Loyalty

The question of loyalty concerned all New Englanders as political tensions worsened between the colonies and Great Britain. While most New England colonists supported America’s right to self-governance, many remained conflicted about the prospect of a civil war, and a vocal minority made it clear they would continue to support the Crown’s authority. 

Discussion and debates over loyalty took place not only in taverns, churches, and meetinghouses, but also in the home. Families found themselves on opposite sides of the conflict, leading to separation and heartbreak. Meanwhile, enslaved members of households broke their involuntary bonds of servitude to enlist in the army and gain their freedom. The objects in this gallery explore the various meanings of loyalty during the American Revolution and show how colonists navigated a new political landscape. 

Jonathan Sayward

Jonathan Sayward (1713-1797) enjoyed a genteel life in York, Maine, occupying roles in local government and representing York in the Massachusetts House of Representatives. He came under fire in 1768 after voting to rescind a letter circulated by his fellow representatives to other colonial legislatures asking them to join the protest against British Parliament.

In his diary, Sayward warned that agitating Britain “would bring the full weight of ministerial vengeance on this province.” While he personally disagreed with Parliament’s actions, Sayward wished to avoid a civil war. He was also distressed by the escalating violence of the Sons of Liberty, who mobbed anyone they viewed as a Loyalist —including him.

After war broke out, Sayward suffered numerous blows, including “loss of trade,” “the scorn of the abject slight of friends,” and “all my offices . . . taken from me.” Confined to his home in York (Historic New England’s Sayward-Wheeler House), Sayward watched in disbelief as America became an independent nation. “It’s all beyond my depth, I am lost in wonder,” he wrote in July 1776.

Behind the Exhibition

The people who witnessed and participated in the American Revolution are often viewed through a series of binaries: American/British or Patriot/Loyalist, just to name a few. Yet, in eighteenth-century New England—as in the rest of the colonies—such lines were not as neatly drawn. American colonists were British subjects, not only in custom and culture, but in their political identities. Declaring independence and going to war with Britain because of disputes over taxes and governance was, for many New Englanders, a worrisome idea. Yet, as revolutionary sentiments continued to grow among the colonists, those who resided somewhere in the middle of the partisan spectrum were not always able to remain neutral. It was often the case that anyone who registered their opposition to the work of the Sons of Liberty and the Provincial Congress was branded as a Loyalist and had their lives derailed or even destroyed. Almost overnight, a well-respected member of a community could become an enemy of the state.

Such was the case with Jonathan Sayward (1713-1797), a mariner and trader who held prominent political positions in his town of York, Maine, and served as the representative from York to the General Court. Sayward was also a veteran of the Seven Years’ War who took part in the Siege of Louisbourg in 1744. Jonathan Sayward’s diary (held by the American Antiquarian Society) and household furnishings at Historic New England’s Sayward-Wheeler House in York help us tell the story of a successful entrepreneur and respectable government official who lost almost everything because of his political sympathies. His experience of persecution at the hands of his fellow colonists provides a different perspective on the American Revolution.

Prince and Dinah's Story

Prince (1749-1789) was one of three identified men enslaved by Jonathan Sayward in York, Maine, along with Cato and Boneto. In 1780, at the age of thirty-one, Prince married Dinah, an enslaved woman who worked at the nearby Robert Rose Tavern. The following year, Prince enlisted in the Continental Army. He purchased his freedom from Sayward with support from unknown individuals referred to as “the Friends of Prince Sayward.” Prince served in the 7th Massachusetts Regiment as a waiter (personal servant) to Major Samuel Darby.

After the war, Prince returned to York and lived with Dinah until his death of consumption in 1789. Dinah never remarried, and in 1836, she applied for a widow’s pension under the name Dinah Prince.

The application included statements from Nathaniel Donnell and Olive Harmon, members of the community, testifying to Dinah and Prince’s marriage and to Prince’s service. Dinah signed these papers with her mark, the only surviving documentation she left behind. She received her pension in 1838, at age 90.

The Otis Familty

Among the calls for American independence, some of the loudest voices belonged to the prominent Otis family of Boston. James Otis Jr. (1725-1783) was one of the earliest colonial legislators to protest British Parliament, and his brother, Samuel Allyne Otis (1740-1814), became the first Secretary of the US Senate. Their sister Mercy Otis Warren (1728-1814) was a playwright and poet who infused her writings with political messages.  

