By Heather Rockwood, Communications Associate

Annie Adams Fields (1834‒1915) was an author and social reformer who made her home at 148 Charles Street the center of literary Boston. Her circle of friends included authors published by her husband, James T. Fields, of Ticknor & Fields, as well as European writers visiting Boston. The MHS holds Annie Fields correspondence, travel and other diaries, translations, and a scrapbook on Charles Dickens.  

Fields made a number of literary friends during her travels in Europe, 1859‒1860, and these writers later came to her salon in Boston along with New England and other US authors. What makes these friendships of particular interest today are Fields’s descriptions of the writers, penned with a keen eye. For example, she hosted a dinner on 21 November 1867, that included Charles Dickens. Afterward, she wrote about Dickens in her diary:

Dickens bubbled over with fun & I could not help fancying that Holmes bored him a little by talking at him. I was sorry for this because Holmes is so simple and lovely but Dickens is sensitive, very. He is fond of Carlyle, seems to love nobody better and gave the most irresistible imitation of him. His queer terms of expression often convulsed us with laughter and yet it is difficult to catch them as when in speaking of the writer of books always putting himself, his real self in ‘which is always the case,’ he said ‘but you must be careful of not taking him for his next door neighbor.’

Many visitors found Fields to be a sympathetic listener and confided in her, such as Nathaniel Hawthorne. After his visit with Fields on 6 December 1863, following a funeral, she wrote this passage about him:

As the sunset deepened Mr Hawthorne talked of his early life. His grandfather bought a township in Maine and at the early age of eleven years he accompanied his mother and sister down there to live upon the land. From that moment the happiest period of his life began and lasted until he was thirteen when he was sent to school in Salem. While in Maine he lived like a bird of the air so perfect was the freedom he enjoyed. During the moonlight nights of winter he would skate until midnight alone upon the icy face of Sebago Lake with all its ineffable beauty stretched before him and the deep shadows of the hills on either hand…. All the long summer days he roamed at will, gun in hand through the woods and there he learned a nearness to Nature and a love for free life which has never left him and made all other existence in a measure insupportable. His suffering began with that Salem school and his knowledge of his relatives who were all distasteful to him. He said, how sad middle life looks to people of erratic temperaments. Everything is beautiful in youth—all things are allowed to it.

Fields also observed Hawthorne on his way to the funeral on 4 December 1863, and wrote, “He says in it ‘pleasure is only pain greatly exaggerated’ which is queer to say the least if not untrue. I think it must be differently stated from this. He was as courteous and as grand as ever—and as true. He does not lose that all saddening smile, either.” This last sentence leads the reader to surmise that Hawthorne always had a “saddening smile.”

The descriptions Fields wrote about her literary friends were used by her husband to create essays on Hawthorne and Dickens, published in The Atlantic Monthly in 1871 and in his book Yesterdays with Authors in 1872.

You can read Fields’s transcribed diaries in the online edition of The Brownings’ Correspondence.

By Klara Pokrzywa, Library Assistant

Like probably pretty much anyone that works in an archives, I love looking at old books and their lovely bindings! We have plenty of pristine old bindings here at the MHS – but just as interesting are the bindings in various states of wear and tear. Today I wanted to take a look at some books that are showing their age in one particular way: exposed wastepaper bindings.

Wastepaper has been used in book bindings for centuries – essentially, it’s the practice of using scraps of used paper to reinforce or mend the bindings of newer texts. Most of the scholarly work on wastepaper bindings deals with fragments of medieval manuscripts, which are hand-scribed and generally produced on parchment. Atlas Obscura has a fascinating article on how researchers try to identify and reconstruct manuscripts found in the bindings of other texts. And if you’re interested in seeing some examples of what it looks like when a beautifully decorated manuscript is used as a binding, Princeton Libraries has a blog post with some very cool pictures. Finding a fragment of a medieval manuscript is a pretty big discovery, however, and it’s much more common for bindings to be reinforced with more modern printed paper. That doesn’t mean that these printed materials aren’t interesting!

