. Ten years after that, it moved into its present building on Elm Street.

But the British soldier’s skull was never exhibited in those museums.

Some people didn’t like the thought of that British soldier’s skull being separated from his body.

TOMORROW: Back to Concord.

Peering into the Josiah Austin Story

Back in 2020 the Spared & Shared website, which usually presents documents from the U.S. Civil War, published the transcript and scans of an account of events on 19 Apr 1775.

Attributed to Josiah Austin, “formerly of Charlestown now of Salem,” this narrative describes the effort of driving a wagon load of “powder & balls” from Concord as the British army closed in.

Indeed, according to this document, regulars actually found the wagon disabled on the road, only to ignore the men with it as “affrightened ‘Yankees,’ returning from market.”

Earlier this year, Alexander Cain at Historical Nerdery did a fine job of pointing out the holes in this account.

The transcription quotes Austin stating “he was at Concord with Col. Barrett and others on the 18th of April 1775 having in charge ammunition &c.” We know that James Barrett was storing a large amount of the Massachusetts Provincial Congress’s military supplies on his farm—until a couple of days before, when the family and friends started to move that stuff to better hiding-places.

Alex Cain points out that those hiding-places were naturally to the west, further away from Boston and any expedition coming from there. Yet Austin said his wagon went east “toward Lexington.” Why the hell would anyone drive a wagon of secret ammunition toward the military search party?

We also have the names of men employed by the Massachusetts Patriots to help Barrett gather and prepare military supplies. One man was John Austin. None was named Josiah Austin.

The British expedition stopped several young men riding out on the roads on the night of 18–19 April, sometimes detaining them for hours. (One, Asahel Porter, was killed in the shooting on Lexington common.) Cain notes it would therefore be quite odd for some soldiers to come across a wagon in the vicinity of the place they had been ordered to search and pass by without examining the cargo.

Finally, Austin claimed that the British soldiers he met were “pioneers,” but none of those specialized soldiers were assigned to the march to Concord.

I have nothing to add to Alex Cain’s cutting analysis of the document’s content. But I’ll make an observation about its form. The first six lines refer to “Col. Barrett” twice—but only after editing.

Spared & Shared’s scans of the handwritten document show that originally the transcriber wrote another name, possibly “Butler.” Sometime after the original writing, that name was crossed out and replaced with “Barrett.” We don’t know how much later that change was made. We don’t know if someone looking up Barrett’s name in historical sources prompted that change as a correction.

But we do know that whoever first told this story didn’t initially remember the name “Barrett,” even though Josiah Austin was supposed to have worked with Col. Barrett and traveled on the ammunition wagon with Barrett’s son.

That’s just one more reason to deem this account dubious. Josiah Austin might have been telling an exaggerated story to a credulous transcriber, or the entire document might have been concocted.

Two Lieutenants and the Battle of Bunker Hill

Lt. John Ragg of the Royal Navy’s marines entered our scene back here, in an anecdote from the Shaw family of Boston about how he got into an affair of honor with twenty-year-old Samuel Shaw.

I suspect that conflict happened before the war began, while Ragg, Maj. John Pitcairn, and perhaps other officers were boarding with the Shaw family in the North End.

It definitely happened before the Battle of Bunker Hill because Pitcairn died of his wounds that day, and the anecdote credited him with mediating the dispute.

By the date of that battle, Lt. Ragg had gotten into another argument, this time with one of his fellow British officers.

Lt. John Clarke was a veteran marine, having “served thirty six years with great credit” according to Adm. Samuel Graves. That said, Clarke had become a second lieutenant only in 1757 and a first lieutenant in 1771 (with a brief retirement on half-pay in between). He was assigned to H.M.S. Falcon.

According to British military documents that Allan French quoted in an article for the Colonial Society of Massachusetts, on the evening of 19 April (i.e., the day the war began) Clarke got drunk.

Lt. Clarke was arrested “for being very much in Liquor and unfit for Duty on the Morning of the 20th of last April, for breaking his Arrest, and for grossly abusing and challenging Lieutenant John Ragg of the Marines to fight.”

On 7 June, Graves wrote, Clarke was “tried and dismissed for being in Liquor upon duty on the 19th of April last.” The admiral ordered the former lieutenant back to England.

