Recently, the Society received the generous donation of a remarkably well-preserved pair of boots from the factory of John Fletcher and Sons.  John Fletcher’s name was very well-known in Acton in the 1800s, and his “Boot and Shoe Manufactory” was a town-center landmark that employed a significant number of townspeople.  He left many traces in the written records of the era, some of which gave contradictory impressions of who he was as a person.  We set out to learn more about him.

Early Life

John Fletcher was born in Acton to James (a young Revolutionary War soldier) and Lydia (White) Fletcher on July 21, 1790.  In Acton’s vital records, we found siblings Betsy (b.1786), James (b. 1788), Daniel (1797-1799), Lydia (b. 1800), and several who died young and whose names were not recorded.  James (the father) was involved in the business of Acton and donated a piece of his land in 1806 to be part of the Town Common.  The family first lived on what is now Hammond Street but then moved to a farm near the first meeting house (off of Nagog Hill Road near what was then the Brooks Tavern).  John’s son, (Rev. James), later wrote about their home site, “Here stood for many years, from 1794 on, the Fletcher homestead, where James Fletcher, the father of Deacon John Fletcher, and his brother James and Betsey, the sister, lived during childhood up to the years of maturity.  A few feet from this ancient cellar hole to the west is the site of the first Fletcher russet apple-tree.  Childhood’s memories easily recall the ancient unpainted cottage, the quaint old chimney with the brick-oven on the side, and the fire-place large enough for the burning of logs of size and length, and in front to the southeast a vegetable garden unmatched at the time for its culture and richness, and a large chestnut-tree to the south, planted by Deacon John, in early life.”  (Acton in History, p. 247) 

Though records of John Fletcher’s youth are hard to come by, we do have a physical description (from much later military pension records) that he had fair skin, black hair, and brown eyes.  He no doubt attended the school nearby and would have helped on his father’s farm.  As he got older, records show that he and his brother James Jr. served in the local militia.  In April, 1808, John was already serving as a corporal in Capt. Simon Hosmer’s Company that became known as the Davis Blues.  In 1810, John was chosen to be sergeant, and in 1813, he became the company clerk.  By that time the country was at war.  When the governor of Massachusetts called for troops to defend Boston in the fall of 1814, John Fletcher served as sergeant and clerk of what was by then Capt. Silas Jones’ Company.  Brother James Fletcher was a corporal.  According to Fletcher’s History, (p. 277-278) the company was first to report to headquarters and met with an enthusiastic reception as it marched through the streets of Boston.  The British never attacked, however, and the company saw no action.  The War of 1812 concluded soon thereafter.  John continued to serve in the militia and eventually was made captain.  Town meeting records refer to him as Captain John Fletcher in the years 1821 and 1822.

In June 1812, John’s brother James was initiated into the Masonic Lodge in Concord, and John followed in June 1813.  Both men were proposed for membership by Simon Hosmer.  In 1814, father James and James Jr. bought a farm from neighbor Paul Brooks, including a house, barn and cooper shop.  Presumably, the intention was to expand the father’s farming operation and/or to establish James on a farm of his own.  Unfortunately, James Sr. died on Dec. 9, 1815 by the falling of a tree (according to his tombstone and Fletcher’s History, p. 246), an event that must have shocked and greatly changed life for the family.

By 1814, we know that John Fletcher was already in the shoe business, as he listed his occupation as shoemaker when called up to serve in the War.  In 1815, the town of Acton paid him $4.67 for providing shoes for the poor.  We have not yet discovered details of the early years of his shoe enterprise, such as how he learned the trade, his sources of materials, and when he started hiring outside labor.

In March 1819, James Fletcher Jr. sold to his brother John for $250 a half of his share of the land he held, including his father’s two farms, a woodlot, and “all other lots of every kind which I am now in posion [possession] of”.  The records of the brothers’ buying, borrowing, and selling of property are voluminous and hard to pin down completely, but the impression one gets is that John managed to pay off his debts but James may have had more trouble and needed cash infusions at times. 

John and his brother James established a store together.  Its exact beginnings are a little unclear from the records, but it was definitely operating before 1822 and probably by 1820 when James Fletcher’s census listing included two household members engaged in commerce.  According to John’s son Rev. James Fletcher’s History (p. 272), the brothers’ first store was on the site of the present-day Memorial Library.  We found from a deed dated Sept. 28, 1820 that James and John Fletcher, traders, bought a store near the meetinghouse from Francis Tuttle for $325.  It was apparently quitclaimed by Widow Dorothy Jones on Dec. 7, 1821. (Land Records, Vol. 308, p. 232 & 233)

In January 1822, Worcester’s Massachusetts Spy ran an ad offering a reward to be paid by James and John Fletcher to help track down the criminal(s) who, on the morning of January 22, burned their store “after having been robbed (as is supposed) of its contents.”  The brothers would pay $100 for “the detection of the Incendiary or Incendiaries, and the recovery of the Property -- or $50 for either.” (Jan. 30, 1822, p. 4)  Surette’s History of Corinthian Lodge noted that on Feb. 4, 1822, “Bros. John & James Fletcher, of Acton, having met with a severe loss by fire, requested assistance from the Lodge, and a subscription paper was opened and signed by the members present.” (p. 128)  Fletcher’s History says specifically that the store was on the library site when it “was burnt.”(p. 267)

Acton has utilized many school buildings throughout its history, most of which are long-gone or unrecognizable.  The most recent to disappear was the red brick schoolhouse on Harris Street that was torn down earlier this spring.  We thought it an appropriate time to review the history of Acton’s school buildings. 

The Society has documents and maps that have tried to pinpoint the location of Acton’s early schools, the result of much work by local historians including James Fletcher, Horace Tuttle, Ida Hapgood Harris, Harold Phalen, Florence Merriam, Elizabeth Conant and others. In addition, Acton Memorial Library has made early town meeting records easily accessible online.  But even with those resources, it is still a very confusing subject.  Early schools were temporary and seasonal.  Historical documents refer to people, structures, and areas that are unfamiliar today.  (Where were “Deacon Brookses Squadron” and “Capt Haywards Corner”?)  Seemingly logical labels (“north”, “southwest, “east”) referred to various divisions of town at different times.  We have some payment records from early years, but it is not clear whether the payments to individuals “for schools” were for their own teaching and whether a school was actually kept on their own property.  As time went on, schoolhouses were built, used for a time and then abandoned, moved or creatively reused.  Town meeting records give us clues, but one has to be careful about making assumptions based on a favorable vote at a town meeting.  Acton had a habit of voting on an issue and later voting to reconsider the same issue, sometimes multiple times.  On school matters, there was a high probability that a vote would be overturned within the next few months or years.  Stepping bravely (or foolishly) into the quagmire, we begin our survey of Acton’s schools.

After a vote on March 3, 1739/40 not to “erect” schools, apparently the town voted to have a “reading, riteing and moveing Scool” in March 1740/41 (its funding was not clear).  Acton’s public education was more definitely organized by a vote in December 1743 to divide the town into three parts, holding a school in each section.  In the earliest years of Acton’s history, classes were held on private property by individuals who were willing to teach.  Exactly how the students were accommodated was not specified in town reports.  The individuals who kept the schools generally farmed, so presumably classes were held at times of the year when teachers and students were not needed for agricultural labor.  As time went on, expenditures for a “schoolmaster” began to appear in town reports.  Very early, the issue of equity arose; there had to be enough schools in town that all families had access to education for their children within a reasonable distance.  The number of school districts, (sometimes known as societies or squadrons), was a recurring issue at town meetings.  After the initial three districts in 1743, the number of divisions varied from four to seven. 