Samuel and James Otis each married into wealthy merchant families and their wives, Elizabeth Gray (1746- 1779) and Ruth Cunningham (1729- 1789), were Loyalists. Samuel and Elizabeth’s marriage suffered as Elizabeth mourned the loss of family and friends who fled to England during the war. Despite the divided loyalties of their respective families, Samuel and Elizabeth Otis had what appeared to be a loving and affectionate marriage. In a letter to his father-in-law Harrison Gray, Otis wrote about his late wife: “As she lived a saint, she died an Angel.”  

By contrast, James Otis and Ruth Cunningham Otis endured a bitterly unhappy marriage by all accounts. James Otis fought for American independence while his wife supported the colonies remaining under British rule. Their children were equally divided. The discord between James and Ruth Otis was known to many, including John Adams, who recalled Otis describing his wife as “a good wife, too good for him – but she was a tory, a high Tory.” Mercy Otis Warren was less charitable. In one letter to a friend, she called her sister-in-law a “Weak, Infatuated Woman who has heretofore Brought innumerable Difficulties upon her own Family.” If Ruth Otis wrote about the revolution or her husband, those letters remain undiscovered. James Otis died unexpectedly of a lightning strike in 1783, and Ruth Otis lived to see America become an independent nation. 

Behind the Exhibition

The question of loyalty concerned all New Englanders as political tensions worsened between the colonies and Great Britain. While most White New England colonists supported America’s right to self-governance, many remained ambivalent about the prospect of a civil war, and a vocal minority made it clear they would continue to support the Crown’s authority.  Discussion and debates over loyalty took place not only in taverns, churches, and meetinghouses, but also in the home. Families found themselves on opposite sides of the conflict, leading to separation and heartbreak.

Such was the case with the Otis family of Boston, whose members were among the strongest advocates for revolution. James Otis Jr. (1725-1783) was one of the earliest colonial legislators to protest British Parliament, and his brother, Samuel Allyne Otis (1740-1814), became the first Secretary of the United States Senate. Their sister Mercy Otis Warren (1728-1814) was a playwright and poet who infused her writings with political messages.

Samuel and James Otis each married into wealthy merchant families and their wives, Elizabeth Gray (1746-1779) and Ruth Cunningham (1729-1789), were Loyalists. Myth and Memory: Stories of the American Revolution provides a glimpse into their domestic lives through objects made for their homes, in addition to correspondence with their families and friends. As the exhibition shows, the fine and fragile materials of porcelain, canvas, and paper reflected the equally fragile bonds holding these people together, bonds that were frayed or broken throughout the course of the American Revolution.

This soup tureen belonged to Samuel Allyne Otis (1740-1814) and Elizabeth Gray (1746-1779), whose harmonious household was disrupted by the American Revolution. Elizabeth felt torn between loyalty to her husband and her Loyalist father Harrison Gray, a merchant and former Treasurer of Massachusetts who departed for London in exile along with her siblings in 1776. He was her only living parent, her mother having died in 1766.

Elizabeth’s letters to her father, in the collection of the Massachusetts Historical Society, are filled with sadness and their parting.

On June 29, 1776, she wrote:

“Although I see no great probability this will ever reach you, yet I cannot let the opportunity pass without a few lines. It’s not in the power of words to express how much I have suffered for you and the rest of my dear friends since you left Boston, having never received any Intelligence from Halifax, till yesterday. A few lines from Mrs. Hughes informs me you are with my Brother and Sister embarked for London May 12th. Hard is my fate to be thus separated from the tenderest, the best of Parents. . . You may well suppose the Town wears a gloomy appearance to me who has lost so many dear connections. . . I had no other Inducement to return to it, but account of the little folks, who were destitute of Schools when in the country.” 

Elizabeth writes of a fractured community, nearly half of whom had fled the city after the Siege of Boston. Her heartbreak grew heavier with each letter to her father, who had yet to respond, either due to his travels or because their letters might be intercepted.

On August 15, 1776:

“My dear papa I must entreat, if there is any possible way of conveying a line, you would improve it, and tell me weather you think there is the least probability of our ever meeting again on Earth. I own I sometimes indulge the pleasing hope, however slender the foundation. As I ever make it a rule not to say anything upon political matters, you will not expect anything in that way now. I have many things to say in the domestic way, but as I know not whose hands this may fall into I forbear. . . My good partner with the little folks joins me in duty and Love. I wish you would not mention anything in the political way, as it may be a means of my not seeing it.” 

