This Sunday, August 6th at 7pm join ERW series editor Dan Welch and authors Rob Orrison and Mark Wilcox as they discuss one of the worst defeats in American history, the Battle of Camden. How did the hero of Saratoga end up the scapegoat in the south? Learn how a coincidence led to a great British victory. And how did the Patriots recover from such a large defeat and find a path to victory a year later? Orrison and Wilcox will also discuss their upcoming book “All That Can be Expected, The Battle of Camden”. Grab a drink and join us to learn more about the Battle of Camden!
All Rev War Revelries can be found LIVE on our Facebook page, or a week later on our You Tube and Spotify channels.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Kate Bitely.
In the heart of Fredericksburg, Virginia, you will find a well-preserved, Georgian-style home that once belonged to Betty Washington Lewis, the sister of George Washington. Historic Kenmore, as the home is known today, was constructed in the 1770s and originally sat on 861 acres near downtown Fredericksburg. Today, the historic house museum is open for daily tours where guests can explore the gardens, the main living floor of the home, several historic structures on the priority, and a visitor center filled with riveting artifacts and information.
Nearly 290 years ago, Betty Washington was born at Pope’s Creek in Westmoreland County, Virginia. As a young child, she lived in a few properties owned by the Washington family before relocating to Ferry Farm, located in Stafford County, Virginia, where Betty, George and their siblings grew up. On February 22, 1750, Betty married Fielding Lewis, a widowed distant cousin, and a father of two young children. In 1752, the family purchased 1300 acres in the Fredericksburg area and allocated a portion of the land as the future site for their home Millbrook, which was eventually renamed to Kenmore in the 1800’s. In total, Betty and Fielding welcomed eleven children, but only six survived to adulthood.
Fielding Lewis was a well-known member of his community. He built his wealth initially as a merchant, but was later elected as a member of the House of Burgesses and served as a colonel in the Revolutionary War. During the war, however, Lewis used his finances to personally pay for munitions and supplies for Patriot troops which ultimately drained much of the family’s resources.
The Lewis family were staunch Patriots. In 1775, when the Lewis’s were moving into their home, the spirit of independence was strong throughout the colonies. Given the Washington’s status, heritage and devotion to service, Betty and her family would become one of the biggest supporters for the Patriot cause, willing to risk their home, finances, reputation, and their safety in favor of breaking away from England. The impressive residence served as a visual representation of their wealth, which became significantly more important during the Revolutionary War.
Thirteen of the Great Britain’s North American colonies moved toward independence in 1775, declaring the fact officially the following year with the issuance of the Declaration of Independence. Perched below these thirteen rebellious provinces was the colony of East Florida. Earned after the Seven Year’s War by Great Britain from Spain, the most populous city an oldest permanently established European metropolis was St. Augustine, which was also the capital of the colony. This colony, through the eight years of the American Revolutionary War, had a tenuous connection with their neighbors to the north. Largely forgotten in the pantheon of history describing this period, from the time of Britain gaining possession in 1763 through the end of the Revolutionary era in this historian’s estimation, in 1785.
Entitled, East Florida in the Revolutionary Era, 1763-1785 and penned by George Kotlik, a historian specializing in 18th century North American history, the publication offers “an accessible and detailed narrative of the East Florida during the American Revolution.” (pg. 8).
What ensues in the following pages is a brief yet complete overview of the military, political, social, and economic history within those years of East Florida. Some of the names in the pages are well known to enthusiasts of the American Revolutionary War era whereas others will be new names to add to the repertoire for further study. From Governor Patrick Tonyn, British general and last governor for England of East Florida to bringing attention to the William Augustus Bowles, a Maryland born Loyalist, sympathetic to the Muscogee Native Americans of East Florida who tried in vain from the last decade of the 18th century, to establish an independent state for the tribe, with British support. These are just two of the historical personas that Kotlik discusses in his narrative, the rest await you within the pages of the book!
Although no major military actions happened within the confines of the colony that does not mean the role of East Florida in relation to the American Revolution should not be marginalized. “Militias were raised, a general assembly was postponed, St. Augustine experienced a heightened British troop presence, planters between the St. Johns and St. Marys Rivers suffered at the hands of George raiding parties, and a constant threat of a Spanish or American invasion” all affected the psyches and lives of East Floridians. (pg. 104-105).
