POTUS vs. Trolley (Spoiler: Trolley Wins)

by Rakashi Chand, Reading Room Supervisor

The campaign trail is heating up and the candidates are crisscrossing the country trying to win over voters. During a similar moment in history the elected Vice President suddenly had to step in as POTUS. On the subsequent campaign trail, he was almost killed in a 20mph collision with a trolley. The bizarre incident can be found in the Papers of Winthrop Murray Crane at the MHS.

After McKinley’s assassination on 14 September 1901, the nation reeled, and 42-year-old Theodore Roosevelt suddenly became President of the United States. Roosevelt hit the campaign trail in 1902 to win over the nation as President and campaign for his party platform before the congressional elections.

Color photograph of a blue ink typed letter with some black ink handwritten corrections and signature of Theodore Roosevelt.
“How early of a bird are you!” Roosevelt writes to Crane in preparing for their campaign tour. Winthrop Murray Crane Papers

Roosevelt arrived in Bangor, Maine on August 27th with an entourage of more than fifty newspaper reporters, photographers, telegraphers, politicians and secret servicemen. He made his way through Vermont and crossed into Mass. where he met Sen. Henry Cabot Lodge. In Springfield Mass., Roosevelt delivered a speech defending America’s actions in the Philippines, specifically targeted to persuade the Mass. opponents of those actions. On the morning of September 3rd, Roosevelt gave a ten-minute speech on citizenship in Dalton, and was joined by Mass. Gov. Winthrop Murray Crane as they headed to Pittsfield, Mass.

Roosevelt’s handsome pullman carriage, the Mayflower, was waiting for him in Stockbridge. Crane and Roosevelt rode in his open carriage to Pittsfield, accompanied by Roosevelt’s secretary, George Cortelyou, and Secret Service Agent William Craig. The four horses were driven by Crane’s friend, Deputy Sheriff David Pratt, with mounted troops on each side. Roosevelt would have had the opportunity to enjoy some Berkshire scenery knowing that the press and the public were becoming more enamored with each speech and stop along the way.

At 9:35 AM a trolley became visible to the carriage that remained on the right of the trolley tracks, which seemed inconsequential as the Pittsfield Street Railway Company had been informed the regular schedule would be interrupted during the President’s visit, but the motormen running the trolley had been told to run as long as it was still possible. Why was this trolley on the track? Apparently, it was full of members of the Pittsfield Country Club who asked the motorman, Euclid Madden, to get to the Country Club before the President in a desire to receive him. Clearly there was a lack of communication. But what happened next was inexplicable. Pratt suddenly moved the carriage to the left, across the trolley track, perhaps, it is thought, for shade. Pratt’s peripheral view would have been obstructed by the mounted troops on each side of the carriage.

Roosevelt was confident the trolley would stop to let the Presidential caravan pass; Crane was not so confident and began waving his arms at Madden and the impending trolley. Madden tried everything he could to stop the trolley, including the brakes and shutting off power, but nothing could stop the trolley from crashing into the carriage. Madden contended afterwards that the trolley was only moving at eight miles per hour, although others felt it must have been moving at twenty miles per hour.

Color photograph of a black and white photograph of a black horse-drawn carriage with mangled wheels on the side closer to the camera.
Photograph of the carriage after the collision, from the Winthrop Murray Crane Photographs

Witnesses describe a shocking silence after the collision. Both Crane and Cortelyou grabbed the president upon impact. Roosevelt hit the side door of the carriage, resulting in cuts, swelling, and bruising on his face and lower left leg—a leg injury that would continue to bother him for years. Cortelyou hurt his nose and head, but Crane was miraculously unscathed. Pratt was thrown to the front of the trolley, but with little injury. Craig, known as “Secret Service Man Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to the President”, got up from his seat to shield the president and was thrown directly in front of the trolley as it charged forward. Craig was the first Secret Service agent who died protecting the President of the United States.

Color photograph of a black ink typed letter with a black ink handwritten signature towards the bottom.
Letter from the Chief of the Secret Service to Gov. Winthrop Murray Crane, Winthrop Murray Crane Papers

As the crowd rushed forward, the president and the governor held each other in shock. Roosevelt then became irate and perhaps uttered a profanity, but quickly gathered himself and assured the public that he was unhurt. He arranged to have Craig’s body moved to the nearby home of Mrs. A. B. Stevens and take Pratt to a hospital. The president, the governor and the president’s secretary were examined by doctors for thirty minutes in Mrs. Stevens’ house before limping out to the cheer of the crowds upon seeing Roosevelt intact, to which he responded “Don’t cheer. Don’t. One of our party lies dead inside.” (1)

Roosevelt knew the news of the accident could create rumors and potentially chaos in government, and asked reporters to spread word that the POTUS was unhurt and would continue onwards. Against all advice, Roosevelt pressed on and intended to make all scheduled stops that day, even with his bruised face, cut lip and black eye, lest the impact would be felt from Wall Street to foreign relations (2), although he gave no speeches.

Winthrop Murray Crane, owner of Crane and Co., went on to have great influence on American politics. Crane settled the 1902 three-day Teamsters strike in two hours, prompting Roosevelt to call upon him to mediate the anthracite coal strike, and once again he settled the strike successfully. Roosevelt offered Crane several positions in his administration, but Crane refused them all until George Frisbee Hoar’s seat became available in the US Senate. Crane served as senator from 1904 until 1913.

PS: This was not the first, nor most meaningful, connection Roosevelt had with Mass.; Roosevelt attended Harvard College, and at the age of nineteen met the cousin of Richard Saltonstall, a fellow undergraduate, named Alice Hathaway Lee. (3) Roosevelt was madly in love with the beautiful, cheery Alice of Chestnut Hill, and vehemently sought her hand in marriage. Alice and Theodore married on his twenty-second birthday, October 27, 1880 in Brookline, Mass. Alice died four years later on February 14, 1884, two days after giving birth to their daughter. Roosevelt was so heartbroken he never spoke of her again, not even to their daughter, Alice.

