Tag Archives: America 250

Salem 250: Revolutionary Residences

So many towns around us have had house and walking tours featuring houses connected to prominent patriots for this big anniversary year, but not Salem. It’s not surprising. The Witch Trials are an eclipse that darkens so much of our city’s history, and Salem’s myriad roles in the Revolution have been relatively ignored for the last century or so, not only by locals but also by academic historians. For overviews, there are some great journal articles, and now a book, by Richard J. Morris, and we made our author, Hans Schwartz, compress the entire Revolution (as well as Salem’s role as pre-revolutionary provincial capital) into a 5,000-word chapter in Salem’s Centuries. There are references to Salem’s pre-revolutionary resistance in several general texts on the Revolution, and an entire volume on Leslie’s Retreat by Peter Hoffer. Scholars cannot ignore the fact that Salem was a major, if not the major privateering port, so there’s some good coverage there. But that’s about it, and very little of this scholarship has impacted Salem’s public history, with the notable exception of the annual reenactments of Leslie’s Retreat. My deep dive into Salem history over the past few years has convinced me that the Revolution is the era of opportunity for Salem historians and I hope they step up! There are many stories which have yet to be told. In the meantime, however, I put together my own Revolutionary house tour, designed to highlight both prominent and not-so-prominent Salem patriots—and architecture, of course. This is by no means exhaustive, just a start really.

Several successful privateers became even more successful merchants after the Revolution, and their houses have always been notable, so I’ll start with the Derby Street houses of Captains Simon Forrester and Edward Allen. Forrester is a storied privateer/merchant, and not only because he emigrated from Ireland on Daniel Hawthorne’s ship, married the captain’s daughter, and thus was connected to Nathaniel Hawthorne as “Old Simon Forrester.” The wealth that he attained both during and after the Revolution add to the story, as does his drinking, about which some of his memorialists get a bit defensive. But he commanded or had interests in 7 privateers during the Revolution, beginning with the very successful Rover. I’ve always thought that his house, at 188 Derby Street, is in the perfect location overlooking Salem Harbor. Further down the street and on the other side at #125 is the Capt. Edward Allen house, built by the commander of the South Carolina naval brigantine Comet: presumably he was rewarded with that command after bringing Charleston news of the Battles of Lexington and Concord in his Salem ship Industry. Both the Continental Congress and individual states commissioned naval ships during the Revolution, and Massachusetts was a center of recruitment for both. While I was in the Derby Street neighborhood, I searched for the house of the Lt. Colonel Samuel Carlton, my candidate for Salem’s most illustrious Revolutionary warrior. Carlton created his own company right after Bunker Hill, and was with Washington at Valley Forge. There, he wrote letters documenting the suffering of the troops; indeed he offers the most poignant characterizations of the suffering shoeless soldiers of Valley Forge. There, he suffered himself, so much so that he had to leave service and was paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, the Reverend William Bentley wrote that no man endured so much with greater patience upon his death. Carlton has a lovely gravestone in Howard Street Cemetery, but he deserves more: he definitely deserves his own post, an article, a book, a memorial. I couldn’t even find his house: Bentley refers to it as located on Union Street, and a genealogical account describes it as “three stories with narrow eaves,” so #s 8 1/2 and 22 are my best candidates, but it may be gone.

When “revolutionary remembrance” started in the 1820s and 1830s, the most famous Salem veterans were Timothy Pickering, Stephen Abbot and Jesse Smith. Pickering was successively a Colonel, Adjutant General and Quartermaster General during the Revolution, and Secretary of War and State afterwards, so his prominence made his family’s first-period house Salem’s key revolutionary touchstone and I think it remains so. Abbot served as a captain in several companies of the Massachusetts 15th Regiment from the beginning of the revolution through 1780, and founded Salem’s 2nd Corps of Cadets after the war, and was also appointed a major general in the Second Division of the Massachusetts Militia. President Washington visited both the Pickering and Abbot houses when he came to Salem in 1789, but Abbot’s house is long gone, from at least 1912, when its remains were incorporated into a Chestnut Street carriage house. Jesse Smith (1756-1844) was not a Salem native or soldier, but he moved to this town of opportunity in the later years of the Revolution, and really became famous for being a veteran decades later. He was at Lexington and Concord, and Bunker Hill, Brandywine, Germantown and Monmouth, after which he became a member of General Washington’s prestigious Life Guards. He became a shipmaster in Salem after the war, and because of both his service and  longevity, lived to see and represent Salem in a series of Revolutionary commemorations. He was not a wealthy man, but a prominent one, and while he lived out his last days boarding at 14 Beckford Street (third image below), his fellow citizens saw fit to erect an elaborate monument to him upon his death, with inscriptions of his service and a pillar topped by George Washington’s bust (which has since disappeared) in Salem’s newest and most fashionable cemetery, Harmony Grove.

