By Gwen Fries, Adams Papers

On a drizzly February morning in 1848, Charles Francis Adams, son of John Quincy Adams, walked into his Boston office. As he reached his desk, Adams noticed a telegraph that communicated that his father “whilst in his seat at the House of Representatives at half past one o’clock was taken in another fit of paralysis and that it was not thought he could survive the day,” CFA wrote in his diary. Adams was on the next train south.

Charles Francis Adams, Photogravure, from “Portraits of American Abolitionists,” MHS.

Delays prevented Adams from making his connection to Philadelphia. As he waited for the next train, Adams began reading the book his wife had sent with him, Jane Eyre. That night, February 23rd, he anxiously read a newspaper that had reports from 11 p.m. on the 22nd that John Quincy “lingered.”

The next morning, while on the train to Baltimore, Charles Francis opened that day’s paper.

The first thing I saw was the announcement that at a quarter past seven last night my father had ceased to breathe. . . . Here then it is in all its reality— I have no longer a Father.

After another short layover in Baltimore, Charles Francis reached his parents’ home in Washington, D.C. He went straight upstairs to comfort his mother, Louisa Catherine. Charles Francis sat with her until it was time to go to bed.

She then told me she had no place to put me in but his room— And I went to it, just as he had left it on Monday morning: Yes there was his table and chair, his papers and writing materials, his bed and all his materials for his late sick life. And the animating spirit was not there and I was.

Charles Francis got little sleep.

The next day, his mother was “in a low, fainting state all day, and utterly unable to say any thing.” After a morning of greeting acquaintances and thanking them for their condolences, Charles Francis traveled to the House. He was ushered through crowds to the coffin, where he was left alone. “And here I was to take my last look upon one to whom for forty years I had been looking for support and aid and encouragement!” Charles Francis studied his father’s face through a glass pane and considered his future responsibilities. Poignantly, Adams reflected that he was “alone in the generation,” as his two older brothers and younger sister had all already passed away. He shed a few tears before returning to the committee room to discuss arrangements “until every nerve in me quivered.”

His mother being too unwell to attend, Charles Francis represented his family at the funeral. As he stood on the steps of the Capitol waiting for his carriage, he felt acutely the curious eyes of gawkers and resolutely stared ahead, reflecting on his father’s influence. “He has been the great landmark of my life,” Charles Francis wrote. “My stay and companion.” As he descended the stairs and climbed into the carriage, Adams prepared himself to become the Adams patriarch. “For the future I must walk alone and others must lean on me.”

By Susan Martin, Collections Services

Your reference to the southerners regard, or rather, disregard of the Negro [–] I experienced a rather amusing incident a few weeks ago.

This passage comes from a letter written by African-American artist Meta Warrick Fuller on 5 January 1928 and recently acquired by the MHS. Fuller’s correspondent was Marion Colvin Deane, a white Canadian woman who worked at Virginia’s historically black Hampton Institute. Deane was an avid collector of autographs, particularly those of famous black writers, artists, educators, intellectuals, and activists. She wrote to Fuller, W.E.B. Du Bois, Marcus Garvey, Walter F. White, and many others soliciting autographs for her collection.

Meta Vaux Warrick Fuller (1877-1968) was an accomplished and acclaimed black sculptor associated with the Harlem Renaissance, though her work spanned the decades both before and after that era. Born in Philadelphia, her early artistic promise was nurtured by her family, and she studied art in Philadelphia before traveling to France in 1899 to attend the Académie Colarossi and the École des Beaux-Arts. In France, she met and was mentored by Auguste Rodin. Her work was exhibited alongside older and more established contemporaries like John Singer Sargent and Mary Cassatt, and she would go to win many commissions and awards over her lifetime.

In 1928, when Marion C. Deane wrote to her, Fuller was living in Framingham, Mass. with her husband Solomon Carter Fuller and their three sons. She worked in her own private studio behind the house.

Fuller began her reply to Deane by apologizing for her handwriting and thanking Deane for “the kind interest and regard – may I be worthy of them.” Then, in response to a comment by Deane on Southern racial animosity, she described a recent “amusing incident” on a Framingham bus. Returning from a shopping trip and finding the bus crowded, Fuller opted to sit in the back, although for her this was “contrary to custom.” From there, she overheard “a youngish sort of woman”—a white woman presumably visiting from the South—talking to a friend.

