Midshipman Preble Chases a Sea Serpent

Yesterday I quoted the memories of George and Luther Little of the day in May 1780 when their Massachusetts frigate chased a sea serpent off the coast of Maine. But did anyone besides the Little lieutenants leave a record of that giant fish that got away?

One of the youngest officers aboard that ship, the Protector, was Midshipman Edward Preble (1761-1807), later a celebrated U.S. Navy captain. James Fenimore Cooper’s profile of Preble for Graham’s Illustrated Magazine in 1845, republished in Naval Biographies, included his version of the chase:

Preble related the affair substantially as follows: The Protector was lying in one of the bays on the eastern coast, which, has been forgotten, waiting the slow movements of the squadron. The day was clear and calm, when a large serpent was discovered outside the ship. The animal was lying on the water quite motionless. After inspecting it with the glasses for some time, Capt. [John Foster] Williams ordered Preble to man and arm a large boat, and endeavor to destroy the creature; or at least, to go as near to it as he could. The selection of Preble for such a service, proves the standing he occupied among the hardy and daring. The boat thus employed pulled twelve oars, and carried a swivel in its bows, besides having its crew armed as boarders.

Preble shoved off, and pulled directly towards the monster. As the boat neared it, the serpent raised its head about ten feet above the surface of the water, looking about it. It then began to move slowly away from the boat. Preble pushed on, his men pulling with all their force, and the animal being at no great distance, the swivel was discharged loaded with bullets. The discharge produced no other effect than to quicken the speed of the serpent, which soon ran the boat out of sight.

There is no question that in after life, Preble occasionally mentioned this circumstance, to a few of his intimates. He was not loquacious, and probably saw that he was relating a fact that most persons would be disposed to doubt, and self-respect prevented his making frequent allusions to it. . . . Preble stated it as his opinion, that the serpent he saw was from one hundred, to one hundred and fifty feet long, and larger than a barrel.

Preble’s anecdote, filtered through Cooper’s novelistic imagination, left out Lt. George Little as the officer in charge of the boat, putting Preble in his place. Preble’s serpent was three times as long as the Littles’.

In fact, there were such differences between the Little and Preble accounts that some later sea serpent scholars treated them as separate incidents. But Preble was probably just a junior officer who went out in the boat under George Little. His anecdotes of that event, passed along orally to Cooper, offer another, less reliable look of the mysterious creature.

TOMORROW: One more memoir from the Protector.

Lieutenant Little Chases a Sea Serpent

George and Luther Little were two brothers from Marshfield who both served as officers aboard the Massachusetts navy vessel Protector under Capt. John Foster Williams from 1779 to 1781.

Luther, the younger by two years, was badly wounded during a sea battle. Later George was captured, held briefly on the Jersey prison ship, and sent to the Mill Prison in England. He and other officers bribed a guard and escaped to France.

In 1804, George wrote a letter to Alden Bradford about another of his adventures during the war. In 1820 that letter was published in the American Journal of Science as follows:

Marshfield, 13th March, 1804.

Sir,
In answer to yours of the 30th of January last, I observe, that in May, 1780, I was lying in Round Pond, in Broad Bay [off Waldoboro, Maine], in a public armed ship. At sunrise, I discovered a large Serpent, or monster, coming down the bay, on the surface of the water. The Cutter was manned and armed. I went myself in the boat, and proceeded after the Serpent. When within a hundred feet, the marines were ordered to fire on him, but before they could make ready, the Serpent dove. He was not less than from 45 to 50 feet in length; the largest diameter of his body, I should judge, 15 inches; his head nearly of the size of that of a man, which he carried four or five feet above the water. He wore every appearance of a common black snake. When he dove he came up near Muscongus Island—we pursued him, but never came up within a quarter of a mile of him again.

A monster of the above description was seen in the same place, by Joseph Kent, of Marshfield, 1751. Kent said he was longer and larger than the main boom of his sloop, which was 85 tons. He had a fair opportunity of viewing him, as he was within ten or twelve yards of his sloop.

I have the honor to be, sir, Your friend and humble servant,
GEO. LITTLE.

A couple of decades later, Luther Little dictated his memoirs, eventually published in the Journal of American History. Luther corroborated his older brother’s experience:

The Capt. thought it necessary to put into an eastern port for wood and water;—we sail’d for Broad Bay, and arrived at the mouth and anchored in a cove near the shore, called Muscongus. The Capt. made arrangements with a farmer at this place to land our sick, at an out building leaving the surgeons mate to take care of them, making a sort of hospital. I was then sufficiently recovered [from my wound] to be able to walk the deck. The next day, at four in the afternoon, we discovered a large black snake coming down from out the bushes abreast the ship; he took the water and swam by us; we judged him to be 40 feet long, and his middle the size of a man’s body; he carried his head six feet above water. We manned a barge, and went in chase of him; when fired at, he would dive like a sea-fowl. They chased him a mile and a half firing continually. The snake landed at Lowd’s Island, and disappeared in the woods. The barge returned to the ship.

Luther’s account suggests he saw the serpent from the deck of the Protector but didn’t join George in the boat that chased it.

Did anyone outside the Little family tell this odd story?

TOMORROW: Tales from a midshipman.

(The Protector was a 26-gun frigate launched in 1779. The picture above shows H.M.S. Cleopatra, a 32-gun frigate launched the same year; that’s the closest I could find.)

Consequential Questions

The Journal of the American Revolution (AllThingsLiberty.com) has once again asked its contributors, including me, some questions and run the answers over the course of a week. These were the questions last week—

“Greatest consequence of the American Revolution?” My answer leaned toward what Chou En-lai was reported to have said about the consequences of the French Revolution: “It’s too soon to tell.” Alas, that quotation has turned out to be based on a misunderstanding—the Chinese premier was actually speaking about the recent Paris uprising of 1968. But I still think we can screw up the Revolution. As in Abraham Lincoln’s formulation, the American democracy is a proposition, not a proof.

“Aside from John and Abigail, what was the best husband-wife duo of the Revolution? Why?” I consciously avoided what turned out to be the clearly most popular answer, but still was not alone in my choice.

“Most important diplomatic action of the war? Why?” Another example of me trying to be contrarian.

“Favorite RevWar site (battlefield, home, museum, etc.) to visit today? Why?” As another contributor said, this was the question I found hardest to answer. For a while I was thinking of skipping it entirely. A big part of the problem is that, as much as I enjoy visiting historic sites, what really thrills me is working with documents in archives or with books, whether or not they’re located in a historic setting.

“Propaganda was important during the Revolution. What is your favorite propaganda item? Why?” So naturally I chose a set of documents and books I’ve worked with.

“O Burr, O Burr, what hast thou done?”

This is the 210th anniversary of the death of Alexander Hamilton, one day after his duel with Aaron Burr.

In his biography of Burr, James Parton described the winner of that duel reminiscing this way:

He conversed with equal freedom of the duel with Hamilton. He never blamed himself for his conduct in that affair. Despising the out-cry made about the duel, he would indulge, sometimes, in a kind of defiant affectation respecting it. “My friend Hamilton—whom I shot,” he would say, with amazing nonchalance. Usually, however, he alluded to his antagonist with respect, styling him “General Hamilton,” and doing partial justice to his merits. “Was Hamilton a gentleman?” asked a foreigner once in Burr’s hearing. Burr resented the question, and replied with hauteur: “Sir, I met him.”