  1. President Theodore Roosevelt’s Brush with Death in 1902. Theodore Roosevelt Association Journal. https://www.theodorerooseveltcenter.org/Research/Digital- Library/Record?libID=o308081. Theodore Roosevelt Digital Library. Dickinson State University.
  2. Roosevelt, Theodore. Theodore Roosevelt Papers: Series 2: Letterpress Copybooks, -1916; Vol. 36, 1902, July 29-Oct. 25. – October 25, 1902, 1902. Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/mss382990364/.
  3. For more on Alice Lee Hathaway Roosevelt: TR Center – Roosevelt, Alice Hathaway Lee (theodorerooseveltcenter.org)
Posted in From Our Collections Tagged

The 259th Anniversary of Boston’s Liberty Tree

by Heather Rockwood, Communications Manager

A quiet, hot August morning dawned in Boston in 1765. The morning light shone on an American elm tree on Orange Street in the South End revealing two items that were not present the day before. The first was a straw-filled dummy, or effigy, shaped like a man with the letters “A. O.” on it, standing for Andrew Oliver, the newly appointed stamp tax collector, the other was a green boot with a small devil sticking out of the top. This one represented the Earl of Bute and the Earl of Grenville, supporters of the Stamp Act in Britain’s Parliament. The effigy also had “What Greater Joy did ever New England see/ Than a Stampman hanging on a Tree!” written on it.

The rest of the story is best told by two witnesses to the event. In the first example, Cyrus Baldwin wrote to his brother on 15 August, informing him of the date of his upcoming visit and included news of the previous night’s protest. He personally witnessed it, or at least, the end of the evening’s mob rioting. In the second account, John Rowe, a loyalist, tells the story as heard from a secondary source.

Color photograph of a handwritten black-ink letter on paper discolored with age.
Letter from Cyrus Baldwin to Loammi Baldwin, 15 August 1765, page 2

Yesterday morning we had something so Rair as to draw the attention of almost the whole town it was no less than the Effigie of the Honourable Stamp Master of this Province hanging on one of the great Trees at the south end directly over the main street behind him was a Boot hung up with the Devil Crawling out, with the pitchfork in his hand, on the Effigies Right arm was writ and sew’d on the letters AO. on his left arm was wrote these words (It’s a glorious sight to See a Stamp-man hanging on a Tree) on his breast was a large paper fraimed , and the lines much like what follows

Fair freedoms Cause I’ve meanly Quitted

For the Sake of a little Pelf

The Devil has me outwitted

And now I have hangd myself

the

NB He that takes

This down is an

enemy to his —

Country

This Effigie hung in this manner alday, tho the Sheriff with another Officer or two went and askd liberty to take it dow but to no purpose, after sun sett the North gave up & the South keept not back the mob Increased every moment. and they took the Image down, after the performance of some Cerimo nies it was brought by the Mob through the main street to the Townhous, carried it through and proceeded to the supposd Stamp Office near Olivers Dock and in less than half an hour laid it even with the ground then took the timbers of the house and caryd ’em up on Fort Hill where they stampd the Image & timber & made a great bonfire. at length the fuel faild they Immediately fell upon the stamp Masters Garden fence took it up stampd it and burnt it, if any piece happen’d to be cast upon the fire before it was stampd it was puld and the Ceremony pasd upon it and put on again. not contented with this they proceeded to his Coach house took off the doars stampd ’em & burnt ’em while they was doing this the Sheriff began to read the proclamation for the mob to withdraw which Insenc’d the Mob so much that they fell upon the Stamp Masters dweling house broke glass Casements & all; also broke open the doars enterd the house & bespoil’d good part of the house & furniture, braking the looking glasses which some said was a pitty, the answer was that if they would not bare stamping they was good for nothing. The Coach & boobyhutt were drag’d up the Hill & would have been stamp’d & burnt had not some Gentlemen Oppos’d it & with much difficulty they prevented it. They continued their fire till about 11 o’Clock then Retired. I believe people never was more Univassally pleasd not so much as one could I hear say he was sorry, but a smile sat on almost every ones countenance. It is reported that Mr. Oliver the said Stamp Master wrote to the Governor & Counsel that is was not worth while for him or any body else to accept the office of a Stamp Master in this place. Augt. 16 there was a pretty large Mob last night don’t hear that any damage was done thereby. Tis hopd that Mr. Oliver has Suffer’d will be Sufficient warning to others not to take Offices that Encroach upon American liberty.

Color photograph of a handwritten black-ink diary page, handwriting can be seen through to the other side, the paper is discolored with age.
John Rowe diary 1, 13-14 August 1765, page 183

14 August. Wind Westerly A Great Number of people assembled this morning at—Deacon Elliots Corner to see the Stamp Officer hung in Effigy with a Libel on his Breast On Deacon Elliot’s tree & alongside him. a Boot stuffd with Representation, which represented the Devill coming out of Bute, this stamp officer hung up all Day—at night they cut him down layd him out & carried in Triumph amidst the acclamations of many thousands who were gathered together on that occasion, they—proceeded from the So. End down the Main street through the Town house & Round by Olivers Dock they Pull’d down a New Building which some people thought was Building for a Stamp Office, & did some Mischief to Mr. Andrew Olivers house (which I think they were much to Blame).

Andrew Oliver, the stamp collector, publicly resigned from his position at the Liberty Tree in December 1765. Boston’s Liberty Tree became a meeting place for the Sons of Liberty to protest and celebrate. During celebrations Bostonians hung flags, streamers, and lanterns on the tree. Boston’s Liberty Tree inspired Liberty Trees in other places such as Newport, RI, and Charlestown, SC.

During the British occupation of Boston in 1775 the tree was chopped down by British soldiers. Plaques were placed near the location of the tree to commemorate the Liberty Tree and in 2018 Liberty Tree Plaza opened on the site, but belowground infrastructure prevents a tree being planted in the plaza.

To learn more about Boston’s Liberty Tree follow these links to more eyewitness accounts and historical interpretation.

Roots of the Liberty Tree

Engraving by Paul Revere

The Object of History podcast, season 2, episode 9 “The Roots of Liberty?: An MHS Mystery”

History Source: Mapping Colonial Boston

Posted in From Our Collections

“Tell it to the whales”

by Lauren Gray, Reference Librarian

Whale tours abound in Massachusetts. In 2024, boats take to the seas laden with tourists white-knuckling smart phones, their eager lenses hoping to catch a glimpse of tail, or a rounded, spurting hump. A native Missourian (read: ‘landlocked’) and new resident of Massachusetts, I took my first whale watch tour in June and was not disappointed. The whales delivered, and my phone was there to catch every hump, spurt, and tail (not to mention a few dolphins). The whale watch got me thinking about the history of whaling. Whaling was a massive industry in the 19th century, and the profits were enormous. But what did that mean to the whales? I’m an animal-lover at heart, and I can’t stand the thought of those giant majestic beauties floundering under a barrage of harpoons, yet that’s exactly what kept the New England economy viable during a critical point in the region’s history. That history has also given us scores of archival material. On further consideration, as it turns out, whaling is the perfect metaphor for America—its greed, violence, exploitation of nature, and human arrogance define one of the worst chapters in American environmental history. (In the west, their quadrupedal cousins, the bison, can tell you the sequel.)

