Of Sea and Sky: The Environmental Activism of Gerry Studds

by Meg Szydlik, Visitor Services Coordinator

For my last blog post, I wrote about Gerry E. Studds, a Congressman from the Massachusetts 10th District and the first openly gay man in Congress. Pride Month is over, but Studds had far more to him than being gay. In this blog, I want to highlight his work in Congress to protect the environment. As the representative for much of Cape Cod, he was particularly protective of the oceans and the fishing industry in which many of his constituents made their living. The work he did for the environment has far-reaching consequences that still exist today.

As the representative for the Cape Cod area, his commitment to environmental causes was the focus of his career in Congress. He was originally on the Merchant Marine and Fisheries Committee until it was eliminated, a move he strongly opposed. He was appointed as the ranking Democrat on the Fisheries, Wildlife, and Oceans Subcommittee and was also on the Natural Resources Committee, which included oversight of the National Parks Service. As part of those committees, he lobbied for the inclusion of the Boston Harbor Islands in the National Park System, a dream that eventually became reality. He also protected Massachusetts’ land and waters by opposing cuts to funding for environmental cleanup and Superfund sites. At every opportunity, he acted to protect the shores of Massachusetts and the fishing industry in the interests of his constituents.

booklet with yellow borders and a picture of two people on a bench looking out onto the water with “Boston Harbor Island” written in yellow on the top right of the picture. In the bottom right corner of the booklet, it reads “10 years of progress/Laying a solid foundation” in white.]
Boston Harbor Islands booklet

His care was not limited to environmental concerns that directly impacted Massachusetts, however. He championed laws like the Wild Bird Conservation Act of 1992, the International Dolphin Conservation Act of 1992, the Marine Mammal Protection Act, and the High Seas Driftnet Fisheries Enforcement Act. For a complete list of his sponsored legislation, see the US Congressional website. He protected striped bass, opposed drilling for oil in the North Atlantic, supported wildlife refuges, and advocated to hold companies responsible for oil spills and pollution that they caused. He supported making environmental laws funded, rather than unfunded, mandates to help communities dealing with issues like clean water and pollution. He also consistently tied environmental concerns to concerns for people, supporting their financial well-being by protecting industries like fishing and tourism, and their physical health by fighting against pollution and the eradication of plant species that might lead to key health discoveries. This holistic view helped him maintain a position that was not always popular in the pro-business atmosphere of politics during that period.

small black and white image of a white man with thinning hair wearing a white shirt with a dark tie. He is wearing large glasses on his face and is frowning.
Gerry E. Studds, from the Congressional Archive

Gerry Studds was a representative who was able to hang onto his seat through a censure and redistricting (from the 12th District to the 10th, if anyone was curious) in large part because he was fighting for the things that his constituents cared most about: their homes. It is hard to imagine what Cape Cod might look like if Studds had not fought so vigorously to protect its beautiful shoreline and the water that surrounds it. In protecting the environment, Studds protected the people and for that they sent him to Congress for 14 years until he himself chose not to run again. To honor his work, explore a natural resource gem near you like the ones he fought so hard to defend.

Posted in From Our Collections

How to Read the Reading Room | Architecture at the MHS (Part 2)

by Brandon McGrath-Neely, Library Assistant

This is Part Two of a three-part series on architecture at the MHS. You can find Part One here.

If you’ve ever done research at the Massachusetts Historical Society, you’ve spent an afternoon (or ten) in the reading room, officially known as Ellis Hall. Your eyes, when not glued to the materials you were consulting, may have wandered around the room or through the windows to get a break from cramped, crosswritten cursive. But did you know that this room is a historical resource of its own? And much easier on the eyes!

The current MHS building on Boylston Street was completed in 1899 by Edmund March Wheelwright in the Georgian Revival Style. Originating in the 18th century and revived as the 20th century approached, Georgian Revival relied heavily on the Classical details of the Greeks and Romans and emphasized symmetry. Looking around Ellis Hall, you can see these two characteristics on display.

Standing in the center of the room, one can see how each wall is framed by partial columns, just sticking out from the wall at regular intervals. These kind-of-columns are known as pilasters, a decorative element which create a feeling of structural strength and emphasize the wall itself. These pilasters are fluted, meaning they have deep grooves recalling the columns of ancient Greece or Rome.

The walls of Ellis Hall, which are symmetrically organized with paintings, pilasters, and windows. Tables for research sit in the foreground.
Symmetry of the walls of Ellis Hall.