I could still hear the conversation – she spoke of how strange it seemed to see colored people mingling with white people – in schools – restaurants and the like – she would go out if one sat down at a table with her – it didn’t seem right.

And what was Fuller’s reaction? Maybe not what you’d expect.

It all impressed me as very funny – and mischief got the better of me – I wrote on a slip of paper ‘God made man of one flesh[.]’ I rolled it up, and as I passed on my way out dropped it in her lap. I was convulsed at the expression of surprise when she saw what I had done, but I left the car before she had time to read it. I have not since seen the woman with whom she was talking but I am curious to know what she did after reading it.

The MHS currently holds no other papers of Meta Warrick Fuller, so this letter is a very welcome addition to our collection. It’s also a fascinating record of racial attitudes in the years between the Plessy v. Ferguson “separate but equal” decision and the height of the civil rights movement in America.

By Daniel Tobias Hinchen

Well, maybe that title is a little bit ambitious. But, in recognition of the 142^nd annual Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show – taking place this weekend – today we are looking at collections items featuring canines, particularly images of dogs that are in the stacks here at the MHS (the images, not the dogs). 

In 1845, Sir John Franklin, English rear admiral and explorer, led an expedition in search of the Northwest Passage. However, his journey met with disaster and, three years later, the remains of he and his crew were found in the Canadian Arctic.¹ Of the several search and rescue missions put together to find Franklin and his men, one was carried out by the H.M.S. Enterprise and included some four-legged crew members.

“Daddy,” the Esquimaux dog of H. M. S. “Enterprise,” sent in search of Sir John Franklin.

According to a bit of text that is alongside the above image

The intelligence of the Esquimaux dogs, and their utility, is well known. The portrait of “Daddy” represents a faithful companion of Captain Collinson, who accompanied him 2000 miles, and of whom many anecdotes might be narrated; but one of the most interesting attaches to a dog of Capt. Penny, “Sultan,” who saved the life of one of Sir John Ross’ men who had indulged too freely on a visit to the Felix, when in winter quarters. The man alluded to was found by Sultan floundering in the snow at midnight, and, by his repeated intimations of something having occurred, induced some of the men to leave the ship and follow him to the spot. A few minutes more and life would have been extinct.

The following images have much less information to go along with them, but you can click on the links to see what we know.

Boxser. [graphic]

High life : from the picture in the Vernon Gallery [graphic] / E. Landseer, R. A. painter ; H. Beckwith engraver

Dog [graphic]

Fox-hunting, p. 1 / [graphic] Howitt in et f.

First aid / [graphic] Diana Thorne

Finally, we can connect all of this to another recent post published here on the Beehive. A few weeks ago we learned a bit about the famed showman P. T. Barnum, his lavish estate called Iranistan, and how he managed to attract the Swedish Nightingale, Jenny Lind, to perform in America. [See: “No Mere Adventurer…”]

Today, we probably associate Barnum most closely with the rise of the traveling circus, but did you know he also dabbled in dog shows? 

Small broadside advertising “A Great National Dog Show.”

As manager of Boston’s Aquarial Gardens, Barnum arranged for a six-day show, “including every breed of dog known,” with prize money going to the top two or three finishers in each category. Those who did not finish in the top tier were given “elegantly engraved Diplomas” as evidence of the quality of their canines. Among the various breeds and classes to be judged at this event were Newfoundlands, Pointers, Coach Dogs, and Esquimaux Dogs (just like “Daddy”). Below is an example of a prize diploma. 

An elegantly engraved Diploma, “Awarded by the judges to S. Hammond Esq. for his Blenheim Spaniel.”

Based on the information provided in the advertisement above, Mr. Hammond stood to win $10 for his best-specimen spaniel. However, the last page of the three-page ad also lays out some stipulations from Mr. Barnum. To wit: 

Should the Manager desire to retain the Cash Premium Dogs on exhibition from and including June 23rd until and including Saturday June 28th, he shall have the right to do so, he continuing to provide the proper care, food and water for the Dogs FREE, and continuing to admit exhibitors of said dogs free during the time above specified.

Ever the entrepreneur and showman, it makes sense that Barnum would retain the right to attract more viewers for these prize-winning dogs. Cash paid is cash earned, I suppose. 

These are just a few examples of animal illustrations available here at the MHS. Try searching our online catalog, ABIGAIL, to see what else you can find, then consider Visiting the Library to work with material in our reading room!

