We interact with history at a personal level in many ways. We enjoy careers in the field, read, tour locations, work as living historians (or interact with them), dig through archives, trace our roots, visit museums, or simply stumble across some connection in the course of living our daily lives. But, a fortuitous bit of family history struck on a recent weekend, just shy of the 241st anniversary of a battle.
My wife and oldest daughter spent a Sunday morning with my in-laws to visit and record some family stories and memories. They came back with a box of material. The first document they perused was a 19thcentury application for membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution. I was in a different room and suddenly heard yelling as my wife came to find me. I assumed a snake had gotten into the house or we’d won the lottery without playing. It turned out that the DAR applicant, a direct forebear of both my wife and daughter, was descended from Nicholas Dawson, who had fought in the Crawford Campaign, which happened to be the subject of my second book, The Battle of Upper Sandusky, 1782. (Shameless bit of self-promotion: it just went on sale). Talk about coincidence.
Many volunteer actions on the frontier during the American Revolution lacked troop rosters. But, to stimulate volunteering for the Crawford campaign the county lieutenants for Pennsylvania’s Washington and Westmoreland counties offered to count the time on campaign against a volunteer’s legal militia obligations. So, they created rosters, some of which partially survived. The Pennsylvania Archives published that material. Sure enough, Nicholas Dawson shows up as a miscellaneous volunteer, meaning only that the roster didn’t include his company assignment. The ever-helpful Fold3 database also holds pension debt certificates issued to Dawson on January 18and 20, 1785.
Lieutenant General Henry Clinton, New York Public Library
With the Charleston in British hands, Clinton believed that all he had to do was establish outposts in South Carolina stationed with British regulars. This be believed would put down what was left of the rebellion in the state. These posts assisted the recruitment and training of the thousands of Loyalist troops he believed would now rally around the King’s Colors. To take the best advantage of his Regular troops, Clinton determined to establish three major outposts in the South Carolina backcountry. Clinton established these posts at Augusta (Georgia), Ninety-Six, and Camden. While these posts were to be centers for the British army, the local Loyalist militias were to serve as the pacification forces in South Carolina while the main British force was freed up for larger strategic goals.
To recruit, enlist, and train the large, expected influx of Loyalist militia, Clinton named Maj. Patrick Ferguson as Inspector of Militia. Ferguson was ordered to enlist younger men, preferably unmarried, into companies that would form battalions. He was instructed to recruit from Georgia to North Carolina and offer short enlistments if necessary. Clinton believed that having the colonists maintain their own law and order (via Great Britain’s authority) would cause less apprehension with those that were mostly undecided about to whom they should throw their support, the Patriots or the British.
By mid-May, the British army set out for their destinations in the back country. Clinton’s second in command, Lieut. Gen. Charles Lord Cornwallis, marched to Camden while Ferguson moved to Ninety-Six. Without much resistance, Clinton’s plan to conquer South Carolina was working perfectly. Patriot leaders scrambled to find ways to organize their resistance. The only organized Continental force remaining in South Carolina was a small force of Virginians under Col. Abraham Buford that was on its way to Charleston when the city surrendered. Ordered by Brig. Gen Isaac Huger to reverse course and make his way north toward Hillsborough, North Carolina. There along with the North Carolina militia, he could be the core of American defense in North Carolina.
On May 27, Cornwallis ordered Lieut. Col. Banastre Tarleton with 300 of his dragoons and mounted infantry in pursuit of Buford. Tarleton’s British Legion was mostly composed of Loyalist recruits, so many in his force were from America. Tarleton pushed him men and horses hard, many horses falling out along the way. Buford was aware of a possible British pursuit but underestimated the speed in which Tarleton closed the gap. On May 29, Tarleton caught up with Buford in a region near the South and North Carolina border called the “Waxhaws.”
Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton, New York Public Library
The events that took place next are still debated today. Tarleton under a flag of truce tried to get Buford to surrender. Writing to Buford, Tarleton wrote “Resistance being vain, to prevent the effusion of human blood, I make offers which can never be repeated.” Tarleton was already creating an image of himself as an aggressive and brutal fighter. Buford, however, refused, replying, “I reject your proposals, and shall defend myself to the last extremity.” With that, Buford continued his march north towards North Carolina as did Tarleton’s pursuit. Around 3:00 p.m. the lead elements of Tarleton’s force wiped out Buford’s small rearguard, forcing Buford to stop and deal with Tarleton.