As they reach toward the ceiling, they end with fancy, curled tops. These tops are called capitals, and they have a variety of forms – some are simple and give the feeling of strength, while others have plant shapes and designs to feel light and natural. The curly capitals of the reading room are Ionic capitals, a middle ground that emphasizes both structural integrity and artistic precision. If the curls remind you of scrolls, they’re doing their job! (Remember, you’re in a historical society, after all.)

Keep looking upwards and spot the area where the walls meet the ceiling. There you’ll find an entablature, or a set of decorative bands. In classical architecture, entablatures were decorative sections on a lintel, or the long beam that went across columns and supported the roof.

An entablature typically has three sections, all visible in Ellis Hall. On the bottom is an architrave, which is decorated in the reading room with bead and reel and egg and dart patterns, both of which were used in the Greek and Roman periods.  Following the architrave is the frieze, which can be decorated with moldings, paintings, or sculptures, but here it is rather simple and undecorated. This works well for the modern MHS, which uses the frieze to attach speakers and cameras during public programming.  Finally, the entablature concludes with a cornice, or the portion that sticks forward into the room and reaches up to meet the ceiling. The cornice in Ellis Hall is decorated with larger bead and reel, and egg and dart patterns.

Above these patterns are numerous thick wooden blocks. These are known as dentils, literally meaning “little teeth,” since they look like little teeth sticking out of the wall. (Cool! Gross!) Dentils were commonly used in Ionic Greek architecture and contribute to the Classical feeling of the reading room. When ancient architects were building massive stone temples to outshine the earlier wooden constructions, they used dentils to represent the original timbers used in roof construction. So, when you look at those unassuming little blocks, remember that you’re looking at architects using wood to remind us of architects who used stone to remind us of architects who used wood. As with everything at the MHS, there are layers upon layers of history!

Close-up of a wooden wall section. A fluted pilaster and the decorative bands of the entablature are centered in the frame.
Detail of the wall in Ellis Hall. See if you can find the pilaster, capital, entablature, and dentils!

While Wheelwright used symmetry and Classical details to emphasize the philosophical, thoughtful nature of Greece and Rome, he also aimed to emphasize the enlightened, national feelings evoked by more recent constructions. The dark wood paneling of the room, the ornamented fireplace, and the door to the Orientation Room, all recall the Georgian Colonial style common across the homes of the wealthy during the Revolutionary period.

One key example can be found above the door to the orientation room. There, you’ll see another entablature, with the image of a bald eagle on its frieze and an egg and dart cornice. Above it, two pieces of wood curve towards each other, with a little box in the middle. This is a Georgian remix of a Greek feature, the pediment. On Greek structures, you may recall a triangular area between the lintel (decorated with an entablature) and the sloping roof. This area is called the pediment, and it is often recreated at smaller scales over doors or windows to make them seem fancier or more significant.

In the Georgian style, these pediments are often “broken” or separated in the middle. To get even fancier, these broken pediments were curved to look more natural, resembling the graceful necks of swans. As such, these pediments are called swan’s neck pediments, and you will see them all over colonial mansions if you keep your eye out. Many American swan’s neck pediments feature an ornament in the middle, such as a family crest or a bust, though ours are undecorated. These design features recall the earliest days of the American project, and the meticulously planned appearance of the homes of our founders. After all, if the papers of Jefferson and Adams are going to live here, shouldn’t it be a delightful place to stay?

A wooden door in Ellis Hall. It is richly decorated on top, with a frieze, carving of an eagle, and swan's necks pediments curling near the ceiling.
A door in Ellis Hall. Can you find the frieze, the egg and dart pattern, and the swan’s neck pediment?

These are only a few details about the architecture of our favorite reading room. There is more to be seen in design above the mantel, for example, or the mysterious lizard living in our fireplace. But this brief overview will have to do for now. The next time you’re doing research at the MHS, take a moment to look at the room around you and consider why it looks the way it does. In Ellis Hall, the Georgian Revival blends Classical details and Georgian embellishments to make you feel thoughtful, enlightened, and curious. Architects like Wheelwright hide small secrets and reminders in every detail of the places we inhabit.  Now that you know their names, can you hear what they’re saying?