*****

^1. “Sir John Franklin,” Encyclopaedia Britannica, Accessed 2018-02-10 at https://www/britannica.com/biography/John-Franklin

By Anna Clutterbuck-Cook, Reader Services, and Intern Lindsay Bina

A new year means a new serialized diary here at The Beehive, where for the past three years we have showcased a diary from the collections written one hundred years ago (you can read the 2015, 2016, and 2017 series in our archives!). This year’s diary was transcribed by intern Lindsay Bina.

The diary for 2018 is a tiny line-a-day diary kept by teenager Barbara Hillard Smith. Smith was born on 16 July 1903 and was fourteen in January of 1918 when she began keeping her diary. Before she began to record her daily activities, Barbara carefully completed the “Identification” page in the front of the diary, noting that her weight was 126, her height 5 feet, 6 ½ inches, her shoe size a 7, her hosiery 10 ½, and her gloves 6 ¼. Her telephone number was Newton West 193-M and her physician was an H.W. Godfrey. She was a student at Newton High School.

Image from The Newtonian (1920) yearbook. Barbara was captain of her basketball team senior year and is depicted in the center holding a basketball.

Without further ado, we bring you January 1918 through the eyes of a Newton teenager.

* * *

TUES. 1                      JAN., 1918 NEW YEAR’S DAY

Muriel’s. Skating at Bulloughs. Women Club Play

WED. 2

Went over to Aunt Mabels.

THUR. 3      

Mother went to New York. Aunt Mabels.

FRI. 4

Aunt Mabels

SAT. 5

Aunt Mabels

SUN. 6

Came home

MON. 7

School. Took care of the baby.

TUES. 8

School. Basket Ball.

WED. 9

Sick with cold. Peg hurt her back

THUR. 10

Sick with cold. Had Dr. Godfrey.

FRI. 11

Cold Better. Mother came home

SAT. 12

In the house. Down street.

SUN. 13

Church. Sunday School. Service flag unfurled. Skating in back yard. Sick

MON. 14

School. Stayed for algebra. Pegs skating

TUES. 15

School. Stayed for geometry. Pegs.

WED. 16

School. Stayed for French. Skating in front yard.

THUR. 17

School. Skating at Pegs. Concert at the Seminary

FRI. 18

School. Down to Rosa’s. Watched swimming class.

SAT. 19

Shampoo at Miss Mitchells. Sewed on my dress. Down town

SUN. 20

Sunday School. Hung around

MON. 21

School. Took care of the baby.

TUES. 22

School. Basketball. up to Mrs. Reed’s

WED. 23

School. Took care of baby.

THUR. 24

School. Basketball

FRI. 25

School. Camp Fire. Swimming.

SAT. 26

Skating with Mrs. Moody. Pegs. Mother Carey’s Chickens.

SUN. 27

Church. S.S. Skating at Pegs. [Havene] here. Fell down and hurt my back

MON. 28

Home with my back. Felt kind of weak

TUES. 29

Home with my back. Took care of sonny. Father died.

WED. 30

School. Took care of sonny.

THUR. 31

School. Basket Ball. Symphony and Mischa Elman.

* * *

If you are interested in viewing the diary in person in our library or have other questions about the collection, please visit the library or contact a member of the library staff for further assistance.

 *Please note that the diary transcription is a rough-and-ready version, not an authoritative transcript. Researchers wishing to use the diary in the course of their own work should verify the version found here with the manuscript original. The catalog record for the Barbara Hillard Smith collection may be found here.

By Brendan Kieran, Reader Services

In Boston’s South End: The Clash of Ideas in a Historic Neighborhood Shawmut Peninsula Press, 2015), Russ Lopez constructs an engaging historical account of the South End from before the start of its development as a neighborhood in the 1850s through the time of his writing (22). Lopez, who lives in the South End, teaches in the School of Public Health at Boston University and has written books and articles on topics relating to urban environments (285). This background is on display in his writing as he integrates a variety of social developments and changes in the neighborhood over time into a coherent, highly-readable work.

“HEADQUARTERS, 20 Union Park,” from South End House: Longer and Shorter Retrospects 1891-1911 by the South End House ([Boston, 1912]).