Pilgrims brought whaling to Massachusetts. (Most pre-contact Indigenous people in New England did not actively hunt whales.) Spying a pod of whales during a voyage from Plymouth to Cape Cod in 1621, Edward Winslow commented, “…every day we saw whales playing hard by us, of which in that place, if we had instruments and means to take them, we might have made a very rich return, which to our great grief we wanted.” [1] He went on to report that, had he the right tools for the job, he “might have made three of four thousand pounds worth of oil” out of the whales, and “purpose the next winter to fish for whale here.”

However, it would be another two decades before there was wide-spread commercial whaling in the colonies. By the 1670s, small whaling ships, crewed by English and Indigenous people together, hunted off the coast of Cape Cod. Even before the end of the 18th century, scarcity in the whale population in the northern Atlantic forced whalers to round the horns to hunt for whales in the Pacific, where an ocean of opportunity awaited. The golden age of whaling had begun.

Color photograph of a page discolored with age with brown ink handwriting in a diary format. Halfway down the page are drawings of two whale's tails next to each other.
Page from the diary of Perry R. Brightman aboard the whale ship George & Mary, 1852

Golden, that is, for the sea captains, merchants, and bankers who lined their pockets from the spoils of the hunt. In the first half of the 19th century, American whalers dominated the global market, and the whaling industry contributed $10 million dollars to the U.S. GDP (which is over $300,000,000 in 2024 dollars).[2] Whale oil, made from boiled blubber, spermaceti from sperm whales’ heads, and baleen—the delicate bristles found in baleen whales’ mouths—were key resources for the Victorians. Baleen was woven into the corsets that pinched the waists of tubercular maidens and buxom madams alike; whale oil burned in lighthouses along every coast; and spermaceti wax dripped and flared in candles that illuminated nights “lit only by fire.”[3] In the Victorian world, the whale was omnipresent and indispensable.

If it was fantastically lucrative for the merchants profiting from their ill-begotten wares, it was not so fantastic for the whales. During whaling’s heyday, the whale population plummeted. Due to the steady decrease in whale populations and the advent of viable alternatives (like manufactured gas and petroleum), the American whaling industry went into a steep decline, and effectively ended in the mid-1880s.[4] While scholars disagree on exact numbers, over 150,000 whales were killed in just 50 years of whaling’s heyday, leading to the decimation of the blue, right, gray, and bowhead populations.

In the historical record, whales don’t fare much better. After my whale watch tour, I came back to the MHS to start research on this blog post, but I found that whales surface in the MHS catalog rarely and even then, the archival record captures them as creatures to be hunted and exploited. The MHS holds dozens of ships logs, descriptions of whaling voyages, personal papers of those who participated in the whaling industry or profited from it, histories of the towns where whaling dominated, and much more. But where, exactly, are the whales that make whaling possible? In the archive, the pictures that come down to us are grainy and grim: a boy perched next to a beached and conquered finback; a sun-bleached skeleton of indeterminate species, dreary in sepia; a captive beluga in the Boston Aquarial Gardens flashing through a young girl’s diary “white almost as snow.” In the archive, the whales’ memory is entwined with the legacy of violence and greed, the hunters’ hubris immortalized in ledgers and statistics.

The history of whaling is, in large part, the history of New England. Thankfully, the industry collapsed before irreparable harm could be done. Whale populations rebounded throughout the 20th century, and now the ‘gentle giants’ are objects of awe instead of greed. Just this month, amazed Bostonians were greeted by a breaching whale in Boston Harbor, and local institutions like the New England Aquarium are at the forefront of conservancy and education. However, despite whales’ popularity, and the efforts of environmental groups and advocates, whale populations continue to be disrupted by illegal whaling; shipping lanes interfere with mating patterns; and global warming makes whale feeding grounds unstable. Edward Winslow’s “great grief” in 1621 was that he could not hunt the whales; in 2024, it’s that the colonists eventually succeeded. Meanwhile, in the archive, we are left to grapple with whaling’s history. Whaling’s economic benefits alone fill volumes, and the data found in ships logs and ledgers help us to understand our changing climate. Stories from whaling voyages help us to better understand the human condition.

I wish it was as simple as balancing the karma between history and what we can learn from it. All I can think is, “tell it to the whales.”[5]

[1] Edward Winslow, Mourt’s Relation (1621)

[2] Lance E. Davis, Robert E. Gallman, and Teresa D. Hutchins, “The Decline of U.S. Whaling” (The Business History Review, Vol. 62, No. 4, Winter, 1988 pp. 569-595)

[3] William Manchester, A World Lit Only by Fire (Little, Brown and Company, 1993)

[4] Whaling globally didn’t peak until the 1960s.

[5] Max Brooks, World War Z (Three Rivers Press, 2007)

Posted in From Our Collections Tagged ,

A Grasshopper, A Market & Speeches: Faneuil Hall

by Heather Rockwood, Communications Manager

Faneuil Hall was built in 1742 by Peter Faneuil, (1700–1743), a man who inherited the estate of his uncle, but then grew to be one of the wealthiest men in Boston, using his business acumen as well as benefits from the Transatlantic Slave Trade. Faneuil gifted the building to Boston for use as a town meeting hall and marketplace. In the years before the American Revolution, the building was the scene of many incendiary speeches by liberty-seeking Bostonians, including Samuel Adams and James Otis Jr. The building continued to be used for town meetings until 1822, after which it was a thriving marketplace through the 1800s and early 1900s, while continuing to be a place for speech-making for Abolitionists. By the 1960s the building fell into disrepair but became a National Historic Landmark and went through renovations in the 1970s and 1990s. One of the more interesting aspects of Faneuil Hall is its copper weathervane in the shape of a grasshopper, created by Shem Drowne in 1742. In the map below from 1776, “D” marks the location of Faneuil Hall.