The first mention of town-owned school buildings appeared in town meeting records in 1771.  On May 27, the town voted that Acton should have seven school houses in the center of each division of the town.  Four had already been built privately and were to be purchased and repaired by the town.  Three new Schoolhouses were to be built, “Eighteen feet in Length and Sixteen feet wide” but the districts could, at their own expense, upgrade them to twenty by eighteen feet.   They apparently were to have four windows, plaster ceilings and at least partial plaster walls.

Locating North Acton's Schools

Starting our survey of Acton’s schools with the schoolhouse(s) in the vicinity of Harris street, we find that the 1771 list of proposed school locations did not include that area.  There was already a schoolhouse near the Healds’ residence on present-day Carlisle Road and apparently another near Josiah Piper's on “Procter’s” Road (now Nagog Hill Road) that could have served families in the northern part of Acton.  After some deliberation, on March 2, 1772, it was decided to leave the schoolhouse where it stood near Josiah Piper's.

After the schoolhouse vote, complaints started and a series of re-votes followed.  In particular, “Samuel Fitch and a Number of His Neighbours” thought themselves injured by being "to[o] Remote from Any School.”  (March 1774).  The town's response was that Mr. Fitch and his neighbors could have their school tax money to be used for alternative schooling.  Existing town maps do not show the location of Samuel Fitch’s house in Acton, but we know from the Tuttle/Scarlett maps that at least some of the neighbors mentioned, (David Lamson and the widow Temple), lived in the Nagog Pond/North Acton area.  (It was the same area that included John Oliver’s farm, the subject of another blog post.)  On January 4, 1775, the town voted to build a schoolhouse “to accomidate Samuel Fitch and others.”  One might think that was the end of the story, but on May 14, 1776, the town again voted that the Selectmen should build a School House in “Samuel Fitchs Society.”  Probably based on that vote, Horace Tuttle’s 1890 map dated the first Harris Street North Acton schoolhouse at 1776.  That may have been optimistic.  On January 31, 1780, the town was again asked to vote on building the same schoolhouse and postponed the vote.  In May, 1780, the town “voted that the Committe that was Imployed to Build a School House in mr Samuel Fitchs Society Do hire money in Behalf of the Town to Pay Said mr Samuel Fitch for what he has Don.”  Clearly, Mr. Fitch had taken matters into his own hands.  Unfortunately, the exact location and whether a schoolhouse was fully built at that point is not clear from the town meeting records.  Around that time, the redistricting of families that were set off to the District of Carlisle necessitated another vote on the location of a schoolhouse, combining the families in the Fitch area with those who had been in Lieut. John Heald’s district (the “northest part of this town”, November 20, 1780).  Money was voted toward building the schoolhouse at that time.

The next period in which school buildings were discussed was the 1790s.  On November 2, 1792, the town voted to reduce its school districts from seven to four.  That was a short-lived plan.  After proposals and counterproposals, on May 6, 1795, the town settled on five school districts and decided that “every Person Shall have the Liberty to Join the District to which he Chuses to belong and his Scholl [school] Rate Shall be expended in the School”. (Acton’s policy of school choice started early.  It was also subject to many later votes.)  Five schoolhouses were to be built including one “where the School House Stands near John Harris’.”  This is the first direct mention that there had been a school near the location of the (later) brick school house.  That was a welcome moment of clarity for us.  It was temporary. 

In the 1796-1797 period, there were numerous town meetings in which the town was asked to reconsider, repeatedly, previous votes on school districts and schoolhouses.  The warrant for the May 1796 meeting asked the town to “Reconsider all the votes that have been passed in the town meetings Respecting the Districting the town for Schools and building School houses for Seven years past” and in January 1797, the town was asked to reconsider all of their former votes on the issue.  On May 1, 1797, the town voted not to fund the building of the five schools.  Clearly, the decision-making process was not going well.  In October 1797, a committee was formed to “fix a place for a School house north District”.  

Based on the voting chaos, it seems unlikely that a new school was actually built before the town’s school districts were consolidated around 1800.  Town records discussed selling old school house(s) in the “east” part of town, and the Schoolhouse “near John Harris” was sold to David Barnard for $31.25 (Dec. 3, 1800).  The neighboring residents were clearly not happy, because the town was asked to vote on building a schoolhouse in the Northwest part of town in December 1801.  The town voted it down.

According to town histories, for a period of about thirty years, the north and east districts were combined.  There is no mention of a “North” school district in the records of those years and the sale of the schoolhouse indicates that the Harris Street site was not in use at the time.  Instead, a schoolhouse was built approximately at the current intersection of Davis and Great Road.  An 1830-1831 survey map shows a school at that location (and not at Harris Street).  According to Ida Hapgood Harris’s 1937 school history, “Old residents relate that 80 pupils were there at one time.  This was probably built around 1796.” (The document is at Jenks Library.)   

Leaving out occasional indecision during the early decades of the nineteenth century, on May 13, 1839, the town voted to split the “east” district again and build a brick schoolhouse in its "northern part" by November 1, 1840.  Given the uncertainty of any vote being realized, we were dubious about claiming that the schoolhouse actually was built at that time.  However, it must have been built then or soon thereafter, because in April 1844, the town voted that the North Acton district could put seats into their schoolhouse, as long as the town did not incur the expense.  The residents must have refused to pay for the seating, because in April, 1845, the town provided $12 to “put seats into the North School house in the place of stools which are now broken”.  (The students must have had an uncomfortable year.)

By 1847, the town started printing the school committee’s annual reports, so we have a much more complete (and colorful) picture of what was going on with the schools after that time.  From the 1849 report, we find that by then, the whole town had new schoolhouses.  The school committee took a look back at the schoolhouses they replaced:
“...now entirely vanished from our view – the old, square, four-roofed, one-storied, red school-houses.... with their little porticoes made to store wood and to trample clothes in... the strange and uncouth carvings, etchings and engravings which enriched them within and without.  We remember too, the broken floors, the rickety and disfigured seats and benches, the blackened and dilapidated walls, and above all the ventilating apparatus, called windows.  Yet they were cheerful places... But they have passed away, and other houses of a very different model stand in their stead.”
 
Confirming that the brick school house had indeed been built, the committee wrote:
 
“In the place of the old house on the great road are built two substantial and convenient brick houses, capable of accommodating fifty scholars each.  They have good woodrooms and clothes rooms, and are furnished with black boards and Mitchell’s large map of the world; these last were purchased by subscriptions of the friends of progress in the district.  These houses were built at a cost of $525 each, exclusive of the land and its preparation.”

Despite the optimistic tone of the 1849 school committee, reading later town reports, one has to think that upkeep of the schoolhouses was a constant struggle.  By 1851, the school committee was admonishing all of the school districts to attend to repairs so that “there is nothing to excite the evil propensities of the young destructives.”  Vandalism seems to have been a perpetual problem.  The 1858-1859 School Committee reported about the winter term:
“Of this term for obvious reasons we shall say but little.  (Sadly, that story is lost to history.)  If the advancement in this, and preceding winter terms has fallen below the expectations of the parents, they should remember that such a miserable, dilapidated, cold, cheerless, uncomfortable and lonely old school house is not the place to look for anything remarkable.  The pupils one day the past winter, found a large supply of shavings, in consequence of one of their number falling through a defective part of the floor.  Occasionally the boys, out of school hours, amuse themselves by jumping from the floor and touching the ceiling, a feat that most of them can easily accomplish....  The location of the stove is such that [heat] is very unequally distributed.... Indeed the house may be comprehensively described as almost a perfect model of what a school house ought not to be."

