“Even the best quality HTR will contain errors”

Yesterday I described how the Clements Library in Michigan has provided transcripts of handwritten documents in the Thomas Gage Papers.

The library website explains:

The plain text we provide for this collection was created using Transkribus, a tool that uses machine learning and artificial intelligence to transcribe handwritten documents. Handwritten Text Recognition (HTR) “reads” the page images and makes a best guess at identifying the letters and words on a page. This is an automated process and subject to error, particularly if the original handwriting is difficult to read.

Even the best quality HTR will contain errors. This means that the plain text is not a fully faithful reproduction of the scanned original document. Proper nouns such as names of individuals, groups, and places are especially subject to recognition errors. Text written at an angle or vertically on the page will likely not be recognized at all. In addition, any spelling errors, line breaks, or abbreviations in the original document will be represented verbatim.

We provide this uncorrected plain text in the interests of improving accessibility and searchability of the collection. Please keep in mind that full text search results may not be fully accurate for specific keywords and we encourage you to use multiple search strategies to find relevant materials.

I’m very grateful to the Clements Library for providing scans online. As for the transcriptions, I chose an incoming document at random to assess.

On 29 Dec 1774, New Hampshire governor John Wentworth (shown above) wrote to Gen. Gage about how his authority was crumbling. The transcription of that document currently reads in part:

It is very certain that the peoples
minds, are too generally prepared, by
factions artifices and falwhoods wickedly
disseminated by the popular Laders, for any
violences whatever. This Spirit, I observe,
has been exceedingly angmented since the
return of the Delegates, from the continental
Congress; And having broken forth into
overt Acts, in the late repeated assaults on
His Majesty's Castle William and Mary,
those persons & all they can influence are
less restraind, and more readily disposed
to pursue any violences that may be
recommended by their Party in Boston,
or in contemplation hers, among which

I have strong reasons to beleive, Reprisals
on the King's Servants mentiond by the
Congress, will be the earliest & most sudden,
His Majesty's Ships Searborough and
Cancanx are not sufficient to frustrate
such intentions, and at the same time
cover of sure the Castle Wm. and Mary,
which is situate three mites from this
Town, which wou'd receive protection
from one additional Sloop or small Rigate
of war; with an angmentation of about
Forty or Fifty Mariness to their Compliment

To quote those lines here on Boston 1775, I’d begin with this text but carefully read the scans to confirm or correct it. The result is:

It is very certain that the peoples minds, are too generally prepared, by factious artifices and falsehoods wickedly disseminated by the Popular Leaders, for any violences whatever. This Spirit, I observe, has been exceedingly augmented since the return of the Delegates, from the continental Congress; And having broken forth into overt Acts, in the late repeated assaults on His Majesty’s Castle William and Mary; those persons & all they can influence are less restrain’d, and more readily disposed to pursue any violences that may be recommended by their Party in Boston, or in contemplation here, among which I have strong reasons to beleive, Reprisals on the King’s Servants, as mention’d by the Congress, will be the earliest & most sudden;

His Majesty’s Ships Scarborough and Canceaux are not sufficient to frustrate such intentions, and at the same time cover & secure the Castle Wm. and Mary, which is situate three miles from this Town, which wou’d receive protection from one additional Sloop or small Frigate of war, with an augmentation of about Forty or Fifty Marines to their Compliment.

The A.I. transcription has some errors, but Gov. Wentworth’s main topic and message come through: Send in the Marines!

It helped that this document was clearly written. Wentworth had received an elite education at a time when handwriting was part of a gentleman’s training. He had time to compose and write out this letter; I saw only one word squeezed in as an afterthought.

As for the peculiarities of eighteenth-century writing from our perspective, Wentworth’s spelling was rather modern. He used the long s less often than many contemporaries. However, he wrote many of his lowercase e backwards to our eyes—the root of several transcription errors.

TOMORROW: What about less elegant documents?