Posted in From Our Collections Tagged

Ghost Hunting

by Susan Goodier, PhD, MHS Fellowship, 2023–2024

When I began my fellowship at the MHS, I did not plan to find much in the collections about Louisa Jacobs (1833–1917), the subject of my research project. I was there to research the people she knew, especially in the African American community of the Boston area. Louisa Jacobs has previously only been a minor character in the writings about her mother, author Harriet Jacobs (1815-1897), who wrote Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl (1861).

Black and white photograph of a young white woman in a large-skirted light-colored dress with a black jacket draping far down the skirt and with wide sleeves. Over that is a black lace shawl that covers her shoulders. Her hair is pulled back but there is a waviness to her dark hair that shows. She stands by a chair and the background is a bush and tree that looks painted like a background.
Photograph of Louisa Matilda Jacobs, public domain. Unknown photographer.

Kate Culkin, Jean Fagan Yellin’s Associate Editor for the Harriet Jacobs Family Papers (2008), once told me that “Louisa Jacobs was like a ghost—very difficult to find.” The comment struck a chord; my research for a biography of Louisa Jacobs seems a bit like ghost hunting. I see hints or tantalizing details, but little to add to what has already been found. Gradually, however, a more comprehensive understanding of Jacobs is emerging for me.

Louisa Jacobs is everywhere in Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, because her mother wrote about her daughter, using the pseudonym, Ellen. I began reading Incidents my first day as a Fellow at the MHS in 2023. Purchased in 1911 by the Society and inscribed “April 2, 1864” on the flyleaf, the book had once been owned by J. W. Clarke (perhaps John Willis Clarke, who wrote The Care of Books in 1901). Reading in the quiet comfort of Ellis Hall Reading Room makes me part of a shadowy community of people who over the course of 163 years have also read this very copy of the Jacobs’s family story.

Color photograph of the title page of a book printed in black ink on paper discolored with age.
Harriet Jacobs, Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl (1861), Title Page. Massachusetts Historical Society. Call #E187.

Jacobs was more elusive in the sources of people she knew; many of them ghosted her. For example, in sixteen volumes of the diaries of Robert A. Boit, who married Lilian Willis, a member of a family deeply connected to Jacobs for over fifty years, he detailed his life and glued in his correspondence. He noted he took tea with Louisa Jacobs twice, but barely discussed her otherwise. He waited until her death to write, “She had great intelligence, a rare fancy & imagination, and a way of expressing herself that was quaintly and delightfully her own. Her letters were always interesting in their graceful and quite unusual turns of thought and of expression.” Did he save any of her letters? Not one.

Another example of ghosting appears in the collection of Reverend Samuel May, Jr., a Garrisonian abolitionist. May and his wife, Sarah, visited so-called “contraband camps” for freedpeople during the Civil War. They visited the Jacobs School in Alexandria, VA, where Louisa Jacobs taught. Did Samuel May note the visit in his memorandum book? No. Based on a letter Louisa wrote to Sarah May, published in the February 1865 National Anti-Slavery Standard, the Mays had continued soliciting donations for the school. But the Mays did not record their efforts.

One more example of ghosting Louisa Jacobs. In May 1865, Jacobs traveled with Hannah E. Stevenson and other women to Richmond, VA to distribute clothing. Stevenson was the first woman from Boston to volunteer to serve as a nurse, and the MHS has a collection of her wartime letters to family members. Stevenson didn’t mention the Jacobses in any of her letters home that month. She redeemed herself, however, when she worked as secretary for the Boston branch of the Freedmen’s Union Commission. At the Boston Public Library, I recognized a previously unidentified fragment of a letter as having been written by Stevenson, who commented that Louisa Jacobs had stopped by the office, “looking pretty and well.”

That’s what is so invigorating about this quest; I find Louisa Jacobs in unexpected ways. From a Garrison family scrapbook, I learned that Jacobs donated $2.00 (approximately $75 today) to the anti-slavery cause.

Brown leather book cover with imprints that are barely visible, an uncovered spin can be seen on the left.
Color photograph of a black ink printed page with names on the left and amounts on the right. Louisa Jacobs is 2/3 down the page and across from her is "2.00"
Scrapbook, 1859-1860/compiled by an unidentified member of the Garrison family. 1 vol. Massachusetts Historical Society. Call# E187.

In other sources I got a sense of William Cooper Nell, an African American historian who helped integrate Boston schools in the 1850s. The MHS has an edited collection of his letters; he hinted of his romantic interest in Louisa Jacobs in letters to Amy Kirby Post. I also traced the teaching careers of Jacobs’s friends, sisters Virginia and Mariana Lawton, in the Freedmen’s Record, and I built an understanding of the African American community Louisa Jacobs inhabited in the Boston and Cambridge areas from numerous sources available at the MHS.

