Baltimore History, Revolutionary War

Happy 29th of July! The Day that Baltimore Read Aloud the Declaration of Independency

Huh? You may be wondering: the declaration of—ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄʏ? Well, mass standardization of the English language had not quite yet taken hold by the 1770s, and believe it or not, Baltimoreans referred to their country’s de facto birth certificate as such.

Back in 1776, news traveled much slower than it does today. Though Continental Congress actually declared “ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ” from Great Britain on July 2nd 1776—which is the day that John Adams (1735-1826) thought future Americans would celebrate—the document listing Americans’ grievances with Kɪɴɢ Gᴇᴏʀɢᴇ III (1738-1820) and their reasons for declaring independence, was dated July 4th 1776. Word of Congress’s decision rippled outward from Philadelphia, with the central point of dissemination being the Pennsylvania State House, now justly known by a different name: ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ ʜᴀʟʟ. Several days later, on Monday, July 8th 1776, the president of Continental Congress—John Hancock (1737-1793)—wrote a letter to the Maryland Council of Safety in Annapolis, informing Marylanders of the congressional action:

Philadelphia July 8th 1776.

Gentlemen.

Altho’ it is not possible to foresee the consequences of Human Action, yet it is nevertheless a duty we owe ourselves & Posterity in all our Public Councils, to decide in the best manner we are able, and to trust the Event to that Being, who controuls both Causes and Events, so as to bring about his own determinations.
Impressed with this Sentiment, and at the same time fully convinced that our affairs may take a more favourable turn, the Congress have judged it necessary to dissolve all connection between Great Britain and the American Colonies, and to declare them free and Independent States, as you will perceive by the enclosed Declaration, which I am directed by Congress to transmit to you, and to request you will have it proclaimed in your Colony in the way you shall think most proper.
The important consequences to the American States from this Declaration of Independence, considered as the ground & foundation of a future Government will naturally suggest the propriety of proclaiming it in such a manner as that the People may be universally informed of it.

I have the Honour to be Gentlemen
Your most obedt and very hbl Sevt
John Hancock Prest

to the Maryland Council of Safety

The next day, Tuesday, July 9th 1776, the Declaration of Independence was published in full on page two of Dunlap’s Maryland Gazette; or the Baltimore General Advertiſer, in columns two and three. The document having been voted on, but not signed [ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴅᴏᴄᴜᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ sɪɢɴᴇᴅ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴀᴜɢᴜsᴛ 2ɴᴅ], the Gazette listed John Hancock as the lone signatory. While Hancock’s letter to the Maryland Council of Safety included an official copy of the Declaration as an enclosure, it is clear that John Dunlap (1747-1812) decided to publish the Declaration independently of Hancock’s correspondence. This is because Dunlap’s paper ran the Declaration under the following header: “P H I L A D E L P H I A, July 6.” In other words, Dunlap’s source for the information was two days older than Hancock’s letter. The notion that Dunlap could have gotten the news out so quickly is not surprising. After all, in addition to his printing office on Market-street in Baltimore Town, he had another office that was in Philadelphia [ᴄᴏɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟʟʏ, ᴀʟsᴏ ᴏɴ ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴛ-sᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ], where he published his senior newspaper—Dunlap’s Pennſylvania Packet; or the General Advertiſer, which (founded in 1771) predated his Maryland Gazette (founded in 1775) by four years.

1776 Dunlap Broadside

The Dunlap Broadside that belongs to the Library of Congress.

Dunlap was well established in Philadelphia, having gone there as a ten-year-old boy in 1757 to apprentice with his printer uncle, William Dunlap. By 1766, Uncle William had left the business in his hands—making the nephew a full-fledged printer at nineteen. Ten years later, with Continental Congress in session at the soon-to-be-called Independence Hall, Dunlap’s star rose even higher as he obtained the lucrative printing contract for the fledgling U.S. Government. With the congressional contract in hand, Dunlap’s sources regarding news streaming out of Congress were impeccable. Case in point: on the night of July 4th 1776, word of the Declaration came straight from John Hancock himself. He ordered Dunlap to print about 200 copies of the document on broadside—ɴᴏᴡ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴜɴʟᴀᴘ ʙʀᴏᴀᴅsɪᴅᴇ. This was the first time the Declaration was ever committed to type, and of that original run, only twenty-six copies are known to exist. It was undoubtedly a Dunlap Broadside copy of the Declaration that Hancock enclosed with his letter addressed to the Maryland Council of Safety. So, knowing that Dunlap got word of the Declaration of Independence from Hancock, and on July 4th 1776 no less … when he ran the document in his Baltimore newspaper on July 9th 1776, his header could just as easily have read: “ʜᴀɴᴄᴏᴄᴋ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴡs!”

That Dunlap was actively engaged as a printer in Baltimore Town while simultaneously maintaining operations in Philadelphia was no secret. The colophon at the bottom of page four in Dunlap’s Maryland Gazette even advertised the fact that he also published a Pennsylvanian newspaper: “B A L T I M O R E: Printed by JOHN DUNLAP at his Printing-Office in Mᴀʀᴋᴇᴛ-Sᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ, where Subſcriptions at Tᴇɴ Sʜɪʟʟɪɴɢs per Annum, Advertiſements, &c. are received for this Paper; alſo for the Pennſylvania Packet, and all manner of Printing Work done with the utmoſt Expedition.” The corresponding colophon on the bottom of the Pennſylvania Packet‘s fourth page noted that the physical printing of that paper was farmed out to the office of the Saturday Evening Mirror, at 23 S. Seventh-street in Philadelphia. This would suggest that Dunlap’s business in Philly had grown to such an extent that he was contracting at least some of his newspaper work out to other area printers.

— PROCLAIMING IT IN PUBLICK —

George Washington ordered that the Declaration of Independence [ᴀ ᴅᴜɴʟᴀᴘ ʙʀᴏᴀᴅsɪᴅᴇ!] be read aloud to the Continental Army in Manhattan on Tuesday, July 9th 1776. Baltimoreans learned of that event one week later, in the Tuesday, July 16th 1776 edition of Dunlap’s Maryland Gazette, on the first column of page two—an excerpt of which appears here:

N E W – Y O R K,  July 11.

On Tueſday laſt, the Congreſs’s Declaration of the Independence of the United States of America, was read at the head of ſeveral Brigades in this city, with acclamations of Joy ; and, ’tis expected, will be declared in form by order of the Provincial Congreſs, in a few days.
Same day, in the evening, the ſtatue of King George the Third, on horſeback, in the Bowling Green, was taken down, broken into pieces, and its honour levelled with the daſt.

In the adjacent column, on the same page, news from Easton, Pennsylvania described their having received the Declaration, and publicly proclaimed it:

EASTON (Northampton county) July 8. This day the DECLARATION of INDEPENDANCY was received here, and proclaimed in the following order : The Colonel and all other field officers of the firſt battalion repaired to the court-houſe, the Light Infantry company marching their with drums beating, fifes playing, and the Standard (the device for which is the thirteen United Colonies) which was ordered to be diſplayed, and after that the Declaration was read aloud to a great number of ſpectators, who gave their hearty aſſent with three loud huzzas [ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴅ “ʜᴜᴢᴢᴀʏ”], and cried out Mᴀʏ Gᴏᴅ Lᴏɴɢ Pʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇ and ᴜɴɪᴛᴇ the Fʀᴇᴇ and Iɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴀɴᴛ Sᴛᴀᴛᴇs of Aᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀ.

From the wording in that excerpt, it would seem as if Easton had a public reading of the document on the exact same day that it received it. Baltimoreans learning about the news from New-York and Easton may well have been asking themselves: ᴡᴀɪᴛ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪs ᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ? Oddly enough, despite receiving the Declaration and disseminating it via newspaper on July 9th 1776—Baltimore Town did not hold a public reading of the document until nearly three weeks later. The much-anticipated event took place on Monday, July 29th 1776, at the Baltimore County Courthouse.

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The old Baltimore County Courthouse, which was erected in 1768 when Baltimore Town replaced Joppa Town as the County Seat of Government. It stood at the point where Calvert-Street dead-ended into the cliff that gave way to a roughly sixty-foot-straight drop to Jones’s Falls.

An account of the proceedings was published the following day in Dunlap’s Gazette, in the second column on page three:

B A L T I M O R E.

Yeſterday, by order of the Committee of this Town, the DECLARATION of the INDEPENDENCY of the UNITED STATES of AMERICA was read aloud at the Court-Houſe to a numerous and reſpectable body of Militia and the company of Artillery, and other principal inhabitants of this town and county, which was received with general applauſe and heart felt ſatisfaction : And at night the town was illuminated, and, at ſame time, the Effigy of our late King was carted through the town and committed to the flames amidſt the acclamations of many hundreds.—The juſt reward of a Tyrant.

Another account appeared a day later, Wednesday, July 31st 1776, in a rival paper: the Maryland Journal, and the Baltimore Advertiſer, on page two, column number one:

B A L T I M O R E.

On Monday laſt, at 12 o’Clock, the Dᴇᴄʟᴀʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ of INDEPENDENCY was proclaimed at the Court Houſe in this Town, at the Head of the Independent and Artillery Companies, and the ſeveral Companies of Militia, to the great Joy and Satisfaction of the Audience, with a Diſcharge of Cannon, &c. and univerſal Acclamations for the Proſperity of the Fʀᴇᴇ Uɴɪᴛᴇᴅ STATES………In the Evening the Effigy, repreſenting the King of Great-Britain, was carted through the Town, to the no ſmall Mirth of the numerous Spectators, afterwards thrown into a Fire made for that Purpoſe. Thus may it fate with all Tyrants.

The wording in both of these accounts differs slightly, and both offer unique versions of the day’s proceedings. The array of militia & regular units under arms for the reading must have stood in the public square immediately to the south of the courthouse—near the intersection of Calvert-street and East-street [ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ-ᴅᴀʏ Fᴀʏᴇᴛᴛᴇ-sᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ]—as the document was read from the steps. Exactly what kind of cannon was used for the “diſcharge” is anyone’s guess, but it likely belonged to Captain Nathaniel Smith’s Company of Matrosses out of Fort Whetstone [ɴᴏᴡ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ᴀs Fᴏʀᴛ MᴄHᴇɴʀʏ]. And the fire that consumed the effigy of Kɪɴɢ Gᴇᴏʀɢᴇ III most likely occurred in the same public square where the document was read, as it was spacious enough to accommodate such things.

Courthouse 1776

The building marked ‘J’ is the old Baltimore County Courthouse—the present-day location of which is occupied by the War of 1812 Battle Monument. [From A.P. Folie’s 1792 Map of Baltimore Town, LOC]

Newspapers did not provide the only written documentation of the event. A review of the minutes of the Baltimore County Committee of Observation offers an additional insight into the political climate of Baltimore Town, circa July of 1776:

BALTIMORE COMMITTEE.

At a Meeting of the Committee
July 29, 1776

PRESENT: SAMʟ PURVIANCE, (Cʜᴀɪʀᴍᴀɴ,) W LUX, (Vɪᴄᴇ-Cʜᴀɪʀᴍᴀɴ,) AND BUCHANAN, Dʀ. JN CRADOCK, THOs GIST, THOs SOLLERS, W WILKINSON, WALTER TOLLY Jᴜɴɪᴏʀ, DARBY LUX, THOs RUTTER, JN MERRYMAN, JAs CALHOUN, DANʟ SHAW, EDW TALBOT, CHAs RIDGELY of Wɪʟʟɪᴀᴍ, JAs GITTINGS, JN SMITH.