The hope from Kotlik is to provide the launching point for further discussion into the role of East Florida specifically and Florida in general during the revolutionary period. “Such a lack of coverage is a reminder for scholars to to emphasize East Florida’s presence in the war that made America.” (pg. 111). With this history in hand, Kotlik has provided the necessary overview for further exploration.
Publisher: NewSouth Books, University of Georgia Press, 2023 156 pages plus images
Lexington and/or Concord or both? Same question, Trenton or Princeton or both? Guilford Court House? Yorktown Battlefield? Ask any historian or history enthusiast of the American Revolutionary War period what their favorite battlefield is and you may get one of the places above. Or some other hallowed ground.
This Sunday, at 7 p.m. EDT, join Emerging Revolutionary War on our Facebook page for a panel discussion on our favorite battlefields of the American Revolution. Discussion will also include the successes, pitfalls, or failure of preservation and what one can see or not see at these sites. We look forward to a lively conversation and your comments on what is the battlefield of choice.
“The Shot Heard Round the World” on April 19, 1775, put the American colonies into a fever pitch and a war footing, but 18th-century travel limitations naturally caused that word to spread slowly. It did not reach the town of Mecklenburg, in Berkeley County, Virginia (now Shepherdstown, in Jefferson County, West Virginia) for 21 days. On May 10, Mecklenburg’s citizens learned of the fights between colonists and British soldiers at Lexington and Concord. Coupled with news of Virginia royal governor Lord Dunmore’s removal of powder from the magazine in Williamsburg, Mecklenburg’s citizens prepared to offer whatever aid they could to their fellow beleaguered colonists.
The rallying point for the Beeline March
The militia in Mecklenburg strapped on their accouterments and began to drill. On June 10, the drilling militia was welcomed to the property of Colonel William Morgan, just outside town, for a barbecue. Songs were sung and all those present made a pledge that they would return to the same spot in Morgan’s Grove fifty years from that day.
Following the patriotic fanfare, the men returned to drilling, wondering if they might have the chance to face the British. A decision made in far-off Philadelphia soon promised Berkeley’s militiamen that chance. On June 14, the Continental Congress declared that “six companies of expert riflemen, be immediately raised in Pennsylvania, two in Maryland, and two in Virginia.” Once formed and equipped, “each company…shall march and join the army near Boston, to be there employed as light infantry, under the command of the chief Officer in that army.”
The Virginia companies went to Daniel Morgan, who organized his company in Winchester, and Hugh Stephenson, the leader of the company rendezvousing at Mecklenburg. Joining soldiers signed one-year enlistments. Henry Bedinger, one of Stephenson’s men, recorded that “none were received but young men of Character, and of sufficient property to Clothe themselves completely, find their own arms, and accoutrements, that is, an approved Rifle, handsome shot pouch, and powder-horn, blanket, with such decent clothing as should be prescribed.” It took less than seven days to raise each company to the strength of 100 men. Only the delay in getting enough rifles to arm the entire Mecklenburg company prevented them from leaving immediately after filling the ranks.
Once mustered, Stephenson and Morgan agreed to meet in Frederick, Maryland, and march to Boston together. On July 15, Morgan’s men marched first, stealing a step on the Mecklenburg men, who left Morgan’s Grove on July 17. “Morgan having the start we used every exertion to overhaul him, in Vain, altho’ we marched (always in single file) from 30 to 36 miles a number of days,” said Bedinger.
Food and cheering citizens greeted Stephenson’s men along the march and kept their marching feet moving at the blistering pace needed to catch Morgan. Only two men failed to make the entire march (one was court-martialed, and the other was accidentally wounded). On August 11, after a march of over 500 miles in 25 days and just behind Morgan’s men, Stephenson’s company halted in front of General George Washington in Cambridge. When the Mecklenburg riflemen saw the general, they “presented their arms to him as he slowly rode by us looking attentively and affectionately at the soldiers from his native state. When he shook hands with our captain, it was said they both shed tears.”