Two color images side by side. To the left a portrait painting of an older white man who is standing in a brown velvet jacket and vest while he gestures lightly behind him towards ships in the distance. On the right is a color map of Boston from 1776. Buildings are in pink and some are labeled with letters.
From left to right: John Smibert, Peter Faneuil, oil on canvas, 1739; Andrew Dury, A Plan of Boston, and its Environs shewing the true Situation of His Majesty’s Army, 1776.

The MHS has a large collection of photographs and a few engravings of Faneuil Hall throughout its 282-year history. The first image, an engraving, is from 1789. Its most notable features are the building’s central cupola, the three windows across the west side, and two floors, all of which changed in 1806 when Charles Bullfinch added floors, widened the building, and moved the cupola to the back, east side.

A color photograph of a black ink engraving of a building with two floors and a cupola in the center. There are other buildings in the background and several figures in the foreground viewing the building or walking by on foot or horse.
S. Hill after W. Pierpont, “View of Faneuil-Hall, in Boston, Massachusetts,” engraving, 1789.

I grouped the following photographs into similar views of the building, showing how some are eerily similar but from different time periods. The first group shows views of the front of the building, or east side.

Two black and white photographs with a similar view. Both focus on a large four story building with a cupola in the background with a large square surrounded by other buildings in the foreground. Many figures, horses and carts are going through the square.
Left: “Adams Sq., Looking Down to Faneuil Hall,” unidentified photographer, 1900. Right: View of Adams Square and Dock Square, looking north-east towards Faneuil Hall, Boston, possibly by Arthur A. Shurcliff, 19th century.

The second group shows Faneuil Square, or Adams Square, now Dock Square, in front of Faneuil Hall.

Three black and white photographs side by side. The one on the left and middle have very similar views with Faneuil Hall as a small sliver to the left and the focus on the buildings beside it. The one on the right is a larger view of the square in front of Faneuil Hall with the entire west side of the building in view.
From left to right: “Faneuil Hall Sq. south side,” unidentified photographer, 1850s–1860s; “Faneuil Sq. south side,” unidentified photographer, 1934; and “Adams Sq., looking east to Faneuil Hall,” unidentified photographer, 1934.

The last group of photographs captures the backside of Faneuil Hall, as well as the other end of Quincy Market on the south side, or South Market. You may notice that the first image on the left is flipped—try reading the signs—it is also the oldest photograph.

Four black and white photographs side by side. On the left is a very old photograph with blacked out edges, but focuses on the east side of Faneuil Hall. The other three are from farther away, but the middle left is closer than the other two. The middle right and right photographs are almost the same image which includes the length of Quincy Market and a bit of South Market in the view.
From left to right: Gilman Joslin, Faneuil Hall, Boston, Massachusetts, daguerreotype, ca. 1840; “Faneuil Hall Market,” unidentified photographer, before 1868; “Faneuil Hall Market,” unidentified photographer, 1853–1900; and “Faneuil Hall Market,” unidentified photographer, 1933–1935.

This last photograph was taken from the north side of Faneuil Hall, but looks eastward, with a focus on Quincy Market behind it.

Black and white photograph of several buildings with Quincy Market the central focus and a large empty square in the foreground.
“Faneuil Hall Sq.,” unidentified photographer, 1934.

Something I am excited to see in the MHS collection is the Ben and Jane Thompson Faneuil Hall Marketplace Records that relate to the restoration and revitalization of the Faneuil Hall Marketplace area, including Quincy Market and the North and South Market buildings. The collection includes all the records for the planning, construction, and opening stages of the project, as well as correspondence from preconstruction and post-openings. Publicity and visual materials also comprise the collection, all yet to be digitized, but you can request to view it. Learn more about how to visit the MHS and see documents and collections like this.

Posted in From Our Collections

Aerostatic, Air Balloon, Freedom: The Adams Family’s Interest in Balloon-powered Flight

by Heather Rockwood, Communications Manager

John Adams (JA) and John Quincy Adams (JQA) were fascinated by the hottest flight invention of the 1780s: hot air balloons. Their fascination rivals present-day Parisian’s enjoyment of the Olympic and Paralympic cauldron. Paris citizens are currently collecting signatures to keep the Olympic and Paralympic cauldron as a permanent display representing the French national motto, “Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité.” Since this Olympic flame uses no fossil fuels, only water and light, it could possibly be on display long term.

Color photograph aimed upwards from the ground on a dark night. What is visible is a large inflated balloon tethered by many strings to a basket holding light and giving off steam which lights the balloon from below with a lovely glow. A row of old-style streetlamps are in a line from the top left to the bottom right lit up to match the balloon.
The Olympic Flame rises on a balloon after being lit in Paris, France during the opening ceremony of the 2024 Summer Olympics, Friday, 26 July 2024. Credit: Francisco Seco

JA and JQA were in Paris in 1783 when Joseph Michel and Jacques Etienne Montgolfier developed their “aerostatique” hot air balloons. These flight experiments caught the fancy of Parisians and the Adamses. On 27 August 1783, JQA wrote in his diary:

“after dinner I went to see the experiment, of the flying globe. A Mr: Montgolfier of late has discovered that, if one fills a ball with inflammable air, much lighter than common air, the ball of itself will go up to an immense height of itself. This was the first publick experiment of it. at Paris. a Subscription was opened some time agone and filled at once for making a globe; it was of taffeta glued together with gum, and lined with parchment: filled with inflammable air: it was of a spherical form; and was 14 foot size in Diameter. it was placed in the Champ de Mars. at 5. o’clock 2. great guns fired from the Ecole Militaire, were the signal given for its going, it rose at once, for some time perpendicular, and then slanted. the weather, was unluckily very Cloudy, so that in less than 2. minutes it was out of sight: it went up very regularly and with a great swiftness. as soon as it was out of sight. 2. more cannon were fired from the Ecole Militaire to announce it. this discovery is a very important one, and if it succeeds it may become very useful to mankind.”

Although this wasn’t the first experiment of flight with the balloon, which occurred 4 June 1783, this was the first public exhibition of it. JA wrote to Abigail Adams on 7 September 1783, “The Moment I hear of it [AA’s arrival in Europe], I will fly with Post Horses to receive you at least, and if the Ballon, Should be carried to such Perfection in the mean time as to give Mankind the safe navigation of the Air, I will fly in one of them at the Rate of thirty Knots an hour.”