Buford decided to create a single battle line east of the Rocky River Road. Tarleton, ever the aggressive commander, ordered his horsemen to charge the Virginians. Here, Buford made what would be a devastating blunder. He ordered his men to not fire until the British cavalry was within ten yards of the American line. This would not allow the Americans a chance to fire another volley before the British charge was upon them. The Virginians fired, taking out some of the British dragoons and horses (Tarleton himself became briefly trapped under his horse), but most charged through Buford’s line, wielding their sabers and cutting down the Virginians. Total chaos ensued, and many of Buford’s men attempted to flee. Some tried to surrender by throwing their arms to the ground, but American accounts state that the British were offering “no quarter” and killing everyone that tried to surrender. Other accounts report that Buford sent a white flag to Tarleton, but probably because he was injured, it was never received, and the fighting continued. Accounts differ widely between the Americans and British on the fighting, but the fact cannot be argued that Buford’s command was destroyed.
Waxhaws Grave and Monument, photo and flags courtesy of the author
American casualties were estimated at 350, 113 men killed, 147 wounded, 50 captured, and 2 six-pound artillery pieces and 26 wagons captured. Buford himself was able to escape the field. Tarleton only suffered 5 killed and 12 wounded, a complete victory. What has become known as “Buford’s Massacre” was not referred to as a massacre at all in many period accounts. Tarleton himself blamed the “slaughter” on the fact that his men thought he was killed in the battle and sought revenge. The disparity in numbers and the reports of indiscriminate British slaughter of Americans led to the creation of “Tarleton’s Quarter.” Patriot leaders quickly pounced on this and began to spread stories about Tarleton’s brutal tactics. This proved to be a public relations coup for the Patriot cause, as it energized their side and led to a more robust recruitment of militia and partisan forces to take on the British who now faced no organized opposition in South Carolina or Georgia.
Stay Tuned for the Emerging Revolutionary War Series newest book releases “To the Last Extremity: The Battles for Charleston, 1776-1782” by Mark Maloy and “All That Can Be Expected: The Battle of Camden and the British High Tide in the South, August 16, 1780” by Rob Orrison and Mark Wilcox to learn more abou the 1780 Southern Campaign. Both releases are published by Savas Beatie Publshing: https://www.savasbeatie.com/american-revolution/
The Battle of Waxhaws, fought on May 29, 1780, was a lopsided British victory by Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton’s British cavalry over American Colonel Abraham Buford’s Continental forces in Waxhaws South Carolina. Buford lost 316 of 350 men with the British losing less than 20. Known popularly as “Buford’s Massacre,” Continental leaders used the battle as a propaganda tool against the Crown forces in the south. But, was it really a massacre?
Join us as we welcome historian and author Dr. Jim Piecuch as we discuss his research and theory about the Battle of Waxhaws and its aftermath. Dr. Piecuch has written several books on the Southern Campaign of the American Revolution including his book “Blood Be Upon Your Head: Tarleton and the Myth of Buford’s Massacre.” This Rev War Revelry will be pre-recorded and posted on May 28th at 7pm. Grab a drink and a good seat and enjoy this great presentation on one of the most controversial battles of the American Revolution.
The Mary Ball Washington Monument and grave site, Fredericksburg, VA
Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there! In honor of Mother’s Day, Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes will be welcoming historians and staff from the Washington Heritage Museums to tonight’s Rev War Revelry. WHM manages and operates the home and grave site of Mary Ball Washington, the mother of George Washington located in Fredericksburg, VA.
The relationship between George Washington and his mother has been of interest in historians. Their relationship was complicated and much debated by Washington contemporaries and historians today. Mary never remarried when her husband passed (rare for the time period) and mostly lived on her own in Fredericksburg. She also was not afraid to complain about her lack of resources and once applying to the Virginia General Assembly for financial support (to much frustration from George Washington). We will cover many of the myths and interpretations of Mary and her relationship with her son.
So grab a drink and join us as we discuss Mary Ball Washington, her relationship with her son George and what the Washington Heritage Museums are doing today to interpret and preserve her story. Our revelry tonight is previously recorded so we could spend time with the mom’s in our life, but as always we will respond to any comments and questions posted.
May 10, 2023 marks the 250th anniversary of the passing of the infamous Tea Act. Though a seemingly innocuous Parliamentary action, it had dire impacts in the British North American colonies. Parliament was known to enact various laws to provide guidance and management of her colonies across the globe. Some like the Stamp Act led to direct protest and eventual repeal. But the Tea Act was something totally different. It focused on the North American colonies and was meant to benefit a single entity, the East India Company. These two variables, plus the on going strife in North America over British influence led to various protests in the American colonies. This ultimately resulted in the Boston Tea Party on December 16, 1773 (and other lesser known “tea parties” in Charleston, Philadelphia and other port cities).
