Harold Titus's Blog, page 37
August 1, 2013
Fool's Gold
Hoping that she had access to a source of gold equal to that of Spain in South America, Queen Elizabeth authorized a third voyage, financed by investors of the Company of Cathy, to Baffin Island. Martin Frobisher would lead 15 ships, 300 Cornish miners, and 100 colonists to Frobisher Bay and the Countess of Warwick’s Island (Kodlunarn Island today) in Arctic North America.
They would start a colony. Prefabricated barracks and 18 months of provisions were to be transported. Large quantities of ore would be mined and stockpiled during the winter. The colonists would trade commercially with the Inuit. Their permanent presence and activity would support Elizabeth’s claim of territorial ownership.
The fleet left Plymouth May 31, 1578. Sailing by way of the English Channel, it reached the south of Greenland, where Frobisher and a boatload of men landed briefly June 20. Frobisher sighted the foreland of Frobisher Bay July 2. Stormy weather and dangerous ice-sea conditions forced the ships to maneuver about Hudson Strait (previously undiscovered) and the mouth of Frobisher Strait for nearly a month. Ice sank the barque Dennis, carrying half of the colony’s lumber. A ship returned to England. The remaining ships rendezvoused eventually at the Countess of Warwick's Island. Much of the expedition’s supplies had been lost or spoiled. That included beer, considered an important food staple. Frobisher and his officers decided not to found the colony.
The expedition’s miners quarried and loaded more than 1,100 tons of rock from several hastily opened mines, two of them on the Countess of Warwick's Island, where Frobisher’s headquarters, assayer shops, and tool repair huts were located.
Groups of Inuit appeared distantly, wary of the English but curious about the mining activity. This time Frobisher was unable to seize and transport a human curiosity for his countrymen’s and Queen’s entertainment.
Officer George Best wrote about the voyagers’ preparations for leaving.
"We buryed the timber of our pretended forte, with manye barrels of meale, pease, griste, and sundrie other good things, which was of the prouision of those whych should inhabit, if occasion serued....Also here we sowed pease, corne, and other graine, to proue the fruitfulnesse of the soyle against the next yeare."
A small stone house was built at the summit of the Countess of Warwick’s Island as an experiment to see how English buildings survived Arctic winters and to encourage the Inuit to engage in future, peaceful trade. Hung for the house’s walls were mirrors, bells, whistles, toy figures, and other items of human interest. Bread was baked for the Inuit to taste.
All ships but the Emanuel -- wrecked on the west coast of Ireland – returned to England, the first week of October. The precious ore was taken to a specially constructed smelting plant at Powder Mill Lane in Dartford, where assayers declared it to be fool’s gold – iron pyrite.
Much of the previous assays of the ore had been conducted by two men: Baptista Agnello, a Venetian, and Burchard Kranich, a German mining expert. Both men had cheated, perhaps to ensure future employment. Kranich died before Frobisher’s return. Agnello confessed that he had placed real gold into the smelting furnace to “coax nature.” Kranich had added several gold coins. Much of the Arctic ore would be used later to repair roads in the county of Kent.
Many of the expedition’s investors went bankrupt. A promoter was jailed. His reputation ruined, Frobisher returned to piracy. Subordinate to Francis Drake, he raided Spanish settlements in the Caribbean. Eventually, he gave Queen Elizabeth 60,000 pounds worth of gold to attempt to win back her favor.
The Inuit valued the furnishings of the cottage, the remains of other buildings, and what the English had buried. A blacksmith's anvil was used for generations as the object of a weightlifting contest. Metal objects, ceramics, stove tiles, roofing tiles, and wood were widely traded. English oak meant to be used to house the planned colony had been buried in one of the mines on the Countess of Warwick's Island. Seven years later, more than 200 kilometers further north along the Baffin Island coast, the English explorer John Davis found an Inuit sled built partially from sawed boards of English oak. English materials continue to be discovered in Inuit archaeological sites.
For three centuries the Inuit preserved information about Frobisher's expeditions. In 1861 the American journalist Charles Francis Hall traveled to the Arctic aboard a whaling ship to learn the fate of the Sir John Franklin Expedition, which had disappeared in the Central Arctic during the 1840s. Baffin Island Inuit told Hall about Kodlunarn (White Men's) Island, where local Inuit were still collecting fragments of red tile left by a party of white men long ago. Hall connected these findings with the Frobisher voyages. Taken to the island by Inuit guides, he found the two large mining trenches, the remains of the stone cottage at the summit of the island, and a scattering of other material.
Martin Frobisher’s voyages were a prelude to Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s disastrous attempt to found a colony in Maine and Sir Walter Raleigh’s ambitious attempts immediately thereafter in North Carolina. Next month: Humphrey Gilbert’s hubris and demise.
They would start a colony. Prefabricated barracks and 18 months of provisions were to be transported. Large quantities of ore would be mined and stockpiled during the winter. The colonists would trade commercially with the Inuit. Their permanent presence and activity would support Elizabeth’s claim of territorial ownership.
The fleet left Plymouth May 31, 1578. Sailing by way of the English Channel, it reached the south of Greenland, where Frobisher and a boatload of men landed briefly June 20. Frobisher sighted the foreland of Frobisher Bay July 2. Stormy weather and dangerous ice-sea conditions forced the ships to maneuver about Hudson Strait (previously undiscovered) and the mouth of Frobisher Strait for nearly a month. Ice sank the barque Dennis, carrying half of the colony’s lumber. A ship returned to England. The remaining ships rendezvoused eventually at the Countess of Warwick's Island. Much of the expedition’s supplies had been lost or spoiled. That included beer, considered an important food staple. Frobisher and his officers decided not to found the colony.
The expedition’s miners quarried and loaded more than 1,100 tons of rock from several hastily opened mines, two of them on the Countess of Warwick's Island, where Frobisher’s headquarters, assayer shops, and tool repair huts were located.
Groups of Inuit appeared distantly, wary of the English but curious about the mining activity. This time Frobisher was unable to seize and transport a human curiosity for his countrymen’s and Queen’s entertainment.
Officer George Best wrote about the voyagers’ preparations for leaving.
"We buryed the timber of our pretended forte, with manye barrels of meale, pease, griste, and sundrie other good things, which was of the prouision of those whych should inhabit, if occasion serued....Also here we sowed pease, corne, and other graine, to proue the fruitfulnesse of the soyle against the next yeare."
A small stone house was built at the summit of the Countess of Warwick’s Island as an experiment to see how English buildings survived Arctic winters and to encourage the Inuit to engage in future, peaceful trade. Hung for the house’s walls were mirrors, bells, whistles, toy figures, and other items of human interest. Bread was baked for the Inuit to taste.
All ships but the Emanuel -- wrecked on the west coast of Ireland – returned to England, the first week of October. The precious ore was taken to a specially constructed smelting plant at Powder Mill Lane in Dartford, where assayers declared it to be fool’s gold – iron pyrite.
Much of the previous assays of the ore had been conducted by two men: Baptista Agnello, a Venetian, and Burchard Kranich, a German mining expert. Both men had cheated, perhaps to ensure future employment. Kranich died before Frobisher’s return. Agnello confessed that he had placed real gold into the smelting furnace to “coax nature.” Kranich had added several gold coins. Much of the Arctic ore would be used later to repair roads in the county of Kent.
Many of the expedition’s investors went bankrupt. A promoter was jailed. His reputation ruined, Frobisher returned to piracy. Subordinate to Francis Drake, he raided Spanish settlements in the Caribbean. Eventually, he gave Queen Elizabeth 60,000 pounds worth of gold to attempt to win back her favor.
The Inuit valued the furnishings of the cottage, the remains of other buildings, and what the English had buried. A blacksmith's anvil was used for generations as the object of a weightlifting contest. Metal objects, ceramics, stove tiles, roofing tiles, and wood were widely traded. English oak meant to be used to house the planned colony had been buried in one of the mines on the Countess of Warwick's Island. Seven years later, more than 200 kilometers further north along the Baffin Island coast, the English explorer John Davis found an Inuit sled built partially from sawed boards of English oak. English materials continue to be discovered in Inuit archaeological sites.
For three centuries the Inuit preserved information about Frobisher's expeditions. In 1861 the American journalist Charles Francis Hall traveled to the Arctic aboard a whaling ship to learn the fate of the Sir John Franklin Expedition, which had disappeared in the Central Arctic during the 1840s. Baffin Island Inuit told Hall about Kodlunarn (White Men's) Island, where local Inuit were still collecting fragments of red tile left by a party of white men long ago. Hall connected these findings with the Frobisher voyages. Taken to the island by Inuit guides, he found the two large mining trenches, the remains of the stone cottage at the summit of the island, and a scattering of other material.
Martin Frobisher’s voyages were a prelude to Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s disastrous attempt to found a colony in Maine and Sir Walter Raleigh’s ambitious attempts immediately thereafter in North Carolina. Next month: Humphrey Gilbert’s hubris and demise.
July 1, 2013
Trophies
Three ships -- the Ayde, the Gabriell, and the Michaell -- and a complement of 150 men, including miners, refiners, gentlemen, and soldiers set sail May 27, 1577, for Frobisher Bay to claim English possession of Arctic America and to mine and bring back what was believed to be rich deposits of gold. Queen Elizabeth had sold the 200-ton ship, the Ayde, to the Company of Cathay and contributed 1,000 pounds to the commercial venture. Appointed high admiral of all lands and waters that he might discover, Martin Frobisher had been instructed specially to "defer the further discovery of the passage [to Asia] until another time."
Sailing by the north of Scotland, the ships reached Hall’s Island at the mouth of Frobisher Bay on July 17. Immediately, a landing party climbed a high hill and erected a pillar of rocks to signify that the Arctic territory, named Meta Incognita (Of Limits Unknown), was now English land. Crew officer George Best would write: “our men made a Columne or Crosse of stones heaped vppe of a good heigth togither in good sorte, and solempnely sounded a Trumpet, and said certaine prayers, kneeling aboute the Ancient, and honoured the place by the name of Mount Warwicke.”
As the Englishmen descended the hill, Inuit men appeared beside the pillar. Waving the flag that the sailors had left, the Inuit called out, indicating their desire to trade. Two Englishmen and two Inuit conferred between the two parties, gifts were exchanged, the Inuit invited the Englishmen to visit their territory, and the Englishmen invited the Inuit to come aboard their ships. Each party decline the other’s offer, “neyther parte (as it seemes) admitted or trusted the others curtesie."
Late in the day, having climbed Mount Warwick and traded with the Inuit, Frobisher decided to capture an Inuit and use him as an interpreter. A skirmish resulted. Frobisher was wounded in the buttock by an arrow. His men seized one Inuit as others escaped and immediately took him aboard the Ayde.
Several days later, visiting an abandoned Inuit camp on the south shore of Frobisher Bay, the expedition’s leader and a contingent of soldiers found a few items of European clothing. Although this camp was more than 200 kilometers from where the five sailors had disappeared the previous summer, Frobisher assumed that the clothing had belonged to them. Following a hastily devised battle plan, they attacked a nearby settlement. Five or six Inuit were killed, three of them drowned after jumping off a cliff to avoid being captured. One Englishman was seriously wounded. An old woman and a young woman and her infant son were taken hostage. The infant had been wounded. The old woman was released after her shoes had been pulled off “to see if she were cloven footed.”
