Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Katie Turner Getty.
Towering over Charlestown, Massachusetts, its foundation set in sacred battleground soil, the Bunker Hill Monument is a 221 foot obelisk commemorating the Battle of Bunker Hill. The cornerstone of the monument was laid by the Marquis De Lafayette in 1825, fifty years after the battle was fought on June 17, 1775.
Bunker Hill Monument (author collection)
Although the land surrounding the monument has been greatly developed since the battle, visitors today can get still get a sense of the 18th-century landscape just by walking through Charlestown and climbing the hill to reach Monument Square. Approaching visitors are greeted by the statue of Colonel William Prescott, the gray granite of the monument serving as an impressive backdrop behind him. Continue reading “ERW Weekender: Bunker Hill Monument & Museum”→
Daughter’s of the American Revolution (D.A.R.) Monument, Eutaw Springs Battlefield (author collection)
In many ways, the battle of Eutaw Springs was a disappointment for both commanders. Greene’s troops at one point broke through the British lines, but they recovered, and the Americans failed to drive them off the field. Stewart, in a letter to Cornwallis, wrote that there were two things he would regret the rest of his life: the loss of an early morning supply gathering party and his lack of cavalry. Having them, he felt, would have enabled him to decisively defeat Greene. Probably both commanders, and many of their officers, reflected upon these events and second guessed themselves for the rest of their days. Although both armies fought well at Eutaw Springs, a clear cut victory eluded both of them. Continue reading “After Eutaw Springs”→
Emerging Revolutionary War is honored to welcome back historian Katie Turner Getty. Biography of Ms. Getty is below the post.
On April 19, 1775, the placid farm of fifty-eight-year-old Jason Russell of Menotomy erupted into carnage when he, along with eleven other Americans, were shot and bayonetted by British soldiers in his home and yard.
Jason Russell House (author collection)
As American militia and minutemen poured in from surrounding towns, the British—fatigued yet furious—found themselves under increasingly heavy musket fire. As they pulled back from Concord and retreated to Boston, the main column passed near Russell’s house which stood near the battle road. Russell had just returned home after secreting his family at a nearby farm. Unbeknownst to him, American minutemen and British soldiers would soon converge upon his property and a desperate battle would occur within the walls of his own house.
Earlier that day, twenty-six-year-old Gideon Foster had set off from Danvers with a company of minutemen. The men had set a scorching pace and made the sixteen mile journey to Menotomy in four hours, running half the way.[1] Upon arriving, Foster’s men joined others from Lynn, Beverly, Salem, Dedham, and Needham.[2] Some took cover behind trees and others in Russell’s yard, where a breastwork was constructed out of shingles.
The Fight at the Jason Russell House, bicentennial painting by Ruth Linnell Berry (1974). Appearing with permission from the Arlington Historical Society.
The men focused their attention on the approaching main column of British troops and fired upon them. Capt. Israel Hutchinson, a seasoned French and Indian War veteran, warned that flank-guards would likely be traversing the fields alongside the road[3], helping the main column to pass unmolested. But before the men could reconsider their position or move to a more defensible location, the flank-guard was upon them, trapping the men against the main column.
In a frantic search for cover, many of the men bolted into Russell’s house. Jason Russell, too, attempted to dash inside but was slowed by his lame leg.[4] He was shot twice and fell on his doorstep. The soldiers tore inside the house in hot pursuit of the men, bayonetting Jason Russell’s body eleven times as they passed.
Once inside the house, the Americans had no choice but to fight for their lives in rooms with no egress, in very close quarters, against raging, bayonet-wielding soldiers. It was a bloodbath. With two rooms on the bottom floor, a narrow stairwell, and two rooms on the top floor, Jason Russell’s house offered very little refuge. Soldiers outside the house hailed musket fire into the windows.