Then, on 17 June, came the big battle in Charlestown. Lt. Ragg’s grenadier company was in the thick of the fight. Gen. Thomas Gage’s report included this casualty list from the first battalion of marines:

1st battalion marines. — Major Pitcairn, wounded, since dead; Capt. Ellis, Lieut. Shea, Lieut. Finnie, killed; Capt. Averne, Capt. Chudleigh, Capt. Johnson, Lieut. Ragg, wounded; 2 sergeants, 15 rank and file, killed; 2 sergeants, 55 rank and file, wounded.

While Lt. Ragg recovered from his wound, former lieutenant Clarke traveled back to London on H.M.S. Cerberus, which also carried Gage’s report.

Not being in the Battle of Bunker Hill, or even in the British military at the time, didn’t stop Clarke from publishing An Authentic and Impartial Narrative of the Battle when he arrived back in London. That short book, credited to “John Clarke, First Lieutenant of Marines,” was one of the first descriptions of the battle to reach print and went through a second edition in London before the end of the year.

Many historians have tried to rely on Clarke’s Narrative, which offered details not found elsewhere, like Gen. William Howe’s speech to his soldiers and a description of Dr. Joseph Warren’s death. But ultimately most authors realized that Clarke was just piecing stuff together and making it up. French concluded, “it seems likely that it was written to relieve the tedium of his voyage to London, from such material as he could gather from his own observations and from the talk of the ship’s company.”

Despite his dispute with Ragg, Clarke described the first battalion of marines “behaving remarkably well, and gaining immortal honour, though with considerable loss, as will appear by the number of the officers killed and wounded.”

TOMORROW: Lt. Ragg, back in the fight.

“The house of Francis Shaw was assigned for quarters”?

Yesterday I quoted the story of Samuel Shaw’s interaction with British marine officers staying in his father’s house in late 1774 or early 1775.

People sometimes point to the Shaw family as an example of colonists forced to host the king’s soldiers in their home under the Quartering Acts of 1765 and 1774.

Author Josiah Quincy’s language, especially the use of the passive voice, pushed that reading:

…the officers of the army were billeted on the inhabitants. The house of Francis Shaw was assigned for quarters to Major [John] Pitcairn and Lieutenant [John] Wragg.

But that’s not the way Britain’s Quartering Acts worked. Those laws required communities to provide barracks and firewood for regiments stationed in their cities and towns. They empowered the army to use uninhabited buildings if necessary, eventually with the help of royally appointed magistrates. Military commanders didn’t actually want to disperse their soldiers into different households; that was a recipe for desertion.

Furthermore, the Shaw family hosted officers, and officers didn’t live in barracks. As gentlemen, they made individual arrangements with homeowners to rent rooms. And as gentlemen, paying in hard currency, they were desirable tenants, especially when the local economy had been stifled by the Boston Port Bill.

Quincy’s word “assigned” suggests there was some formal process for matching officers with homes. Any bureaucracy produces paperwork, but there’s no evidence of such assignments. Nor were there complaints in the newspapers, and Boston’s newspapers ran lots of complaints. Instead, military officers asked around about rooming possibilities and reached deals with willing homeowners.

But didn’t Bostonians have political objections to hosting army and marine officers? Some surely did. We have no anecdotes about Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and other activists agreeing to rent rooms to military men—nor of them being forced to do so.

(After the war began, many of those politicians had moved out of Boston and more troops arrived. During the siege, officers did move into empty private homes. But neither the Quartering Act nor the Third Amendment apply in wartime.)

TOMORROW: Shaw family politics.

“Stories of the Washington Elm” in Cambridge, 14 Mar.

Last month the Bonhams auction house sold this fragment of the Washington Elm, about 3" by 6" across, for $4,864.

That was considerably above the estimate. Even though this is far from a unique specimen of that tree, and the auction house undercut the story its label tells by saying:

Today, most historians agree that there was likely never a grand ceremony beneath the elm to install Washington as leader, though he did arrive in Cambridge on July 2, 1775, and seems to have spent the 3rd inspecting and introducing himself to smaller groups of troops.

That sale offers another example of how our culture has imbued this elm with deep meaning. The stories Americans have told, and not told, about that tree reflect our changing values and understandings of the past.