Lopez challenges a widely-held narrative of glorious early years, decades of decline and squalor, and later resurgence in the South End, and sheds light on “a much more nuanced history” (xi). He does so utilizing “public records, newspaper articles, older books, published reports, and the personal papers of past and current residents” (ix). Beginning in the Ice Age, Lopez discusses the Indigenous populations of the area, the early settlement of Boston by Europeans, and the development of the neighborhood in the 19^th century. He then looks at the various populations that have inhabited and worked in the South End over the years, including Irish and Jewish immigrants; Black, Latino, and gay and lesbian communities; and, more recently, the wealthy white people who have come to dominate the neighborhood.* He also documents the churches, housing, social and cultural organizations, forms of work, customs, and other aspects of life that these residents have created, participated in, and used to shape the neighborhood.

The second half of Lopez’s book largely covers the urban renewal period of the 1950s to 1970s and the developments in the decades that have followed. He explores the actions of city agencies and officials, as well as the drastic displacement and demographic changes that occurred beginning in the mid-20^th century. The urban renewal period was very a challenging one in the South End, marked by tensions between the city and residents as well as turmoil along racial lines among residents. Lopez frames the second half of the 20^th century to the present as a time of social and economic pressure for low-income people in the neighborhood, with gentrification and rising prices being a near-constant feature of South End life. However, he chronicles the community resistance of these decades, including various organizations that pushed back against economic violence and pursued their own plans, earning some successes such as the creation of the Villa Victoria housing development (168-170).

“WOMEN’S RESIDENCE, 43-47 East Canton Street,” South End House, from South End House: Longer and Shorter Retrospects 1891-1911 by the South End House ([Boston, 1912]).

Lopez in many ways provides an engaging social history of the neighborhood and its connections to the city of Boston as a whole. He successfully charts the developments and changes within the South End’s religious communities, documents the importance of the South End for decades as a center of Boston’s Black community (91-92), and chronicles the many implications of urban renewal on the neighborhood. Lopez not only challenges the established narrative, he redefines it. His emphasis on forms of housing, employment, recreation, and other aspects of life allows him to really explore the social and cultural fabric of the neighborhood over time. Furthermore, by noting the differences in housing types, income levels, and other demographic differences within various sections of the neighborhood, he is able to create an intricate view of the South End over time. His prose is complemented by a variety of photographs throughout the book.

While the depth of Lopez’s research and his emphasis on the geography of the neighborhood are impressive, he occasionally leaves a desire for a closer look at certain social and cultural developments and groups in the city, such as the briefly-mentioned Syrian population in the mid-20^th century (69, 144). Additionally, some editorial decisions leave room for potential challenges. For example, while the book includes some maps, more of them could have been helpful for making sense of the close, detailed descriptions of the neighborhood offered by Lopez. In addition, Lopez cites some letters without providing collection or publication information, which could present difficulties for researchers who would like to track down those sources (40-41). Ultimately, these issues do not prevent Lopez from accomplishing his goal of writing a complex and illuminating story of the South End’s existence over time.

 Boston City Hospital, 1880s. Taken by Allen & Rowell. In Photographic Views of Boston, Mass., Box 3, #12.175.

This book may be of interest to historians of Boston’s neighborhoods; urban historians in general; historians of urban geography and the built environment; scholars of urban renewal; historians of race in Boston; and historians of Boston’s Black, Latinx, and LGBTQ communities. There is much in this book for academic researchers and community historians alike; it is also a worthwhile and accessible text for a casual reader who is interested in learning a bit more about Boston’s history.

*In recent years, “Latinx” has gained popularity as a gender-neutral term. I use “Latino” in this paragraph to reflect the language used by the author in the book.

Related Materials

Manuscript Collections

Sarah Pananty Writings and Bibliographies, [193-]-1940.

South Congregational Church Records, 1828-1929.

Robert Treat Paine Papers II, 1733-1965; bulk: 1880-1949.

Henry Lee Shattuck Papers, 1870-1971.

Walter Muir Whitehill Papers, ca. 1941-1978.

Print Materials

Neighbors All: A Settlement Notebook by Esther G. Barrows (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1929). 

Chain of Change: Struggles for Black Community Development by Mel King (Boston: South End Press, 1981).

“Report to the Massachusetts Legislature, by the Committee on Education : in favor of an appropriation of $5,000, to the Female Medical Education Society, together with the constitution, names of officers and members, and other information respecting the Society, and the Boston Female Medical School” by the Massachusetts General Court Joint Committee on Education (Boston: Female Medical Education Society, 1851).

