Capt. Thomas Barnard and the Signal from Old North

Last spring I wrote a bunch of postings about the debate over who hung the signal lanterns from Old North Church on 18 Apr 1775, John Pulling or Robert Newman.

My conclusion: They were both involved, and in fact the earliest stories told by their descendants each mention another man, who was probably the other claimant. There’s no need for a debate.

However, a third name comes up in those accounts: sea captain Thomas Barnard. This posting is an attempt to sort out his place in the historiography of the event.

A 30 Dec 1873 Boston Traveler article (quoted here) credited sexton Robert Newman with hanging the lanterns and mentioned his “friend, a sea captain, who was watching the movement of the regulars.” That same article said (following the Longfellow poem) that Paul Revere was on the opposite shore of the Charles, which elevated Newman’s role but was wrong.

When the Rev. John Lee Watson first complained that Newman was being honored for the work he’d grown up hearing credited to his relative John Pulling, he wrote to the rector at the church. The Rev. Henry Burroughs wrote back noting how multiple people supported the Newman family account, including (as Watson put it in his letter in the 20 July 1876 Boston Daily Advertiser):

William Green, who lives at the North End, is the grandson of Captain Thomas Barnard. His sister, eighty-four years old, remembers Robert Newman.

The Barnard name thus came up first as someone whose grandchild remembered Newman. There was no claim to the man’s own role in signaling the Patriots of Charlestown.

Two years later, in his History of Paul Revere’s Signal Lanterns, April 18, 1775, William Willder Wheildon expanded on that story:

Miss Maria Green, living in Weston, born in 1793, is a daughter of William Green, who lived in Boston, near the North Church, where also her grand parents resided. She heard many times from her mother the story of the lanterns, and says, “I distinctly remember that she said her father, Capt. Thomas Barnard, was engaged on that night in watching the movements of the troops in order to obtain for Robert Newman the necessary information concerning their departure. Our family were familiar with the story of hanging out the lanterns owing to the connection of Capt. Barnard with it, and we never heard the act ascribed to any other person than Robert Newman, or to any other place than Christ Church.”

Mr. Green, a brother of the lady above mentioned, who died recently in Boston, is known to have made a similar statement.

Thomas Barnard’s grandchildren thus claimed that he was part of the story of 18-19 April, but only in watching the British troops (as many Bostonians had). They also suggested that Newman himself gathered information on the troops’ movements rather than taking direction from Dr. Joseph Warren through Revere.

Thomas Barnard was a ship’s captain who lived at one point on Middle Street. He was active in Boston maritime life and business until his death at age sixty-two in 1803. He may have been the Capt. Thomas Barnard who commanded the New York packet, often mentioned in the Rev. Dr. Jeremy Belknap’s letters because he was always sending things to friends there. (This Barnard is distinct from the Rev. Thomas Barnard of Salem who played a big role in “Leslie’s Retreat”; to confuse matters further, that minister’s meetinghouse has also been called “the old North Church.”)

In the twentieth century Thomas Barnard’s role in the lantern-hanging shifted—without, as far as I can see, any new evidence coming to light. In Paul Revere and the World He Lived In (1942), Esther Forbes wrote of the lantern-hanging:

One of the vestrymen at Christ’s, John Pulling, went with Newman, as probably did Revere’s neighbor, Thomas Barnard.

In a note Forbes added, “What Revere’s next-door neighbor, Barnard, was doing is even vaguer [than details about Pulling and Newman], but tradition says he did something.”

Fifty years later, in Paul Revere’s Ride (1994), David Hackett Fischer described this scene in detail:

On the afternoon of April 18, Revere alerted Newman and Pulling, and also another friend and neighbor, Thomas Bernard [sic], and asked them to help with the lanterns.

It was about 10 o’clock in the evening when Paul Revere left Dr. Warren’s surgery. He went quickly to the Newman house at the corner of Salem and Sheafe streets. As he approached the building, he peered through the windows and was startled to see a party of British officers who boarded with Mrs. Newman playing cards at a parlor table and laughing boisterously among themselves. Revere hesitated for a moment, then went round to the back of the house, and slipped through an iron gate into a dark garden, wondering what to do next.