This day, agreeable to the resolve of this Committee of the 22d instant, the Declaration of Independency was proclaimed at the Court-House by Mr. William Aisquith, (Mr. Christie being out of Town:) Captain Nathaniel Smith’s Company of Matrosses, Captain John Sterrett’s Company of Independents, Captain John Smith’s, Captain James Cox’s, Captain George Wells’s, and Captain William Richardson’s Companies being drawn up under arms on occasion. 

Though it may seem rather innocuous on the surface, the “ᴍʀ. ᴄʜʀɪsᴛɪᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛᴛᴀ ᴛᴏᴡɴ” line subtly hints at a more sinister subtext. John Thomas Scharf sheds light on page 147 of his 1874 history of the city, The Chronicles of Baltimore:

Mr. Robert Christie, Jr., who, as sheriff of the county, it had been supposed was the proper person to read the Declaration of Independence to the people at the court-house, refused to appear there for such a purpose. In consequence of this refusal on his part, threats had been made against him, which he deemed it prudent not to brave, and therefore he withdrew from the town. 

The Committee of Observation was not happy with the tension that these threats of violence induced, and feared that inaction on its part would lead to public mayhem. So the next day, it passed a resolution that clearly stated its position—as elaborated in the minutes:

BALTIMORE COMMITTEE.

At a Meeting of the Committee
July 30, 1776

PRESENT: W LUX, (Vɪᴄᴇ-Cʜᴀɪʀᴍᴀɴ,) JN MERRYMAN, BENJ GRIFFITH, JEREʜ TOWNLEY CHASE, W AISQUITH, JAs CALHOUN, JN COCKEY, JN BOYD.

The Chairman being informed by Mr. Robert Christie, Sheriff of this County, that he had reason to be apprehensive of violence being offered to him, the said Sheriff, on account of his not attending to read the Declaration of Independence on Monday last, agreeable to the desire of the Committee; and that from these apprehensions, he would be under the disagreeable necessity of retiring to the country, and withdrawing himself from the publick service; whereupon,
ResolvedThat the Committee do declare their utter disapprobation of all threats and violence being offered to any persons whatsoever, as contrary to the Resolves of Congress, and the sense of the Convention of this Province; that they conceive themselves bound to protect (as far as is in their power) the Civil Officers in the discharge of their duty; that they do expect of, and call upon every good citizen and friend to his country to assist them in their endeavors to preserve the peace and good order of society, and to prevent all riots and tumults, and personal abuse or violence to individuals; that the good people of Baltimore, having hitherto been so respectfully attentive to the Resolves of this Committee on all occasions, they flatter themselves that due regard will be paid to this recommendation.

Attest: Geo. Lux, Secretary.

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Were William Aisquith standing today on the spot from which he read the Declaration of Independence to the citizens of Baltimore Town in 1776, this is more or less what he would see: the view looking south on Calvert-street from the location of the War of 1812 Battle Monument. [Photograph taken by the author of this article, on August 20th, 2013.]

William Aisquith not only took Christie’s place at the reading, but he took his public office as well. Christie had served as the Sheriff of Baltimore Country from 1774 to 1776, but Aisquith became Sheriff in 1777. Though they never came to pass, the threats aimed at Robert Christie Junr eerily foreshadowed a problem that tormented Baltimore all throughout the nineteenth century, and one that still haunts it to this day: the riotous, mob mentality, which caused later generations of Americans to defame Baltimore with its most shameful moniker, “ᴍᴏʙᴛᴏᴡɴ.”

— A REVOLUTION ON PAPER —

While the Revolution occurred through spoken word for the unlettered masses of America, the educated classes also bore witness to a Revolution on paper. In this respect, John Dunlap led the charge on the front lines of Baltimore Town. In the same issue of his Gazette that described the public reading of the Declaration, he included a couple of well-placed adverts on the fourth page, just above the colophon. The first, was for a map of New-York that he was readying for the press:

In a few days will be ready for Sale by the Printer hereof (abſolutely neceſſary for every Officer under Marching orders for New-York.)
A ᴍᴀᴘ of New-York, Staten-Island, part of Long-Island, and New-Jerſey, in which will be delineated, the ſituation of the Britiſh Forces now on Staten-Island, alſo the different Batteries thrown up for the defence of Continental troops in thoſe parts. The Utility of ſuch a Map muſt appear obvious to every Officer who underſtands the nature of Actual Service.

The second was a plea to the local citizenry of Baltimore Town, for clean rags to keep a steady supply of paper on hand for his printing press:

L I N E N   R A G S.

Tʜᴇ higheſt price is given for clean Linen Rags, by Jᴏʜɴ Dᴜɴʟᴀᴘ, in Market Street, Baltimore. Who begs leave to inform the Public in general, and the good people of this town in particular, that the Paper Mills are idle for want of Rags; and of Conſequence, the Preſſes, the important vehicles of inſtruction and amuſement, muſt ſoon be reduced to the ſame unhappy ſituation.—We therefore flatter ourſelves, that this intimation of the languiſhing ſtate of ſo intereſting a manufacture will be ſufficient to prevail upon all careful Houſekeepers to ſave their RAGS and ſend them for ſale to

JOHN DUNLAP.

Both of these adverts paired nicely with a notice on the first page, which featured a plea of a different sort:

July 23d, 1776.

W A N T E D

As an Apprentice for the Printing Busineſs, a Lad about 14 or 15 years of age, who can be well recommended—Enquire of the printer.

Just as the militia and regular forces needed recruits, printers did too. And just as the militia and regular forces needed supplies and ammunition, printers did too. This is how they fought their Revolution.

So if you are wondering how to celebrate this 29th of July, and how best to honor those who gave us the freedoms that we now enjoy, allow me to suggest this:

Do something … ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄʏ!

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Baltimore History, War of 1812

Earned by Virtue: Observing the 200th Anniversary of the Aquila Randall Monument

At 10.00 A.M. this morning, a small but sturdy crowd of people gathered in the grassy area on the northeast side of North Point Road, just above its intersection with Battle Grove. There, amid a suitable amount of pomp and circumstance, the Maryland National Guard and the Society of the War of 1812 in Maryland observed the bicentennial and rededication of the Aquila Randall Monument—one of the Monumental City’s greatest treasures—hidden in a small residential area known as the Wells McComas community, on the eastern neck of Dundalk between Bear Creek and the Back River. The monument, which is a white obelisk on a base, altogether extends about 6½ feet above ground level. It was erected on Monday, July 21st 1817 by the surviving members of the First Mechanical Volunteers—a company which was commanded by Captain Benjamin Chew Howard (1791-1872), and attached to the 5th Regiment, Maryland Militia during the Defense of Baltimore. The monument commemorates two things relating to the Battle of North Point: 1) the memory of Aquila Randall (c1790-1814), a 24-year-old private in Benjamin Chew Howard’s company, who was killed in action defending his homeland, and 2) the slaying of Major-General Robert Ross (1766-1814), commander of the British forces, which occurred—not far from where the monument currently sits—in a pre-battle skirmish between an advanced party of Americans under a detachment commanded by Major Richard Key Heath (1770-1822) of the 5th Regiment, Maryland Militia, and the British column on its march up Patapsco Neck.

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The well-constructed monument, which is simple yet handsome, reads as follows. On the side which faces the northeast (the American left flank):

SACRED
To the memory of
AQUILA RANDALL,
who died in bravely defending
his Country and his Home,
on the memorable
12th of September, 1814.
Aged 24 years.

On the side which faces the southeast (the British line):

In the skirmish which occurred
at this spot,
between the advanced party,
under 
Major RICH K. HEATH

of the 5th Regt M. M.
and the front of the British column
Major General ROSS,
the commander of the British force,
received his mortal wound.

On the side which faces the northwest (the American line):

The First Mechanical Volunteers
commanded by
Captn BENJɴ C. HOWARD
of the 5th Regt M. M.
have erected this Monument
as a tribute of their respect
for the memory of
Their Gallant Brother in arms

On the side which faces the southwest (the American right flank):

How beautiful is Death
when earned by
Virtue.

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One of the coolest parts of this morning’s bicentennial observance was a recitation of the events which took place at the initial ceremony in 1817. The particular account that today’s bicentennial referenced appeared a week after the event, in the Monday, July 28th 1817 edition of the Baltimore Patriot & Mercantile Advertiser, on page two, in columns two and three:

FROM THE AMERICAN.

“Dulci et decorum est pro Patria mori.”

On Monday last, “THE FIRST MECHANICAL VOLUNTEERS,” one of the companies attached to the Fifth Regiment, erected on the spot where the advanced party under Major HEATH was engaged with the British forces, a Monument to the Memory of AQUILLA RANDALL, one of the members, who fell in that skirmish. The company, headed by their commander, Capt. B. C. HOWARD, marched from town at an early hour; and having been joined on the ground at 11 o’clock by Col. HEATH, Lt Col. BARRY, Major STEUART, and several other officers of the regiment, this ceremony of putting up the Monument was then commenced, and in a very short time completed, under the direction of Mr. TOWSON, (Lieut. of the company.)—Indeed, much commenda- tion is due to this gentleman (and no less to Col. SMALL, who assisted in the design) for the style and good taste in which the Monument is executed. He has aimed at simplicity and neatness, and he has not been disappointed.
The Monument is a pyramid of white stone, about four feet high, resting on a well proportioned pedestal, which bears the following inscriptions:

[On the side facing the road,]
HOW BEAUTIFUL IS DEATH, WHEN
EARNED BY VIRTUE.
[On the opposite side,]
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
AQUILLA RANDALL,
WHO DIED, IN BRAVELY DEFENDING HIS COUNTRY
AND HIS HOME,
On the Memorable 12th of September,
1814,
Aged 24 years.
[On the side up the road,]
THE FIRST MECHANICAL VOLUNTEERS,
Commanded by Capt. B. C. Howard,
In the 5th Regiment M. M.
HAVE ERECTED THIS MONUMENT,
AS A TRIBUTE OF THEIR RESPECT FOR
THE MEMORY OF
THEIR GALLANT BROTHER IN ARMS.
[On the side down the road,]
IN THE SKIRMISH
WHICH OCCURRED AT THIS SPOT,
Between the advanced party under
Major Rɪᴄʜᴀʀᴅ K. Hᴇᴀᴛʜ,
Of the Fifth Regiment, M. M.
AND THE FRONT OF THE BRITISH COLUMN,
MAJOR GENERAL ROSS,
COMMANDER OF THE BRITISH FORCES,
RECEIVED HIS MORTAL WOUND.

Having completed the necessary labors of the undertaking, the company was then drawn up in front of the Monument. The officers of the regiment, attending by invitation, were posted in front of the company, and Capt. HOWARD delivered, in a modest, but impressive manner, the Address, an imperfect sketch of which is published in this day’s paper.
The address was remarkably appropriate—It is indeed to be regretted, that in yielding to the request for publication, Capt. HOWARD has not been able to collect from a failing memory, the whole address as he delivered it. But there is enough left to challenge praise; not only for the judicious selection of topics, but also for the beauty and putity of his language.
After firing three vollies over the Monument, the company was dismissed to partake of a handsome collation.

SKETCH OF CAPTAIN HOWARD’S ADDRESS.