Our copy of Volume 1 from The works of John Adams, written by his grandson Charles Francis Adams, is one such example of printed wastepaper. The series was published between 1850-1856. As you can see above, under the leather of the binding, there are scraps of printed English language text on paper. If you look closely, you can see that this paper is actually a page from another book, complete with footnotes at the bottom.

This one is interesting because only the first volume in this series has the binding paper exposed. Perhaps the first volume was bound less securely than the rest, or perhaps it saw more use over the years than the later volumes! If the spines on the other volumes ever disintegrate (which they hopefully won’t!), it would be interesting to see if they were all bound in paper from the same source.

It’s frequently difficult to read binding fragments, because the narrow strips of paper mean you only ever get a few consecutive words, and never a full sentence. In this volume especially, the binding paper has separated out into even narrower little scraps, which makes it even harder! From what I can tell, the binding here looks as though it’s a history text – I think the text at the top where the title of a book or chapter would be says “American Evolution,” and some of the body text talks about food, turkeys, and agriculture.

This next book has only the edge of a page in its binding. There’s enough complete words to determine that it’s a German language text, which makes sense, seeing as this copy of Platonis dialogi : Graece et Latine (Platonic dialogues in side-by-side Greek and Latin) was published by the Berlin publisher Bekkeri. It dates a little earlier than the Adams text, likely between 1816-1818. Let’s take another view of the binding:

I love the slightly Gothic font! There are also a few numbers in this text, which look as though they might be dates, although they don’t correspond with the dates of publication. I can’t read German, so it’s difficult for me to tell anything further than this – although I think one of the words I managed to identify was “murden,” German for “murder,” which piqued my curiosity. If anyone can make more sense of this, let me know!

The last binding I want to talk about is from a book called A statistical view of the commerce of the United States of America : its connection with agriculture and manufactures; and an account of the public debt, revenues, and expenditures of the United States, by Timothy Pitkin. This was published in New York in 1817; I took a look inside while photographing it, and to be honest, it’s kind of slow reading! But the contrast between the very dry text of the actual volume and the commercial, upbeat tone of the binding is a little amusing to me, because as you can see, it’s bound with an advertisement for dandruff products.

These bindings are interesting because of the contrasts they occasionally draw with the content of the volumes they hold together, as with the Pitkin tome here, but also because it can tell us about what publishers did and didn’t value – these aren’t called wastepaper bindings for nothing! And while perhaps it isn’t particularly surprising that an old newspaper advertisement for dandruff cream was seen as waste, there’s also a tension here: it’s precisely because these scraps of paper were designated as disposable that they have survived.

By Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

The Guardian, “America’s greatest race journal,” was a Black-owned newspaper published in Boston. The paper was founded in 1901 by businessman William Monroe Trotter and librarian George Washington Forbes. The MHS collection of Garrison family papers includes one full issue of The Guardian, dated 16 December 1905, the bulk of which is dedicated to commemorating abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison on the centennial of his birth. It’s also a fascinating snapshot of Black activism during the Jim Crow era.

The Guardian offices were located first on Tremont Row, but in 1907 moved to 21 Cornhill Street, the same office from which Garrison had published his famous Liberator. Trotter idolized the abolitionist, and that certainly comes through in his flowery prose. The masthead even features a Garrison quote: “Liberty for Each, for All and Forever.” But Trotter also didn’t pull punches when it came to those he opposed: segregationists and white supremacists, of course, but also Black accommodationists like Booker T. Washington.

On the 10th and 11th of December 1905, citizens of Boston paid tribute to Garrison with ceremonies, prayers, and concerts. This 12-page issue of The Guardian includes details of these events, transcriptions of speeches, and photographs of a number of the participants. I’d like to highlight a few of them here, but I encourage you to click on this link to see the whole issue, which includes about 40 more and has been beautifully reproduced by the MHS digital team.