He told an anecdote relating to the duel, of which the following is the purport. On a journey, while stopping at a tavern to bait his horses, he strolled into the village, and saw a traveling exhibition of wax-works. To amuse an idle moment, he entered. Among the figures were two representing Hamilton and himself in the act of firing. The figures were vilely executed, and the exhibition was made the more ridiculous by some doggerel which the ambitious exhibitor had scrawled underneath. With some difficulty he made it out, as follows:

“O Burr, O Burr, what hast thou done?
Thou hast shooted dead great Hamilton.
You hid behind a bunch of thistle,
And shooted him dead with a great hoss pistol.”

He told this story just as any one would have told it, and laughed at the lines as heartily as any of his auditors.

He was surprised, one day, to receive the following epistle, which is here transcribed from the original: “Aaron Burr: Sir, Please to meet me with the weapon you chuse on the 15 of may where you murdered my father at 1 o’clock with your second. 8 May 1819. J. A. Hamilton.” To which he wrote a reply like this: “Boy, I never injured you: nor wished to injure your father. A. Burr.” On reflection, however, he thought it best not to notice the communication, and tore up his reply. He was afterward informed that the letter was a forgery.

Evidently part of being a gentleman for Burr was what to take notice of and how. Because he saw Hamilton as a fellow gentleman, he was willing to meet him on the dueling field. The “vilely executed” wax figures in a rinkydink tavern didn’t bother him since they were so obviously low-class. And when it came to what he thought was a note from Hamilton’s son, he eventually decided that the wise and genteel course was to act as if it never existed.

Newport’s “Revolution House” Coming in 2015

The Newport Historical Society reports it will reinterpret its Wanton-Lyman-Hazard House as “Revolution House.” Rather than continue to present that building as a standard house museum, it will use it to tell the history of Newport in the American Revolution.

“Revolution House” will open next summer. In the meantime, the society has launched a new “Revolutionary Newport” website. And on Saturday, 23 August, it will commemorate the anniversary of when in 1765 the Wanton-Lyman-Hazard House was almost sacked because it was then home to Martin Howard, stamp tax collector. There will be a reenactor-led public “riot” and other programs.

The society’s press release argues that the first violent resistance of the Revolution took place in Rhode Island:

In the wake of the Sugar Act of 1764, violence broke out when colonists took over Fort George on Goat Island, off the far end of Long Wharf, and fired cannon on the British ship St. John whose crew allegedly stole merchandise from Newport businesses but which was also enforcing tax laws against local ships.

More violence erupted in 1765 when a long boat from the British ship the Maidstone was captured by an angry mob, dragged through the streets, and set fire in the square. This ship had been impressing Rhode Islanders into the British Navy, that is, capturing them and forcing them to serve on British ships, a common but highly unpopular practice of the British here and elsewhere.

In 1769 Newporters destroyed the British revenue sloop the Liberty. After harshly questioning the captains of two ships out of Connecticut, the Captain of the Liberty was surrounded by an angry mob of Newporters and forced to bring his crew in from the ship. Locals boarded the empty ship, cut it loose and it floated around the Point where it was stripped and burned. London protested to Rhode Island officials, but decided to let the matter drop.

And lastly there was the burning of the Gaspee, a Royal Navy ship, in 1772, after it had stopped the Hannah, out of Newport.

I’d argue that the 1764 and 1765 events weren’t really part of the Revolution because there was an ongoing conflict between mariners and officers of the Customs service and Royal Navy. In 1747, for example, Boston was shut down by riots over impressment. The Liberty and Gaspee riots are easier to link the new Crown taxes and duties that brought on the Revolution.

Still, Rhode Island deserves credit for destroying three government ships in less than a decade, and getting away with that. The closest Bostonians were able to match that was burning a small boat belonging to Customs official Joseph Harrison in 1768.

But Rhode Island was already known as a hard place to enforce the law. In contrast to Massachusetts, the governor was elected locally, not appointed by the king, and the harbor was much bigger and harder to patrol. I get the impression that Crown officials didn’t try so hard down there because they knew they couldn’t win.

Reenactment by the Shore in Marblehead, 12-13 July

This weekend Glover’s Marblehead Regiment will have its annual summer encampment at Fort Sewall in Marblehead.

The camp opens to the public for tours and demonstrations at 10:00 A.M. on Saturday, 12 July. The last morning tour will be at 11:00 A.M. to allow the reenactors to prepare for their skirmishes at 11:30 and 2:30. The camp will reopen from 3:00 to 5:30 P.M. On Sunday, the camp will be open to the public from 10:00 A.M. to noon.

The skirmishes will take place on Fort Beach. The schedule for the day also includes fifes and drums marching around town and giving concerts, a musket-firing competition, and other events.

(The photo above was taken during the unit’s 2011 encampment.)

Winslow House Events in July

The Winslow House Association in Marshfield has sent information about four events this month with links to Revolutionary times.

Tavern Night
Friday, 11 July, 7:00 P.M.
During the late colonial and early revolutionary periods taverns or ordinaries in Colonial America became increasingly popular. The tavern was a place to gather, have a pint of ale or cider, share a newspaper, engage in political debate, or partake in a game of chance. The Winslow House recreates an 18th-century Publick House with musical entertainment with Three of Cups and colonial card and strategy games. Admission includes our version of 1700s tavern fare (snack-sized) and non-alcoholic beverages. Immerse yourself in the atmosphere and try your hand in colonial games of chance and historical trivia. Admission is $10/person or $25/family or household.

Fort Halifax: Winslow’s Historic Outpost
Tuesday, 15 July, 11:00 A.M.
On July 25, 1754, Gen. John Winslow arrived with a force of 600 soldiers to establish the fort at the confluence of the Kennebec River with the Sebasticook River. Beginning as a French and Indian War garrison and trading post, the fort welcomed historic figures from Benedict Arnold and Aaron Burr to Paul Revere and Chief Joseph Orono. This talk is by Daniel Tortora, an assistant professor of history at Colby College and member of the Fort Halifax Park Implementation Committee. Admission is $5, or $3 for Winslow House Association members.

Speaking Ill of the Dead: Jerks in Boston History with Paul Della Valle
Thursday, 17 July, 7:00 P.M.
The lives of notorious bad guys, perpetrators of mischief, visionary—if misunderstood—thinkers, and other colorful antiheroes, jerks, and evil doers from Boston history all get their due by author Paul Della Valle. The book’s profiles start with the Rev. Cotton Mather, governor Thomas Hutchinson, and Dr. Benjamin Church, and end in the late twentieth century. Admission is $7, or $5 for members.

Marshfield During the Revolutionary War
Tuesday, 22 July, 10:30 A.M.
With new information researched by Town Historian Cynthia Krusell, Dr. Isaac Winslow’s wife Elizabeth, portrayed by Regina Porter, will reminisce about the life and times in Marshfield during the American Revolution. Who was actually living in the Winslow House? Were we really a “Tory town”? Crossing political and social status, Mistress Winslow will speak on the impact this war had here in Marshfield. Admission is $5, or $3 for members.

Our Declarations

Yet another new book of Revolutionary history that’s been getting a lot of press lately is Danielle Allen’s Our Declaration: A Reading of the Declaration of Independence in Defense of Equality.

And by “a lot of press” I mean that in one week Allen’s work was featured on the front page of the New York Times and reviewed in the Times Book Review.

