By Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

Today (30 January) marks the 185th anniversary of the death of Asi-Yahola, leader of the Seminole Tribe of Florida.

Asi-Yahola (Anglicized to Osceola) is a fascinating figure with a complex biography. His name was Billy Powell when he was born in 1804 in Alabama—at that time, part of the Mississippi Territory. He and his mother were members of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, but after the Creek Wars of 1813-1814, they fled to Florida, where they became members of the Seminole Tribe. When he reached adulthood, he was given the name Asi-Yahola. He is best known as a commander of the Seminoles during what is now called the Second Seminole War.

The only known reference to Asi-Yahola in our manuscript collections is a letter in the Howe-Fogg family papers written by Josiah Fogg, Jr.

In 1837, Fogg was 26 years old and working as a sutler at Fort Mellon (a.k.a. Camp Monroe) in present-day Sanford, Florida. A sutler was a civilian who sold goods to troops. Fogg left the fort on 4 May 1837 and traveled north “to purchase goods for the Florida trade.”

Somewhere along the route between Savannah and Charleston, on 12 May, he wrote to his parents at Deerfield, Mass. As you can see in the image above, the letter is torn and stained in several places, but Fogg’s writing is thankfully still legible. First he referenced the 8 February attack on Fort Mellon, in which “Capt Mellon was killed and fifteen wounded.” Then he name-dropped Asi-Yahola. (I’ll retain his misspellings.)

Between the 3rd & 6th of May 2200 warriers have come in at this Post [Fort Mellon]. O-Se-O-lah, with 400 under his command has come in for the first time since the war commenced. I saw him and became well aquainted with him. He traded with me to a considerable amount. He is a fine looking fallow as I ever saw for an Indian appears very friendly says he is ready to move west as soon as he can collect his men togather which are at present very much scattered through the country. […] It is my oppinion he is much the most active and smartest Indian in the nation. I always formed that oppinion by what I heard of him.

I found further context in The Book of the Indians, by Samuel G. Drake (1845), and The Indian Wars of the United States, by Edward S. Ellis (1892). Asi-Yahola had, in fact, brought his warriors to the fort at the beginning of May. According to Ellis:

The Indians professed their desire to make peace, and, during the month of May, there were assembled more than 3000 men, women, and children at Fort Mellon, Lake Monroe, to whom a thousand rations were issued. The chiefs came and went as they pleased, and it did begin to look as if the war was about over, for Osceola had slept in the tent of Colonel Harney. General Jesup was confident that the disgraceful conflict was closed, and the Indians would keep their pledge of departing without further opposition. (p. 269)

Fogg certainly thought the war was nearly over; “no doubt it is the case,” he wrote his parents. But while a minority of Seminole chiefs had consented, under certain conditions, to be removed west of the Mississippi River, Asi-Yahola decidedly had not. When Gen. Thomas Jesup started preparing to forcibly transport the Seminoles gathered at Fort Mellon, Asi-Yahola retreated with his people back into the woods.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before he found himself in the hands of the U.S. government anyway. On 21 October 1837, just a few months after he met Fogg, Asi-Yahola was captured under a flag of truce outside St. Augustine, Florida. The man responsible was none other than Gen. Jesup. He’d flouted the rules of engagement, and the Seminoles were outraged, but there wasn’t much they could do; Jesup had the support of the U.S. government.

After a short imprisonment at Fort Marion, Asi-Yahola was moved to Fort Moultrie outside Charleston, S.C., where he died of illness on 30 January 1838. He was (probably) 33 years old. He is buried on the grounds of Fort Moultrie.

Several towns, counties, and natural landmarks bear Asi-Yahola’s name, and commemorative statues and plaques have been erected in his honor. One statue in Silver Springs, Florida portrays him plunging his knife into a treaty, a depiction which has great symbolic resonance, but which may also, according to historian Donald L. Fixico, be literal.

By Jacob Savory, Processing Assistant

Predating the animal welfare organization of a similar title, the Humane Society of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts was established in 1786 to rescue shipwreck survivors and ships in distress. The Humane Society existed functionally as a precursor to the United States Coast Guard for the shores of Massachusetts and would even reward individuals unaffiliated with the organization who saved others from shipwrecks. As the Humane Society moved through time, it would expand its efforts from lifesaving seashore tasks to financially supporting mental health care facilities and maternity care facilities. Eventually, its recognition of good deeds would transform into rewarding individuals for heroic personal rescues. 

These heroic personal rescues take the form of saving individuals from house fires, drownings, and a number of other scenarios, and those rewarded by the Humane Society would often receive medals and sometimes even financial compensation from the Society. The cover of each accident report, featured below, gives loose criteria, stating that only extraordinary acts of service qualify for recognition by the Humane Society. 