Sign depicting what happened at the Jason Russell House on April 19, 1775
With nowhere else to go, several men rushed into the cellar. What at first would seem to be an ill-advised hiding spot turned out to be the only sanctuary that Russell’s home could offer. Taking position near the bottom of the stairs, the men raised their muskets and shot dead the first soldier who descended.[5] Any other soldiers who attempted to follow were met with blazing musket fire. Holes left by musket balls are still visible in the stairwell, attesting to the firestorm.
Soon, the house grew quiet. All of the men who had sought safety in the house had been killed, with the exception of the men who took refuge in the cellar. The British ransacked the house then left.[6]
In 1835, sixty years after the bloodbath at Russell’s house, a memorial was erected in Danvers to commemorate the townsmen who lost their lives in Menotomy that day. Danvers lost the second highest number of men, after Lexington[7], and all of them at Jason Russell’s house. Foster, the commander of the company of minutemen who had ran halfway to Menotomy, was by then the last surviving Danvers veteran of the war. Aged eighty-six, he addressed the crowd assembled for the dedication of the monument and recounted the events of April 19th:
On that morning, more than one hundred of my townsmen hastened to the field of battle…ready to offer their lives on the altar of their liberties. Seven of those who thus started in the prime of life and vigor of manhood, ere that day’s sun descended in the west, were numbered with the dead.[8]
Foster called the dedication of the memorial “One of the happiest days and most pleasing events of my life.”[9]
In total, twelve Americans were killed at Jason Russell’s house. Jason’s wife, Elizabeth, returned home to find her husband dead. He and the other fallen Americans, their bodies riddled with musket balls and slashed by bayonets, had been laid out on the floor in the kitchen, the blood from their wounds pooling around them. Elizabeth later said that “the blood in the room was almost ankle deep”.[10]
Musket ball damage to the staircase of the Russell House
*Biography: Katie Turner Getty is a lawyer, history enthusiast, and lifelong resident of Boston. She holds an A.A. from Bunker Hill Community College in Charlestown, Massachusetts, a B.A. in History from Wellesley College, and a J.D. from New England Law Boston. She can often be found exploring historic sites both on and off the Freedom Trail.
Emerging Revolutionary War is pleased to welcome back historian Bert Dunkerly, who is the co-author (with Irene B. Boland) of the upcoming book; “Eutaw Springs; The Final Battle of the American Revolution’s Southern Campaign” slated to be released this month.
Part One
The weather was warm and the men had been marching for days, but their morale was high. They had been through a lot recently: caught off guard and defeated at Hobkirk’s Hill, a month of grueling siege work – and for naught, at Ninety Six. Not to mention the engagements that many of them had fought in previously: Kings Mountain, Cowpens, Guilford Courthouse, and dozens of smaller battles.
Yet the army that General Nathanael Greene led forward on the morning of September 8, 1781, was confident and ready to come to grips with its adversary. Everyone from the private in the ranks on up to the commanding general knew that ahead lay an opportunity.
Battles in the Revolution were, in fact, rare opportunities for commanders. Engagements were the short, pulse-pounding events that broke up the monotony of marching and maneuvering. An army spent most of its time in garrison, in camp, or on the road. In battle the infrequent opportunity came to crush an opponent and influence the outcome of a campaign, or the war. These chances were few and far between.
“Eutaw Springs” by Benson Lossing
Both commanders at Eutaw Springs appreciated this fact. General Nathanael Greene’s forces had experienced a series of close calls at Guilford Courthouse, Ninety Six, and Hobkirk’s Hill. The American army fought well in all of these engagements, save Hobkirk’s Hill, yet they met defeat in every one. Greene hoped Eutaw Springs would put the finishing touches on his South Carolina campaign, and end it with a clear cut victory.[i]
Eutaw Springs was a rare chance for Greene to pick the time and place of engagement, array his forces to his choosing, and initiate the battle, and control its \tempo. It was the only set engagement of the campaign, other than Guilford Courthouse, in which Greene chose the ground and initiated the battle. Commanders do not often have this luxury, and Greene earnestly hoped to make the most of it. Continue reading “Eutaw Springs”→
Leading up to the anniversary of April 19, 1775, we will be sharing some short remembrances from a few people who are from Lexington and Concord.This installment is by Rich Gillespie, a native of Lexington, Massachusetts.