Pauline Elizabeth Hopkins (1859-1930) was an author, editor, and lecturer whose ancestors fought at Bunker Hill. When she spoke at Faneuil Hall, she declared, “I am a daughter of the Revolution, you do not acknowledge black daughters of the Revolution but we are going to take that right.”

Attorney Clement Garnett Morgan (1859-1929) was the first African American to receive both an A.B. and an LL.B. from Harvard. The list of his academic honors and achievements could fill up a blog post of its own! At a speech in 1890, he declared, “I am glad to be a Negro […] I mean to be a Negro. On the bottom of my heart is written Negro.”

Nellie Brown Mitchell (1845-1924) was a classically trained singer and voice teacher who performed throughout New England, including at both Black and white churches, as well as the west and south. She performed at Garrison’s funeral in 1879 and at the centennial.

J. Nathaniel Butler had worked with William Lloyd Garrison at the Liberator. He is described as “venerable” and “aged” in 1905, so he was probably the same man who had assisted at an attempted rescue of freedom seeker Anthony Burns 51 years before.

Other photographs in the paper depict clergy, artists, military men, individuals affiliated with the Niagara Movement, and many more. Among them are Mark R. DeMortie, Wesley J. Furlong, Eliza Gardner, Byron L. Gunner, Martin L. Harvey, Reverdy C. Ransom, William L. Reed, William H. Richardson, Hannah C. Smith, and John J. Smith.

Francis Jackson Garrison (1848-1915), the youngest child of William Lloyd Garrison, delivered a rousing speech that tied racism to other societal harms, including sexism, xenophobia, imperialism, and political corruption. If his father were still alive, he said, he would not only see the wholesale disenfranchisement of African Americans, but also…

He would find Negroes excluded from juries, from all town, city and state governing bodies, denied legal intermarriage with whites, restricted to Negro galleries in the theatres and Negro cars on the trains, subjected to excessive penalties for violations of law […] He would find women denied their full political rights in all but four states of the Union, and the Chinese […] still excluded as outcasts. He would view with amazement the spectacle of the United States seizing distant lands, slaughtering their people by tens of thousands, and establishing colonial government.

For a detailed blow-by-blow of the commemorations that took place on 10-11 December 1905, see The Celebration of the One Hundredth Anniversary of the Birth of William Lloyd Garrison, published the following year.

Apart from Garrison-related material, this issue of The Guardian contains several other items of interest. For example, multiple articles relate to the resignation of John Gordon as president of Howard University. Under Gordon’s leadership, the curriculum of the school had been changed to one focusing more on “industrial education.” Students considered this change an insult to their academic abilities and protested, eventually forcing Gordon out. One protest involved as many as 400 students.

Another article rails against a vagrancy law in Macon, Ga. that would allow police to arrest any Black person they deemed to be “loitering” or “idle.” According to the article’s author, some Black men had achieved a level of relative comfort that enabled their wives not to work. Chief Conner of Macon, to help the “suffering [white] housewives […] issued orders for all idle Negro women to be rounded up, and unless they can show that they have employment they will be sent to the chain-gang, there to cook without pay and clothed in stripes.”

Finally, I’ll draw your attention to this eye-popping headline: “Negro Has Legal Rights. Court Rules He Is Entitled to Protection Under Law Against Lynching—Great Decision.” This brief bulletin refers to the case of Thomas M. Riggins v. United States. Riggins had participated in the lynching of a Black man named Horace Maples, but argued that he had committed no crime because the protections afforded by the Constitution simply did not extend to African Americans. The Supreme Court ruled against him.

The Guardian closed up shop in either 1955 or 1960 (sources differ). I hope you’ll take some time to read through this fascinating newspaper or visit the MHS to check out the rest of the Garrison family papers.