My Friends and Fellow Soldiers,
We are assembled on this day for the purpose of completing a design that we have long entertained. It is to perform one of these duties that can happen but seldom in the course of an individual’s life, for wars, thank Heaven, in our country, are not so frequent as to call upon us often to honor the memories of those who fall in her defence. But when it does occur, it is a duty for the performance of which we are bound by more than ordinary ties.—We owe something to those who are dead—something to those who are yet unborn. So strongly do I feel this, that my imagination at this moment flies forward to the future, and my memory back to the past. I can picture to myself the sensations of those who in far distant days will contemplate this monument, while busy memory brings before me the scene which was exhibited here and the melancholy event which has caused our assemblage at this spot. Let us turn our attention for a moment to the year 1814, when a black and portentous cloud seemed threatening to burst upon our country; when it had been vauntingly declared that all assailable places were to be laid waste, and our city, rich with gifts of commerce, and strong with the sinews of war, stood high on the list of proscription—But the spirit of the nation was roused, and the torch of military enthusiasm was lit at the flame of the consuming Capitol. There the list of proscription stopped. With the points of our swords, we erased from it the name of Baltimore, and Baltimore was saved. And whom had we to oppose? not a miserable rabble fighting for their rations alone; not an irregular and undisciplined enemy, but troops that had scattered the armies of France to the right and to the left in their march through Spain; troops inured to carnage and war, and flushed with thinking they had tamed the American pride at that ill-fated, unfortunate Bladensburg—Can we look back upon this contest with any less feeling than pride? Was there any thing in our conduct that should make us avoid recurring to that period? No—Thank Heaven, there was not—here we stood, and here we acted our parts—Here we all shared one common danger, and though the ball that bore the message of death as it sang through the air, took only one from amongst us; yet who is there that might not have shared the same fate? who is there that might not have been that one? it well becomes us therefore to join heart and hand in placing some durable memorial on a spot so consecrated as this. This monument which we are now erecting, will stand as a solemn expression of the feelings of us all, as a solemn determination, that though the life of Randall, was rudely and untimely destroyed, his name shall not perish from the face of the earth.
Our city, I am proud to say, has evinced no backwardness, no cold reluctance, to honor the memories of those who fell in her defence. She has placed in her bosom an ornament to her beauty, and a monument of her gratitude. She has erected in the midst of her busy streets an edifice whose towering column is destined to bear the names of those whose lives were offered up to save her from the hostile tread and the midnight terrors of an exasperated and ungovernable foe. Not a traveller can pass without stopping to admire the gratitude of Baltimore to her defenders. But I regret that the spot, which is made classic by the effusion of blood, the spot where the long line stood unappalled by the system and advances of an experienced and disciplined foe, has been suffered to remain unnoticed. It is here where her citizens stood arrayed in soldiers’ garb, that honors to a soldier’s memory should have been paid. To mark the spot be then our care. Let our monument arise, in humility proportioned to our number, compared with the collected mass. Let the name of Randall be recorded on imperishable stone, on the spot where his life-blood streamed upon the ground I scruple not to say, that though the lofty column does not rise above the tops of the neighboring trees; though plain an unadorned with magnificent and expensive sculpture, the monument which we have this day erected is a proud, a noble, a splendid tribute to his memory. Who is there here, whose heart would not beat faster, whose pulse would not throb quicker, at the prospect of such a monument as this. For myself, I could almost change places with him; I do believe that his death atoned for many a sin, if many a sin he had committed. To defend our country has ever been considered one of the highest, holiest duties that man has to perform. Religious bigotry may tell us, that war is unlawful and a crime; but the honest unperversed feelings of the human heart will always refuse to believe it. What—Has Providence blessed us with a noble country, enriched with all the blessings of civilization and enlightened by the animating principles of liberty, only to surrender it up to the first invader? Shall we not keep what God has given us? He who suffers the fiery death of the warrior, whose soul has burst, and crept forth from its tenement of clay in such a cause as that, has well performed his part in life. The lamp of life, if it be not suddenly extinguished, will waste slowly away; better to be extinguished in the midst of its brightness and leave the memory of its brilliancy behind it, than glimmer for years in the socket.
Near this spot another monument was earned, though ten thousand swords would leap from the scabbards to prevent it from being placed there. It was here that the haughty General who declared he did not care if it rained Militia, atoned with his life for his rash opinion. It was here that they rained such a tempest upon his head as beat him to the ground. There let his memory rest for us. If his Government have done, what it is said they have, they have not only insulted the feelings of the American Nation, but imprinted a foul and shameful spot on the memory of him they wished to honor. To assert that Ross was slain at Washington is as monstrous and inexcusable as to engraft upon his coat of arms the broken flag of the United States. How different is it with us. Truth, simple as the stone and pure as the color that glitters in the day, breathes in every word and action. The honors we pay are those we think due. No more. With that sublime attribute of Heaven, truth, engrafted upon them, they can be looked upon with more pride by those who give them and the friends of him on whom they are bestowed, than the most pompous and lordly testimonials, framed to feed national unity at the expense of history and fact.
My friends—I have done it—We commit this Monument to Destiny and Time.

The inconsistencies found in the above-quoted article are curious. It not only misspells Aquila Randall’s name by giving it a superfluous ‘l’ (i.e., “Aquilla”), but it gives an imperfect transcription of the text on the monument. If these inconsistencies are present in the part of the article that describes the basic facts relating to the monument, it does cause one to wonder how accurate the sketch of Benjamin Chew Howard’s speech really is, and whether or not any parts of it were invented out of whole cloth by the newspaper reporter who covered the proceedings. The bit about Captain Howard being unable to reproduce his speech in full for publication, due to a “failing memory,” is especially interesting. Howard was not an old man, by any means, at the time of the dedication; in July of 1817, he was only 25 years old—just one year older than Randall had been at the time of the battle. So Howard probably couldn’t reproduce his speech because he had never even fully written it down in the first place. Whatever the case, it is a remarkable example of his oratorical skill, and was undoubtedly delivered with masterful elocution. Even 200 years later, in 2017, the words are quite stirring, and hearing them read aloud at the bicentennial rededication was quite a treat.

In all likelihood, this will be the last of the War of 1812 Bicentennial events. What a privilege it was to take part in it. Over the past five years, commemorating the 200th anniversary of America’s Second War for Independence has given many people in the Greater Baltimore Metro Area a lot of joy, and it has certainly provided us with a renewed sense of community and patriotism as we look toward the future. May the Monumental City’s spirit continue to endure, infused with the memory of people like Aquila Randall and his comrades in arms, who gave everything—their lives included—for Baltimore City.

Our city.

Our debt to them truly is, ᴍᴏɴᴜᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ.

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Baltimore History, War of 1812

The Battle of Baltimore: An Eyewitness Account by Joseph Townsend (1756-1841)

What follows is my attempt to provide a faithful transcription of the four loose front-and-back diary pages, written by Joseph Townsend, describing the Battle of Baltimore in September of 1814. Townsend’s account is not aided by page numbers, so the order of the loose pages is somewhat difficult to discern. This difficulty is further compounded by the fact that some of the pages are missing pieces, along with the words, of course, that go on those pieces! Despite these hazards that have been thrown in my way, I’ve decided to trudge onward, with my transcription hat planted firmly and snugly on my head. Much to my surprise, I found that this account seems to mirror, at least somewhat, the structure of Townsend’s much more famous eyewitness account: that of the Battle of Brandywine, which he witnessed as a 21-year-old in September of 1777—an account which was published five years after his death, by the Historical Society of Pennsylvania, in 1846. Below is my transcription of Townsend’s recollection of Baltimore in 1814, complete with original spellings (and some minor corrections):

In the year 1814 [title from page five]
When information was received that the Troops / had left the City of Washington & got on board the Fleet / near the mouth of the Potowmac—various were / rumors the conjectures & Ideas entertained respecting their de- / stiny & further depredations, but the general / opinion was, that an attempt to capture Bal- / timore would take place—It therefore became / the duty of the Military department to be / prepared to meet the expected attack— / The Militia belonging to the City who / had marched for the defence of Washington & / had taken an active part in the engagement / at Bladensburg had returned & were kept / in readineſs for the defence of their own / City—& numerous Companies of Militia / from different parts were daily coming / in not only from the State of Maryland but / from the western part of Pennsylvania— / the rumour was generally spread [along the?] whole [begin page two] on the line of Encampment next to Town to / keeping up the fires that were in blast for Cooking / during the past day—that it might not appear / that they were on the Retreat—When the / morning arrived, the ground on which they / had encamped was cleared, & not a person / belonging to their Army to be discovered— // It appeared that there was an understanding / between the Generals on land & the Command- / ers on board the Fleet that if they effected a / landing above the Fort McHenry a sign / was to be given by their firing a rockett tow- / ards or over the City in order to notify the Ge- / nerals on land to rush into it with all their / forces to meet with those that might land from / on board the Veſsels—but if otherwise the Rock- / ett was to be thrown down the River, which / being done the whole Army was in motion / on the water, & progreſsing down to the Fleet at / [?] —being disgraced in the Attempt [begin page three] [The] country appeared to be aroused, & disposed to aſ- / sist in the defence of their Commercial Ci- / ty—Great unanimity was evident on this / interesting occasion— // The British Fleet after receiving the Troops was discovered to be / [in] the bay & appeared to be bound up, which / confirmed the opinion sustained respecting / their object—Fortifications & Batteries Co- / nsidered neceſsary were hastily prepared & Canon mounted / Whereon—a considerable number of Veſsels / were sunk acroſs the channel of the river near / Fort McHenry—& Tar barrels were placed / along the public road to be set on fire in / case of their attempting to march into the / City in the course of the night— // As is customary on such occasions of alarm / the Citizens had generally removed their families to the / Country to be out of the way of danger, which / [was] now to be dreaded, & the military had / surrounded them most of whom were encamped [begin page four] round the Eastern section of the City, but / Intercourse which was kept up with them, / in other respects, it appeared that the place was alive with the bustle & stir that neceſsa- / rily took place— // My family had retired to the Country near [?] on / after the scene of the wounded men [?] the afternoon of the memorable 12th after various ac- / counts had come in that the march of the Brits / was hastening toward the City—a number of / the wounded men had come in, & that the probability / was that the whole of the British Army would / have poſseſsion of the City before the next morn- / ing—I believed it right to remain at home & to / subject to what might occur—the night passed on / without anything extraordinary taking place— // There was considerable stir amongst the Milita- / ry the numbers collected from different parts / were very considerable & were encamped inside / the breast work, that had been hastily thrown up by the [men?] / [along?] the Eastern part of the City—being at a [g-] / [eneral?] view of their Enemy, who were encamped / [indecipherable, bottom of page mutilated] [begin page five] After the destruction at Washington city / the British Troops—they returned & embarked / on board the Fleet which lay in the Chesa- / peak bay & in some of the Rivers emptying / into it, & when collected they proceeded up / the bay to North Point at which place where they / effected their landing, having in view the ob- / struction of Baltimore as their next object in the next place / at this place their force was estimated at / about 6000 regular Troops and a company of blacks—exclusive of those who / manned the Bound Veſsels & Barges—these / Veſsels were sent up the Patapsco River to / attack the Fort McHenry, & the Troops w[ch?] / were landed at North Point were conduct under ed up Patapsco neck by the command of their Generals Roſs / Cockburn & Brooke— until whose object / was to conduct them up Patapsco neck / the east part of the city to be in readineſs to enter part of it as soon [begin page six] [as] a Bomb Veſsel had conquered the Fort / as they marched up on the morning after they had effected Men landing, they were / met with by the American Militia under / the command of Generals Stricker, Stans- / bury &c—who had marched down the / preceding afternoon & were in readineſs / to check their March of the British as they / progreſsed up—the Engagement commenced about noon & a brisk fire was kept up / between them for some, in which General / Roſs received his death wound—as they were / conducting him back to the Fleet on a Litter / they made a halt under the large Poplar tree / opposite to the entrance of Gorsuch’s lane, where / he died—After he fell the British Troops / were conducted by the surviving Generals & the / engagement being over, & night drawing on, they [begin page seven] encamped on the battle ground a little south / of the Methodist meeting house—they next / morning after their wounded soldiers were / sent in barges to the Fleet they marched up / in sight of Town & encamped on / orange f[ields?] & fields adjoining—at this place they remained / during the remainder of the day waiting for / succeſs of the Bomb Veſsels &c to silence Fort / McHenry, having commenced their opera- / tions for that purpose about 8 O Clock in the / morning—they continued kept up a continual fire / & Bombardment during the day without suc- / ceeding & did not decline their exertions / when night came on—about one or two O / Clock in some of their Veſsels & barges paſsed / the Fort in a secret manner & entered the / River with a view to effect a landing on the Peninsula between Boat & the basin—but / [in] this they were [most] grievously disobedient [?] [begin page eight] as their not knowing they had not knowledge of Fort Coventry [Covington] & a six / Gun Battery being prepared to receive them / & which was opened upon them unexpectedly / with a most tremendous fire—the British find- / ing themselves likely to be shattered to pieces & their Veſsels / sinking they there was a most terrifying uproar / amongst them & they hurried out of the River & / paſsed the Fort in greater haste than they did / when she went up—This circumstance with / some others in which they had been engaged through / the course of the day, proving unsucceſsful put / a final end to the expedition & daring attempt / notwithstanding they kept up the appearance of / the engagement until near 8 O Clock the next / morning, which proved to be for the expreſs purpose / of affording time for the land forces to retreat / on board the Veſsels laying at North Point—as they / had commenced their march for the purpose / about [9?] O Clock in the morning, leaving t[hen.] [?]

