Harold Titus's Blog, page 38
October 1, 2012
Prisoner
Dr. Eliphalet Downer (played by Matt Damon in my imaginary movie) is holding a pistol as the sailors of two British sloops heavy with rum and sugar are taken aboard the “Yankee,” the privateer on which Downer has served four months as ship’s surgeon. The privateer has captured eight prize ships but not two during a single voyage. The second action had been especially lively. Downer had manned a cannon out of the window closest to his surgeon’s quarters. Watching the prisoners come aboard, Downer recognizes that they outnumber considerably the privateer’s crew, too many of whom are to sail the sloops back to a friendly port. He realizes that those crewmembers who remain aboard the “Yankee” must maintain constant vigilance.
Two hours later, while cleaning his surgical instruments, Downer hears shouts above his quarters. Two or three shots are fired. Heavy feet resound on the deck above. Minutes later he is arrested by two of the prisoners that he had an hour before examined.
Cut to the arrival of the “Mars,” a British prison ship, at Gosport, England, near the British naval base at Portsmouth. It is October 13, 1777. Downer and three Massachusetts seamen are removed from the prison ship and locked inside a filthy cell of Forten Prison, originally a privately owned naval hospital but now a cruel prisoner of war facility. “Expect t’be rottin’ yer bones here, mates!” one of the ship’s guards taunts. “Y’be dead in three months!”
The guard’s declaration is merited. The conditions of life here for prisoners are abominable, as indicated by Downer’s deposition printed later that year in the radical Worcester, Massachusetts, newspaper, The American Spy.
“That after he was made prisoner he and his countrymen were closely confined, yet assured that on their arrival in port they should be set at liberty, and these assurances were repeated in the most solemn manner; instead of which, on their approach to land they were in hot weather of August, shut up in a small cabin, the windows of which were spiked down and no air admitted insomuch that they were all in danger of suffocation from the excessive heat. Three or four days after their arrival in the River Thames they were relieved from this situation in middle of the night hurried on board a tender and sent down to Sheerness, where the deponent was put into the “Ardent,” and there falling sick of a violent fever, in consequence of such treatment and languishing in that situation for some time, he was removed, still sick to the “ Mars,” and notwithstanding repeated petitions to be suffered to be sent to prison on shore, he was detained until, having the appearance of mortification in his legs he was sent to Hester Hospital [at Forten], from whence, after recovering his health, he had the good fortune to make his escape. [We must assume that this deposition was taken while Downer was in hiding after his escape] While on board those ships he was informed and believes that many of his countrymen, after experiencing even worse treatment than he, were sent to the west Indies, and many of those taken at Quebec were sent to the coasts of Africa as soldiers."
A biographical sketch of Eliphalet Downer -- taken in part from the Biographical Encyclopedia of Massachusetts, from "Brookline in the Revolutionary War," published by the Brookline Historical Society, and from original letters furnished by his descendants – indicates that soon after his arrival at Forten Prison, Downer was made a hospital assistant. That changed circumstance must have made Downer’s escape less daunting. Unfortunately, this sketch provides no details of his escape. We will leave its depiction to the imagination of our imaginary screen writer and film director.
We will permit the screen writer also to portray how Downer’s wife, Mary, was affected by the news of his capture. She had not yet received a letter from him, would in fact receive only one during his three year absence. Added to her anxiety was the daily burden of feeding her family. The half-pay order that Downer had left with her was worthless. Obtaining necessary food for three sons and one daughter was a daily ordeal. Frequently, Elizabeth did not know where their next meal would come from. The boys helped, catching pigeons in nets, scooping smelts out of brooks, and receiving payment for raising strawberries for the officers sick in Boston hospitals.
We see Downer carrying his bag of instruments onto the privateer “Alliance,” anchored in a French port. “We’ll be cruisin’ the Channel,” its captain has informed him. “Suspect we’ll be needin’ yer sawin’ and yer fightin’. In a year we expect t’be sailin’ home.”
Having captured 18 prize ships, the men of the “Alliance” at last set sail to cross the Atlantic. Two days west of the Azores the privateer is challenged by a 28-gun frigate. The “Alliance” is unable to flee. It must engage. Four hours into the battle, Downer, manning a cannon pointed outside the window next to his quarters, is driven to the floor by a fusillade of grapeshot. Downer cries out in agony. He stares at his right arm. The humerus bone of his right arm has broken through his coat sleeve.
To be concluded November 1
Two hours later, while cleaning his surgical instruments, Downer hears shouts above his quarters. Two or three shots are fired. Heavy feet resound on the deck above. Minutes later he is arrested by two of the prisoners that he had an hour before examined.
Cut to the arrival of the “Mars,” a British prison ship, at Gosport, England, near the British naval base at Portsmouth. It is October 13, 1777. Downer and three Massachusetts seamen are removed from the prison ship and locked inside a filthy cell of Forten Prison, originally a privately owned naval hospital but now a cruel prisoner of war facility. “Expect t’be rottin’ yer bones here, mates!” one of the ship’s guards taunts. “Y’be dead in three months!”
The guard’s declaration is merited. The conditions of life here for prisoners are abominable, as indicated by Downer’s deposition printed later that year in the radical Worcester, Massachusetts, newspaper, The American Spy.
“That after he was made prisoner he and his countrymen were closely confined, yet assured that on their arrival in port they should be set at liberty, and these assurances were repeated in the most solemn manner; instead of which, on their approach to land they were in hot weather of August, shut up in a small cabin, the windows of which were spiked down and no air admitted insomuch that they were all in danger of suffocation from the excessive heat. Three or four days after their arrival in the River Thames they were relieved from this situation in middle of the night hurried on board a tender and sent down to Sheerness, where the deponent was put into the “Ardent,” and there falling sick of a violent fever, in consequence of such treatment and languishing in that situation for some time, he was removed, still sick to the “ Mars,” and notwithstanding repeated petitions to be suffered to be sent to prison on shore, he was detained until, having the appearance of mortification in his legs he was sent to Hester Hospital [at Forten], from whence, after recovering his health, he had the good fortune to make his escape. [We must assume that this deposition was taken while Downer was in hiding after his escape] While on board those ships he was informed and believes that many of his countrymen, after experiencing even worse treatment than he, were sent to the west Indies, and many of those taken at Quebec were sent to the coasts of Africa as soldiers."
A biographical sketch of Eliphalet Downer -- taken in part from the Biographical Encyclopedia of Massachusetts, from "Brookline in the Revolutionary War," published by the Brookline Historical Society, and from original letters furnished by his descendants – indicates that soon after his arrival at Forten Prison, Downer was made a hospital assistant. That changed circumstance must have made Downer’s escape less daunting. Unfortunately, this sketch provides no details of his escape. We will leave its depiction to the imagination of our imaginary screen writer and film director.
We will permit the screen writer also to portray how Downer’s wife, Mary, was affected by the news of his capture. She had not yet received a letter from him, would in fact receive only one during his three year absence. Added to her anxiety was the daily burden of feeding her family. The half-pay order that Downer had left with her was worthless. Obtaining necessary food for three sons and one daughter was a daily ordeal. Frequently, Elizabeth did not know where their next meal would come from. The boys helped, catching pigeons in nets, scooping smelts out of brooks, and receiving payment for raising strawberries for the officers sick in Boston hospitals.
We see Downer carrying his bag of instruments onto the privateer “Alliance,” anchored in a French port. “We’ll be cruisin’ the Channel,” its captain has informed him. “Suspect we’ll be needin’ yer sawin’ and yer fightin’. In a year we expect t’be sailin’ home.”
Having captured 18 prize ships, the men of the “Alliance” at last set sail to cross the Atlantic. Two days west of the Azores the privateer is challenged by a 28-gun frigate. The “Alliance” is unable to flee. It must engage. Four hours into the battle, Downer, manning a cannon pointed outside the window next to his quarters, is driven to the floor by a fusillade of grapeshot. Downer cries out in agony. He stares at his right arm. The humerus bone of his right arm has broken through his coat sleeve.
To be concluded November 1
September 1, 2012
Get Me Matt Damon!
Brookline, Massachusetts, physician/militiaman Eliphalet Downer’s exploits during the Revolutionary War could easily be made into an action/adventure summer movie. I see Matt Damon (using his Boston accent) playing the swashbuckling Downer, who makes one brief appearance in my novel, “Crossing the River.”
Downer, turned 31 April 4, 1775, is described by two historical sources as a man that fits the actor’s physical makeup. Francis S. Drake in his History of Roxbury describes Downer as a “skillful surgeon” and a “hard, rough man.” General William Heath in his Memoirs remembered Downer as “an active, energetic man.”