Funerary monument of Jesse Smith, Harmony Grove Cemetery, c. 1890s, Frank Cousins Collection of Glass Plate Negatives, Phillips Library of the Peabody Essex Museum, via Digital Commonwealth.

Next up, we have more humble “soldiers of the Massachusetts line”: you can find a concentration of their houses along Federal and River streets–in perfect proximity for a walking tour!

First up is this wonderful house at 114 Federal Street built in the last year of the Revolution by Colonel John Page. Page was a Marblehead native who signed up for John Glover’s regiment right after Lexington and Concord. He served for a year, then came back to Massachusetts and moved to Salem, where he become Colonel of the Militia. In that role, he volunteered for service in Samuel Flagg’s Company at the Battle of Rhode Island, the first joint military operation between American and French forces, in August of 1778. The next house is the rare double back-to-back Federal built by the famous Sanderson brothers, among Salem’s most famous and productive cabinent makers. Neither Elijah or Jacob were soldiers, but they were Lexington natives who were very much there during the Battles of Lexington and Concord, both in terms of engagment and testimony, so their house needs to be on a Revolutionary residence tour. Across the way, I’d love to include another post-revolutionary house (Salem experienced a major building boom in the 1780s and 1790s, largely because of privateering—compare to Marblehead!) built by Joseph Felt, but I can’t quite confirm that the builder/dweller was the same Joseph Felt who served in Capts. Benjamin Ward Jr.’s and Miles Greenwood’s Companies in 1776-1777.  Pinning down soldiers is difficult: we have digitized service, pension, and service records, but they contain ommissions and contradictions (and there are a lot of Felts.) The last house in the group below, at 175 Federal Street, was most definitely the dwelling of Joshua Cross, who served in Major-General Charles Lee’s Life Guard under the command of the heroic Benjamin Gould from Topsfield.

Circling back to adjacent River Street, there are the houses of Stephen Driver at #18 and John Chandler at #7. According to their pension applications, Driver was a corporal in two companies, Capt. Addison Richard’s and Capt. Joseph Swasey’s, from 1775-1777, and Chandler served as 2nd Lieutenant in John Crane’s and Capt. Drury’s companies in Henry Knox’s Regiment over a slightly shorter period. I thought Chandler might have been part of the Knox Artillery Train, but Crane (another super hero) stayed near Boston. All of these guys (including Knox) were in their twenties, and I am grateful for their service as well as these material reminders.


Monmouth Memorials

I was down in New Jersey for a celebration of life event for a cherished member of my husband’s family over the weekend, and as the region where he grew up, Monmouth County in the central part of the state, is a veritable crossroads of the American Revolution, I took advantage of a free and beautiful afternoon to see a recreation of the 1778 Battle of Monmouth on its preserved battlefield. It was a large gathering of Patriots of different-colored coats and Redcoats, who also featured variant regimental uniforms. And there were also Revolutionary medical officers, chaplains, cooks and assorted camp followers. Everyone was very dedicated to their tasks at hand, and so I was inspired to look around the county for more Revolutionary places, including the Englishtown Inn which served as General Washington’s headquarters as well as the site of the retreating General Lee’s court-martial two days after the battle and the beautiful Old Tennent Presbyterian Church which became a shrine to the battle dead. In contrast to the battlefield, all was very quiet at the Church, which is surrounded by a graveyard with the marked graves of Revolutionary veterans, including two young men from Massachusetts and a British Lt. Colonel buried far from home.

The Battle of Monmouth’s most famous (composite) heroine, Molly Pitcher, was everywhere of course, including my sister-in-law’s house when I got home late in the afternoon—at the center of a battle watercolor in one of my favorite aesthetics, “mid-century colonial”! She (my sister-in-law, not Molly Pitcher) wasn’t really sure of how she came to possess this scene or its artist, so if you have any clues about the latter, let me know. I really like this depiction, and compared to the works of  Currier & Ives and their successors, it is very measured Molly: generally she is depicted as the central figure.

Currier & Ives, “The Heroine of Monmouth,” 1876, Museum of the American Revolution.

The weekend ended on a poignant note when other sisters-in-law took me to see the County’s 9/11 Memorial in Atlantic Highlands, atop Mount Mitchill with the surviving and new towers of New York City in the distance. An eagle clutching a beam from one of the fallen towers, with the names of all the (147) victims from the towns of Monmouth County inscribed below, it manages to merge the national and the local very effectively, just like the Revolutionary memorials to the south.