By Evan McDonagh, Library Assistant

In 1889, visitors to the present location of the MHS would find themselves confronted by a most unusual sight: a fairground adorned in towering white tents and colorful flags. A decade before the Society came to 1154 Boylston Street, this corner of the Fenway neighborhood of Boston hosted Phineas Taylor Barnum’s Circus. Barnum entertained his audiences with the absurd and created spectacle out of the strange.

For 19th-century Bostonians, the circus represented just one means of finding entertainment in spectacle. Anything outside the norms of American life – particularly people, animals, and objects that did not conform to notions of Western civilization and classification – could be exoticized and transformed into an exhibit. In the 1800s, naturalists toured the United States and charged Americans to view their curiosities and collections. The below broadside, saved by Boston resident Ezra S. Gannett in his 1845 diary, announced the presentation of a mastodon skeleton (“the antediluvian monster!”) by “an eminent Naturalist and Physician of [Boston]” for citywide enjoyment.

Naturalists and archaeologists similarly exhibited artifacts and items appropriated from imperialist ventures at home and overseas. The popular image of the mummy, a ubiquitous representation of Ancient Egypt and archaeology in modern times, has its roots in these 19th-century curiosity shows. In 1825, the New England Museum displayed three mummified Egyptian bodies, promising lurid sights with an additional 25 cent admission fee. Desecration accompanied exhibition as the museum removed the wrappings from these already disturbed bodies.

The unwrapping of a mummy could be a highly publicized affair. For instance, an 1850 event held by Boston naturalist Geo. R. Gliddon promised not only lectures on Ancient Egyptian embalming practices, but the unwrapping of a mummy before an audience and the submission of the body, wrappings, and its belongings for their inspection.

Popular fascination with absurd practices and bodies dovetailed with a growing fixation on spiritualism and the occult. Occultists like the below Professor Baron claimed access to secret knowledge and abilities beyond the pale of Western knowledge and science, often stemming from exoticized interpretations of non-Western cultures. The appeals of mysticism and otherworldly answers answered the popular appetite for spectacle.

The broadsides accompanying this blog post represent just some of curiosity shows and exhibitions that visited Massachusetts during the 19th century. They tell a story not just of contemporary entertainment, but also the commodification of those deemed absurd: prehistoric and unusual animals as well as artifacts, corpses, and beliefs of outside cultures. Part II of this blog post series will focus on people and the rendering of non-European bodies as curiosities.

By Susanna Sigler, Library Assistant

A confession: I spent way too long trying to come up with a catchy opener for this blog post. After several stops and starts, I came to the conclusion that sometimes you just want to talk about a cool item.

On the off chance that anyone has been following closely, my last few posts have been about WWII-related collections here at the MHS. This is no coincidence, as I’ve been gathering information about WWI- and WWII-related collection to start work on a subject guide to help future researchers. Read posts here, here, and here.

Rather than an account of overseas duty and combat, I wanted to look at something related to the home front and the experiences of civilians. Lydia Gutheim’s helmet, sitting in the “civilians” tab of my spreadsheet, seemed like a promising choice.

The term air raid warden might conjure images of WWII as it took place in Great Britain rather than the United States. While the contiguous United States never became the target of a sustained bombing campaign during the war, civilian defense preparations were widespread and organized by multiple government offices on the federal and state levels. Being an air raid warden was advertised as one way that civilians could contribute to the war effort. One booklet of instructions, digitized by the Museum of Flight, shows how air raid wardens and other neighborhood leaders were told to view themselves as being in an army, albeit one in civilian clothes.

In person, Lydia’s helmet is rather nondescript. Made of steel and painted white, it has a series of interior straps and fasteners meant to properly place the helmet on the head of the wearer. It is accompanied by a canvas belt with multiple pockets holding first aid supplies. Before looking at it, I assumed the helmet would have some kind of insignia, but it has no markings, aside from a dent near the top. Inside is a small slip of paper attached to one of the straps, bearing Lydia’s name and address in Cambridge, Mass.