Frobisher, his soldiers, and the three hostages sailed to the north shore of Frobisher Bay, where the Company’s miners had found on a small island the black rock they believed contained gold ore. Mining operations on what they named Countess of Warwick’s Island commenced.
A party of Inuit made contact. One of them spoke to Frobisher, who, using his captive/interpreter, thought that he had been told that his five lost men were still alive and that the Inuit would take a letter to them. Frobisher wrote, in part, the following:
"I will be glad to seeke by all meanes you can deuise, for your deliuerance, eyther with force, or with any commodities within my Shippes, whiche I will not spare for your sakes, or any thing else I can doe for you. I haue aboord, of theyrs, a Man, a Woman, and a Childe, which I am contented to deliuer for you, but the man which I carried away from hence the last yeare, is dead in England. Moreouer, you may declare vnto them, that if they deliuer you not, I wyll not leaue a manne aliue in their Countrey. And thus, if one of you can come to speake with me, they shall haue eyther the Man, Woman, or Childe in pawne for you."
The letter brought no response. The Inuit made several unsuccessful attempts to capture Englishmen to make possible an exchange. They also provided food for the captured man, young woman, and infant child, all not being able to digest English food.
In late August, Frobisher’s three ships, carrying the three hostages and 200 tons of ore, set sail for England. His party arrived home to great acclaim.
A few scattered hints tell us about the lives of the three captives aboard ship and later in England. George Best wrote:
"These people are in nature verye subtil, and sharpe witted, readie to conceiue our meaning by signes, and to make answere, well to be vnderstoode againe....They will teache vs the names of eache thing in their language, which we desire to learne, and are apt to learne any thing of vs. They delight in Musicke aboue measure, and will kepe time and stroke to any tune which you shall sing, both with their voyce, heade, hande and feete, and wyll sing the same tune aptlye after you. … They are exceedingly friendly and kinde harted one to the other, & mourne greatly at the losse or harm of their fellowes, and expresse their griefe of minde, when they part one from an other, with a mournefull song. ... They wondred muche at all our things, and were afraide of our horses, and other beastes, out of measure. They beganne to growe more ciuill, familiar, pleasaunt, and docible amongst vs in a verye shorte time."
The captives were a great attraction where they landed at Bristol. Their portraits were painted several times but only one set of paintings has survived, watercolor portraits by the artist John White, who would later be the governor of the Virginia Colony. Lee Miller in Solving the Mystery of the Lost Colony Roanoke wrote: “Sealskin parkas trimmed with fur; Calichoughe [the man] holding a bow; the kayak paddle. Egnock [the woman], with her little girl, Nutioc, tucked inside her coat, peering out from the hood. There is a certain sensitivity and realism in these paintings not found in others’ works.”
To the delight of spectators, the Inuit man demonstrated on the Avon River the use of his kayak and bird-spear to hunt ducks, killing two with darts. “He would hit a ducke a good distance of and not misse.”
The Inuit man died soon afterward from pneumonia aggravated by broken ribs, an injury sustained when he had been captured. He was buried November 8 in the St. Stephen’s Church in Bristol. The young woman was forced to watch his burial to prove to her that the English did not practice sacrifice or cannibalism, as the Inuit believed. The woman died the following week from a disease that caused boils to erupt all over her skin. The infant was sent to London in care of a nurse. He had been wounded in the arm by an arrow during his capture. The ship’s surgeon had applied salves, but his mother had pulled them away and had healed his arm by licking it. The child fell ill and died while being transported to London, before he could be presented to Queen Elizabeth.
Assayers gave widely differing estimates of the value of the ore. The science of assaying at that time was imperfect. Its practitioners could be deceived. The chemicals used in the assaying process might occasionally have been contaminated with small amounts of gold or silver, causing misleading results. The Company of Cathay chose to believe the most optimistic assays, and began to organize a third expedition to the Arctic that would involve starting a colony and extracting huge quantities of black rock.
The collection of Inuit as trophies and their subsequent, quick death seemed of small consequence.
Sailing by the north of Scotland, the ships reached Hall’s Island at the mouth of Frobisher Bay on July 17. Immediately, a landing party climbed a high hill and erected a pillar of rocks to signify that the Arctic territory, named Meta Incognita (Of Limits Unknown), was now English land. Crew officer George Best would write: “our men made a Columne or Crosse of stones heaped vppe of a good heigth togither in good sorte, and solempnely sounded a Trumpet, and said certaine prayers, kneeling aboute the Ancient, and honoured the place by the name of Mount Warwicke.”
As the Englishmen descended the hill, Inuit men appeared beside the pillar. Waving the flag that the sailors had left, the Inuit called out, indicating their desire to trade. Two Englishmen and two Inuit conferred between the two parties, gifts were exchanged, the Inuit invited the Englishmen to visit their territory, and the Englishmen invited the Inuit to come aboard their ships. Each party decline the other’s offer, “neyther parte (as it seemes) admitted or trusted the others curtesie."
Late in the day, having climbed Mount Warwick and traded with the Inuit, Frobisher decided to capture an Inuit and use him as an interpreter. A skirmish resulted. Frobisher was wounded in the buttock by an arrow. His men seized one Inuit as others escaped and immediately took him aboard the Ayde.
Several days later, visiting an abandoned Inuit camp on the south shore of Frobisher Bay, the expedition’s leader and a contingent of soldiers found a few items of European clothing. Although this camp was more than 200 kilometers from where the five sailors had disappeared the previous summer, Frobisher assumed that the clothing had belonged to them. Following a hastily devised battle plan, they attacked a nearby settlement. Five or six Inuit were killed, three of them drowned after jumping off a cliff to avoid being captured. One Englishman was seriously wounded. An old woman and a young woman and her infant son were taken hostage. The infant had been wounded. The old woman was released after her shoes had been pulled off “to see if she were cloven footed.”
Frobisher, his soldiers, and the three hostages sailed to the north shore of Frobisher Bay, where the Company’s miners had found on a small island the black rock they believed contained gold ore. Mining operations on what they named Countess of Warwick’s Island commenced.
A party of Inuit made contact. One of them spoke to Frobisher, who, using his captive/interpreter, thought that he had been told that his five lost men were still alive and that the Inuit would take a letter to them. Frobisher wrote, in part, the following:
"I will be glad to seeke by all meanes you can deuise, for your deliuerance, eyther with force, or with any commodities within my Shippes, whiche I will not spare for your sakes, or any thing else I can doe for you. I haue aboord, of theyrs, a Man, a Woman, and a Childe, which I am contented to deliuer for you, but the man which I carried away from hence the last yeare, is dead in England. Moreouer, you may declare vnto them, that if they deliuer you not, I wyll not leaue a manne aliue in their Countrey. And thus, if one of you can come to speake with me, they shall haue eyther the Man, Woman, or Childe in pawne for you."
The letter brought no response. The Inuit made several unsuccessful attempts to capture Englishmen to make possible an exchange. They also provided food for the captured man, young woman, and infant child, all not being able to digest English food.
In late August, Frobisher’s three ships, carrying the three hostages and 200 tons of ore, set sail for England. His party arrived home to great acclaim.
A few scattered hints tell us about the lives of the three captives aboard ship and later in England. George Best wrote:
"These people are in nature verye subtil, and sharpe witted, readie to conceiue our meaning by signes, and to make answere, well to be vnderstoode againe....They will teache vs the names of eache thing in their language, which we desire to learne, and are apt to learne any thing of vs. They delight in Musicke aboue measure, and will kepe time and stroke to any tune which you shall sing, both with their voyce, heade, hande and feete, and wyll sing the same tune aptlye after you. … They are exceedingly friendly and kinde harted one to the other, & mourne greatly at the losse or harm of their fellowes, and expresse their griefe of minde, when they part one from an other, with a mournefull song. ... They wondred muche at all our things, and were afraide of our horses, and other beastes, out of measure. They beganne to growe more ciuill, familiar, pleasaunt, and docible amongst vs in a verye shorte time."
The captives were a great attraction where they landed at Bristol. Their portraits were painted several times but only one set of paintings has survived, watercolor portraits by the artist John White, who would later be the governor of the Virginia Colony. Lee Miller in Solving the Mystery of the Lost Colony Roanoke wrote: “Sealskin parkas trimmed with fur; Calichoughe [the man] holding a bow; the kayak paddle. Egnock [the woman], with her little girl, Nutioc, tucked inside her coat, peering out from the hood. There is a certain sensitivity and realism in these paintings not found in others’ works.”
To the delight of spectators, the Inuit man demonstrated on the Avon River the use of his kayak and bird-spear to hunt ducks, killing two with darts. “He would hit a ducke a good distance of and not misse.”
The Inuit man died soon afterward from pneumonia aggravated by broken ribs, an injury sustained when he had been captured. He was buried November 8 in the St. Stephen’s Church in Bristol. The young woman was forced to watch his burial to prove to her that the English did not practice sacrifice or cannibalism, as the Inuit believed. The woman died the following week from a disease that caused boils to erupt all over her skin. The infant was sent to London in care of a nurse. He had been wounded in the arm by an arrow during his capture. The ship’s surgeon had applied salves, but his mother had pulled them away and had healed his arm by licking it. The child fell ill and died while being transported to London, before he could be presented to Queen Elizabeth.
Assayers gave widely differing estimates of the value of the ore. The science of assaying at that time was imperfect. Its practitioners could be deceived. The chemicals used in the assaying process might occasionally have been contaminated with small amounts of gold or silver, causing misleading results. The Company of Cathay chose to believe the most optimistic assays, and began to organize a third expedition to the Arctic that would involve starting a colony and extracting huge quantities of black rock.
The collection of Inuit as trophies and their subsequent, quick death seemed of small consequence.
June 1, 2013
Enter Martin Frobisher
The exploratory voyage of Arthur Barlowe and Philip Amadas to North Carolina’s Outer Banks in 1584 was not the first English expedition to the North American mainland. Four voyages – three by Martin Frobisher, the first in 1576 -- preceded it. England had entered the race to colonize North and South America late. Spain had discovered great treasure in Mexico and South America. Each year its heavily laden treasure fleets returned from Panama and the West Indies. By the time Elizabeth became Queen of England in 1558, Spain was the most powerful nation of the world. King Philip II wanted to expand Spain’s power. Any colonial endeavor that Elizabeth sanctioned risked overwhelming reprisal.
English merchants and investors believed they could compete with Spain economically if they could use exclusively a shorter, quicker route to the East Indies and Asia than the route used around Africa’s Cape of Good Hope. Sailing around the tip of South America took too long and was extremely dangerous. Spain controlled overland passage of trade goods across the Isthmus of Panama. If the merchants could find a seafaring Englishman willing to locate a northern route to China by sailing west, well then, maybe …
Enter Martin Frobisher, mariner, adventurer, pirate, privateer. Born around 1539 with connections to Yorkshire gentry and a well-to-do London merchant family, Frobisher could have advanced himself in Elizabethan society had he not been so ill-suited. He was barely literate. He was graceless, undiplomatic, and too high-spirited to have become even a successful businessman or a governmental functionary. His career had to be made at sea, his adventurous, impulsive nature causing him early on to embrace piracy.