Suddenly, Newman stepped out of the shadows. The young man explained that when the officers sat down to their cards, he pretended to go to bed early. The agile young sexton retired upstairs to his chamber, opened a window, climbed outside, and dropped as silently as a cat to the garden below. There he met Pulling and Bernard, and waited for Revere to arrive.

Revere told his friends to go into the church and hang two lanterns in the steeple window on the north side facing Charlestown. He did not stay with them, but hurried away toward his own home. The men left him and walked across the street to the Old North Church. Robert Newman tugged his great sexton’s key out of his pocket and unlocked the heavy door. He and Captain Pulling slipped inside, while Thomas Bernard stood guard.

This seems to be an attempt to reconcile the claims of both Pulling’s and Newman’s descendants that their ancestor actually hung the lanterns while keeping someone at watch down below. In turn, Fischer’s authoritative telling shaped the story in several books published in this century.

But, as I said, I’ve found no claim that Barnard actually was at Old North that night.

A Boy’s View of “Leslie’s Retreat”

My favorite account of “Leslie’s Retreat” appeared in the first volume of the Proceedings of the Essex Institute in 1856. It consists of notes that Charles M. Endicott took when he interviewed Samuel Gray.

This wasn’t the Samuel Gray killed at the Boston Massacre, of course. This was a nine-year-old boy who lived on Peter Street in Salem. Here’s what he remembered about Sunday, 26 Feb 1775:

The family had all gone to meeting, except himself and grandmother. Was out in the yard—while there heard a drum and fife—went in and told the old lady of it—she thought he was mistaken—but he was convinced of it and took his cap and went in the direction of the music—

had reached the N. E. corner of Essex and Washington streets, when he saw the troops coming round the corner of School, now Washington street, from Mill street. They marched up to the Town House and halted a few minutes— . . . When the troops recommenced their march followed close to them, was near enough to touch Colonel [Alexander] Leslie most of the time.—The Colonel was a fine looking officer, rather stout with agreeable features; followed them through Lynde street to the North Bridge; should think the platoons about twelve deep, and when they halted at the draw of the bridge, they reached from there to Colonel [Joseph] Sprague’s distillery; should think there could not have been less than 300 men.

When they came to order they formed a line on the west side of the street facing to the eastward. Saw that the Colonel was quite disconcerted to find the draw of the bridge up; noticed his impassioned manner, but…don’t know that he heard any words he uttered.

Saw his minister, Mr [Thomas] Barnard, in the crowd, and saw him speak with Colonel Leslie;…was afterwards told, that when Mr Barnard heard the Colonel say that he would pass the bridge, that he addressed him in these words: “I desire you would not fire on those innocent people;” (meaning those collected on the north side of the bridge,)

at this Colonel Leslie turned short round and said to him “Who are you, sir?”

Mr. Barnard replied, “I am Thomas Barnard, a minister of the gospel, and my mission is peace.”

Saw three gondolas laying aground; saw the people jump into them for the purpose of scuttling them; recognized Frank Benson and Jonathan Felt—saw Frank Benson open his breast to the soldiers. . . . knew Capt. Robert Foster, and recognized him conspicuous among the crowd on the north side of the bridge.

Colonel Leslie had given some orders, and the soldiers were doing something to their muskets; cannot say what; but being a small boy it frightened him, and he with two or three others about his age, ran off and lay down under the fish flakes which covered almost the whole southern bank of the river from north bridge to what is now Conant street; did not return; it was a very cold day, and he was almost frozen, while laying down upon the ground under the flakes; did not see the troops leave town.

Fish flakes were the wooden shelves where fishermen laid their salted cod to dry. They used to be common in New England ports. The photograph of flakes above comes from the Penobscot Marine Museum.

The next day, Samuel went to the “barn of Capt. Foster” himself—and unlike Leslie, he was able to get in. He found a cannon lying on the ground. And being a nine-year-old boy, he climbed onto it and started asking questions:

asked why they did not carry it away;

was told it was injured—looked round and saw a crack in the breech;

asked how many guns there had been in all,

was told twelve; understood they were French pieces, and came from Nova Scotia after the late French war; were guns taken from the French; does not know to whom they belonged previous to being fitted up on this occasion.