That review wasn’t entirely laudatory. Steven B. Smith wrote, “This book makes three large claims about the Declaration of Independence, one that is profoundly true, another that is debatable, and a third, I would say, that is false.” In arguing for the falsehood of the last proposition, however, Smith claimed that if Thomas Jefferson’s colleagues had retained his attack on the slave trade (not on slavery), “they would have rendered impossible later misrepresentations of the Declaration as expressing the economic self­interest of the slave owners.” Is that really a misrepresentation?

As for the news article, that concerned one mark of punctuation in the Declaration’s first part. Is there a period after the words “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”? If so, would that elevate the incomplete clause ending there above the other incomplete clauses that follow? Or should all those phrases describing self-evident truths be treated as parallel, growing and building upon themselves in the way of eighteenth-century rhetoric:

We hold these truths to be self-evident,

• that all men are created equal,
• that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,
• that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness—
• That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed—
• That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

As Joseph Adelman wrote in a blog post responding to the Times article, putting so much weight on a flyspeck period in the Declaration misses some important points.

First, what we all picture as the Declaration—the handsomely handwritten sheet signed by all those Continental Congress delegates—was not the original approved for release on 4 July 1776. Second, punctuation was quite variable in the eighteenth century, with different printers dotting and dashing texts differently. So does that period really matter? Has anyone actually based an argument about the Declaration on the presence or absence of that particular mark?

As Adelman made clear, he took issue with the way the Times had framed Allen’s work, not with her paper on the questionable period or her book. In fact, Allen appears not to be making a historical argument so much as making a philosophical one; her background is in social science, and she’s offering “a reading” of the Declaration that might have shaped and might serve our society, not necessarily the reading(s) of the genteel white men of 1776 who eventually signed that document.

Meanwhile, to the West

Another new book on Revolutionary-era America actually looks at what else was happening on the continent while Britain’s thirteen colonies along the middle Atlantic coast fought for independence.

Claudio Saunt, author of West of the Revolution: An Uncommon Look at 1776, explained his approach in an article for the Boston Globe:

Spanish soldiers and missionaries were establishing the first permanent European colonies on North America’s Pacific Coast. (Native Americans, who observed Spanish schooners emerge on the horizon as if rising from the depths, called the newcomers “people from under the water.”)

Further north, Russians were seizing control of the Aleutian Islands and would soon push into the Alaskan mainland—territory they would not relinquish until 1867.

In the heart of the continent, Native Americans—who were as numerous as the Colonists then in revolution—sought to exploit the economic and geopolitical tumult engendered by European colonization on the coasts.

Specifically, Saunt wrote, “According to one traditional Lakota history, the Lakota (Sioux) Indians discovered the Black Hills in 1775-1776.” That memory was recorded by American Horse (1840-1908) in 1879—earlier than some Revolutionary traditions in textbooks and histories today.

In a short review for the Globe, Kate Tuttle wrote: “One persistent undercurrent to Saunt’s narrative is how much history hinges on misunderstanding and ignorance, along with greed and fear — not a pretty picture, but a necessary and timely addition to the heroic creation story we celebrate on July 4.” Here are other reviews from Publishers Weekly and Kirkus.

Digging for “Heretical” Roots

Matthew Stewart’s new book Nature’s God: The Heretical Origins of the American Republic is getting a lot of attention now. Here are interviews with Stewart in:

• The Boston Globe
• Church & State

And here are reviews of the book in:

• Kirkus
• Christianity Today
• The New Republic
• The Los Angeles Times, which uses a picture of Thomas Young the nineteenth-century British scientist instead of Dr. Thomas Young the eighteenth-century American physician.

As one should expect, the Christianity Review piece by a professor at a Christian college is much more critical than the piece in Church & State, which is the newsletter of Americans United for the Separation of Church and State.

Stewart is clearly arguing against claims of our modern religious right that the U.S. of A. was founded on and for Christian beliefs—almost always the beliefs of the people making those claims. As Stewart points out, people of a particular faith tend to assume that when historical figures they admire mention “God,” that means the same God they themselves believe in. But even when people of the past specifically allude to Christianity or Jesus, they may not share the same understanding of those terms and ideas as their modern readers.

That can cut in all directions. “Presbyterian“ was often used as a general derogatory term by eighteenth-century non-Presbyterians. John Adams’s understanding of “Unitarianism” doesn’t map directly onto the modern Unitarian-Universalist creed. And so on.

The interviews and reviews indicate that Stewart has focused his work on certain Revolutionary figures: Young, his friend and coauthor Ethan Allen, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Paine. But those men were only a narrow slice of a mass movement toward independence and repuhlicanism.

Samuel Adams, for example, appears in those articles above only in the Globe interview as “Sam Adams,” comrade of Young’s. Yet Adams clearly had more influence on the course of the Revolution than Young, who never served in public office and died in 1777. Adams was also a devout Calvinist, and therefore less helpful to Stewart’s thesis.

As much as I’m pleased to see the name of Dr. Young in a Boston newspaper again, I thought the Globe interview didn’t offer an accurate picture of the man. Stewart twice calls him a “street warrior” but doesn’t identify him as a physician. While Young’s free thinking allowed him to imagine political change (he was a true democrat as early as the late 1760s), his deism was a liability to the local Whig movement; friends of the royal government used Young’s unorthodox beliefs to discredit him in heavily Calvinist Boston. Young and Allen were clearly outliers in the spectrum of American religious thought during his lifetime.

Stewart’s academic background is in philosophy, not history, and he’s shining a spotlight on the classical roots of Enlightenment deism. I hope Nature’s God does better at putting those ideas in the full context of Revolutionary history than the short interviews and reviews allow.

Luther Little’s Low Point

Luther Little (1756-1842) was an American naval officer during the War for Independence. He was a lieutenant on the Protector, a Massachusetts ship that was captured by the Royal Navy in 1781.

Little escaped captivity, however, because he’d been assigned to command a vessel the Protector had captured previously on its voyage into a friendly port.

On a later voyage, however, Capt. Little’s ship was wrecked in a storm and he broke his leg. But eventually he made it back to his home town of Marshfield.

In 1841 Little dictated a memoir of his life to a relative, and in the 1910s the Journal of American History published that manuscript. This is the incident he started with:

At the age of ten years, 1766, I recollect going to swim in the North River, a stream that runs between Scituate and Marshfield, accompanied by several boys in the neighbourhood. While we were thus amusing ourselves the tide rose and took off my clothes. Aided by the boys, I chose the least conspicuous path home, two miles and a half; got into a chamber window, and instead of the fig leaves chosen by Adam and Eve for a similar purpose, I took to my bed and feigned myself sick. I lay there quietly until my mother came up, who, hearing my story, gave me herb-tea, &c, and by this means I escaped a good whipping.

The following sketch of my life will show that I have been exposed to danger, and eminently so, both by sea and land, but never have I felt any depression of spirits so sensibly as at the loss of this suit of clothes.

The Bunker Hill Poetic Challenge Winner!

Thanks to all the Boston 1775 readers who took up the Bunker Hill Poetic Challenge! They were Joseph Sullivan, Dr. Sam Forman, Marshall Stack, R. Doctorow, John Johnson, Michael Lynch, Chip O, Facebook’s Committee of Correspondence, and G. Lovely. It was truly gratifying to see that response to a challenge I wasn’t sure anyone would enjoy.