Captured when he was 23, he was held hostage at the Portuguese fortress of Mina in West Africa. Three years later the Spanish ambassador complained to Queen Elizabeth that Frobisher had plundered the rich cargo of the Andalusian ship Flying Spirit. He escaped a lengthy jail sentence by offering his services to the Queen: first to hunt down and arrest fellow privateers and smugglers, and then to fight Irish rebels. A year later he became a privateer. He discussed with the Spanish ambassador a plan to assist the cause of Irish Catholics. Probably because he had begun to be looked upon by influential merchants as a bold yet expendable leader who could be persuaded to lead a dangerous voyage of discovery, he was not punished.
He was approached by an acquaintance, Michael Lok, the director of the Muscovy Company, an English merchant consortium, to do just that, find a northwest passage to China. Lok probably introduced Frobisher to the learned Dr. John Dee, a famous cosmographer admired by Queen Elizabeth. Dee would contribute the scientific expertise. Mariners such as Christopher Hall would be included to improve Frobisher’s navigational skills.
In 1576, financed by the consortium and given the Queen’s approval, Frobisher set sail June 7 in command of three small ships: his flagship the Gabriell (about 25 tons), the Michaell (about 25 tons), and a pinnace (10 tons).
The pinnace was lost in a storm. Intimidated by the ice near Greenland, the Michaell sailed back to England, its crew declaring upon arrival that the Gabriell had been lost at sea and Frobisher drowned.
Undaunted, Frobisher sailed on, past Resolution Island, off the south-west coast of Greenland. On July 28, he sighted the coast of Labrador. Several days later he reached Frobisher Bay, in the south-eastern section of Baffin Island. Ice and wind had prevented him from sailing farther north. Believing he was entering a strait, he would now travel westward, to reach, he hoped, an open sea.
One of his officers, George Best, would write that Frobisher saw “a number of small things fleeting in the sea far off whych he supposed to be porpoises or seals or some kind of strange fish. But coming nearer he discovered them to be men in small boates made of leather.” The Inuit natives paddled their kayaks up to the Gabriell. Frobisher believed they were Asian. “The land on his right sailing westward he judged to be the continent of Asia.”
Using sign language, Frobisher and the Inuit attempted to communicate. Frobisher came to believe that there was an Inuit on shore who was willing to pilot his ship. Frobisher sent five men out in a boat to bring the Inuit to the Gabriell. Disobeying Frobisher’s instruction, the men rowed out of sight around a point of land. Minutes later, the boat reappeared, with two men – not five -- occupying it. The ship’s crew yelled, shouted, made frantic gestures to persuade the two men to return. The men chose to row back out of sight.
Frobisher remained with the ship at anchor all that day and next night. Resorting to trickery to provide a way to retrieve his men, he lured an Inuit close to the ship by ringing a bell, suggesting to him that it was a gift. Crew members seized the Inuit. Frobisher’s attempt, thereafter, to communicate the idea of an exchange of captives failed, quite probably, he concluded, because his men were dead.
Inuit oral history tells that the men lived among the natives for several years before they attempted to leave, unsuccessfully, in a self-made boat. Perhaps they had intended to escape temporarily, if not the cramped quarters, the strict discipline aboard the Gabriell. Maybe they had wanted to trade individually for personal gain. Perhaps they had wanted to avail themselves of the Inuit girls. Fear of punishment may have kept them ashore too long.
The weather worsening, Frobisher recognized he had to leave. Snow had fallen on the ship’s deck. He had only 13 fatigued and sick sailors now to operate the ship. Several days previously Frobisher had sent a party of men ashore on a small island at the entrance to the Bay to collect items indigenous to the territory. His purpose was to provide the Queen evidence of his voyage’s authenticity. George Best wrote: “One of my men brought a piece of a black rock, which by the weight seemed to be some kind of metal or mineral. This was a thing of no account in the judgement of the captain at the first sight. And yet for novelty it was kept, in respect of the place from whence it came.”
Also brought back to England was the Inuit captive, additional proof that Frobisher had reached a distant, strange land. Finding himself a prisoner, the native “bit his tongue in twain within his mouth,” Best wrote. “He did not die thereof, but lived until he came to Englande.” He lived long enough, indeed, to shoot swans with arrows on Queen Elizabeth's lawn at Hampton Court, before dying of what Best called a “colde.”
Believed to be dead, Frobisher had arrived at London October 9 to a hero’s welcome. A London assayer, Burchard Kranich, claimed that the black rock was high grade gold ore. Frobisher's backers, led by Michael Lok, used the assessment to lobby immediately for a new voyage.
English merchants and investors believed they could compete with Spain economically if they could use exclusively a shorter, quicker route to the East Indies and Asia than the route used around Africa’s Cape of Good Hope. Sailing around the tip of South America took too long and was extremely dangerous. Spain controlled overland passage of trade goods across the Isthmus of Panama. If the merchants could find a seafaring Englishman willing to locate a northern route to China by sailing west, well then, maybe …
Enter Martin Frobisher, mariner, adventurer, pirate, privateer. Born around 1539 with connections to Yorkshire gentry and a well-to-do London merchant family, Frobisher could have advanced himself in Elizabethan society had he not been so ill-suited. He was barely literate. He was graceless, undiplomatic, and too high-spirited to have become even a successful businessman or a governmental functionary. His career had to be made at sea, his adventurous, impulsive nature causing him early on to embrace piracy.
Captured when he was 23, he was held hostage at the Portuguese fortress of Mina in West Africa. Three years later the Spanish ambassador complained to Queen Elizabeth that Frobisher had plundered the rich cargo of the Andalusian ship Flying Spirit. He escaped a lengthy jail sentence by offering his services to the Queen: first to hunt down and arrest fellow privateers and smugglers, and then to fight Irish rebels. A year later he became a privateer. He discussed with the Spanish ambassador a plan to assist the cause of Irish Catholics. Probably because he had begun to be looked upon by influential merchants as a bold yet expendable leader who could be persuaded to lead a dangerous voyage of discovery, he was not punished.
He was approached by an acquaintance, Michael Lok, the director of the Muscovy Company, an English merchant consortium, to do just that, find a northwest passage to China. Lok probably introduced Frobisher to the learned Dr. John Dee, a famous cosmographer admired by Queen Elizabeth. Dee would contribute the scientific expertise. Mariners such as Christopher Hall would be included to improve Frobisher’s navigational skills.
In 1576, financed by the consortium and given the Queen’s approval, Frobisher set sail June 7 in command of three small ships: his flagship the Gabriell (about 25 tons), the Michaell (about 25 tons), and a pinnace (10 tons).
The pinnace was lost in a storm. Intimidated by the ice near Greenland, the Michaell sailed back to England, its crew declaring upon arrival that the Gabriell had been lost at sea and Frobisher drowned.
Undaunted, Frobisher sailed on, past Resolution Island, off the south-west coast of Greenland. On July 28, he sighted the coast of Labrador. Several days later he reached Frobisher Bay, in the south-eastern section of Baffin Island. Ice and wind had prevented him from sailing farther north. Believing he was entering a strait, he would now travel westward, to reach, he hoped, an open sea.
One of his officers, George Best, would write that Frobisher saw “a number of small things fleeting in the sea far off whych he supposed to be porpoises or seals or some kind of strange fish. But coming nearer he discovered them to be men in small boates made of leather.” The Inuit natives paddled their kayaks up to the Gabriell. Frobisher believed they were Asian. “The land on his right sailing westward he judged to be the continent of Asia.”
Using sign language, Frobisher and the Inuit attempted to communicate. Frobisher came to believe that there was an Inuit on shore who was willing to pilot his ship. Frobisher sent five men out in a boat to bring the Inuit to the Gabriell. Disobeying Frobisher’s instruction, the men rowed out of sight around a point of land. Minutes later, the boat reappeared, with two men – not five -- occupying it. The ship’s crew yelled, shouted, made frantic gestures to persuade the two men to return. The men chose to row back out of sight.
Frobisher remained with the ship at anchor all that day and next night. Resorting to trickery to provide a way to retrieve his men, he lured an Inuit close to the ship by ringing a bell, suggesting to him that it was a gift. Crew members seized the Inuit. Frobisher’s attempt, thereafter, to communicate the idea of an exchange of captives failed, quite probably, he concluded, because his men were dead.
Inuit oral history tells that the men lived among the natives for several years before they attempted to leave, unsuccessfully, in a self-made boat. Perhaps they had intended to escape temporarily, if not the cramped quarters, the strict discipline aboard the Gabriell. Maybe they had wanted to trade individually for personal gain. Perhaps they had wanted to avail themselves of the Inuit girls. Fear of punishment may have kept them ashore too long.
The weather worsening, Frobisher recognized he had to leave. Snow had fallen on the ship’s deck. He had only 13 fatigued and sick sailors now to operate the ship. Several days previously Frobisher had sent a party of men ashore on a small island at the entrance to the Bay to collect items indigenous to the territory. His purpose was to provide the Queen evidence of his voyage’s authenticity. George Best wrote: “One of my men brought a piece of a black rock, which by the weight seemed to be some kind of metal or mineral. This was a thing of no account in the judgement of the captain at the first sight. And yet for novelty it was kept, in respect of the place from whence it came.”
Also brought back to England was the Inuit captive, additional proof that Frobisher had reached a distant, strange land. Finding himself a prisoner, the native “bit his tongue in twain within his mouth,” Best wrote. “He did not die thereof, but lived until he came to Englande.” He lived long enough, indeed, to shoot swans with arrows on Queen Elizabeth's lawn at Hampton Court, before dying of what Best called a “colde.”
Believed to be dead, Frobisher had arrived at London October 9 to a hero’s welcome. A London assayer, Burchard Kranich, claimed that the black rock was high grade gold ore. Frobisher's backers, led by Michael Lok, used the assessment to lobby immediately for a new voyage.
May 1, 2013
Previous European and Coastal Native American Encounters
When Arthur Barlowe and Philip Amadas attempted to communicate with Algonquians near Roanoke Island in 1584, they had no idea how much the natives knew about Europeans. The captains would be told of two events that had happened along the Outer Banks but nothing more. The few encounters that tribes north and south of the Banks had had with Europeans might have been a part of the Roanoke natives’ oral history, but we don’t know that.
We do know the following.
Giovanni de Verrazzanno, sailing for France, visited the Outer Banks in 1524. Verrazzano’s ship, La Dauphine, neared the area of Cape Fear on or about March 1 and, after a short stay, reached Pamlico Sound. Believing he had found the beginning of the Pacific Ocean, Verrazzano continued his exploration of the North American coastline. Missing the entrance to Chesapeake Bay and the mouth of the Delaware River, he reached Newfoundland before sailing back to France. On a third voyage to North America, in 1528, he explored Florida, the Bahamas, and the Lesser Antilles. Rowed ashore to the island of Guadeloupe, he received a much less friendly reception than he had received from the North Carolina Algonquians. He was killed and eaten.
About this same time, Spanish ships must have navigated the North Carolina and Virginia coastline, for Spanish cartographers had begun to show the Chesapeake Bay on their North American maps. We do know that in 1549 the crew of either a French or Spanish ship traded with the Powhatans of Virginia.
French Huguenots established outposts on the South Carolina coast in 1562 and again in 1564. Spaniards slaughtered them. In 1565, Spanish settlers founded St. Augustine on the Florida coast.
Then there is the story of Paquinquineo.