By Shelby Wolfe, Reader Services

During a recent search in our online catalog, ABIGAIL, I came across two subject headings that caught my attention – “Single women” and “Boardinghouses—Massachusetts.” These struck me as familiar since during my first years in Boston as a single graduate student I lived in something similar to a boarding house just a few minutes’ walk from the MHS. Six floors of 160-square-foot rooms housed over one hundred single women, mainly students and young professionals, with the occasional resident who had lived there for decades. In my circle of friends, the building is commonly referred to as “the convent” – after all, that’s what it once was and retains traces of with its still-used chapel and a scattering of Catholic iconography, figurines, and crucifixes throughout. 

Like you might expect, living in the convent came with its fair share of rules – no visitors allowed beyond the first floor common areas, shared kitchens close at 10:00 PM, shared bathrooms must be kept tidy, no food allowed in certain areas, no alcohol, no candles, quiet hours must be respected, etc. Even with its rules, living in the convent was a privilege – central location, affordable rent, and—perhaps my favorite part of all—a community of fellow residents from a variety of backgrounds who held a range of unique interests and skills.

I was fascinated to read in Elizabeth Dorr’s 1845-55 and 1859 diaries (where the aforementioned subject headings of “Single women” and “Boardinghouses” led me) about the diarist’s day-to-day activities and interactions while living in a 19^th-century boarding house. Elizabeth Dorr, who worked as a tutor and never married, first describes her Dorchester lodgings and fellow boarders in a diary entry on Saturday, 3 June 1854:

This day I arrived at Mr. Hiram Shephards, Winter St. to take up my abode for the present. MGL and I having a joint right in a very small bedroom and a not very large parlor with pleasant windows to the North, East, & South – two to each point. The family consists of mine host, his wife, a little son of five years rejoicing in the pretty name of Walter, a little motherless niece of Mrs. Shephard’s just three years old who answers to Alice and calls father & mother with Walter. Our fellow boarders are two German gentlemen named Ansorge. Charles the elder somewhere between thirty and forty. Organist at Mr. Hall’s and director of the music there on Sundays & teacher of German & Music. Alfred the younger brother may be about nineteen. Both speak English intelligently & the former is a man of evident culture & general knowledge which promises an agreeable prospect for our hours of eating – a serious consideration to a dyspeptic this pleasant chat at feeding times.

Elizabeth Dorr, [photograph] [19–]

Copy photograph of a daguerreotype of Elizabeth Dorr. Taken by an unidentified photographer.

While she doesn’t indicate any rules or conditions of occupying her rooms (of course, she wasn’t living in a convent), Elizabeth fills the pages with delicately transcribed accounts of social visits from friends, invitations to tea, and remarks on the weather. Some days are filled with three or four social visits (she could have friends over!) and outings to the Academy or a stop at Thornton’s for soda. Other entries reflect a different pace: Monday, 7 November 1859, “Too entirely exhausted to go to tea at Mrs. Rodman’s”; Sunday, 13 November 1859, “Dull. at home all day.” I learned from her 1854 diary that Friday, 21 July 1854, was “Too warm for action” and the Friday after Thanksgiving in 1859 was “almost summerish.”

The final page stood out from the rest as I read Elizabeth Dorr’s 1859 diary – the latest in the collection. She begins with one of those lines in a diary that transports a reader out of an individual’s personal life and solidly reminds one of the greater context in which this person lived – Friday, 2 December 1859, “Returned by Belleview road, bells ringing at the African church as we returned on account of John Brown’s execution.” The final lines of the diary, written two days later, absorb the reader back into Elizabeth’s daily routine of omnibus excursions and social visits, ending aptly with plans “to see a friend.”

If you are interested in viewing Elizabeth Dorr’s diaries yourself, please visit the library or contact a member of the library staff for assistance.

By Rakashi Chand, Reader Services

March 7 1882

Sir,

I send Cards as you 
request. I am too full
of elephants to command
much sentiment. All my
thoughts & cares at present are
locked up in two trunks – one of
which belongs to Jumbo & the
other to Little “Bridgeport.” 
If both trunks arrive in
New York and our citizens
possess the keys – a world
of treasure will be exposed
to public view.