This is an amazing insight into the defense of the City of Baltimore—penned by one of its most respected residents. Joseph Townsend moved to Baltimore during the fall of 1783, after having spent a year teaching in a school along the Gunpowder. Once a resident of Baltimore Town, in 1784, Townsend founded the school now known as the Friends School of Baltimore. Ten years later, in 1794, he founded Baltimore Equitable Insurance. Friends School and Equitable still exist, and both institutions are thriving. This account just adds another chapter to an already robust historical legacy. What a wonderful gift you’ve given us, Mr. Townsend!

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Annapolis History, Baltimore History, War of 1812

St. John’s College: The Convergence of Walter Farnandis & Francis Scott Key

Well, folks, today’s entry was a rather spur-of-the-moment one. It all stems from a newspaper notice that was printed, on this day, 215 years ago—November 24th 1800.

When last we spoke, we used Walter Farnandis as a test subject for our 1815 Baltimore City map exercise. Today, let us return—however briefly—to Mr. Farnandis’s story.

As a veteran of the War of 1812, and one of Baltimore’s gallant ‘Old Defenders’ who came to the aid of the city during its darkest hour, Walter is already what we historians would refer to as a “person of interest”… But recently, a juicy new tidbit came to light, and it has ratcheted up his interest level—considerably so!

Walter Farnandis was born in Charles County, Maryland, on May 9th 1782, the son of Capt. James Farnandis—one of the famous ‘Maryland 400’—and Ann Elizabeth Wallace Farnandis, his wife.[1] On February 20th 1790, James explicitly stated in his last will and testament: “its my will and deſire that my two ſons Samuel & Walter Fernandis [sic] get proper Education then to be bound out at Walter Stones discretion either to a trade or to any kind of buſineſs that the ſaid Walter Stone thinks proper.”[2] After he died that spring, his young sons Samuel and Walter likely continued their schooling. But Walter Stone’s death in 1791 and his complete omission of the brothers Farnandis from his will almost assures that they were never bound out by him to any kind of trade or business, which leaves quite a gap in their respective life stories.[3] And as if their omission in Walter Stone’s will weren’t already strange enough, they went completely unmentioned in the will of their stepmother, Chloe McPherson Farnandis, as well.[4] By the time that Chloe’s will had been proved on May 2nd 1796, 13-year-old Walter was essentially an orphan, and whatever happened to him between Stone’s death and his arrival in Baltimore City during the early 19th century has long been a mystery. That is … until now!

Late one night, while combing through the far reaches of the internet on a research binge, I turned up the following nugget of information: Walter Farnandis, apparently, graduated from St. John’s College in Annapolis. Wow! It proves that, even if we don’t know how he was able to do it, he managed to extend his education all the way through to the collegiate level. An uncommon distinction for most 18th-century Americans, much less an orphan! It places him in some rather exclusive company, probably due to the generosity of an unknown benefactor. St. John’s was—and still is—one of the best institutions of higher learning in the state.

According to a college register published in 1856 (coincidentally the year of Walter’s death), his classmates in the Class of 1799 included: Thomas Beale Dorsey, Thomas Rodgers, James S. Grant, Robert C. Stone, Dennis Claude, Philip W. Thomas, James Shaw, George Washington Parke Custis, Philip I. Thomas, Matthias Hammond, Beale M. Worthington, Kensey Harrison, and James Cheston.[5]

Plus, aside from the relationships that he likely cultivated within his own class, his presence at St. John’s during the 1790s raises the possibility for all sorts of other fantastic connections. Since he later fought in the Battle of Baltimore during the War of 1812, perhaps nothing is more exciting than the possibility that he may have known, or at least crossed paths with, Francis Scott Key—a member of the Class of 1796.[6] I need not detail Key’s historical significance here… I feel certain that readers of The Monumental City require no introduction to him and his exploits. But since 18th-century American colleges were small, fairly exclusive, tight-knit communities, Key and Farnandis almost certainly knew one another… Or, at least, knew of one another.

As luck would have it, my question (as to whether or not the two crossed paths) was answered nearly as quickly as it was asked. From the aforementioned November 24th 1800 edition of The Telegraphe and Daily Advertiſer:[7]

ANNAPOLIS, November 20.

On Wedneſday the 12th inſtant, a commencement for conferring degrees in St. John’s college, was held in the college hall, before a very large and reſpectable audience, conſiſting of the honorable the legiſlature of the ſtate, and the gentlemen and ladies of the city. The vice principal opened the buſineſs of the day with a ſolemn prayer to the Supreme Being, after which the candidates proceeded with the public exerciſes in the following manner: 1. A latin ſalutatory oration, by Mr. Richard Brown, of Virginia. 2. An oration on the character of a good citizen, by Mr. C. Stone, of Maryland. 3. An oration on the modern philoſophy, by Mr. Walter Fernandes, of Maryland. 4. An oration on the advantages to be derived from the ſtudy of hiſtory, by Mr. James Boyle, of Maryland. 5. An oration on ridicule, as the teſt of truth, by Mr. John Sanders, of Maryland. 6. An oration on party ſpirit, by Mr. Philip Thomas, of Maryland. The degree of bachelor of arts was then conferred by the principal of Meſſrs. Richard Brown, Robert C. Stone, Walter Fernandes, James Boyle, John Sanders, Philip Thomas, and Thomas Rogers—Meſſrs. James S. Grant and Thomas Dorſey, who were prevented from attending the commencement with their claſs, were alſo admitted to the ſame degree. At the ſame time, Meſſrs. Charles Alexander, Thomas Chaſe, John B. Ducket, John C. Herbert, John J. Tſchudy, Richard Harwood, William Cooke, Robert H. Goldſborough, Francis Key, Daniel Murray, John Shaw and Carliſle Whiling, alumni of St. John’s college were admitted to the degree of maſter of arts. 7. Valedictory oration by Mr. Thomas Rogers, of Maryland. The principal then cloſed the buſineſs of the commencement with a ſhort addreſs to the graduates reſpecting their future conduct in life, and concluded by commending them to the care of the Almighty Governor of the Univerſe.

Amazing! It’s interesting that the college register says that he graduated in the Class of 1799, while the newspaper account of his commencement ceremony makes it rather clear that he was actually in the Class of 1800. And of course his name is spelled incorrectly in the paper… An all-too-typical error. Regardless, we now know for a fact that—at the very least—Francis Scott Key both saw and heard Walter Farnandis speak! And likely vice versa. Not only that, but Key received his A.M. from St. John’s on the same day when, and at the same ceremony where, Walter Farnandis received his A.B.!

Of additional interest is the fact that the college register lists Jesse Eichelberger as a member of the Class of 1800.[8] Though not in the commencement article from November of that year, Eichelberger was most definitely a student at St. John’s College; his pertinence here being the fact that he served as a first lieutenant in the Baltimore Fencibles—the same unit in which Walter Farnandis served as a private during the Battle of Baltimore.[9] Thus, Walter undoubtedly saw and took orders from his former St. John’s classmate at Fort McHenry during the bombardment on September 13th & 14th 1814. Eichelberger’s post as the second in command in the Baltimore Fencibles may have even been the reason why Walter chose to join that particular unit—maybe he fancied the idea of serving in the same outfit with an old college buddy.

So, the $64,000 question, of course, is: did Walter Farnandis & Francis Scott Key ever talk about the Battle of Baltimore, after the fact? Perhaps at a St. John’s College reunion in Annapolis? Maybe Key even had dinner at Walter’s house, No. 48 Hanover street, years later, and regaled the Farnandis family with his recollection of watching the bombardment from his truce vessel among the Royal Navy’s fleet in the harbor… Followed, of course, by Walter giving his recollection of the same event, from the exact opposite point of view. These two actually saw the rockets’ red glare—the bombs bursting in air. How incredible it would have been to listen in on their hypothetical conversation!

Unless someone turns up a letter, journal, or diary entry which recounts an interaction like the one imagined above, it will have to remain a hypothetical situation for now.

But a huge part of being an historian is using one’s imagination in conjunction with the facts at hand. And in this particular case, the facts at hand spark the imagination quite a bit!


Footnotes:
1. For year of birth, see Walter’s tombstone in Green Mount Cemetery. The day & month are from family records. James Farnandis’s biography at the Maryland State Archives details his placement in the Maryland 400.
2. Charles County Will Book, 1788-1791, pp. 386-7. [link]
3. Charles County Will Book, 1791-1801, pp. 47-52. [link]
4. Charles County Will Book, 1791-1801, pp. 333-5. [link] Curiously, Chloe provides for her young stepdaughters, Amilla & Ann, but not her stepsons, Samuel & Walter.
5. Proud, John G., Jr., A.M., Register of St. John’s College, MDCCCLVI, Annapolis, St. John’s College [printed by Robert F. Bonsall], 1856, p. 4. [link]
6. Proud, op. cit., p. 3. [link]
7. The Telegraphe and Daily Advertiſer. 24 November 1800. p. 3, col. 1-2. [link]
8. Proud, op. cit., p. 4.
9. Saffell, Charles C. The Citizen Soldiers at North Point and Fort McHenry, September 12 & 13, 1814. Resolves of the Citizens in Town Meeting, Particulars Relating to the Battle, Official Correspondence and Honorable Discharge of the Troops. Also, Celebration of the Seventy-Fifth Anniversary, 1889. Reprint., Baltimore, Self Published, 1889, p. 12. [link]

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Baltimore History, Reviews, War of 1812

Exploring Baltimore City in 1815: Finding Your Bearings

Anyone who knows me is well aware of the fact that I love to bridge the past with the present. And few things accomplish this better than the University of Maryland, Baltimore County’s BEARINGS map, which depicts Baltimore City as it might have appeared during the year 1815.

BEARINGS, of course, is an acronym: Bird’s Eye Annotated Representational Image / Navigable Gigapixel Scene. A bit of a mouthful, isn’t it? I remember hearing about this project sometime in late 2013 / early 2014, when I was working for the Baltimore City Archives. My boss mentioned it to me one morning and the two of us talked about what a neat idea it was. It reminded me of my time as an undergraduate at Washington College, working on the Chestertown 3D & Pluckemin projects in the school’s Geographic Information Systems (GIS) laboratory, making digital, 3-D models of historic buildings for placement into Google Earth. At WAC, our program of choice was Google Sketchup. Admittedly, I don’t know much about UMBC’s Image Research Center, but it sounds like the UMBC equivalent of WAC’s GIS lab, and I’d be willing to bet that Sketchup is a familiar program to the folks who created the BEARINGS map, if not the exact program that they used.