A Spanish exploratory voyage captained by Antonio Velazquez entered Chesapeake Bay in June 1561. Two native youths were taken. One was probably the son of the Paspahegh (Algonquian) chief of the village of Kiskiack on the Virginia Peninsula. The Spaniards named him Paquinquineo (little Francis). That September, he arrived in Seville and was taken to Cordoba and Madrid. He had an audience with Queen Elizabeth’s future nemesis, King Philip II. In August 1562, he arrived in Mexico City and, like so many natives exposed to European diseases, he became ill. Unlike most, he recovered. Thereafter, Jesuits baptized him Don Luis de Velasco and educated him.
In 1566, Don Luís accompanied a Spanish expedition sent by Pedro Menendez de Aviles from Spanish Florida to the Delmarva (Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia) Peninsula to found a Spanish colony. The Spaniards believed at that time that the Chesapeake was an opening to a water passageway to China. A severe storm turned the expedition back.
In August 1570, Father Juan Bautista de Segura, Jesuit vice provincial of Havana, and Father Luis de Quitos, former head of the Jesuit college among the Moors in Spain, and six Jesuit brothers left Havana to establish a mission in Virginia. Don Luis was to act as their guide and translator. Their ship landed on the Virginia Peninsula September 10, perhaps on the New Kent side of Diascund Creek near its confluence with the Chickahominy River. They built a small wooden hut with an adjoining room where they could conduct mass. Their ship departed. The Jesuits proved to be pushy and intolerant. Very soon, Don Luís left the settlement.
Months passed. The Jesuits had used up their supply of food. Trade with the Indians had stopped, a lengthy drought having reduced what the natives were able to store. Disease, transmitted by the Jesuits, had decimated their population. They looked upon the presence of the Spaniards as the cause of their uncharacteristic misfortunes. One swift action would solve them. That action took place in February 1571. All of the Spaniards but a young servant boy, Alonso de Olmos, were murdered.
A Spanish supply ship arrived in the spring. Natives wearing the priests’ vestments called out to the ship. Sailors began to transport their cargo to shore. They were attacked. They withstood the attack, captured two natives, and returned to the ship. They learned from the captives that the Jesuits had been killed.
Pedro Menéndez de Avilés arrived from Florida in August 1572 with four ships and 150 men. Believing that Don Luís's uncle was responsible for the settlement’s massacre, he lured several natives aboard his ship with gifts and questioned them. Learning that Alonso de Olmos was alive, he had the boy brought to him. After hearing Olmos’s account of the killing, de Avilés ordered his men to attack the natives that were waiting ashore. 20 Paspaheghs were killed; 12 were captured. De Avilés’s offer to exchange his hostages for Don Luís was rejected. From the shoreline Don Luis’s warriors watched the hostages baptized. Afterward, they witnessed each captive hung from a yardarm.
The first of the two events that Wingina’s people mentioned to Captains Barlowe and Amadas happened in 1558. A ship had run aground on the Outer Banks. Surviving members had been washed ashore on Wococon Island – located about 80 miles southwest of Roanoke Island. Algonquians from the village of Secotan had helped them fasten together two dugout canoes. They had erected masts for them and made sails, using the Europeans’ shirts. They had given the sailors food, wished them good fortune, and watched them set off to venture out to sea. After a sudden storm, the natives had come upon the make-shift “boat,” broken apart on the sand of an adjoining island.
The second event had occurred in 1564. A “Christian shippe” had wrecked on the Outer Banks, this time with no survivors. Local Indians had salvaged what had come ashore. Included in the debris had been nails and spikes, which the Indians had used subsequently for tools.
As shocked as Wingina’s people must have been at the initial sight of Barlowe’s and Amadas’s ships, they were not ignorant of the existence of strange, powerful men who lived far beyond the great ocean that bordered their world.
We do know the following.
Giovanni de Verrazzanno, sailing for France, visited the Outer Banks in 1524. Verrazzano’s ship, La Dauphine, neared the area of Cape Fear on or about March 1 and, after a short stay, reached Pamlico Sound. Believing he had found the beginning of the Pacific Ocean, Verrazzano continued his exploration of the North American coastline. Missing the entrance to Chesapeake Bay and the mouth of the Delaware River, he reached Newfoundland before sailing back to France. On a third voyage to North America, in 1528, he explored Florida, the Bahamas, and the Lesser Antilles. Rowed ashore to the island of Guadeloupe, he received a much less friendly reception than he had received from the North Carolina Algonquians. He was killed and eaten.
About this same time, Spanish ships must have navigated the North Carolina and Virginia coastline, for Spanish cartographers had begun to show the Chesapeake Bay on their North American maps. We do know that in 1549 the crew of either a French or Spanish ship traded with the Powhatans of Virginia.
French Huguenots established outposts on the South Carolina coast in 1562 and again in 1564. Spaniards slaughtered them. In 1565, Spanish settlers founded St. Augustine on the Florida coast.
Then there is the story of Paquinquineo.
A Spanish exploratory voyage captained by Antonio Velazquez entered Chesapeake Bay in June 1561. Two native youths were taken. One was probably the son of the Paspahegh (Algonquian) chief of the village of Kiskiack on the Virginia Peninsula. The Spaniards named him Paquinquineo (little Francis). That September, he arrived in Seville and was taken to Cordoba and Madrid. He had an audience with Queen Elizabeth’s future nemesis, King Philip II. In August 1562, he arrived in Mexico City and, like so many natives exposed to European diseases, he became ill. Unlike most, he recovered. Thereafter, Jesuits baptized him Don Luis de Velasco and educated him.
In 1566, Don Luís accompanied a Spanish expedition sent by Pedro Menendez de Aviles from Spanish Florida to the Delmarva (Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia) Peninsula to found a Spanish colony. The Spaniards believed at that time that the Chesapeake was an opening to a water passageway to China. A severe storm turned the expedition back.
In August 1570, Father Juan Bautista de Segura, Jesuit vice provincial of Havana, and Father Luis de Quitos, former head of the Jesuit college among the Moors in Spain, and six Jesuit brothers left Havana to establish a mission in Virginia. Don Luis was to act as their guide and translator. Their ship landed on the Virginia Peninsula September 10, perhaps on the New Kent side of Diascund Creek near its confluence with the Chickahominy River. They built a small wooden hut with an adjoining room where they could conduct mass. Their ship departed. The Jesuits proved to be pushy and intolerant. Very soon, Don Luís left the settlement.
Months passed. The Jesuits had used up their supply of food. Trade with the Indians had stopped, a lengthy drought having reduced what the natives were able to store. Disease, transmitted by the Jesuits, had decimated their population. They looked upon the presence of the Spaniards as the cause of their uncharacteristic misfortunes. One swift action would solve them. That action took place in February 1571. All of the Spaniards but a young servant boy, Alonso de Olmos, were murdered.
A Spanish supply ship arrived in the spring. Natives wearing the priests’ vestments called out to the ship. Sailors began to transport their cargo to shore. They were attacked. They withstood the attack, captured two natives, and returned to the ship. They learned from the captives that the Jesuits had been killed.
Pedro Menéndez de Avilés arrived from Florida in August 1572 with four ships and 150 men. Believing that Don Luís's uncle was responsible for the settlement’s massacre, he lured several natives aboard his ship with gifts and questioned them. Learning that Alonso de Olmos was alive, he had the boy brought to him. After hearing Olmos’s account of the killing, de Avilés ordered his men to attack the natives that were waiting ashore. 20 Paspaheghs were killed; 12 were captured. De Avilés’s offer to exchange his hostages for Don Luís was rejected. From the shoreline Don Luis’s warriors watched the hostages baptized. Afterward, they witnessed each captive hung from a yardarm.
The first of the two events that Wingina’s people mentioned to Captains Barlowe and Amadas happened in 1558. A ship had run aground on the Outer Banks. Surviving members had been washed ashore on Wococon Island – located about 80 miles southwest of Roanoke Island. Algonquians from the village of Secotan had helped them fasten together two dugout canoes. They had erected masts for them and made sails, using the Europeans’ shirts. They had given the sailors food, wished them good fortune, and watched them set off to venture out to sea. After a sudden storm, the natives had come upon the make-shift “boat,” broken apart on the sand of an adjoining island.
The second event had occurred in 1564. A “Christian shippe” had wrecked on the Outer Banks, this time with no survivors. Local Indians had salvaged what had come ashore. Included in the debris had been nails and spikes, which the Indians had used subsequently for tools.
As shocked as Wingina’s people must have been at the initial sight of Barlowe’s and Amadas’s ships, they were not ignorant of the existence of strange, powerful men who lived far beyond the great ocean that bordered their world.
April 1, 2013
1584 -- Two English Ships Enter North Carolina Waters
Two English ships, one weighing 50 tons and the other approximately 35 tons, arrived off the Outer Banks of the North Carolina coast during the second week of July 1584. Sailing north, the ships paralleled the great sand banks for more than one hundred miles before their pilot, Simon Ferdinando, found a narrow passage into Pamlico Sound. The next morning, July 13, -- the ships anchored inside the inlet -- Captains Philip Amadas and Arthur Barlowe, a contingent of soldiers, and Ferdinando, using two longboats, rowed to Hatarask Island a mile off. The captains declared possession of the land in the name of Queen Elizabeth. A soldier fired his harquebus at a flock of cranes, sending additional flocks, an undulating wave, crying shrilly, skyward. The party explored the island the remainder of the day and returned to its ships before nightfall.
The next morning three natives in a dugout canoe approached. The Englishmen watched them beach their canoe not more than four harquebus shots away. Two of the natives remained in the canoe while the third proceeded to walk the sandbank shoreline toward the ships. He reached the point of land closest to Barlowe and Amadas, stopped, looked at them, walked back toward the canoe, pivoted, and headed back. Barlowe, Amadas, Ferdinando, and several soldiers climbed into a longboat and rowed toward him.
Standing erect, the native showed no fear. He had been commanded by his Algonquian werowance, Wingina, to communicate with these peculiarly attired, pale-complexioned strangers.
They came together. The native delivered a long speech, which the Englishmen did not understand. Barlowe responded. Pointing, he indicated that he wished the native to come aboard his ship. The native agreed. He was impressed with the ship’s enormous timbers, the strangers’ ability to craft such a ship, very likely the conspicuous cannons, and, certainly, the operations of the captain’s compass and telescope. He was given gifts, including a shirt and a hat. He tasted wine and ship’s meat, which he demonstrably liked. He must have noticed that the strangers sailed without women and children. Their faces were hairy; they smelled foul – he and his villagers bathed twice a day. Their clothing was excessive and, surely, burdensome.
They returned him to his canoe and rowed back to Barlowe’s ship. They watched him talk to his two companions, saw the two examine the gifts. The three natives pushed the canoe into the water. They paddled some fifty yards off shore where, using spears and a net, they fished. An hour later, they returned the canoe, deep in the water, to the point of land where the Englishmen and the lone native had met. The leader directed his companions to make two piles of fish. They did so. Gazing at Barlowe and Amadas, he pointed at one pile, then pointed at Amadas’s ship. He pointed at the other pile. He pointed at Barlowe’s ship. His companions pushed the empty canoe into the water. The three natives climbed inside. The canoe disappeared behind a distant spur of land.
Friendly contact had occurred. Captains Barlowe and Amadas had accomplished their first objective.