Heard they were distributed in various directions—some to Cole’s hole, in what is now called Paradise; others towards Orne’s point, &c.; were not all carried to one place, for fear if they were discovered by the troops they would all be lost.

The troops hadn’t discovered any of those guns, of course. But to be sage, on the night of 3 March, the Essex Gazette reported, perhaps with some exaggeration, “Twenty seven Pieces of Cannon were removed out of this Town, in order to be out of the Way of Robbers.”

TOMORROW: Where those cannon went.

“Retreat and Resistance” in Salem, 26 Feb.

On Sunday, 26 February, Salem will have a “fun and informal reenactment” of the confrontation between Patriots and redcoats across the town’s North River on that date in 1775.

Lt. Col. Alexander Leslie had orders to lead his men from the 64th Regiment of Foot across the river and search Robert Foster’s smithy. But locals, led by David Mason, had raised the drawbridge over the river, blocking the redcoats.

A crowd gathered around the soldiers. Militia units mustered in nearby towns. There was some tussling, some swinging of hatchets, some poking with bayonets. A soldier pricked Joseph Whicher’s chest—enough that Salem historians have claimed the first blood of the Revolutionary War was spilled that day.

Eventually the town’s civilian leaders and Lt. Col. Leslie found a compromise, brokered by Anglican [nearby meetinghouse] minister Thomas Barnard. Mason lowered the drawbridge. Leslie marched his men across it, far enough that he could say he had fulfilled his orders, and then they turned around and went back to the ship awaiting them in Marblehead.

During the stalemate at the bridge, Mason’s confederates had moved all the cannon he had collected for the Massachusetts Provincial Congress out of Foster’s workshop and into a nearby woods. Those cannon were being mounted on carriages for battlefield use. Within a week, they were moved on to Concord, where a larger British force came looking for them in April.

The commemoration on Sunday starts with two gatherings:

• 10:30 A.M.: The First Church of Salem Unitarian-Universalist welcomes everyone for a service that will end with a warning that the redcoats are coming, just as happened in 1775. That will be about 11:30, when folks can also arrive at the church yard to join the congregants in heading to the bridge.
• 11:00 A.M.: Folks representing the British army will meet at Hamilton Hall with fifes, recorders, and slide whistles. They will walk up to a mile (weather depending) to recreate the soldiers’ approach from Marblehead.
• 11:45 A.M.: At the corner of Federal and North Streets (Murphy’s Funeral Home), Lt. Col. Leslie and militia captain John Felt will dispute whether the bridge must come down and what the soldiers must do. People are invited to observe and shout surly comments.
• 12:00 noon: At the end of the reenactment, everyone will be invited into the First Church for an hour of warmth and refreshment.

The 26 Feb 1775 confrontation was part of the larger competition for artillery pieces described in The Road to Concord. On Friday, 7 April, I’ll speak at the Salem Athenaeum about that town’s many crucial connections to the Massachusetts arms race. General admission will be $15, for members $10, and for students with ID free.

Folks in the region are organizing other talks and events in the coming weeks about Leslie’s Retreat and the surrounding conflict. I’ll share more news of those as they come near.

The Myth of Major John Pedrick

Another of this season’s new Revolutionary history books is Prelude to Revolution: The Salem Gunpowder Raid of 1775, by Peter Charles Hoffer. It discusses Lt. Col. Alexander Leslie’s unproductive march and weapons search in Salem on 26 Feb 1775. I look forward to reading it because of that topic and because I found Hoffer’s Past Imperfect very interesting.

However, I’ve already noticed that Prelude to Revolution is yet another account of that event which includes the story of John Pedrick (1733-1780) warning about redcoats on the way. That tale was first printed in the Essex Institute Historical Collections in 1880, credited to an old family document:

Major Pedrick hastened out and was told that the British had landed on the [Marblehead] Neck; at once he understood their object, hastened to his residence, had his parade horse saddled, rose away with the utmost speed, and met a person who said the troops had formed their ranks on Bubier’s Plain and were marching on towards Salem. He quickly followed, heard the drum and fife playing Yankee Doodle; when he had so gained upon them he leaped his horse over a wall which brought him to a steep hill leading to Gardner’s Mills, which was so steep a descent it was looked upon as a breakneck place and really safest to go down at a gallop.