Philly Love

We were in Pennsylvania for the last leg of our spring road trip, principally, but not exclusively, in Philadelphia. I’ve been to Philadelphia many times for different reasons, but this was definitely my favorite visit. It certainly wasn’t the weather—it was as unseasonably cold as it was elsewhere for most of the time we were there. Since we really slowed down and confined most of our touring, eating and drinking to the Old City it was most definitely the architecture, but it was also seeing so many people coming for the history, and being awed by it. Being a Revolutionary War tourist is really fun: I plan to keep on doing it all year long. There were crowds and crowds of color-coded t-shirt-wearing middle schoolers along with many foreign tourists in Independence National Historic Park, and the rangers handled it all in stride, with joy actually. We saw all the usual things, took in some special tours on historic preservation and taverns, made our own little Benjamin Franklin tour, visited the Museum of the American Revolution for the first time, and ate and drank at some great restaurants. The one thing I was a bit surprised about was all the construction going on—I assumed that projects would be completed for Philly’s big year—but it certainly did not detract from our experience. I’m looking forward to going back more often.

Just walking, beginning with Elfreth’s Alley. Philly seems to have figured out how to accomodate tourists and residents at the same time. Very clean streets, no huge walking tours (I saw no more than 20), no microphones.

Independence National Historic Park, including the Benjamin Franklin Museum:

I now have seen Declaration of Independence exhibits in SIX states and the These Truths exhibition at the American Philosophical is my favorite: it’s small but mighty, and manages to be incredibly dynamic by showing how the Declaration changes over time. This was certainly emphasized by the commissioned “Re-Declaration” project of Johanna Drucker, whose Declaration is a historical/contemporary study of the power of graphic design and punctuation. Then we were off to the Powel House, as it was on my punch list of mid-eighteenth-century mid-Atlantic Georgian houses. The home of Samuel Powel, the “Patriot Mayor” who served as the last colonial mayor of Philadelphia and the first “American” one, the highlight for me was the second-floor ballroom.

And finally, my first visit to the relatively new Museum of the American Revolution! There is an extended chronological exhibition which takes you through the Revolution in most of the building, a gallery for rotating exhibitions currently featuring a thoughtful examination of the Declaration of Independence’s “journey,” and then of course Washington’s Tent, the centerpiece of its collection. We ended up here on a rainy Saturday, so it was quite crowded, but the museum’s design seemed to handle everyone very well, and still provided a bit of intimacy in some of the galleries—I managed to be almost alone in the privateering gallery, sitting on a model ship with only a woman and her adorable baby in view (I was searching for Salem here and didn’t find much). The main exhibition had a very effective ending: with the amazing photographs of Revolution veterans and combatants from the mid-19th century on one wall, adjoining an assortment of mirrors surrounding the statement: MEET THE FUTURE of the American Revolution.


Personal Declarations

I would love to hear about Revolutionary exhibitions, programs and events sheduled for your area in this 250th anniversary year: 1776 is certainly alive and well in the Boston area! Since I’m on sabbatical, I’ve been able to attend quite a few happenings, and my favorite collaborative initiative is the Declarations Trail, on which four institutions, the Boston Athenaeum, the Massachusetts Historical Society, the Boston Public Library and Harvard University’s Houghton Library, have put more than a dozen copies of the Declaration of Independence on view, “originally created in different printings for different audiences” along with lots of other contextual objects. I’ve been to the first two exhibitions at the Athenaeum and MHS, and am looking forward to the opening of the last two later this spring.

Looking at, and thinking about, these paper Declarations has got me thinking about their popular and personal reception. I am very mindful of the words of historian J.L. Bell on his great blog Boston 1775: for the first generations of Americans it was a set of words, not an object they ever saw but at the same time, I know that one of the primary functions of print is to make things more permanent, and with tangible permanance comes possession as well as remembrance. Following that trail in my mind brought me to textile Declarations in general and Declaration handkerchiefs in particular–because there seems to have been a market for these words that you could literally put in your pocket. That market did not really develop until the first era of remembrance for the American Revolution—the 1820s, approaching its 50th anniversary with participants dying—but then it really took off. A great book (Threads of History. Americana Recorded on Cloth 1775 to the Present by Smithsonian curator Herbert R. Collins), an archived exhibition at the Museum of the American Revolution, and numerous auction archives introduced me to the copperplate-printed handkerchiefs produced by William Gillespie & Sons in Scotland for the American market beginning in 1821. Produced in blue, black and red colorways, there’s a blue one coming up at auction next week at Eldred’s Auctions, and this spectacular red textile was the banner lot at an important Sotheby’s auction in 2023. A black (more sepia) handkerchief was sold by Swann Auction Galleries in 2023, and the Yale University Art Gallery has a similar one, as well as a centennial quilt from fifty years later sewn around the same: what a perfect object linking two eras of patriotic remembrance.

Textiles seem less ephemeral than paper, so I assume that the Declaration handkerchiefs of the 1820s were in demand as commemorative items, but it’s important to remember that this was also an era that the Declaration was being issued as separate broadside for the first time too–it was evolving from words into an object which could take several forms. The motifs that were featured on these textiles, including the “chain” of states, big Revolutionary moments, and the founding fathers, will reappear again and again. Fifty years later, the Centennial will inspire another wave of patriotic production, but those objects will be more familiar than introductory.