If you live in Lexington, Massachusetts, the beginning of the American Revolution is an essential piece of life. The Minuteman statue dominates the center of town, the village green where the Alarm List stood to face the Regulars is much as it once was, the Town Seal seen on your friendly snowplow quotes Sam Adams’ comment to John Hancock upon hearing the firing—“Oh, What a glorious morning for America!”, and the high school’s team is predictably the Minutemen. The British marched to and from Concord within 150 yards of my 4th grade classroom, and the spring field trip was to the key sites of Lexington and Concord. My first job (as was my sister’s) was guiding visitors on Lexington Green.
Hip-hip Huzzah-Haughty British troops leave Lexington (author collection)
During the spring and summer of 1754, conflict over colonial possessions in North America erupted in western Pennsylvania. England’s military influence was ousted from the Ohio River Valley, and before the year was over the Captain-General of His Majesty’s Forces, the Duke of Cumberland, planned to dispatch regular troops to the colonies. Major General Edward Braddock, along with a thousand men of the 44th and 48th Regiments of Foot, was ordered to Virginia to organize a four-pronged summer offensive against the French at the Forks of the Ohio River, in Nova Scotia, the Great Lakes region, and along Lake Champlain. The two British regiments with Braddock had served primarily in Ireland, and possessed minimal experience in combat (Colonel Sir Peter Halkett’s 44th Regiment was lightly engaged at Culloden in 1746). Historian David Preston described the experience carried to North America by the senior and junior officers of Braddock’s expeditionary force:
While there was a growing sense of professionalism in the mid-eighteenth-century British Army, most younger officers had formed whatever expertise they possessed through studying manuals, guidebooks, and historical works by ancient and modern authors such as Thucydides, Caesar, Vegetius, and Humphrey Bland, whose Treatise of Military Discipline, first published in 1727, was the unofficial guide to basic drill and maneuver for young officers. The officers’ own lack of formal training, along with their mechanistic daily regimens, prevented them from achieving competency much beyond the level of basic training that they were expected to perfect in their soldiers. While some senior officers had tasted battle, the first test of combat leadership for many of the junior officers or subalterns came on the banks of the Monongahela.[1]
Despite the lack of battlefield experience, King George II, the Duke of Cumberland, and Braddock were confident that the “professionalism” of the regular troops would be enough to oust French forces (Troupes de la Marine, Canadian militia, and Native American auxiliaries from the Ohio River Valley and Great Lakes) from Fort Duquesne.
The first break from Vegetius’s influence and British army doctrine in the Age of Enlightenment occurred before the campaigns of 1755 even commenced. The 44th and 48th Regiments of Foot were understrength and carried with them to North America roughly 500 men each. To raise their numbers to full battalion strength – 700 men – the units were augmented with colonial levies from Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Virginia. Already lacking in experience, the addition of colonial militiamen (militias were the largest recruiting pools in the colonies) did nothing but delegitimize the “professionalism” of the two regiments. The levies, who previously only drilled once every few months or so with their respective militias, were expected to conduct themselves like British regular soldiers.