A black ink printed engraving of a large round balloon netted and tethered by many ropes to a small boat style basket with many carved decorations and two figures holding flags in the ship. At the bottom are words in French.
“Aerostatic Experiments” in Paris 1783, French colored engraving of a balloon flight in 1783

This fascination continued and spread! On 10 November 1784, JQA wrote to his friend Peter Jay Munro:

“Messieurs Roberts made their third experiment, the 19th of September, and with more success than any aerostatic travellers have had before. They went up from the Thuileries, amidst a concourse of I suppose 10,000 persons. At noon, and at forty minutes past six in the Evening they descended at Beuory in Artois fifty leagues from Paris. This is expeditious travelling, and I heartily wish they would bring balloons to such a perfection, as that I might go to N. York, Philadelphia, or Boston in five days time. M.M. Roberts have publish’d a whole Volume of Observations upon their Voyage, or Journey or whatever it may be called, but I judge from the abstracts I have seen of it that they have taken a few traveller’s Licenses, and have given some little play to their Imaginations. . . . They have established somewhere in Paris, a machine which they call une tour aërostatique where for a small price, any curious person may mount as high as he pleases, and so ‘look down upon the pendent world.’ ”

On 21 January 1785, JQA dined at Thomas Jefferson’s house in Paris and he wrote in his diary the story of the flight Dr. John Jeffries had taken earlier that month: “Mr. Blanchard cross’d from Dover to Calais in an air balloon, the 7th. of the month. accompanied by Dr: Jefferies. they were obliged to throw over their cloathes to lighten their balloon. Mr: Blanchard met with a very flattering reception at Calais, and at Paris…. All that has as yet been done relative to this discovery, is the work of the French. Montgolfier. Pilâtre de Rozier, & Blanchard, will go down, hand in hand to Posterity.”

The French enthusiasm for ballooning waned after a major accident in June 1785 when aeronauts Pilâtre de Rozier and Dr. Pierre Ange Romain crashed their balloon on the French shore while attempting to cross the English Channel. Their aéro-Montgolfier, a gas double balloon, exploded over a thousand feet in the air and the two fell to their gruesome deaths. On the 23 June 1785, Abigail Adams 2nd wrote to her cousin Lucy Cranch, “You talk of comeing to see us in a Balloon. Why my Dear as Americans sometimes are capable of as imprudent and unadvised things as any other People perhaps, I think it but Prudent to advise you against it. There has lately a most terible accident taken place by a Balloons taking fire in the Air in which were two Men. Both of them were killed by their fall, and there limbs exceedingly Broken. Indeed the account is dreadfull. I confess I have no partiallity for them in any way.”

Like the Eiffel Tower, created to be a temporary exhibition piece for the 1889 World Expo in Paris, I do hope the Olympic and Paralympic cauldron becomes a permanent display.

Posted in From Our Collections Tagged ,

Sisters Are Doin’ It for Themselves: Sarah Freeman Clarke

by Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

I wrote for the Beehive a few weeks ago about a collection I’d just finished processing, the Perry-Clarke additions, which documents the lives of several generations of the Clarke family of Boston. The family member probably best known to most people is Unitarian minister James Freeman Clarke. But I’d like to use my bully pulpit here to tell you about some of his equally impressive relatives. This post will be the first in a series.

I’ll start with my favorite, James’s older sister Sarah Freeman Clarke. Sarah’s life spanned almost the entire 19th century, from 1808 to 1896. She was primarily a landscape painter, a student of artist Washington Allston, and her artwork was exhibited throughout Boston during her lifetime and even at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893. But she also taught classes at the Temple School, wrote articles for publication, and even founded a library in Marietta, Georgia. She traveled widely, and her network of friends included Ralph Waldo Emerson; Elizabeth, Mary, and Sophia Peabody; and Margaret Fuller. In fact, Sarah illustrated Fuller’s book Summer on the Lakes in 1843 and participated in Fuller’s famous “Conversations.”

Though a professional success by anyone’s definition, Sarah was also devoted to her family. As a young woman, she helped her mother run a boarding house. In later life, she moved to Georgia to live with her brothers as they all aged and needed mutual support. She doted on her nieces and nephews, corresponding with them frequently. She and her brother James were especially close, and she was a great—and I think underestimated—influence on his career. Her letters are full of encouragement, advice, and constructive criticism.

Color photograph of two pages of a letter written at Marietta, Georgia, dated February 13, 1894, and addressed to “Dear Mrs. Cheney.”
Letter from Sarah Freeman Clarke to Ednah Dow Cheney, 13 Feb. 1894

The first ten boxes of the Perry-Clarke additions consist of family correspondence, and next to James and his wife Anna, Sarah is the third most frequent correspondent. The collection also includes one box of Sarah’s personal papers. Another collection at the MHS contains a diary she kept on a Nile voyage in 1873-1874. For information about that volume, see this excellent post written by a colleague of mine back in 2019.

When archivists are processing manuscripts, there just isn’t enough time to read everything; we usually have to skim. Sarah’s were the letters I most wanted to read. She wrote well, not in that formal, flowery style some of her contemporaries used. Her letters are more colloquial. She expressed her opinions frankly, but in a humorous, self-deprecating way. For example, when James misattributed an article in The Dial to Sarah (actually written by Fuller), Sarah teased him, “You say well that I must have made vast progress to do that. Truly I must have out-travelled myself & become another person first.”

Sarah’s letters from Georgia in the closing decade of the 19th century are fascinating for another reason: women suffragists were trying to make inroads in the state. Sarah was particularly impressed by the Howard sisters of Columbus, including Claudia Howard Maxwell, Miriam Howard DuBose, and Helen Augusta Howard. The Howards were fighting for women’s rights in a very hostile climate, against, in Sarah’s words, “bigoted and old fashioned” men, attacks “from the pulpit & press,” and even the “violent” opposition of their own brothers.

The National American Woman Suffrage Association held their 27th annual convention in Atlanta in 1895. The 87-year-old Sarah had hoped to attend but was unable. Regarding women’s suffrage in Georgia, she wrote:

The few people whom I know to be in favor of equal Suffrage are strenuous in their belief and urgent in their practice amid much opposition from those who think the Bible forbids any such unnatural doings by women. There is much ancient superstition here, of the same sort as that which claimed that Slavery was a biblical institution, and that the negroes were more benefitted than injured, by being torn from their homes & brought here to be slaves, because – it gave them a chance to become Christians! Such is this queer world!