For a much lower price—in fact, for free—you can come hear me speak about “The Stories of the Washington Elm” at the Longfellow House–Washington’s Headquarters National Historic Site in Cambridge on Thursday, 14 March. That is this year’s Evacuation Day Lecture, sponsored by the Friends of Longfellow House–Washington’s Headquarters and the Massachusetts Society of the Cincinnati.

Our event description says:

Cambridge Common has multiple monuments to the “Washington Elm,” a tree held up (eventually by steel rods) as a symbol of American patriotism. Henry W. Longfellow is said to have composed the text on one of those markers: “Under this tree WASHINGTON first took command of the American Army, July 3, 1775.” After the elm finally collapsed in 1923, more skeptical researchers concluded that its fame was based on little more than legend. In this talk, J. L. Bell digs into how the Washington Elm came to be celebrated, what its story says about the national memory of the Revolution, and why we really should remember this tree.

This talk is scheduled to start at 6:00 P.M. on Thursday, 14 March. The neighborhood has limited parking, though it does open up in the evenings.

This venue also has limited seating. There is no plan to livestream the talk though we might record it to post online later. Register for a seat through this site.

The Continental Dollar Over Time, and Time Won

Speaking of the Journal of the American Revolution, I was quite intrigued by Gabriel Neville’s review of The Continental Dollar: How the American Revolution Was Financed with Paper Money by Farley Grubb.

Grubb summarizes the traditional discussion of how the first U.S. became “Not worth a Continental” like this: “traditional historiography has told us that the Continental dollar was a fiat currency—an unbacked paper money,” and “Congress printed and spent an excessive number of these paper dollars from 1775 through 1780.”

Neville summarizes Grubb’s counternarrative like this:

In May 1775, Congress printed its first $3 million in paper Continental dollars. They were not like modern money nor were they intended to circulate as currency. They were very similar to what are now called “zero-coupon bonds”—bonds that pay no interest, but trade at a discount below their value at maturity. At the time, they were called “bills of credit.” Indeed, like a modern bond, they had maturity or “redemption” dates at which time they could be turned in for their face value in specie or specie equivalents.

The colonies were responsible for using their own future tax revenue to redeem the bills, after which the collected paper was sent to the Continental Treasury to be burned. The system recognized that the colonies and Congress had little ability to raise actual money in wartime. Like all bonds, the dollars represented loans that would be paid back later. The first dollars would be redeemed in four annual tranches between 1779 and 1782, after the war was expected to be over and trade resumed. . . .

The system began to go awry with the third emission of bills. This time Congress failed to specifically set a redemption period. Congress and one of its committees each assumed the other was doing that job, and this important detail fell between the cracks (p. 118). People still had faith in the system, however, and the third redemption period was simply assumed to be 1787 to 1790, the four years following the second one.

Though it was still working, Congress fell into a pattern of rote issuance of currency while losing institutional memory and understanding of its own system. . . . No specific redemption period was set for eight consecutive emissions of dollars and at the end of that time, assuming the original system was still in effect, the final run of dollars could not be redeemed for specie until 1818. The result of this was a very deep time discount. The dollars issued in 1778 were only worth a tenth of their face value in the year they were issued.

This created a serious problem for Congress in financing the war. Congress was now using far more of its dollars to buy supplies on the market than to pay soldiers and the buying power of the newer bills was weak. Congress responded with an ill-conceived plan in 1779 that sent the dollar into a downward spiral. The redemption periods for all dollars were merged and made fungible. Congress announced that there would only be one final emission of dollars and the new redemption window for all outstanding dollars would be contracted and end in 1797. This was expected to reduce the time discount and increase the dollar’s value. It was also intended to reduce Congress’s reliance on debt. The plan, however, would have required the states to raise taxes “eighty times higher than what had historically been feasible.”(p. 168) Nobody believed that would happen and faith in the dollar collapsed.

I suppose one could argue that the story Grubb tells isn’t that different from the traditional narrative he aims to refute: instead of Continental currency being entirely unbacked and overproduced, it was not realistically backed and carelessly issued. It’s not clear if the Congress could have produced better results with more care. After all, they were fighting a war for longer than anyone expected.

Nonetheless, accuracy about details matters in economic history like every other sort of history, so I’m intrigued by this corrective.

Grubb is an economics professor at the University of Delaware. His book includes mathematical formulas as well as quotations from the Founders, and Neville says, “the vast majority of it is easily understood.”