Along with the colonists augmented into the regiments of foot, the task of capturing the various French strongholds in Nova Scotia and along Lakes Champlain and Ontario that summer was given to non-regular troops. To subdue the French garrisons, small armies of colonial provincial soldiers were recruited in New England, New Jersey, and New York. Braddock’s army, too, was supplemented with provincials from Maryland, Pennsylvania, Virginia, and the Carolinas. The expeditionary force ordered to bag Fort Saint-Frédéric (Crown Point) along Lake Champlain was composed of 3,000 provincial troops with only one British regular, Captain William Eyre of the 44th Regiment of Foot, serving among them.[2] Again, these provincial regiments were entirely green (other than some veterans of various frontier services and the Louisbourg Expedition of 1745) and made up of levies and volunteers drawn predominantly from local militias. Also, attached to these armies were Native American auxiliaries, whose style of warfare was completely foreign to regular troops and far from professional. Service against and alongside these “savages” was the first exposure to irregular warfare in North America that His Majesty’s soldiers would receive. Vegetius believed that heavy reliance on auxiliaries, in this case Native Americans, colonial provincials, and colonial troops on the British military establishment, was detrimental to the performance and survival of professional units and overall cohesion.[3]
For the most part, the colonial provincials held their own on the battlefield against French forces, more so than the British regulars did early in the French and Indian War. They obtained victories in Nova Scotia, along the southern shore of Lake George in New York, and diligently defended the frontier against French and Indian raids. However, the colonists could never truly mesh with the regulars from Great Britain. British officers held them in contempt. “The Americans,” Brigadier General James Wolfe declared, “are in general the dirtiest most contemptible cowardly dogs that you can conceive. There is no depending on them in action. They fall down dead in their own dirt and desert by battalions, officers and all. Such rascals as those are rather an encumbrance than any real strength to an army.”[4]
Officers serving in North America and British authorities in London, like William Pitt, began to recognize the importance in 1758 of separating from the seemingly arrogant professionalism that the British Army had so dearly held on to. The conflict being fought in the colonies was not a conventional European war. Even as a world war was being waged elsewhere around the globe, it became evident that something needed to change if His Majesty King George II was to claim North America as his own. William Pitt, Leader of the House of Commons and Secretary of State for the Southern Department, put forth and instituted an agenda that shifted the sole focus on winning with professional soldiers in North America to building a substantial military force consisting of a majority of colonists. He ordered 20,000 colonists to be levied or recruited into provincial units. The crown would supply them the required arms, ammunition, tents, and provisions, and would reimburse the colonial assemblies for the costs of raising, clothing and paying the men. In response to this proposal, the colonies mustered over 23,000 troops for the upcoming 1758 campaigns.[5] These men complimented the 20,000 British regulars dispatched to the colonies that year. At close glance, the measure instituted by Pitt’s administration resembled France’s levée en masse in 1793 on a smaller scale.[6] This was an early example of the departure from Vegetius’s classical reliance on professional soldiers in favor of larger armies consisting of men serving shorter terms of enlistment. Discipline for these men was mild and their training was limited. “Men,” one of Vegetius’s general maxims read, “must be sufficiently tried before they are led against the enemy.”[7] Quality was displaced by quantity. This was not the only aspect of the British Army that was transforming in the wilderness of North America. The nature of the conflict was forcing a change in the way the war was being waged as well.
Edward Braddock’s expeditionary force of regulars and provincials crossed the Monongahela River on the morning of July 9, 1755 and precipitated a departure from Vegetius and Humphrey Bland’s strategic, operational, and tactical influence. Less than ten miles outside of Fort Duquesne, the 1,400-man column engaged and was easily defeated by a smaller force of Canadians and Indians fighting in an irregular manner. Braddock’s Defeat signaled an end to England’s classical style of linear warfare – it had officially met its match and was countered. Vegetius and Bland’s disciplined closed-rank formations had faltered. Vegetius wrote that, “The nature of the ground is often of more consequence than courage.”[8] However, this referred to terrain and its effect on the seven linear formations that Vegetius had presented. General engagements in Europe did not take place in thick vegetation. Maneuvering, let alone fighting, in closed-ranks was nearly impossible to accomplish smoothly in North America. As Braddock’s army had learned along the banks of the Monongahela, His Majesty’s Forces needed to adapt to the current conditions and nature of warfare in the colonies. To do so, officers needed to adjust tactically and borrow from the colonists and their Native American auxiliaries who were accustomed to loose formations and irregular warfare. Adapting meant completely altering preconceived tactical doctrine.