One of the first projects assigned to me as a member of the digital production team at the MHS was digitizing Case and Rescue Reports of the Humane Society of Massachusetts records. Spanning 1899 to 1909, the reports most frequently contain a formal accident report, detailed witness testimonies, accompanying newspaper articles, and on rare occasions drawings, pictures, or postcards of the scenario, ship, or location involved. 

Case No. 1025 stands out to me among the records, as its file’s contents contain one of those rare instances of an accompanying drawing, this one being written by the rescuer himself.

On 1 January 1909, twenty-one-year-old Boston College student Owen J. McGaffigan and friends were ice skating on the frozen Neponset River near the Mattapan neighborhood of Boston, Mass. In a passing glance, Owen saw the hands of a young boy, Albert F. Donahue, age six, sticking up from the icy river, the boy struggling to stay afloat. Though not knowing the boy, Owen immediately threw off his overcoat and dove into the water to his rescue. 

With this struggle, Owen was able to deliver Albert to safety thanks to the crowd ashore. Due to the weight of Owen’s skates, however, Owen found himself in the same dangerous position from which he had just saved Albert. Other young men playing hockey nearby fortunately came to McGaffigan’s rescue, successfully pulling him from the frigid waters.

The drawing Owen submitted to the Humane Society clearly depicts the scene, the depth of the waters, the movement of the current, and the danger of the situation. Though McGaffigan and the boy came out of the situation with their lives, McGaffigan wrote to the Humane Society that he was taken sick from Monday, 4 January until Wednesday, 20 January.

The case file also contains correspondence suggesting the other boys involved in pulling Albert to shore should be recognized and compensated, but ultimately the Humane Society deemed McGaffigan as the primary hero in this scenario, having risked his own life by jumping into the freezing water while wearing heavy skates and getting extremely ill for half a month’s time as a result. 

The Case and Rescue Reports of the Humane Society of Massachusetts records are almost entirely digitized and are freely available for online viewing through the collection guide. Due to the nature of these reports, it is extremely important to note the sensitivity of information the records contain – not every rescue produced positive results, and instances of mental health crises, tragic childhood deaths, devastating loss, and detailed descriptions of death permeate this collection. 

By Meg Szydlik, Visitor Services Coordinator

One thing I love about the collections at the Massachusetts Historical Society is the incredible range of different subjects contained within. So as the granddaughter of a particle physicist, I wanted to check out some science-based items and stumbled across The Mysteries of Time and Space, an astronomy book written by Richard A. Proctor in 1883. It promised diagrams and illustrations, and as someone who loves to learn about the stars and the universe, I thought it would be a promising choice for a blog post. I would never claim to be an expert on the mysteries of time and space, but perhaps that is precisely the right mindset to present this fascinating book to you.

The text itself was much less dry than I expected. Although there were many footnotes and lots of technical language, Proctor never had any problem slipping sly comments into his narration and that made the experience much more interesting than the content alone. One of my favorite pieces of commentary was in his section on comets and the end of the world, where he noted that “the year 1001 began, and still the world endured, with every sign of continuing.” His attitude towards astrology and predictions was interesting, because while he frequently raised an eyebrow at these beliefs, and he went through the process of breaking down any links between comets (commonly seen as harbingers of doom) and predicted events, he also seemingly acknowledged that astrology was not inherently wrong. This is a sentiment I have a hard time envisioning my own grandfather echo. It makes me wonder if he was alone in this, or if his contemporaries had similar views and if so, when they shifted.

Though it was clear to me that many advancements have been made since then, I loved reading through the thought process at the time and comparing it to what my understanding is. The creation of far more powerful telescopes, advanced imaging, and of course the launching of spaceships have all dramatically impacted our understanding of the universe in a way Proctor and other scientists of the 1800s could never have imagined in their wildest dreams. The diagrams and images in this book, as beautiful and interesting as they are, can hardly compare to the colorful photographs that were in my textbooks, even in elementary school. Proctor proposes theories about comets and the surface of the sun that I know the answer to! The intervening 140 years have radically changed what we recognize to be true, and yet the scientific process is roughly the same.

Despite the knowledge gap, I think that the spirit of The Mysteries of Time and Space is one I want to emulate. Proctor’s slight irreverence does not detract from his largely solid scientific inquiry. And certainly, as evidenced from the title, there was a sense of wonder at the universe and space that is really stunning and truthfully, a bit inspiring. To quote Proctor once again, “science tries to explain everything, and we must not be too precise in such matters.”

By Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

In Part 1 and Part 2 of this series on the diary of Amy Lee, I told you about her teenage years, her crushes, her friends, her thoughts on life, and the death of her mother in 1920. I’d like to finish her story by looking in depth at the last three entries in the volume, which pick up when Amy was probably 18 or 19 years old.