Sorting Out Details about William Hendley

On 23 Feb 1830, the Rhode-Island American reported this death:

In Waldoborough, (Me) Mr William Hendley, formerly of Roxbury, Mass. aged 82. He was a revolutionary pensioner, and present at the destruction of the Tea in Boston Harbour.

That report may have come from another newspaper closer to Maine. The same sentence appeared in several other American newspapers afterwards.

According to the 11 Nov 1814 Dedham Gazette, Mary Hendley, wife of William, had died in Roxbury at age 63. The veteran was then in his seventies. He might have moved north to Maine to live with children or relatives.

The U.S. Revolutionary War Pension database turns up only one William Hendley from Massachusetts. His application stated that he had enlisted as a private soldier on 24 Mar 1777 at Stoughton in the 7th Massachusetts Regiment and served for three years under Col. Ichabod Alden and Col. John Brooks. His first company commander was Capt. William Patrick, killed at Cobleskill, New York. In 1780 Hendley was discharged at West Point as a corporal.

Hendley’s file offers almost no other information except that in 1820 he identified himself as a “Mariner,” and that he made his application at the court in Boston.

Massachusetts Soldiers and Sailors, based on state records, lists a William Hendley/Hendly with the same service details. It also lists other soldiers with the same or similar names from Boston and Scituate.

When William Hendley of Waldoborough died, American newspapers were starting to lift the curtain on who had destroyed the East India Company tea in December 1773. Editors had kept the secret until the 1820s, especially inside Boston itself. But as time passed, and veterans passed on, the old custom faded. Unfortunately, Hendley died too early for anyone to interview him in depth about the Tea Party and what role he’d played.

The 1835 book Traits of the Tea Party even included an appendix of men who had participated in the event, the first such list published. William Hendley was on it, possibly because of the newspaper death notice.

Decades later, Francis Drake sought to profile all the men and boys at the Boston Tea Party in his book Tea Leaves (1884). About Hendley he wrote:

A Revolutionary pensioner, formerly of Roxbury, died at Waldoborough, Me., in February, 1830; aged eighty-two. He was a mason, on Newbury Street, Boston, in 1796.

The first sentence was based on the obituary, the second on the 1796 Boston directory, which listed:

Henly, William, mason, Sweetser’s buildings, Newbury Street.

However, it’s quite possible that William Henly, Boston mason, wasn’t William Hendley, Roxbury mariner who would die in Maine. The 14 June 1804 Boston Gazette reported that “Mr. William Henly, aged 44,” had died in town “after a lingering illness.” The mason might have been one of the other veterans listed in Massachusetts Soldiers and Sailors; if so, he didn’t live long enough to apply for a pension.

Furthermore, at some point Drake’s entry about Hendley was misread. He was changed from a mason to a Freemason.

Thus, on looking at the earliest sources of information about this man, I sort out:

• William Hendley, “present” at the Tea Party, soldier in the Continental Army for three years, lived in Roxbury, applied for a U.S. pension, moved to Maine, and died in 1830.
• William Henly, possibly in the army, mason in Boston in 1796, possibly died in 1804.
• “William Hendley, mason,” an amalgam of these two men and later fictitiously a Freemason.

Who wrote, “we can make every Tory tremble”?

Earlier this year, I saw a tweet crediting Samuel Adams with the line: “With ladies on our side, we can make every Tory tremble.”

Adams wasn’t usually that pithy, and the statement doesn’t appear in the four volumes of The Writings of Samuel Adams.

The line first appeared in a letter to Daniel Fowle’s New-Hampshire Gazette published on 22 July 1774. Here’s more context:

The Consumption of TEA I think is in a fair Way of being totally laid aside in this Town, as there are but very few indeed, that will refuse to sign or solemnly ingage not to suffer it used in their Families;

and what adds a great Pleasure to us all, is, that the Fair Sex universally consent to give up, this detested superfluous Article; and under the Auspices of the worthy Doctor Clement Jackson, we hope soon to see a glorious List of Female Worthies, whose Virtue can withstand every daring Insult when put to the Test; and we all desire their Names may be recorded in the Town Books, to perpetuate their Memories:---

Then let us see who will sell that obnoxious Herb, for with the Ladies on our side, we can make every Tory tremble; as it is generally agreed upon, not to frequent those Shops were TEA is sold.

The signature, under a Latin quotation, was “AMICUS.”