The Wounding of Edward Braddock at the Battle of the Monongahela, July 9, 1755
No other classical text had more of an influence on princes and young officers of the 18th century than Flavius Vegetius’s De Re Militari. For centuries, the ancient Roman manual on the art of war inspired men to professionalize the militaries of Europe. Standing armies were formed to fight for King and Country. Officers whipped their men into shape, drilling and disciplining by the book. As conflicts erupted throughout the world, the British armies took to the field waging war over royal successions. They emerged as a dominant force on the European continent. Vegetius continued to influence the conduct of His Majesty’s Forces and it appeared as if his principles were to become a mainstay in British military doctrine. Then, as the second half of the 18th century began, tension between England and France over colonial possessions in North America boiled over. By the spring of 1754, armed conflict had ignited an undeclared war in western Pennsylvania. Less than a year later two royal regiments (the 44th and 48th Regiments of Foot) had left Ireland and disembarked in the colony of Virginia.[1] In North America they were confronted by a different way of war – an unconventional one. Would Vegetius’s principles and the doctrine he influenced continue to remain true? Or could only a departure from his art and science of war prepare England’s forces to combat the new threat? War does not change, but warfare does, and Vegetius’s classical influence began to fall out of favor.
This two-part essay will demonstrate that Vegetius’s military influence on the British Army officially began to diminish during the French and Indian and American Revolutionary Wars (1754-1783). To do so, this essay will analyze Vegetius’s initial influence on England’s military thinkers and officers during the Age of Enlightenment. It will then examine why the departure from this classical military theory and science was necessary and how it transformed the way that the British Army approached war at the moral and physical levels. It will then summarize and conclude.
Flavius Vegetius Renatus was a high-ranking official in the Roman Empire during the 4th century. It is quite possible that he served in some sort of financial position for the court which would have given him insight into military matters.[2] He was not a soldier, and he approached the art of war as a historian. When compiling his most famous work on Roman military institutions he desired to write a treatise, “for public use, [regarding] the instructions and observations of our old historians of military affairs, or those who wrote expressly concerning them … to exhibit in some order the peculiar customs and usages of the ancients….”[3] Vegetius began writing in the late 4th century during a time of decline for the Roman military. He had hoped that the Emperor would accept his work as a set of mere suggestions, or precedents demonstrated by the “ancients.” While it had not been used widely by his contemporaries, his treatise, On Roman Military Matters (De Re Militari), became a crucial piece of military thought and theory in Europe centuries later.
Flavius Vegetius’s field manual, On Roman Military Matters, written around 386 A.D., offered its readers a glimpse into the discipline and organization, and weapons and tactics utilized by the Roman Legions.[4] Through the medieval period in Europe, Vegetius’s book on the art of war served as an essential part of any prince’s military education. According to Dr. Charles S. Oliviero of Norwich University, “Until Clausewitz’s Vom Kriege appeared in 1832 to guide those who would understand the nature of Napoleonic warfare, no single writer in the West was more influential than Roman historian and writer Flavius Vegetius Renatus.”[5]On Roman Military Matters laid the groundwork for maintaining a professional standing army through discipline, organization, training, and administration. It also provided 26 chapters on strategy, tactics, and the principles of war, which were widely read and implemented by rulers and officers. The various tactical movements listed greatly influenced linear formations and battlefield maneuvering, which evolved to accommodate new weapons technology as time went on. Following the Renaissance, his influence widely reemerged in the 18th century at the onset of the Age of Enlightenment in Europe.