The staff of the research department enhances the extensive collection of books, diaries, manuscripts, and artifacts. They found answers to questions such as those I had about stage sleighs, religion, and nineteenth-century maps and publications. They also connected me to scholars and archivists who continue to help me recreate the world Louisa Jacobs inhabited. The woman who was once a ghost is materializing as personable and imaginative, deeply loyal to her friends and her community. My sojourn at the MHS helped make this possible.

Posted in From Our Collections, Research fellow Tagged

“In my efforts I have been actuated by an earnest desire to stop bloodshed,”: President Theodore Roosevelt and the 1905 Treaty of Portsmouth

by Rakashi Chand, Reading Room Supervisor

Can I tell you a story? A story that will transport you to the court of Tsar Nicholas II and the Meiji Regime, gilded carriages, opulent palaces, and a war between superpowers, that ends in Portsmouth, NH, USA.

The Russo-Japanese War (1904–1905) was primarily fought over Russia’s expansionist policies in East Asia, with major battles occurring both at sea and on land. Japan emerged victorious over Russia, marking the first time an Asian power defeated a European power in modern history, setting the stage for Japan’s future imperial ambitions and exacerbating internal political unrest growing in Russia. President Roosevelt made it his personal mission to bring peace to the two empires, eager for America to take its place as a world power player.

Getting both sides to the negotiating table at the neutral location of Portsmouth Naval Yard, straddled between New Hampshire and Maine, proved to be a daunting task. Roosevelt hand selected George von Lengerke Meyer, a Bostonian serving as the US Ambassador to Italy, for the very special mission of negotiating that peace, and reassigned him to the court of Nicholas II, Emperor of Russia. The George von Lengerke Meyer Papers detail the Russo-Japanese War from the Russian perspective and Meyer’s extensive peace negotiations with the Russian Tsar and government.

Roosevelt writes to Meyer on December 26, 1904, from the White House (Received by Meyer on January 20, 1905, in Italy)

“Dear George,

This letter is naturally to be treated entirely confidential, as I wish to write to you freely. I desire to send you as ambassador to St. Peterburg. My present intention is, as you know, only to keep you for a year as Ambassador, but there is nothing certain about this inasmuch as no man can tell what contingencies will arise in the future, but at present the position in which I need you is that of Ambassador at St. Petersburg. St. Petersburg is at this moment, and bids fair to continue to be for at least a year, the most important post in the diplomatic service, from the standpoint if work to be done, and you come in the category of public servants who desire to do public work, as distinguished from those whose desire is merely to occupy public place – a class for whom I have no particular respect. I wish in St. Petersburg a man who, while able to do all the social work, able to entertain and to meet the Russians and his fellow-diplomats on equal terms, able to do all the necessary plush business – business which is indispensable can do in addition, the really vital and important things. I want a man who will be able to keep us closely informed, on his own initiative of everything we ought to know, who will be, as an Ambassador ought to be, our chief source of information about Japan and the war – about the Russian feeling as to the continuance of the war, as to the relationship between Russia and Germany and France, as to the real moaning of the movement for so-called internal reforms, as to the condition of the army, as to what forces can and will be used in Manchuria next summer, and so forth and so forth.”

Color photograph of a black ink printed letter, with a handwritten "St. Peterburg" in cursive at the top. The letter is addressed to "My dear Mr. President"
Letter from George von Lengerke Meyer to President Theodore Roosevelt, 31/13 April, 1905.

Arriving in St. Peterburg on April 7, 1905, Meyer sought an audience with the Emperor of Russia, Nicholas II and after being presented at court, Meyer wrote to Roosevelt on 31/13th April 1905:

“Mr. Delcasse assured me, as far as France is concerned, that there was nothing official in this talk of peace and that the two warring nations had not asked for it or agreed to enter into pourparlers.

Wednesday, April 5th, I left for St. Petersburg, arriving the afternoon of the 7th. The next day I called on Count Lamdorff, Minister of Foreign Affairs, presented a copy of my letter of Credence and asked for formal audience with the Tsar, after exchanging the usual courtesies. The audience took place yesterday afternoon at Tsarskoo Selo in the Alexander Palace, with much formality and state. I was driven from the station I a gilded coach with six white horses. My first presentation was to the Dowager Empress, (Sister of the Queen of England), and ten minutes later I was received by the Emperor and Empress. I had hoped I would see the Emperor alone, as the English Ambassador had told me that the young Empress was influencing her husband to continue the war and gain a victory.

