John Jupp “found his way to Shirley”

Among the men from Shirley who marched during the Lexington Alarm of 19 Apr 1775 was John Jupp, a private in Capt. Henry Haskell’s company, Col. William Prescott’s regiment.

Jupp had more recent military experience than most of his companions. According to Seth Chandler’s History of the Town of Shirley, Massachusetts, he

was an Englishman by birth, and a soldier of the British army that came here to enforce colonial obedience. He was connected with the military department under Governor [Thomas] Gage at Boston, previous to the outbreak of the American Revolution. He deserted from the service of the king and found his way to Shirley…

Jupp and Mary Simonds recorded their intention to marry on 12 Nov 1774 in the Shirley meeting-house (shown above in its present form).

If her death listing from 1826 was accurate, Mary Simonds was born about 1735, making her close to forty years old when she wed. I suspect she had property since Jupp was said to have “owned a small farming estate, situated near the center of the town,” and a recently deserted soldier wouldn’t have been able to buy such land.

On 16 Jan 1775, Jupp sold a silver watch for cash and three dollars on credit to James Parker (1744-1830), who was teaching school in Haskell’s shop. Again, this doesn’t seem like the sort of property a deserting soldier would have on his own, but who knows?

Jupp served with the town militia company for ten days in April 1775. Shirley’s vital records say John and Mary Jupp had a daughter on 26 September. (However, another transcription of those records indicates that the child born that day was named John; I assume that was a misreading.)

In January 1776, John Jupp was 74 miles away in the camp at Cambridge, once again serving in a militia company under Capt. Haskell. Massachusetts had called those men up to ensure the lines around Boston didn’t collapse while Gen. George Washington strove to rebuild his forces.

Then on 9 Mar 1777, John Jupp enlisted as a private in the Continental Army for three years. He was in Capt. Sylvanus Smith’s company, Col. Timothy Bigelow’s regiment—a unit that was at Saratoga and Valley Forge. Though military records state that John Jupp was “sick at Shirley” in January 1779, his wife and daughter saw little of him in those years.

TOMORROW: Can this marriage be saved?

Aaron White’s Tale of Bunker Hill

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the Battle of Bunker Hill. Earlier this year, while digging into the question of who killed Maj. John Pitcairn during that fight, I ran across an anecdote that promised to shed light on that topic, but is actually evidence of why it’s so hard to pin down details of this famous battle.

The following passage comes from George Livermore’s “An Historical Research Respecting the Opinions of the Founders of the Republic on Negroes as Slaves, as Citizens, and as Soldiers,” presented to the Massachusetts Historical Society in 1862. This paper was part of the Abolitionist effort to convince the U.S. government to enlist African-Americans as soldiers, as the Continental Army had done in 1776.

Relying on previous writers, Livermore said that Peter Salem had killed Pitcairn, and then quoted from “a letter written to me recently by Aaron White, Esq., of Thompson, in Connecticut, in answer to an inquiry on this subject”:

With regard to the black Hero of Bunker Hill, I never knew him personally, nor did I ever hear from his lips the story of his achievements; but I have better authority.

About the year 1809, I heard a soldier of the Revolution, who was present at the Bunker Hill Battle, relate to my father the story of the death of Major Pitcairn. He said the Major had passed the storm of fire without, and had mounted the redoubt, when, waving his sword, he commanded, in a loud voice, the rebels to surrender. His sudden appearance, and his commanding air, at first startled the men immediately before him. They neither answered nor fired; probably not being exactly certain what was next to be done.

At this critical moment, a negro soldier stepped forward, and, aiming his musket directly at the Major’s bosom, blew him through. My informant declared that he was so near, that he distinctly saw the act. The story made quite an impression on my mind. I have frequently heard my father relate the story, and have no doubt of its truth.

My father on the day of the battle was a mere child, and witnessed the battle and burning of Charlestown from Roxbury Hill, sitting on the shoulders of the Rev. Mr. Jackson, who said to him as he placed him on the ground, “Now, boy, do you remember this!” Consequently, after such an injunction, he would necessarily pay particular attention to anecdotes concerning the first and only battle he ever witnessed.

According to this webpage, White was born in Boylston, Massachusetts, in 1798, so he was about eleven years old when he heard the veteran’s anecdote. White’s father, also named Aaron White, was a prosperous storekeeper in Boylston; here’s a bit of his wife’s diary from Old Sturbridge Village. Thomas White’s Genealogical Sketches of the White Family apparently stated that the older Aaron White was born in Roxbury on 9 June 1771, meaning that on the day of the battle he’d recently turned four.

Livermore and White evidently thought their sources comprised a “better authority” on Maj. Pitcairn’s death than hearing from Peter Salem himself—presumably because a man might be boastful about his own feats. White’s letter cited not just the “soldier of the Revolution, who was present at the Bunker Hill Battle,” but also his father himself, who had witnessed the fight and went on to “pay particular attention to anecdotes” about it.

However, White didn’t record the name of the veteran whom he recalled hearing at the age of eleven. He didn’t mention the circumstances of the conversation, which could help us assess the man’s reliability. More than thirty-five years elapsed between the battle and the telling. White’s memory of that anecdote undoubtedly got mixed with hearing his father “frequently” retell it. The older Aaron White enjoyed both paternal authority and the stature of an eyewitness to the battle, but in 1775 he was so young and so far away that all his details had to be secondhand.

Thus, like a lot of other anecdotes about Bunker Hill, Aaron White’s account comes to us with a wrapping of unimpeachability. He obviously believed it, and believed it was important. But the story itself has obviously been shaped for maximum drama. And its details don’t match accounts of Pitcairn’s death written right after the battle.