East India House in London, ca 1800
The East India Company was a joint stock company founded in 1600 and became one of the largest companies in the world. Tea was not their only commodity, however as they also traded spices, sugar, indigo, silk and much more. Parliament was heavily vested in the company’s success and began to enact laws that benefited the company. This included the Tea Act of 1773, passed to help the company divest itself of an over abundance of tea stored in its warehouses. The Crown and Parliament was worried that the prices of tea and the large supply would lead to serious financial strain on the company. The Tea Act also aimed to clamp down on the massive amounts of “illegal” tea that was being smuggled into the colonies. Some historians argued that men like John Hancock, who was deeply involved in smuggling, saw the Tea Act as his “rubicon” towards independence. He believed the act would impact his revenues via his smuggling. Now the American colonies were forced to purchase East India Company Tea (that could directly ship to the colonies) and which was taxed. Many colonial leaders saw this is as a backwards way to impose a tax without their consent and to force them to prop up a struggling East India Company
The road to revolution in the American colonies does not have a single starting point, but one could argue that 250 years ago the Tea Act was the last straw. It led to direct and open opposition (and destruction) of British rule and property in several ports along the Atlantic. These brazen “parties”, mainly the Boston Tea Party, led Parliament to pass the Coercive (Intolerable) Acts, which in turn united the various colonies like never before. Open armed conflict with Great Britain was just a year away.
Emerging Revolutionary War thanks historian Christian Di Spignafor the picture.
With the release of the motion picture, Air, about the recruitment to Nike of Michael Jordan in the 1980s, Emerging Revolutionary War wanted to bring our readers attention to an older model of a shoe. That predates Nike by a century and a half. But, who knows, could come into vogue again right?
The Marquis de Lafayette returned to the United States in August 1824 to September 1825 and toured all 24 states at the time. Feted as a living link to the American Revolution and the independence movement, he was dined, celebrated, and asked to speak at many, many events. Commemorative items were created in his image and likeness, including, apparently a pair of shoes.
These shoes can be viewed today at Old Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts. A link to their website and to plan a visit can be found here.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes guest historian Werther Young.
I’m Too Sexy for My…Bavarian Fly
By Werther Young
Of all of the unique things that have managed to make it to the internet, a concise history of colonial men’s pants flies is surprisingly not one of them.
Our story begins in the Renaissance in, where else, France. King Henry III of France eschewed the old-fashioned dress and hose and embraced a new fashion, culottes, now known as “knee breeches.”
Henry III in his dress and hose
Henry III in his tony new culottes.
The fly of Henry’s pants was a simple affair, a rectangular panel sewn to the left side with buttonholes that buttoned over the right. This simple and practical design became known as the “French fly” and became almost universal in Western Europe over the next 60 years.
Ann Bonny the pirate, in French fly trousers, ca. 1721.
Over time, Ann Bonny’s “long” French fly was perfected into the “short” French fly. Anne’s fly extends from the inseam to the waistband. By merely sewing a few inches of the front seam together, the fly can be made shorter, removing a buttonhole and button or two.
These fly designs apparently did not reach into Eastern Europe, where presumably leather pants were as expensive as wool ones but lasted much longer, because they were never washed. Translating the French Fly into leather posed some problems, and so these leather pants had a different fly, essentially a hole in the center front with a panel buttoned over it that flipped or dropped up and down as necessary. This design caught on in the Alpine areas of central Europe, and especially in Bavaria under the label of “Lederhosen,” which is German for “leather pants.”
“Short” French Fly Breeches, ca. 1750.
The Bavarian fly migrated further north, as in the Deutsches Museum in Berlin can be found a pair of enlisted trousers from the mid-1700s, with a half drop front fly; that is, it opens only the right side. This is essentially a cheaper fly, because it needs only one button to close, and does the same thing.
By the middle 1700s, the French fly had been around for over 150 years, and someone in France started a different fashion (and outdoing the Huns) by putting the two -opening Bavarian fly on culottes, thus making the culottes “a la Bavarois,” French for “like the Bavarians.” This was runway level high fashion for the time, and quickly spread among the well to do as the latest thing, with a new name, the “drop front” or “fall front” fly. Unfortunately, translating the design from leather, which does not unravel, to fabric, which does, made the Bavarian fly extremely complicated and therefore expensive. This of course added to its cachet, so much so that by 1775, it had reached the aristocracy even in the backwater of Colonial America.