All three entries are undated, but the first is titled “Chis,” which was the nickname of her future husband Charles Cary Colt.

It is hard to know where to begin in describing him, the task is so big that my mind balks and becomes dazed. […] Somehow when he smiles I don’t see anything particular, I just feel happy and like throwing my arms around his neck.

Amy gushed about Chis’s charisma, courage, sense of humor, ambition, and intelligence. She loved him, but also admitted parenthetically, “(I’m scared to death of him),” and even asked her recently deceased mother, “Dear mother please tell me if I should say yes just yet.” It’s likely Chis had proposed, and Amy was using her diary to work out her feelings. Her ambivalence is very relatable, I think, as she ponders her future with a series of unanswered questions.

Am I sure enough and is he sure enough is it love that makes me so bewildered, at times so weak, almost sick? […] I stammer and stutter when I am with him, I do not trust myself. Is it love or is his will surplanting [sic] my own? […] Where am I falling shall I try to climb back or shall I jump and make it quick – but where would I land? Would Chis be always there – Does he love me or his idea of me – could I keep up the bluff?

The next entry in the diary was written after Amy had accepted Chis’s proposal. But she was still intimidated by the prospect of marriage, writing “the popular fancy held at least by most young girls, that love is a door into a blissful, carefree peaceful paradise is decidedly an illusion,” and wishing sometimes that she could run and hide. She described herself as “frightened and shaking” and prayed to God for help.

Amy’s ideas about the role and duties of a wife were shaped by her day and age. To be the ideal wife required, as she put it, “stiff self-training,” including “much reading” to keep up with Chis’s intellectual interests. Parts of this entry are written in the second person; Amy lectured herself, “You’ve accepted a gigantic undertaking – you can not let it down one inch.” (Throughout her diary, in fact, Amy switched her audience in interesting ways, sometimes addressing her reader, sometimes herself, and sometimes a third person.)

The final entry in Amy’s diary was apparently added in early December 1924, one year into her marriage and one month after the birth of her first child. Amy was very happy; her husband was patient and helpful, and even got along with his father-in-law! But she was especially rapturous about the arrival of Charles Cary Colt, Jr.

His eyes are still kitten eyes and give him a most helpless look that goes right to the heart. He seems very bewildered to be suddenly (not so very suddenly at that) ushered into this strange world, and not so awfully pleased.

Particularly moving is her description of the physical and emotional sensation of feeding her baby for the first time. Her frankness is rare in historical manuscripts.

When he first put his little cupid mouth to my breast to drink I felt a great longing to cry out against the inconquerable march of time. Like all mothers since Eve it filled me with sadness to think how soon he would be independent of me – be where I couldn’t protect him. My little tiger tugs at my breast with the most concentrated business-like air. […] Sometimes his little feet kick my side and his flowerlike hands rest on my breast.

On Thanksgiving day 1924, the Colt family moved into a new home, and Amy said she had “never been so utterly happy in all my life.” Records indicate that she would go on to have at least seven more children. Amy died in her nineties on 6 January 1996 and was followed by her husband nine months later.

During my research, I discovered that the MHS holds a book about Amy’s mother, Letters and Diaries of Margaret Cabot Lee, printed in 1923. While this book, of course, focuses on Margaret, I did find this reference to Amy in a letter Margaret sent to her sister in 1919, which made me smile: “I am glad you appreciate my child, you must n’t appreciate her too much but she is quite winsome.”

That book also contains a reproduction of this lovely photograph of a young Amy with her mother.

The diary of Amy Lee Colt is part of the papers of her father Joseph Lee here at the Massachusetts Historical Society.

By Heather Rockwood, Communications Associate

I love when different aspects of history intervene with each other. As my specialty is art history, I’m especially curious when developments or movements in art affect the ones preceding them—as seems to have happened when photography’s advent and popularity coincided with the waning of silhouettes as a popular form of portraiture.

Silhouettes came into fashion in the 18th century. Those skilled in the art form would travel around making silhouettes mostly for people who could not afford painted portraits. They were popular regardless of income and many wealthier people would commission silhouettes. A silhouette—a “shade” or “profile”—could be made in any media: painted, drawn, sewn, or cut from paper, this last method the most popular. The sitter’s image could be made freehand with scissors cutting paper, or by using light to trace a shadow. The cut out paper shape would then be pasted onto contrasting paper to make it stand out. What made this type of portraiture so popular was its convenience—almost anyone could do it in a few minutes—and at low cost. However, the same could be said of photography, even early photography. Although there was an initial set up cost to purchase or make a camera, the chemicals to develop the images were inexpensive and widely available. A photographer could take many portraits in a day. Photography, though, also had the irresistible advantage of capturing a person’s true likeness.