“To Write a Good Hand Is a fine Accomplishment“

I don’t think Boston 1775 would exist without Google Books, which launched the year before I began blogging.

Being able to search for phrases and names in the vast corpus of nineteenth-century books that Google scanned has let me identify early sources, track local lore, and find rare sources.

That search depends on optical character recognition (O.C.R.) translating the printed marks into digital text.

I’ve learned how to unearth that digital text from Google Books pages for long quotations. At first this involved some tricks to maneuver to the pages I wanted. Then Google reprogrammed that site, so it became easier to capture particular text—but without any punctuation marks.

Either way, I learned to go over the O.C.R. transcription carefully to make sure it was complete and accurate. There are still a few bugs in the system. But it’s good to stay on my toes with historical sources.

Handwritten Text Recognition (H.T.R.) is the next step in this process, converting cursive writing into digital text. The University of Innsbruck’s Transkribus platform was the early leader in this field. The complexity of our writing means people started applying artificial intelligence (A.I.) software to the problem.

Indeed, some historians have said that H.T.R. is now the most advanced and reliable product of A.I. for the field, especially as it’s improved in the last couple of years. 

In September 2025, Civil War History published a study by Prof. Julie Mujic of Denison University on how ChatGPT transcribed a handwritten poem from 1864, finding many discrepancies and problems. Then in January 2026, Prof. Cameron Blevins of Colorado University Denver revisited the same text with the most recent version of Google’s Gemini 3.0, finding it produced a complete and reliable transcription.

Likewise, in November 2025 Dan Cohen, dean and professor at Northeastern, found that the Gemini Pro 3 program did a very good job transcribing some difficult letters. Even letters with cross-writing, that bane of nineteenth-century correspondence. Cohen concluded:

It allows human beings to focus their time on the important, profound work of understanding another human being, rather than staring at a curlicue to grasp if it’s an L or an I.

There’s still room for improvement, as Prof. Mark Humphries of Wilfrid Laurier University discussed in May 2026, but this application of A.I. will probably continue to get better. As with a lot of technology, one big question will be whether proprietors will be able to resist adding features that actually reduce its practicality for many users.

The transcriptions of handwritten texts that I’ve worked with the most come from the Thomas Gage Papers at the Clements Library. That site states: “The plain text we provide for this collection was created using Transkribus, a tool that uses machine learning and artificial intelligence to transcribe handwritten documents.” How do the results hold up?

TOMORROW: Reading the general’s mail.

Inventing “The ‘Preserved Clap’ carriage”

Last May, I wrote a series of postings about Dr. Preserved Clap of Hadley.

This was probably the most that anyone had written about Dr. Clap in two hundred years.

While doing that research, I ran some web searches for Clap’s name to feel sure I wasn’t missing additional sources. Google Books in particular has been hugely valuable for unearthing leads in state and local histories.

However, Google has prioritized its generative A.I. programming, putting that output at the top of search results. Here are some ways Google—once the most powerful, most useful way to search for information that humanity had yet devised—explained Preserved Clap:

The "Preserved Clap" carriage is a specific, modified light ambulance-style carriage used to transport the sick and wounded, famously used during the Revolutionary War siege of Yorktown and developed by Preserved Clap, a Continental Army artificer known for his mechanical ingenuity. [1, 2] . .

The Inventor: Preserved Clap was a Massachusetts-born craftsman with great mechanical abilities. During the Revolutionary War, he worked at the Continental artificer shops and also claimed to have discovered an improved method for boring cannons.

* The Carriage Invention: In 1780, Clap designed and constructed a specialized medical transport carriage. This carriage was later detailed by Dr. James Thacher in his military journals and drawn by an artillery officer present at the siege of Yorktown.

That response was accompanied by a thumbnail photo of the “Chariot d’Orsay” made in Paris in 1875–1885, featured in Art & Architecture Quarterly’s article about the Long Island Museum of American Art, History & Carriages, as shown above.