At the bottom of the hill he came upon Col. Leslie, with whom he was well acquainted and who at that moment was in the rear of his troops. They exchanged a military salute and Leslie ordered his men “to file to the right and left and give Major Pedrick the pass.” This pass was a narrow wooden bridge over a river which emptied into the sea and near which was a great mill; leaving the bridge, the river wound around a sharp point of land, so that after a few yards were passed he was concealed from the observation of any one upon the bridge.

Major Pedrick thanked Col. Leslie for his courtesy, passed between the files of soldiers, and while in view of them rode slowly; but, once around the point of land, put spurs on his horse, went to Salem with all speed, stopped at the door of the North Church (it was during the time of service, being Sunday), explained Col. Leslie’s object, then dashed down to Spike bridge to have the draw raised so as to prevent the passage of the “Regulars.”

Rev. Mr. [Thomas] Barnard and others followed as quickly as possible and it was arranged that Mr. Barnard was to remain in charge of it. Major Pedrick said to Mr. Barnard that Col. Leslie would order the draw to be lowered in the “King’s name;” that he could reply it was not the “King’s” highway, but a private road. . . .

Major Pedrick then requested Mr. Barnard who was on the same side of the bridge with Col. Leslie to say to him that if it were a “point of honor” with him to do it, that the draw should be lowered for him and his men, to cross over and to march so many paces beyond; provided that being accomplished they would return to their place of embarkation. . . . [This] being done the troops wheeled round and the music played by the band was “The world turned upside down.”

Immediately upon Col. Leslie’s accepting the terms, Major Pedrick rode a short distance away, as he felt it would be uncourteous to remain and witness his annoyance.

There are two problems with that story. First, all the contemporaneous sources about Essex County list John Pedrick as a supporter of the royal government. In the spring of 1774 he signed a complimentary address to the departing governor, Thomas Hutchinson. On 27 December the Marblehead town meeting complained that he had “not shewn the least Disposition for recalling it,” as the Essex Gazette reported. Pedrick finally signed a public recantation on 28 April, after the war had started.

Second, the source for that anecdote, “often repeated by Madam Story to some of her grandchildren,” is totally unreliable. That grandmother was born Mehitable Pedrick. John Pedrick’s daughter, she became the second wife of Dr. Elisha Story and the mother of Supreme Court justice Joseph Story. And she told a lot of stories.

The sculptor William Wetmore Story described his grandmother Mehitable this way in 1851:

Her temper was gay, and she was a great talker, telling manifold stories of the Revolution, and of the men and deeds of the past age. Her mind had a romantic turn, and with a sort of half-superstition she used to recount the legendary tales of her native town, never quite believing nor quite disbelieving them.

In other words, even Madam Story’s grandson came to think she was just spinning legends.

And for good reason. Some of Mehitable Story’s stories are obvious romances, like the one about a British major named McGrath “stationed for a time at Marblehead Neck in command of the British troops there” coming back to court her “Shortly before the battle of Bunker Hill”; she rejects him, and he dies in the battle. Of course, there were never army troops stationed in Marblehead, any British officer venturing outside of Boston in the late spring of 1775 risked capture, and the British casualties at Bunker Hill didn’t include a Maj. McGrath.

Some of Mehitable Story’s descendants did credit her stories and got them into print in the late 1800s. Another example is a tale giving her husband credit for stealing two cannon from Boston Common by holding a British sentry at pistol-point. And then attending that soldier’s court-martial. That never happened, either.

Madam Story’s oft-repeated anecdote about John Pedrick thrusting himself into the center of Salem’s confrontation with Col. Leslie has no support from any other source. No other witness recalled Pedrick as playing any role that day. Story’s tale credits her father with doing things that David Mason did. It even borrows the detail of “The World Turned Upside Down” from a dubious anecdote of Yorktown. But credulous chroniclers stripped away the dubious details when they reprinted the story, making the remaining claim appear more reliable. The legend’s not a big part of most books, including Hoffer’s new one, but it shows up a lot. In fact, by now the myth has appeared in so many histories of the start of the Revolution that sheer ubiquity makes it seem reliable.