Early in my imagined movie, theater-goers would witness Downer (1744-1806) escaping death three times. The time: mid-afternoon, April 19, 1775. The place: Menotomy (now Arlington), Massachusetts. The circumstance: militiamen from various towns including Brookline fighting scattered redcoats hand-to-hand on the town’s broad plain below the Meeting House as one thousand plus British regulars retreat from Concord to the sanctuary of Bunker and Breeds Hills and the guns of the man-of-war “Somerset,” anchored between Charlestown and Boston.
We see Downer, eager to participate, running past a two-story house. Two soldiers appear at one corner of the building. They see him, hurry after him. Downer turns. One of the soldiers falls, shot from behind by an unseen militiaman. Downer raises his musket, fires. The second redcoat falls, moves his right arm, lies still. Downer hurries off, toward the broad field, where squads of soldiers, separating from the British column, are attacking militiamen arrayed loosely and provocatively in different locations.
Massachusetts Provincial General Heath and Doctor Joseph Warren, on horses, appear fifty yards to Downer’s left. Downer is not aware of their presence. Here is how I narrate the beginning of Downer’s next close encounter with death.
*****
Across the expansive plain below the Menotomy meeting house militiamen by the hundreds had refused to give ground. Having galloped through their groups to inspire valor, Heath, followed by Doctor Joseph Warren, had stopped his horse repeatedly to behold and exhort.
Squads of regulars had repeatedly left the column to drive back their slayers. Riding past his warriors, Heath had shouted, “Fire! Stay your ground! Reload! Fire!”
One encounter had thrilled him. He would learn afterward that the American had been the physician-turned-militiaman, Eliphalet Downer. Five cursing regulars had caught Downer and four compatriots crossing an uncontested section of the plain.
“You, damned rebel! Do you dare face?!” the nearest had challenged.
“I dare face!” Downer had shouted.
Standing forty feet apart, they had hastily fired. Thereafter, they had fought.
Downer had parried his attacker’s bayonet thrusts with the barrel of his musket. One early stab had cut into the fabric of his coat. A goner, Heath had concluded.
*****
Forty heart-throbbing seconds later, Downer prevails, in quick succession striking a blow to the redcoat’s neck and right shoulder with the stock of his musket, seizing the soldier’s weapon, and stabbing the regular with the weapon’s bayonet. We have a close-up of Heath and Warren’s expressions of amazement. Fired upon, the two men ride off. Pan to where the death duel has taken place. The soldier lies motionless. Downer has left the scene.
The scene shifts to the interior of a barn. We see a wounded soldier lying on bloodied, scattered hay. Downer enters the barn to prime the dead redcoat’s confiscated musket, his own weapon broken and discarded. Downer sees the soldier, hesitates. He goes to him.
“I’m a doctor,” Downer whispers. “May I dress your wound?”
The soldier looks at him, rolls suddenly toward his musket, seizes it. “Damn yer!” he rages. “I’ll dress yer wound for yer!” Downer steps back, his musket without ball and powder. The soldier, managing to sit, aims. Powder explodes. The soldier crumples, lies still. A militiaman appears from behind Downer. “A close one, that, eh, Doc?”
The two men stare at each other while the sounds of battle become manifest.
Fade to an indoor scene, Downer’s home in Brookline. We see his wife, and his three sons and one daughter, between the ages of two and eight. Downer is telling them of his experiences and what he has learned of the day’s outcome. He predicts accurately that war with England has begun. He declares his intention to serve the province’s cause as a surgeon tending the wounded and sick.
We experience the fighting (the Battle of Bunker Hill) at the top of Breeds Hill. We see Doctor Warren standing fast. Short of ammunition, the militiamen begin to vacate their position. Warren is one of the last to leave. A British officer calls out to him. Warren, recognizing the man, smiles. He is shot in the face, from another direction. We see then militiamen fleeing across Charlestown Neck. The wounded are being helped by comrades. Many stop. We see Downer moving from location to location tending to the most needy.
We see the date March 17, 1776 on the theater screen. Long lines of soldiers are being loaded on transport boats. The British evacuation of Boston has begun. Downer and his three sons watch from a vantage point on Beacon Hill. A man (played by Ben Affleck) approaches. “Doctor, I be askin’ the need of your service!” the man declares. “You’ve heard, I conjecture, the word ‘privateer’?”
“A ship t’be fitted with several cannon t’prey on British vessels?”
“Just so. We capture their crew, take them and their ship back to Boston, share the profits after we sell the ship’s valuables. A dangerous endeavor, surgeon. I’m the owner of the Yankee, the first privateer, I believe, t’be sailin’ out of Boston. I’ll be needin’ the service of a man such as youself, I hear. A fightin’ man and a damn good doctor. Will y’be joinin’ me?”
The boys look quizzically at their father. “Give me time to think about it,” Downer responds.
Fade to a scene on a long dock. The privateer waits for Downer to come aboard. Downer embraces his children, then his wife. She is crying.
“Mary, we’ve been over this. I must serve my country, as best I can. We must all sacrifice. I promise you I’ll return.”
Fade out.
To be continued October 1
Downer, turned 31 April 4, 1775, is described by two historical sources as a man that fits the actor’s physical makeup. Francis S. Drake in his History of Roxbury describes Downer as a “skillful surgeon” and a “hard, rough man.” General William Heath in his Memoirs remembered Downer as “an active, energetic man.”
Early in my imagined movie, theater-goers would witness Downer (1744-1806) escaping death three times. The time: mid-afternoon, April 19, 1775. The place: Menotomy (now Arlington), Massachusetts. The circumstance: militiamen from various towns including Brookline fighting scattered redcoats hand-to-hand on the town’s broad plain below the Meeting House as one thousand plus British regulars retreat from Concord to the sanctuary of Bunker and Breeds Hills and the guns of the man-of-war “Somerset,” anchored between Charlestown and Boston.
We see Downer, eager to participate, running past a two-story house. Two soldiers appear at one corner of the building. They see him, hurry after him. Downer turns. One of the soldiers falls, shot from behind by an unseen militiaman. Downer raises his musket, fires. The second redcoat falls, moves his right arm, lies still. Downer hurries off, toward the broad field, where squads of soldiers, separating from the British column, are attacking militiamen arrayed loosely and provocatively in different locations.
Massachusetts Provincial General Heath and Doctor Joseph Warren, on horses, appear fifty yards to Downer’s left. Downer is not aware of their presence. Here is how I narrate the beginning of Downer’s next close encounter with death.
*****
Across the expansive plain below the Menotomy meeting house militiamen by the hundreds had refused to give ground. Having galloped through their groups to inspire valor, Heath, followed by Doctor Joseph Warren, had stopped his horse repeatedly to behold and exhort.
Squads of regulars had repeatedly left the column to drive back their slayers. Riding past his warriors, Heath had shouted, “Fire! Stay your ground! Reload! Fire!”
One encounter had thrilled him. He would learn afterward that the American had been the physician-turned-militiaman, Eliphalet Downer. Five cursing regulars had caught Downer and four compatriots crossing an uncontested section of the plain.
“You, damned rebel! Do you dare face?!” the nearest had challenged.
“I dare face!” Downer had shouted.
Standing forty feet apart, they had hastily fired. Thereafter, they had fought.
Downer had parried his attacker’s bayonet thrusts with the barrel of his musket. One early stab had cut into the fabric of his coat. A goner, Heath had concluded.
*****
Forty heart-throbbing seconds later, Downer prevails, in quick succession striking a blow to the redcoat’s neck and right shoulder with the stock of his musket, seizing the soldier’s weapon, and stabbing the regular with the weapon’s bayonet. We have a close-up of Heath and Warren’s expressions of amazement. Fired upon, the two men ride off. Pan to where the death duel has taken place. The soldier lies motionless. Downer has left the scene.
The scene shifts to the interior of a barn. We see a wounded soldier lying on bloodied, scattered hay. Downer enters the barn to prime the dead redcoat’s confiscated musket, his own weapon broken and discarded. Downer sees the soldier, hesitates. He goes to him.
“I’m a doctor,” Downer whispers. “May I dress your wound?”
The soldier looks at him, rolls suddenly toward his musket, seizes it. “Damn yer!” he rages. “I’ll dress yer wound for yer!” Downer steps back, his musket without ball and powder. The soldier, managing to sit, aims. Powder explodes. The soldier crumples, lies still. A militiaman appears from behind Downer. “A close one, that, eh, Doc?”
The two men stare at each other while the sounds of battle become manifest.
Fade to an indoor scene, Downer’s home in Brookline. We see his wife, and his three sons and one daughter, between the ages of two and eight. Downer is telling them of his experiences and what he has learned of the day’s outcome. He predicts accurately that war with England has begun. He declares his intention to serve the province’s cause as a surgeon tending the wounded and sick.
We experience the fighting (the Battle of Bunker Hill) at the top of Breeds Hill. We see Doctor Warren standing fast. Short of ammunition, the militiamen begin to vacate their position. Warren is one of the last to leave. A British officer calls out to him. Warren, recognizing the man, smiles. He is shot in the face, from another direction. We see then militiamen fleeing across Charlestown Neck. The wounded are being helped by comrades. Many stop. We see Downer moving from location to location tending to the most needy.