Wingina would similarly be pleased. His scouts had made contact with these newcomers. Having been aboard one of their ships, his lead scout could report on their strength and their numbers. Despite their strange language and behavior, they could be approached and they desired friendship. Despite their technology that his scout didn’t understand and their considerable weaponry, they did not seem to pose a threat. Perhaps he could establish with these imposing strangers a beneficial alliance.
My future blog entries will focus on different aspects of Sir Walter Raleigh’s attempts to establish an English outpost inside North Carolina’s Outer Banks nearly two decades before the settlement of Jamestown and how the native communities responded. The story involves self-interest, miscommunication, disregard of the native culture, hostility, cruelty, and betrayal. I plan to dramatize this in a novel.
The next morning three natives in a dugout canoe approached. The Englishmen watched them beach their canoe not more than four harquebus shots away. Two of the natives remained in the canoe while the third proceeded to walk the sandbank shoreline toward the ships. He reached the point of land closest to Barlowe and Amadas, stopped, looked at them, walked back toward the canoe, pivoted, and headed back. Barlowe, Amadas, Ferdinando, and several soldiers climbed into a longboat and rowed toward him.
Standing erect, the native showed no fear. He had been commanded by his Algonquian werowance, Wingina, to communicate with these peculiarly attired, pale-complexioned strangers.
They came together. The native delivered a long speech, which the Englishmen did not understand. Barlowe responded. Pointing, he indicated that he wished the native to come aboard his ship. The native agreed. He was impressed with the ship’s enormous timbers, the strangers’ ability to craft such a ship, very likely the conspicuous cannons, and, certainly, the operations of the captain’s compass and telescope. He was given gifts, including a shirt and a hat. He tasted wine and ship’s meat, which he demonstrably liked. He must have noticed that the strangers sailed without women and children. Their faces were hairy; they smelled foul – he and his villagers bathed twice a day. Their clothing was excessive and, surely, burdensome.
They returned him to his canoe and rowed back to Barlowe’s ship. They watched him talk to his two companions, saw the two examine the gifts. The three natives pushed the canoe into the water. They paddled some fifty yards off shore where, using spears and a net, they fished. An hour later, they returned the canoe, deep in the water, to the point of land where the Englishmen and the lone native had met. The leader directed his companions to make two piles of fish. They did so. Gazing at Barlowe and Amadas, he pointed at one pile, then pointed at Amadas’s ship. He pointed at the other pile. He pointed at Barlowe’s ship. His companions pushed the empty canoe into the water. The three natives climbed inside. The canoe disappeared behind a distant spur of land.
Friendly contact had occurred. Captains Barlowe and Amadas had accomplished their first objective.
Wingina would similarly be pleased. His scouts had made contact with these newcomers. Having been aboard one of their ships, his lead scout could report on their strength and their numbers. Despite their strange language and behavior, they could be approached and they desired friendship. Despite their technology that his scout didn’t understand and their considerable weaponry, they did not seem to pose a threat. Perhaps he could establish with these imposing strangers a beneficial alliance.
My future blog entries will focus on different aspects of Sir Walter Raleigh’s attempts to establish an English outpost inside North Carolina’s Outer Banks nearly two decades before the settlement of Jamestown and how the native communities responded. The story involves self-interest, miscommunication, disregard of the native culture, hostility, cruelty, and betrayal. I plan to dramatize this in a novel.
March 1, 2013
People Watching
I like to see interspersed in an author’s dialogue visual detail that gives me a sense of character presence, that gives each character a suggestion of individuality, that makes me believe that each character’s words come from a flesh and blood human being. I dislike scenes that consist mostly of spoken words, “he said’s,” and a few generalized modifiers.
I did some people watching at the food court of a shopping mall several days ago while my wife was having her hair cut at J. C. Penny. Observing people in given situations and recording precisely how they conduct themselves can help an author add imagery to dialogue. Here are a few details of what I observed.
People Seated at Tables
An 18-year-old girl talks to a friend seated opposite her, her elbows on the table top, her hands joined and fingers interlaced above her chin.
An 18-year-old girl, listening and chewing, touches her part line at the top of her head, then strokes a bordering strand of hair down past her left ear.
A 16-year-old girl listens to a friend, her head down, her elbows against the table top, the heels of her hands, forming a V, supporting her chin.
A 60-year-old man, chewing on a toothpick, gazes at passing people, his right elbow beyond the top of his chair back, his right hand, raised, curled downward.
People Walking past the Food Court
A 30-year-old woman wearing jeans, trailed by two small children, advances, her thumbs hooked inside the outside corners of her front pockets.
A 9-year-old girl walks assertively, her arms swinging freely, the small of her back arched.
A 30-year-old woman approaches pushing a baby stroller, dried gum reappearing with each rotation of the left front wheel.
A thin 11-year-old boy, quite alone, walks slowly, his elbows nearly touching his ribs, his wrists bent, his hands still.
A 35-year-old man approaches, his right hand holding his 4-year-old boy’s left hand, the contours of his T-shirt-covered stomach changing with each step.
A 12-year-old boy, accompanying a friend, looks left and then right, moves his right forefinger once around the lip of an empty soft drink cup held near his waist.
A 40-year-old security guard, his belly leading, his forearms swinging, looks left, taps the floor-to-ceiling pillar he passes with the side of his left hand.
A 6-year-old boy rushes, his chin ahead of his body, his right arm extended, his forefinger pointing.
A 30-year-old man wearing jeans and a T-shirt advances, his muscular thighs well separated, his thick forearms propelling his arms.
I did some people watching at the food court of a shopping mall several days ago while my wife was having her hair cut at J. C. Penny. Observing people in given situations and recording precisely how they conduct themselves can help an author add imagery to dialogue. Here are a few details of what I observed.
People Seated at Tables
An 18-year-old girl talks to a friend seated opposite her, her elbows on the table top, her hands joined and fingers interlaced above her chin.
An 18-year-old girl, listening and chewing, touches her part line at the top of her head, then strokes a bordering strand of hair down past her left ear.
A 16-year-old girl listens to a friend, her head down, her elbows against the table top, the heels of her hands, forming a V, supporting her chin.
A 60-year-old man, chewing on a toothpick, gazes at passing people, his right elbow beyond the top of his chair back, his right hand, raised, curled downward.
People Walking past the Food Court
A 30-year-old woman wearing jeans, trailed by two small children, advances, her thumbs hooked inside the outside corners of her front pockets.
A 9-year-old girl walks assertively, her arms swinging freely, the small of her back arched.
A 30-year-old woman approaches pushing a baby stroller, dried gum reappearing with each rotation of the left front wheel.
A thin 11-year-old boy, quite alone, walks slowly, his elbows nearly touching his ribs, his wrists bent, his hands still.
A 35-year-old man approaches, his right hand holding his 4-year-old boy’s left hand, the contours of his T-shirt-covered stomach changing with each step.
A 12-year-old boy, accompanying a friend, looks left and then right, moves his right forefinger once around the lip of an empty soft drink cup held near his waist.
A 40-year-old security guard, his belly leading, his forearms swinging, looks left, taps the floor-to-ceiling pillar he passes with the side of his left hand.
A 6-year-old boy rushes, his chin ahead of his body, his right arm extended, his forefinger pointing.
A 30-year-old man wearing jeans and a T-shirt advances, his muscular thighs well separated, his thick forearms propelling his arms.
February 1, 2013
Pickering Could Never Be Happy in Heaven
The son of a Massachusetts Tory, having served George Washington during the Revolutionary War, Timothy Pickering was President Washington’s postmaster general from 1791 to 1795, his secretary of war in 1795, and after December 1795 his secretary of state. He was a major leader of what John Hancock derisively dubbed the Essex Junto, a Massachusetts association of personages united by their patrician view of mankind. Social changes fostered by the American Revolution disturbed them greatly. Favoring a patriarchal society ruled by an elected aristocracy of elites, they supported strongly Washington’s Secretary of the Treasury, Alexander Hamilton, and his financial program. They vehemently opposed Hamilton’s rival, Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson.
For two decades war between England and France on the continent and on the seas threatened America’s independent existence. Impressment of American sailors and curtailment of American commerce with foreign countries forced Washington and his immediate successors to strive mightily to maintain America’s neutrality. Strongly supportive of England, Pickering advised otherwise.
Weary of his conflict with cabinet members -- Hamilton especially -- Thomas Jefferson resigned as secretary of state December 31, 1793. Fellow Virginian Edmund Randolph replaced him Jan. 2. The new secretary continued Jefferson’s efforts to maintain close relations with France and counteract Alexander Hamilton’s influence on the President. When Washington chose to accept the Jay Treaty, which secured commercial ties with Great Britain, Randolph strongly objected. Trade with neutral countries, and especially U.S. shipping to France, would be severely disrupted. Political intrigue against Randolph spiraled. Pickering produced a slanted translation of French documents intercepted by the British Navy that implied that Randolph had disclosed confidential information to the French and that he had solicited a bribe. Having lost Washington’s trust, Randolph resigned Aug. 20, 1795. Pickering filled his position.
Pickering continued on as secretary of state under John Adams. Fearful of "French influence" in American politics, Pickering believed that Jeffersonian Republicans were subversives. He used the Sedition Law to punish them. The Senate’s ratification of the Jay Treaty worsened U.S.-French relations. France’s hostile reaction -- the decision not to receive a U.S. Minister and the seizure of American merchant ships trading with Great Britain – cemented Pickering’s pro-British position. Working closely with Alexander Hamilton, he broke with the president when Adams initiated for a second time peace negotiations with the French. Pickering now supported waging war against France. He advocated establishing a large permanent army with Alexander Hamilton its commanding general. Pickering’s continued public attacks against Adams forced Adams to request Pickering’s resignation. Pickering refused. He was fired May 10, 1800.
As a United States senator from Massachusetts, 1803-1811, Pickering opposed vigorously Jeffersonian ideals and policy. Not surprisingly, he opposed the purchase of the Louisiana Territory. During the spring of 1804 Vice President Aaron Burr, having failed to win the presidency four years earlier, due largely to the opposition of his own Federalist Party leader, Alexander Hamilton, ran as a third party candidate for governor of New York. Burr had the backing of Tammany Hall and the secret support of many Federalists -- Pickering included -- who viewed the nation as “too big for union, too sordid for patriotism, too democratic for liberty.” Pickering specifically schemed to have Burr, once elected, appointed the leader of a seceded confederacy encompassing the New England states, New York, and New Jersey. Hamilton’s candidate defeated Burr in the New York election. Blaming Hamilton for his two political defeats, Burr killed the former Secretary of the Treasury in a clandestine duel.
Jeffersonian Republicans swept the northeastern states in the 1810 Congressional elections. Pickering found himself but one senator of a tiny Federalist Party minority. When he returned to Washington in December, he wanted desperately to discredit the President and Republican members of the Senate. Six weeks earlier, American settlers had seized West Florida, declared the region independent of Spain, and requested U.S. annexation. Claiming it to be a part of the Louisiana Purchase, President James Madison had obliged. Here was an issue Pickering believed he could exploit. Debating Madison’s action on the Senate floor, Pickering introduced a letter written by French Foreign Minister Charles Maurice de Talleyrand that President Thomas Jefferson had submitted to the Senate five years earlier. Talleyrand had pointed out that the United States had no legitimate claim to the West Florida region under the Louisiana Purchase. After Pickering had read Talleyrand’s letter, Senator Samuel Smith, a Maryland Jeffersonian, asked whether the letter had ever been made public. It hadn’t. Pickering had broken a Senate rule that forbad the public reading of a secret executive department document.