A few weeks later, on 26 August, the New-Hampshire Gazette published another letter, addressed to the people of New Hampshire and signed “AMICUS PATRIAE.” It urged people in that colony to support Boston, suffering under Parliament’s Coercive Acts, with donations for the poor.

Both letters show a pattern of short italicized phrases and occasional all-capitalized nouns. Both end with Latin quotations. The signatures overlap. I therefore think it’s likely the two letters came from the same pen.

In his History of New-Hampshire (1792), the Rev. Jeremy Belknap printed a letter from New Hampshire governor John Winthrop to the Earl of Dartmouth dated 29 August, which said:

The town-clerk of Boston [William Cooper], who is said to be a zealous leader of the popular opposition, has been in this town about a week; immediately appears a publication in the New-Hampshire Gazette, recommending donations for Boston…

Belknap added a footnote to that sentence:

The publication here referred to was written by a person whom the Governor did not suspect, and the town-clerk knew nothing of it.

But Belknap obviously did know the author. In fact, his granddaughter Jane Belknap Marcou wrote in her 1847 biography that she had found “the imperfect manuscript [i.e., draft] remaining among Mr. Belknap’s papers.” In other words, he’d written it himself.

Back in 1774, Jeremy Belknap was the minister in Dover, New Hampshire. Ministers weren’t supposed to get directly involved in politics, but as “AMICUS PATRIAE” he had things to tell his fellow citizens. And Belknap also appears to have been the most likely author of the line “With ladies on our side, we can make every Tory tremble.” (I wonder if a draft of that essay might be in his papers at the Massachusetts Historical Society.)

The line resurfaced in John C. Miller’s Origins of the American Revolution (1943) as an example of American Whig sentiment before the war. Philip Foner picked it up in his History of the Labor Movement in the United States (1947), crediting the sentiment to “Sons of Liberty.” Charles O. F. Thompson included the line in A History of the Declaration of Independence: A Story of the American Patriots who Brought about the Birth of Our Nation (1947), curiously tossing in the word “blessed” ahead of “Tory.” Other books followed.

From there it appears that an author or authors decided that “Sons of Liberty” meant Samuel Adams. In the current century several books and authoritative websites attribute the statement to Adams, usually saying “often quoted” or “reported to have said” as a signal that the writers can’t find the words in those four volumes of Writings. In several places the quotation has also lost the article “the” before “Ladies.”

In conclusion, while it’s definitely possible to quote the line “with the Ladies on our side, we can make every Tory tremble” from the Revolutionary era, it should be tentatively attributed to Jeremy Belknap, not Samuel Adams.

Who Was the “person out of Boston last Night”?

The Pennsylvania Packet article describing the flag on Prospect Hill in January 1776 also reported that the British inside besieged Boston had misinterpreted it:

…the Boston gentry supposed it to be a token of the deep impression the [king’s] Speech had made, and a signal of submission—That they were much disappointed at finding several days elapse without some formal measure leading to a surrender, with which they had begun to flatter themselves.——

This is bunk. According to the article’s own timing, the flag went up on 2 January and the latest news from Cambridge was written on 4 January, so “several days” had not elapsed.

This newspaper anecdote is thus too good to be true. Joseph Reed, who most likely supplied the article, must have been tickled with the idea of the royalists falsely thinking the Continental Army was ready to give up.

In fact, no sources created inside Boston show the royal authorities thinking the rebels were about to surrender. The two British mentions of the flag later that January correctly interpreted it as a signal of colonial unity. So where did the story come from?

The first version appeared in Gen. George Washington’s 4 January letter to Reed:

we had hoisted the Union Flag in compliment to the United Colonies, but behold! it was receivd in Boston as a token of the deep Impression the Speech had made upon Us, and as a signal of Submission—so we learn by a person out of Boston last Night

That person might have had an idiosyncratic interpretation of the flag. More likely, I suspect that person described initial perplexity inside the town on seeing the new flag, which Washington preferred to interpret in the way that made his enemy seem most foolish.

So who was that person who arrived at Cambridge headquarters on 3 January?

On the same day that Washington wrote to Reed, he sent a more formal letter to John Hancock as chairman of the Continental Congress. In that report the general wrote:

By a very Intelligent Gentleman, a Mr Hutchinson from Boston, I learn that it was Admiral [Molyneux] Shuldhum that came into the harbour on Saturday last . . .