I delivered your instructions as cabled by Adee on March 27th, and she drew nearer and never took her eyes off the Tsar. When I pronounced the words “at a proper season, if the two waring nations are willing, the President would gladly use his impartial good offices towards the realization of an honorable and lasting peace, alike advantageous to the parties and beneficial to the world,” His majesty looked embarrassed and then said: “I am very glad to hear it.” but instantly turned the conversation on to another subject, never alluding it to it again.“

Convincing the Emperor and, more importantly, the Empress, was not going to be easy.

On June 12/1, 1905, Meyer writes to Mr. J. Morris Meredith: “They are tremendously shocked by their naval defeat here, but are not even yet talking peace. What they are demanding through the press is a call of the promised Representative body, in order that they may get an expression of opinion from the people direct whether the war should continue or not.” It would take a lot of convincing on Meyer’s part to make the Emperor and Empress realize the effort to continue the war was futile, but in the end he succeeded. Japan was optimistic that Russia would acquiesce based in the expense and political unrest the war was causing.

Roosevelt writes to Meyer on June 19, 1905:

“In my efforts I have been actuated by an earnest desire to stop bloodshed, not merely in the interest of humanity at large and in the interest of other countries, but especially in the interest of the Russian people for I like them and wish them well.

You know Lamsdorff and I do not. If you think it worthwhile, tell either him or the Czar the substance of what I have said, or show them all or parts of this letter. You are welcome to do it. But use your own discretion absolutely in this matter.

Russia has not created a favorable impression here by the appearance of quibbling that there has been over both the selection of the place and over the power of the plenipotentiaries whom Russia will appoint. It would be far better if she would give the impression of frankness, openness and sincerity.”

The envoys of Imperial Japan and Imperial Russia arrived in Portsmouth on August 9, and the Treaty of Portsmouth was signed on September 5, 1905. Roosevelt won the Nobel Peace prize for his success in bringing both sides to the negotiating table. On September 1, 1905, Roosevelt finally writes to Meyer, as the negotiations are settled in Portsmouth:

“Dear George,

  It seems to me that one of the crucial points in securing the peace was what you finally did in your conversation with the Czar when you persuaded him that the southern half of Saghalin would have to be surrendered to the Japanese. Of course while I was cabling to you messages for the Czar I was also doing what I could with the Japanese Government…

(and concludes the letter with)

Well, apparently we have carried the thing safely through, but it has not always been plain sailing.

Faithfully yours,

Theodore Roosevelt”

Dive further into the Meyer Papers to be transported to Imperial Russia on the brink of chaos and experience the effort to bring a peaceful end to the Russo-Japanese war.

Portsmouth is a beautiful city by the sea, featuring cobblestone streets lined with gas lanterns and the historic homes of sea captains and merchants. Whenever I visit Portsmouth, I look out at the ocean and imagine what a sight it would have been to see the arrival of vessels from Imperial Russia and Imperial Japan in August of 1905.

Posted in From Our Collections Tagged

From the Keystone State to the Bay State: Anna Huidekoper Clarke

by Susan Martin, Senior Processing Archivist

I told you a few weeks ago about Sarah Freeman Clarke, whose papers form part of the newly processed Perry-Clarke additions. I’d like to continue now with my series of deep dives into this collection by introducing you to Anna Huidekoper Clarke.

Black and white photograph of a painting in an oval frame depicting a young white woman looking to the side. The woman has brown hair pulled back into a braided bun.
Anna Huidekoper Clarke, from Harm Jan Huidekoper (1904)

Anna was born on 5 November 1814 in Meadville, Pennsylvania. Her father, Harm Jan Huidekoper, was a Dutch immigrant and wealthy landowner, in fact one of the largest landowners in the United States. Harm and his wife, Rebecca Colhoon Huidekoper, had seven children. Sadly, the first two died young, but the rest lived to adulthood: Alfred, Edgar, Anna, Frederic, and Elizabeth.

It would be difficult to talk about the Huidekopers without talking about Meadville, a town with which the family is inextricably linked. Meadville is located in western Pennsylvania, only about 20 miles from the Ohio border. Harm first visited Meadville in 1802, just 14 years after white settlers had established the town. In his autobiography, he described it as “a small village, containing 25 or 30 houses, chiefly log ones, and a population of about 150 inhabitants.”