Pickering was charged with jeopardizing the system of presidential communication with the Senate and the Senate's constitutional power to advise and consent. He disagreed. He insisted that his action had not been indiscreet. Because he had over the years insulted Federalist colleagues, he had few allies. The Senate censured him, by a 20 to 7 vote. He was the first of nine senators in our nation’s history to be censured.
Defeated for reelection in 1811, he returned to Washington to serve in the House of Representatives, from 1813 to 1817. Retired thereafter from national public office, Pickering wrote about the Revolutionary War and the early years of the Republic. He planned to write a biography of Alexander Hamilton. In 1824 he wrote a polemical pamphlet that criticized John Adams. To demonstrate his longstanding contempt for his former boss, he endorsed Andrew Jackson instead of John Quincy Adams during the 1828 presidential campaign.
Pickering died in Salem, Massachusetts, January 29, 1829.
“A Pickering could never be happy in heaven, because he must there find and acknowledge a superior.” – John Adams
For two decades war between England and France on the continent and on the seas threatened America’s independent existence. Impressment of American sailors and curtailment of American commerce with foreign countries forced Washington and his immediate successors to strive mightily to maintain America’s neutrality. Strongly supportive of England, Pickering advised otherwise.
Weary of his conflict with cabinet members -- Hamilton especially -- Thomas Jefferson resigned as secretary of state December 31, 1793. Fellow Virginian Edmund Randolph replaced him Jan. 2. The new secretary continued Jefferson’s efforts to maintain close relations with France and counteract Alexander Hamilton’s influence on the President. When Washington chose to accept the Jay Treaty, which secured commercial ties with Great Britain, Randolph strongly objected. Trade with neutral countries, and especially U.S. shipping to France, would be severely disrupted. Political intrigue against Randolph spiraled. Pickering produced a slanted translation of French documents intercepted by the British Navy that implied that Randolph had disclosed confidential information to the French and that he had solicited a bribe. Having lost Washington’s trust, Randolph resigned Aug. 20, 1795. Pickering filled his position.
Pickering continued on as secretary of state under John Adams. Fearful of "French influence" in American politics, Pickering believed that Jeffersonian Republicans were subversives. He used the Sedition Law to punish them. The Senate’s ratification of the Jay Treaty worsened U.S.-French relations. France’s hostile reaction -- the decision not to receive a U.S. Minister and the seizure of American merchant ships trading with Great Britain – cemented Pickering’s pro-British position. Working closely with Alexander Hamilton, he broke with the president when Adams initiated for a second time peace negotiations with the French. Pickering now supported waging war against France. He advocated establishing a large permanent army with Alexander Hamilton its commanding general. Pickering’s continued public attacks against Adams forced Adams to request Pickering’s resignation. Pickering refused. He was fired May 10, 1800.
As a United States senator from Massachusetts, 1803-1811, Pickering opposed vigorously Jeffersonian ideals and policy. Not surprisingly, he opposed the purchase of the Louisiana Territory. During the spring of 1804 Vice President Aaron Burr, having failed to win the presidency four years earlier, due largely to the opposition of his own Federalist Party leader, Alexander Hamilton, ran as a third party candidate for governor of New York. Burr had the backing of Tammany Hall and the secret support of many Federalists -- Pickering included -- who viewed the nation as “too big for union, too sordid for patriotism, too democratic for liberty.” Pickering specifically schemed to have Burr, once elected, appointed the leader of a seceded confederacy encompassing the New England states, New York, and New Jersey. Hamilton’s candidate defeated Burr in the New York election. Blaming Hamilton for his two political defeats, Burr killed the former Secretary of the Treasury in a clandestine duel.
Jeffersonian Republicans swept the northeastern states in the 1810 Congressional elections. Pickering found himself but one senator of a tiny Federalist Party minority. When he returned to Washington in December, he wanted desperately to discredit the President and Republican members of the Senate. Six weeks earlier, American settlers had seized West Florida, declared the region independent of Spain, and requested U.S. annexation. Claiming it to be a part of the Louisiana Purchase, President James Madison had obliged. Here was an issue Pickering believed he could exploit. Debating Madison’s action on the Senate floor, Pickering introduced a letter written by French Foreign Minister Charles Maurice de Talleyrand that President Thomas Jefferson had submitted to the Senate five years earlier. Talleyrand had pointed out that the United States had no legitimate claim to the West Florida region under the Louisiana Purchase. After Pickering had read Talleyrand’s letter, Senator Samuel Smith, a Maryland Jeffersonian, asked whether the letter had ever been made public. It hadn’t. Pickering had broken a Senate rule that forbad the public reading of a secret executive department document.
Pickering was charged with jeopardizing the system of presidential communication with the Senate and the Senate's constitutional power to advise and consent. He disagreed. He insisted that his action had not been indiscreet. Because he had over the years insulted Federalist colleagues, he had few allies. The Senate censured him, by a 20 to 7 vote. He was the first of nine senators in our nation’s history to be censured.
Defeated for reelection in 1811, he returned to Washington to serve in the House of Representatives, from 1813 to 1817. Retired thereafter from national public office, Pickering wrote about the Revolutionary War and the early years of the Republic. He planned to write a biography of Alexander Hamilton. In 1824 he wrote a polemical pamphlet that criticized John Adams. To demonstrate his longstanding contempt for his former boss, he endorsed Andrew Jackson instead of John Quincy Adams during the 1828 presidential campaign.
Pickering died in Salem, Massachusetts, January 29, 1829.
“A Pickering could never be happy in heaven, because he must there find and acknowledge a superior.” – John Adams
January 1, 2013
Sacrifice Versus Self-Interest
Despite his character flaws, benefiting from the advantages of wealthy parentage, Timothy Pickering became a prominent national figure during our nation’s first four presidential administrations. Egotistical, selfish, exceedingly narrow-minded, he epitomized the kind of public official that every democratic nation needs to thwart in its exercise of representative authority.
Here is a second foreshadowing incident of how wrong-headed and disruptive this man would be in public office.
Knowing it could advance his career, Pickering added his Essex Country regiment of volunteers to the Continental Army’s dwindling forces in New York and New Jersey during the winter months of 1776-1777. Soon afterward, General George Washington appointed Pickering his Attorney General. In 1780 Washington chose Pickering to be the Continental Army’s Quartermaster General, an extremely frustrating duty that Pickering loathed. Throughout the entire Revolutionary War the Continental Congress and the state governments were almost always broke. They could provide little of the Army’s needs: food, supplies, enlisted soldiers’ and officers’ pay. Promises were made but rarely kept. Understandably, resentment escalated.
A mutiny of sorts surfaced in 1783 prior to the official end of the War. The decisive victory against the British at Yorktown had been achieved; hostilities had ceased. Stationed in Newburgh, New York, the army had remained in tact. It would not be disbanded until enemy forces left the country. Knowing the Army would disband after a peace treaty had been signed, fearing that after both events occurred they would never be compensated for personal expenses incurred and back pay not received, a cabal of Washington’s officers, including Pickering, decided to pressure their commander to act autocratically.
On March 10 they circulated handbills that called for all officers to meet five days later to determine how the army’s grievances might be rectified. Washington knew nothing about this proposed meeting until the handbills were brought to his attention. The instigators were Washington’s second in command, General Horatio Gates; two other officers; and Pickering. Their intention was to persuade Washington at the March 15 meeting to intimidate selected state legislatures into paying at least a portion of the officers’ back pay. If he refused, Gates would lead the Army to Philadelphia to force the Continental Congress to provide what was wanted.
At the March 15 meeting Washington listened, and then spoke. He understood entirely their frustration. He sympathized with their plight. They and he had sacrificed so much. That admitted, he would not now or ever countenance overturning “the liberties of our country” and opening “the flood gates of civil discord and deluge our rising empire in blood.” Witnessing their aging leader, feeling strongly their attachment to him, a majority of the officers sided with him. After Washington had left the meeting, Pickering rose to get the meeting headed back in the direction he wanted. He was ignored. Instead, a paper was sent to Congress that disavowed the Newburgh meeting’s alleged purpose. As it had the day British troops had marched to Concord, Massachusetts, in 1775, Timothy Pickering’s judgment and behavior had been completely out-of-step with his peers.
I will tell you about Pickering’s disagreements with John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, and James Madison; his involvement in a plan to secede from the union; and his censure by the United States Senate in next month’s blog.
Here is a second foreshadowing incident of how wrong-headed and disruptive this man would be in public office.
Knowing it could advance his career, Pickering added his Essex Country regiment of volunteers to the Continental Army’s dwindling forces in New York and New Jersey during the winter months of 1776-1777. Soon afterward, General George Washington appointed Pickering his Attorney General. In 1780 Washington chose Pickering to be the Continental Army’s Quartermaster General, an extremely frustrating duty that Pickering loathed. Throughout the entire Revolutionary War the Continental Congress and the state governments were almost always broke. They could provide little of the Army’s needs: food, supplies, enlisted soldiers’ and officers’ pay. Promises were made but rarely kept. Understandably, resentment escalated.
A mutiny of sorts surfaced in 1783 prior to the official end of the War. The decisive victory against the British at Yorktown had been achieved; hostilities had ceased. Stationed in Newburgh, New York, the army had remained in tact. It would not be disbanded until enemy forces left the country. Knowing the Army would disband after a peace treaty had been signed, fearing that after both events occurred they would never be compensated for personal expenses incurred and back pay not received, a cabal of Washington’s officers, including Pickering, decided to pressure their commander to act autocratically.
On March 10 they circulated handbills that called for all officers to meet five days later to determine how the army’s grievances might be rectified. Washington knew nothing about this proposed meeting until the handbills were brought to his attention. The instigators were Washington’s second in command, General Horatio Gates; two other officers; and Pickering. Their intention was to persuade Washington at the March 15 meeting to intimidate selected state legislatures into paying at least a portion of the officers’ back pay. If he refused, Gates would lead the Army to Philadelphia to force the Continental Congress to provide what was wanted.
At the March 15 meeting Washington listened, and then spoke. He understood entirely their frustration. He sympathized with their plight. They and he had sacrificed so much. That admitted, he would not now or ever countenance overturning “the liberties of our country” and opening “the flood gates of civil discord and deluge our rising empire in blood.” Witnessing their aging leader, feeling strongly their attachment to him, a majority of the officers sided with him. After Washington had left the meeting, Pickering rose to get the meeting headed back in the direction he wanted. He was ignored. Instead, a paper was sent to Congress that disavowed the Newburgh meeting’s alleged purpose. As it had the day British troops had marched to Concord, Massachusetts, in 1775, Timothy Pickering’s judgment and behavior had been completely out-of-step with his peers.
I will tell you about Pickering’s disagreements with John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, and James Madison; his involvement in a plan to secede from the union; and his censure by the United States Senate in next month’s blog.
December 1, 2012
Destined for Greatness
How much can the actions of one person alter the outcome of a major historical event? A lot, history indicates. What follows is how one Massachusetts militia leader could have, but didn’t, change significantly the early months of the American Revolution. I am speaking of Timothy Pickering, commander of the Essex County militia, in Salem.