Posted in From Our Collections

Mourning in Miniature

by Isabella Dobson, PhD Student at Boston University in History of Art and Architecture

Viewing the miniature mourning portrait of Jane Winthrop is just as much a tactile experience as a visual one. Undoing the tiny clasps and folding open the case reveals an interior lined with satin and velvet and offers a tangible, intimate encounter with the deceased. Jane’s bright coral lips and rosy cheeks suggest youth and alertness, and her only visible blue eye gazes hopefully beyond the frame. However, the satin lining opposite Jane’s portrait adds a bittersweet undertone; a few faded lines of text hand-inked by Jane’s younger brother Robert C. Winthrop read, “My sister/Jane Winthrop/taken after/her death/by/Sarah Goodrich/1819”. Born in 1801, Jane would have only been seventeen when she passed away, making Goodrich’s vivid posthumous likeness particularly heart-wrenching.[1]

This is a bust-length portrait of a young, white woman in profile. She wears a white dress with a lacy collar and a blue bow around her waist. Her long brown hair is held in place on top of her head with a comb and her curled bangs frame her forehead. She smiles serenely and rests her hand on a small piano in the corner of the portrait. The stippled background behind her fades from light blue to dark gray from right to left. The portrait is held in a red case.
Sarah Goodrich, Miniature portrait of Jane Winthrop (1801-1819), 1819, Watercolor on ivory, 8.7 x 6.9 cm, Collection of MHS

In an era before photography, miniature mourning portraits like this one served as precious reminders of deceased loved ones’ image and presence. A greater emphasis on romantic and familial bonds beginning in the late 18th century made loss harder to bear.[2] Indeed, the day after her death, Jane’s father Thomas Lindall Winthrop writes to his sister to share news of his daughter’s death, mourning “the dissolution of one of the most innocent, purest-minded, and loveliest girls that perhaps ever existed.”[3] Winthrop’s praise of Jane’s virtues conveys his love for her and reveals the grief he feels in her absence. Jane’s portrait mirrors this verbal praise; her white dress and its collar of soft, layered frills suggest the purity and grace her father lauds and whose loss finds the whole family “in great affliction”.[3] In contrast to her youthful countenance, Jane’s hairstyle suggests that she has entered womanhood since her curled bangs and pinned-up bun match the style worn by the thirty-year-old Caroline Hall Parkman in her own miniature portrait.[4]

This is a bust-length portrait of a young, white woman gazing directly at the viewer, smiling softly. She wears a white dress with a lacy collar and a small, oval brooch in the middle, as well as a gold chain around her neck. Her long brown hair is held in place on top of her head with a comb and her curled bangs frame her forehead. The stippled background behind her fades from blue to green from top to bottom. The portrait is held in a red case.
Unidentified artist, Miniature portrait of Caroline Hall Parkman (1794-1871), ca. 1824, Watercolor on ivory, 9.2 x 6.7 cm, Collection of MHS

While Robert, the portrait’s inscriber, was only nine when his sister passed, his later writings bring Jane’s portrait to life. The piano on which Jane rests her hand assumes special significance when considered alongside a memory recounted by Robert in a letter from 1877. Recalling how his “six or seven brothers and sisters used to gather around the piano”, Robert writes that this memory “brings back a family group—of which I am the youngest and now the only survivor—as vividly as I hope one day see it above”.[5] Surely viewing his sister’s portrait, with its miniature piano, would have reminded Robert both of these fond memories and the painful losses that eventually followed.

Crammed into the corner, the piano—where Jane could often be found in life—also echoes the early 19th-century idea that the process of mourning fulfilled “a fundamental need to imaginatively or tangibly locate the dead in a specific way.”[2]  In the letter to his sister, Thomas Winthrop writes that he believes Jane to be “happy in another and better world”, marking his desire to cognitively pinpoint his deceased daughter.[3] Goodrich, too, positions Jane between this world and the next; even as Jane appears alive and alert, her gaze drifts beyond the piano, symbolically disconnecting her from earthly pastimes like playing music. Though Jane is unreachable in death, her presence remains accessible to her loved ones through Goodrich’s portable, intimate portrait.

[1] Shaw Mayo, The Winthrop Family in America, 218. Jane was born on March 15, 1801, and died February 22, 1819, in Boston.

[2] Jaffee Frank, Love and Loss: American Portrait and Mourning Miniatures, 7.

[3] Winthrop, Thomas Lindall, Letter to sister Jane Stuart, February 23, 1819. It must have been a sort of cruel irony to write to one Jane that another Jane had died.

[4] Massachusetts Historical Society Online Collections page for portrait miniature of Caroline Hall Parkman. The sitter was born in 1794 and the portrait was made ca. 1824.

[5] Winthrop Jr., Robert C., A Memoir of Robert C. Winthrop, 297. Robert had 14 siblings, so to be the lone survivor is a particularly lonely position to occupy.

Posted in From Our Collections

A Giant Problem at the MHS

by Brandon McGrath-Neely, Library Assistant

The holdings of the MHS often tell the authentic stories of real figures such as Revolutionary heroes, 18th century women laborers, and helmet-wearing air raid survivors. A smaller group of materials deal with more mysterious subjects, like strange voices calling from the waters of Boston in 1634. In these cases, it can be difficult to know what really happened, what was misunderstood, and what was invented. A recent question of these less tangible materials has forced the staff to admit: The MHS has a giant problem.

I should clarify – the problem isn’t giant in scale. The problem is about Giants. Several materials describe these tall, powerful creatures of myth and legend, but they can’t agree on what Giants are like! A brief survey of the Giants of MHS will show how conflicted the archival voices are on this subject.