The Age of Enlightenment brought on a period in Europe known as the Military Enlightenment as well. According to historian John Lynn, “The Military Enlightenment followed the program of the broader Enlightenment, which sought to pattern study and knowledge after the natural sciences. By doing so it hoped to provide simple but fundamental, almost Newtonian, empirical truths, even in the realms of human psychology and conduct. Science seemed basic to all understanding.”[6] Military thinkers and officers turned to classical texts for direction in organization and tactics. Operating in compact linear formations, the geometric nature of a 18th century battlefield was perceived to be scientific. The commanding officer was required to possess a certain type of genius, but nearly everything on a battlefield could be measured and predicted. Antoine-Henri Jomini carried this belief into the 19th century, but before his famous theories presented in The Art of War were published, European officers turned to earlier works in order to better understand the principles of war and warfare.
It was believed by many military reformers in Europe that Vegetius offered these tactical principles. “Vegetius,” John Lynn described, “… inspired such military advances as battalion organization, firing by countermarch, and marching in step. This process was a later phase of that earlier intellectual phenomenon, the Renaissance.”[7] Book III of On Roman Military Matters offered guidance in tactics for linear style formations (seven possible tactical formations to be exact). The closed ranks that the Roman Legions maneuvered in were meant to instill discipline by not allowing any room for men to turn and run or fall out of order. Again, these formations influenced a geometrical view of the battlefield. From afar a battlefield would resemble a series of thick and thin lines moving back and forth against each other. These lines could be turned at various angles and degrees to meet threats coming from any direction. It became easier for officers to control and command their men if they could remain in a tight-packed linear formation. This was not a simple task, but with properly educated men at the helm, and disciplined troops on the ground, it became more easily quantifiable and predictable. In the 18th century, war and warfare were viewed as a profession in their own right.
Battle of Fontenoy, 1745, a classic example of a linear engagement
Emerging Revolutionary War is honored to welcome guest historian Katie Turner Getty. A short biography is at the bottom of the post.
In terms of historical significance, few American cities rival Boston, where shades and shadows of the Revolution can be found around every corner. By walking the city’s famous Freedom Trail, one can follow in the literal footsteps of the inhabitants who left such an indelible mark on the city. Indeed, many heroes of revolutionary Boston—Revere, Adams, Otis—lie in their eternal repose in burying grounds mere steps from busy thoroughfares.
The presence of those revolutionaries still looms large in Boston and many of their old stomping grounds still stand. Several buildings located on the Freedom Trail played unforgettable parts in the revolution. From the fiery speeches at Old South Meeting House on the eve of the tea party to the blood shed by those massacred outside the Old State House*, these sites are popular and are frequently visited.
But there is one site not located on the Freedom Trail that is yet imbued with great historical import. Indeed, it is the site of the 1768 arrival of British warships in Boston Harbor and the troops who first took those fateful steps into Boston for the purposes of occupying the city.
East-facing view of Long Wharf and John Hancock’s office and counting house, built in 1763, and now the Chart House restaurant.
The name of this site, so often overlooked, is Long Wharf.
Long Wharf has stretched into the Atlantic from Boston for 300 years, serving as the world’s great doorway to the city. It was the longest wharf in Boston, extending 1,586 feet into the deep water of the harbor allowing up to 50 ships to dock at one time[1]. It would have been a place of great bustle—the loading and unloading of cargo by longshoremen, transporting of such cargo to the busy warehouses and shops that lined the wharf, and then the purchase of such goods by local people.
West-facing view toward Boston, from the end of Long Wharf. The Town House (now known as the Old State House), built in 1713, is in the distance.
On Friday, September 30, the Beaver, the Senegal, the Martin, the Glasgow, the Mermaid, the Romney**, the Launceston, and the Bonetta anchored in the harbor. On board the ships were “the 14th and 29th Regiments, a detachment from the 59th regiment, and an artillery train”.[2] The next day, Bostonians warily watched as “the war ships maneuvered closer to the town and ranged themselves as if for a siege.”[3] Then, carried off the warships by small boats, British troops stepped onto Long Wharf and into American history.