Initially, BEARINGS was supposed to be a visual supplement to the Maryland Historical Society’s In Full Glory Reflected: Maryland during the War of 1812 exhibition. The first iteration of the map went live at MDHS in June of 2014. I stopped by not long afterward to give it a look. I was impressed with what I saw, and even more so when I was told that this would be an on-going project—that as improvements were made, the most current, up-to-date version of the map would be uploaded into the exhibit, effectively hitting the *refresh* button and giving museum patrons the most accurate view of 1815 Baltimore that modern scholarship could provide. It was billed as being an interactive map, and to some extent, it is. But not fully. One of its drawbacks is the fact that it’s frozen in a viewpoint looking southeast. While I can understand that it might be a bit of a data or memory hog were it fully navigable, if it’s permanently fixed and the viewer can never orient the map to look in the opposite (northwest) direction—or any other direction for that matter—what’s the point of going to the trouble to make the buildings 3-D? It defeats the purpose if the viewer can’t view every structure in 360º. Aside from the directional component, however, my initial impressions of the BEARINGS map were overwhelmingly positive.

Okay, now that I’ve supplied you with my base observation, let’s perform a few experiments. Don’t worry, nothing too rigorous… We’re just going to attempt to see how well the BEARINGS project stacks up to its potential. BEARINGS is nothing short of a mammoth undertaking, so, with that in mind, how much accuracy and detail can we really expect? We’ll divide our inquiry into three separate categories: 1) buildings that were around in 1815 that still exist today, 2) buildings that were around in 1815 that no longer exist, but were photographed before they were demolished, and 3) buildings that were around in 1815, that no longer exist, and are not known to have been documented by photography—or any other method of visual documentation—before they were destroyed. This ought to provide us with a reasonable rubric for determining the success of BEARINGS thus far. We could use stars in our rating system, but I would prefer to go with something a little more Baltimore themed: like, say, the Battle Monument. An appropriate choice for the Monumental City, don’t you think? Each category will be assigned a number of Battle Monuments on a scale from one to five, and at the end, we’ll tally them for a final score.

Category No. 1: I’ll start with an institution that I know quite well: Friends School of Baltimore. As an active member of the Alumni Board, I consider myself to be the ‘keeper of the flame’ when it comes to the school’s historical identity and I think that, if prompted, any member of the current administration at Friends would affirm this notion. Since it is Baltimore’s oldest school (it was founded in 1784), common sense suggests that we should be able to find it on a map of circa-1815 Baltimore. And sure enough, it’s there! Or, at least … sort of—the only extant part of the original campus.

The Aisquith Street Meeting House, circa 1815.

The Aisquith Street Meeting House, circa 1815.

On January 29th 1784, a group of Quakers congregated in the Aisquith Street Meeting House to discuss the founding of a school. Among those present were Elisha Tyson (1749-1824)—the famous abolitionist—and George Matthews (1729-1811), the nail factory owner who had built the Aisquith Street Meeting House in 1781. To provide a bit of a context: Matthews was born the year that Baltimore Town was founded. While he lived to be a relatively old man, at the age of 82, bear in mind that Baltimore Town did not even attain its status as a ‘City’ until 1797, when Matthews was 68. So he was already pushing 70 years old when Baltimore City was brand new! I think that he would probably be pleased to know that, as of my typing this in July of 2015, his Meeting House is still standing at the corner of Aisquith and Fayette streets—a conceptual realization to him, and a relic of the 18th century to us. Though no longer in use as a house of worship, it is the city’s oldest religious structure, predating Old Otterbein Church (1785) by four years.

The Aisquith Street Meeting House as it looks today.

The Aisquith Street Meeting House as it looks today.

Now, when I say that the school is “sort of” shown on the BEARINGS map, what I really mean to say is that it’s partially there. For the first 16 years of its life as an academic institution, Friends held its classes in the meeting house—the structural centerpiece of the Quaker tract of land. But, around the year 1800, when it became clear that the Meeting House was no longer a suitable location for that purpose, a schoolhouse was built on the southeast corner of the property. For the next 30-some odd years, Friends School occupied that schoolhouse, which stood roughly near the intersection of present-day East Baltimore Street & Central Avenue. That is where the school would have been during the time that the BEARINGS map (circa 1815) is supposed to visually represent. Which means that this map shows the circa-1815 Friends School campus, but neglects to include the most important part—the actual schoolhouse! I’ll cut the BEARINGS team some slack on this, though. Since the structure was torn down long ago *, the Meeting House is the only part of that Friends School campus that still exists, and because most people are unaware that a separate schoolhouse ever stood on the southeast corner of the property, I can’t really fault the UMBC folks for neglecting to include something that they probably didn’t even know existed in the first place. Plus, the digital representation of the Meeting House is a spitting image of its current self. (Overall rating: 5 / 5 Battle Monuments)

* or maybe not? Another blog post forthcoming!

Category No. 2: This category was decidedly harder than the first. I wouldn’t even begin to know how many buildings existed in 1815 Baltimore that were photographed at some point during the 19th or 20th centuries, before they were demolished. Barring any huge disasters like the Baltimore Fires of 1873 and 1904, the fact that we even need this category is a shame! At least, that’s what we historic-preservationist types think… Granted, not every building that was standing in 1815 Baltimore was worthy of saving, but I can think of at least a dozen or so off the top of my head that deserved a longer lifespan than they got (and for each specific one that I can think of, there were probably at least five or ten more of equal cultural value). Anyway, while scouring the BEARINGS map, I came across a great example for this category—old St. Peter’s Episcopal Church, which stood on the east side of Sharp Street, roughly near the southeast corner of the present-day Baltimore Arena (or if you prefer its newest moniker, Royal Farms Arena, a.k.a. “The Chicken Box”).

St. Peter's Episcopal Church, circa 1815.

St. Peter’s Episcopal Church, circa 1815.

Not only is the original building from St. Peter’s Episcopal Church gone, but the parish is too; it merged with Grace Church to form Grace & St. Peter’s Church in the mid-19th century. The origins of St. Peter’s are sort of curious, really. It was founded by a small group of Baltimoreans in 1802. The organizational charter was drawn up by a Kentish—as in, Kent County, Maryland—lawyer, John Scott IV (the patriarch of the Baltimore branch of the Scott family), who had moved to town just three years before, in 1799. Evidently, he and a handful of others decided to break away from the more well-established St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. By that time, Old St. Paul’s was already—old, having been founded 110 years earlier in 1692 as one of the original 30 Anglican parishes in the Province of Maryland. Though I have not delved into the parish records of either church to see what might have initiated this particular schism, I’d be willing to bet that there’s an untold story in there somewhere…

St. Peter's Episcopal Church.

Old St. Peter’s Episcopal Church, sometime during the 1800s. This is a great shot, but if the Henry Fite House was still standing when this was taken, I can’t help but think that the photographer should have turned around and pointed the camera in the opposite direction!

As we can see from this 19th-century photograph of St. Peter’s, the BEARINGS group did a remarkable job of creating an accurate version of the building, based on the descriptive materials (i.e. photographs) that it had at its disposal. Well done. The truly astounding part about seeing St. Peter’s visualized on a 3-D map, however, is noticing just how close it was to the Henry Fite House, a.k.a. “Congress Hall,” where Continental Congress met from December 20th 1776 through February 27th 1777, when Baltimore Town was the Capital of the fledgling United States of America and the Fite House was its capitol. An all-too-unknown fact, if you ask me—and one that puts Baltimore in some rather exclusive company.

Here it is... The plaque that no one reads.

While, yes, this is a start—is this really the best that we can do as a city?

Only two places served as the nation’s capital during that pivotal year of 1776. Everyone knows about Philadelphia … but what about Baltimore?! Almost no one knows that our city (née town) shared the same honor. We, as a city, ought to make a bigger deal out of that, because aside from a small plaque which sits at the bottom of a ramp on the 1st-level concourse of the Baltimore Arena (that barely anyone bothers to stop and read), I can’t think of another way in which that momentous fact is celebrated. We simply must figure out a way to make that common knowledge! It would boost the level of civic pride tenfold. (Overall rating: 5 / 5 Battle Monuments)

Category No. 3: This category was the toughest. Where does one even begin? It’s almost a case of “you’ll never know what, or how much, you don’t know…” Perhaps this is where we can flex our research muscles, though. Alright, first thing’s first—we need to look up an address. Or maybe two. Since this map is rooted in the War of 1812 era, I think a veteran of the Battle of Baltimore would suffice. Thus, I’ll choose my favorite: Walter Farnandis (1782-1856), who served as a private in the Baltimore Fencibles—a militia artillery company commanded by captain Joseph Hopper Nicholson (1770-1817). Walter was at Fort McHenry during the famous bombardment, and he was among the troops cheering on the ramparts as the genuine Star-Spangled Banner was raised at 9 A. M. on September 14th 1814, as the dejected and defeated British Royal Navy sailed out of Baltimore’s Harbor, having failed in its primary objective to capture the fort and Baltimore City. While the 30’ x 42’ garrison flag made its way up the flagstaff, on a truce vessel anchored several miles out, a dashing Georgetown lawyer named Francis Scott Key witnessed the spectacle through his spyglass and, well—you know the rest. So, what was Walter Farnandis’s personal address in 1815…? Heck, while we’re at it, we might as well look up the address for Walter’s older brother, Samuel Farnandis (1779-1854), who also participated in the heroic defense of Baltimore. Thanks to James Lakin’s 1814-’15 City Directory—and despite his misspelling of their surname!—we now have an address for both:

Not surprising to see their names spelled incorrectly.

I know that spelling wasn’t standardized for most of recorded history. But, seriously… Can anyone spell the ‘FARNANDIS’ name correctly?

When studying early 19th-century Baltimore, it is impossible to really understand both the town’s social and physical layout without consulting a city directory. In those days, city directories served as a de facto Yellow Pages or White Pages—sans telephone numbers, of course. Everyone had a city directory. Everyone needed a city directory. Since they were so ubiquitous, making them was a profitable venture! The compilers of these directories were known as ‘directors’, and being the City Director was a sought-after position among the enterprising bunch. While many of these 19th-century directories are available online for research purposes, they don’t make much sense unless you actually know what you’re looking at. In the 1814-’15 edition, we see that A) Samuel Farnandis is listed at 113 Baltimore Street, and B) his brother Walter is at 129 ditto.

Great! But there’s one problem: these addresses don’t mean anything without the knowledge of what the layout of the city was like in 1814-’15, and because Baltimore has gone through at least two major street-numbering overhauls since then, sorting it all out is no easy task. The most recent overhaul took place during the autumn of 1886 (e.g. the residents who lived at 222 N. Calvert Street went to bed one night and woke up the next morning to find that their house’s address had changed to 912 N. Calvert Street), and if I recall correctly an earlier switch had taken place during the 1840s. But since we’re dealing with the beginning of the 19th century, we need something that corresponds with the very first street-numbering system. Enter James Robinson’s 1804 Baltimore City Directory.

1804.Baltimore.Directory.01

Robinson’s street descriptions are most helpful. His hard work needs to be rewarded somehow… Can we retroactively give him a Key to the City? Is there a precedent for that…? Hmm. There ought to be!

Robinson’s directory is truly the ‘Rosetta Stone’ for understanding the layout of early 19th-century Baltimore. Unlike John Mullin, Cornelius William Stafford, James M‘Henry, William Fry, Charles Keenan, James Lakin, or Edward Matchett (who all organized their directories in alphabetical order), Robinson decided to organize his in geographical order, giving a name index at the front with corresponding page and line numbers, methodically tackling the city’s grid one street at a time. If he had not gone to the trouble to go “against the grain” and present his directory in this fashion, we would be at a total and complete loss for ever knowing how to interpret the other city directories that came before or after that point. And even though it’s nothing more than a list of names and addresses, Robinson’s directory actually makes for a fascinating read, as you can literally follow along as he’s walking the street, noting the inconsistencies and irregularities of a city in transition.