For some authors, Giants are gargantuan monsters of violence and treachery. Pulling from older British and Biblical mythology, these Giants are the biggest of bullies. An 1817 tale describes Woglog the Giant, who kidnaps children who stay outside past sunset and tries to crack them “as one does a walnut.” In this case, the Giant was used to teach children a lesson: “Little boys should never loiter about in the fields nor even in the streets after dark. […] So must all other little boys and girls, or nobody will love them.”[1] An 1809 retelling of “Jack and the Beanstalk” likewise depicts Giants as murderous evildoers who chant, “Fe, fa, fan, I smell the blood of an Englishman; If he be alive, or if he be dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.”[2] An 1882 version of the same tale complicates the story – in this telling, the Giant killed Jack’s father and then dies trying to kill Jack.[3]

Printed image of a giant standing next to a human woman.
The History of Mother Twaddle and the Marvellous Atchievements of Her Son Jack, 17757 Shaw/Shoemaker Fiche

Yet both earlier and later texts feature Giants who are far more caring and gentle. In Jonathan Swift’s 1726 classic political satire, Gulliver’s Travels, Lemuel Gulliver meets a society of Giants after washing up on the island of Brobdingnag. Though they aren’t perfect, these Giants live in a rather simple, peaceful society. The King of the Brobdingnagians disdains politics and prefers agriculture: “[W]hoever could make two ears of corn, or two blades of grass, to grow upon a spot of ground where only one grew before, would deserve better of mankind, and do more essential service to his country, than the whole race of politicians put together.”[4] The men decide that the Giants must be from an ancient civilization of humanity, and that as humans became more obsessed with political maneuvering and deadly technology, they shrank in size.

130 years later, the author Christopher Pearse Cranch also depicted Giants as heartfelt, tender creatures. In The Last of the Huggermuggers, A Giant Story, the protagonist also washes up on an island inhabited by a pair of Giants, Mr. and Mrs. Huggermugger. Though he initially fears them, he quickly discovers that they are gentle, parental figures who love shellfish and their home: “The Huggermuggers were not wicked and blood-thirsty. How different from the monsters one reads about in children’s books!”[5] However, a dastardly dwarf (larger than humans, but smaller than Giants) arranges their magical death, and these two embodiments of a warm and familial past fade away, never to be seen again.

A giant man smoking a pipe carries a basket full of humans who are tiny in comparison.
Mr. Huggermugger carries a group of humans in a basket. The Last of the Huggermuggers, PS1149.C8 L17

Complicating the matter even further, some authors don’t view Giants as ‘Giants’ at all! In Anne Thackeray’s 1867 retelling of “Jack and the Beanstalk,” the two-headed Giant, Bulcox, is not a towering creature bent on destruction. Instead, it is a married couple in charge of a Victorian-era workhouse, who malnourish and abuse their laborers. Rather than a bone-filled dungeon, the Bulcox’s lair is the unsanitary living quarters: “Truth, naked, alas! covered with dirt and vermin, shuddering with cold, moaning with disease, and heaped and tossed in miserable, uneasy sleep at the bottom of her foul well.” This story’s Giants are not slayed by swords, magic, or axes, but rather by public awareness, the free press, and a clergyman unafraid to help the sick in the hospitals they languish at: ”[A]ll these hundreds of weary years, all these aching limbs, and desolate waifs from stranded homes, this afflicted multitude of past sufferings.”[6]

So what are Giants like, according to the materials in our collection? Well, they’re a lot of things. They’re the reason to stay inside after dark and listen to your parents. They’re the evil in the world, encouraging bravery and heroism to defeat them. They’re embodiments of more simple, peaceful pasts of yesteryear. And they’re social problems, capable of wreaking great destruction under the surface. Like other legendary creatures throughout human history, Giants are imagined and reimagined by communities within distinct contexts. Considering why people in different places, and different times, imagine Giants so differently could reveal much about how those people viewed themselves, the world around them, and their place in it. But that’s much more than can be handled in a blog post—that’s a giant project.

Referenced Works

[1] The History of Tommy Trip, and His Dog Jowler. And of Birds and Beasts. 1817. New Haven: Sidney’s Press. 6-8.

[2] H.A.C. 1809. The History of Mother Twaddle, and the Marvellous Atchievements of Her Son, Jack. Philadelphia: Wm. Charles. 14.

[3] Swinton, William, and George R. Cathcart, eds. 1882. Golden Book of Tales: Holiday Readings in the Legendary Lore of All Nations. New York: Ivison, Blakeman, Taylor, and Company.

[4] Swift, Jonathan. 1809. Travels Into Several Remote Nations of the World. Philadelphia: Mathew Carey. Part 2, Chapter 7.

[5] Cranch, Christopher Pearse. 1889. The Last of the Huggermuggers: A Giant Story. Boston: Lee & Shepard. 39.

[6] Ritchie, Anne Thackeray. 1868. Jack the Giant Killer. Boston: Loring. 10-29.

Posted in From Our Collections

The Lincoln Love Letters: Wilma Frances Minor, Ellery Sedgwick & the Greatest Literary Hoax

by Rakashi Chand, Reading Room Supervisor

Reality can seem more unbelievable than fiction, as is this tale of the Lincoln love letters. For years there was speculation about a possible romantic interest between Abraham Lincoln and a woman named Ann Rutledge. The evidence was that Ann died suddenly from illness and Lincoln’s first bout with depression soon ensued, however nothing in the historical record linked the two romantically. That changed in 1928, when Wilma Frances Minor presented Ellery Sedgwick, Editor of the Atlantic Monthly, with an opportunity to publish the story of a lifetime… the love affair of Abraham Lincoln and Ann Rutledge based on manuscript letters in Minor’s possession. 

Two color photographs side by side of handwritten black ink letters on paper discolored with age.
Two examples of the forgeries from the Ellery Sedgwick Papers.

Minor was a writer and vaudeville actress from California, who was beautiful, charming, and had almost supernatural powers of persuasion. Sedgwick consulted experts and biographers to authenticate the newly discovered letters Minor presented as family heirlooms, passed down from one generation to the next, and at first, they received validation. Sedgwick invited Minor to Boston, and she charmed all the editors at America’s most reputable literary magazine. The first of three “Lincoln the Lover” series was published, captivating the nation, and providing Minor with a handsome payment.

The ‘lost’ Lincoln letters swept the country, compelling Lincoln biographers and historians to dig deeper into the newly discovered romantic side of Abe which seemed too good to be true.

The collection included ten letters written by Lincoln, including three to Ann Rutledge and four to John Calhoun, four letters from Ann Rutledge, including two to Lincoln and several pages from the diary of Matilda Cameron, Ann’s cousin. The provenance of the collection was verified through letters written in various hands, from Frederick W. Hirth of Emporia, Kansas, Minor’s great-uncle, and Minor’s mother, Cora DeBoyer. Sedgwick contacted detective J. B. Armstrong to investigate the case under the supervision of Teresa Fitzpatrick of the Atlantic Monthly staff.