Dr. Preserved Clap had nothing to do with ambulances. The “carriage” he invented was a gun carriage for mounting cannon. Dr. James Thacher didn’t mention Clap in his Military Journal or his American Medical Biography. The carriage that Google showed has no link to Revolutionary America.

Of course, that text doesn’t reflect how the Google A.I. program would respond to the same query now. Even back then the service would put out different responses from one day to another according to a completely opaque process. Today the programming is using my writing from May to provide more accurate answers about Dr. Preserved Clap.

That’s because generative A.I. programs based on large-language models aren’t really designed to supply true answers to questions. They’re designed to provide plausible answers based on the statistical likelihood of how sentences flow. By releasing a few articles about Dr. Preserved Clap into the world, I altered what sentences about him are likely to say.

Back when I first ran this search, Google’s programming constructed what seemed like the most probable answer about a doctor and a “carriage,” gussied up with references to another Revolutionary doctor and a big Revolutionary event. It roped in a pretty picture of a carriage. The result was what’s come to be called a “hallucination,” a false description of the world offered with seeming confidence and authority. It’s one of the unavoidable pitfalls of this programming.

TOMORROW: Handwriting analysis.

Seeing an Unfamiliar Face

In June of 2025 I attended the Sestercentennial reenactment of the Battle of Bunker Hill in Gloucester.

While walking from one site to another I passed a series of temporary lawn signs profiling various participants in that historical event.

One showed Col. Richard Gridley, the provincial artillery commander. It was a portrait in John Singleton Copley’s style.

By then I’d been studying Gridley for over twenty years. I’d never come across a portrait. But since Gridley’s not one of the most famous or influential figures of his time, I thought it was possible that a portrait had only recently been identified or made available to the public.

I took a photo with my phone and walked on. Then I saw more of those signs, showing other men in the unmistakable style of generative artificial-intelligence (A.I.) imagery. Those pictures didn’t try to replicate photographs or period art—they were overly dramatic, flat digital images with the patina of light brown produced from the mixture of all the colors. You probably know the look.

“Wait a minute,” I thought. I went back to the Gridley sign. Only then did I notice that at the lower left corner of the picture was the tiny label “AI Generated Image.” 

Clearly the folks publicizing that big reenactment had used one of the generative A.I. programs to pump out a bunch of pictures—some in its standard style, some made to look like period portraits. And those pictures did catch the eye. For an expensive event designed to attract people not already interested in Revolutionary history, that might be a valuable function.

The risk is, of course, that those images could fool people into believing they’re real. That’s unlikely for the pictures in the obviously A.I. style, but this picture programmed to look like a Copley fooled me for a couple minutes.

So far this image hasn’t escaped the confinement of one lawn sign in Gloucester in June 2025. I certainly hope my photo taken at an angle doesn’t loose it onto the world. But I can think of plenty of examples of false or falsely attributed portraits proliferating on the internet almost as quickly as false quotations do.

In the past month I had a couple more encounters with A.I. and historical material. I received an email from an “AI agent”; I wrote about that on my Ko-fi page, one of my monthly addenda for generous supporters. I watched an online presentation using images adapted from authentic period artifacts but run through an A.I. program that changed details—apparently without the presenter realizing it. Those experiences made me think it was time to share some thoughts about the use of generative A.I. in presenting history.

TOMORROW: Hallucination nation.

Hopestill Capen’s Last Decades in Boston

Before the Revolutionary War, Hopestill Capen regularly advertised British dry goods in Boston newspapers.

After his two years in jail on suspicion of being inimical to the newly independent state, Capen kept a lower profile. He ran no ads—though he may not have had many goods to sell, either.

Nonetheless, Capen’s shop sign, the Cornfields, continued to be mentioned in the newspapers as a landmark in central Boston.

On 26 July 1786, Boston’s selectmen met to draw names of citizens in good standing to serve as jurors “for a Maritime Court” the next month. The first name chosen was Paul Revere, now with “Esq.” after his name.