Lederhosen
Colonial Williamsburg has a fabulous collection of high-status men’s pants from the 18th century. A survey thereof shows the number of French flies waning into the 1770s, and the number of Bavarian drop front flies waxing beginning in 1775, reaching a height about 1800. Unfortunately, these are all very high-status garments, such as a pair of “button front breeches of cream-colored silk velvet, with repeat of small pink and green flowers self-covered buttons, those at knee embroidered with metallic silver thread. Silver galloon strap at knee.” But did the states and Continent really issue enlisted soldiers what amounts to hand made Givenchy trousers? Of course not.
The false idea that they did partially comes from a series of paintings done by Charles M. Lefferts in the early 1900s, later published as Uniforms of the Armies in the War of the American Revolution, 1775–1783. in 1926.
A Lefferts rendering of trousers a la Bavarois, 2d Maryland 1777.
Measuring this man’s height against the known length of his musket makes him about 6’4 inches tall, the height of actors Clint Walker, Chuck Connors, Clint Eastwood, and the average NBA basketball player. If you look below the point of his vest, he is wearing drop front pants over his massive thighs. Curiously, he is also wearing a 1760s style skirted vest and long regimental coat. Are we to believe that Maryland issued its men old fashioned vests and coats, but high fashion breeches? Since Lefferts was born in 1873, he had no first-hand knowledge of his subject, we must look to period images.
Alas, these are of little help. It is difficult to discern whether any of the men in period paintings are wearing French Fly pants, Bavarian drop front pants, or anything else. The most informative images, the von German drawings, are unfortunately from the side, and of no help.
Von German “American Soldier” New York Hist Soc.
Amerikanische Scharfschutz, Brown University
Since information is so scarce, we must turn to the other reason we believe that rev war soldiers wore drop front pants. Klinger’s Sketchbook ’76. Page 9 shows a pair of Bavarian drop front breeches, based on George Washington’s uniform in the Smithsonian, and Lt. Col. Tench Tilghman’s uniform from the Maryland Historical Society. This is odd, because Washington’s uniform is from the 1794, 15 years after the war and at the height of the drop front craze. Tilghman was the scion of a blue blood family, owned half of Baltimore, was an aide to Washington, and hobnobbed with Lafayette. Even if his uniform can be dated to the war years, it is not only a high-status uniform, but one of the highest status possible in America at the time; his not wearing Bavarian trousers would be of greater note. Neither are evidence that any of the 13 colonies nor the Continent paid to make their enlisted men such high fashion trousers.
On Sketchbook page11, Klinger bases his Bavarian drop front overalls on unspecified plates in “Bernard’s History of England” and the images above. While these may establish Bavarian drop front flies supplied by the King George, it certainly does not necessarily mean that the colonies were doing so.
Surprisingly, two pairs of enlisted overalls are known to exist, mistakenly labelled as “Pantaloons,” and residing in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Department. These are exquisitely made, and probably military examples, but unfortunately European, and from 1793 and later.
No credible evidence exists that any of the 13 colonies nor the Continent issued its troops Bavarian drop front pants. This makes sense, as that design is difficult to make, does the exact same thing as the simple French fly, and fashionable pants do not really contribute much extra to Liberty. Additionally, with all but the highest status clothiers making French fly pants, retraining them to cut out and make the new design would seriously impede production, even assuming that patterns and training could be somehow provided from Georgia to Vermont at a time when the men could barely be supplied a musket or shirt. In the War of the Revolution, the colonists were by all indications wearing French fly breeches and overalls, not drop front ones a la Bavarois.
In May 1782, Colonel William Crawford led over 450 volunteers across Ohio to attack British-allied Native Americans who had been raiding the frontiers of Pennsylvania and Virginia for years. An experienced yet reluctant commander, Crawford and his men clashed with a similarly sized force of British Rangers and Wyandot, Delaware, and Shawnee Indians on the Sandusky River in early June. After three days, the Americans were routed in one of the worst defeats American arms suffered on the frontier during the American Revolution. During the retreat, Native American warriors captured dozens of men, including Colonel Crawford. Many were horrifically tortured to death in revenge for the Gnadenhutten massacre earlier that spring, when American volunteers bludgeoned nearly one hundred unarmed and unresisting Delaware Indians to death.
Join us on our Facebook page this Sunday at 7pm for a recorded talk with historian and author Eric Sterner as he discusses Crawford’s Campaign and his new book “The Battle of Upper Sandusky, 1782” due out this spring. The talk will be availble on our You Tube page next week.