Stephenson’s Company reporting to General Washington at Cambridge (My Ride to the Barbecue)
The march has gone down in history as the Beeline March due to the quick and direct nature of the expedition to augment the Continental forces in front of Boston. Fifty years later, the pledge made on June 10, 1775, was kept, though the numbers of Stephenson’s company were considerably smaller. Five decades after the march, only five participants still lived; just two returned to Morgan’s Grove to commemorate the feat. One of them was Michael Bedinger, who recorded his experiences in the Beeline March. At the anniversary ceremony, he sang “two patriotic songs…the very same that had been sung at that spot fifty years before.”
Today, two markers commemorate the Beeline March’s genesis. In Morgan’s Grove Park, a marker dedicated in 1988 marks the “Shepherdstown Rally Point” (Mecklenburg was later renamed Shepherdstown). Down the road from the park in Elmwood Cemetery, a 1932 monument erected by the Daughters of the American Revolution sits with the names of the commissioned and non-commissioned officers of Stephenson’s company.
For a burgeoning armed force that was seeking to stand up to one of the world’s most powerful military forces, the Beeline March showed the spirit of the American soldier in the early days of the Revolutionary War.
The summer of 1776 was tense on the Kentucky frontier. Since the spring, Shawnee raids from north of the Ohio had increased, with tribesmen raiding the white settlements with the intention of driving the settlers east, back across the mountains.
By the late spring, hardly more than 200 Americans remained in Kentucky, most forting up in the settlements south of the Kentucky River at Harrodsburg, Logan’s Station, and Boonesborough as war parties ranged nearby. Years later, an old settler remembered the rancid conditions of long confinements in “a row or two of smoky cabins, among dirty women and men with greasy hunting shirts.” By the summer, conditions in the forts were almost unbearable as supplies of salt and meat began to run low.
On the quiet Sunday afternoon of July 14, 1776, 13-year-old Jemima Boone, daughter of frontiersman Daniel Boone, slipped out of the log gates of Boonesborough with her friends Elizabeth (Betsy) and Frances (Fanny) Calloway. Tired of the confinement of the fort, the three girls untied the lone canoe of the settlement and pushed out into the Kentucky River for an old-style joy ride. Jemima would remember years later that her father had warned her to stay near the cabins and never cross to the other side of the river.
Betsy Calloway, 16, guided the canoe but it was soon caught up in the current and taken downstream toward the northern bank. A small mixed war party of Shawnees and Cherokees were watching the settlement from the woods across the river. They had been in the area for at least a week when they spotted the girls in the canoe. As the craft got close to the shore a warrior jumped into the river and grabbed the towline. Understanding immediately the danger they were in all three girls began to scream. The warriors brought the canoe to shore and quickly made signs to the girls of what would happen if they continued screaming. But the sounds had already alerted the settlers in the fort.
It was Sunday, the Sabbath and, as was his normal custom, Daniel Boone was lying down for his Sunday afternoon nap when he heard the commotion from out in the fort. Running out of his cabin in his bare feet, Boone joined with Richard Calloway, father of Betsy and Fanny, and several other men of the settlement as they eventually made their way to the opposite shore of the river and began tracking the war party as it made its way towards the crossing of the Licking River at the upper Blue Licks.
One of the Cherokee men in the party was named Scolacutta but known to the Americans as Hanging Maw. He knew Daniel Boone and his family and spoke a bit of English. He recognized Jemima as Boone’s daughter. Hanging Maw laughed at the joke they were playing on old Boone, Jemima remembered many years later, and confirmed they were headed for the Shawnee towns north of the Ohio. If the party managed to get across the big river, the rescue of the girls would most likely become impossible. As they were forced along the trail, the three girls dug their heels into the earth or dropped bits of material from their clothing; anything to give signs to anyone who may be following that they were on the right path.
By the morning of the second day, Boone and his party were roughly 10 miles behind the kidnappers. Now with a pretty good idea of where the war party was heading and understanding that, continuing to follow the tracks would slow them down considerably, Daniel Boone made the decision to break from the trail and speedily head for the Blue Licks. It was certainly a gamble but the men with Boone trusted his judgment. The Kentuckians moved out, setting a jogging pace.