The second name was Hopestill Capen, showing he had been fully reintegrated into Boston society.

Interestingly, the third name was David Spear. Capen and Spear had married sisters, Patience and Sarah Stoddard.

Hopestill and Patience Capen had had eight or nine children between 1761 and 1774. Most died in their first year, and only one, Thomas, was still alive when the British left.

Sarah Spear and Patience Capen died within a few days of each other in January 1791. Patience was 57 years old.

On 21 Nov 1795, Hopestill Capen placed this advertisement in the Columbian Centinel:

A Theft.

On Tuesday Evening last, between the hours of 6 and 10 o’clock, was stolen from the Subscriber’s house, the following PLATE, marked as follows, viz

Three table Spoons, one H.C. to P.C. made by Mr. HOMES, one d[itt]o A.B. to P.S. made by A. OLIVER; one d[itt]o. T. S. S. and 1 Porringer, marked T. S. A. Engish mode. Whoever will discover the person, so that he or she may be brought to justice, and the property restored, shall receive TEN DOLLARS reward.

I rather hope Hopestill Capen got his family silver back, including the spoon with his and his late wife’s initials on it.

On 2 Mar 1807, Hopestill Capen died at the age of 76. His funeral proceeded from the house his son Thomas had inherited, 47 Hanover Street—now the Union Oyster House.

The Capens were buried in the Copp’s Hill cemetery. Patience and Hopestill’s gravestones were still readable in the late 1800s, but they no longer appear to exist.

“To be a liege subject of the State of Massachusetts Bay”

In May 1778, the Massachusetts General Court began a new legislative year.

On 17 September, Council member John Pitts brought the lower house “a Petition of Hopestill Capen, a Prisoner in Boston Goal, praying that he may not any longer be confined.”

This was a breakthrough. For the first time, Capen was addressing the General Court as a legitimate government. Previously he had insisted that doing so would violate his religious scruples.

Once again, the legislators formed a joint committee to consider Capen’s petition, along with a similar plea for release from the shorthand expert John Hodgson.

On 19 September, the Council approved a resolution “liberting them on certain Conditions.” This time, the House fully concurred. The official resolve stated:

that the prayer of Hopestill Capen’s petition be so far granted, that he be liberated from his confinement upon his giving bond to the Treasurer of this State for the sum of Two thousand pounds, with sufficient sureties that he will subscribe and closely adhere to the following declaration by him proposed in his petition, vizt. “I, the subscriber, acknowledge myself to be a liege subject of the State of Massachusetts Bay, and hold myself obliged to assist in supporting peace and good order in this State and when called on by lawfull authority I am ready so to do.”

Back in February 1778, the legislature had stipulated this oath of allegiance:

I, A.B., do swear (or affirm as the case may be) that I will bear faith and allegance to the state of Massachusetts Bay, and will faithfully support and maintain and defend the same against George the Third, king of Great Britain, his abettors and all other enemies and opposers whatsoever, and will discover all plots and conspiraces that shall come to knowledge, against said state or any other of the United States of America. So help me God.

Hodgson was ready to take that oath, but Capen still shied from explicitly renouncing his loyalty to George III. After all, what if the tide of war turned, and the Crown prevailed? According to his faith, he would have to be a Loyalist again. But for now, Capen would acknowledge the state of Massachusetts as his sovereign. (It’s notable he used the term “subject,” not “citizen.”)

In the fall of 1778, after twenty-five months of confinement, Hopestill Capen got out of jail.

TOMORROW: The last years.

Hopestill Capen Still in the Boston Jail

We left the Boston merchant Hopestill Capen locked up in the Boston jail in mid-1777.

As a Sandemanian, Capen had stayed loyal to the British Crown—but then he’d stayed in Boston after the British military left. He refused to pledge allegiance to the colonies declaring independence in July 1776, rendering himself suspicious.