Truly yours
P.T. Barnum

This letter by P. T. Barnum – showman, businessman, politician, and promoter extraordinaire – to an unidentified recipient illustrates the melding of his whimsical, magical world with the reality of his business and ventures.

As a forerunner of modern marketing, Phineas Taylor Barnum redefined what the world knew as entertainment. In an era when stars were born through broadsides, newspapers and posters, Barnum revamped the entertainment world with publicity campaigns that inundated the public, so much so that the audience already loved his performers before they ever graced the stage or entered the ring.

Such is the true story of Jenny Lind, “the Swedish Nightingale.” Considered by many to be the greatest singer of the 19^th century, Lind toured the United States with Barnum in 1850.

Programme of Mademoiselle Jenny Lind’s concert: with the words of the airs in Italian, German, Swedish and English. Tremont Temple, Boston, October 1850

Lind donated to charity her earnings from that tour. Mr. Barnum was less-known for his philanthropy and seemed more interested in the flow of money in the other direction, as one might surmise from the title of his book, How I made millions: the life of P. T. Barnum/written by himself; to which is added the art of money getting; or, golden rules for money making; nearly one hundred illustrations. Perhaps purposely titled to attract readers, the book is an anecdotal autobiography from which the reader learns little about the “art” of making money, but a great deal about Barnum’s life, experiences and thoughts. Included in the book is the story of Lind’s arrival in Boston, the subsequent performance, and just why she agreed to tour the country with P. T. Barnum:

The night after her arrival in Boston, a display of fireworks was given in her honor, in front of the Revere House, after which followed a beautiful torch-light procession by the Germans of that city.

On her return from Boston to New York, Jenny, her companion and Messrs. Benedict and Belletti, Stopped at Iranistan, my residence in Bridgeport, where they remained until the following day. The morning after her arrival, she took my arm and proposed a promenade through the grounds. She seemed much pleased and said “I am astonished that you should have left such a beautiful place for the sake of travelling through the country with me.”

The same day she told me in a playful mood, that she had heard the most extraordinary report. “I have heard that you and I are about to be married,” said she “now how could such an absurd report ever have originiated?”

“Probably from the fact that we are ‘engaged,’” I replied. She enjoyed a joke, and laughed heartily.

“Do you know Mr. Barnum, that if you had not built Iranistan, I should have never come to America for you?”

I expressed my surprise and asked her to explain.

“I had received several applications to visit the United States,” she continued “but I did not much like the appearance of the applicants nor did I relish the idea of crossing 3,000 miles of ocean; so I declined them all. But the first letter which Mr. Wilton, your agent, addressed me, was written upon a sheet of letter headed with a beautiful engraving of Iranistan. It attracted my attention. I said to myself, a gentleman who has been so successful in his business that as to be able to build and reside in such a palace cannot be a mere ‘adventurer’ So I wrote to your agent and consented to an interview, which I would have declined if I had not seen the picture of Iranistan!”

Iranistan, an oriental ville (near Bridgeport, Connecticut) [graphic]/Lith. Of Sarony and Major, N. Y.

Indeed Iranistan was impressive! Designed by Leopold Eidlitz in 1848 and called “the oriental Palace of America” by the New York Herald, Barnum’s dream mansion drew throngs of tourists daily and was beautiful enough to bring the greatest singer in the world to America. Sadly the mesmerizing palace succumbed to fire less than a decade later in 1857.

The 2017 movie The Greatest Showman by 20th Century Fox is putting the spotlight back on P. T. Barnum, the Father of the Circus, where he is portrayed as a singing, dancing dreamer; although the real Barnum is so much more fascinating! In addition to the items shown above, the MHS houses many additional items related to P. T. Barnum and his amusements, most of which have already been digitized and are available online, like our Object of the Month for May 2017, When the Circus came to Boston: in Honor of Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s Final Tour. To find more, take a look through our online catalog, ABIGAIL, then consider visiting the Library!