My questions revolved around Lydia herself – who was she, and why did she volunteer to be an air raid warden?

The Boston Globe was able to help answer these questions. Lydia, in her mid-fifties by the time the war began, was married to Herman Gutheim, Fire Chief for the city of Cambridge. One clipping from 1942 conjures a strong image of wartime Boston, detailing Chief Gutheim’s orders for an upcoming practice blackout. Two years prior, he is named as organizing a new “Civilian Unit” at the Cambridge Fire Department “as part of the national defense.” It makes sense that Lydia, his wife, would herself take a role in this initiative.

While this information was illuminating, I didn’t feel any closer to knowing more about Lydia other than in relation to her husband. There was more available on her and Herman’s daughter, Dr. Marjorie Frye Gutheim. Among other accomplishments, Dr. Gutheim was an associate editor here at the MHS, transcribing the Winthrop papers and creating a guide to MHS proceedings.

I wondered how Lydia felt about her duties, and if she worried about having to put her training into practice. It might seem unthinkable now, the idea of blackout drills and preparations for enemy firebombs. Even though that probability decreased as the war went on, the fear was still very real. Lydia’s helmet is a reminder not just of how Boston mobilized during the war, but also how it affected the city on a civilian level. Lydia Gutheim, like many women, is unfortunately most often only mentioned in the context of her husband – “Fire Chief and Mrs. Herman Gutheim.” This helmet is a reminder of how she too is part of this history.

Lydia Gutheim’s air raid warden helmet can be viewed at the MHS.

Citations

Advance instructions to air raid wardens, block leaders, neighborhood leaders. Date unknown. 2014-00-00-20_text_010_01. Box 1, Folder 1. World War II Air Raid Warden Materials. Digital Collections. Museum of Flight. Tukwila, Washington. https://digitalcollections.museumofflight.org/items/show/48177#?c=0&m=0&s=0&cv=1&xywh=37%2C-9%2C713%2C534.

“Events in Greater Boston: Cambridge.” The Boston Globe, 2 December 1940.

By Hannah Elder, Assistant Reference Librarian for Rights & Reproductions 

Do you remember last month, when I told the blog that my family had visited and viewed some documents? Well, I have a story to tell about one of them that makes me appreciate it even more. But first, some back story.

The first time I came to the MHS, it was on a secret mission. In one of my graduate school classes I had been assigned to visit an archive as a researcher, use the collection without telling them I was studying library science, and report back on the experience. I chose the Massachusetts Historical Society, hoping to learn more about my family’s Massachusetts roots.

Looking through ABIGAIL before my visit, I was able to identify an item in the miscellaneous manuscripts collection that caught my eye: a telegram sent from Anna C. M. Tillinghast to Edith B. Wilcox, dated 1 November 1924. I knew there were Wilcoxs in my family tree, so I requested it. The day of my visit, I checked in, was cleared, and got an orientation on how to use the library from Rakashi, who is now a beloved colleague. In the reading room, I took this picture of the telegram:

The telegram reads:

Mrs Edith B Wilcox,

Don’t phone

Royalston, Mass.

               Congratulations for your splendid work. Republican victory on Election day now depends on you and your committee to get out the vote. We are fighting for the preservation of constitutional government. Request that the American Flag be displayed on Tuesday from homes and places of business as evidence of patriotism.

Anna Tillinghast

Chairman Women’s Division, Republican State Committee

After my visit, I told my family about the telegram, but we weren’t sure how its recipient, Edith Wilcox, was related to us. Once I started at the MHS I placed another request for the telegram, thinking I would look at it again and maybe research it further, but I never went back to it, caught up in the wonders of having so many documents at my fingertips.

Fast forward to last month, when my family came to visit. I pulled the telegram along with some other items that I knew they would find interesting. I retold the story of how I first viewed the telegram and we read it together, taking pictures of it before viewing other fabulous items.