As I previously quoted, Capen tried a public plea for his release. His wife Patience petitioned the state government. His friends in the merchant community vouched for him.

On 20 June 1777, the Massachusetts Council approved a petition from merchant Robert Pierpont and others for Capen’s release. The lower house of the General Court “concurr’d as taken into a new Draught.”

A resolution is printed in Massachusetts Acts and Resolves, stipulating that Pierpont and friends would give “Give bond to the Treasurr. of This State in the sum of five hundred Pounds” that Capen would “appear before any Court in the County of Suffolk.”

But apparently the House never agreed to that wording, or those terms. Capen remained in jail.

On 24 Feb 1778, the Council took up a new petition from Patience Capen. That board named Benjamin Austin to a committee to consider it along with whatever members the House named.

On 3 March, the Council accepted that committee’s recommendation. Moses Gill (shown above) delivered the news to the House. And the House disagreed, telling the committee instead to “enquire of the Committee of Correspondence, &c. of the Town of Boston, respecting Mr. Capen.”

A week later, there was a new report. The Council again agreed with the committee, Jabez Fisher reported. The House again disagreed, and voted to set the petition aside.

The Council, made up of richer men, was apparently inclined to be more lenient, but the House, dominated by rural delegates, was still not in a forgiving mood.

The Massachusetts government had exchanged some of its Loyalist prisoners to bring captives back from New York. That wasn’t an option for Capen since he didn’t want to go over to the enemy.

And thus the legislative term ended in the spring of 1778 with Hopestill Capen still in the Boston jail.

TOMORROW: Change of heart.

In Search of Phillis Wheatley Peters at Old South, 1 Oct.

On Thursday, 1 October, Revolutionary Spaces’s Old South Meeting House will host a showing of Leslie Askew’s documentary In Search of Phillis Wheatley Peters.

This 35-minute film “reclaims the life of Phillis Wheatley Peters, America’s first published Black poet and 18th-century congregant at the Old South Meeting House. The film illuminates a largely overlooked chapter of her story: her marriage to John Peters and the radical choices she made in pursuit of autonomy, dignity, and love.”

After the screening, there will be a panel discussion with filmmaker Askew, biographer David Waldstreicher, and Jeneé Osterheldt, the Boston Globe’s Deputy Managing Editor for Culture, Talent, and Development. Audience members will be able to pose questions to the panel.

This documentary has been shown at the American Antiquarian Society, Salem State University, U. Mass. Amherst, and other sites, but this will be the first time it is screened in the poet’s own chosen place of worship.

This program is free and open to the public. Doors will open at 6 P.M., and the program will begin at 6:30. To register for a seat, visit this webpage.

The producer’s website lists other upcoming screenings in the next several weeks.

ADDENDUM on 28 September: This event at Old South has been postponed.

Widmer on “The Living Declaration,” 30 Sept.

On Wednesday, 30 September, the Massachusetts Historical Society will welcome Ted Widmer for a conversation titled “The Living Declaration: When in the Course of Human Events.”

Seats at this event have been sold out, but it’s still possible to register to view the conversation online.

The event description says:

Why do we have a Declaration of Independence? Why does it include language about human rights? In conversation with M.H.S. Chief Historian Kanisorn Wongsrichanalai, historian and former presidential speechwriter Ted Widmer explores the complex lineage of the words and ideas in the Declaration and the dramatic sequence of events, many of them originating in Massachusetts, that led to the creation of the most consequential state paper in history.

Widmer’s new book, The Living Declaration: A Biography of America’s Founding Text, features a foreword by Gordon S. Wood, who died earlier this year.

People who have signed up to attend the in-person event will be able to view one of Thomas Jefferson’s manuscript copies of his draft for the Declaration. Folks who haven’t can study a scan here. This isn’t a working draft; it was one of the copies Jefferson made to let friends know what he wanted the Declaration to say.

This event will run from 6 to 7 P.M. Register for online access through this page.

