Alan Taylor - American Revolutions: A Continental History, 1750-1804

Pulling Down the Statue of George III, by the Sons of Freedom, by Johannes A. Oertel, 1853. Upon learning of the Declaration of Independence, a New York City crowd tore down the statue of King George III on Bowling Green. Courtesy of the Library of Congress (LC-USZ62-2455).

Copyright 2016 by Alan Taylor

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Jacket art: Pulling down the statue of George III by the "Sons of Freedom" at the Bowling Green, City of New York, July 1776/ painted by Johannes A. Oertel; Engraved by John C. McRae / Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division; Image colorization by Mads Madsen / Colorized History

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For the Kelmans: Ari, Lesley, Jacob, Ben,
and especially
WYATT

And in memory of Caroline Cox

By what means, this great and important Alteration in
the religious, Moral, political and Social Character of
the People of thirteen Colonies, all distinct, unconnected
and independent of each other, was begun, pursued
and accomplished is surely interesting to Humanity to
investigate, and perpetuate to Posterity.

JOHN ADAMS, 1818

AMERICAN
REVOLUTIONS

The Procession, engraving by Elkanah Tisdale, 1795. Accompanied by musicians, a Patriot mob hauls a tarred-and-feathered Tory in a cart. Courtesy of the Library of Congress (LC-USZ62-7709).

May not a man have several voices, Robin,

as well as two complexions?

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE,

from My Kinsman, Major Molineux

O n a summer evening, a rustic youth of barely eighteen years arrived in a seaport capital, the little metropolis of a New England colony. Although dressed in homespun and having little money, Robin was handsome, alert, and ambitious. The clever son of a country clergyman, he came to seek his celebrated kinsman, Major Molineux, a wealthy gentleman in royal favor. With the majors patronage, Robin expected to rise quickly in society. Passing through a succession of crooked and narrow streets, he became confused and angry when no one would direct him to his kinsmans mansion. Instead, people mocked Robin. At last, a stranger replied, Watch here an hour, and Major Molineux will pass by. Robin noticed the strangers face painted half black and half red as if two individual devils, a fiend of fire and a fiend of darkness, had united themselves to form this infernal visage.

The young man waited by a moonlit church, where he encountered a gentleman in his prime, of open, intelligent, cheerful, and altogether prepossessing countenance. Learning of Robins mission, the gentleman lingered from a singular curiosity to witness your meeting. In the distance, they heard the advancing roar of a crowd. There were at least a thousand voices went up to make that one shout, Robin noted. May not a man have several voices, Robin, as well as two complexions? the gentleman replied.

The painted stranger reappeared at the head of a torch-lit parade of wild figures in the Indian dress attended by raucous musicians and applauding spectators, including women. The cavalcade accompanied an open cart holding an elderly man, of large and majestic person covered with tar and feathers. Robin recognized the victim as his kinsman suffering from overwhelming humiliation. His face was pale as death... his eyes were red and wild, and the foam hung white upon his quivering lip. The rioters halted and fell silent, looking to Robin for reaction, and the major recognized his kinsman. They stared at each other in silence, and Robins knees shook, and his hair bristled, with a mixture of pity and terror. Suddenly, Robin felt a bewildering excitement as he erupted into a loud and long laugh shared with the mob at the majors expense. The rioters marched on like fiends that throng in mockery around some dead potentate, mighty no more, but majestic still in his agony.

As the street reclaimed silence, the watching gentleman asked, Well, Robin, are you dreaming? Having lost all hope of patronage from his disgraced kinsman, Robin prepared to leave town, but the gentleman advised Robin to stay as you are a shrewd youth, you may rise in the world without the help of your kinsman, Major Molineux.

A story published by Nathaniel Hawthorne in 1832, My Kinsman, Major Molineux specifies neither dates nor places and names no historical characters, operating instead as a dreamy metaphor rich in symbol and suggestion. But nothing done since by historian or novelist so concisely conveys the internal essence of the revolution. Hawthorne recognized that the struggle was our first civil war, rife with divisions, violence and destruction. The fiends of fire and darkness were busy during the revolution.

Hawthorne understood the power of stylized violence to compel the wavering to endorse revolution. Patriots built popular support, and intimidated opponents, through rituals that invited public participation to shame others. Robins sudden laugh represents the decisions made by thousands when they helped to disgrace Loyalists as enemies to American liberty.

Historians and politicians often miscast the American Revolution as the polar opposite of even bloodier revolutions elsewhere. They recall the American version as good, orderly, restrained, and successful when contrasted against the excesses of the French and Russian revolutions. Polarities, however, mislead by insisting on perfect opposites. Only by the especially destructive standards of other revolutions was the American more restrained. During the Revolutionary War, Americans killed one another over politics and massacred Indians, who returned the bloody favors. Patriots also kept one-fifth of Americans enslaved, and thousands of those slaves escaped to help the British oppose the revolution. After the war, 60,000 dispossessed Loyalists became refugees. The dislocated proportion of the American population exceeded that of the French in their revolution. The American revolutionary turmoil also inflicted an economic decline that lasted for fifteen years in a crisis unmatched until the Great Depression of the 1930s. During the revolution, Americans suffered more upheaval than any other American generation, save that which experienced the Civil War of 1861 to 1865.

The conflict embroiled everyone, including women and children, rather than just soldiers in set-piece battles. A plundered farm was a more common experience than a glorious and victorious charge. Some historians treat the notorious wartime violence in the South as exceptional in an otherwise restrained war. This bracketing neglects the brutal war zones around British enclaves in New York and Philadelphia; the devastation of frontier settlements and native villages from New York to Georgia; and the Patriot repression of disaffection in much of New Jersey, Delaware, and the eastern shore of Maryland and Virginia. The true exceptions were the few pockets bypassed by wars