By the 1863-1864 report, we read:

”...we wish to speak of our school-houses; and in no very flattering term either.  We know there are a plenty ready to say, they are good enough; what would be the use to build better ones, for the scholars to tear in pieces....  Why, they exclaim, “some of our school-houses have not been built comparatively but a short time, and just look at them.”  That is what we say, LOOK at them, and carefully too; and we think you will come to the sage conclusion, that they are ill planned, poorly built, shammy things....  We do not believe the children and youth in this town are so much worse than they are in others; and we know they have large, convenient, and even ornamental school-houses in other towns, and they are kept well too.  We believe if this town would build some good school-houses, convenient and well finished, that our scholars would take pride in keeping them so.  We do not think it a good way to cultivate feelings of respect for public property, by having constantly before the eyes of our children defaced benches, dingy walls, and plastering hanging from the ceiling here and there, in a manner to tempt even those not inclined to mischief, to hit it a poke and tumble it down....  We think all should be as willing to be taxed to raise money to build good school-houses for their children to attend school in, as they would be to raise money to build a good town house to attend town meeting in, and we think if the town is able to have a town house worth some eight thousand dollars, it is able to have school-houses worth as much.”

Ten years later, the town agreed that the brick building on Harris Street had reached the end of its useful life as a school.  Charles I. Miller’s reminiscences of North Acton (at Jenks Library) stated that a wooden replacement was built during the fall and winter of 1873 while school was still being held in the old brick schoolhouse nearby.  It was a time of change; the North Acton railroad depot had just been built at the end of Harris Street.  At that time, only one house and barn were visible from the station, but the area soon grew.

After the brick schoolhouse was taken out of service, it became a private dwelling.  The wooden schoolhouse served for 26 years.  The conflict between those who wanted schoolhouses close to home and those who wanted to achieve the efficiency of having larger, “graded” schools went on for decades.  By the 1890s, small, ungraded schoolhouses were falling out of favor.  It had become inefficient for one teacher to try to teach a broad range of subjects in one classroom that held up to seven grades’ students.  The East district was merged into the Center school, but the North Acton district held out longer.  Clearly frustrated, the Superintendent wrote in his 1897-1898 report that students in “out-lying districts” had:

a tendency to insubordination, which seemed to have its foundation in the idea that parental influence was paramount in all school matters pertaining to their district.... it prevails in out-lying districts generally, and is quite well developed at North Acton.” [page 59-60]
 
Eventually, even the North Acton school was closed.  In September 1899, its former students were transported to the Center school which then was divided into primary, intermediate and grammar “schools,” each with three grades apiece.  The former North Acton teacher, the long-serving Ella Miller, came with them.  The wooden school house at 52 Harris Street was sold off and became a dwelling.  That piece of Acton school history still stands.

Captain Isaac Davis's company of minute men gathered to leave for the Concord fight on April 19, 1775 at his home farm.  Current residents of Acton sometimes refer to the house currently standing on the property as the “Isaac Davis House.”  Given the fact that there is a granite monument in front that says in large letters “DAVIS HOME”, it’s an understandable shorthand.  Jenks Library has in its collection postcards going back more than a century that picture the current house and are labeled “Home of Isaac Davis”.  But did Isaac Davis really live in that house?

Unfortunately, what was once common knowledge has become lost as successive generations have associated the “home” on the granite marker with the building they see behind it.  In this case, old sources are very clear.  Rev. James Fletcher, in his 1890 history of Acton, (page 261), wrote “The house in which [Isaac Davis] lived, has been replaced by another and that one repaired and enlarged....  The original house was two story in front, and the back sloped down to one, the kitchen in the lower part.”  (It sounds very similar to the Society’s Hosmer House before it was enlarged to accommodate a second household.)

Thanks to D. Henry Scarlett’s helpful notebook, we can access the more colorful recollection of Moses Taylor who evidently had lived nearby as a child and played with the children of Nathaniel Brown who owned the farm.  (Nathaniel's father Captain Joseph Brown bought the property after Isaac Davis’s death.)  As related by Scarlett in 1906, “The house of Capt. Davis was not torn down by Nathl Brown, he only built the L which stands today.  Ward S. Haskell tore down the main or original part, totally destroyed it; and a few of the timbers were used in building the new main part while most of the lumber was used in building the hog house which still stands, at the rear of the present house.  The one large pine timber in this hog house is a cross-beam from the room in which Davis was laid out.”

Question answered.

Having just written in our previous blog post about how easily history can be forgotten, we discovered that the same can be said about other people’s historical research.  At Jenks Library, we have several well-used maps including copies of Horace Tuttle’s 1890 map of old Acton houses and sites.  But when our co-president mentioned unfamiliar Henry Scarlett maps, we had to pull our copies out of the drawer where they had been filed.  It’s time for the Scarlett maps, quite literally, to see the light of day.

In researching John Oliver, (c. 1750s-1840, Revolutionary War soldier), we used written records to determine who his neighbors were, but we were disappointed that we did not have an exact location for his farm.  It does not appear on the Tuttle map.  However, it turns out that this omission was corrected around 1906.  Based on Acton residents’ memories, D. Henry Scarlett created his own map of Acton, meticulously adding features to Tuttle’s work.  Where the Tuttle map had a blank space in North Acton between John Handley’s land and the railroad, Scarlett placed John Oliver’s farm.  He also drew a “cart road” leading from what is now Great Road through John Handley’s property up to Oliver’s, as well as the Reed and Temple properties. 
 
Scarlett’s location for Oliver’s farm jibes with the written materials that we have.  Given John Oliver’s location away from any roads, it makes sense that access would be needed.  Town records show that in September, 1800 “the Selectmen proposed and laid out a bridle way to accomidate John Oliver by Said Olivers and John Handleys erecting gates on bars where it is necessary.”  The approved right-of-way, a rod and a half wide, started east of John Handley’s house “near the old way where Said Olivers used formerly to pass” then went northwest through Handley’s property and common land to “John Olivers land near the Southeast corner of Said Olivers House.”  Though the exact route of the “cart road” in Scarlett’s map may not be perfect, it seems close.  The map shows a gate, an open field, and a route ending just southeast of Oliver’s house.  An 1821 deed held by the Society also jibes with the location of Oliver’s property on the Scarlett map.  The deed states that the wood lot being sold was bounded “southwesterly by John Oliver’s to a heap of stones in the swamp.”  Scarlett’s map shows John Oliver’s location on a brook with wetland nearby; parts of his property undoubtedly were wet, at least seasonally. 

We are grateful to Henry Scarlett for answering our question about John Oliver’s farm.  But seeing Scarlett's careful work made us curious about him.  Research into his life story provided us with several surprises that will require a future blog post.

A question about possible Underground Railroad sites in Acton led us to investigate, more generally, anti-slavery sentiments and activity in Acton.  Because our local newspaper access starts after the Civil War, we doubted that we would find out much.  Fortunately, William Lloyd Garrison’s abolitionist newspaper The Liberator is available for research and gave us a surprising amount of information about what was (and perhaps was not) happening for the cause of abolition in Acton in the 1830s – 1850s.  Most of the material related to James Trask Woodbury, minister of Acton’s Evangelical Society starting in 1832. 

The earliest Liberator references to Reverend Woodbury were quite complimentary.  When the Middlesex County Anti-Slavery Society was formed, he was chosen as one of its counsellors (Oct. 11, 1834, p. 3).  He became Secretary the next year (Oct. 17, 1835, p. 3).  He spoke against slavery at various gatherings, including a convention in Groton, meetings of Sudbury’s female anti-slavery supporters, and the New-England Anti-Slavery Convention in Boston in May, 1835 (May 30, p. 3).  He hosted Anti-Slavery Society meetings and speakers at his church, including “Mr. Thompson” (Jan. 31, 1835, p. 3) and Charles C. Burleigh who described him as “the excellent minister, our true-hearted abolitionist brother, Mr. Woodbury.” (March 28, 1835, p. 2)  He was later called "one of the early movers in the anti-slavery agitation”. (March 4, 1853, p. 3) 

At the New England Anti-Slavery Convention in July, 1836, Rev. Woodbury spoke impassionedly about the moral duty of the church to stand against slave-holding as a sin and a crime (July 23, 1836, p. 1).  In July 1837, Rev. Woodbury was asked to speak at the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society’s July 4 celebration, though he declined the opportunity. (July 7, 1837, p. 3)  He was quite obviously held in high esteem by William Lloyd Garrison and his compatriots.  However, that was about to change.