By Sara Georgini, Adams Papers

At eight o-clock on a January morning in 1891, and a world away from the ice-caked streets of his native New England, 52-year-old Henry Adams leisurely began to go about his day. Armed with coffee, he surveyed the two-room cottage that he had rented in Apia, Samoa, with the artist John LaFarge. Eager to skip the worst heat of the day, he puttered inside, answering letters and reading Homer. Often, Henry unearthed his 24-tube watercolor set and “whacked great daubs of color on paper,” creating a lush portfolio of postcard views of the local paradise. Just before dusk, Henry paddled out in a small, rough-hewn canoe. On some evenings he kept to the harbor and stared down the Pacific Ocean’s crashing walls of surf. Other nights, Henry rowed right on past, idling in the refuge of Matafangatele’s deep bay. A cozy dinner on the veranda, with strong cigars and a full stack of new novels, followed next. Local residents, laughing and chatting their way down the grass path, hailed the American historian lounging between the coconut palms: “Alofa, Akamu!” (“How are you, Adams”). “Such a life,” Henry Adams wrote home, “seems pleasant enough, especially in Beacon Street in winter, but a true traveller should be restless, and I am qualified in that particular to be high in the profession.”

Henry Adams (1838-1918), Harvard professor of medieval history and eponymous author of the provocative Education, spent most of his life on the road. Adams traveled widely, soaking up foreign experiences and reveling in aesthetic journeys through Europe, Latin America, Japan, and the South Seas. Throughout the 1890s, he saved his warm-weather destinations for Boston’s bitterest months. He steamed off to Samoa, Cuba, Mexico, and Tahiti with friends, books, lavish wardrobes, and prized watercolors in tow. Partly inspired by his late wife Clover’s photography, Adams spent the last decades of his life capturing the sights and scenes of the late Victorian world as he traveled through it. Like many Americans, Henry adopted the post-Civil War passion for watercolors as a way to document natural beauty. In letters sent from exotic datelines like Coffin’s Point, Dos Bocas, and Apia, Henry reveled in his amateur pursuit. “I slobber water-colors again,” he told John Hay. “I labor whole days to do the most prosaic field I can find, and at the end of the week I throw it away in despair,” he confessed to Elizabeth Cameron. Later that year, camped in “Yellowstone country,” Adams plied his brushes to make the views on display in our Yankees in the West exhibit, but thought his niece Mabel Hooper would have done a better job. “I wanted you there to sketch for me. I was quite sick in spirit that I could not catch a tone of the country, for it was American to the very snow,” he wrote to her on 6 October 1891. “I wanted awfully to be an artist to see if I could make anything out of the American ideal, which is like the American women–not suited to pictorial or plastic art.” (Learn about Mabel Hooper LaFarge’s art career–including her watercolor portrait of Henry–here, thanks to Houghton Library).

Henry, who honed his critical edge at the North American Review’s helm, was hard on his own artistic abilities. “I have passed my morning trying to finish a sketch, but my sketches here are more lamentable than ever, and break my heart with mortification,” he wrote of Mexico. “Ten thousand objects about us are crying out to be painted, but the simplest are too difficult for me, and the difficult ones are a chaos of lights and lines… If I could only do some of the ravines in the hills, with sides of rock, and with sunlight dropping down through a network of foliage, and lianas, on ferns and mosses, I could amuse myself forever, but one such sketch would need a year, if it attempted drawing. The greens here are the richest I ever saw, and as for the reds, the earth and sky glow with them.” Journey here for information on Henry Adams’ watercolors.

By Susan Martin, Collection Services

A few weeks ago, I introduced you to the MHS collection of Charles Cornish Pearson papers. Charles served with the 101st Machine Gun Battalion in France during World War I. We pick up his story in the village of Mont-lès-Neufchâteau in the early days of 1918.

Charles and the other men of the 101st spent three months immersed in intensive training at Mont-lès-Neufchâteau. They drilled with their machine guns and gas masks, marched long distances, and prepared for trench warfare. Charles didn’t have much time to write home, but he was learning a lot. He wrote to his brother Bill on 20 January 1918:

Hardly seems possible that it is six months now since I started working for the U.S.A. Don’t feel a bit richer and as far as being a soldier, well I guess I have got a h–l of a lot more to learn before I will be one. Still at the rate they are drilling us over here, why I may be one before I realize it.

Charles’ company was motorized and served as a mobile reserve unit that could be sent quickly into battle as needed. According to Philip S. Wainwright’s History of the 101st Machine Gun Battalion, the battalion’s vehicles “consisted of about fifty second-hand Ford ambulances. Great was the excitement on the day that these Fords were driven over from Neufchâteau.” (p. 25) This excitement is evident in some of the photographs that came to the MHS with Charles’ papers.