These ships and troops had arrived in the port of Boston as a response to colonial opposition to the Townshend Acts which were enacted by Parliament in 1767 in an effort to enforce their sovereignty over the colonies and raise revenue. The Townshend Acts imposed a tax on imports such as tea, glass, paper, and paints, as well as instituted a Customs board to help enforce British trade regulations and deter smuggling activity. Many Bostonians were opposed to the Townshend Acts and protested by gathering in mobs and harassing officials.
View of the Atlantic Ocean from the very end of Long Wharf.
Paul Revere immortalized the landing of the troops in an engraving entitled “A View Of Part of the Town of Boston In New England And Brittish [sic] Ships of War Landing Their Troops! 1768”. The image depicts the eight British ships of war arrived in the harbor, with smaller boats carrying red-coated soldiers to Long Wharf. Some troops are already amassed on the wharf, gathering into formation.
“A View of Part of the Town of Boston In New England And Brittish [sic] Ships of War Landing Their Troops! 1768” (courtesy of American Antiquarian Society http://www.americanantiquarian.org/Inventories/Revere/b2.htm )Revere’s engraving also shows many buildings running along the north side of Long Wharf in an uninterrupted line toward the town. They were warehouses, counting houses, shops, and dwellings. One of these buildings was John Hancock’s Counting House, which still stands on Long Wharf today. Currently incarnated as a restaurant called the Chart House, it is the oldest extant building on Long Wharf, built in 1763. John Hancock’s original wall safe is actually still set in the red brick wall of the second floor dining room. The safe is not off-limits; visitors may freely open and close the safe’s inner and outer doors or even run a hand over the smooth metal.
John Hancock’s original safe, still fixed in the wall of his Counting House.
When standing at the wall safe, take a few steps to the right and look out the front windows of the building. Look down to the ground level to see the path of the troops as they passed right by Hancock’s Counting House, “with insolent parade, drums beating, fifes playing, and colours flying, up King Street” as they headed down the wharf and into the town. The soldiers were marching to the Town House, at the base of King Street. And beyond that, to Boston Common.
View out a second floor window of Hancock’s Counting House, a few steps from the wall safe. The viewer is looking down at Long Wharf where the British troops marched past on October 1, 1768.
Long Wharf at the time (as it is today) was really just an extension of King Street, which ran all the way from the Town House (later to become the site of the Boston Massacre), down to the shoreline, then continued along in the form of a wharf, out into the harbor. After the Revolution, King Street was (perhaps appropriately) renamed State Street and is known by that decidedly more American moniker today.
The soldiers’ route may be traced today by any perambulating history enthusiast. Walk out past Hancock’s Counting House, to the terminus of Long Wharf and stand where the British soldiers disembarked. As you gaze out across the cold gray Atlantic, feel the stiff sea breeze rolling in off the water just as they did. Then turn your gaze away from the Atlantic and look back toward the city. The view is the same as in 1768—the Town House will be in your direct line of sight. As the soldiers marched down the wharf in a straight line, they too would have seen the Town House quite clearly.
A pamphlet published by the Boston Redevelopment Authority in the 1980s reveals that although the wooden timbers of Long Wharf are experiencing decay, the 17th and 18th century granite bulkheads beneath the wharf are still intact.[4] It is a thrill for any revolutionary history enthusiast to walk out to the end of Long Wharf, knowing that deep beneath his or her feet are the very same granite blocks, impervious to time and history, that bore silent witness to the arrival of the British soldiers who stepped onto Long Wharf and into history when they came to occupy Boston.
*The building known today as the Old State House was known in the 1770s as the Town House.
**The Romney actually arrived in Boston Harbor in May 1768 to help enforce customs and discourage the flouting of trade regulations, attempting to seize John Hancock’s ship, Liberty.
*Katie Turner Getty is a lawyer, history enthusiast, and lifelong resident of Boston. She holds an A.A. from Bunker Hill Community College in Charlestown, Massachusetts, a B.A. in History from Wellesley College, and a J.D. from New England Law Boston. She can often be found exploring historic sites both on and off the Freedom Trail.