1804.Baltimore.Directory.02

As we can see from the order, Samuel Farnandis’s dry goods store would have been two doorways east of South Calvert-Street and Walter’s would have been one doorway west of Public-Alley. Boom!

In many ways, the Baltimore City of 1804 was very much still the 18th-century Baltimore Town, with the word ‘City’ crudely scribbled over top of that second word. And 1815 Baltimore wasn’t much different, either. Robinson’s 1804 directory notes the rather nebulous nature of the then-current street-numbering system. The word “system” here is used very loosely. Many addresses had a ½ on the end to denote a building that had been erected between two others with already-established street numbers. And some had no street numbers at all! The word ‘next’ denotes structures that fall into this category. It’s pretty straightforward, really. This is a perfect snapshot of a rather imperfect Baltimore City as it existed in 1804, through Joseph Robinson’s eyes. In order to translate this snapshot into the present—or, in this case, 1815—modern scholars can use his street descriptions in conjunction with the fold-out Baltimore City Map that was attached inside the front cover of his directory.

The Farnandis Bros. dry goods establishments on Market Street, circa 1815.

The Farnandis Bros. dry goods establishments on Baltimore (née Market) Street, circa 1815. A) Samuel Farnandis’s store at 113 Baltimore Street, and B) Walter Farnandis’s store at 129 ditto.

So, with our Rosetta Stone in hand, we can see that the brothers Farnandis lived on the south side of Baltimore Street in 1814-’15—Samuel two doorways east of South Calvert-Street and Walter one doorway west of Public-Alley. And, voilà! Both buildings are present on the BEARINGS map! Sensational. Now, do we really know that this what these buildings looked like in 1815? Probably not. (And if the answer to that question is yes, then I would love to see what sources were used to make that determination.) Regardless of whether or not this is actually how these buildings would have looked in 1815, the important part is being able to visualize how they might have looked, and this map certainly accomplishes that goal through and through. Fantastic work, UMBC. My only deduction here is for the simple fact that the 1804 City Directory shows that seven structures stood on the south side of Baltimore Street, between South Calvert Street and Public Alley. The BEARINGS map only shows three. Had those other four buildings been torn down by 1815? According to Lakin’s 1814-’15 City Directory, the answer is no. They were all still standing—some even with the same inhabitants, ten years later. (Overall rating: 4.5 / 5 Battle Monuments)

The Final Tally: While it’s great that this map includes various contemporary landmarks at the bottom of the page that, when clicked on, will fly the viewer to those specific points on the map (and give the viewer a short written description for each one), I think the overall product is greatly limited by the fact that the viewer can’t manipulate the map to show a different orientation. So, in terms of the interactive nature of the user interface, I think it’s probably a 3 / 5 Battle Monument rating. Which gives us the following: (Total rating: 17.5 / 20 Battle Monuments)

Multiplied out to a 100-point scale, that gives the BEARINGS project thus far a rating of 87.5 / 100—a B+ for everyone who’s keeping score at home. That seems like a fair grade. With a little bit of tweaking, it could easily move up into the A- range—or higher!

The ambition of this project is magnificent, and it is by far one of the best educational tools that I have ever seen. My hope is that it will continue to inspire other history buffs as much as it has inspired me.

Even if you’re not sure whether or not you like history, or for one reason or another are confident that you don’t, I encourage you to give it a go—play around with this map for a little while.

Who knows…

In the process of finding your bearings in 1815 Baltimore, you might just find out that this whole history thing is pretty cool after all.

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Baltimore History, The Civil War

The Scott Family of Baltimore City: Zeligs of the Civil War

I can remember sitting in George Benson’s fifth-grade classroom at the Friends School of Baltimore, learning about the Civil War. No one could weave a story the way Mr. Benson could, and one of his favorite stories was that of Wilmer McLean—a rather unlucky fellow, whose life was forever altered by the events of that conflict.

“The war started in his front yard and ended in his front parlor,” Mr. Benson told us. And, in a sense it did.

It’s a famous phrase among Civil War enthusiasts—supposedly uttered first by McLean, himself. But is it true…? Did the war really start in his front yard and end in his front parlor?

To answer in short: no.

Or, at least, not exactly…

McLean is a great talking point in classroom discussion because his story proves that even the most ordinary of people can have a large impact on history. But to reinforce the veracity of McLean’s famous claim is to ignore an awful lot of other historical events; to suggest that they didn’t really matter. A foolish mistake that would be!

So, if McLean and his family didn’t really witness the beginning or the end of the war and the Confederacy, then whose did? Well, perhaps no such family—not even Wilmer McLean’s—bookended the American Civil War better than the Scotts of Baltimore City.

The Scotts were an unusually ubiquitous bunch: there was a Scott involved in the very beginning, the middle, and the end of the war. All three of these individuals—a father and his two sons—witnessed extraordinary events, and lived to tell the tale. (Sometimes, even cheating death a time or two along the way.)

This is their story…

A Spark in Harper’s Ferry

During the 1850s, as the country was suffering through the aches and pains of antebellum political discourse—or lack thereof—Thomas Parkin Scott’s eldest son, Henry Chatard (pronounced shuh-TARD) was in the process of studying to become a doctor. A member of one of Baltimore’s staunchest Catholic families, he had attended both St. Mary’s College in Baltimore City and Mount St. Mary’s University in the far-off mountains of Emmitsburg. But, opting not to enter the family law practice, he chose the other profession that seemed to come naturally to the Scotts: medicine.

His paternal great-grandfather, Dr. John Scott, had graduated from the University of Edinburgh in 1747, and served as a surgeon in the Continental Army’s hospital at Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, during the Revolutionary War. Family lore even has it that Dr. John inoculated 500 soldiers against small pox as the army was passing through Chestertown, and it is possible that he did. The story contends that his patriotism was so vigorous that he would “take no fee for his services” … though perhaps this is a convenient way of skirting the fact that not a single scrap of documentary evidence exists.

Whatever the case, H.C. flourished under the tutelage of Nathan Ryno Smith at the University of Maryland, and upon graduation in 1855, began a private practice in his hometown. Like his great-grandfather, he even became the surgeon in a local militia unit called the Baltimore City Guard. A rakish young man, one can only presume that Henry Chatard Scott cut quite a dashing figure in uniform.

Dr. Henry Chatard Scott (courtesy of Margaret Scott)

Dr. Henry Chatard Scott, circa 1850s (Courtesy of Margaret Scott)

Throughout the decade, political tensions across the country escalated: the Fugitive Slave Act, the Compromise of 1850, Bleeding Kansas, the caning of Charles Sumner on the Senate floor, the Dred Scott decision. Each of these events pushed the country toward an inevitable breaking point. Heading into 1860 and the upcoming presidential election, the atmosphere was so unstable that it seemed as if a single spark could ignite the nation in warfare.

In Harpers Ferry, (not-yet-West) Virginia—then spelled with an apostrophe, Harper’s Ferry—an abolitionist named John Brown, who had been a rabid anti-slavery “Jayhawker” during Bleeding Kansas, organized a small group of white allies and free blacks. His plan was to raid the federal armory in town and start a national uprising. On Sunday, October 16th 1859, after months of waiting, Brown and his band of raiders made their move. President Buchanan sent a detachment of US Marines, soldiers, and local militia companies from Maryland and Virginia in to stifle Brown and his plans. This detachment, commanded by Brevet Colonel Robert E. Lee of the 2nd US Cavalry, included Dr. Henry Chatard Scott’s outfit, the Baltimore City Guard. The casualties from the raid included one killed Marine, one wounded, six killed civilians, nine wounded, 10 killed abolitionist insurgents, seven captured, and five escaped. Perhaps the most important of all, however, was John Brown himself. Badly wounded, it was Scott—the 31-year-old surgeon of the Baltimore City Guard—who was called on to dress the raider’s wounds before his execution.

After being tried and convicted, Brown was hanged on Friday, December 2nd 1859, in nearby Charles Town. Though the raid might not have gone as planned, John Brown became a martyr for the northern abolitionist movement in the ensuing months, and his death did much to hasten the onslaught of war.

First Blood

Lincoln’s victory in the 1860 presidential election turned the country on its side, and by April of ’61, all Hell had broken loose. P. G. T. Beauregard’s rebel troops bombarded Robert Anderson’s federals in Fort Sumter on the 12th, and while the fort was surrendered without any casualties, it had become clear that it would only be a matter of time before the first blood was drawn.

On the morning of the 18th, a Baltimore town meeting was called to order in Taylor’s Hall on Fayette Street to discuss secession. By that point, seven states had already left the Union, and with Virginia voting to secede the day before (pending a May 23rd referendum), that number would soon rise to eight. If Maryland were to follow, that would leave Washington City surrounded and would have effectively marked the end of the war right then and there. Keeping Maryland in the fold was a crucial step in what had already become an uphill battle to save the country.

Presiding over the meeting in Taylor’s Hall, Thomas Parkin Scott—just one day shy of his 57th birthday—tried to keep things from getting out of hand. According to an account in George William Brown’s Baltimore and the Nineteenth of April 1861—A Study of the Civil War (pages 38-39), a series of speakers, including William Byrne, stood up before the packed room and made speeches that were denunciatory toward the Administration and the North, exciting the crowd into a frenzy. Wilson C. N. Carr, who had stumbled into the meeting by chance, entered the room as T. Parkin Scott was trying to calm the crowd, urging them to “do nothing rashly” and “not to interfere with any troops that might attempt to pass through the city.”

Thomas Parkin Scott, circa 1860s. Taken at the Bendann Bros. Studio at No. 207 West Baltimore Street. (Photo courtesy of Margaret Scott.)

Thomas Parkin Scott, circa 1860s, at the Bendann Bros. Studio at No. 207 West Baltimore Street. (Courtesy of Margaret Scott)

This mentality was nothing new to Scott. Five months earlier, in December of 1860, he had anonymously authored The Crisis, a pamphlet in which he recommended that Maryland citizens “be calm and forgiving,” yet “firm” as well. “Act not rashly,” Scott said, “[i]f our Northern brethren will now do us justice, forgive and forget the past; but yield no more.” His viewpoint was not the one of the majority, however—at least not at Taylor’s Hall. Describing the scene later in life, Carr said:

I went up, but had no intention of saying anything in opposition to what Mr. Scott had advised the people to do. I was not there as an advocate of secession, but was anxious to see some way opened for reconciliation between the North and the South. I did not make an excited speech nor did I denounce the Administration. I saw that I was disappointing the crowd. Some expressed their disapprobation pretty plainly and I cut my speech short. As soon as I finished speaking the meeting adjourned. (Brown 39)

Try as Scott and Carr did to prevent the masses from attacking federal troops as they passed through the city, the next morning, their advice went unheeded. Since Baltimore was the nation’s first railroad hub, there was no line that went all the way through the city. Rather, lines started in Baltimore and branched outward, to their respective destinations. This meant that anyone who traveled north or south through the Baltimore had to either walk, or take another form of transport, from one train station to the other, in order to continue their journey: a dangerous task for federal troops navigating their way through a Confederate-sympathizing hotbed.