We see the date March 17, 1776 on the theater screen. Long lines of soldiers are being loaded on transport boats. The British evacuation of Boston has begun. Downer and his three sons watch from a vantage point on Beacon Hill. A man (played by Ben Affleck) approaches. “Doctor, I be askin’ the need of your service!” the man declares. “You’ve heard, I conjecture, the word ‘privateer’?”
“A ship t’be fitted with several cannon t’prey on British vessels?”
“Just so. We capture their crew, take them and their ship back to Boston, share the profits after we sell the ship’s valuables. A dangerous endeavor, surgeon. I’m the owner of the Yankee, the first privateer, I believe, t’be sailin’ out of Boston. I’ll be needin’ the service of a man such as youself, I hear. A fightin’ man and a damn good doctor. Will y’be joinin’ me?”
The boys look quizzically at their father. “Give me time to think about it,” Downer responds.
Fade to a scene on a long dock. The privateer waits for Downer to come aboard. Downer embraces his children, then his wife. She is crying.
“Mary, we’ve been over this. I must serve my country, as best I can. We must all sacrifice. I promise you I’ll return.”
Fade out.
To be continued October 1
August 1, 2012
The Traitor Arrested!
In September 1775, having good reason to believe that he had corresponded with the enemy, George Washington had General Gage’s spy, Benjamin Church, arrested.
Paul Revere, afterward, had a conversation with Deacon Caleb Davis, who had seen Church in Boston on that day in April when Church had agreed to deliver a message to Revere’s wife Rachel. Davis had been ordered by General Gage to report to the Province House. Revere wrote: “When he [Davis] got to the General's house, he was told, the general could not be spoke with, that he was in private with a gentleman; that he [Davis] waited near half an hour, when General Gage and Dr. Church came out of a room, discoursing together, like persons who had been long acquainted. He [Church] appeared quite surprised at seeing Deacon Davis there; that he went where he pleased, while in Boston, only a Major Craine, one of Gage's aides, went with him. I was told by another person, whom I could depend upon, that he saw Church go into General Gage's house, at the above time; that he got out of the chaise and went up the steps more like a man that was acquainted than a prisoner.”
Church had in fact seen Rachel Revere and taken her hurried letter to Paul and one hundred and twenty-five pounds. Her letter was discovered in General Gage's personal papers one hundred fifty years later, at Gage's home in Sussex, England. The letter read, “My dear, by Doct'r Church I send a hundred & twenty-five pounds & beg you will take the best care of yourself & not attempt coming into this towne again & if I have an opportunity of coming or sending out anything or any of the Children I shall do it. pray keep up your spirits & trust yourself & us in the Hands of a good God who will take care of us.”
Revere did know before Church’s arrest that the doctor was an adulterer, that he kept a mistress, and that he lived extravagantly. It had not occurred to him, Doctor Joseph Warren, or anybody else that Church was a traitor.
On May 16 the Provincial Congress sent Church to Philadelphia to deliver a letter to the Continental Congress. The message urged that body to assume responsibility for the province’s militia army. Upon his return Church informed General Gage that the Provincial Congress was planning to fortify Bunker Hill. The Battle of Bunker Hill (fought on Breeds Hill) took place on June 17. Shortly thereafter, the Continental Congress appointed George Washington commander of the Massachusetts army. Church and a Moses Gill were selected to greet Washington upon his arrival from Philadelphia. The Provincial Congress then appointed Church the army’s chief physician.
Church’s spying ended in September, after staff officer Nathanael Greene gave General Washington a suspicious letter taken from a woman “of ill repute,” an intermediary who had attempted to deliver it to the British. The woman admitted that Church had sent the message to her. The doctor’s papers were seized and examined. Finding no incriminating documents, the searchers concluded that Church, forewarned, had removed them. Church insisted that the ciphered letter was meant for his brother, Fleming, in Boston. Two amateur cryptologists, working independently, deciphered it. Church had written about his activities, described the strength and strategic plans of Washington's army, and mentioned the American plan for commissioning privateers. The letter ended with “Make use of every precaution or I perish.”
On October 4 a council of war found Church guilty of communicating with the enemy. The Massachusetts legislature, after hearing his case, expelled him from the colony. On November 7 the Continental Congress ordered that he be closely confined in a Connecticut jail. Because of ill health Church was allowed to return, on parole, to Boston, after the British had evacuated the city. To forestall bodily attacks upon him, he was jailed. Before the close of 1777, he was allowed to leave the colony on a schooner bound for the West Indies. The ship vanished.
Paul Revere, afterward, had a conversation with Deacon Caleb Davis, who had seen Church in Boston on that day in April when Church had agreed to deliver a message to Revere’s wife Rachel. Davis had been ordered by General Gage to report to the Province House. Revere wrote: “When he [Davis] got to the General's house, he was told, the general could not be spoke with, that he was in private with a gentleman; that he [Davis] waited near half an hour, when General Gage and Dr. Church came out of a room, discoursing together, like persons who had been long acquainted. He [Church] appeared quite surprised at seeing Deacon Davis there; that he went where he pleased, while in Boston, only a Major Craine, one of Gage's aides, went with him. I was told by another person, whom I could depend upon, that he saw Church go into General Gage's house, at the above time; that he got out of the chaise and went up the steps more like a man that was acquainted than a prisoner.”
Church had in fact seen Rachel Revere and taken her hurried letter to Paul and one hundred and twenty-five pounds. Her letter was discovered in General Gage's personal papers one hundred fifty years later, at Gage's home in Sussex, England. The letter read, “My dear, by Doct'r Church I send a hundred & twenty-five pounds & beg you will take the best care of yourself & not attempt coming into this towne again & if I have an opportunity of coming or sending out anything or any of the Children I shall do it. pray keep up your spirits & trust yourself & us in the Hands of a good God who will take care of us.”
Revere did know before Church’s arrest that the doctor was an adulterer, that he kept a mistress, and that he lived extravagantly. It had not occurred to him, Doctor Joseph Warren, or anybody else that Church was a traitor.
On May 16 the Provincial Congress sent Church to Philadelphia to deliver a letter to the Continental Congress. The message urged that body to assume responsibility for the province’s militia army. Upon his return Church informed General Gage that the Provincial Congress was planning to fortify Bunker Hill. The Battle of Bunker Hill (fought on Breeds Hill) took place on June 17. Shortly thereafter, the Continental Congress appointed George Washington commander of the Massachusetts army. Church and a Moses Gill were selected to greet Washington upon his arrival from Philadelphia. The Provincial Congress then appointed Church the army’s chief physician.
Church’s spying ended in September, after staff officer Nathanael Greene gave General Washington a suspicious letter taken from a woman “of ill repute,” an intermediary who had attempted to deliver it to the British. The woman admitted that Church had sent the message to her. The doctor’s papers were seized and examined. Finding no incriminating documents, the searchers concluded that Church, forewarned, had removed them. Church insisted that the ciphered letter was meant for his brother, Fleming, in Boston. Two amateur cryptologists, working independently, deciphered it. Church had written about his activities, described the strength and strategic plans of Washington's army, and mentioned the American plan for commissioning privateers. The letter ended with “Make use of every precaution or I perish.”
On October 4 a council of war found Church guilty of communicating with the enemy. The Massachusetts legislature, after hearing his case, expelled him from the colony. On November 7 the Continental Congress ordered that he be closely confined in a Connecticut jail. Because of ill health Church was allowed to return, on parole, to Boston, after the British had evacuated the city. To forestall bodily attacks upon him, he was jailed. Before the close of 1777, he was allowed to leave the colony on a schooner bound for the West Indies. The ship vanished.
July 2, 2012
The Traitor -- Living Dangerously
Dr. Joseph Warren and Paul Revere knew before the Battles of Lexington and Concord that British Military Governor/Commanding General Thomas Gage had been receiving damaging information about their activities from somebody very familiar with their operations. Their acknowledgment of this first appears in “Crossing the River” when Revere told Dr. Warren that General Gage was preparing to send a military force to Concord to destroy stockpiled munitions.
[Warren:] “'You will have to warn Adams and Hancock. At once.'
Revere recrossed his legs, stared.
'And the Concord militia. Although your ride to warn them a week ago has given them immediate cause to remove their stores.'
'I'd thought to leave tomorrow, early.'
'But not through the gate!' Warren shook his head. 'They know you rode to Portsmouth! Their spy has told them. I am certain!'"