Hindsight and a very different worldview make it difficult for us today to relate to the mindset of ministers of the 1830s, but to understand what came next, we have to recall that it was a time of religious upheaval.  Preachers of many viewpoints had been upending the status quo.  More orthodox ministers were trying to hold onto their “flocks” and guard them against what they saw as spiritually disastrous errors. 

Some Massachusetts clergymen had grown increasingly disturbed by some of William Lloyd Garrison’s non-conformist religious views and his criticisms of established societal and political structures (including churches).  Apparently, the tipping point was Garrison’s support of the Grimke sisters, whose anti-slavery lectures were attracting mixed-gender audiences and generating disagreements about the role of women in society.  The Congregational General Association of Massachusetts issued a letter in June 1837 to be read in Congregational churches, affirming the minister as people’s spiritual guide and leader, discouraging speakers from presenting “their subjects within the parochial limits of settled pastors without their consent”, and urging women to be unostentatious and modest, rather than assuming “the place and tone of man as a public reformer.”  (Aug. 11, 1837, p.1)  This Pastoral Letter, coupled with an “Appeal of Clerical Abolitionists” criticizing The Liberator for its treatment of the clergy (Aug. 11, 1837, p. 2-3) elicited a barrage of letters in various newspapers, many printed or reprinted in the pages of The Liberator.

Into the fray stepped Acton’s Reverend Woodbury.  He wrote a long letter in support of the Clerical Appeal that was published in the New England Spectator and reprinted on the front page of The Liberator (Sept. 1, 1837), including:
“I am an abolitionist... but I never swallowed Wm. Lloyd Garrison ... I became alarmed some months since, for the cause of abolition in such hands ... he is determined to carry forward and propagate and enforce his peculiar theology.  He is not satisfied to teach his readers and hearers the truth as he holds it in reference to slavery and its abolition, but he must indoctrinate them, too, on human governments and family government and the Christian ministry and the Christian Sabbath, and the Christian ordinances.  Slavery is not merely to be abolished, but nearly everything else.  ...  Desert the cause of abolition?  No—never.  But desert Mr. Garrison, I would, if I ever followed him.  But I never did.  I once tried to like his paper – took it one year and paid for it, and stopped it ... What there was of pure abolition in it I liked.  Like the veal in a French soup, I liked it – the whole of it – but I could not swallow the onions, and the garlics, and the spice, and the pepper.  ...  P.S.  No doubt, if you break with Garrison, some will say, ‘you are no abolitionists,’ – for with some, Garrison is the god of their idolatry.  He embodies abolition.  He is abolition personified and incarnate.”

There were many other letters, but Rev. Woodbury’s made quite a stir.  Probably because of Garrison’s extensive answer in The Liberator, Woodbury’s name came to be associated with the ministers who wrote the Appeal.  From the tone and depth of the response, it is clear that Garrison felt betrayed by someone he thought was a brother in the cause.  Leaving aside much in the rejoinder, we can learn from it how Rev. Woodbury’s thinking about abolition evolved.  Garrison remembered that Woodbury had dated his own conversion to abolitionism to a time when he stood by Washington’s tomb, but unfortunately the details of the story were not mentioned.  According to Garrison, Rev. Woodbury had followed Garrison in his thinking “from the colonization to the abolition ranks; from gradual to immediate emancipation; from associating with slaveholders as Christians to repudiating them as thieves and robbers, and ‘sinners of the first rank.’... I heard nothing of you in this cause till it had found a multitude of supporters.”  (Sept 1, 1837, p. 3) 

Some in the national American Anti-Slavery Society felt that the disagreement between the clerics and Garrison was a local and unfortunately personal dispute.  They did not take a side, probably hoping that the anger would die down and that the anti-slavery cause would not be split.  Unfortunately, that was not the case. 

In the October 27, 1837 Liberator (p. 3), some “personal interrogatories” were published questioning the motives of some of the ministers involved in the controversy.  Rev. Woodbury appeared prominently:
“Is it, or is it not true, that Rev. J. T. Woodbury, of Acton, is brother of Hon. Levi Woodbury, Secretary of the Treasury?  Is it, or is it not true, that the Hon. Secretary is fishing for the Vice-Presidency?  And is it, or is it not true, that the active abolitionism of his brother at Acton, has been deprecated as tending to injure the political prospects of the Secretary?”

The Liberator noted that such interrogatories were annoying some readers and should be used carefully.  But given the possibility of people all over the country being influenced by “certain suggestions from Boston, and Acton, and Andover,” it was a public service to answer such questions.  Under the circumstances, the reporting might not have been objective.  However, we did learn that Rev. Woodbury’s brother was indeed Levi Woodbury, who at various points was New Hampshire governor, senator, Secretary of the Navy, Secretary of the Treasury, and later, Supreme Court Justice and presidential hopeful.  (As it turns out, Rev. Woodbury had actually studied law with his brother Levi after graduating from Harvard in 1823.  He was admitted to the bar and practiced in New Hampshire before he decided to become a minister.)  The article related that Rev. Woodbury had told “an influential abolition friend – ‘I am not going to be so conspicuous in the anti-slavery cause as I have been.  My brother’s family complain that I am injuring his political prospects, and I have no idea of being in the way, by acting so prominent a part in this case’ !”  The writer seems not to have discovered the Woodburys’ brother who lived in Mississippi.  That would certainly have been mentioned in the interrogatories; another minister’s Southern connection was noted.  The article did report the discovery that Rev. Woodbury had spoken warmly about The Liberator from the pulpit in the past, so he must have “swallowed” Garrison.

One might have hoped that over time, some of the bitterness would have died down.  Rev. Woodbury continued to be involved in abolitionist activities, authoring a letter about a meeting in Concord that was published in The Liberator (Dec. 21, 1838, p. 3).   He was still involved in the Middlesex County Anti-Slavery Society in 1839; it met in his meetinghouse in Acton in July that year.  Unfortunately, on that occasion, the schism came directly to Acton.  There was dissension about whether or not men should be required to vote in political elections and, even more divisively, about the right of the women present at the meeting to vote on matters affecting the Society.  Eventually, the Society’s Secretary (Rev. J. W. Cross of Boxborough) resigned, and a walk-out followed by certain members, including Rev. Woodbury.  Evidently, they “withdrew for the purpose of forming a new Society.” (July 26, 1839, p. 3) 

Rev. Woodbury did not turn away from the cause of abolition.  His was the first name on an 1840 Acton petition for the abolition of slavery and the slave trade in the District of Columbia.  Evidently, he became an active supporter of a new abolition society that proposed to “abolish this great wrong at the ballot-box,” and he did “earnest work for the success of the party he professed to believe to be right.” (March 4, 1853, p. 3)  However, his apparently outspoken opposition to “Garrisonism” (as it was understood at the time) continued to draw ire from The Liberator. 