After reviewing the rules, the staff had to eliminate some entries because they didn’t match the announced criteria, but we appreciate those efforts nonetheless.

That left enough verses to make a difficult choice, especially with my fondness for limericks as a way to comment on serious historical events. But in the end the prize goes to this entry:

THE REBEL’S SECRET REVEAL’D

When dawn reveal’d the Rebel fort,
One Abercrom was heard to retort,
“With one advance we shall win the day!”
Alas, it did not turn out that way.

“Another charge and we no doubt win!”
Said Howe. “Let the next advance begin!”
Yet failure again was their reward—
Samuel Paine thought it quite untoward.

Whilst over in Boston, Gage did muse
“What evil trick do these Rebels use?
Oh Mars! Reveal their secret power!
How can they hold out hour ’pon hour?”

In fact, ’twas all due to Snelling’s drinks—
Or so his son would have us thinks.

Those lines from R. Doctorow not only offer some iambic tetrameter to a world that sorely needs it, but they allude to this Boston 1775 posting. Alluding to the judges’ own work is always useful in scholarly competitions.

So R., please send me an email or comment with your surface-mail address, and I’ll ask the publisher of Bunker Hill: A City, A Battle, A Revolution by Nathaniel Philbrick to send you a complimentary copy.

Honorable mention goes to Michael Lynch, who took himself out of competition for the book, for this fine five-line overview of the battle:

While stuck inside Boston’s bubble,
The British burned Charlestown to rubble.
They carried the hill,
But so many were killed
That it really was not worth the trouble.

And once again, thanks to all who took part. Happy Independence Day!

A Different Point of View on the “Bunker Hill” Song

As I discussed yesterday, in post-Revolutionary Boston young veterans of the war preserved and passed around the words to a song about the Battle of Bunker Hill written from the British point of view.

They had different things to say, however, about who had written that song:

• The first surviving broadside says it was “Composed by the British Soldiers,” and an 1811 reprint says it was “Composed by the British.”
• A handwritten copy of the verses kept by the merchant John Marston credited “one of the British army.”
• The historian Samuel Swett apparently had a broadside headlined “Composed by a British Officer after the engagement.”
• Either working with more information or splitting the difference between his sources, Swett labeled the lines “Extracts from a song said to be written by a British Serjeant” in his 1826 book.
• Finally, in the 1830s newspaper publisher Benjamin Russell told a visitor that the song had been “written by a common British soldier, who afterwards deserted to the Americans, and used to sing it in the American camp.”

I’m inclined to think the song came from the British enlisted ranks rather than from an officer. Whether or not that lyricist deserted, some deserter may well have carried the lyrics across the siege line. Russell was in the American camp until August 1775 (when his father grabbed him), so he could have heard the song first- or second-hand. But of course there could have been a lot of distortion in memory or oral tradition over the next sixty years.

And there was even more distortion to come! Sometime in the mid-1830s the Boston printer Leonard Deming reprinted the song once more. His broadside said “Battle of Bunker Hill” had been “Composed by a British Officer, the day after the Battle, June 17, 1775.”

And something curious happened as Deming’s shop put the lyrics into print. His text matches the earlier broadsides closely through the bottom of the first column. Then the next stanza is based on lines that had appeared toward the end of the preceding versions, with some changes. It says:

Brave Howe is so considerate,
As to guard against all dangers;
He allow’d each half a gill this day,
To rum we are no strangers.

The earliest printed version said:

Brave Howe is so considerate, as to prevent all danger,
He allows us half a pint each day, to him we are not strangers:

The Deming broadside reproduced two more stanzas intact, but then the American typographers apparently got fed up with all that British boasting. For the rest of the song they rewrote nearly every verse to criticize the British commanders and praise the Americans. The new lines went:

And when the works were got into,
And put them to the flight, sir,
They pepper’d us, poor British elves,
And show’d us they could fight, sir.

And when their works we got into,
With some hard knocks and danger;
Their works we found both firm and strong,
Too strong for British Rangers.

But as for our Artillery,
They gave all way and run,
For while their ammunition held,
They gave us Yankee fun.

But our commander, he got broke,
For his misconduct, sure, sir;
The shot he sent for twelve pound guns,
Were made for twenty-fours, sir.

There’s some in Boston, pleas’d to say,
As we the field were taking,
We went to kill their countrymen,
While they their hay were making.

For such stout whigs I never saw,
To hang them all I’d rather;
By making hay with musket balls,
Lord Howe cursedly did bother.

Bad luck to him by land and sea,
For he’s despis’d by many;
The name of Bunker Hill he dreads,
Where he was flogg’d most plainly.

And now my song is at an end,
And to conclude my ditty;
’Tis only Britons ignorant,
That I most sincerely pity.

As for our King and William Howe,
And General Gage, if they’re taken,
The Yankees will hang their heads up high,
On that fine hill call’d Beacon.

Compare those lines, especially the last, with the original.

There’s no indication on the Deming broadside that it didn’t offer the original lyrics, so later authors took those lines to be authentic. There’s even a lesson plan from the Library of Congress using the 1830s broadside as a Revolutionary text. It says, “within hours of the battle, it also inspired an unknown British officer to set down his own impressions in verse. As you read his account of the bloody day and notice his clear respect for his enemies, you might think about how a different point of view can shed new light on even the most familiar events.”

So here I am shedding new light with a different point of view. We don’t know who wrote the original song, but we know the lyrics on the Deming broadside from the 1830s were not written by a British officer in 1775.

“It has been copied so many times, for the last fifty years”

It’s no surprise that British soldiers composed a song about the Battle of Bunker Hill, as quoted yesterday. After all, they won the fight, and then they had several months in Boston to fill. What’s surprising is that the song was printed and preserved in American broadsides and archives.

It’s conceivable that the song was first printed inside Boston during the siege by one of the remaining Loyalist printers, and a copy of that remained after the evacuation. However, there’s strong evidence that Massachusetts youths of the Revolutionary generation passed along the song.

Complicating the picture a bit is that in 1811 the Boston printer Nathaniel Coverly reissued the verses on a broadside headlined “BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. This Song was composed by the British, after the engagement.” That had the same text and punctuation as the earlier printing, but Coverly broke the long rhyming lines in two to produce twenty-four stanzas instead of twelve. That broadside could have reinforced and distorted people’s memory of the song from Revolutionary times, but people don’t seem to have noticed it.

After the fiftieth anniversary of the battle, Samuel Swett began to work on his History of Bunker Hill Battle. On 17 Apr 1826 a Quincy man named John Marston (1756-1846) wrote this to him:

Agreeably to your request, I send you a copy of the British song, on the battle of Bunker Hill. I will not vouch for its perfect correctness. It has been copied so many times, for the last fifty years, there are probably some mistakes and omissions.

You will observe a word is wanting at the end of the fourteenth verse, to rhyme with “danger.” I believe the meaning of the word wanting is, coward or cowardice. It was a favorite object of the British to represent us as cowards, and that we could not fight except behind stone walls and breast-works.

Marston’s handwritten copy was headed, “A song on the battle of Bunker Hill, composed by one of the British army, June, 1775, Tune—‘When Sawney up to London came.’” Compared to the previously printed texts, Marston omitted two stanzas and occasional words, and transposed two other stanzas.