As they got closer to the war party, the rescuers began finding the signs left for them by the kidnapped girls. They also came across muddled waters at a creek crossing, a dead snake along the trail and finally the carcass of a recently butchered buffalo calf. They knew they were getting close. Boone figured the warriors would stop to cook at the next water they came across. At a branch known today as Bald Eagle Creek, east of the current town of Sharpsburg, KY, the trail ended. Boone divided his party, with four men going up stream and four heading down.
After two days of hard travel with no sign of pursuit, the warriors began relax a bit. They would soon cross the Licking River and link up with other war parties so they began feeling confident. They made camp and began to roast the buffalo meat. The terrified girls were exhausted by being on the march. The camp was in a small, open glen. As the warriors lolled about the girls were sitting near the cook fire. Suddenly, Jemima Boone heard a noise in the brush. The sound caught the attention of one of the Shawnees who looked up but, seeing nothing, returned to his work. Glancing up along the nearby ridge, Jemima suddenly caught sight of her father. The girl remembered he was “creeping upon his breast like a snake.” Around 100 yards or so apart, the father and daughter locked eyes. Boone gave a quick signal for the girl to remain quiet.
The rest of Boone’s party were gathered up on the ridge when, in a fit of excitement, one of them fired his rifle down into the camp. Before she heard the shot, Fanny Calloway saw blood spurt from the chest of the warrior standing next to the campfire. He managed to hobble off into the brush. “That’s Daddy!” Jemima cried as she and the other girls hit the ground with shots filling the air from the rescue party above. Boone’s party rushed down into the camp among the startled warriors. Those tribesmen not hit by rifle fire managed to escape into the woods. All at once the terrible ordeal was over, for both father and daughter. “Thank Almighty Providence, boys,” Boone said, “for we have the girls safe. Let’s all sit down by them now and have a hearty cry.” Jemima Boone would long remember that “there was not a dry eye in the company.”
The story of the kidnapping and rescue would be retold in the Boone and Calloway families for generations. In the 19th century, historian Lyman Draper collected accounts of the story from at least forty people. This would become one of the most famous episodes in the life of Daniel Boone and provide the inspiration for author James Fenimore Cooper in his novel “The Last of the Mohicans”.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes the contribution of Eric Olsen, Park Ranger/Historian at Morristown National Historical Park
Military history tends to be a lot of “so and so’s” brigade advanced on the left wing, while “what’s his face’s” division withdrew.” Lots of movements of large faceless masses of soldiers. Personally, I prefer the little personal stories of individuals in the face of battle. Here is one such story from the battle of Monmouth in June 1778.
Sir Henry Clinton
I recently ran across this little tidbit in a July 7, 1778, letter written by the Adjutant General of the Hessian forces in America, Major Carl Leopold Baumeister. He described an incident during the battle of Monmouth involving the British commander in chief, Sir Henry Clinton. “General Clinton in the thickest fire, was saved by one of his adjutants, Captain Sutherland, when a rebel colonel aimed at him, but missed. Captain Sutherland’s horse was wounded. Another adjutant, Lloyd, stabbed the colonel.”
The story sounded vaguely familiar. Then I recalled something I’d read written by a British officer named Thomas Anbury. He was a prisoner of war, part of Burgoyne’s captured “Convention Army.” Anbury and the other prisoners were being held near Charlottesville, Virginia. At a place called Jones’s Plantation, Anbury related the following story on May 12, 1779,
“A very singular circumstance took place in that battle [Monmouth], which fully marks the coolness and deliberation, though in the heat of action, of Sir Henry Clinton: As he was reconnoitering, with two of his Aide de Camps, at the short turning of two roads, they met with an American officer, exceedingly well mounted upon a black horse, who, upon discerning them, made a stop, and looked as if he wished to advance to speak to them, when one of Sir Henry Clinton’s Aid de Camps fired a pistol at him, and he instantly rode off. Sir Henry was much displeased at his Aide de Camp, and censured him for being so hasty, adding, he was confident that the man wished to speak to him, and perhaps, might have given intelligence that would have been very essential, remarking, that when he was in Germany last war, and reconnoitering with Prince Ferdinand, a man rode up in a familiar manner, and gave such intelligence as decided the fate of the day.”