Jortner on “Jewish Patriots” in Worcester, 29 Sept.

On Tuesday, 29 September, the American Antiquarian Society will host an online presentation by Adam Jortner on “A Promised Land: Jewish Patriots, the American Revolution, and the Birth of Religious Freedom.”

It looks like this presentation will be based on Jortner’s book of the same name, published by Oxford University Press in 2024. On the Jewish Book Council website, Stuart Halpern described that book like this:

…a mag­is­te­r­i­al his­to­ry of Amer­i­ca’s first Jew­ish cit­i­zens. It weaves tales of promi­nent lead­ers like Ger­shom Seixas and Jonas Phillips with lit­tle-known accounts of rev­o­lu­tion­ary Jew­ish troops, fundrais­ing for the first syn­a­gogues (and sub­se­quent intra­com­mu­nal dis­putes), and Jews respond­ing to anti­semitism by chal­leng­ing their antag­o­nists to life-endan­ger­ing duels. Demon­strat­ed through­out the book is how the Jew­ish com­mu­ni­ty in Amer­i­ca’s ear­li­est years wres­tled with its past and mapped its future — just like the coun­try itself. . . .

Jort­ner places great empha­sis on how Jews peti­tioned against test oaths, pledges to Chris­t­ian val­ues that pre­vent­ed Jews from hold­ing polit­i­cal office. These efforts helped shape reli­gious free­dom in the Unit­ed States.

Adam Jortner is a professor of American History at Auburn University. His other books on early American history include The Gods of Prophetstown: Tippecanoe and the War for the American Frontier and Blood from the Sky: Miracles and Politics in the Early American Republic.

Jortner has explored various channels for sharing historical information with the public, from a regular column in Current magazine to being part of the writing team for Where in Time Is Carmen Sandiego? His Audible downloads include The Hidden History of the Boston Tea Party, Faith and the Founding Fathers, and a new 24-lecture Great Courses series on the year 1776.

This online event will take place from 7 to 8 P.M. Register through this page.

Also available now via the A.A.S. is Prof. Ronald Angelo Johnson’s talk on his new book, Entangled Alliances: Racialized Freedom and Atlantic Diplomacy During the American Revolution.

Johnson, the Ralph and Bessie Mae Lynn Professor of History at Baylor University, discusses “the ways in which English and French language newspapers from 1758 to 1783 informed and inspirited revolutionary Atlantic inhabitants in British North America (later the United States) and French Saint-Domingue (later Haiti) toward freedom, liberty, and equality.”

Fighting Fires Inside Besieged Boston

On 18 Nov 1775, Gen. William Howe issued instructions for fighting fires in Boston.

The town had had its own rules about fires since the early 1600s, with all households required to bring out their own buckets and competing companies pulling in water-pumping engines.

But by late 1775 most of the town’s population were British soldiers or people attached to them. There was also a hostile enemy outside, which might have prompted worry about saboteurs.

Gen. Howe needed to ensure the remaining civilians and his troops didn’t get in each other’s way, so in his general orders he wrote:

Upon the Discovery of a Fire, Notice is to be given as Usual, by the Ringing of Bells & the Cry of Fire in the Streets, at which time the Regts. will Immediately get under Arms on their Regimental Parade & wait there for further Orders, Unless when a Fire may break out in the Quarters of the Regt; & in that case, the Corps is to quit the place, to make Room for the Inhabitants, who are to Repair to the Fire with all the Buckets in their possesion to give their Assistance, every House holder putting up a Light in a Front Window. A Caution to be observed upon all Alarms whatever.

All persons failing so to do, will be punished in a most Exemplary Manner.

The Bells are not to Ring for the Alarm more than One quarter of an Hour.

The Fire Wards, the Engine Masters & Men Acting under them, are not to be interrupted by any Officer or Soldier in the Execution of their Duty. The Firewards, known by Red painted Staffs, with Heads of Brass are to have the whole Management & Conduct of the Engines & People Assembled to Extinguish a Fire.