A few weeks later, we were all at my parents’ house for the holidays and hosting my grandmother. We told her about the visit and showed her pictures of everything, including the telegram. When she saw the telegram, she said in surprise, “Edith? That’s my grandmother!” It turns out that the recipient of this telegram is my great-great-grandmother! Grammie shared stories of growing up across the street from Edith and it was a special moment of sharing family history across generations.

I’m not sure how the telegram ended up here at the MHS. According to our records, it was donated by Jane Smith in February of 2013, but we don’t know anything about the 89 years that transpired between its creation and its donation. Regardless, I’m happy we have it and happy that this object, just a single page among the millions in our collection, has gained many layers of meaning.

I encourage you to visit the library and show off your finds. You never know what you’ll discover! 

By Heather Rockwood, Communications Associate

Despite being discouraged from being commercially successful, women artists in the 19th century created wonderful works of art that are important. The MHS has some great examples of such work in the collection. My focus here will be on artists who painted portraits.

Susan Anne Livingston Ridley Sedgwick’s best-known work is a portrait of someone famous, an enslaved woman who sued for her freedom and won, thereby making enslavement illegal in Massachusetts. Elizabeth “Mumbet” Freeman then worked for the family of the lawyer who helped her. She eventually bought her own home and had her portrait painted, something rare at the time. Sedgwick, the daughter-in-law of the lawyer in Freeman’s case, wrote several children’s books and also painted. This portrait of Freeman is important in several ways. First, it is of someone who in that period wouldn’t normally have had their portrait made. Second, it demonstrates the special relationship between Freeman and the Sedgwicks. Finally, besides the portrait, the MHS also holds the jewelry that Freeman is wearing in the painting, confirming she owned and wore it during her lifetime.

Caroline Negus was born into a family of painters. She exhibited paintings at the Boston Artist’s Association, the National Academy, and the Boston Athenaeum. She was most famous as a portraitist, but her botanical artwork was published in the medicinal herb book The American Vegetable Practicein 1841. Her watercolor portrait of Catherine Sargent is important to abolitionist history. Sargent, who was born and lived in Gloucester, Massachusetts, was an abolitionist and friend of William Lloyd Garrison. Negus was known to be a realistic painter, and although realism was trending at the time in the United States, she exceeded the norm in her painting of Sargent. Of note is the detail in the lace cap and collar, as well as in Sargent’s dress, especially when compared to the plain stippled background.

Sarah Goodridge was a distinguished and prolific portrait painter in Boston between 1820‒1850. She had high profile clients such as Daniel Webster, US Congressman, Secretary of State, and a lawyer who argued over 200 cases before the Supreme Court, and Edward Everett, US Congressman, US Senator, 15th Governor of Massachusetts, Minister to Great Britain, Secretary of State, and President of Harvard University. The portraits of Webster and Everett in the Society’s collection share the same style as the previous two in their use of the three-quarter profile and plain background. However, less attention was paid to the sitters’ clothing and more to their facial likeness and expression. These paintings demonstrate that women found opportunities to paint important subjects and have a share of commercial success.

Jane Stuart’s story is a bit different, she was the daughter of Gilbert Stuart, considered to be one of America’s foremost portraitists. Jane grew up watching her father paint and helped him by grinding paints and filling in his paintings’ backgrounds. She learned to paint by watching him, and he considered her a great artist, better than he had been at her age. When Jane was 16, her father died, and she set up a studio to support her family with her artwork. Because she painted in her father’s style, most of her commissions were replicas of her father’s work, especially his painting of George Washington. The painting of Washington shown here, attributed to Jane Stuart, is held by the MHS. Throughout her career, Jane also finished many of her father’s unfinished paintings and exhibited her paintings at the Boston Athenaeum, the National Academy Museum and School, the Academy of Fine Arts, and the American Academy. Today, her paintings are collected and displayed at museums throughout the United States, not only for the importance of her subjects, but also for her talent as an artist.

By Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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