Exploring Early America: Conflict, Folklore, and Memory
On May 20, 1776, Deacon John Torrey, a seasoned leader of the church congregation and town government in Plymouth, Massachusetts, held in his hand a document on a crucial subject—one that he had helped draft. It was Plymouth’s answer to the great question pressing upon every colony. Had the time come to declare independence? By [ ]
The British famously evacuated Boston on March 17, 1776. It is still remembered as “Evacuation Day” and its 250th anniversary was just this past week celebrated in Boston with many events. The departure of British forces from Boston brought an end to their long occupation of the town. But the story did not end there. [ ]
We resume following the memoir of Surgeon s Mate James Thacher, who became a prominent resident of Plymouth after the war. 250 years ago today, he observed great moments in the culmination of the Siege of Boston. We have already reviewed his observations of the occupation of Dorchester Heights. After that movement, the situation in Boston [ ]
We resume following young James Thacher, a Surgeon’s Mate in the Continental Army, as he took part in the occupation of Dorchester Heights on March 5, 1776. I should note that Thacher’s journal is one of the best sources on this historic military maneuver and a good deal of what we know about it is [ ]
On March 4, 1776, James Thacher, Surgeon’s Mate in the Continental Army, stood in the American camp at Roxbury and watched one of the most remarkable military operations of the Revolutionary War begin to unfold before his eyes. For days the fortifications in and around Boston had been roaring with artillery. In the American lines, [ ]
James Thacher would become a distinguished citizen, physician, and historian of Plymouth after the Revolutionary War. But 250 years ago today, on March 2, 1776, he was as yet neither a physician nor a historian. He was a young Surgeon’s Mate in the Continental Army, standing in the cold earthworks at Roxbury, Massachusetts, watching Boston [ ]
He had never seen so much mud in his life. The road into Roxbury was a brown river churned by boots and wagon wheels, and his shoes—good, workmanship from his own bench—were already soaked through and caked with earth from the road. Ahead, the land rose in ragged ridges of earthworks, raw banks of clay [ ]
As this year draws to a close, we approach a small but meaningful anniversary. Two hundred and fifty years ago, on December 31, 1775, the First Plymouth County Regiment, commanded by Colonel Theophilus Cotton of Plymouth, disbanded. The men came home from the muddy fields and earthen ramparts of Roxbury, their enlistments complete. Their regiment—one [ ]
Forefathers’ Day, observed on December 21 nowadays, began as a genteel celebration of the Pilgrims’ landing but soon turned into a political tug-of-war in Plymouth on the eve of the American Revolution. The holiday’s origin in 1769 was straightforward enough: a private club’s tribute to “our worthy ancestors.” Yet within a few years, Forefathers’ Day [ ]
The coach jolted and swayed as it passed along the deeply rutted road, pulled by a pair of weary horses moving at a slow walk. Their journey to Plymouth was nearly done. Having been waylaid changing horses in Hingham, they were now losing the sun. On one side of the road, bare branches caught the [ ]
In the 1830s, Plymouth’s whaling fleet reached its zenith. From James Bartlett’s original ventures, the town’s merchants and tradesmen had expanded the undertaking into a respectable flotilla, owned by shifting syndicates and captained by a mix of Nantucket veterans and ambitious locals. In the early 1830s Plymouth was still adding large whalers to its fleet. [ ]
[In Part One of this tale, I told a creative version of Plymouth’s whaling story through the voice of a fictitious old salt. What follows now is the true history—Part Two: the rise of Plymouth’s whaling fleet. Part Three, to come, will recount the remarkable and tragic fall of the enterprise.] On Leyden Street, the [ ]
The tavern was dim and close, thick with the smell of rum and woodsmoke. In the darkest corner sat an old salt, bent over a long pipe. His beard was white and bristly, his face deeply lined and weathered, like leather tanned by forty years of sun and spray. His eyes squinted, nearly hidden under [ ]
I perhaps should save this tale for this fall when we reach the 250th anniversary of the event. But I was just recounting it during a recent lecture, and with the details still fresh in my mind, I figured I should write a post… In the fall of 1775, with the Siege of Boston at [ ]
I watched the sun rise today as I do most days, but with a different perspective. It is the solstice—the longest day, the hinge of the year—and I found myself thinking about how others have marked this turning point through the ages. Only later in the day did my thoughts turn to Ralph Waldo Emerson [ ]