Neither are the Inhabitants to be Stopped or impeded in Times of Fires, by the Milatary unless they are Armed, in which case they are to be taken into Custody.

All the Associated Companies, from the essential Service they may be of, are to Attend the Fires without Arms: the Royal North British Volunteers excepted, who have been already Appointed to a particular Duty with Arms.

(The Associated Companies meant the recently established Loyalist militia. The Royal North British Volunteers were primarily Scotsmen; on 29 October Howe had assigned them to patrol the area around Fanueil Hall.)

Women belonging to the Army will not be Allowed to be present at any Fires that may happen.

A Premium of Twenty Shillings Sterling will be given to the Men who bring the first Engine, & work it, at the Fire.

The Firewards are to take into their possession, all Buckets found in Vacated Houses, & to Distribute them among the Residing Inhabitants.

Later, on 10 Mar 1776, as the British military started to load their evacuation ships, Gen. Howe ordered:

the strictest care taken that the Town be not set on Fire; by Accident or by Design. Any Person detected setting Fire; to the Town without Authority will suffer immediate Death.

There were occasional fires in Boston during the military occupations of 1768–1700 and 1774–1776, but no more than usual. The soldiers and civilians worked together to contain them.

After the siege, returning Bostonians found the biggest fire-related damage to the town wasn’t from conflagrations but from people pulling down fences, trees, and even buildings for firewood.

Thomas Lynch and the Continental Army’s Black Soldiers

On 23 Oct 1775, Thomas Lynch, Jr., and two of his colleagues in the Continental Congress, Benjamin Harrison and Benjamin Franklin, conferred with Gen. George Washington and political leaders of the New England colonies about setting up the Continental Army for the coming year ahead.

Most of the current army’s enlistments ran out in December. Only the rifle companies from Pennsylvania, Virginia, and Maryland had enlisted on different terms. They had promised to serve for twelve months, or until the middle of 1776.

One of the many questions that October conference considered was:

Ought not Negroes to be excluded from the new Inlistment especially such as are Slaves—all were thought improper by the Council of Officers?

Washington’s generals had followed his lead in voting to exclude black soldiers, though there were some opposing voices, as I discussed back here.

Thomas Lynch, as a southern planter and politician, almost certainly supported the idea of keeping black men out of the army. His fellow South Carolinian, Edward Rutledge, had even proposed pushing black soldiers out in September and “was strongly supported by many of the Southern Delegates,” according to the notes of Richard Smith of New Jersey.

That makes Lynch’s letter to Washington on 8 December particularly interesting. By then the general was worried that not enough men of any sort would re-enlist for the new year. If the British heard about an incredible shrinking enemy, Washington feared, in January they would charge out of Boston and Charlestown and overwhelm the thin Continental lines.

Lynch wrote to the commander:

I shall not take upon me to advise. tis as improper as needless. your Rifle Men, Negroes, & Deserters may in proper passes defend your artillery Ammunition & Stores[.] shoud your Lines be deserted, & the glorious, golden opertunity of ending the War be lost, let not Hope be lost also.

Somehow Lynch believed that the “Negroes” in the Continental ranks would still be available to Washington, along with the riflemen (whose enlistments were still in force) and “Deserters.”

It’s such a brief comment that it’s hard to know what Lynch was thinking. Did he expect the black soldiers would be in the same boat as the deserters, with nowhere else to go? Was he so used to ordering around enslaved people that he automatically assumed Washington could demand the “Negroes” stay?

Either way, Lynch’s remark was a backhanded acknowledgment that the Continental Army did have soldiers of African heritage, despite Rutledge’s efforts, and that they might be most valuable in the worst emergency.

“Unearthing Fort Rutledge” at Clemson, 25 Sept.

On Friday, 25 September, Clemson University will host a talk by Prof. Joshua Catalano titled “Unearthing Fort Rutledge.”