Mont-lès-Neufchâteau was about 64 kilometers south of the front line. On 8-9 February, the 101st piled into their vehicles, or “flivvers,” and headed northwest to Vregny, a reserve position much closer to the front. Vregny, a town in the Chemin des Dames sector, had seen some heavy fighting by that time. Wainwright’s published history includes a description of the area, but I like Charles’ version:

Went for a long hike this morning after the service, very interesting still depressing when one stops to realize what all this destruction & waste must mean. A whistle & a terrific roar, far away but impressive never the less. Would like the chance to describe my little walk in detail, but I suppose it would be censored so will wait until some later time.

Charles didn’t reveal his location to his family at home, or even let on that he had moved. He only told them not to worry if they didn’t hear from him for a while.

Charles saw action for the first time in late February and early March 1918, when his company was sent to support French infantry fighting in the trenches about 12 kilometers away. I’ll quote at length from Charles’ March letters, since they paint such a vivid picture. Here’s how he described his experiences to his mother:

Imagine you realized from my last few letters that we were getting ready for our first round of duty and you can rest assured that it is no picnic.

Came up here one dark night in our flivvers and it was some ride. No lights and every little ways we would stike [sic] a shell hole or something and you would get a nice little jounce. Of course, we weren’t in any danger but still under the conditions it kept you pretty well keyed up.

When we arrived at the point where we got out why our worthy comrades were shelling away and believe me it sounded like bedlam let loose. After getting out we had a nice ½ mile hike with our packs & the rest of our stuff thru a long trench, pitch dark. Still we got here after a fashion all safe and sound.

[…]

Had a big barrage here the other night, our guns in action for awhile. Then night before last my gun did some harassing fire. Lay your gun on a target (center of a town, cross road or the like) and fire on it every few minutes on the chance of hitting someone. Great sport until they discover you then beat it, if you have time which you usually do.

In another letter to his mother a few days later, he opened up a little about the toll his recent experiences had had on him, at the same time reassuring her that he was safe.

Am still in our little palace here below and am feeling fine, have gotten over much of the hollow feeling I had the first few hours here, and can listen to the whistle of a shell without having palipitation [sic] of the heart.

[…]

Well I am in a very quiet sector and barring accidents am just as safe as in our former quarters. Of course there is some activity shells flying bombs exploding etc, but as a rule they are a long way from us and the nearest we come is being an audience to a grand set of fire works. It sure is a stupendous sight to be on guard at night and watch the action in different directions. All kinds of sky rockets & star shells, flashes of the big guns, noise of the machine guns rifles etc. It is interesting from a spectators stand point but hardly from a participants.

Our quarters here are in a dugout several feet below ground (built by the Boche in fact) and are in a way comfortable although crampt. […] We sometimes do a little harassing fire at night trusting to luck on hitting some unsuspecting Boche 2-3 thousand metres away. It is all good training gives the boys a little insight into what action really is and prepares them for their work on the more active fronts.

To his sister, Charles wrote:

Glad to hear you are doing work for the Red Cross. It is a case of us all doing our bit in any way we can, and Red Cross & YMCA work is just as important as sitting down at a machine gun & pumping lead into the unsuspecting Boche.

[…]

Sure was a funny experience tramping thru this trench not knowing where it led to and our first shell travelling overhead, with what seemed to us a damn mournful whistle accompanied by an explosion which seemed very close. […] We had a glimpse of about every thing connected with our work, got gassed a couple of times, bombed & shelled and the like, but if one was careful why practically no danger. There was a certain fascination to it all, and although you couldn’t help but be pretty frightened at times still you cannt [sic] help but want to be back again taking a chance in a good cause.

And to his uncle Fred:

We are just back from our first trick at the Front. A novel & exciting experience to a rooky I can tell you. Your first few hours you feel sure are your last but you soon get your feet down on the ground & your hair down on your head and realize that with a little care your chances of living for a while longer are pretty good. Of course we were on a comparatively quiet sector but even on more active ones I believe that with due care the danger is not as great as we are all apt to picture it before going up. […] We quickly found out that dugouts & deep trenches are great places to be in when any shelling is going on. We did more or less firing while on duty but like artillery fire machine gun fire is mostly indirect & done at night, so we couldn’t tell whether we did much damage or not, still it gave us a lot of satisfaction to hear the gun send them across.

The 101st Machine Gun Battalion left the Chemin des Dames sector on 18 March 1918. Check back here at the Beehive for the next installment of Charles’ story.