On the 19th of April, as the 6th Massachusetts Infantry was marching down Pratt Street, from the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore Railroad’s President Street Station to the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad’s Camden Station, a full-on riot broke out (with Thomas Parkin Scott’s son, Henry Chatard caught in the thick of it). Broken store windows and damaged property was just the beginning. By the end of the day, four soldiers and twelve civilians had been killed. The day after the riot, on the 20th, the same mob attacked a German-language newspaper office, destroying the building, threatening the lives of its editor and publisher and compelling them both to leave town for fear of personal safety. This mob-mentality turned Baltimore into a war zone, and the city’s administration was eager to diffuse the situation. In an effort to bring peace, Mayor Brown had railroad bridges north of the city limits burned in order to keep federal troops from inundating the town and exciting the population even more; a plan which quickly backfired. It caused the federal government to take control: more troops were sent in, and the area was put under martial law.

Imprisoned Without Cause

By May 25th, President Lincoln had suspended the writ of Habeas Corpus, and less than four months later, after a group of Maryland State Delegates had convened in Frederick to discuss the escalating nature of current events, on September 13th, Thomas Parkin Scott, Mayor George William Brown, Frank Key Howard, Severn Teackle Wallis, and several others were arrested without cause and detained by Union troops in Fort McHenry.

What a strange turn of events this must have been for Scott. During the Battle of Baltimore, as a ten-year-old boy in 1814, he undoubtedly witnessed the British Royal Navy’s bombardment of Fort McHenry from the rooftop, or upstairs window, of the Scott residence on St. Paul Street. Now, exactly 47 years to-the-day later, he—with Francis Scott Key’s grandson, no less!—was being detained without cause or trial, by his own Government, inside the same fort that had previously defended his American Liberty under the real Star-Spangled Banner… The irony was not lost on anyone.

Autograph Book of Prisoners at Fort Warren, 1862. (Courtesy of Hal Scott)

Autograph Book of Prisoners at Fort Warren, 1862. “T. Parkin Scott / of Baltimore City / Late Member of the House / Delegates of Maryland / arrested 13 Sep 1861” (Courtesy of Hal Scott)

Scott was imprisoned for fourteen months in total. The morning after his arrest and detainment in Fort McHenry, on September 14th, he was transferred to Fortress Monroe by the order of General Dix. From there, he was then moved up to New York and Boston, where he served time in Forts Lafayette and Warren. These were nasty places to begin with, and even worse for those who were deemed “enemies” of the State.

After what must have seemed like a lifetime had passed, finally, on Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, November 27th 1862, Scott, Brown, Howard, and Wallis, were all unconditionally released. While technically they were free—in a country that could imprison them at any moment on a whim, without rhyme or reason—how much freedom did they really have? Released to the public, weak and ill from poor treatment in four consecutive military prisons, 400 miles from home, it must have been difficult for Thomas Parkin Scott to be thankful for much of anything on Thanksgiving Day, 1862.

Sentenced to Hang

Thomas Parkin Scott’s youngest son, 25-year-old John White Scott, was reading law in the family practice at the outbreak of the war. With the Jacksonian-Democrat political leanings of his father and the energetic zeal of a youthful adventurer, on May 11th 1861, J.W. found himself in a milk wagon headed for the B & O Railway depot. Once there, he caught a Richmond-bound train and headed for rebel territory. On May 24th, in the Virginia capital, he and a number of other Marylanders formed Company B of the 21st Virginia Regiment, captained by J. Lyle Clarke of the Baltimore Greys.

Though John White was eager to fight, his time with Lyle’s Company was short. During the fall of ’61, after his father’s arrest in Baltimore, he and Carroll Jenkins both came down with a bad case of camp fever and were sent to Bath Alum Springs to convalesce under Dr. Crump. It was thought that Scott would die and Jenkins would survive, but the opposite happened. On January 3rd 1862, Scott was given an honorable, medical discharge.

Without the ability to serve in the field, John White spent much of 1862 performing desk duty as the Secretary to the Commander of the CSS Arkansas. By August, he was working in the Medical Department in Richmond (likely, in close proximity with his brother, H.C.), and after several months of hard work, he and two others—Pierre Chatard Dugan, and Simon Ignatius Kemp—secured a three-week furlough from Dr. Johns, Medical Purveyor at Richmond, with the privilege of going across enemy lines. Scott, Dugan, and Kemp made it as far as Northumberland County, and were waiting to cross the Coan River when they were apprehended and arrested as spies by a raiding party of Michigan Cavalry.

According to the May 24th 1913 edition of the Baltimore News, John White Scott said in his diary:

The most thrilling episode of my career down South was when I was sentenced to be hung . . . . [three of us] were arrested March 5th, [1863], taken . . . . before Gen’l Hooker, and tried (without counsel) before Gen’l Daniel E. Sickles, pres. of Court Martial . . . . When asked if we had anything to say, I replied — ‘When I left home I was a student of law, but had only read a few pages . . . . of Blackstone, and am therefore unable to try my own case, and counsel has been denied us, but I think that the evidence for the prosecution is good enough defense for anyone.’ The Gen’l was furious and ordered us away. We were confined for awhile in the Old Capitol Prison in Washington, then transferred to the Carroll House Prison, where we were told by a Yankee soldier that we had been sentenced to be hanged.

Sgt. John White Scott, C. S. A., circa 1861.

Sgt. John White Scott, C. S. A., circa 1861.

As luck would have it, when the case crossed Abraham Lincoln’s desk, the president realized that the men had been apprehended in Northumberland County, Virginia—which was Confederate territory—and could not rightfully be tried as spies. With this, he commuted their sentence to prison during the war, signing his initials ‘A.L.’ on the folder. Jefferson Davis, who was still under the impression that the three were waiting to hang, took three Union officers and held them as hostages, threatening to deal them the same fate. In May of ’63, crisis was averted and the prisoners were exchanged.

The Flight of Jefferson Davis

J.W. might have viewed his brush with death as the most “thrilling” event of his southern career, but the most important event, without question, was still to come. After his close call in ’63, Scott was asked to join Isaac Trimble’s staff in Maryland, and immediately made his way northward. Following a several-day delay in Winchester, he broke across enemy lines—only to find out that the Battle of Gettysburg had been fought and that the whole army was in retreat. J.W. spent a month volunteering in the 1st Virginia Cavalry, before heading back to the Hospital Department in Richmond. Later that fall, he was transferred to the Field Transportation Department in Wadesboro, North Carolina, and remained there until war’s end.

Picket Pass of John White Scott, issued by Jefferson Davis's Private Secretary, Burton Norvell Harrison.

Picket Pass of John White Scott, issued by Jefferson Davis’s Private Secretary, Burton Norvell Harrison. “Presidents Office / Charlotte, N.C. April 20th 1865 / Mr John W. Scott belongs to the Presidents / personal escort — / All Guards + picketts (sic) will pass him / without question — / By Order of the President. / Burton N. Harrison / Private Secretary”

By the spring of ’65, all hope for the Confederacy had been lost. After the Fall of Richmond and the evacuation of the Confederate government on April 2nd, just one week later, on April 9th, Robert E. Lee surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia to Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox Courthouse (enter Mr. Benson and his favorite character—Wilmer McLean). Following a brief stay in Danville, Virginia, Jefferson Davis, along with the Confederate Baggage and Treasure Train, headed southward to North Carolina.

A temporary stop in Greensboro was interrupted on April 14th, as Davis, his cabinet, and his personal escort, were forced to leave town, and move to Charlotte. With them, they carried the Confederate Archive, their personal baggage, as well as $35,000 in gold from the Confederate Treasury (approximately $534,000 in today’s money). It was here that John White Scott, issued with a picket pass from Jefferson Davis’s private secretary, convened with four other Marylanders, from the Eastern Shore—Capt. Fred Emory, William Sidney Winder, William Elveno Dickinson, and Tench Francis Tilghman—and continued on with the baggage train.

As they left Charlotte on April 26th, the party consisted of five wagons and a cavalry escort. According to Tilghman’s diary, Capt. Emory, who had been placed in charge of the five wagons, was “drunk continually,” and was soon relieved of his duties and replaced by Capt. Watson Van Benthuysen. With each passing day, as the Confederate cavalcade continued southward, the gold in its coffers dwindled. Eventually, the number of people started to dwindle as well. By early May, the baggage train had diminished to one wagon and one ambulance. On the 6th, near Sandersville, Georgia, Jefferson Davis abandoned the group, with a cabinet member and two aids. Captain Micajah Henry Clark, acting Treasurer of the Confederacy, Van Benthuysen, Tilghman, Dickinson, Winder, and Scott—along with Van Benthuysen’s two brothers—were all that remained. Their plan was to continue to Florida, where they would rejoin Davis near Madison or Tallahassee. This plan was squashed when Davis’s faction was captured.

The Cavalcade’s treasure had started at $35,000 at the outset of the journey, but once $10,000 had been spent, Captain Clark made the decision to pay his associates a fair salvage from the gold. Van Benthuysen laid aside one quarter of the fund—roughly $6,790 (approximately $104,000 today)—for the benefit of Mrs. Davis and her children. Additionally, $1,940 in gold sovereigns (approximately $30,000 today), was distributed to the Van Benthuysen brothers, Clark, Dickinson, Emory, Tilghman, Winder, and Scott each, with another $55 (approximately $840 today) to cover traveling and miscellaneous expenses. With the treasure divided, and Davis captured, the group went its separate ways. Dickinson, Tilghman, Winder, and Scott surrendered to federal troops in Jacksonville, Florida on May 23rd. After initially refusing the Oath of Allegiance, they later took it at Hilton Head, South Carolina, and were then allowed to go anywhere in the country. Tilghman, who was the last caretaker of the Confederate Archive, supposedly buried it—along with part of the treasure—in an undisclosed location, deep in a forest, somewhere in Florida or Georgia. Since he died two years later, in 1867, without revealing the true whereabouts of either, both are likely lost to history—just like the Confederacy itself.

Postscript

After his time as a POW, physically unable to take up arms for the southern cause, T. Parkin Scott went back to his law practice in Baltimore. Henry Chatard took his medical talents to Richmond and served much of the war in the Confederate Hospital Department at Jackson Hospital. And as for John White, well—you know the story.

These men lived in a complicated time and place. Looking back on their careers, it can be a tricky task to truly decipher their nuanced political stances. Thomas Parkin Scott stood for states’ rights; he was an advocate for the poor, frequently offering legal counsel to those who could not afford to pay him for his services. Yet, as noble as he was in his regard for the economically disadvantaged, he was clearly not an advocate for all men… As he wrote in his pamphlet, The Crisis, “perfect, social or political equality amongst all men has never existed, and never can exist.” He continued, saying “[w]e cannot recognize the social or political equality of the negro with the white man ; the Creator has made the distinction which now exists ; they are an inferior species, and their protection, as well as our own, requires that we should hold them in subjugation.” Well, then.

His views on racial equality—or, rather, inequality—look pretty damning to 21st-century readers. But a closer inspection of T. Parkin Scott suggests that he, as a person, might not be so easily defined… As Mayor Brown noted on page 39 of his previously-mentioned book, Baltimore and the Nineteenth of April, etc., Scott “was a strong sympathizer with the South, and had the courage of his convictions, but he had been also an opponent of slavery, and I have it from his own lips that years before the war, on [the] Fourth of July, he had persuaded his mother to liberate all her slaves, although she depended largely on their services for her support.”

How are we to reconcile this with his statement in The Crisis, a pamphlet in which he argues for the “subjugation” of blacks?

Perhaps Thomas Parkin Scott maintained that blacks were an “inferior” people, while simultaneously being opposed to their physical enslavement. When he argued for their subjugation, was he arguing for legal subjugation, as opposed to physical subjugation? A complex distinction, that. And, yet, it’s an important distinction to make. Even abolitionists, who were opposed to slavery—not all of them maintained that blacks and whites were equal across the board.

All of these men were flawed. This whole country was flawed.