The event description says:

Tucked away on the edge of Clemson University’s campus are the remains of the Cherokee town of Esseneca and Fort Rutledge. Most people passing by the old monument near the site are unaware of the history.

On August 1, 1776, a small battle occurred at Esseneca between the South Carolina militia and British/Cherokee force. Following the skirmish, the militia destroyed the town and built Fort Rutledge. The fort played an important role in the American Revolution serving as a staging area for patriot expeditions. It also served as a mechanism of settler colonialism, further displacing the Cherokee from their home.

The British "destroyed" the fort in 1780, and nature buried what was left over the centuries. This history is little remembered. In 2021, Clemson faculty and students partnered with the National Park Service and the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians to unearth what was left of the fort. This research led to new and unexpected discoveries that are changing our understanding of the region’s history.

Dr. Joshua Catalano as an Associate Professor and Public History Coordinator in Clemson’s History department. In addition to the Fort Rutledge project, he is working on a study of the production, dissemination, and continual reinterpretation of the memory of the Gnadenhutten Massacre of 1782 and the burning of Col. William Crawford.

Clemson was founded in 1889 on a plantation once owned by John C. Calhoun, the Senator, Vice President, and advocate for chattel slavery. He had named that property Fort Hill because of memories of Fort Rutledge nearby, though for a long time the fortification’s exact location was lost.

People can attend this lecture in person or online through this link.

The Danger of Speaking Truth to the Power-Hungry

The author of History by a Hair, Richard Kurin, is the Smithsonian Institution’s Distinguished Scholar and Ambassador-at-Large. A cultural anthropologist by training, he was previously the Under Secretary overseeing all the organization’s museums and scientific centers.

Kurin’s new book includes a foreword by Lonnie G. Bunch III, the retiring Secretary of the Smithsonian. Its back-cover blurbs include praise from David M. Rubenstein, former chair of the Smithsonian Board of Regents.

Ordinarily, those connections to America’s national history museum would be assets for History by a Hair. Under the current administration, they’re complications, especially when the book presents historical information that reactionaries don’t want to hear.

The New York Times reported:

An event on Sept. 22 announcing the findings has been moved from the American history museum to a less prominent Smithsonian location, limited to descendants and closed to the news media. An online public lecture by Kurin through the institution’s educational arm set for the next day was canceled.

The Smithsonian has been treading lightly under President Donald Trump because of his festering cultural resentments and wish to leave his footprint on Washington, D.C. In July the White House issued an executive order supposedly meant to “restore trust” in the Smithsonian—actually one of the most respected and beloved institutions in American culture.

We know Donald Trump doesn’t really care about accurate U.S. history. If he did, he wouldn’t have installed a plaque on one of his golf courses marveling at a Civil War battle that never happened. He’d have recognized immediately that it would be wrong to say that Revolutionary War troops “took over the airports.”

Donald Trump wants control of the Smithsonian, just as he grabbed control of the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, the Reflecting Pool, the Sestercentennial celebrations, and the White House’s East Wing. The scars on the D.C. landscape show us how well those moves have worked out.

Since the Smithsonian was chartered by Congress and has a robust governance system, Trump has only been able to exert pressure from the outside. The latest scheme his staff has come up with is to install signs between the empty Reflecting Pool and Smithsonian museums warning visitors of what they’ll find inside.

As Kevin M. Levin has pointed out, the federal agency tasked with writing, designing, and planting those signs is the National Park Service—another target of Trump’s hunger for power. The New York Times just reported on the damage the administration has inflicted on that agency.

In its story about History by a Hair, the Times hinted at how people feared the book could become a focus of Trump’s temper. Even though, as Karin Wulf writes, the historical findings about Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings are “so far beyond a reasonable doubt we’re in planetary orbit.” Because, as I said before, Trump doesn’t really care about accurate U.S. history.

Richard Kurin will come to Boston to talk about History by a Hair on 6 October at an appearance at WBUR’s CitySpace.