To read more about the Battle of Monmouth, check out “A Handsome Flogging, the Battle of Monmouth, June 28, 1778 by William Griffith, part of the Emerging Revolutionary War Series.
Parson Weems’ Fable; by Grant Wood, Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas
George Washington’s lifetime family associations, primarily his Ball family relations, were relied on byWashington’s first biographer Parson Weems. James Bish’s new book “I Can’t Tell A Lie” looks into the Washington and Ball family associations, along with Weems’ family associations. Relying on these close associations, he identifies the sources for Weems’ many anecdotes regarding Washington. Mr Bish will also focus on the many Revolutionary War connections including The Prayer at Valley Forge, Dr James Craik, Col. William Grayson, John Cadwalader, Henry Lee II and Henry Lee lll.
Be sure to grab a drink, join us to learn a new theory about the Cherry Tree, Washington’s Prayer at Valley Forge and other Parson Weems’ anecdotes, in this interesting work about Parson Mason Weems and George Washington.
They waded ashore during the morning of July 6, 1758. Full of confidence, the vanguard of Major General James Abercromby’s massive army of over 16,000 men had completed its nearly thirty-mile trek northward across the waters of Lake George. They began pushing inland – men from Thomas Gage’s 80th Regiment of Light-Armed Foot, Phineas Lyman’s 1st Connecticut Regiment, and of Robert Rogers’ famed rangers – scattering small pockets of French resistance. By early afternoon the entire army had debarked at the designated landing site and formed into four columns to begin its advance towards the primary objective: Fort Carillon. Moving forward into the thick wilderness with the rightmost column of mixed regular and provincial units was Abercromby’s second-in-command, Brigadier General George Howe. [1]
George Augustus, Third Viscount Howe. New York Public Library
George Augustus, Third Viscount Howe, was born in Ireland in 1725. Like his younger brothers, Richard and William, George was destined for a career in His Majesty’s Forces and to serve in North America. His father, Emanuel Scrope, Second Viscount Howe, was a prominent member of parliament and served several years as the Royal Governor of Barbados before dying there of disease in 1735. Upon his father’s death, George assumed the title of Third Viscount and in 1745, at age twenty, was made an ensign in the 1st Foot Guards. Subsequently serving as an aide-de-camp to William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland, Howe fervently studied the strategies and tactics employed by his own commanding officers and the enemy, and witnessed firsthand the carnage of the War of Austrian Succession. Just ten years later, when the world was set ablaze by war yet again, George was ordered to Halifax, Nova Scotia with a commission as colonel of the 60th Regiment of Foot (Royal Americans) that was set to take part in a failed operation to capture Fortress Louisbourg in 1757. He was later made colonel of the 55th Regiment of Foot, and in December, appointed Brigadier General by William Pitt. The following summer, he accompanied the largest field army ever assembled in North America up to that time as its second-in-command. Continue reading ““The soul of General Abercromby’s army seemed to expire”: The Death of George Howe, July 6, 1758”→
When the musical 1776 debuted on Broadway, it came at what seemed like an unconventional time. The Vietnam War was underway, and American patriotism was being taxed as it had never been taxed before during wartime. Nonetheless, the production was a commercial and critical success, earning three Tony Awards, including Best Musical.
The show made the jump to film—I know a number of people who watch it every year on the Fourth of July—and it enjoyed revivals in 1997 and 2016. But the show never enjoyed the sort of enduring life off Broadway that classics like Hello, Dolly or Oklahoma! or Mame have enjoyed. (I could rattle off a dozen such names, and most readers would go, “Ohhhh, that’s a good one.” South Pacific? Meet Me in St. Louis? The Wizard of Oz? On and on….) As written, 1776 requires a cast of twenty-four men and only two women. That makes it exceptionally difficult to cast on the community theater level, where a majority of auditioners are typically female.
So perhaps the new national touring production of 1776, based on a 2022 Broadway revival, might offer a new way to look at the show. The new production, which I saw last week at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C., consists of “a company of artists who reflect multiple representations of race, ethnicity, and gender, and who identify as female, trans, nonbinary, and gender nonconforming.” That’s a mouthful, but the bottom line is that these are not your typical Founding Fathers because they aren’t “fathers” at all.