In addition, in 1838 E. C. Wines wrote this about visiting Bunker Hill in A Trip to Boston, in a Series of Letters to the Editor of the United States Gazette:

I considered myself fortunate in having so excellent a guide as Major [Benjamin] Russell, who, he says, was on the spot the day when the battle occurred, and saw the whole of it, though, as he was but a mere stripling, he took no active part in it. Being, however, a “looker-on in Venice,” he is familiar with every locality and with all the incidents of the day. He gave me a minute and graphic account of the battle, specifying all the leading events, and pointing out the place where each one happened.

Among other things, he repeated a doggerel description of the battle, written by a common British soldier, who afterwards deserted to the Americans, and used to sing it in the American camp. It has no poetical merit, but as the Major declares it to be perfectly accurate in its facts, and as it has never yet appeared in print, I venture to transcribe it.

Wines then wrote out a ten-stanza version of the song. Despite being Boston’s leading Federalist publisher, Russell (1761-1845, shown above) apparently didn’t know that those lines had been published at least three times before.

Thus, Bostonians who were teenagers during the Battle of Bunker Hill preserved this British army song about the fight and helped it get into history books over half a century later.

TOMORROW: So who wrote those lines? And why do we remember a different version?

“A SONG Composed by the British Soldiers…”

This is the last day the Boston 1775 staff is accepting entries into the Bunker Hill Poetic Challenge, with the prize of a paperback copy of Nathaniel Philbrick’s Bunker Hill. Many thanks to all who have shared their verses so far.

For inspiration in case you haven’t entered yet, here’s the full text of “A SONG Composed by the British Soldiers, after the Battle at Bunker-Hill, on the 17th of June, 1775.”

The broadside that preserves these lines, in the collection of the Boston Public Library, doesn’t state a publisher or a date. The use of the long S and other typography suggest that it was produced in the eighteenth century, probably after 1775 but within recent memory of the battle.

The lyrics are most definitely from the redcoats’ point of view:

It was on the seventeenth by break of Day, the Yankees did surprise us,
With their strong works they had thrown up, to burn the town and drive us;
But soon we had an order came, an order to defeat them;
Like rebels stout they stood it out, and thought we ne’er could beat them.

About the hour of twelve that day, an order came for marching,
With three good flints and sixty rounds, each man hop’d to discharge them;
We marched down to the long wharf, where boats were ready waiting,
With expedition we embark’d, our ships kept cannonading.

And when our boats all filled were, with officers and soldiers,
With as good troops as England had, to oppose who dare control us;
And when our boats all filled were, we row’d in line of battle,
Where showers of ball like hail did fly, our cannon loud did rattle.

There was Cops-Hill battery near Charlestown, our twenty-fours they play’d;
And the three frigates in the stream, that very well behaved.
The Glasgow frigate clear’d the shore, all at the time of landing,
With her grape shot and cannon balls, no Yankees ne’er could stand them.

And when we landed on the shore, we draw’d up all together,
The Yankees they all man’d their works, & thought we’d ne’er come thither:
But soon they did perceive brave Howe, brave Howe, our bold commander,
With grenadiers and infantry, we made them to surrender.

Brave William Howe on our right wing, cry’d boys fight on like thunder,
You soon will see the rebels flee, with great amaze and wonder;
Now some lay bleeding on the ground, and some fell fast a running,
O’er hills and dales & mountains high, crying zounds brave Howe’s a coming.

They began to play on our left wing, where Pigot he commanded,
But we return’d it back again, with courage most undaunted;
To our grape shot and musquet ball, to which they were but strangers,
They thought to come with sword in hand, but soon they found their danger.

And when the works we got into, and put them to the flight, sir,
Some of them did hide themselves, and others died with fright, sir;
And when their works we got into, without great fear or danger,
Their works were made so firm and strong, the Yankees are great strangers.

But as for our artillery, they all behaved dinty,
For while their ammunition held, we gave it to them plenty;
But our conductor he got broke, for his misconduct sure sir,
The shot he sent for twelve pound guns, was made for twenty-four, sir.

There is some in Boston please to say, as we the field were taking,
We went to kill their countrymen, while they their hay were making;
But such stout whigs I never saw, to hang them all I’d rather,
For making hay with musquet balls, and buck-shot mixed together.

Brave Howe is so considerate, as to prevent all danger,
He allows us half a pint each day, to him we are not strangers:
Long may he live by land and sea, for he’s belov’d by many,
The name of Howe the Yankees dread, we see it very plainly.

And now my song is at an end, and to conclude my ditty;
It is the poor and ignorant, and only them I pity;
And as for their king that John Hancock, and Adams if they’re taken,
Their heads for signs shall hang up high upon the hill call’d Beacon.

This song is thus yet another example of British voices saying that Americans wanted Hancock to be their king.

These lines were passed down and reprinted in the early republic, which raises a couple of questions:

• How did Americans come to know about such an anti-Yankee song popular among British soldiers?
• How did we come to remember the song with different words?

TOMORROW: A tortuous publishing history.

(Photo above by Jerry Callaghan, courtesy of Friends of Minute Man National Park. It shows members of the 63rd Regiment of Foot reenacting unit.)

Hope and Pain on Bunker Hill

Yesterday I quoted the start of a 12 July 1775 letter from Richard Hope, surgeon for the British army’s 52nd Regiment in Boston. That was actually Dr. Hope’s second report on the Battle of Bunker Hill to relatives back in England. He had sent another letter (probably now lost) immediately after the battle, and he had some corrections to make.

I doubt not but my Sister Sukey has given you and the rest of my friends a particular account of the action, to whom I wrote immediately after; but I erred very largely in my list of the killed and wounded on our side, as I only made it from my own conjecture and observation and no other returns had then been given on to the Commander in Chief of the losses of the several Regiments; I mentioned our having lost in killed and wounded five hundred men, sorry am I to contradict that report, for on a minute examination I find our numbers are more than double.

General [William] Howe who commanded that day had about two thousand men and six pieces of cannon; the rebels had upwards of six thousand in their Redoubt and breastworks; all the houses of Charlestown were lined with men, and during the engagement they received three different reliefs of a thousand each time; yet did our small army charge with so much bravery, as to gain a compleat victory: and put the rebels to a total rout in spite of their superior numbers, and advantageous situation, who left their cannon behind them and part of their wounded.

As the men posted in the houses began to fire on our troops which galled them horribly as they advanced, General Howe was obliged to send orders to our ships and a battery of twenty four pounders at Boston to burn the town; this was soon effected, and the enemy found the place too hot for them, so they joined their party in the redoubt, who pelted our men with such a continued heavy fire, that it was more like the report of thunder than of muskets.

The 52nd. Regiment had three Captains killed in the field, the Major and two Subalterns are since dead of their wounds, and three Captains and two Subalterns remain very badly wounded, three of them in much danger; We had about thirty killed on the spot of our private men, and eighty wounded, a fourth part of whom will die, forty seven of the worst cases with the whole sick of the Regiment were for want of room in the general Hospital forced on me; this is quite unpresidented to oblige a regimental Surgeon to bear the charge in time of war of wounded soldiers, and this injustice will be above forty pounds out of my pocket, a noble recompence for nineteen years service; then the fatigue is so great that I have not had five hours rest any night since the action; so that thro’ weakness of body, uneasiness of mind, and being half starved, I am brought low enough.

This victory is of important consequence, otherwise the enemy would have soon burnt Boston and annoyed our fleet, but we had too many men fell to be able to pursue the fugitives, or to thin them in their retreat, and the only advantage we have gained by the conquest is a spot of ground to encamp on which we have stronly [sic] fortified, about two miles from it the rebels have an amazing redoubt on the top of a very high hill with every kind of work for defence, that it would take twenty thousand to enable the General to attack it.