The British army that marched to Concord, Massachusetts Colony, April 19, 1775, to destroy stockpiled rebel munitions began its return trek in the early afternoon. Almost immediately it came under heavy fire. Hiding behind stone walls, trees, and sheds and out of windows of houses, militia companies from nearby towns inflicted substantial punishment. To save the army, Lieutenant-Colonel Hugh Percy feigned at Cambridge a crossing of the Charles River, believing that the planks of the town’s Great Bridge would be removed and most if not all of the town militias yet ahead of him would be positioned there to destroy him. Sending his flanking units toward the bridge, Percy turned his 1,700 soldiers in the opposite direction, toward Charlestown and Bunker and Breeds Hill, where he could establish a strong defensive position, receive reinforcements from Boston, and eventually be ferried across the river.
Percy’s army, breaking through armed resistance at the top of one major hill, advanced unopposed toward Charlestown, chased by a large portion of the militia companies caught flat-footed at the Great Bridge. Had Timothy Pickering and his Essex County militia appeared on the Charlestown/Cambridge road at this crucial stage to block the army’s retreat to Charlestown, Percy would have had to surrender. One-third of the British garrison in Boston would then have been lost, its commander, General Thomas Gage, would likely have not challenged subsequent rebel fortification of Breeds Hill, the Battle of Bunker Hill would not have been fought, and British evacuation of Boston would probably have occurred much sooner.
Pickering had been present with about 50 militiamen when General Gage had sent a detachment of soldiers northward by sea two months earlier to seize refurbished cannon located at a Salem forge. Thwarted by a raised drawbridge, the British commanding officer, Colonel Leslie, decided not to fire upon Pickering’s militiamen and a hostile crowd berating him, choosing instead to march his forces back to their transport at Marblehead. In the mid-morning of April 19, Pickering, informed that 8 Lexington citizens had been killed by British soldiers sent into the country to destroy Concord’s munitions, decided to keep his men in Salem.
Timothy Pickering had a large ego. Not yet 30, Harvard educated, a lawyer, the commanding officer of the militia of Essex County, the author of a well-read pamphlet defining how militiamen should be disciplined, he believed himself soon to be, if not already, extraordinary. Here is how I characterize him in my novel.
"What others had to say about his decisions after he had implemented them mattered not. He assailed difficulties … with supreme confidence, those men disagreeing with his conclusions later acknowledging, albeit privately, their errata. He concurred entirely with what he believed his peers had privately ascertained. He was destined for greatness."
A great leader differentiates himself from the majority. He rejects conventional wisdom. Possessing extraordinary courage and superior intellect, he does the unexpected, takes a different tack. So Pickering must have thought. Had he acted as other militia leaders far distant from Lexington had done that morning, he would have taken his men to Cambridge and the Great Bridge. Ironically, his obstinacy, his refusal to budge provided him, temporarily, the opportunity to appear to be the great leader he believed he was destined to be. Here is what happened.
"The news of the fighting at Lexington had reached him just before 9 a.m., interrupting that quiet period of time he took each morning to digest his breakfast. He had immediately concluded that the British army, having fired upon the Lexington militia at about dawn, having made blatant their plan in the country, would terminate their mission and return to Boston. Because Salem was farther away from Boston than Lexington from Boston, he had decided not to commit his troops, citing that their mustering and the subsequent hard march to Cambridge would serve no beneficial purpose.
More persuasive was his suspicion that any British expedition undertaken east of Boston would be a deception. He would not be duped into separating his forces from General Gage’s intended objective, that which two months ago General Gage’s surrogate, Colonel Leslie, had so ignominiously failed to confiscate.
Through the late morning the townspeople had given him little peace. Militia companies from other northern county towns were marching; why wasn't he? Simple-minded citizens they were, their minds closed to his logic.
Eventually, begrudgingly, uncharacteristically, he had yielded. To satisfy them, in the early afternoon he and his soldiers had taken to the road, but not so far that he would not be able to return should he be apprised of a second appearance of ships transporting regulars to a landfall at Marblehead. It had been a vain business. He had chastised himself for his acquiescence. Having stopped the march several miles west of the town, he had used up an hour inspecting his men, anticipating at any moment a messenger with information that would justify his return.
In the late afternoon, because a messenger had brought news of an entirely different sort, he had resumed the march; but not before he had sent forth a message pledging support. He had not intimated how far removed he was. He had believed that a forced march could, nay, would ameliorate his miscalculation, for which the British expedition’s commanding officer, having proceeded irrationally to Concord, was entirely at fault."
The road that Pickering took from Salem intersected the road between Cambridge and Charlestown. Had he left Salem an hour sooner, he would have reached the intersection before Percy did. He reached it minutes too late. Sensing that Pickering might not reach the intersection in time, Massachusetts’s General William Heath had told his companion, Doctor Joseph Warren: “Damn his perfidious soul! Percy seeps through our fingers here!” And after the lengthy British column had passed the vital intersection, Heath declared, “Mark this well, Doctor Warren! That bastard Pickering has no stomach for fighting!”
Pickering’s drive to achieve high station and great acclaim persisted. Next month I will tell you about his rise to national prominence and how he exhibited at least twice very poor judgment.
The British army that marched to Concord, Massachusetts Colony, April 19, 1775, to destroy stockpiled rebel munitions began its return trek in the early afternoon. Almost immediately it came under heavy fire. Hiding behind stone walls, trees, and sheds and out of windows of houses, militia companies from nearby towns inflicted substantial punishment. To save the army, Lieutenant-Colonel Hugh Percy feigned at Cambridge a crossing of the Charles River, believing that the planks of the town’s Great Bridge would be removed and most if not all of the town militias yet ahead of him would be positioned there to destroy him. Sending his flanking units toward the bridge, Percy turned his 1,700 soldiers in the opposite direction, toward Charlestown and Bunker and Breeds Hill, where he could establish a strong defensive position, receive reinforcements from Boston, and eventually be ferried across the river.
Percy’s army, breaking through armed resistance at the top of one major hill, advanced unopposed toward Charlestown, chased by a large portion of the militia companies caught flat-footed at the Great Bridge. Had Timothy Pickering and his Essex County militia appeared on the Charlestown/Cambridge road at this crucial stage to block the army’s retreat to Charlestown, Percy would have had to surrender. One-third of the British garrison in Boston would then have been lost, its commander, General Thomas Gage, would likely have not challenged subsequent rebel fortification of Breeds Hill, the Battle of Bunker Hill would not have been fought, and British evacuation of Boston would probably have occurred much sooner.
Pickering had been present with about 50 militiamen when General Gage had sent a detachment of soldiers northward by sea two months earlier to seize refurbished cannon located at a Salem forge. Thwarted by a raised drawbridge, the British commanding officer, Colonel Leslie, decided not to fire upon Pickering’s militiamen and a hostile crowd berating him, choosing instead to march his forces back to their transport at Marblehead. In the mid-morning of April 19, Pickering, informed that 8 Lexington citizens had been killed by British soldiers sent into the country to destroy Concord’s munitions, decided to keep his men in Salem.
Timothy Pickering had a large ego. Not yet 30, Harvard educated, a lawyer, the commanding officer of the militia of Essex County, the author of a well-read pamphlet defining how militiamen should be disciplined, he believed himself soon to be, if not already, extraordinary. Here is how I characterize him in my novel.
"What others had to say about his decisions after he had implemented them mattered not. He assailed difficulties … with supreme confidence, those men disagreeing with his conclusions later acknowledging, albeit privately, their errata. He concurred entirely with what he believed his peers had privately ascertained. He was destined for greatness."
A great leader differentiates himself from the majority. He rejects conventional wisdom. Possessing extraordinary courage and superior intellect, he does the unexpected, takes a different tack. So Pickering must have thought. Had he acted as other militia leaders far distant from Lexington had done that morning, he would have taken his men to Cambridge and the Great Bridge. Ironically, his obstinacy, his refusal to budge provided him, temporarily, the opportunity to appear to be the great leader he believed he was destined to be. Here is what happened.
"The news of the fighting at Lexington had reached him just before 9 a.m., interrupting that quiet period of time he took each morning to digest his breakfast. He had immediately concluded that the British army, having fired upon the Lexington militia at about dawn, having made blatant their plan in the country, would terminate their mission and return to Boston. Because Salem was farther away from Boston than Lexington from Boston, he had decided not to commit his troops, citing that their mustering and the subsequent hard march to Cambridge would serve no beneficial purpose.
More persuasive was his suspicion that any British expedition undertaken east of Boston would be a deception. He would not be duped into separating his forces from General Gage’s intended objective, that which two months ago General Gage’s surrogate, Colonel Leslie, had so ignominiously failed to confiscate.
Through the late morning the townspeople had given him little peace. Militia companies from other northern county towns were marching; why wasn't he? Simple-minded citizens they were, their minds closed to his logic.
Eventually, begrudgingly, uncharacteristically, he had yielded. To satisfy them, in the early afternoon he and his soldiers had taken to the road, but not so far that he would not be able to return should he be apprised of a second appearance of ships transporting regulars to a landfall at Marblehead. It had been a vain business. He had chastised himself for his acquiescence. Having stopped the march several miles west of the town, he had used up an hour inspecting his men, anticipating at any moment a messenger with information that would justify his return.
In the late afternoon, because a messenger had brought news of an entirely different sort, he had resumed the march; but not before he had sent forth a message pledging support. He had not intimated how far removed he was. He had believed that a forced march could, nay, would ameliorate his miscalculation, for which the British expedition’s commanding officer, having proceeded irrationally to Concord, was entirely at fault."
The road that Pickering took from Salem intersected the road between Cambridge and Charlestown. Had he left Salem an hour sooner, he would have reached the intersection before Percy did. He reached it minutes too late. Sensing that Pickering might not reach the intersection in time, Massachusetts’s General William Heath had told his companion, Doctor Joseph Warren: “Damn his perfidious soul! Percy seeps through our fingers here!” And after the lengthy British column had passed the vital intersection, Heath declared, “Mark this well, Doctor Warren! That bastard Pickering has no stomach for fighting!”
Pickering’s drive to achieve high station and great acclaim persisted. Next month I will tell you about his rise to national prominence and how he exhibited at least twice very poor judgment.
November 1, 2012
The Unknown Patriot Prevails
What amazes me almost as much as the incredible events of Eliphalet Downer’s life after the Battles of Lexington and Concord is that few Americans know anything about him. How much more could a man give of himself to the cause of freedom and independence during the American Revolution than this surgeon and sailor?
At the end of my last blog, Downer, surgeon on the privateer “Alliance,” operating one of the ship’s cannons during a fierce engagement, is wounded by grape shot. The battle between the “Alliance” and the 28-gun British frigate lasts seven and a half hours. The “Alliance” loses both of its masts. The ship surrenders after it has fired its last round.
We can imagine Downer’s agony while being transported to Portsea Prison, adjacent to Portsmouth, not far from Forten Prison, where he had been previously incarcerated. Kept in “the black hole,” Downer recuperates enough to help dig with a jack knife a forty foot tunnel under one of the prison walls. During the prisoners’ subsequent escape attempt, Downer, rather stout, becomes wedged in a section of the tunnel. More dirt is removed, he is freed, and the men flee across the outer grounds. Some of the fugitives are discovered and returned to “the black hole.” But not Downer. Helped by Reverend Thomas Wren and a Mr. William Downer (I have found no information that indicates that he and Eliphalet were related), our hero is transported again to France.