And that’s not to say that 19th-century America was unique in this way. This inherently flawed way of thinking permeated American politics well into the 20th century, until the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s.

In fact, perhaps the “subjugation” conversation is relevant even today, as countless modern-day Americans are being oppressed due to their sexual orientation.

All these years later, and we’re still fighting a civil war…

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Baltimore History

The Sestercentennial of Baltimore’s First Printing Press

“The what-centennial?” you’re probably asking. Well, if nothing more, allow this as an opportunity to learn a great vocabulary word. The Latin expression for two-and-a-half is equivalent to ‘half-three’ in English, which comes from being halfway between the second and third integer. Half-three in Latin is ‘sestertius’, a contraction of ‘semis’ (halfway) and ‘tertius’ (third). Thus, a sestercentennial is a 250th anniversary. Marvelous!

Alright, now that we’ve dusted off that much-neglected vocab. word, let us turn next to the story of an ancient, long-forgotten citizen of Baltimore Town: Nicholas Hasselbach.

Evergreen House: built in 1858 for Stephen Broadbent, and notably the home of John Work Garrett II, who assembled an extraordinary collection of rare books some 30,000 strong.

Evergreen House: built in 1858 for Stephen Broadbent, and acquired by the Garrett Family in 1878. The library houses the JHU rare-book collection.

Nestled deep within the rare-book collection at Johns Hopkins University’s Evergreen Library, there is a section that is dedicated to Maryland-related titles. “Marylandia,” they call it, and it’s chock full of historical goodies. One of the most unassuming titles of all, however, resides on the spine of a small, red, leather-bound specimen. It reads “CONDUCT OF ANNAN AND HENDERSON,” and at first glance, it appears to lack any historical significance.

CONDUCT OF ANNAN AND HENDERSON

The prize of the collection.

But, much like Indiana Jones found out while searching for the holy grail in The Last Crusade—the simple, unassuming artifacts are the ones that tend to hold the deepest secrets.

A closer inspection reveals that the red leather binding is actually a case, almost like a glove. Remove the top, and out slides an even smaller, soft-cover, octavo pamphlet. The title page is missing a few pieces here and there, but the words are still decipherable: “A | DETECTION | OF THE | CONDUCT and Proceedings of | Meſſrs. Annan and Henderſon, Mem- | bers of the Aſſociate Preſbytary’s | whole Sitting at Oxford Meeting- | Houſe April the 18th. Anno Domini | 1764. Together with their Abet- | tors ; wherein is contained ſome | Remarks.” by John Redick-Le-Man.

Geez. Quite a title, huh? And a specific one at that!

What Makes This Little Book So Special?

Nicholas Hasselbach was the very first printer in Baltimore Town, and this is believed to be his first publication. A curious choice, perhaps, but no one has ever found a Hasselbach imprint that predates it. At least, not of his work in this province…

Baltimore in 1752, as remembered by John Moale, Jr.

Baltimore in 1752, as remembered by John Moale, Jr.

In the mid 18th century, Baltimore was but a small, ramshackle settlement on the red-clay banks of the Patapsco River. In 1749—the same year that Hasselbach, a German immigrant, traveled aboard the ship Elliot from Rotterdam to Philadelphia—a visitor described Baltimore Town in a letter as nothing more than “nine miserable log cabins.” The population grew, of course, and more buildings were added, but on the whole, we can presume that not too much had changed by the time that Hasselbach showed up with his printing press, sixteen years later.

Hasselbach, you see, had spent a decade-and-a-half honing his skills in Philadelphia. He started in Koch’s paper mill on the Wissahickon, and after learning the art of printing from Christoph Souer in Germantown, established his own press with Anthony Ambruster—a protégé of Ben Franklin—in Chestnut Hill, just north of Philly.

Sometime around 1764 or ’65, for reasons that are unknown, he decided to go south to Maryland. Perhaps he had heard that Baltimore Town needed a printer and saw himself fit for the job. Whatever the case, Hasselbach made the move with fonts in hand, ready to leave a lasting mark.

Though the first public mention of Hasselbach was not until July 6th 1765, when he purchased Lot No. 71—the approximate location of 414 East Baltimore Street—from Thomas Harrison (see Liber B., No. O., Folios 343 through 347), the deed hints that he had been in town for awhile: “THIS INDENTURE made . . . BETWEEN Thomas Harrison of Baltimore County in the Province of Maryland Merchant of the one part and Nicholas Haßelback (sic) of the same County and Province Printer of the other part.” If buying this property was Hasselbach’s first act in town, it probably would have, instead, noted that he was “of Philadelphia County in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.” Alas, the clerk at the county courthouse thought it sufficient enough to deem Hasselbach a local—and so he was.

Aside from a few tidbits here and there, Hasselbach remains an elusive character. His exact point of origin is uncertain. He may or may not have been the ‘Johannes Nicolaus Wilhelmus Haselbach’ who was born in Raubach, Prussia, on December 15th 1728 (and christened four days later). Yet, even in places where his existence is certain, barely any trace remains of the life that he once lived. Here, in Maryland, out of the three property deeds that were executed during his lifetime, only one bears a genuine signature: the first one, as mentioned above.

1765.Signature

Tsk, tsk, tsk, Nicholas… Terrible penmanship.

Admittedly, his handwriting leaves a lot to be desired. Yet, in fairness, he did not make his money as a scribe, or someone who had to physically write the words that he was printing. Hasselbach just needed to arrange the letters in the correct order—to mind his p’s and his q’s, if you will. And, considering that he was an 18th-century printer, during the era when the long ‘s’ reigned supreme, his ſ’s and his f’s as well! No small feat, that. No siree.

Sadly, Hasselbach’s time in Baltimore was short. Around 1770, he went to Europe to attend to some business matters, and was lost at sea, leaving a wife and three children back home. His last public record in Baltimore was a land transaction, on October 26th 1769. After that date, he vanished…

His widow and executrix, Catherine Hasselbach (née Steiz), settled his estate soon thereafter. A personal inventory was taken in January of 1772 (see Baltimore County Inventories, vol. 11, pp., 86 through 89), and his debts were paid off by July of 1775 (in the same volume, p. 294).

The inventory is probably our best insight into his life. Its total worth was appraised at a little more than £1,675 sterling, which would be close to $355,000 today. The items themselves are worth a read through in their own right: the most intriguing are his 21 violins. Was he a virtuoso? After hours, might Baltimoreans on a casual, late-evening stroll have heard the works of Bach or Vivaldi streaming out the windows of his print shop…? A tantalizing thought. And his 12 pictures—whom, or what did they depict? Perhaps there is a portrait of Nicholas Hasselbach, floating around somewhere. We can dream of such things…

George W. McCreary’s Reprint

Until recently, the closest that I had ever gotten to seeing the original was George Washington McCreary’s publication, The First Book Printed in Baltimore-Town: Nicholas Hasselbach, Printer. McCreary was the Assistant Secretary and Librarian at the Maryland Historical Society when, during the summer of 1902, he received a package in the mail of untold value. Inside it, among other 18th-century pamphlets, he found “A Detection…”, which, thenceforth, was the only extant example of Hasselbach’s work. McCreary gave the book to Robert Garrett who, evidently, gave it to his brother John—the proprietor of Evergreen House. It has been there ever since.

This is McCreary No. 220, owned by Towson University's Special Collections.

This is McCreary No. 220, owned by Towson University’s Special Collections.

As one of my all-time favorite writers, James Hall Bready, noted on page D4 of the February 9th 1975 edition of The Baltimore Sun, McCreary did two things to preserve Hasselbach’s book: the first, as previously mentioned, was giving it to the Garretts, who had an enormous rare-book collection and the means to maintain it. The second was publishing the reprint (pictured above), in 1903, complete with a sketch of Hasselbach’s life. Since it was a limited run of 300, copies are almost impossible to find. Bready, who owned a McCreary that he had initially purchased for $10 (presumably in the 1950s or ’60s), would have laughed off a $25 offer for it in 1975. For the record, that would be around $110 in today’s money—an offer that I would laugh off for my copy, too.

Examining The Artifact

I ventured up to Evergreen House to see the book for myself. For its age, its condition is a lot better than I would have expected. Granted, the title page is imperfect, and it has no cover—but that makes its survival all the more impressive. Bready notes that a town with less than 5,000 inhabitants probably had no bindery, which makes sense.

After more than two centuries of wear and tear, the book has finally been conserved. Now, it has a wonderful, marble, soft-cover binding, along with a protective case. Additionally, the holes in its pages have been infilled with Japanese paper. This will allow them to last for generations to come.

Examining The Artifact

As with most 18th-century publications, the subject matter is pretty dense. It centers around a fellow by the name of John Redick-Le-Man, or John Redick, layman, in the Pennsylvania back country. Redick describes, at length, his side of a financial disagreement with a blacksmith named Hugh Scot, which occurred during a trip to Lancaster. Scot thought that Redick had shortchanged him, and Redick pleads his case to the otherwise.

My favorite line is on page five, where Redick says “…as I deſign the greateſt brevity poſſible; I ſhall not ſpend the Readers Time in looking over all, or the tenth Part of what occur’d…” At which point he babbles on—for another 40 pages. Perhaps we can all agree that “brevity” was not exactly John Redick’s greatest strength! Then again, people had longer attention spans during the 18th century, when electronics were not constantly vying for their time. So, it is conceivable that, to them, 48 pages really was considered brief.

Regardless, Redick took Scot’s accusations as a personal attack. He felt strongly enough about defending his honor, that he went to the nearest printing press, which was evidently in Baltimore Town, and decided to have his side of the story made public so an “impartial” audience could hear him out. The preface to the book is dated February 12th 1765, and because there is no official arrival date for Hasselbach in Baltimore, this is the closest that we are likely to get. And celebrate we will!

Postscript

Not surprisingly, Hasselbach has never really gotten his due. After his ship went under, he faded into obscurity. So much so, in fact, that on January 29th 1884, when the circa-1710 dwelling at 63 East Fayette Street was being demolished (which is a travesty in itself), The Baltimore Sun (on page 4) made the following mention of a book that had been found above a crossbeam in the attic: “[a] receipt-book, evidently the property of ‘Nicholas Hasselbach’, whoever he may have been, show[ing] receipts for various small sums of money paid to different persons by Hasselbach for tracts of land, &c., in 1769 and 1770.” It also mentioned some account books that had belonged to Hasselbach’s son-in-law, John Hillen.

Nobody knows what happened to any of those books. They were probably thrown away—carelessly discarded like the house they inhabited. The Baltimoreans of 1884 might have looked on with little more than a shrug of the shoulder. We 21st-century Baltimoreans, however—alarm bells are going off in our heads! If only we could inform them of the error in their ways. And the house… Was it Hasselbach’s house? Goodness. The thought is almost too much to bear. But, honestly, it’s the line they slid in right after his name that bugs me the most. The one that really sticks in my craw.

“…whoever he may have been…”

They didn’t even know who he was!

Can you believe that? Especially since The Baltimore Sun makes its money by way of the printing press—the technology that Hasselbach was responsible for bringing to town in the first place.

The irony is, had Hasselbach lived longer, he may have been able to stake a claim as Baltimore’s first journalist. Indirectly, though, he does have a claim. Or, at least, a partial one… Catherine Hasselbach sold her deceased husband’s printing equipment to William Goddard, who started Baltimore Town’s first newspaper. So, when The Maryland Journal, and the Baltimore Advertiser. opened up shop in 1773, it did so using Hasselbach’s types.

Thus, even in death, Hasselbach’s contribution was readily seen.

And, I suppose that I would be remiss were I not to mention his personal contribution, to me.

Because, without Nicholas Hasselbach, there’s no JGB.

Holding The Artifact

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