Despite this uninspiring description, Harm decided to settle in Meadville and built a large house, Pomona Hall, at 1119 Water Street. (This site is now the location of Holland Towers Apartments.) The Huidekoper home became, by all accounts, a center of the social and cultural life of Meadville and, according to some sources, even a stop on the Underground Railroad. It was here that Anna was born and raised.

Importantly, during the 1800s, the town of Meadville also became “an important outpost of Unitarianism” (Harm Jan Huidekoper, p. 317). Harm, a convert to Unitarianism, and his son Frederic, a Unitarian minister, founded a seminary called Meadville Theological School in 1844.

Black and white photograph of two buildings, a three-story building on the right and a smaller two-story one on the left. In front of the buildings is a large lawn and three trees.
Meadville Theological School, from Harm Jan Huidekoper (1904)

Most of the Huidekopers were intimately involved with the operations of the school for many years: Harm was co-founder, financier, and first board president; Alfred was first secretary and trustee; Edgar was treasurer and superintendent of Divinity Hall; and Frederic was co-founder, professor, librarian, and treasurer. Not to be outdone, Elizabeth Gertrude Huidekoper, the youngest of the siblings, picked up the mantle: she was the first woman to serve as a trustee, presided as board president for 17 years, donated real estate and library books to the school, and even provided financial assistance to individual students. She was known by some as “the mother of Meadville.”

After 180 years, the seminary is still in existence, as part of the Meadville Lombard Theological School in Chicago.

Anna was the only one of her siblings to leave Meadville. On 15 August 1839, she married Unitarian minister James Freeman Clarke, and the couple eventually settled in Boston. They had four children: Herman Huidekoper Clarke, Lilian Freeman Clarke, Eliot Channing Clarke, and Cora Huidekoper Clarke. Anna was very active in her community, serving as treasurer of the Church of the Disciples branch of the American Unitarian Association Women’s Auxiliary Conference, vice president of the South End Industrial School, and member of the board of directors of the New England Hospital.

Anna and James’s marriage was evidently a happy one; their voluminous and loving correspondence in the Perry-Clarke additions testifies to that. The collection also contains letters to Anna from a number of close friends, including many from her teenage years discussing fashion and local gossip, as well as correspondence of most of the Huidekopers I’ve mentioned.

Anna’s life, of course, had its tragedies. She lost her son Herman to scarlet fever when he was just eight or nine years old. Her papers in the collection include a few pages of anecdotes about Herman, of the “kids say the darnedest things” variety. Anna also recorded the reactions of her other children to their brother’s death. For example, Lilian said, “Mother, I wish I would waken up some morning & find it all a dream.” And Eliot asked, “Is there no way to make Herman come back again?”

Anna died in Boston on 2 April 1897.

Posted in From Our Collections

Adams Book Club: Abigail’s Pick

by Gwen Fries, Production Editor, Adams Papers

I don’t imagine you’ll be too bowled over when I tell you that I believe the Adamses’ writings have great value. There’s a reason that a team of us dedicate our lives to making their words and ideas accessible to all. (Have I mentioned our free digital edition?) While we give them hours of every day, our closest attention—and possibly our eyesight years before it would’ve failed otherwise—I don’t think we can ever repay all the wisdom, adventure, and laughter they give us. Frankly, they’re the best company for which you could ever wish.

So, when a member of the Adams family writes about something they read that gave them the same kind of rush, my ears prick up. Thus was born my idea of Adams Book Club, where we find free and accessible works and read them to gain a deeper understanding of the Adamses and what make them tick. First up? Anne MacVicar Grant’s Letters from the Mountains.

Color photograph of black ink printed onto paper discolored with age, with some handwriting on several parts and a visible round watermark.
Title page of Letters from the Mountains, Boston 1809.

“Pray have you met with these Letters from the Mountains?” Abigail Adams wrote to her daughter Abigail Adams Smith (Nabby) on 13 May 1809. “If you have not, I will certainly send them to you.” The “Mountains” in question are the Scottish Highlands. If you’ve been following along at home, you know Abigail had a particular affinity for all things Scottish. (Am I saying Abigail would’ve been an Outlander fan?…I’m not not saying that.)