We also learn from this Gentleman & others, that the Troops embarked for Hallifax, as mentioned in my Letter of the 16—were really designed for that place . . . 

I am also Informed of a Fleet now getting ready under the Convoy of the Scarborough & Fowey Men of War, consisting of 5 Transports & 2 Bomb Vessels, with about 300 marines & Several Flat bottom’d Boats—It is whispered that they are designed for Newport, but generally thought in Boston, that it is meant for Long-Island . . .

Washington sent that same information to Reed, and it went into the newspaper.

Also, at “8 o’clock at night” on “the 3d.” of January, Washington’s aide Stephen Moylan wrote to Reed:

a very inteligent man got out of Boston this day, says, two of the Regiments of the Irish embarkation pushed for the River of St. Lawrence . . .

he allso says that it was generally thought in Boston that Nova Scotia was in our possession——

Reed didn’t include that last tidbit in his digest for the newspaper—probably because he knew it was false.

Thus, although Gen. Washington mentioned “others,” his headquarters’ main source for information from inside Boston in those two days was “Mr Hutchinson.” Both letters called him “intelligent,” which Dr. Samuel Johnson described as meaning both “knowing” and “giving intelligence.”

A footnote in the Washington Papers says, “Mr. Hutchinson has not been identified.” So let’s do something about that.

On Tuesday, 9 January, the Rev. Dr. Samuel Cooper wrote in his diary:

I din’d at Mr. [Edward] Payne’s with Mr. Shrimpton Hutchinson, Deacon [Ebenezer] Storer, [Joseph] Barrell &c.

The transcription of Cooper’s diary published in the American Historical Review in 1901 doesn’t identify the men Cooper dined with. But at this time Cooper and his family were living in Waltham, and Edward Payne’s son later wrote that during the siege his father “lived at Medford and at Waltham.” Payne, Storer, and Barrell all came from the top echelon of Boston businessmen, and they all appeared several times in Cooper’s diary before this date.

Shrimpton Hutchinson (1719–1811, gravestone shown above) was another well established Boston merchant. As an Anglican and a cousin of Gov. Thomas Hutchinson, he had reasons to become a Loyalist. But instead he kept out of politics, even as a justice of the peace. We know he lived in Boston after the war, becoming one of the leaders of the King’s Chapel congregation.

I’ve looked for other signs of Shrimpton Hutchinson’s movements during 1775 and 1776 without success. Therefore, I can’t say for sure that he had left Boston just a few days before his dinner at Payne’s, which was the first time Cooper mentioned him. But he was the sort of older, upper-class, well-connected man that Gen. Washington and his aides would have respected as a valuable intelligence source.

TOMORROW: The missing copies of the king’s speech.

“The grand union flag of thirteen stripes was raised…”

In 1852 the British magazine Notes and Queries published a letter asking about the origin of the U.S. flag and then a response from America.

In addition to answering the first letter’s question, that response described earlier American flags:

ORIGIN OF THE STARS AND STRIPES.

(Vol. ii., p. 135.) [the original query]

JARLTZBERG wishes to know the origin of the stars and stripes in the American flag. . . .

The grand union flag of thirteen stripes was raised on the heights near Boston, January 2, 1776. Letters from there say that the regulars in Boston did not understand it; and as the king’s speech had just been sent to the Americans, they thought the new flag was a token of submission.

The British Annual Register of 1776 says: “They burnt the king’s speech and changed their colours from a plain red ground, which they had hitherto used, to a flag with thirteen stripes, as a symbol of the number and union of the colonies.”

A letter from Boston about the same time, published in the Penna Gazette for January, 1776, says: “The grand union flag was raised on the 2nd, in compliment to the united colonies.” . . .

T. WESTCOTT.
Philadelphia, U. S. A., June 5, 1852.

I believe this letter came from Thompson Westcott (1820–1888), a lawyer, journalist, and local historian.

This was, as far as I can tell, the first use of the phrase “grand union flag.” Westcott appears to have come up with that phrase by mistake. He cited the Pennsylvania Gazette, and indeed on 17 Jan 1776 that newspaper reprinted the item from the Pennsylvania Packet that I quoted yesterday. But that article said “great Union Flag.”