Because Gage’s army had to pass through Lexington to reach Concord, Sam Adams and John Hancock, for several weeks house guests of the town’s Reverend Jonas Clarke, risked arrest. Revere left Boston shortly after 11 p.m., April 18, to carry out Warren’s instructions. Rowed across Boston’s Back Bay to Charlestown, Revere met briefly with that town’s military leader, Colonel James Conant, and Richard Devens, a member of the illegal Provincial Congress. Earlier, traveling from Menotomy to Charlestown, Devens had been stopped by a group of British officers seeking, they claimed, the whereabouts of a nearby tavern. Asked specifically about “Clark’s tavern,” Devens had recognized what they circuitously wanted to obtain, where Reverend Clarke lived. In my book, reacting to what Devens tells him, Revere sees the handiwork of General Gage’s spy.
“'You should know, Revere, that I was detained by British officers along the Menotomy road!'
Revere squinted.
'I encountered them at dusk. Five or six officers. Several servants -- sergeants, I presume -- accompanying them. They demanded I direct them to ‘Clark's tavern’!'
It took Revere a moment to comprehend Devens’s statement.
He wondered how much more the General knew. Gage’s spy continued to do them damage."
General Gage’s informant was Dr. Benjamin Church, an important member of the Provincial Congress’s Committee of Safety. I identify him as such once, 80 pages into “Crossing the River,” during a scene in which Gage agonizes over whether he should act on his plan to dispatch 700 soldiers during the cover of night to Concord.
“The contents of this most recent letter, dated April 13, authored by his spy, Doctor Benjamin Church -- an important member of the Congress's Committee of Safety -- was especially important!
Take action within the next several days! his informant had advised. When it serves your purpose! Sam Adams and his cronies want confrontation. Defeat their designs when their Congress least expects it!"
Church appears in person in a scene in my last chapter. Admitted to Joseph Warren’s Cambridge residence, Revere finds his good friend and Church discussing the previous day’s fighting. Revere dislikes Church. Church insults him. Believing that Church is a valuable asset to the patriotic cause, Revere chooses to say nothing. Concerned about the safety of his wife and family, Revere decides to steal into Boston that night to see them.
Revere’s biographer Esther Forbes tells us that during his brief visit, Revere asked his wife to collect money owed to him by customers. The next evening he was back in Cambridge talking with Warren and Church. Suddenly, Church volunteered to go overtly into Boston.
Amazed, Warren declared, according to Revere’s account: “They will hang you if they catch you.” Church persisted. Warren eventually told him: “If you are determined, let us make some business for you.” Warren wanted Church to bring back medicine for “their and our wounded officers.”
Revere asked Church to bring back the money that Rachel had thus far collected. Two days later, a Sunday, Revere saw Church again at Warren’s Cambridge residence. “After he had told the committee how things were, I took him aside and inquired particularly how they treated him. He said, that as soon as he got to their lines, on Boston Neck, they made him a prisoner, and carried him to General Gage, where he was examined, and then he was sent to Gould's barracks, and was not suffered to go home but once.” He declared that he had not been allowed to visit Revere's wife.
(The rest of the story August 1)
[Warren:] “'You will have to warn Adams and Hancock. At once.'
Revere recrossed his legs, stared.
'And the Concord militia. Although your ride to warn them a week ago has given them immediate cause to remove their stores.'
'I'd thought to leave tomorrow, early.'
'But not through the gate!' Warren shook his head. 'They know you rode to Portsmouth! Their spy has told them. I am certain!'"
Because Gage’s army had to pass through Lexington to reach Concord, Sam Adams and John Hancock, for several weeks house guests of the town’s Reverend Jonas Clarke, risked arrest. Revere left Boston shortly after 11 p.m., April 18, to carry out Warren’s instructions. Rowed across Boston’s Back Bay to Charlestown, Revere met briefly with that town’s military leader, Colonel James Conant, and Richard Devens, a member of the illegal Provincial Congress. Earlier, traveling from Menotomy to Charlestown, Devens had been stopped by a group of British officers seeking, they claimed, the whereabouts of a nearby tavern. Asked specifically about “Clark’s tavern,” Devens had recognized what they circuitously wanted to obtain, where Reverend Clarke lived. In my book, reacting to what Devens tells him, Revere sees the handiwork of General Gage’s spy.
“'You should know, Revere, that I was detained by British officers along the Menotomy road!'
Revere squinted.
'I encountered them at dusk. Five or six officers. Several servants -- sergeants, I presume -- accompanying them. They demanded I direct them to ‘Clark's tavern’!'
It took Revere a moment to comprehend Devens’s statement.
He wondered how much more the General knew. Gage’s spy continued to do them damage."
General Gage’s informant was Dr. Benjamin Church, an important member of the Provincial Congress’s Committee of Safety. I identify him as such once, 80 pages into “Crossing the River,” during a scene in which Gage agonizes over whether he should act on his plan to dispatch 700 soldiers during the cover of night to Concord.
“The contents of this most recent letter, dated April 13, authored by his spy, Doctor Benjamin Church -- an important member of the Congress's Committee of Safety -- was especially important!
Take action within the next several days! his informant had advised. When it serves your purpose! Sam Adams and his cronies want confrontation. Defeat their designs when their Congress least expects it!"
Church appears in person in a scene in my last chapter. Admitted to Joseph Warren’s Cambridge residence, Revere finds his good friend and Church discussing the previous day’s fighting. Revere dislikes Church. Church insults him. Believing that Church is a valuable asset to the patriotic cause, Revere chooses to say nothing. Concerned about the safety of his wife and family, Revere decides to steal into Boston that night to see them.
Revere’s biographer Esther Forbes tells us that during his brief visit, Revere asked his wife to collect money owed to him by customers. The next evening he was back in Cambridge talking with Warren and Church. Suddenly, Church volunteered to go overtly into Boston.
Amazed, Warren declared, according to Revere’s account: “They will hang you if they catch you.” Church persisted. Warren eventually told him: “If you are determined, let us make some business for you.” Warren wanted Church to bring back medicine for “their and our wounded officers.”
Revere asked Church to bring back the money that Rachel had thus far collected. Two days later, a Sunday, Revere saw Church again at Warren’s Cambridge residence. “After he had told the committee how things were, I took him aside and inquired particularly how they treated him. He said, that as soon as he got to their lines, on Boston Neck, they made him a prisoner, and carried him to General Gage, where he was examined, and then he was sent to Gould's barracks, and was not suffered to go home but once.” He declared that he had not been allowed to visit Revere's wife.
(The rest of the story August 1)
June 1, 2012
Dramatic Violence
From "Crossing the River"
He [Major John Pitcairn] had his first good look at them. They were dressed in jerkin; they were wearing wide brimmed hats. They were few in number, fifty or sixty maybe. They were standing wide-legged. He had expected 500.
He despised exaggeration. If he were to effect a peaceful resolution, his men would have to march to Concord with charged muskets. Who in the ranks would fire a ball into the back of the cove in front of him? Fate, craving entertainment, pounced upon such opportunity!
He could not ignore the townspeople’s disobedience. Encountering them armed upon his return would not answer. To confiscate their weapons, he would have to threaten them. Two hundred fifty against sixty. Mustered sullenly in the middle of their parade field, they had the look of street brawlers outside an oft-frequented kiddley. Prideful men! Behind upstairs window curtains the town’s cowards watched!
He didn't want to slay them. Neither had General Gage. Neither he nor the General could prevent these men from insisting on it. Damned, prideful rebels!
Any account of the events that occurred at Lexington April 19, 1775, must attempt to answer this question: Why did Captain John Parker position militiamen provocatively on the town common?
Most historians believe that Samuel Adams, using Reverend Jonas Clarke’s influence, persuaded him to.
Captain Parker had met with many of his militiamen at about 1 a. m. They had decided not to take a stand against the British but place themselves instead where they would not be “discovered.” The decision was in keeping with the way militiamen preferred to fight, from behind walls and trees and out of houses. It would be what we would expect from Parker and those of his militia who were veterans of the French and Indian War. Nevertheless, when the British troops arrived at the Common, Parker had placed a majority of his men in a clearly visible location.
Reverend Jonas Clarke had been Lexington’s preacher for two decades. A graduate of Harvard, Clarke was learned, domineering, physically imposing. Over the years Clarke and Parker had developed a companionable albeit inequitable friendship. Clarke, the advisor and teacher, had sought to elevate in different ways the simple, sincere farmer: getting him elected captain of the militia, for instance. Lending him numerous books.
Jonas Clarke's opposition to Parliament's restrictive colonial policy is clearly stated in the town's resolves, all of which he wrote. About the Stamp Act he declared: “We have always looked upon men as a set of beings naturally free … that a people can never be divested of those invaluable rights and liberties which are necessary to the happiness of individuals, to the well-beings of communities or to a well regulated state, but by their own negligence, imprudence, timidity or rashness. They are seldom lost, but when foolishly forfeited or tamely resigned.” In 1773, after Parliament had awarded the East India Tea Company a monopoly of the colonial tea business, Clarke wrote that any citizen of Lexington discovered purchasing or consuming the tea “shall be looked upon as an enemy to this town and to this country, and shall by this town be treated with neglect and contempt.” In response to Parliament’s Coercive Acts, Clarke, writing for Lexington, declared, “We shall be ready to sacrifice our estates and everything dear in life, yea and life itself, in support of the common cause.” Clarke's political position during these years was identical to that of the radical Boston patriots.