In short our little army is so much reduced by the two battles, that if Britain does not arouse from her lethargy and send out three parts of her fleet and a reinforcement of at least twenty thousand men, she may bid adieu to her empire in the western world, and we that are already here engaged in her cause, must fall victims to it; and I would not give a hundred pound for an estate of a thousand a year on the life of any man in this army. It would pierce a heart of stone to hear the daily shrieks and lamentations of the poor widows and fatherless left desolate and friendless three thousand miles from home in a land of wretches worse than savages, for even savages exceed them in humanity.

Like the 22 June letter from Loyalist Samuel Paine, Dr. Hope’s account provides a very high estimate of the number of provincials involved in the battle. Instead of two British advances stopped late by musket fire followed by a third successful charge, Hope described “a continued heavy fire” from the rebel positions.

Paine wrote of expecting the king’s troops to “advance into the country, laying waste & devastation wherever they go.” In contrast, Dr. Hope felt that the provincials’ new fortifications on Winter Hill and Prospect Hill were much too formidable to attack. In fact, he warned that Britain might soon lose its “empire in the western world.”

That difference between the Paine and Hope letters might be due to the time elapsing between them as the new situation became clear to the royal authorities. However, after reading several of the army surgeon’s letters, I think that his temperament was involved. Whether in Québec or Boston or New York, Dr. Hope always found something to complain about. His letters home express a lot of pain and very little hope.

Dr. Richard Hope’s “great contusion”

A month ago I was in London, visiting the British Library and the National Archives (as well as friends).

One set of documents I looked at in the latter institution was a collection of fifteen letters from Dr. Richard Hope, surgeon attached to His Majesty’s 52nd Regiment of Foot from 1756 to 1776.

These are private letters, and there’s no official reason for them to have been deposited in the National Archives. It looks like a man who worked in the Public Record Office from 1866 to 1912 once owned the letters and simply left them there. Their catalogue designation is PRO 30/39/1.

So far as I can tell from Google, only one author has cited Hope’s letters: Geoffrey L. Hudson in a study of British military medicine in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This, therefore, might be the first time anyone’s quoted the doctor’s account of the Battle of Bunker Hill.

Almost a month after the fight, on 12 July, Dr. Hope sat down to write to one of his relatives “at Eastcot near Harrow on the Hill” in Ruislip. He began:

When you read in the Papers an account of the late battle on Charlestown hights it will give you satisfaction to get intelligence that I am in the land of the living. I could not escape quite scot free, but being obliged to advance in the very front of the works I had a hair breadth escape of being shot thro’ the thigh. Luckily for me the ball struck on a large bunch of keys that I had that day contrary to custom put into my breeches pocket, which changed the line of direction: one of the keys was almost buried in my thigh and occasioned a great contusion that makes me very lame; yet I quitted not the field nor missed any part of my duty.

TOMORROW: Dr. Richard Hope describes the battle.

Ambrose Bierce on “Bunker’s holy hill”

Here’s an example of poetry inspired by the Battle of Bunker Hill from Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914?), published in 1886:

Liberty

“‘Let there be Liberty!’ God said, and lo!
The skies were red and luminous. The glow
Struck first Columbia’s kindling mountain peaks
One hundred and eleven years ago!”

So sang a patriot whom once I saw
Descending Bunker’s holy hill. With awe
I noted that he shone with sacred light,
Like Moses with the tables of the Law.

One hundred and eleven years? O small
And paltry period compared with all
The tide of centuries that flowed and ebbed
To etch Yosemite’s divided wall!

Ah, Liberty, they sing you always young
Whose harps are in your adoration strung.
(Each swears you are his countrywoman, too,
And speak no language but his mother tongue.)

And truly, lass, although with shout and horn
Man has all-hailed you from creation’s morn
I cannot think you old—I think, indeed,
You are by twenty centuries unborn.

Rob Vellela at the American Literary Blog clued me into this poem back in April.

It’s not eligible for the current Boston 1775 Poetic Challenge because:

• It’s more than fourteen lines long.
• It’s already been published.
• Were Mr. Bierce to win the challenge, we wouldn’t be able to deliver his prize of a paperback copy of Nathaniel Philbrick’s Bunker Hill since he left no forwarding address at his last stop.

Following the Drums Along the Mohawk

American Heritage Living History Productions and the Historical Society of Rockland County, New York, are teaming up to offer an overnight guided bus tour on the theme of “Drums Along the Mohawk.”

Taking place on the weekend of 9-10 August, the tour starts on Saturday morning by taking on passengers at two spots: West Nyack and New Paltz. The bus will stop at twelve historic sites, including the homes of Gen. Philip Schuyler and Gen. Nicholas Herkimer and the Van Schaick Mansion. There will be guides on the bus and at the sites.

On Saturday evening, guests will view a performance of the Drums Along the Mohawk outdoor drama at the Gelston Castle Estate in Mohawk, New York. Based closely on Walter D. Edmonds’s novel, this drama tells “the story of a newlywed couple thrust into the brutal conflict of the American Revolution during the year 1777.” Bring your own lawn chair or blanket to sit on while watching the show.

The price for the entire tour is $279 per person, single occupancy; $244 per person, double occupancy. That ticket includes the bus transportation, admission to all sites and stops, lodging at the Knights Inn in Little Falls, and meals (except a bring-your-own lunch for Saturday to eat on the bus). The deadline for reserving a space through the Historical Society of Rockland County is 30 June. Call 845-634-9629 or see this page for more information.

Other performances of the Drums Along the Mohawk outdoor drama this summer are scheduled for 2, 3, and 10 August. Tickets are $10-15, but you have to get yourself to Mohawk, New York, on your own.

The Bunker Hill Poetic Challenge

The last two postings have shared some verses inspired by the Battle of Bunker Hill and published in 1775 by Ezekiel and Sarah Russell, printers of (at that time) Salem. Now it’s your turn.

The publisher of Nat Philbrick’s book Bunker Hill: A City, a Siege, a Revolution has offered to send a free copy of the new paperback edition to a Boston 1775 reader. It’s an energetic retelling of the first campaign of the Revolutionary War, and if you’ve already got a copy it can make a fine introduction to the subject for someone else.

In thinking about how to give that book away, I got inspired by the Russells and decided to offer this challenge:

Post up to fourteen lines of original rhymed, metrical verse on the subject of the Battle of Bunker Hill as a comment to this blog posting. Limericks would be especially welcome. Sonnets would be especially impressive.

Verses based on postings from the preceding several days would show you’ve been reading, but the lines could be about any aspect of the Battle of Bunker Hill: the whole fight, small incidents, personalities, historiography.

The entry deadline will be the end of 1 July 2014.

On 4 July, the Boston 1775 staff will choose the most moving or entertaining entry and award that poet his or her own copy of Philbrick’s Bunker Hill, to be sent direct from the publisher.

“Warren step’s beyond their path”

When Ezekiel and Sarah Russell put together their “ELEGIAC POEM” about Bunker Hill, they didn’t stint. Their customers didn’t get just sixty woodcut coffins and four columns of poetry.