On July 27, 1841, Mr. Garrison and others met with the Middlesex County Anti-Slavery Society in “Chapel Hall, Acton”. (Aug. 6, 1841, p. 3)  At the meeting, four resolutions were adopted unanimously.  Along with important items (calling for the end of slavery in the District of Columbia and of laws preventing interracial marriage), a resolution passed that: “James T. Woodbury, of Acton, a professed abolitionist, and formerly among the foremost in rebuking those clergymen who refused to give any countenance to the anti-slavery movement, in refusing to read from his pulpit a notice of the quarterly meeting of this Society, has manifested toward our organization as bitter and hostile a spirit as has ever been shown by the pro-slavery clergy of the land, and identified himself, in this particular, with the feelings and wishes of southern taskmasters.”  This was surprisingly strong wording.  One can only imagine that perhaps Rev. Woodbury had been employing his considerable oratorical skills in a similar manner from the pulpit.  In 1852, The Liberator reported that the “warlike minister” had for years held up Mr. Garrison as “an infidel and a madman.”  (June 11, p.3)

Reading The Liberator was fascinating, because it yielded so much unexpected information about how the debates over abolition and other societal changes played out in Acton.   However, the reporting seems unlikely to have given us a full (or perhaps fair) picture of a minister who served in Acton for twenty years and whose departure to Milford in 1852 was at his own request, not his congregation’s.  Fletcher’s portrayal in Acton in History (pages 290-292) reveals James T. Woodbury as more of a “character” than one would expect from stories in The Liberator.  His preaching was effective despite (or perhaps because of) a lack of notes and learned references.  “Few have carried into the pulpit preparations so apparently meagre... He simply had the lawyer’s brief, a small bit of paper, which none but himself could decipher, and he with difficulty at times.”  He was a large, broad-shouldered man with a commanding presence who could modulate his voice very effectively and tap into listeners’ emotions.  He had a way with words and stories and was frank in expressing his convictions, unconcerned with whether others agreed or not.  “People gave him credit for meaning what he said, even if they did not agree with him.”

Fletcher collected anecdotes about Rev. Woodbury that are worth mentioning to round out impressions of the man.  It was said that he liked to live outside of Acton village so that “he could shout as loud as he pleased without disturbing his neighbors.”  He wore clothes considered unusual at the time and “drove his oxen through the village in a farmer’s frock, with pants in his boots.  Because he had a mind to.”  He liked the choir in his church because it was large and included women (his wife among them).  “He got tired of this all gander music when in college.”  These stories hardly fit the image of the dour cleric that one envisioned from The Liberator.

Reverend Woodbury was elected to the Massachusetts Legislature in the 1850-1851 period, evidently with the aim of obtaining financial aid to erect a monument to the memory of Acton’s minutemen who died April 19, 1775.  Evidently, his legislative colleagues were at first unenthusiastic, but a two-hour speech by Rev. Woodbury managed to tap into their patriotic emotions and secure the funding.  When the monument was dedicated on October 29, 1851, Rev. J. T. Woodbury was given the honor of being president of the day.

Having left his mark on Acton in many ways, Rev. Woodbury left for Milford, Massachusetts where he was installed as Congregational minister on July 15, 1852.   He was mentioned in The Liberator as having given a speech at a large anti-slavery meeting in Hopedale (Aug. 11, 1854, p.3) that was also attended by Sojourner Truth and Garrison allies Charles C. Burleigh and Henry C. Wright.   Rev. Woodbury served the Milford church until his death in 1861 at age 58.  As had been his wish, he was buried with his son in Woodlawn Cemetery, Acton.

From a distance of almost two centuries, the dispute between James T. Woodbury and William Lloyd Garrison seems quite unfortunate.  Though both were committed to the anti-slavery cause, other issues and personal animosities came between them.  A letter to The Liberator (signed “Saxon”) described Rev. Woodbury as “one of those strong, ruling natures, which take the lead of affairs, and mould others to their own purposes.”  (March 4, 1853, p. 3)  Regardless of what one thought of Rev. Woodbury's stances on certain issues, his conviction and his ability to influence were undeniable.  One has to think that despite their differences, William Lloyd Garrison and James T. Woodbury had that in common.

Massachusetts has been experiencing a very cold start to winter, making us think about how Acton’s former inhabitants dealt with plunging temperatures.  A century ago, the January 1918 Concord Enterprise reported the effects of “Jack Frost” on the people of Acton and surrounding towns.  Plumbers were reported to have worked “day and night and through the New Year’s holiday repairing water pipes and frozen meters.”  (Jan. 2, page 5)  In Maynard, the American Woolen Company, a large employer and landlord, utilized its “electrical thawing machine” to help where possible with the frozen pipes in 100 of its houses.  On the 16th, the paper reported that “many calls were sent in to the plumbers who were simply unable to accommodate everyone.“ (page 1)  Current Acton residents and harried plumbers might assume that the news item was just written this week.

There were people, however, who welcomed periods of deep cold.  In the era before refrigeration, ice cut from local ponds and streams could be stored away to chill perishable goods in the warmer months.  Though ice is known to have been used and stored earlier, after Frederick Tudor and Nathaniel Wyeth developed the ice industry in the early- to mid-1800s, cutting ice and using it to chill fresh food became widespread.  In the late nineteenth century, ice was no longer viewed as a luxury for the rich but as a necessity.  By 1900, most homes were able to store fresh food in an insulated wooden icebox that was lined with zinc or tin.  To supply them, the ice man would make his rounds with blocks of ice; consumers would leave a sign in the window if they needed ice that day, specifying the weight of the block they needed.  The ice man would use large ice tongs to handle it.  Where there was demand, businesses grew up.  There was considerable competition in the ice business, and most local ponds became a winter resource, Acton’s included. 

For ice harvesting to be practical, the ice had to be at least eight inches thick and preferably more, as harvesting required horses and men to be out on the ice.  Hayden Pearson’s The New England Year (1966, pages 18-20) describes the basic process, and the US Department of Agriculture's Harvesting and Storing Ice on the Farm (1928) adds many details.  When the ice was deemed to be thick enough, workers would rush to harvest it.   Snow needed to be cleared, preferably by horse power, using a board placed between the runners of two-horse sleds, angled as in modern street clearing.  After clearing, horse-drawn "plows" would groove the ice two to four inches deep.  Making sure the first line was straight was critical; some farmers used a long board lined up with stakes as a straight-edge.  For subsequent grooves, a guide attached to the plow was used to keep the lines parallel.  The plows would then create grooves at right-angles so that blocks could be produced.  (The lines needed to be quite accurate, or there would be waste and problems in stacking and packing the ice in storage.)  After the ice was scored, the sawing would begin.  Individual harvesters (sometimes including boys released from school) would hold the four-foot ice saw's crossbar and saw up-and-down along the grooves. It was hard work.  Hayden Pearson remembered from his youth aching backs and shoulders and being exposed to a miserably cold wind blowing across a pond during harvesting at zero degrees or less.

To transport the sawed ice, a channel was cut to the shore.  The blocks were then pushed through the channel with long-handled hooks.  Alternatively, sometimes the ice would be floated in long strips, and then the blocks would be separated with a saw or a splitting fork before loading. In Pearson’s case, the ice was loaded on a sled and taken to his father’s farm ice house.  In larger enterprises, the ice house might have been located near the pond or at the ice dealer’s business.  The blocks were loaded into the ice house layer by layer, covered with sawdust in between layers and surrounded by a foot of insulating hay or sawdust next to the outside walls.  A ramp was used to push the ice up higher.  Commercial ice harvesters probably used Wyeth’s labor-saving two-bladed ice “plow” and a conveyor belt operated with pulleys or a horse-powered "elevator" to load the blocks of ice and the insulating sawdust into their ice houses.  In later years, trucks and tractor engines would be used, but the essence of the process was similar to Pearson’s father’s. 

It was a tough business; ice cutters had to wait until the ice was thick enough to work on safely but get the ice harvested before a thaw.  Given how hard it is to predict the weather today, one can imagine that timing was tricky in earlier days.  In December 1898 (Dec. 29, page 8) the Concord Enterprise reported that local businessmen Tuttles, Jones and Wetherbee had grooved their ice already, but the weather turned against them, necessitating a wait for more cold.  A significant thaw or precipitation might mean that the work would be ruined.  On Jan. 2, 1896 (page 8), the Concord Junction reporter noted the ice was 9 inches thick the previous week, but now it was probably 2 inches thick and honeycombed.  Another reporter gave offense to a Hudson (MA) ice dealer by commenting that Berlin (MA) ice harvesters had managed to get ice before the thaw, but Hudson’s had not.   It was a temporary problem; a week later, South Acton news reported “Sixteen below zero on Maple street Monday morning, and the ice scare is now over.” (page 8)   Ice had become so important by that time that papers reported on ice shortages as major problems.  For example, the April  4, 1890 issue of the Acton Concord Enterprise (page 3) reported on "rising prices for ice and the rush of the speculators to obtain all they can on the lookout for an ice famine.”

