“We should go to the assistance of our friends at the lake”

Nathaniel Folsom (1726-1790) came from an old and prominent New Hampshire family. He was a merchant and owner of a sawmill and shipyard.

Early in the French and Indian War, Folsom became a captain in the New Hampshire provincial regiment. His company was stationed at Fort Lyman, soon to be renamed Fort Edward, on the Hudson River.

On the morning of 8 Sept 1755, having heard shots in the night, Col. Joseph Blanchard told Folsom to send out a scouting party. Folsom dispatched Lt. Jeremiah Gilman, a relative, with some troops. According to a letter the captain wrote in March 1756, those men “marched up between Hudson’s River & the waggon road that leads to Lake George about two miles and a half, where they discovered one [Jacob] Adams lying by the waggon road, dead & scalp’d, & several waggons almost burnt up.”

After hearing this news, Col. Blanchard sent out Capt. Folsom with fifty men. They found signs of a large force of Natives and French in the area. Furthermore, “while we were tying up the dead man to carry him into the fort we heard the discharge of a great gun at the lake & soon after the continual report of others.”

This was the start of the Battle of Lake George, specifically the attack by that French force later called the “Bloody Morning Scout.” Gen. William Johnson had sent troops and supplies from his camp at the lake south toward Fort Lyman with a warning about the enemy being in the area, but that enemy had set up an ambush. The Crown commanders, Col. Ephraim Williams of Stockbridge and Mohawk leader Hendrick Theyanoguin, were both killed. Their remaining men withdrew toward their camp, with the French forces in pursuit.

As William R. Griffith recreated events in The Battle of Lake George (2021), Capt. Folsom returned to Fort Lyman with news that a battle was under way to the north. Shortly after noon, Col. Blanchard sent him back out with a larger force of New Hampshire men, augmented by a company of New Yorkers under Capt. William Maginnis.

Folsom’s own account from 1756 presents himself and his men as acting more aggressively and independently than that:

I call’d together our officers to advise whether we should go to the assistance of our friends at the lake whom we suppos’d to be engaged in battle; upon which officers & souldiers unanimously manifested their willingness to go. At that instant I was told that there were more men coming, who were presently with us. They were a company of the York regiment, who, when detached at Fort Edward, were commanded by Capt. McGennes.

I told him our army was attack’d at the lake, that we had determined to go to their assistance & ask’d him to go with us. Upon which he answer’d that his orders were to come to that spot, make what discoveries he could, return & make report. I told him that was my orders, but that this being an extraordinary case I was not afraid of being blamed by our superr. officers for helping our friends in distress. Whereupon he turn’d & ordered his company to march back again.

I then told our officers that as our number was so small—but, as it were, a handfull—I tho’t it most adviseable to return to the fort and add to our number & then proceed to the lake. We march’d, soon overtook the Yorkers & ran by them a little distance, where we met near fifty of our own regiment running towards us.

I ask’d, “What tidings?” They said they tho’t we had been engag’d & that Coll. Blanchard had sent them to our assistance.

Whereupon we imediately concluded to go to the lake; but not having orders therefor, as before hinted, I despatch’d Lieut. [Richard] Emery with some few men with orders to go to the fort and to acquaint Coll. Blanchard with what we had discover’d and of our design to go to the lake.

Meanwhile Capt. McGennes marched forward. We followed for about two miles but as I tho’t they marched too slow & kept out no advance guard (by means of which we might be enclos’d in the ambushments of the Canadeans) I propos’d to our New Hampshire men to go by them. But one of our officers told me he tho’t it not best to go before the Yorkers for that he was more afraid of them than of the enemy.

We might presume that officer was afraid of being accidentally shot from behind, but clearly there was a rivalry between the two colonies’ forces.

TOMORROW: Engaging the enemy.

The Intriguing Portraits of William Williams

[Today’s posting would be simpler if so many of the people involved weren’t named Williams.]

Yesterday I passed on articles about Fara Dabhoiwala’s conclusions about a painting of the Jamaican scholar Francis Williams.

Dabhoiwala hypothesizes that this portrait was made in or shortly after 1759 by the artist William Williams, born in Wales in 1727 but active in the American colonies.

William Williams is known for a couple of other portraits of unusual men in Britain’s American empire.

One portrait, now lost, showed the Haudenosaunee leader Theyanoquin, often called “King Hendrick” by British sources. In January 1755, Theyanoquin was in Philadelphia meeting with Gov. John Penn and the Council about a land dispute. At the time, British authorities were pleased to have the Haudenosaunee as allies in their growing conflict with the French.

The Fishing Company of Fort St. David’s, a genteel men’s club, commissioned William Williams to paint Theyanoquin’s portrait, and club records show it was displayed in their clubhouse. (This club later merged with the Schuylkill Fishing Company, discussed here.)

Later in 1755, Theyanoquin led a contingent of Native soldiers in a British force commanded by Sir William Johnson. Col. Ephraim Williams, Jr., led the Massachusetts contingent. (His brother, Dr. Thomas Williams of Deerfield, came along as a surgeon, and their relative, the Rev. Stephen Williams, as a chaplain.)

That British force clashed with the French beside Lake George on 8 September. Col. Williams and Theyanoquin were both killed, though ultimately Johnson claimed victory.

That event made Theyanoquin, or Hendrick, a martyr for people in Britain. Elizabeth Bakewell and Henry Parker issued an engraved portrait of him titled “The Brave old Hendrick the great Sachem or Chief of the Mohawk Indians” (shown above). That print isn’t dated, and its source is uncertain, but scholars appear to believe that it was most likely based on the William Williams painting. If so, it’s the only remaining version of that image.

In the same decade, Williams painted the radical Quaker Benjamin Lay. The earliest trace of this portrait appears to be a remark in Benjamin Franklin’s 10 June 1758 letter from London to his wife Deborah. The retired printer wrote: “I wonder how you came by Ben. Lay’s Picture.”

Unfortunately, Deborah’s letters to Benjamin before and after that one don’t survive, so we don’t know what she’d told him about that picture or how she answered his query. Franklin had published some of Lay’s writing decades earlier, but the man wrote a lot, and I don’t see signs of a close friendship.

Deborah Franklin might have commissioned William Williams to paint Lay because she sensed public interest in an engraved portrait. At some point such an engraving appeared, credited to painter “W. Williams” and engraver “H.D.” That was Henry Dawkins, another British-born craftsman who had come to the Middle Colonies of America to be a bigger fish in a smaller pond. (It’s also possible Dawkins published that engraving himself and the “Picture” Benjamin Franklin wrote about was a print, not the painting.)

That brings us back to Francis Williams, the Jamaican polymath. Did William Williams paint his portrait with an eye toward its eventual engraving? No such engraving survives.

The painting went into the hands of the planter and lawyer Edward Long (1734–1813), who published a history of Jamaica in 1774. That book includes a poem by Francis Williams and a short, inaccurate, racist biography of him. Did Long at some point also think of putting an illustration of Williams into the book?

For more about those unusual portrait subjects, see Eric Hinderaker’s The Two Hendricks: Unraveling a Mohawk Mystery, Marcus Rediker’s The Fearless Benjamin Lay, and Vincent Carretta’s article “Who Was Francis Williams?” in Early American Literature.