The Russells also provided “An ACROSTIC on the late Major-General WARREN Who was slain fighting for the LIBERTIES of AMERICA”:

J ust as JOSEPH took his flight
O nward to the realm of light,
S atan hurl’d his hellish darts,
E vil angels played their parts;
P iercy, Burgoyne, Howe, and Gage,
H over about infernal rage:

W ARREN step’d beyond their path,
A w’d by none, nor fear’d their wrath;
R an his race to joy and rest,
R ose amongst the loyal blest;
E nter’d in the rolls of fame,
N orth and Devil mist their aim.

To squeeze full value from that poem, it was also reprinted in an almanac for the following year.

The image above shows John Norman’s frontispiece for Hugh Henry Brackenridge’s play about Bunker Hill published in Philadelphia in 1776, another early portrayal of Dr. Warren as a martyr.

The Russells’ Poetic Broadside on Bunker Hill

After the Battle of Bunker Hill, the Ezekiel Russell print shop in Salem issued “AN ELEGIAC POEM” on the battle. That broadside probably appeared toward the end of 1775 since a note on its bottom said Russell’s almanacs for the following year were “now in the press.”

The Russell broadside is a useful snapshot of how New Englanders wanted to remember the battle in 1775:

THE NEVER-TO-BE-FORGOTTEN
TERRIBLE AND BLOODY BATTLE
FOUGHT AT AN INTRENCHMENT ON
BUNKER-HILL,

Now justly called (by the Regulars) BLOODY-HILL, situated two miles from the head-quarters of the Regulars at BOSTON, and one mile northward from the centre of the town of CHARLESTOWN, in NEW-ENGLAND, in AMERICA, which was wantonly and inhumanly set on fire and consumed, previous to the engagement: This town contained one large meeting-house, about three hundred dwelling-houses, a great number of which were large and elegant, besides one hundred and fifty or two hundred other buildings, whereby about six or seven hundred of its distressed inhabitants are now forced from their dwellings, and obliged to seek new habitations for themselves, many of whom having left, on this calamitous occasion, their houses, cloaths, furniture, and in short every thing that was valuable, depend at this time entirely on the benevolent charity of their kind and simpathizing brethren and friends in the country; who have the unfeigned and hearty thanks of all such as have been relieved: May whole kindness, shewn to the distressed people who have been obliged to take refuge from that or any other town, be rewarded an hundred fold in this world, and in the world to come may they receive life everlasting, is the sincere and fervent wish of every true Friend to the RIGHTS and LIBERTIES of the AMERICAN COLONIES!—

We are sure an attempt to delineate the horrible and shocking situation the distressed souls were in, that still remained in that unfortunate town, at the time the cannonading began, would melt the stoutest heart, and give a shock to the human imagination, which would very far surpass the compass of this sheet; but the relation of this wicked and cruel affair may perhaps hereafter afford matter of speculation to the Historian, and serve to fill many pages in the history of AMERICA.—

What soul but must be filled with horror at viewing the aged and decrepit ones begging for the assistance of the youth, who were now flying through the red-hot cannon balls and smoke occasioned by the flames of their dwellings? What heart but must melt at beholding the Women with their helpless little ones around them, in the greatest confusion seeking a refuge from the devouring jaws [of] destruction, and from the violent fury of their cruel and barbarous enemies? It is said this diabolical transaction was executed by orders from that arch-traitor and worst of villains T[homas] G[age], whom posterity will forever curse, so long as his name shall be remembered.—

This bloody battle was fought about four o’clock in the afternoon of Saturday the seventeenth of JUNE, one thousand seven hundred and seventy five, between an advanced party of seven hundred Provincials, and fourteen regiments and a train of artillery, of the Ministerial forces, the former of whom after bearing about two hours, with the utmost fortitude and bravery, as severe a fire as perhaps ever was known, and many having fired away all their ammunition, they were over-powered by numbers, and obliged to leave the intrenchments, with three pieces of cannon, and retreat about sun-set to a small distance over Charlestown-neck.—

By the returns made in the Provincial and Ministerial Armies it appears, that there were of the Provincials one major-general, one colonel, one lieutenant-colonel, two captains, three lieutenants, and ninety privates, killed, among which number, to the inexpressible grief of our whole army, is that honorable, renowned, and magnanimous Hero, MAJOR-GENERAL JOSEPH WARREN, Esquire, who commanded on this occasion, as also the brave and intrepid Colonels [Thomas] GARDNER and [Moses] PARKER; there were one lieutenant and two hundred and fifty privates wounded: Total killed and wounded three hundred and twenty four.—

On the side of the Regulars there were one lieutenant-colonel, four majors, eleven captains, thirteen lieutenants, one ensign, one hundred and two serjeants, one hundred corporals, seven hundred and fifty-three rank and file, killed; one quarter-master, three majors, fifteen captains, nineteen lieutenants, six ensigns, and five hundred and four wounded; Total of killed and wounded, fourteen hundred and fifty.—

The above account, which contains in substance as accurate a detail as can be collected from the different advices received from Boston and elsewhere, of the transactions of both armies on that ever-memorable seventeenth of June, is here annexed to the proceeding Poem, and printed in this form at the request of a great number of Friends to the AMERICAN CAUSE, to whom (but more especially those belonging to the Continental Army, who may have this sheet very cheap) it is recommended to preserve, not only as a token of gratitude to their deceased Friends, we mean those immortal and heroic WORTHIES, who lately so nobly bled in defence of the RIGHTS, LIBERTIES, and PRIVILEGES of NORTH-AMERICA: This sheet may be thought necessary to keep in eternal remembrance the heroic BATTLE of CHARLESTOWN, where a few hundreds of Americans several times repulsed eight times their number of Ministerial Troops of Great-Britain.

This broadside greatly overstated the number of British involved in the battle and the number of those troops killed, apparently by double-counting the wounded. It also understated the number of Americans engaged, their casualties, and the number of cannon they left on the field (five).

Evidently in 1775 the people of Massachusetts recalled Dr. Warren as leading the American forces, but in later years authors repeated Col. William Prescott’s story that the doctor had refused a command position. The broadside’s description of the British attack as lasting “two hours” is an interesting contrast to Samuel Paine’s account of an assault taking about an hour.

After that far-from-brief introduction came an all-too-long set of verses. Just a taste:

ADIEU to wanton songs and foolish joys,
  To idle tales that fill the ear,
A mournful theme my heart employs,
  And hope the living will it hear.
A horrid fight there hap’d of late,
  ’Twas on June seventeen,
When a great number met their fate
  In fighting on the green.
Yes, hundreds of poor souls are dead,
  In battle they were slain,
Both sides met with a heavy stroke,
  T’ rehearse it gives me pain.

You can read the whole poem, and view the broadside, at the Massachusetts Historical Society’s website.

As I noted back here, Isaiah Thomas reported that the Russell shop printed a lot of ballads decorated with coffins like this one. Thomas first stated that Russell’s wife Sarah composed the elegiac verses, but later penciled in a note that “a young woman” working in the shop did so. (I still think it was Sarah.)

TOMORROW: But wait, there’s more!

Reports of Lt. Col. James Abercrombie’s Death

The highest-ranking British officer to be killed at the Battle of Bunker Hill was Lt. Col. James Abercrombie, commander of a special battalion of grenadiers. Sometimes Salem Poor is credited with shooting Abercrombie rather than the most popular target among the British officers, Maj. John Pitcairn (who never scaled the wall of the redoubt as stories claimed).