The Enterprise often reported on ice cutting and the filling of ice houses at various Acton locations.  The longest-remembered operation was at Ice House Pond in East Acton where commercial ice cutting seems to have occurred from the 1880s into the 1950s, though ice demand decreased substantially after home refrigerators became common.  A large ice house was located next to the pond.  (See Tom Tidman’s history of ice cutting there and Acton Digest's Winter 1989 article about later years' harvesting at the pond, available at Jenks Library.)   Other locations for ice cutting mentioned in local newspapers were Grassy Pond, Lake Nagog, the mill pond in South Acton, and W. H. Teele’s property in West Acton (accomplished by damming Fort Pond Brook on his property in part of the wetland area now between Gates and Douglas schools).  There were undoubtedly other sources; it is estimated that there were about a dozen ice houses in town.  The newspapers mentioned ice houses belonging to Tuttles, Jones, and Wetherbee in South Acton, Freeman Robbins in East Acton, W. H. Teele, L. W. Perkins, A. F. Blanchard, and A. and O. W. Mead in West Acton, and George Greenough and W. E. Whitcomb, as well as unspecified milk dealers and the railroad (that transported milk to the city).  These owners and businesses would hire men on a contract basis to put in long, intense hours while the weather held.  For example, the February 2, 1899 Enterprise noted in West Acton that “The ice business of A. and O. W. Mead is rushing with 15 teams and 42 men.  They have been cutting about a week and the ice is very thick.” (page 8) 

Reporting usually noted the thickness and quality of the ice.  The danger to the workers was seldom mentioned.  However, in 1917, a report did mention frostbite: “Some of the best ice seen this season was hauled to the ice house of W. E. Whitcomb Saturday from Grassy pond.  It was about 14 or 15 inches thick.  Although the work was not completed filling the house, the work will be finished later.  Otto Geers of Stow, one of the drivers, froze his cheek.”  (Feb. 7, page 7)  Aside from the cold, working on ice was inherently hazardous.  In February 1908, the ice broke, sending one of the ice teams of Webb Robbins into the water.  For a while, "it seemed as if the entire outfit would go to the bottom.  The wagon was finally gotten out, but the load was a loss."  (19th, page 1).   

Coming back to the record-setting cold of December 1917-January 1918, not surprisingly, ice was harvested early and was of great quality that year, up to 27 inches thick.  The cold snap brought with it a “mysterious quake” felt during the night in South and West Acton.  (Concord Enterprise, Jan. 2, page 5)  Residents who were awakened from their sleep wondered if a powder mill or their boiler had exploded.  Later, based upon fissures found in Maynard, the noises were attributed to a “frost quake.”  The same cold froze not only residents’ water pipes  but also the apples and vegetables stored in their cellars.  A coal shortage that winter compounded people’s misery and delayed January’s school opening. 

Some took advantage of the cold to skate, play hockey or go ice fishing.  Aaron Tuttle was reported on January 23 (page 1) to have gotten “16 nice pickerel out of the mill pond.”   Others had to make concessions to conditions.  In Concord, on January 16th, a news item reported that “M. B. L. Bradford has had the lights of the Concord Curling rink cut out of the town’s electric circuit, to help save coal.  Though this cold winter has furnished perfect ice for curling, since Dec. 12, the rink has not been used once for the 8 to 10 o’clock evening play.” But even in that winter, the weather was fickle; the same column mentioned recent rain and warmth ruining the ice in the Middlesex School hockey rink (page 1).

Winter, regardless of the era, brings its own challenges.

Ads for ice dealers found in a 1902 Acton directory in the Society's collection.

There is no question that Jonathan Hosmer, builder of our 1760 Hosmer House, came from a family committed to the colonists’ side in the Revolutionary War.  Jonathan’s brother Abner and his son Jonathan died while serving the cause.  We thought it would be a simple matter to discover whether "builder" Jonathan also served.  What we discovered instead was that over the past 240 years, writers’ assumptions have created a tangle of confused identities of three generations of Jonathan Hosmers.  Trying to sort them out was daunting.

At least two major problems occur when trying to prove or disprove Revolutionary War service.  Many records have been lost, assuming they ever existed.  For example, three Acton companies went to Concord on April 19, 1775, but we do not have exact roster lists for any of them.  Members of Captain Isaac Davis’ company have been identified based on his successor John Hayward’s “Lexington Alarm” muster roll, generally thought to be fairly complete, though still not perfect.  Captain Joseph Robbins’ East Acton company was almost a complete mystery until the 1990s.  His descendants found and donated to the Acton Historical Society papers that listed those who signed up to train with Captain Robbins in 1774 and a memo written at some point that listed those who served with him in the army in 1775-1776.  (They, too, are probably not complete and do not specify those who were at the Bridge in Concord, but they certainly added enormously to what had been previously known.)  Simon Hunt’s company of April 19, 1775 is still almost completely unidentified.  Clearly, some Acton men’s service on that day (and later in the war) will never be known. 
 
In addition, and particularly relevant for this situation, the existing lists often consist only of names without identifying details.  The common practice of naming sons for fathers (or grandfathers or uncles) makes it hard for modern researchers to distinguish among them.  (See our blog post on John Swift, as one example.)  The lists sometimes included “Junr”  or “2nd”after a name, but the designation was inconsistent, even for the same man, and might change after the older generation died.

To find out if builder Jonathan Hosmer served in the war, we first had to isolate what is known and documented.

Starting with what we know:

Three Jonathan Hosmers (that we know of) lived in Acton at the beginning of the American Revolution:

1. Jonathan Hosmer, 1712-1775, often referred to as “Deacon Jonathan Hosmer,” married Martha Conant on April 25, 1734.  He and Martha had a number of sons including:
2. Jonathan Hosmer, 1734-1822.  Some, but not all, town records refer to him as a junior.  He married Submit Hunt of Concord on Jan. 31, 1760, was a farmer and mason, built the house now preserved by the Acton Historical Society, and had many children including eldest son:
3. Jonathan Hosmer, 1760-1777.  He died in service at Bennington, VT, in or around October, 1777.
   

A memorial notation on Submit (Hosmer) Barker’s gravestone in Woodlawn Cemetery says: “This in memory of Jonathan Hosmer Junr, Son of Mr Jonathan Hosmor & Mrs. Submit his wife, who died at Bennington in ye Servis of his Country In the 18th year of his age.”  Submit Barker, who died in February, 1783, was Jonathan (3)’s sister. 

Massachusetts Soldiers and Sailors in the American Revolution, a compilation done by the Secretary of the Commonwealth in the 1890s (volume 8, page 289) states that “Hosmer, Jonathan (also given Jonathan, Jr.)” was among men listed by Captain Simon Hunt on August 14, 1777 who were drafted “from train band and alarm list” (men available to go) to reinforce the Continental Army.  On its own, the parenthetical statement “also given Jonathan Jr.” is somewhat confusing.  Based on similar entries and the fact that Mass. Soldiers and Sailors only included one entry for a Jonathan Hosmer in Simon Hunt’s listing of draftees, we assume this parenthetical note was to distinguish Jonathans, rather than to suggest that two Jonathans were on the draft list.  The Massachusetts Soldiers and Sailors entry adds that Jonathan Hosmer enlisted as a Private in Capt. George Minott’s Company, Col. Samuel Bullard’s regiment, on August 16, 1777 and was discharged Oct. 1, 1777, noting compensation for nine days’ journey home.   (From the gravestone, we know that he did not make it back to Acton.)
 