After further speculation, biographers who welcomed the newly found cache of manuscripts noticed discrepancies in style and vocabulary uncharacteristic of the author of the Gettysburg Address. The investigation proved that the letters were forgeries, and the whole affair nothing but an elaborate hoax. The strongest objections to the authenticity of the letters came from the Massachusetts Historical Society’s Editor of Publications, Worthing C. Ford, who wrote to Sedgwick on 24 November 1928, “Have you gone insane, or have I? You are putting over one of the crudest forgeries I have known…”

Color photograph of a black ink handwritten letter with a header that reads "Massachusetts Historical Society Fenway Boston"
Worthing C. Ford to Ellery Sedgwick, 24 November 1928

Scandal! Were these forgeries? Was it a hoax? How had America’s leading literary magazine fallen so completely for a beautiful scam artist and a wishful story?

Minor and her mother confessed to fabricating the letters on 3 July 1929, but with an interesting explanation: Minor claimed that her mother had psychic powers and the spirits of Ann and Abe had urged her to do it… or else the truth about their love would be lost to time. Minor created such a believable and extensive hoax; it simply sends shivers down an archivist’s spine.

Color photograph of a black ink typed document signed "Teresa S Fitzpatrick" towards the top of the page.
Confession of Wilma Frances Minor and Cora DeBoyer to creating the Abe and Ann hoax, 3 July 1929

“I would die on the gallows that the spirits of Ann and Abe were speaking through my Mother to me, so that my gifts as a writer combined with her gifts as a medium could hand on something worth while to the world.” Page 4 of Wilma Frances Minor’s confession taken by Teresa S. Fitzpatrick on 3 July 1929.

Sedgwick kept the forgeries along with all the correspondence before, during, and after the investigation; including with his staff, with detective Armstrong, with Paul Angle, President of the Lincoln Centennial Association, and many other Lincoln biographers, historians and experts, and finally, with Rumford Press and Little Brown & Co. who were publishing Minor’s book. Also included in the collection is Minor’s book manuscript and the detectives’ reports. The layers of the astonishing affair reveal themselves with each tantalizing page.

Were Minor and DeBoyer simply the vehicle to share a love story that changed the course of American history? Or were Minor and DeBoyer perhaps an incredible team of scam artists who almost succeeded in re-writing history? See for yourself by researching the Ellery Sedgwick Papers housed at the MHS. You can examine the forgeries with your own eyes in the Library at the MHS.

Posted in From Our Collections

A Day in the Life of an Adams Papers Editor

by Miriam Liebman, Adams Papers

When I go to family events, I often get a confused a look when I tell them I am an editor at the Adams Papers. Once I explain that I work on the papers of Abigail and John Adams and their family, their puzzled looks often go away. But they usually have several questions about what my work includes. I realized that many people may have similar questions about what we do at the Adams Papers project. At the heart of our work is making the papers of John and Abigail Adams and their family accessible to researchers, students, and the public.

I primarily work on the Papers of John Adams, the public papers of John Adams, and Adams Family Correspondence, the family papers. For more about the different series we publish, see here. The work on both series requires the same editorial process, which comprises several tasks including selection, collation, annotation, and production. These tasks vary depending on what stage we are up to in the production of a volume. Now, I am working on collation of Papers of John Adams, volume 24, and annotation for Papers of John Adams, volume 23, so I will provide more details about what those tasks include.

Here’s what a typical day looks like:

7:45–8:30: Prepare for Collation (which includes reviewing handwriting and making sure I requested all the necessary documents)

8:30–8:45: Access the documents needed for the day

8:45–12:00: Collation

Collation is one of my favorite parts of the editorial process. Collation is the tandem reading of documents selected for a volume, and right now we are working on the Papers of John Adams, volume 24. We collate in the morning for three hours, usually three or four days a week. One editor reads the letter aloud, while a second editor checks the existing transcription. We have a first and then second round of collation with two different pairs of editors. You may ask, why do you spend this much time reading documents aloud? Well, this is how we get the transcription of the documents to reflect what the authors of the letters wrote. For example, we read the letters, but also point out when words are capitalized, punctuation marks, and when text is written in the margins of a letter.

Most of the letters I collate were written by Timothy Pickering, John Adams’s secretary of state. (That is about to change however, since we just got up to the part of the volume when John Adams fired Pickering). Pickering’s handwriting is pretty neat (yes cool, but more importantly easier to read), but he does like to superscript (i.e. Mr) a lot. Letters can be just a few lines or in the case of the Elbridge Gerry letter I recently read, 27 pages! It is one of my favorite tasks because it allows you to better understand the people who wrote these letters and their daily interactions.

"Sir, Department of State Philadelphia, Monday morning May 12. 1800 I have to acknowledge the receipt of your letter dated last Saturday, stating that “as you perceive a necessity of introducing a change in the administration of the Office of State, you think it proper to make this communication of it to the present Secretary of State, that he may have an opportunity of resigning, if he chooses:” and that “you would wish the day on which his resignation is to take place to be named by himself.”
An excerpt from Timothy Pickering’s letter to John Adams, 12 May 1800. The Adams Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society.

12–1: Lunch

1–3:30: Annotation Revisions

After lunch, I returned to revising my annotation for the Papers of John Adams, vol. 23. We work on more than one volume at a time. Annotation are all the footnotes in our volume. Our volumes, including the annotation, are available in our digital editions, which you can check out (for free and without a login!) here. I am currently revising the annotation for documents which cover John Adams’s correspondence from July 1798. The main stories are Franco-American relations in the aftermath of the XYZ Affair and the passage of a direct tax law. Some of my revisions included providing more details on a specific topic. For example, I wrote about the Senate rejecting John Adams’s son in law William Stephens Smith for an officer role in the army. I included that Timothy Pickering lobbied some senators to vote against his nomination, but needed to find out which senators voted against him and why Pickering wanted them to vote against William Stephens Smith.

3:30–3:45: Return the documents used during the day

While all my days do not look exactly like this, the next few weeks will include annotation and collation before moving ahead on writing the index for Adams Family Correspondence, volume 16, and production tasks for the volume.

The Adams Papers editorial project at the Massachusetts Historical Society gratefully acknowledges the generous support of our sponsors. Major funding of the edition is currently provided by the National Endowment for the Humanities, the National Historical Publications and Records Commission, and the Packard Humanities Institute.

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