The MHS has a great collection of silhouettes, a few of my favorites shown below. I’ll start with the Adams Family which features silhouettes from 1829 of Louisa Catherine Adams (1775–1852), John Quincy Adams (1767–1848), John Adams (1803–1834), Mary Louisa Adams (1828–1859), Mary Catherine Hellen Adams (1806–1870), Abigail Smith Adams (1744–1818), and Mary Roberdeau (1774-?).  

I also find this silhouette of Mrs. John Chadwick and two daughters endearing as the figures are full-bodied, showing off their fashionable clothes. It’s also touching that Mrs. Chadwick and her daughters appear to be holding hands. Another thing I love about this silhouette is that its creator lightly embellished the black cutout with a whitewash to highlight some of the details. You can see those details when you enlarge the online image here.

And the last silhouette I’ll share is part of the ongoing exhibition, Our Favorite Things—a silhouette of Lucy Flucker Knox from 1790. Of course, the towering hairdo and gravity-defying hat make this image stand out from the other more traditional silhouettes in the MHS collection, which is why I want to share it.

To see more silhouettes in the MHS collection see this search here.

By Hannah Elder, Assistant Reference Librarian for Rights & Reproductions 

Let’s face it: the MHS has a lot of cool stuff. As the assistant reference librarian for rights and reproductions, I get to see some of that stuff as I pull it for researchers in the reading room and further afield. When something catches my eye, I get out my phone and take a photo of it to share with friends, family, and my fellow librarians. As the year comes to a close, I was reflecting on some of those photos and wanted to share them with you. Here is a compilation of some of the wonderful collection items I saw this year.

January: Binney family mourning bracelet

This bracelet was made ca. 1847 to commemorate Amos Binney and his mother, Hannah, who both died on 18 February 1847, but on opposite sides of the Atlantic. The central chamber holds a miniature portrait of Amos and a lock of hair that may have been Hannah’s.

February: Tide chart for Boston from the 3 June 1763 edition of the Boston Evening-Post

Having grown up on the coast, I was delighted to see this tide chart for a week in the summer of 1763. It’s also interesting to note the times for sunrise and sunset. Since we as a society did not yet practice daylight savings, the times for both sunrise and sunset are much earlier than we are used to.

March: Baby’s first photograph in Henry P. Binney’s baby book

I found this baby book while including Binney’s 1922 diary from my March blog post and was immediately enchanted by it. Other pages included descriptions of baby’s first outing, clippings from his first haircut, and other photos of Henry’s first years of life. The love of his parents is evident on every page.

April: inventory of chairs from Elizabeth R. Child’s estate

I found this list while working on a reproduction order and was struck by the number of chairs in a single house. I think my favorite is the old rocking chair.

May: Printing plate for The Congress voting independence

When I pulled this plate for a researcher in the reading room I thought it looked familiar, and for good reason: the print hangs in the library! Having both the printing plate and the final print feels special and is a great opportunity to learn more about printing history.

June: a scrap of paper from the Coolidge Collection of Thomas Jefferson Manuscripts

 I found this scrap of paper while searching for an inventory in the Jefferson papers. It is simply labeled “strip of paper w/ numbers” and is undated. I’m not sure why this scrap remained with the collection, but I’m glad it did!

July: The Irish in America by Carl Wittke

One of our printed resources, I found this in the stacks and photographed it to share with a friend.

August: Fred’s Breeches

Another item requested by a researcher, this charcoal, chalk, and crayon drawing amused all of the library staff.

September: The Castorland Journal

This journal, written in French by Simon Desjardins, describes the journey of the New York Company, a group of French emigrants who settled in New York in 1797. This page is a part of the topographical survey of the land.

October: Voltaire’s An essay on universal history

This set of volumes caught my eye in the stacks one day. I appreciate their various conditions, and the places you can see where volumes one and two would have matched volume three.

November: recipe for Thanksgiving Pudding from the Frances A. Frothingham recipe book

Thinking back to my gingerbread blog post from last year, I decided to check out some other cookbooks in the collection. Many pages in the cookbook were covered in splatters like the ones on this page. I love the signs of use and hope that Frances and her loved ones enjoyed many Thanksgiving puddings.

December: Edgecomb (Maine) tax list, 1795-1796

My family came to visit the library a couple of weeks ago, so I pulled one of the items in the collection related to our home town. We had fun looking for names that we recognized, from local landmarks and from local families. For instance, Moses Davis is the namesake for Davis Island in Edgecomb.

I hope you enjoyed this look back with me! If you want to see any of these items, or any other items from the collection, come visit us in the library in the new year!