“I have never met with any letters half so interesting,” Abigail gushed to her daughter. “Her style is easy and natural, it flows from the heart and reaches the heart. In the early part of her life, and before she met with severe trials and afflictions, her letters are full of vivacity, blended with sentiment and erudition. Though secluded from the gay world, she appears well acquainted with life and manners. Her principles, her morals, her religion, are of the purest kind.”

A 69-year-old white woman with dark hair is sketched in white and black chalk on paper. She wears a white bonnet, a white ruffled collar, and a black shawl with an oval fastener.
Anne MacVicar Grant by William Bewick, 1824. Scottish National Portrait Gallery.

Abigail recommended the Letters to many in her orbit of influence, including her son John Quincy Adams, who took a copy on the boat to St. Petersburg. On 11 August 1809, he recorded in his (free and fully accessible online) diary, “The Night was almost entirely calm— I employed much of it in reading Mrs: Grant’s letters, which I find more interesting than Plutarch— I return to them of choice.”

We’ve all had a book find us when we needed it most. In the spring and summer of 1809, Abigail had her daughter move to the backwoods of New York, her son leave for the other side of the world, and with her 65th birthday rapidly approaching was feeling the weight of her years. “The more I read, the more I was delighted,” she confided to Nabby, “until that enthusiasm which she so well describes, took full possession of my soul, and made me for a time forget that the roses had fled from my cheeks, and the lustre departed from my eyes.”

“I long to communicate to you this rich mental feast,” Abigail wrote. And so I communicate it to you, dear reader. Meet you next month to discuss the Letters and to delve into John Adams’s retirement reads!

The Adams Papers editorial project at the Massachusetts Historical Society gratefully acknowledges the generous support of our sponsors. Major funding of the edition is currently provided by the National Endowment for the Humanities, the National Historical Publications and Records Commission, and the Packard Humanities Institute. Major funding for the John Quincy Adams Digital Diary was provided by the Amelia Peabody Charitable Fund, with additional contributions by Harvard University Press and a number of private donors. The Mellon Foundation in partnership with the National Historical Publications and Records Commission also supports the project through funding for the Society’s digital publishing collaborative, the Primary Source Cooperative.

Posted in From Our Collections Tagged

Building A Foundation | Architecture at the MHS (Part 1)

by Brandon McGrath-Neely, Library Assistant

Having recently moved to Boston from a much smaller, younger town, I have been amazed at how many beautiful buildings the city has to offer. In less than half a mile, you can walk from the medieval-looking wooden home of Paul Revere to the modern concrete goliath, Boston City Hall. Along the way, you’ll see a half-dozen architectural styles and movements sitting side by side.

The wooden, two story house of Paul Revere stands out between taller, modern buildings.
The home of Paul Revere in Boston’s North End.

While this gives the city a beautiful character, blending the old with the new, it can be difficult to interpret your surroundings without prior knowledge about the city’s development or an architectural vocabulary. Wanting to more fully engage with the city’s built environment, I consulted the MHS reference library. Before this research, I had the bare minimum knowledge of architecture – I could tell a floor from a wall, and that was about it.

Like any good trip to the Historical Society, my project started in ABIGAIL, our online catalog. I used keywords to find items that might fit: “architecture,” “buildings in Boston,” and “Boston city planning” all returned some interesting results, but I knew I could refine my search further. I began searching by subject, which I often recommend to researchers wanting to quickly see what materials the MHS has on a given topic. By trying different phrases, I was able to generate a list of relevant materials very quickly.

I found that the MHS has plenty of published works on architecture. Some were broad, and I used them to familiarize myself with the most basic ideas and historical movements in American architecture. Others were specific, providing me with the vocabulary for several types of brick patterns and roof shapes. My personal favorites were handbooks, designed to help readers identify architectural styles at a glance. Written for architecture students and laypeople alike, they provided excellent summaries of important movements and their key features.

When I left Ellis Hall at the end of each day, I was excited to start recognizing different elements in the buildings I saw. On the short walk to the nearest train station, you leave the Georgian Revival MHS, pass the pointed arches of the Gothic-style Saint Clement Eucharistic Shrine, and turn just before reaching the Romanesque Boston Architectural College’s dark, rough stone exterior.

The large gray stone exterior of St. Clement Eucharistic Shrine, with pointed arches throughout.
St. Clement Eucharistic Shrine, across the street from the MHS.