The production owns its new lens from the opening lines. To a backdrop of John Trumbull’s famous painting The Declaration of Independence, John Adams (as played by Gisela Adisa) begins the show: “In my many years, I have come to a conclusion that one useless man is a shame, two is a law firm, and three or more is a congress.” Adisa, a black woman, looks pointedly at the painting. “By God, I have had this Congress,” she says.
Her meaning is unmistakable: these dead white men are tired and old. Time for something new.
The cast comes onstage and literally steps into the buckle-topped leather shoes of the Founders. They hoist the bottom cuffs of their pantlegs up, transforming them into knickerbockers. And away they go! Soon enough, the whole cast is shout-singing at Adams to “Sit down, John!”
The production conceit obviously owes a lot to the Tony Award-winning Hamilton, which opened in 2015 with a multicultural cast. Writer Lin-Manuel Miranda reportedly read Ron Chernow’s biography of Alexander Hamilton and saw a lot of himself in the Founder: an Everyman from humble beginnings who transformed himself into a self-made man. If Miranda could see himself in this old “dead white male,” couldn’t others, as well?
Casting the Revolutionary generation outside of its historical color, race, and gender boundaries proved revolutionary in and of itself, but it proved remarkably successful. Hamilton’s story—and the larger story of America—became newly accessible to huge new audiences. Ditching fifes and drums for a hip-hop and soul soundtrack also reframed the story and increased history’s modern appeal.
Ironically, one of Miranda’s inspirations for Hamilton was the much more traditional 1776. “1776 certainly paved the way for Hamilton,” Miranda said in feature in Playbill, “not just in that it’s about our founders, but also in that it engages fully with their humanity. I think it makes them accessible to us in a very real way.” That Playbill piece, funny enough, consisted of a conversation between Miranda and William Daniels, who played John Adams in the original 1776 production and in the film. (It’s a neat interview. You can read it here.)
As I prepared to watch 1776 at the Kennedy Center, I pondered whether the same conceit would work for this show the way it had for Hamilton. I understand the “Everyman” idea, but on the other hand, the members of the Second Continental Congress were hardly “Everymen.” They were, quite literally, the political elites of their respective colonies. But there’s room, too, to get into the weeds on that. Benjamin Franklin and John Adams both came from humble origins even if Edward Rutledge or Richard Henry Lee did not. And that’s the point of good history: get into the weeds. Look at the shades of gray. Find new lenses to see the familiar in new ways so you can better understand what you’re looking at.
It would be a mistake to brush aside this production of 1776 as woke-ism or political correctness or any of that. “I’m not interested in talking about American history because I want to punish America,” said Bryan Stevenson, creator of the National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Alabama, quoted by the show’s directors in the program. “I want to liberate America.”
1776 proved liberating. While the production conceit didn’t work 100% of the time, it mostly did, and at those times it worked best, it added powerful, powerful resonance. When the delegates sang of the slave trade in “Molasses to Rum,” for instance, and some of those performers were Black women, the sinister nature of the dark bargain at the heart of the Founding reverberated with a tragic sense of the now. And when echoes of Adams’s plaintive “Is Anybody Out There,” sung by a black woman, wove through, it was chilling and urgent. History spoke from the stage to us in the present.
Newly sanctioned additions to the production gave us Abigail Adams’s “remember the ladies”—magnified in its power among a non-male cast. It also adds Robert Hemings, Thomas Jefferson’s enslaved servant, as a silent figure on stage, voiceless as Jefferson pens the enduring words “All men are created equal.” These were delightful, thought-provoking moments that confronted American history without being confrontational.
1776 is, to be sure, a delightful show, but it’s less jingoistic than one might expect for a story about America’s birthday. It asks us to consider the costs of that founding, not so we can feel bad about America but so can be reminded of the ongoing work to live up to our own ideals. It asks us not to think of a founding moment but, instead, the beginning of founding process that we are all invited to be part of because the work belongs to us all.
Emerging Revolutionary War Era 