Samuel Adams's long opposition to England's coercive policy is well documented. Achieving a complete separation from England was his consuming passion. His greatest political skill prior to the war was his ability to manipulate. Arthur Bernon Tourtellot in "William Diamond’s Drum" states: “In his long and persistent effort Samuel Adams made use of every person, every prejudice, every element, every fear, and every aspiration in colonial society. By patient, skillful, strong-minded, and often ruthless work he finally welded together forces of such dynamic drive that it is difficult to believe that any of his contemporaries fully understood them.”
An important facet of Adams' manipulative skill was a technique that Tourtellot calls “dramatic violence.” Beginning with his use of the mobs of Boston to thwart stamp tax collectors, he used this technique “again and again, always at an opportune time and always with masterful effect--not least of which was the mobs' inciting of the British troops to fire on a group of mobsters in 1770, creating the long politically useful Boston Massacre.” [Tourtellot]
Notwithstanding his manipulative skills and tenacious willfulness, Adams knew he couldn’t control historical events. He did believe, however, that some events could be inspired. In the spring of 1775 he needed such an event, a dramatic happening that would destroy the inertia of timidity within the Continental Congress and Massachusetts's Provincial Congress, an event that would unite all the colonies “in such furious indignation … that they would never be reconciled.” [Tourtellot] When it was clear that General Gage intended to send an armed expedition through Lexington to Concord to destroy that town’s military stores, Adams saw his opportunity.
Adams and John Hancock had chosen to stay in Lexington during March and April while they attended the sessions of the Provincial Congress in Concord. Reverend Clarke accommodated them. Clarke's wife was a cousin of John Hancock. The Clarke House had been the house of Hancock's grandfather, the town minister whom Clarke had succeeded. Whether their stay there had been suggested by Adams or not, he definitely wanted to make use of Clarke's political standing. “Nobody could give Adams a more reliable appraisal of the capacity and willingness of the country people to resist any coercion from Gage.” [Tourtellot] Frequently, Adams and Clarke sat up late into the night reading and conversing. During these exchanges Adams must have taken an accurate measure of Clarke’s pervasive influence.
From "Crossing the River"
The High Whig leader rested his head against the cushioned chair back. … During Adams and Hancock’s stay Clarke had been Adams’s advisor and obliging confidant. This particular night Adams wanted much more.
“So, Samuel, once again you will have your Tea Act.”
“Your meaning, Jonas?” Adams answered, not the least surprised at the Reverend’s insight.
The minister placed the book he had been about to read on the circular table next to his chair. He covered his yawning mouth. “You will devise a way to capitalize on this forthcoming invasion.” He crossed his left leg over his right, placed his huge hands on his left knee.
“An opportunity our timorous friends who assemble at Concord would forfeit!”
“Ah. The 'half-way patriots' again.”
“We have them similarly in the Provincial Congress!”
…
“Our people haven't the will to force the separation! They wish to defend only what they have!” Cradling his elbows, he scowled at the burning logs. “It seems they are satisfied with their ill-equipped militia! This past week their delegates argued endlessly about the rules and regulations of this Massachusetts paper army! If the redcoats do this, only then will the army do that. A half of nothing, Jonas, is nothing!”
Clarke raised a long forefinger. “The redcoats wish now to change the equation,” he said authoritatively.
“When they do, we do not need speeches about it!”
They had arrived at the destination he had sought. He would proceed now deliberately, persuasively.
“We do not need finely-worded resolutions! We need an event, Jonas, that will enflame the passions of our people, an event that will embolden, nay compel, every half-way patriot to one course of action!”
Red fissures in the bottom log snapped.
“Independence, Samuel, can only be obtained by force. What precisely would you have happen that would inspire the most cautious of our people to fight?”
He knows. Am I surprised? I am not. But I will say it. And he will agree. “Martyrs, Jonas. A dozen martyrs.”
Reverend Clarke had summoned John Parker to his house after midnight. Thereafter, Parker had met with his men. Their majority decision had been not to muster on the common but to gather where they would not be “discovered.” Parker met a second time with Clarke, with Adams likely attending. Later, when John Hancock walked to the village common to interact with Parker’s militiamen, Sam Adams accompanied him. Adams and Clarke had had both the time and the opportunity to change Parker's mind about how the captain’s men were to be employed.
He [Major John Pitcairn] had his first good look at them. They were dressed in jerkin; they were wearing wide brimmed hats. They were few in number, fifty or sixty maybe. They were standing wide-legged. He had expected 500.
He despised exaggeration. If he were to effect a peaceful resolution, his men would have to march to Concord with charged muskets. Who in the ranks would fire a ball into the back of the cove in front of him? Fate, craving entertainment, pounced upon such opportunity!
He could not ignore the townspeople’s disobedience. Encountering them armed upon his return would not answer. To confiscate their weapons, he would have to threaten them. Two hundred fifty against sixty. Mustered sullenly in the middle of their parade field, they had the look of street brawlers outside an oft-frequented kiddley. Prideful men! Behind upstairs window curtains the town’s cowards watched!
He didn't want to slay them. Neither had General Gage. Neither he nor the General could prevent these men from insisting on it. Damned, prideful rebels!
Any account of the events that occurred at Lexington April 19, 1775, must attempt to answer this question: Why did Captain John Parker position militiamen provocatively on the town common?
Most historians believe that Samuel Adams, using Reverend Jonas Clarke’s influence, persuaded him to.
Captain Parker had met with many of his militiamen at about 1 a. m. They had decided not to take a stand against the British but place themselves instead where they would not be “discovered.” The decision was in keeping with the way militiamen preferred to fight, from behind walls and trees and out of houses. It would be what we would expect from Parker and those of his militia who were veterans of the French and Indian War. Nevertheless, when the British troops arrived at the Common, Parker had placed a majority of his men in a clearly visible location.
Reverend Jonas Clarke had been Lexington’s preacher for two decades. A graduate of Harvard, Clarke was learned, domineering, physically imposing. Over the years Clarke and Parker had developed a companionable albeit inequitable friendship. Clarke, the advisor and teacher, had sought to elevate in different ways the simple, sincere farmer: getting him elected captain of the militia, for instance. Lending him numerous books.
Jonas Clarke's opposition to Parliament's restrictive colonial policy is clearly stated in the town's resolves, all of which he wrote. About the Stamp Act he declared: “We have always looked upon men as a set of beings naturally free … that a people can never be divested of those invaluable rights and liberties which are necessary to the happiness of individuals, to the well-beings of communities or to a well regulated state, but by their own negligence, imprudence, timidity or rashness. They are seldom lost, but when foolishly forfeited or tamely resigned.” In 1773, after Parliament had awarded the East India Tea Company a monopoly of the colonial tea business, Clarke wrote that any citizen of Lexington discovered purchasing or consuming the tea “shall be looked upon as an enemy to this town and to this country, and shall by this town be treated with neglect and contempt.” In response to Parliament’s Coercive Acts, Clarke, writing for Lexington, declared, “We shall be ready to sacrifice our estates and everything dear in life, yea and life itself, in support of the common cause.” Clarke's political position during these years was identical to that of the radical Boston patriots.
Samuel Adams's long opposition to England's coercive policy is well documented. Achieving a complete separation from England was his consuming passion. His greatest political skill prior to the war was his ability to manipulate. Arthur Bernon Tourtellot in "William Diamond’s Drum" states: “In his long and persistent effort Samuel Adams made use of every person, every prejudice, every element, every fear, and every aspiration in colonial society. By patient, skillful, strong-minded, and often ruthless work he finally welded together forces of such dynamic drive that it is difficult to believe that any of his contemporaries fully understood them.”
An important facet of Adams' manipulative skill was a technique that Tourtellot calls “dramatic violence.” Beginning with his use of the mobs of Boston to thwart stamp tax collectors, he used this technique “again and again, always at an opportune time and always with masterful effect--not least of which was the mobs' inciting of the British troops to fire on a group of mobsters in 1770, creating the long politically useful Boston Massacre.” [Tourtellot]
Notwithstanding his manipulative skills and tenacious willfulness, Adams knew he couldn’t control historical events. He did believe, however, that some events could be inspired. In the spring of 1775 he needed such an event, a dramatic happening that would destroy the inertia of timidity within the Continental Congress and Massachusetts's Provincial Congress, an event that would unite all the colonies “in such furious indignation … that they would never be reconciled.” [Tourtellot] When it was clear that General Gage intended to send an armed expedition through Lexington to Concord to destroy that town’s military stores, Adams saw his opportunity.