Researchers at the MHS are often working towards some form of published project: a book, a thesis, or a family tree. But the materials here are just as useful for those who are simply interested in learning about the world around us. I found the research valuable because as I walked through Boston, I could look at a building and consider how and why it made me feel a certain way. It gave me a sense of familiarity and even ownership over a city with lifetimes of history and culture, and I felt a sense of pride and excitement that I had learned it on my own.

In future blog posts, I’ll be sharing some of what I’ve learned by considering parts of the architecture at the MHS itself. The details of Ellis Hall and the design of our building’s exterior are both pleasing to look at and work together to tell the story and values of the MHS through architectural design. Follow along, and if you get the chance to visit in person, see it for yourself! As I learned through this research, the MHS is not just a space for graduate students and professional researchers – it’s a place for anyone to read and think about the things that matter to them.

Boston Architectural College, a four-story building with dark red and brown stone walls.
The dark stone exterior of Boston Architectural College (left).

Interested in architecture? Here’s what I used to start learning:

  • A-B-C of Architecture – by Frank E. Wallis (NA200 .W25) This is a concise and effective introduction to the major movements in European architectural history. Wallis packs quite a bit in this brief handbook, and does a good job of connecting engineering, aesthetics, and history. For those looking for a more narrative style, this is a good place to start.
  • Identifying American Architecture: A Pictorial Guide to Styles and Terms, 1600-1945 – by John J. Blumenson (NA705 .B55). Of all the books I read for this project, this was the one I found most useful. Blumenson selects a handful of photos and roughly a dozen key features for each architectural movement in the United States, and outlines what makes them distinct. If you’re interested in identifying the buildings around you, this is the best place to start.
  • Early American Houses: and a Glossary of Colonial Architecture Terms – by Norman Morrison Isham (REF. NA7206 .I7) This is a helpful book for those interested in early colonial architecture from a construction and material perspective. The essays focus directly on specific architectural elements from colonial structures, and the glossary is a very good resource for developing your architectural vocabulary.
  • Boston After Bulfinch: An Account of its Architecture 1800-1900 – by Walter Harrington Kilham (REF. NA735.B7 K5) This book has a narrative feel, guiding readers from the Federalist period of Boston architecture to the “Steel Frame” period. This book is especially useful for naming the important architects of each movement, and helpfully lists some of the buildings they constructed. This is an excellent all-around text for beginners (like me).
  • The A.I.A. Guide to Boston – by Michael and Susan Southworth (REF. NA735.B7 S68 1984) This guide was written by a married couple who worked as city planners and architects in Boston, hired by the city to work on preservation projects. This book contains information about hundreds of locations and landmarks, as well as self-guided tours based on different themes. If there’s an area or aspect of the city you find yourself especially interested in, this would be a great choice.
  • Architecture, Boston – By the Boston Society of Architects (REF. NA735.B7 B67 1976 Whereas most of the books recommended here are organized by architectural style or period, this book seeks to consider the architecture of Boston, neighborhood by neighborhood. Filled with dozens of high-quality photos, this is an excellent resource for those interested in Boston’s contemporary appearance and character.
  • Great Georgian Houses of America – by the Architects’ Emergency Committee (NA707 .A7) This is a well-soruced, clear display of the wide variety in styles, materials, and approaches to the Georgian style in the late 18th century. There’s little commentary throughout, so it isn’t a useful resource for introductory readers, but those with an existing vocabulary and understanding of the Georgian style may find this book useful in finding examples of the style.

For my own research, I worked primarily with published materials in our collection. Though I consulted some manuscript items that related to architecture, I found that the published materials were more useful for gaining a basic knowledge. The published materials can sometimes be overshadowed by our collection of presidential autographs or beautiful portraits, but these books and pamphlets are just as useful for research. Don’t miss out!

Posted in From Our Collections Tagged

POTUS vs. Trolley (Spoiler: Trolley Wins)

by Rakashi Chand, Reading Room Supervisor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The 259th Anniversary of Boston’s Liberty Tree

by Heather Rockwood, Communications Manager

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

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

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

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

Fair freedoms Cause I’ve meanly Quitted

For the Sake of a little Pelf

The Devil has me outwitted

And now I have hangd myself

the

NB He that takes

This down is an

enemy to his —

Country

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roots of the Liberty Tree

Engraving by Paul Revere

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

History Source: Mapping Colonial Boston

Posted in From Our Collections

“Tell it to the whales”

by Lauren Gray, Reference Librarian

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted in From Our Collections Tagged ,