A contemporary source suggests instead that Abercrombie was a victim of friendly fire. This passage is from the Scots Magazine, August 1775:

A private letter mentions the following particulars of the death of Lt-Col. Abercromby. This gallant officer, who on a slight repulse almost maintained his ground, by his example immediately recovered the troops, who returned with impetuosity to the charge.

In this tumultuous onset he unfortunately received a ball near the groin, (supposed accidentally from some of his own soldiers), which came with such power from its proximity, as to force a toothpick-case, which he had in his waistcoat pocket, along with it.

From the lodgement of the ball it could readily be extracted: but part of the toothpick being got so far, it baffled the art of the surgeons, and began to mortify. In this state amputation was thought necessary; but he died in the operation.

Abercrombie died on 23 June. Some sources say he died in the house used by Capt. John Montresor of the Royal Artillery.

Another letter from Boston quoted in British periodicals told a different story about Abercrombie. The 27 July 1775 Middlesex Journal and Evening Advertiser (and probably London papers earlier) stated that a letter described the officer telling the people around his deathbed:

My friends, we have fought in a bad cause, and therefore I have my reward, as the rest have had that have gone before me. Had I fell in fighting against the enemy, I had died with honour, but posterity will brand us for massacreing our fellow subjects; therefore, my friends, sheath your swords till you have an enemy to engage with.

Lt. Col. Abercrombie supposedly died two hours after saying that.

I find the Scots Magazine report a lot more convincing.

Joseph Snelling’s Delivery at Bunker Hill

Here’s another notable story of the Battle of Bunker Hill, told by the Rev. Joseph Snelling in his 1847 autobiography. It concerned his father, also named Joseph Snelling (1741-1816).

The elder Snelling was a bookbinder in Boston. He married Rachel Mayer in 1763 and evidently had a small shop of his own at the start of the war.

Snelling’s older brother Jonathan (1734-1782) was a merchant and officer in the Cadets. He dined with the Sons of Liberty as the Liberty Tree Tavern in Dorchester in 1769. But he signed the laudatory addresses to the royal governors in 1774, confirming himself as a Loyalist.

In contrast, Joseph the bookbinder “took an active part in our struggles for liberty, from the commencement to the close of the. American Revolution.” Or at least that’s what his son believed.

Joseph Snelling’s name doesn’t actually show up in the records of Patriot activities before 1775, so far as I can tell. According to his son, he continued to serve British officers and soldiers in his shop before the war: “the officers and soldiers were often in, paid honorably for the goods they purchased, and even treated the family with civility and respect.” The one possible example of prewar Patriot activity that Snelling’s son recorded was this:

At a certain time when the English had possession of Boston, our people at Watertown were in want of ammunition. My father hearing of this, volunteered with three or four others to convey it to them, if possible. Accordingly a scow was procured and loaded with arms and ammunition; and, to prevent suspicion, the whole was covered with boards. They then, in plain sight of English vessels, poled the scow to Watertown, and delivered the load to the people, who received it gladly.

There were trips to smuggle military material out of Boston before the war began. However, that story appears in the Snelling memoir after the Battle of Bunker Hill, when the family had moved out to Newton. Thus, that delivery may not have been from Boston, with a harbor patrolled by British warships, but from Newton down the Charles River, far from the enemy. (If it actually happened.)

As for Bunker Hill, the younger Snelling’s account is a combination of what he’d evidently heard from his father and what he understood about the battle, not always accurately. Thus:

On the afternoon before the battle of Bunker Hill, our people met at Cambridge, in order to make the necessary preparation for a battle which they were hourly expecting. My father was there with them. There was the brave General [Joseph] Warren, who came with his fusee and his powder-horn hung over his shoulder, and volunteered his services. When they were ready to start for Bunker Hill, Dr. [Peter] Thatcher offered a solemn and appropriate prayer to Almighty God, that their heads might be covered in the day of, battle, and they protected from their enemies.

According to our other sources, Warren wasn’t with the troops at Cambridge on 16 June 1775 but joined them in Charlestown the next day. The minister who prayed with those troops the evening before they went onto the peninsula was the Rev. Samuel Langdon, president of Harvard, not the Rev. Peter Thacher, who watched the battle from the far side of the Mystic River.

As for Joseph Snelling’s own experience:

Colonel Bradlee and my father were appointed to superintend the conveyance of five loads of provision to the fort for the refreshment of our people. Accordingly they engaged five ox teams, loaded with provision, and five men to drive them. In order to reach the fort they were obliged to cross a neck of land directly in front of the Glassgow frigate, and a floating battery, then lying in the river. These soon discovered the teams, and aimed their cannon at them, to prevent them from getting to the fort. As soon as the cannon balls began to whiz around them, the five teamsters left their teams, and fled with great precipitation.

Colonel Bradlee and my father then drove these five teams to the fort alone, which was the first time that my father ever drove a team. This was in the midst of the battle—but they were in more danger than the people at the fort. The balls flew thick and fast all around them, and I have heard my father say they were expecting every moment that their heads would be taken off, but a kind providence protected them; not a ball touched them, or one of their teams. Thus, agreeable to the prayer, their heads were covered in the day of battle.

When they arrived at the fort, they found our people almost exhausted, and suffering greatly with thirst—all their cry was water, water. Some hogsheads of beer were brought with the provision, by which they were greatly refreshed. The day was extremely warm, and our people, by the effect of the heat, the powder and smoke, resembled colored people. One man came to my father for refreshment, who had received a musket ball in the back of his head, which took out his eye without touching the brain—blood and water was then gushing from the wound. (Three months after this, the same man came to my father to receive his rations, his wound perfectly healed.)

A shorter version of this tale appears in Benjamin Woodbridge Dwight’s The History of the Descendants of Elder John Strong (1871); that refers to Snelling’s companion as “Col. Bradford, an associate commissary.” The Symmes Memorial, by John Adams Vinton (1873), doesn’t include the anecdote but says Snelling “joined the army…under Gen. [Artemas] Ward as a commissary.”

Joseph Snelling’s name doesn’t appear in the surviving records of the Massachusetts Provincial Congress or its Committee of Safety. However, a legislative act late in 1775 confirms that the Massachusetts government owed him money for somehow assisting its commissary general. (The General Court voted to recompense several other men as well, but not anyone named Bradlee or Bradford.)

In early 1812, the U.S. House considered a petition from Snelling “praying further compensation for services rendered as a clerk in the office of the Deputy Commissary General of Issues in the Revolutionary war.” The Committee of Claims responded “That the prayer of the petitioner ought not to be granted,” and it wasn’t. That doesn’t mean that Snelling’s petition was exaggerated; its facts might simply not have met the threshold for further compensation.

But really the Snelling family lore does seem extraordinary. American accounts of the Bunker Hill battle talk about how the soldiers on the front lines didn’t receive any supplies. Young Robert Steele recalled a desperate search for water. If five ox carts (somehow driven by two men, one a complete novice) had brought in beer and other provisions after the fighting had started (given that one man was allegedly bleeding from a musket wound), then surely some soldiers would have taken note of that fact.

The Rev. Joseph Snelling clearly had a familial motive for telling this story, and a religious one: he wanted readers to understand that his father and Bradlee had been protected from enemy fire “agreeable to the prayer.” But it looks like there had been a lot of “memory creep” between the elder Joseph Snelling’s experiences delivering some supplies to the provincial army in 1775 and when his son wrote down this tale decades later.