Adams and John Hancock had chosen to stay in Lexington during March and April while they attended the sessions of the Provincial Congress in Concord. Reverend Clarke accommodated them. Clarke's wife was a cousin of John Hancock. The Clarke House had been the house of Hancock's grandfather, the town minister whom Clarke had succeeded. Whether their stay there had been suggested by Adams or not, he definitely wanted to make use of Clarke's political standing. “Nobody could give Adams a more reliable appraisal of the capacity and willingness of the country people to resist any coercion from Gage.” [Tourtellot] Frequently, Adams and Clarke sat up late into the night reading and conversing. During these exchanges Adams must have taken an accurate measure of Clarke’s pervasive influence.
From "Crossing the River"
The High Whig leader rested his head against the cushioned chair back. … During Adams and Hancock’s stay Clarke had been Adams’s advisor and obliging confidant. This particular night Adams wanted much more.
“So, Samuel, once again you will have your Tea Act.”
“Your meaning, Jonas?” Adams answered, not the least surprised at the Reverend’s insight.
The minister placed the book he had been about to read on the circular table next to his chair. He covered his yawning mouth. “You will devise a way to capitalize on this forthcoming invasion.” He crossed his left leg over his right, placed his huge hands on his left knee.
“An opportunity our timorous friends who assemble at Concord would forfeit!”
“Ah. The 'half-way patriots' again.”
“We have them similarly in the Provincial Congress!”
…
“Our people haven't the will to force the separation! They wish to defend only what they have!” Cradling his elbows, he scowled at the burning logs. “It seems they are satisfied with their ill-equipped militia! This past week their delegates argued endlessly about the rules and regulations of this Massachusetts paper army! If the redcoats do this, only then will the army do that. A half of nothing, Jonas, is nothing!”
Clarke raised a long forefinger. “The redcoats wish now to change the equation,” he said authoritatively.
“When they do, we do not need speeches about it!”
They had arrived at the destination he had sought. He would proceed now deliberately, persuasively.
“We do not need finely-worded resolutions! We need an event, Jonas, that will enflame the passions of our people, an event that will embolden, nay compel, every half-way patriot to one course of action!”
Red fissures in the bottom log snapped.
“Independence, Samuel, can only be obtained by force. What precisely would you have happen that would inspire the most cautious of our people to fight?”
He knows. Am I surprised? I am not. But I will say it. And he will agree. “Martyrs, Jonas. A dozen martyrs.”
Reverend Clarke had summoned John Parker to his house after midnight. Thereafter, Parker had met with his men. Their majority decision had been not to muster on the common but to gather where they would not be “discovered.” Parker met a second time with Clarke, with Adams likely attending. Later, when John Hancock walked to the village common to interact with Parker’s militiamen, Sam Adams accompanied him. Adams and Clarke had had both the time and the opportunity to change Parker's mind about how the captain’s men were to be employed.
April 29, 2012
The Story behind the Story
49 Americans died on the first day of the Revolutionary War, April 19, 1775. At least another 39 Americans were wounded. 5 more were declared missing. As many as 5,000 Americans were involved during the day's fighting. As the British column fought its way from Concord to Charlestown, militia units arrived at various places, volleyed, followed, expended their 36 to 40 rounds of shot, and departed.
73 British soldiers were killed. 174 were wounded. 26 were not accounted for after the army had returned to Boston. One historian calculated that only one American musket ball out of 300 hit its mark. On average only one American out of fifteen was injured or killed by British regulars. Much of the inaccuracy can be attributed to the fact that the musket was somewhat accurate only up to 100 yards and much of the firing occurred beyond that distance. Almost all of the Americans that were killed were trapped inside houses or were surprised by flanking parties. Very few Americans were shot by soldiers on the road.
This is information not included in the LibraryThing interview of me conducted this past January. I invite you to click http://www.librarything.com/topic/131099 to read the interview.
73 British soldiers were killed. 174 were wounded. 26 were not accounted for after the army had returned to Boston. One historian calculated that only one American musket ball out of 300 hit its mark. On average only one American out of fifteen was injured or killed by British regulars. Much of the inaccuracy can be attributed to the fact that the musket was somewhat accurate only up to 100 yards and much of the firing occurred beyond that distance. Almost all of the Americans that were killed were trapped inside houses or were surprised by flanking parties. Very few Americans were shot by soldiers on the road.
This is information not included in the LibraryThing interview of me conducted this past January. I invite you to click http://www.librarything.com/topic/131099 to read the interview.
April 1, 2012
Ivory Teeth
Here are two excerpts from my novel that feature Dr. Joseph Warren. The first is a scene early in the book that refers to Paul Revere having provided Warren two artificial teeth.
"He recalled Warren’s speech a month ago, commemorating the fifth anniversary of the Boston Massacre. Warren had addressed a crowded church of agitated citizens. At least a dozen sour-faced British officers -- including Revere’s neighbor, Major John Pitcairn -- had sat in the first pew. Employing courtesy, discretion, and common sense, Warren had both delivered his message and defused hostility.
By being courtly, buoyant, Warren maintained his equilibrium. Revere’s way was single-minded absorption of the immediate task, be it a day long express ride to Portsmouth or a night patrol of the waterfront and Common.
'I, Paul, as well as any man, appreciate your skill with metal. But I am amazed at how well you fashioned these two ivory teeth. I do not eat with them, mind, but they look white, and I don't whistle when I speak.'"
This second excerpt demonstrates Warren’s exceptional courage. He and General William Heath had just witnessed the conclusion of hand-to-hand combat between a British soldier and militiaman Eliphalet Downer on the Menotomy plain.
“'Extraordinary! Beyond belief!' Recognizing that he and Warren were taking fire, Heath had then yelled, 'Doctor! Ride on!' Thirty yards away he looked back. Warren hadn’t moved.
'Doctor! God’s life! They’re sighting on us!'
'One moment.'
Taking an inordinate length of time, Warren had felt the hair above his left ear. Examining then his hand, he had released a low whistle.'
'What?!'
'Astounding.'
'What has happened?!'
'A marksman has shot off the pin to my ear lock.'”
Unlike George Washington, who could easily have been killed several times in combat during his lifetime, Warren would be spared by fate/chance/providence once.
On May 20, 1775, the Provincial Congress’s Committee of Safety directed Warren to organize the various militia companies assembled outside Boston into a provincial army. On June 14 the Congress agreed to commission Warren a major general. They had initially appointed him the army’s physician-general; but, insisting upon hazardous duty, Warren had turned the appointment down.
Two days later, June 16, tending to public business at Watertown, where the Provincial Congress was in session, cognizant that the newly constituted provincial army had an insufficient supply of ammunition, Warren questioned the wisdom of fortifying either of the two Charlestown hills. But Congress had acted. The army was atop Breed’s Hill. The following morning, the 17th, Warren met with the Committee of Safety in Cambridge; and during the afternoon, upon receiving information that British soldiers were crossing the Charles River, he rode to Breed’s Hill, suffering from a terrible headache.
General Israel Putnam, of Connecticut, told Warren he would be happy to take Warren’s orders, but the doctor replied that he was there only as a volunteer, that he had not formally received his commission. Putnam sent him to where the fighting would be the heaviest, the redoubt at the top of the hill.
Colonel William Prescott offered Warren the command of the redoubt, but again Warren declined. Eventually, their ammunition expended, Prescott’s soldiers were forced to retire. Warren was one of the last to attempt to leave. Major Small, the British officer who before the Battles of Lexington and Concord had supplied passes to citizens who wished to cross Boston Neck, recognizing the likable Warren, called for him to surrender. Smiling an acknowledgment, Warren turned away. At that moment a musket ball struck him in the face.
British soldiers buried Warren’s body in a common grave on Bunker Hill. Captain Walter Laurie later asserted that he had “stuffed the scoundrel with another rebel into one hole, and there his and his seditious principles may remain.” During the succeeding months Warren’s two brothers were kept informed of rumors of the location of Warren’s remains. After the British had evacuated Boston, the brothers attempted to locate his body.
Doctor John Jeffries, a Loyalist, had served the British as a surgeon at Breed's Hill. He had recognized Warren's body prior to its burial. Before Jeffries accompanied the British army to Halifax, Nova Scotia, he told an acquaintance in Boston where Warren could be found.
The brothers' search was aided by the rumor that Warren had been buried with a person dressed in a farmer's frock. The first body they uncovered wore that garment. The second body, in Paul Revere's words, was “disfigured.” It had lain in the ground for ten months, “our savage enimies scarce privileged with earth enough to hide it from the birds of prey.” The skull of the skeleton showed evidence of the entrance of a musket ball. Warren's brothers believed indeed that they had found Warren’s remains but only Revere could verify it. This he did, recognizing the two artificial teeth he had fastened in his friend's mouth days before April 19.