Massachusetts Soldiers and Sailors also shows a separate entry for Jonathan Hosmer, called up with Captain Simon Hunt’s Acton company, March 4, 1776, to help to fortify Dorchester Heights.  His rank was Sergeant.
 
No other Revolutionary War service for a Jonathan Hosmer was found by the compilers of Massachusetts Soldiers and Sailors in the American Revolution.  (Note that their records were incomplete.  Early service in the war is particularly difficult to document; even Abner Hosmer who died at the North Bridge on April 19, 1775 is not listed.)  Compiled lists that we have of men who went from Acton to fight at Concord or Bunker Hill do not include a Jonathan Hosmer.  If one of the Acton Jonathans served in 1775, we have no proof of it.

The possibility that Deacon Jonathan Hosmer (1) served militarily in the Revolutionary War was discussed in an earlier blog post, concluding that it was unlikely and that there was no supporting evidence.  Jonathan Hosmer (3)’s war service is clear from the Woodlawn Cemetery memorial.  Acton records show that he was born September 24, 1760, and the gravestone says that he died in service in his 18th year.   This matches the military record for Jonathan Hosmer’s serving in Captain Minott’s company August 16-October 1, 1777.  As discussed above, Mass. Soldiers and Sailors makes it appear that only one Jonathan Hosmer served in that company.  (Another blog post discusses this 1777 service.)
 
Tradition in the family and town seems to have been that both Jonathan (2) and (3) served at some point in the Revolution.  In 1895, the Massachusetts Chapter of the Sons of the American Revolution marked the Acton graves of individuals that they believed had served in the Revolutionary War.  An April 18, 1895 Concord Enterprise listing and a 1901 inventory stated that both Jonathan Hosmer and Jonathan Hosmer Jr.’s graves had been marked.  Charles Bradley Stone, born in Acton to a Hosmer mother, applied to the Sons of the American Revolution as a great-grandson of Stephen Hosmer, Revolutionary War soldier.  (National SAR member #5046, application available on Ancestry.com)  In addition to describing Stephen’s service, the application states that Stephen’s brother Abner Hosmer fell at Concord and that
 
“Jonathan Hosmer his brother was also in the service and his son Jonathan Jr was killed at Bennington.  Recapitulation
My great-great grandfather Deacon Jonathan Hosmer had three sons in the service viz Sthephen [?], Jonathan & Abner and one grandson Jonathan Jr who was killed.” 
 
Unfortunately, no sources of proof of non-ancestors’ service were presented.  (Note that the list omits the service of younger brother Jonas Hosmer who moved to Walpole, NH after the war.)
 
Rev. James T. Woodbury, installed as first minister of the Evangelical Church of Acton in 1832, compiled a list of Acton Revolutionary War soldiers.  Presumably it was based upon collective memories and the few written records that he had access to; he acknowledged at the time that it was very incomplete.  Rev. James Fletcher’s Acton in History (page 263) reproduced the list, including “Jonathan Hosmer, Esq., Simon’s father, died in the army”.  Jonathan (2) was Simon’s father and actually lived until 1822; this entry combined him and his son.   Was the error simply a “typo” in Fletcher’s book?  Did Rev. Woodbury credit service to the wrong Jonathan Hosmer, or should he have included both the father Jonathan (2) and the son Jonathan (3)?  Over a century later, Harold Phalen revised the list in his own history of Acton, changing the entry to “Hosmer, Jonathan (died in Army)” (page 385).  This cleared up the conflation of the two Jonathans, but it eliminated Jonathan (2) from the service list.  (Adding more confusion, Phalen’s index entry for Jonathan Hosmer’s Revolutionary War service includes the title “Ensign & Capt.” that belonged to a later Jonathan Hosmer.)
 
Town histories are not the only source of identity confusion.  At least two hereditary society applications mentioned the 1777 service of their ancestor “Jonathan Hosmer Jr.,” private in Capt. George Minott’s company, Col. Samuel Bullard’s regiment, but gave the birth and death dates of Jonathan (2).  (Ada Isabel (Jones) Marshall, Daughters of the American Revolution member #46274, Lineage Book Vol. 47, page 126; Merton Augustine Jewett Hosmer, National Sons of the American Revolution member #73474 application, both available through Ancestry.com).  Augustine Hosmer’s entry in the 1893 Massachusetts SAR roster (page 93) cited the same service and dates for ancestor “Jonathan Hosmer.”

If we are correct that the 1777 service cited in the Massachusetts Soldiers and Sailors entry belonged only to Jonathan (3), it seems that Jonathan (2) was credited with his son's service in a number of sources.  The question remains, can we definitively show military service of Jonathan (2) separate from that of his son? 
 
It is very possible that some of Jonathan Hosmer (2)’s Revolutionary service is unrecorded, but the only actual close-to-the-time evidence that we have found is the listing of those in Captain Simon Hunt’s Acton company, March 4, 1776, called to help fortify Dorchester Heights.  Sergeant Jonathan Hosmer went with the company along with Jonathan (2)’s younger brother Stephen who served as Corporal.  Jonathan (3) would have been fifteen years old at that point.  It is possible that he could have gone with the Acton militia that day, but it is very unlikely that he would have been chosen sergeant, outranking his uncle who was twenty-one years older.  Of the information that we have, we believe that this record shows military service that belongs to Jonathan (2).
 
Unfortunately, the fact that both Jonathan (2) and Jonathan (3) were at times known as “Junior” seems to have led to confusion among those who tried to compile lists of soldiers in later years.  We have tried, very cautiously, to disentangle the various references to Jonathan Hosmer’s war service.  Much as we want answers to our questions, we can only work with the information that we have.  As research on Jonathan Hosmer has progressed, we have been reminded how critical it is to state sources and to distinguish assumptions from proof so that people after us can draw their own conclusions. 
 
We would be grateful to hear from anyone who has more information about the Hosmers’ experiences in the Revolutionary era, whether military or not.  The Hosmer family of Acton contributed and sacrificed a great deal during the Revolutionary War years, and we at the Society, caretakers of a Hosmer family home, want to make sure that they are remembered.

Here at the Acton Historical Society, part of our work is to preserve the 1760 Jonathan Hosmer House and to share it with the public.  Wrapping up our celebration of 40 years of stewardship of the house, we launched an “Out of the Ashes” exhibit to highlight the work of the amazingly far-sighted and intrepid citizens who rescued the house after arson and vandalism in the 1970s.  Some sections of the house were in terrible condition.  The pictures  displayed at the exhibit are humbling to those of us tasked with caring for the house as it is today.

As work on the exhibit progressed, we realized that not only did we need to show the work of our predecessors, but also to remind people of the many reasons that the house is a treasure worth preserving.  The house has stood through a great amount of history.  Its story in some ways is representative of Acton’s own progression from an outlying, colonial farm town with one church to a collection of villages shaped by the railroads to a busy suburban community. 

Some highlights of what we have learned about the house’s history so far:

The original house was built in 1760 by Jonathan Hosmer.  He moved in with his new wife Submit Hunt and raised seven children there.  A mason as well as a farmer, Jonathan installed plaster on the end(s) of the house and painted and scored it to look like brick.  It is not a surface that one would expect to last for centuries, but some of it was preserved by an addition and was discovered when the house was restored.  Some pieces of the original painted plaster will be on display at the exhibit. 

The Hosmer family was deeply involved in town affairs and in the colonists' cause during the Revolutionary War, a subject that is currently being researched and will require a separate blog post.  Here we will simply mention that it was a costly involvement for the family; Jonathan's brother Abner was killed at Concord in April, 1775, and Jonathan and Submit's eldest son Jonathan died in service in Bennington in October, 1777. 