Later in 1852 Westcott was probably pleased to see his Notes and Queries letter reprinted in Arthur’s Home Magazine, based in Philadelphia, and in several American newspapers.

The text made the newspaper rounds again in 1857, also appearing in Things Not Generally Known: A Popular Hand-book of Facts Not Readily Accessible in Literature, History, and Science by David A. Wells (1857).

The article was handy patriotic filler for editors, so it even showed up in The American Mining Gazette and Geological Magazine (1866) with no credit to the original source.

In 1872 George Henry Preble (1816–1885, shown above) published Our Flag: Origin and Progress of the Flag of the United States of America. Without citing the Notes and Queries letter, which he might not have seen directly, Preble quoted and paraphrased it in his discussion of the 1776 flag.

One of those uses was: “A letter from Boston in the Pennsylvania Gazette, says: ‘the grand union flag was raised on the 2d, in compliment to the United Colonies,’…” Preble thus replicated Westcott’s error in transcribing the newspaper article, replacing “great” with “grand.”

Preble also wrote:

An anonymous letter, written under date Jan. 2, 1776, says: “The grand union flag of thirteen stripes was raised on a height near Boston. The regulars did not understand it, and as the king’s speech had just been read as they supposed, they thought the new flag was a token of submission.”

No one has found the original of that letter from 1776 because it wasn’t written in 1776. Those are Westcott’s own words for Notes and Queries, stating his findings.

Preble thus both relied on the Notes and Queries letter and mangled it. To his credit, he also collected other sources about the 1776 flag, including Gen. George Washington’s letter to Joseph Reed, observations by British officers, and a passage from Carlo Botta’s History of the American Revolution (1809).

Soon after that, around the Centennial of 1876, newspaper editors summarizing Westcott and/or Preble began to capitalize “Grand Union Flag.” That became the semi-official name for the design the Continental Congress had actually established for its new navy. Based on the misquotations, people believed the term was used in 1776, but it was really only a quarter-century old.

TOMORROW: A British officer’s sketch of the flag on Prospect Hill.

Fun with the 26th of December

TFD Supplies sells earbuds and headphones. The enterprise is trying to appeal to the educational market, promising products for libraries and discounts for teachers.

Part of that outreach appears to be its “Today in History” blog, including this post, headlined “Five Fun Facts about December 26 in Massachusetts History.”

Those five facts are:

1. The Boston Tea Party Occurred on December 26, 1773:…

Actually, as we’ve just commemorated, the destruction of the tea happened on 16 December.

2. The Pilgrims Celebrated the First Boxing Day in Plymouth, 1620:…

The term “Boxing Day” doesn’t appear in British sources until the mid-1700s. The Pilgrims didn’t recognize the traditional Christmas holiday since it has no Biblical support, and therefore saw nothing special about the day after 25 December, either.

3. The Salem Witchcraft Trials Continued: Many of the accused witches in the infamous Salem Witchcraft Trials of 1692-93 were still being held in prison on December 26, as the trials dragged on for months. The trials resulted in the execution of 20 people and the imprisonment of dozens more.

The Salem witchcraft crisis did begin in January 1692, and the last trials were held in January 1693, with Gov. Sir William Phips halting the process at the end of that month. Of course, that doesn’t make 26 December any more special than any other date in the year.

Nineteen people were executed, one was killed by torture, and at least five died in jail.

4. John Adams Married Abigail Smith, 1764: Future U.S. President John Adams married Abigail Smith on December 26, 1764,…

The Adamses married on 25 October.

5. The Boston Bruins Played Their First Game, 1924: Hockey fans in Massachusetts may be interested to know that the Boston Bruins played their first official game on December 26, 1924, against the Montreal Maroons. The Bruins lost 2-1, but went on to become one of the NHL's most successful franchises.

The Bruins played their first game on 1 Dec 1924. They beat the Montreal Maroons, 2–1.

It looks like someone used an A.I. program to compose lots of “Today in History” blog posts for different states. The software obliged with what looks very much like information but is just a mélange of common phrases not necessarily connected to facts.

The result doesn’t make me trust the earbuds and headphones.

How Many People Were at the Old South Tea Meetings?

Last weekend, I served as announcer for the reenactment of the “Meeting of the Body of the People” in Old South Meeting-House.

The most striking moment was hearing noises from outside the building, glancing through the window behind me, and seeing the sidewalk and street absolutely packed with people.