"He recalled Warren’s speech a month ago, commemorating the fifth anniversary of the Boston Massacre. Warren had addressed a crowded church of agitated citizens. At least a dozen sour-faced British officers -- including Revere’s neighbor, Major John Pitcairn -- had sat in the first pew. Employing courtesy, discretion, and common sense, Warren had both delivered his message and defused hostility.
By being courtly, buoyant, Warren maintained his equilibrium. Revere’s way was single-minded absorption of the immediate task, be it a day long express ride to Portsmouth or a night patrol of the waterfront and Common.
'I, Paul, as well as any man, appreciate your skill with metal. But I am amazed at how well you fashioned these two ivory teeth. I do not eat with them, mind, but they look white, and I don't whistle when I speak.'"
This second excerpt demonstrates Warren’s exceptional courage. He and General William Heath had just witnessed the conclusion of hand-to-hand combat between a British soldier and militiaman Eliphalet Downer on the Menotomy plain.
“'Extraordinary! Beyond belief!' Recognizing that he and Warren were taking fire, Heath had then yelled, 'Doctor! Ride on!' Thirty yards away he looked back. Warren hadn’t moved.
'Doctor! God’s life! They’re sighting on us!'
'One moment.'
Taking an inordinate length of time, Warren had felt the hair above his left ear. Examining then his hand, he had released a low whistle.'
'What?!'
'Astounding.'
'What has happened?!'
'A marksman has shot off the pin to my ear lock.'”
Unlike George Washington, who could easily have been killed several times in combat during his lifetime, Warren would be spared by fate/chance/providence once.
On May 20, 1775, the Provincial Congress’s Committee of Safety directed Warren to organize the various militia companies assembled outside Boston into a provincial army. On June 14 the Congress agreed to commission Warren a major general. They had initially appointed him the army’s physician-general; but, insisting upon hazardous duty, Warren had turned the appointment down.
Two days later, June 16, tending to public business at Watertown, where the Provincial Congress was in session, cognizant that the newly constituted provincial army had an insufficient supply of ammunition, Warren questioned the wisdom of fortifying either of the two Charlestown hills. But Congress had acted. The army was atop Breed’s Hill. The following morning, the 17th, Warren met with the Committee of Safety in Cambridge; and during the afternoon, upon receiving information that British soldiers were crossing the Charles River, he rode to Breed’s Hill, suffering from a terrible headache.
General Israel Putnam, of Connecticut, told Warren he would be happy to take Warren’s orders, but the doctor replied that he was there only as a volunteer, that he had not formally received his commission. Putnam sent him to where the fighting would be the heaviest, the redoubt at the top of the hill.
Colonel William Prescott offered Warren the command of the redoubt, but again Warren declined. Eventually, their ammunition expended, Prescott’s soldiers were forced to retire. Warren was one of the last to attempt to leave. Major Small, the British officer who before the Battles of Lexington and Concord had supplied passes to citizens who wished to cross Boston Neck, recognizing the likable Warren, called for him to surrender. Smiling an acknowledgment, Warren turned away. At that moment a musket ball struck him in the face.
British soldiers buried Warren’s body in a common grave on Bunker Hill. Captain Walter Laurie later asserted that he had “stuffed the scoundrel with another rebel into one hole, and there his and his seditious principles may remain.” During the succeeding months Warren’s two brothers were kept informed of rumors of the location of Warren’s remains. After the British had evacuated Boston, the brothers attempted to locate his body.
Doctor John Jeffries, a Loyalist, had served the British as a surgeon at Breed's Hill. He had recognized Warren's body prior to its burial. Before Jeffries accompanied the British army to Halifax, Nova Scotia, he told an acquaintance in Boston where Warren could be found.
The brothers' search was aided by the rumor that Warren had been buried with a person dressed in a farmer's frock. The first body they uncovered wore that garment. The second body, in Paul Revere's words, was “disfigured.” It had lain in the ground for ten months, “our savage enimies scarce privileged with earth enough to hide it from the birds of prey.” The skull of the skeleton showed evidence of the entrance of a musket ball. Warren's brothers believed indeed that they had found Warren’s remains but only Revere could verify it. This he did, recognizing the two artificial teeth he had fastened in his friend's mouth days before April 19.
March 17, 2012
Is There a Doctor in the House?
One of the most important rebel historical figures in Massachusetts prior to the beginning of the Revolutionary War was Doctor Joseph Warren. Had he survived the war, he would most certainly have been a major contributor to the creation and governance of our new nation. I can easily see him a member of George Washington’s cabinet, a governor of Massachusetts, a U. S. Senator or Congressman. If you have read Crossing the River, you are acquainted with him. I won’t repeat the biographical information I provided in the book. I thought, however, that you would like to know two pieces of information I left out of my narrative.
As stated in my book, “Dr. Warren was highly esteemed. He had made his name as one of two physicians who had inoculated nearly 5,000 people during the small pox epidemic of 1763.” Inoculation had not yet been widely accepted as a weapon against small pox. Many doctors had opposed it. In 1763 Warren, then twenty, had been the youngest doctor in Boston. He and a colleague, at one of two hospitals provided to quarantine the sick and inoculate the well, had treated over a thousand patients. Of the 4,977 people whom the two hospitals had inoculated, 46 died. Of the 699 people who had contracted the disease naturally, 124 died.
In March 1775 Warren spoke to a church full of citizens and British officers to commemorate the fifth anniversary of the Boston Massacre. The officers were anticipating inflammatory remarks. They had hatched a plan to retaliate. They had assigned an ensign to throw an egg at Warren as a signal that he was to be arrested. On the way to the meeting the ensign had fallen, dislocated a knee, and not attended. Had he been present, he would not have been able to throw the egg, his fall having broken it open. Enumerating the dangers of a standing army in Boston in a time of peace, Warren had refrained from called the Massacre “bloody.” Although some of the officers had hooted their displeasure, violence had not occurred.
My next blog entry will recount Joseph Warren’s death.
As stated in my book, “Dr. Warren was highly esteemed. He had made his name as one of two physicians who had inoculated nearly 5,000 people during the small pox epidemic of 1763.” Inoculation had not yet been widely accepted as a weapon against small pox. Many doctors had opposed it. In 1763 Warren, then twenty, had been the youngest doctor in Boston. He and a colleague, at one of two hospitals provided to quarantine the sick and inoculate the well, had treated over a thousand patients. Of the 4,977 people whom the two hospitals had inoculated, 46 died. Of the 699 people who had contracted the disease naturally, 124 died.
In March 1775 Warren spoke to a church full of citizens and British officers to commemorate the fifth anniversary of the Boston Massacre. The officers were anticipating inflammatory remarks. They had hatched a plan to retaliate. They had assigned an ensign to throw an egg at Warren as a signal that he was to be arrested. On the way to the meeting the ensign had fallen, dislocated a knee, and not attended. Had he been present, he would not have been able to throw the egg, his fall having broken it open. Enumerating the dangers of a standing army in Boston in a time of peace, Warren had refrained from called the Massacre “bloody.” Although some of the officers had hooted their displeasure, violence had not occurred.
My next blog entry will recount Joseph Warren’s death.
February 24, 2012
Stealing Candy
One writing activity I had some of my eighth grade English classes do involved playacting. I had my students observe and write what unsuspecting students do when they are placed in stressful situations. I wanted my writers to present visual evidence of the observed person’s emotional state rather than to use lazy generalizations like “He was nervous” or “I could see he was angry.”
With my class primed to write, I would send one of my students to another classroom to bring back the selected victim, somebody I had carefully chosen, a student strong in character, self-confident, well regarded by his classmates.
When the chosen one entered my room, I put on a display of temper. I wanted to make plausible what my students were doing and I wanted to create an atmosphere that would cause my subject to be more apprehensive.
“You are to keep writing while I talk to Jack here! I don’t want to hear a sound out of any of you! I have something to clear up here! Now’s not the right time to get on my wrong side!”
I would then turn to “Jack” or “Sarah” or whoever it was, looking at me directly with not a part of his or her body moving.
“Jack, you know I keep a bag of Brach’s candy in my desk drawer, don’t you?”
Jack would respond, and several of my students would write down something about what he had just done with his hands or how specifically he had moved his feet.
“I guess you’re wondering why I asked you that question.”
Jack, answering or nodding, presented something else for my students to record.
“Well, here it is!” I would then look up and glare at a student in one of the rear seats. “Hemsley, I told you I wanted no fooling around! Right?! Right?!” Hemsley would answer. “Noon detention! Be here five minutes after the bell!”
Then back to Jack. “I’ll get right to the point. I was a bit surprised when one of my students told me he saw you looking into the desk drawer yesterday. I checked it out and found a bunch of my candy gone. I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I want to hear what you have to say.”
Jack would say something, professing his innocence; then I would end it. I’d immediately give him several candies. I would tell him he had been called in to be the subject of a writing assignment, that I had chosen him because he was a strong individual well-respected by his classmates, and that he was welcome to stay a few minutes to watch the next victim be interrogated and observed. I would have several students read their visual detail observations. I would suggest how some of their sentences could be tightened up and made more visual. I would then send my messenger off to bring back our next victim.