A respected Hollywood actor needs to play Reverend Wren in my imagery film. Wren deserves much face-time and praise.
Fifty-four years old, Reverend Wren had been the Presbyterian minister in Portsmouth for twenty-two years. He was an uninspiring preacher but was esteemed by the community for living “an exemplary life of charming simplicity and piety.” The personal responsibility he took for distributing charitable money and encouraging the poor mattered greatly.
Through press reports, the business of the Portsmouth dockyard, and his personal contacts Wren was cognizant of pro-American sentiment both locally and in Parliament. News of the destruction of East India tea in Boston Harbor in 1773, the clash of arms at Lexington and Concord, Massachusetts, in 1775, and America’s Declaration of Independence in 1776 reached Portsmouth citizens almost as quickly as it did the citizens of London.
American prisoners usually passed through Portsmouth on their way to Forten and Portsea Prisons. The residents of Portsmouth knew quite a lot about the prisons. In his sermons Reverend Wren spoke frequently about the prisoners’ plight. He attended their confinement hearings. He solicited contributions from local friends and organizations. He received donations from pro-American sympathizers throughout the country. He made frequent visits across the harbor to Forten where he visited the sailors, providing them support and assistance: money, even provisions delivered to inmates confined in the special punishment compound.
By 1777, Americans working from France were providing assistance. In October 1777, Benjamin Franklin wrote to a friend and member of Parliament to ask that he distribute money to needy American captives. Franklin was told of the work of “a very worthy man,” the Reverend Thomas Wren.
Information of Reverend Wren’s charitable work reached the citizens of Boston with this notice printed October 5, 1778, in the Boston newspaper, The Independent Ledger and the American Advertizer.
“America ought to know the kindness that has been shown to her Sons in captivity in England, by the Rev'd Mr. Thomas Wren, a dissenting minister at Portsmouth. He had no small influence in procuring a subscription for their relief
at a time when they were treated with great severity. This subscription a-
mounted to upwards of 4000 £ Sterling; and he was appointed one of the
distributors of this bounty, in cloaths and other necessaries to the sufferers.
Such humanity and generosity as they have experienced from this good man,
and others of the same spirit, cannot be mentioned here with indifferance.
They deserve particular honor and applause.
He has sent over a List of the New-England prisoners at Forton, near Ports-
mouth; your publishing it in your paper may further his humans views by
giving relief to the minds of some of their anxious friends. Since the alliance
with France, and the prospect of establishing our Independence, all our
prisoners in England have been treated with lenity.”
Attempted escapes from Forten became common. Records show that 536 attempts were made during the course of the war. Prison fugitives were hampered by lack of local knowledge of safe routes, suitable clothing, food, and money. Other hazards included hostile residents eager to receive the £5 bounty paid for each prisoner returned. Notwithstanding, pro-American citizens helped. This became obvious to the authorities, who ordered investigations, which failed to identify specific culprits. It appears that the investigations were not diligent. Otherwise, the assistance rendered by Reverend Wren and his associates should have been uncovered. Wren’s High Street Chapel appears to have been one of the sanctuaries for fugitives who had made it across Portsmouth Harbor prior to their being transported to London and then to the continent.
Eliphalet Downer’s sole letter to his wife Mary was probably written in France after his second escape. He complains of the cruel and inhuman treatment of the American prisoners confined in the Forten Prison, and adds: "It is a little better since they have heard of the surrender of Burgoyne." He informs her that he had received a severe wound while directing the operations of a gun pointed out of a cabin window. "A grape-shot broke my arm so badly that the bone projected beyond the flesh but it is better now," he writes.
Downer’s 1777 deposition and others were the cause of correspondence between Benjamin Franklin and Silas Dean and Lord Viscount Stormont in Paris. In a message dated April 3, 1778, the American representatives warned the King’s court that America was aware of the barbarous treatment of her captured sailors and that if corrective actions were not taken, the Court should expect severe reprisals. “For the sake of humanity it is to be wished that men would endeavor to alleviate as much as possible the unavoidable miseries attending a state of war. … Compelling men by chains, stripes and famine to fight against their friends and relations is a new mode of barbarity, which your nation alone has the honor of inventing; and the sending American prisoners of war to Africa and Asia, remote from all probability of exchange, and where they can scarce hope to hear from their families, even if the unwholesomeness of the climate does not put a speedy end to their lives, is a manner of treating captives that you can justify by no other precedent or custom except that of the black savages of Guinea."
This message elicited the following response: “The King's ambassador receives no letters from rebels, except when they come to ask for mercy."
Every movie must end. Eliphalet Downer joins John Paul Jones on the "Bon Homme Richard." After experiencing several adventures he returns to Massachusetts. He applies for a pension, which is denied on the grounds "that as a surgeon he had no right to be in command of a gun. His services were welcome, but only within the limits of prescribed regulations. Outside of them all, militant risks were exclusively his own."
On July 9, 1779, Dr. Downer is commissioned Surgeon-General of the "Penobscot expedition," which ascends the Kennebec River but is overcome by superior British and Indian forces. His service lasts three months. He loses his surgical instruments, which the Massachusetts Legislature pays for -- fifteen dollars.
Afterward, he retires to private life, with a soldier's portion of the Marietta Reserve in Ohio and a peck-basket full of Continental money.
Fade out.
At the end of my last blog, Downer, surgeon on the privateer “Alliance,” operating one of the ship’s cannons during a fierce engagement, is wounded by grape shot. The battle between the “Alliance” and the 28-gun British frigate lasts seven and a half hours. The “Alliance” loses both of its masts. The ship surrenders after it has fired its last round.
We can imagine Downer’s agony while being transported to Portsea Prison, adjacent to Portsmouth, not far from Forten Prison, where he had been previously incarcerated. Kept in “the black hole,” Downer recuperates enough to help dig with a jack knife a forty foot tunnel under one of the prison walls. During the prisoners’ subsequent escape attempt, Downer, rather stout, becomes wedged in a section of the tunnel. More dirt is removed, he is freed, and the men flee across the outer grounds. Some of the fugitives are discovered and returned to “the black hole.” But not Downer. Helped by Reverend Thomas Wren and a Mr. William Downer (I have found no information that indicates that he and Eliphalet were related), our hero is transported again to France.
A respected Hollywood actor needs to play Reverend Wren in my imagery film. Wren deserves much face-time and praise.
Fifty-four years old, Reverend Wren had been the Presbyterian minister in Portsmouth for twenty-two years. He was an uninspiring preacher but was esteemed by the community for living “an exemplary life of charming simplicity and piety.” The personal responsibility he took for distributing charitable money and encouraging the poor mattered greatly.
Through press reports, the business of the Portsmouth dockyard, and his personal contacts Wren was cognizant of pro-American sentiment both locally and in Parliament. News of the destruction of East India tea in Boston Harbor in 1773, the clash of arms at Lexington and Concord, Massachusetts, in 1775, and America’s Declaration of Independence in 1776 reached Portsmouth citizens almost as quickly as it did the citizens of London.
American prisoners usually passed through Portsmouth on their way to Forten and Portsea Prisons. The residents of Portsmouth knew quite a lot about the prisons. In his sermons Reverend Wren spoke frequently about the prisoners’ plight. He attended their confinement hearings. He solicited contributions from local friends and organizations. He received donations from pro-American sympathizers throughout the country. He made frequent visits across the harbor to Forten where he visited the sailors, providing them support and assistance: money, even provisions delivered to inmates confined in the special punishment compound.
By 1777, Americans working from France were providing assistance. In October 1777, Benjamin Franklin wrote to a friend and member of Parliament to ask that he distribute money to needy American captives. Franklin was told of the work of “a very worthy man,” the Reverend Thomas Wren.
Information of Reverend Wren’s charitable work reached the citizens of Boston with this notice printed October 5, 1778, in the Boston newspaper, The Independent Ledger and the American Advertizer.
“America ought to know the kindness that has been shown to her Sons in captivity in England, by the Rev'd Mr. Thomas Wren, a dissenting minister at Portsmouth. He had no small influence in procuring a subscription for their relief
at a time when they were treated with great severity. This subscription a-
mounted to upwards of 4000 £ Sterling; and he was appointed one of the
distributors of this bounty, in cloaths and other necessaries to the sufferers.
Such humanity and generosity as they have experienced from this good man,
and others of the same spirit, cannot be mentioned here with indifferance.
They deserve particular honor and applause.
He has sent over a List of the New-England prisoners at Forton, near Ports-
mouth; your publishing it in your paper may further his humans views by
giving relief to the minds of some of their anxious friends. Since the alliance
with France, and the prospect of establishing our Independence, all our
prisoners in England have been treated with lenity.”
Attempted escapes from Forten became common. Records show that 536 attempts were made during the course of the war. Prison fugitives were hampered by lack of local knowledge of safe routes, suitable clothing, food, and money. Other hazards included hostile residents eager to receive the £5 bounty paid for each prisoner returned. Notwithstanding, pro-American citizens helped. This became obvious to the authorities, who ordered investigations, which failed to identify specific culprits. It appears that the investigations were not diligent. Otherwise, the assistance rendered by Reverend Wren and his associates should have been uncovered. Wren’s High Street Chapel appears to have been one of the sanctuaries for fugitives who had made it across Portsmouth Harbor prior to their being transported to London and then to the continent.
Eliphalet Downer’s sole letter to his wife Mary was probably written in France after his second escape. He complains of the cruel and inhuman treatment of the American prisoners confined in the Forten Prison, and adds: "It is a little better since they have heard of the surrender of Burgoyne." He informs her that he had received a severe wound while directing the operations of a gun pointed out of a cabin window. "A grape-shot broke my arm so badly that the bone projected beyond the flesh but it is better now," he writes.
Downer’s 1777 deposition and others were the cause of correspondence between Benjamin Franklin and Silas Dean and Lord Viscount Stormont in Paris. In a message dated April 3, 1778, the American representatives warned the King’s court that America was aware of the barbarous treatment of her captured sailors and that if corrective actions were not taken, the Court should expect severe reprisals. “For the sake of humanity it is to be wished that men would endeavor to alleviate as much as possible the unavoidable miseries attending a state of war. … Compelling men by chains, stripes and famine to fight against their friends and relations is a new mode of barbarity, which your nation alone has the honor of inventing; and the sending American prisoners of war to Africa and Asia, remote from all probability of exchange, and where they can scarce hope to hear from their families, even if the unwholesomeness of the climate does not put a speedy end to their lives, is a manner of treating captives that you can justify by no other precedent or custom except that of the black savages of Guinea."
This message elicited the following response: “The King's ambassador receives no letters from rebels, except when they come to ask for mercy."
Every movie must end. Eliphalet Downer joins John Paul Jones on the "Bon Homme Richard." After experiencing several adventures he returns to Massachusetts. He applies for a pension, which is denied on the grounds "that as a surgeon he had no right to be in command of a gun. His services were welcome, but only within the limits of prescribed regulations. Outside of them all, militant risks were exclusively his own."
On July 9, 1779, Dr. Downer is commissioned Surgeon-General of the "Penobscot expedition," which ascends the Kennebec River but is overcome by superior British and Indian forces. His service lasts three months. He loses his surgical instruments, which the Massachusetts Legislature pays for -- fifteen dollars.
Afterward, he retires to private life, with a soldier's portion of the Marietta Reserve in Ohio and a peck-basket full of Continental money.
Fade out.