The sight reminded me of all the reports from 1773 of throngs outside that same building, locals straining to hear the developments and lending their bodies to the popular pressure. It was even rather spooky.

The crowd also brought up a historical question that appeared both in the introduction to the event and backstage discussions: How many people were at the tea meetings in Old South in late 1773?

In a letter to Arthur Lee about the whole tea crisis dated 31 Dec 1773, Samuel Adams wrote that on 28 November “the Old South meeting-house [had…] assembled upon this important occasion 5000, some say 6000 men.” And later on 16 December, “the meeting…had consisted by common estimation of at least seven thousand men.”

But of course we recognize Adams as a master of propaganda. Here he was using the technique of crediting lots of other people with saying what he wants to say.

The merchant John Andrews wrote similarly about the latter day:

A general muster was assembled, from this and all ye neighbouring towns, to the number of five or six thousand, at 10 o’clock Thursday morning in the Old South Meeting house, where they pass’d a unanimous vote that the Tea should go out of the harbour that afternoon.

But as a rule, I assume Andrews has inflated his numbers by 50–100%.

For example, Andrews wrote that John Ruddock was “the most corpulent man among us, weighing, they say, between 5 and 600 weight.” That would have put the magistrate in the same range as David Lambert, Georgian Britain’s example of corpulency. Justice Ruddock was heavy, but not heavy enough to be able to display himself. He was probably closer to 300 pounds.

Andrews said the cannon now labeled “Adams” and “Hancock” (at the heart of The Road to Concord) must “weigh near seven hundred weight apiece.” The National Park Service has found those guns “weigh about 450 pounds each.”

Finally, we all know that estimating the size of a public crowd, especially at a political event, is notoriously prone to exaggeration. Even today, when we can collect photographic evidence, crowd estimates can be frought with bias, wishfulness, and in some cases simple narcissism.

Using my formula for interpreting John Andrews’s numbers, we should translate his and Adams’s reports of 5,000–7,000 people into about 3,000. That’s still about equal to all the adult white men in Boston.

It’s also far more than the legal capacity of Old South today. But back in 1773 the building’s main floor didn’t have displays in the back, the first gallery had benches instead of individual seats, and the second gallery was open. Most important, people were smaller and had different assumptions about personal space, so they probably crowded together more densely.

Three thousand adults would still probably have been beyond tight—but what if we also count crowds on the streets outside?

“Who was to pay the fidler”?

As I wrote yesterday, George R. T. Hewes’s story of Adm. John Montagu exchanging words with Tea Party leader Lendell Pitts as the men were marching off Griffin’s Wharf on 16 Dec 1773 seems unlikely, in both its details and its essence.

And yet there is contemporaneous support for one point of that story, which might have been the seed it grew from.

On 23 December, Gov. Thomas Hutchinson wrote to his ally Israel Williams about the event. That letter said:

Because a number of Gentlemen, who without their knowledge, the East India Company made the Consignees of 400 Chests of Tea would not send it back again, which was absolutely out of their power, they have forced them to fly to the Castle [for] refuge and then have destroyed the property [commi]tted to their care. Such barbarity none of the Aboriginals were ever guilty of.

The Admiral asked some of them next moring who was to pay the fidler.

That last remark echoes how Hewes would quote Montagu:

“Well, boys, you have had a fine pleasant evening for your Indian caper—havn’t you? But mind, you have got to pay the fiddler yet!”

We also have a Massachusetts source from 1833 saying that Adm. Montagu was on Griffin’s Wharf the morning after the tea went into the harbor, complaining about what the Bostonians had done. (I’ll share that account soon.)

Thus, it’s quite plausible that Montagu asked “who was to pay the fidler” on Griffin’s Wharf the day after the Tea Party, locals who heard him told others, and Hewes incorporated the phrase into his stories of the night, jiggering the details.

Lendell Pitt’s reputed response to the admiral appears to be an example of staircase wit—what Hewes (and his audience) wished someone had a chance to say back to a royal official.

Such scholars of the Tea Party as Benjamin Woods Labaree and Benjamin Carp have recreated events this way, putting Montagu on the wharf on 17 December but not the night before.

Other accounts, built more from tradition than from analyzing early sources, continue to repeat Hewes’s anecdote—as does Johnny Tremain. So it will be with us for a while yet.