I especially appreciate writers that employ sharp sensory detail especially in scenes that have dialogue. I know that a writer doesn’t have the time to observe and record in his mind all the little things people do while they converse; but occasionally he or she should use precise sensory detail to convey emotion or at least a sense of presence.
As I would tell my students, show what you see; don’t generalize.
With my class primed to write, I would send one of my students to another classroom to bring back the selected victim, somebody I had carefully chosen, a student strong in character, self-confident, well regarded by his classmates.
When the chosen one entered my room, I put on a display of temper. I wanted to make plausible what my students were doing and I wanted to create an atmosphere that would cause my subject to be more apprehensive.
“You are to keep writing while I talk to Jack here! I don’t want to hear a sound out of any of you! I have something to clear up here! Now’s not the right time to get on my wrong side!”
I would then turn to “Jack” or “Sarah” or whoever it was, looking at me directly with not a part of his or her body moving.
“Jack, you know I keep a bag of Brach’s candy in my desk drawer, don’t you?”
Jack would respond, and several of my students would write down something about what he had just done with his hands or how specifically he had moved his feet.
“I guess you’re wondering why I asked you that question.”
Jack, answering or nodding, presented something else for my students to record.
“Well, here it is!” I would then look up and glare at a student in one of the rear seats. “Hemsley, I told you I wanted no fooling around! Right?! Right?!” Hemsley would answer. “Noon detention! Be here five minutes after the bell!”
Then back to Jack. “I’ll get right to the point. I was a bit surprised when one of my students told me he saw you looking into the desk drawer yesterday. I checked it out and found a bunch of my candy gone. I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I want to hear what you have to say.”
Jack would say something, professing his innocence; then I would end it. I’d immediately give him several candies. I would tell him he had been called in to be the subject of a writing assignment, that I had chosen him because he was a strong individual well-respected by his classmates, and that he was welcome to stay a few minutes to watch the next victim be interrogated and observed. I would have several students read their visual detail observations. I would suggest how some of their sentences could be tightened up and made more visual. I would then send my messenger off to bring back our next victim.
I especially appreciate writers that employ sharp sensory detail especially in scenes that have dialogue. I know that a writer doesn’t have the time to observe and record in his mind all the little things people do while they converse; but occasionally he or she should use precise sensory detail to convey emotion or at least a sense of presence.
As I would tell my students, show what you see; don’t generalize.
December 19, 2011
Leap in the Dark
"We must walk consciously only part way toward our goal, and then leap in the dark to our success." -- Henry David Thoreau
I began my walk 17 years ago after I retired from teaching. My original purpose was to write a semi-fictional account of the Battles of Lexington and Concord for eighth grade students to enjoy. Later, I decided to expand the manuscript, develop the characters, and create a story that I hoped would appeal to adults. I wanted my story to be expressive, reflective, character driven, and historically accurate. I wanted it published to provide my children and grandchildren a unique remembrance.
Being a retired English teacher, I began the project with specific notions of what constitues "good writing." I discovered that writing well over many pages is damn difficult! Eliminating badly phrased passages was like pulling weeds. Each time I returned to a revised passage, I'd find weeds overlooked and new ones sprouting. "Crossing the River" is the end product of layers and layers of revised writing.
Writing well was difficult. Finding a publisher was exasperating.
Mainline publishing firms print almost exclusively the works of established writers. Why? Because readers buy books written by authors they recognize. Unpublished writers have virtually no change of breaking through. Publishers don't want to read their manuscripts. Unsolicited manuscripts get tossed. A mainline publishing house will take a look at such a manuscript only if it is recommended by a literary agent whose opinion the firm respects.
To have any chance of being published by a main-line firm, somebody like me has to entice a reputable agent to take an objective look at his work. Many agents will accept your query letter and sometimes a sample chapter or two, but you have to present them something brilliantly written and broadly marketable. An unpublished writer has almost no chance of obtaining an agent. 55 agents emailed or wrote me back that they didn't want to look at my manuscript and 59 agents never bothered to respond.
So what does a frustrated amateur do about such rejection?
You can pay a printing company to print 100 copies of your book. Your work will not be listed on internet sites like amazon.com, you will have to publicize and sell the books yourself, and you will have a huge postage cost to pay when your books arrive from the printer.
You can try to connect with a "small" publishing company, a "niche" company; many aspiring writers do. I approached the owner of one such company and was told that I would have to do considerable rewriting to make my book attractive to "average" readers. The hell with that! I thought. I don't accept your judgment. What I write has to please me! The experience persuaded me to investigate a third approach, the "print on demand" (POD) publisher method.
You pay a POD publisher to convert your manuscript to a hardback and/or paperback format, design your cover and/or book jacket, convert your manuscript to electronic book form, copyright the book and assign it a registration number required for internet and bookstore sales, provide access to internet book sale sites like amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com, and print and ship your book to the customers that purchase it. I read horror stories about poorly printed books and unresponsive service representatives. I read that POD publishers print just about anything they receive, are called "vanity publishers" by mainline publishing houses, and make almost all of their profits off what writers like me are will to pay them up front.
The POD company that published my book advertises itself as being particular about what it prints and being ethical in its business practices. It rejects 90% of what unpublished writers submit. It refuses to "upsell" authors (for instance, pressuring an author to have his manuscript edited by an "editor" for an extra fee). It wants to print good-quality manuscripts because it expects to make most of its profits from the sales of its clients' books.
I was told that the company's criteria for accepting a submission is that the writing must compel the reader to want to continue reading, have few writing errors, and be saleable. I was pleased that they accepted me. I am quite satisfied with their service and support.
What then remains? A lot. How do I inform readers that my novel exists?
I began my walk 17 years ago after I retired from teaching. My original purpose was to write a semi-fictional account of the Battles of Lexington and Concord for eighth grade students to enjoy. Later, I decided to expand the manuscript, develop the characters, and create a story that I hoped would appeal to adults. I wanted my story to be expressive, reflective, character driven, and historically accurate. I wanted it published to provide my children and grandchildren a unique remembrance.
Being a retired English teacher, I began the project with specific notions of what constitues "good writing." I discovered that writing well over many pages is damn difficult! Eliminating badly phrased passages was like pulling weeds. Each time I returned to a revised passage, I'd find weeds overlooked and new ones sprouting. "Crossing the River" is the end product of layers and layers of revised writing.
Writing well was difficult. Finding a publisher was exasperating.
Mainline publishing firms print almost exclusively the works of established writers. Why? Because readers buy books written by authors they recognize. Unpublished writers have virtually no change of breaking through. Publishers don't want to read their manuscripts. Unsolicited manuscripts get tossed. A mainline publishing house will take a look at such a manuscript only if it is recommended by a literary agent whose opinion the firm respects.
To have any chance of being published by a main-line firm, somebody like me has to entice a reputable agent to take an objective look at his work. Many agents will accept your query letter and sometimes a sample chapter or two, but you have to present them something brilliantly written and broadly marketable. An unpublished writer has almost no chance of obtaining an agent. 55 agents emailed or wrote me back that they didn't want to look at my manuscript and 59 agents never bothered to respond.
So what does a frustrated amateur do about such rejection?
You can pay a printing company to print 100 copies of your book. Your work will not be listed on internet sites like amazon.com, you will have to publicize and sell the books yourself, and you will have a huge postage cost to pay when your books arrive from the printer.
You can try to connect with a "small" publishing company, a "niche" company; many aspiring writers do. I approached the owner of one such company and was told that I would have to do considerable rewriting to make my book attractive to "average" readers. The hell with that! I thought. I don't accept your judgment. What I write has to please me! The experience persuaded me to investigate a third approach, the "print on demand" (POD) publisher method.
You pay a POD publisher to convert your manuscript to a hardback and/or paperback format, design your cover and/or book jacket, convert your manuscript to electronic book form, copyright the book and assign it a registration number required for internet and bookstore sales, provide access to internet book sale sites like amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com, and print and ship your book to the customers that purchase it. I read horror stories about poorly printed books and unresponsive service representatives. I read that POD publishers print just about anything they receive, are called "vanity publishers" by mainline publishing houses, and make almost all of their profits off what writers like me are will to pay them up front.
The POD company that published my book advertises itself as being particular about what it prints and being ethical in its business practices. It rejects 90% of what unpublished writers submit. It refuses to "upsell" authors (for instance, pressuring an author to have his manuscript edited by an "editor" for an extra fee). It wants to print good-quality manuscripts because it expects to make most of its profits from the sales of its clients' books.
I was told that the company's criteria for accepting a submission is that the writing must compel the reader to want to continue reading, have few writing errors, and be saleable. I was pleased that they accepted me. I am quite satisfied with their service and support.
What then remains? A lot. How do I inform readers that my novel exists?