My recent comments about Stacy Schiff’s The Revolutionary Samuel Adams got me thinking about some of John Adams’s thoughts about his second cousin. In particular, John shared a neat story about Sam’s secretiveness—a problem that has bedeviled biographers, including Schiff, because Sam didn’t leave behind a trove of documentary evidence the way other Founders did.
“I have seen him . . .” said John, “in Philadelphia, when he was about to leave Congress, cut up with his scissors whole bundles of letters, into atoms that could never be reunited, and throw them out at the window, to be scattered by the winds. This was in summer, when he had no fire. In winter he threw whole handfuls into the fire. As we were on terms of perfect intimacy, I have joked him, perhaps rudely, upon his anxious caution. His answer was, ‘Whatever becomes of me, my friends shall never suffer by my negligence.’”[1]
John admired Sam, 13 years his senior, a great deal. The two were hardly acquainted growing up, but as John started off his legal career in Boston, Sam—a great cultivator of talent—pegged him as someone to develop. As tensions in Boston grew between the Sons of Liberty, British officials, and far-off Parliament, Sam brought John into the inner circle because of John’s sharp legal mind. The decision paved John’s eventual path to national politics.
“Mr. Adams was an original,” John said of Sam, saying he was “born and tempered a wedge of steel. . . .”[2]
In his common appearance, he was a plain, simple, decent citizen, of middling stature, dress and manners. He had an exquisite ear for music, and a charming voice, when he pleased to exert it.—Yet his ordinary speeches in town meetings, in the house of representatives and in congress, exhibited nothing extraordinary; but upon great occasions, when his deeper feelings were excited, he erected himself, or rather nature seemed to erect him, without the smallest symptom of affectation, into an upright dignity of figure and gesture, and gave a harmony to his voice, which made a strong impression on spectators and auditors, the more lasting for the purity, correctness and nervous elegance of his style.[3]
John spoke on several occasions of Sam’s “an air of dignity and majesty.” He admired Sam’s “harmonious voice and decisive tone” and his “self-recollection, a self-possession, a self-command, a presence of mind that was admired by every man present. . . .”[4] He also listed “his caution, his discretion, his ingenuity, his sagacity, his self-command, his presence of mind, and his intrepidity” as traits that “commanded the admiration” of friend and foe alike—friends who applauded him and foes who could not help but respect Sam Adams’s considerable populist powers.[5]
It is little doubt why John later said, “Without the character of Samuel Adams, the true history of the American Revolution can never be written.”[6]
I’m currently reading Stacy Schiff’s new biography The Revolutionary Samuel Adams. It’s a snappy-to-read, deeply researched book—all the more challenging to write because Sam Adams made careful effort not to leave much of a paper trail about himself.
Schiff uses her introduction to sketch out this fundamental problem, and in doing so, she creates a compelling flash portrait of Adams that the rest of the book fleshes out. Adams the historiographical sphinx is well served by this portrait. Sam Adams simultaneously led from the front yet operated in the shadows, an apparent contradiction that Schiff nonetheless portrays fully and effectively.
As the book goes on, Schiff manages to pull from a deep well of primary sources, even if there’s not a mountain from Sam himself. She handles those sources adroitly and comfortably, plucking this bit from here and that bit from there the way a conductor works an orchestra.
The result is an admiring but not fawning portrait of Adams—a man without whom, said cousin John, “the true history of the American Revolution can never be written.”[1]
Troubling to me in the text is that, in the late 1760s and early 1770s, the Adams-led Sons of Liberty often employed mob violence—real and threatened—to achieve their aims. Propaganda efforts were often tethered to reality by only thinnest of meager threads, if at all. Men were intimidated, bullied, tarred and feathered, humiliated, assaulted, and run out of town for opposing or even just disagreeing with them. Houses were ransacked. Livelihoods destroyed. Reputations ruined. I could not help but think of the Klan in the Reconstruction-era South—a comparison no-doubt tantamount to sacrilege when talking about a group of Bostonians popularly and fondly remembered as patriots.
Yet Schiff merrily skates over such rough terrain, sharing vivid details about incidents without exploring the moral morass this tension suggests. Her hero acts in decidedly less-than-heroic ways, arguing that the ends justify the means. We as readers are left to ponder this ambiguity ourselves. Such work on the reader’s part isn’t a bad thing, but it does strike me as somewhat of an abdication on the biographer’s part when the rest of the narrative is so cheerfully pro-Adams.
Overall, The Revolutionary Samuel Adams is an excellent work so far, and I highly recommend it for anyone who wants a fuller understanding of how the wheels of Revolution started turning—and who started them.