The house became a two-family when youngest son Simon married and Jonathan added a second dwelling to the original house, complete with a large second kitchen.  Jonathan’s skills as a mason would have been useful in adding three more fireplaces to the original five and adding another large chimney.  Simon and his wife Sarah Whitney raised eight children in the house and lost two more.  It would have been the site of much activity. 

After almost 80 years, the farm was sold.  The new owner Rufus Holden split the property.  Hosmer children and grandchildren apparently owned at least two of the pieces.  (The Society has one of the deeds transferring land to Jonathan Hosmer’s son-in-law.)

The house itself was sold again to Francis Tuttle, a merchant who moved in with his wife Harriet Wetherbee and their youngest four daughters.  In April 1861 after the fall of Fort Sumter, the house was again the home of worried parents as their eldest son went off to war.  Captain Daniel Tuttle led the Davis Guards to join Massachusetts’ 6th Regiment that was the first to arrive in Washington fully equipped to serve after Lincoln put out the call for troops.   The Society is fortunate to own several items relating to Captain Tuttle and the Davis Guards, including the drum carried to battle by Gilman S. Hosmer, grandson of Simon.

Francis Tuttle’s children and their spouses were deeply involved in the commercial development of South Acton as the village grew after the arrival of the railroad.  The founders of the firm “Tuttles, Jones, and Wetherbee,” merchants of the Exchange Hall, were all related, and other family members were brought into the business as well.

The house sold again in 1868, this time to Edward O’Neil, a native of County Cork who worked on the Fitchburg Railroad.  He and his wife Mary Sheridan raised four children in the house.  We are currently trying to learn more about this period in the house’s history.  We do know that in 1870, the house was being used as a two-family dwelling, with the O’Neils and four children on one side and Edward’s (probable) sister Catherine (O’Neil) Waldron’s family on the other.  The O’Neils’ lives were not easy; all three of the sons died of TB.  The house passed to daughter Mary Mehegan in 1908.

Between 1908 and 1918, the house sold for $1 four times.  We are trying to discover why and to understand the relationships among the owners.  In 1918, the house was sold to George S. Todd who worked in the composing room of the Boston Globe.  For almost 100 years, the house’s attic has stored a box of paper matrices for an evening edition of the Globe from the first week of August, 1918, the week that George Todd bought the house.  We don’t know if they were a keepsake or if perhaps he used them as packing material.  Some of the pages will be on display in the upcoming exhibit.

George’s sister Ethel lived in the house with him and eventually owned the property.  The siblings took care of animals, many of whom George brought home from the city to save them from a sad fate.  George Todd had a garage built in 1922.  It became the site of an early automobile service business apparently run by a relative of the O’Neils.  Work on the Hosmer House property uncovered old car parts; a few license plates and a decorative leaded glass insert will also be on display at the exhibit.

There is much more to learn about the house and its people, both the Hosmers and the later inhabitants. The O’Neils and Todds lived on the property for about 100 years; we would like to learn more about them in order to have a complete and balanced history of the house.  We would be particularly interested in finding pictures of them and of the property while they were living there.  An auction was held at their property after Ethel Todd’s death in 1969, we would be interested in finding out what items were still in the house at that time. 

Aside from the Todds’ addition of electricity and plumbing and a few minor alterations that were reversed during the restoration, one of the unique features of the house is that it was left almost completely intact.  The house has essentially maintained its shape since 1797.  We are fortunate to be stewards of the property and to share its story.  Please visit the house and view the wonderful items from Acton’s history that it contains.  We’re always learning something new; we hope that you will, too.  If you can add to our knowledge of the property and its occupants, we would be delighted to hear from you.

While researching the Spanish American war, we found a surprising local news item in the Concord Enterprise (July 21, 1898, page 8):  “...the buildings of the American Powder Co of Acton have been under constant surveillance night and day by guards... It is said that persons supposed to be spies have been seen the last few weeks in the vicinity of the works in the night hours and it is generally supposed that Spanish spies have been around.”  The excitement seems to have abated quickly, but there was plenty of other powder mill news in Acton in that period. 

Powder had been made in Acton since the 1830s.  In the 1890s, the American Powder Mills ran a large operation at the intersection of the towns of Acton, Maynard, Sudbury and Concord.   High demand for smokeless powder led another firm to locate in Acton.  In May, 1898, the Enterprise announced that the New York and New England Titanic Smokeless Powder Company was building a plant in South Acton in John Fletcher’s pasture near Rocky Brook and Parker’s crossing on the Fitchburg railroad.  The building was to be approximately 100 x 20 feet with one story for manufacturing, and there would be a storehouse (presumably separate).  The product would be “Titanic smokeless” powder.  The paper noted, “There is but little danger in the making of this powder.” (May 19, page 8)  The firm obtained government orders, and the Fitchburg Railroad added a track to the mill site.

Open for business around the beginning of September, the company immediately realized that the installed machinery was not suitable and would have to be replaced.  The factory finally started work around the end of October.  After only a week of operation, the mill blew up.  (Nov. 3, page 8)  The cause was uncertain, but one of the men working inside noticed something was wrong with the machinery and was able to alert the others in time for everyone to escape.  Employee Dyer had to make his way out through fire, but with the help of the others, removed his burning clothing and was mostly unharmed.  The Enterprise assured the public that “The buildings were thoroughly made and everything was in first class order,” probably addressing a common question about the cause.  A previous article had mentioned that “work on the new powder mill is rushing.” (May 26, page 8)

The company rebuilt.  In fact, the Enterprise noted that the explosion had provided winter employment for a fair number of people in South Acton.  (Jan. 19, 1899, page 8]  In February, 1899, the powder mill was pronounced to be sound and ready to work.  “We wish them better luck than last time,” wrote the Enterprise (Feb. 8, page 7).  Sadly, by the end of the year, the New York & New England Titanic Smokeless Powder Company was in involuntary bankruptcy (Enterprise, Dec. 21, 1899, page 11 and Boston Sunday Globe, Dec. 17, 1899 page 21).  The machinery was sold off to people from Nashua, NH (Enterprise, Sept. 8, 1900, page 8).  We did not find out what happened to the building.

Meanwhile, the well-established American Powder mills nearby were having their own excitement.  The Concord Junction news in the January 27, 1898 Enterprise (page 5) mentioned that an explosion at the powder mill had been felt, though we could not find details or confirmation anywhere else.  In early September, 1899, the company’s “Wheel Mill No. 5” blew up, followed quickly by No. 4.  (Enterprise, Sept. 7, 1899, p. 4)  The manufacturing process involved grinding powder between two enormous wheels that were powered, by 1899, by electricity.  In this case, about five hundred pounds of powder in the two mills exploded, but fortunately there was no loss of life.  A little over a month later, it was discovered that in the very early hours of Saturday morning October 14, someone had created a 125-foot long trail of powder from the woods behind the property, along a plank walk and the railroad tracks, to “the pulverizing mill which was in operation.  The air was surcharged with powder and the slightest spark would have caused an explosion which would have blown all the surrounding buildings into atoms” along with the eight men working there.  (Enterprise, Oct. 19, 1899, p. 6)  Luckily, the powder burned out before reaching the mill.  The case was not hard to crack; a disgruntled worker’s face had been severely burned from his attempt.  Though at first he only acknowledged being in the woods and drinking, eventually he pleaded guilty. (Lowell Sun, Oct. 16, page 4 and Oct. 21, pm edition page 1; Enterprise, Oct. 19, page 6)

There really was no need for spies around Acton’s powder mills; they were dangerous enough places on their own, with malfunctioning equipment and angry workers making the risks even greater.  Though it was neither the first nor the last time Acton’s powder industry would make the news, 1898 and 1899 were interesting years.