[2] Paul Revere, A View of Part of the Town of Boston in New England and Brittish [sic] Ships Landing Their Troops! 1768, circa 1770, engraving, 26 x 40.5 cm, American Antiquarian Society, Worcester, Massachusetts http://www.americanantiquarian.org/Inventories/Revere/b2f1.jpg
[3] Richard Archer, As If An Enemy’s Country (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2010), xiv.
Recently, I had the chance to head to New England to take photos for an upcoming publication in the Emerging Revolutionary War Series. While thereI ventured to Salem, Massachusetts and New Castle, New Hampshire. Two great places filled with American history and also what could have been even more American history.
The shooting war that became the American Revolution began in Lexington and Concord, Massachusetts on April 19, 1775. Yet, these two places; Salem, Massachusetts and Fort William and Mary in New Hampshire, almost, caused the war to begin.
Here is what happened.
On December 14, 1774, local militia raided the British post garrisoned by six men at Fort William and Mary near Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Faced with over 400 militiamen the garrison proved obstinate and did not accept surrender and when faced with an assault, actually fired three cannon shots at the charging militia. Open combat ensued but no deaths occurred before the militia gained the fort.
Entrance to the fort, with the plaque commemorating the events in December 1774 to the right of the entrance.
During the afternoon, the militia would deprive the fort of over 100 barrels of precious gunpowder. By the next day, over 1,000 militiamen had arrived to lend support and within a few days, British General Thomas Gage had dispatched a small force on a British naval vessel but by the time they arrived, the commotion at Fort William and Mary had subsided.
Three months later and located approximately 50 miles south of Fort William and Mary is Salem where the following incident took place. Thomas Gage ordered 240 men of the 64th Foot Regiment under Lt. Col. Alexander Leslie on February 27, 1775 by water to the town. Upon arrival the force hovered off the coast waiting for the residents to attend their regular Sunday sermon. Soon after, the 64th Foot began to make the five mile march to Salem. A column of nearly 250 British regulars brought a lot of attention and soon riders were riding ahead to Salem to warn them of the approaching British. The men in Salem began to remove the cannon and hide them in the countryside. The main objective for Leslie was a blacksmith shop on the north side of the North River. Here is where it was reported that the ship cannons were being refitted for field use.
Historic Marker commemorating the spot of armed resistance at the Salem Bridge on February 27, 1775.
The issue at the river was a draw bridge was the only way across and as the British approached, several men raised the drawbridge so the British could not cross. By this time militia was on the opposite banks of the North River. An armed confrontation, one of many this winter, between colonials and Royal troops ensued. Leslie demand that the bridge be lowered so he could cross but the militia would not budge. Meanwhile, the cannons Leslie was looking for were being dispersed. Leslie threatened to fire on the militia, but Leslie’s senses got the best of him as he recognized hundreds of townspeople were now turned out and watching. He did not want to have blood on his hands this day. Plus the safety of his own men became in doubt as the day was getting long and he knew he had to extricate himself somehow.
Soon a local minister proposed a compromise, the bridge would be lowered and the British could cross and march to the blacksmith forge just a hundred yards beyond the bridge. If no cannon were found (which by now, they were all removed) then Leslie would turn around and march his men back to the ships on the shore. To Leslie, this was an honorable compromise as his orders were to cross the river and investigate the blacksmith forge and shop. Soon after the British crossed the North River, they re-crossed and marched back to their ships. Open rebellion was again thwarted. But a deadly precedent was set, the militia learned that the British did not intend to fire on them and such the bravery of each militia unit at each alarm was amplified.
Both of these affairs did not start the war. Both could have. We may never know why. But, what we do know is that they were example of how close the war was to starting. Lexington and Concord became the tipping point.
Emerging Revolutionary War Era 