Elizabeth never reunited with her family, dying of illness in 1779. Samuel Otis had the unhappy task of informing his father-in-law, who responded to the news with shared grief and poignant sympathy:

“The tenderness and affection you had for my dear child, make you stand high in my Estimation, notwithstanding we widely differ in our political principles.” (April 25, 1779)

Despite the divided loyalties of their respective families, Samuel and Elizabeth had what appeared to be a loving and affectionate marriage. In his letter to Harrison Gray, Otis wrote: “As she lived a saint, she died an Angel.”

By contrast, James Otis and Ruth Cunningham Otis endured a bitterly unhappy marriage by all accounts. Otis was a brilliant attorney who historians believe may have suffered from bipolar disorder. As described by John Adams in his diary (August 1771): “Mr. Otis’s Gestures and Motions are very whimsical, his Imagination is disturbed—his Passions all roiled.”

Otis’s behavior became increasingly erratic during the 1770s, leading him to all but retire from public life. While his revolutionary opinions were widely disseminated, his wife, Ruth Cunningham Otis, was vocally in support of the colonies remaining under British rule. Their children were equally divided: Elizabeth Otis (1757-1839) married British lieutenant Leonard Brown in 1776, and they spent the war in England. Her father effectively disowned her, but her grandfather, James Otis Sr., left her an inheritance when he died in 1778. Their other daughter, Mary Otis (1756-1807), supported the revolutionary cause and later married the son of Continental Army General Benjamin Lincoln. Their son, James Otis III (1755-1779), fought in the war and died in British captivity in 1777.

The discord between James and Ruth Otis was apparently known to many, including Mercy Otis Warren and her friend Hannah Winthrop, wife of Harvard professor John Winthrop. They each supported a boycott of British goods to protest the Townshend Act levied by Parliament, but Ruth Otis was against such a move. In 1769, Hannah Winthrop shared an unsympathetic description of Warren’s sister-in-law, possibly embellished for the sake of domestic drama:

“I went to see Mrs. Otis the other day. She seems not to be in a good state of health. I received a Visit lately from Master Jemmy [James Otis III]. I will give you an anecdote of him. A gentleman telling him what a Fine lady his mama is & he hoped he would be a good Boy & behave exceeding well to her, my young Master gave this spirited answer, I know my Mama is a fine Lady, but she would be a much finer if she was a Daughter of Liberty.”

In a diary entry from January 16, 1770, John Adams recalled meeting with James Otis and feeling shocked by his behavior: “Otis is in Confusion yet. He looses himself. He rambles and wanders like a Ship without an Helm.” In the midst of what may have been a manic episode, Otis told Adams about his wife: “[Otis] said she was a good Wife, too good for him-but she was a tory, an high Tory. She gave him such Curtain Lectures, &c.”

Mercy Otis Warren was less charitable. In one letter to a friend in January 1776, she called Ruth a “Weak, Infatuated Woman who has heretofore Brought innumerable Difficulties upon her own Family.”

We have no firsthand accounts of Ruth’s own thoughts and feelings; if she wrote about the revolution or her husband, those letters remain undiscovered. Her life is refracted through the lens of those whose contributions to American independence have been preserved and sanctified.

James Otis died unexpectedly of a lightning strike in 1783, and Ruth lived to see America become an independent nation.

Written by Erica Lome, Curator of Collections

Through the Looking Glass

By its history, this extraordinary looking glass belonged to John Cogswell (1738-1818) and his wife Abigail Gooding (1740-1782). After the British Army evacuated Boston in 1776, a newly formed committee under the Massachusetts House of Representatives began to seize and auction the contents of estates abandoned by Loyalists. John and Abigail attended one of these auctions and purchased this looking glass, which descended in the family.

The size and style of this looking glass, with its mirror glass paneling, makes it a rare and uncommon survival from colonial New England.

Throughout its history, the looking glass underwent numerous rounds of conservation treatment. The original reflective surface, made with tin-mercury amalgam, was re-silvered in the nineteenth century. Several of the mirrored border panels were repaired and the bottom central mirror pane was replaced.

Further testing and analysis suggests the looking glass was made in Europe, probably Germany, in the mid-eighteenth century. Its original owner was likely someone with tremendous wealth and influence to transport such a fragile and expensive item to America.

Behind the Exhibition

In part 1, Curator of Collections Erica Lome investigates an eighteenth-century looking glass that posed a mystery of provenance and politics.

Last year, I was approached by a donor who had an extraordinary object in her home: a large looking glass with a scrolled and etched mirrored frame. The central portion is composed of two large sheets of mirror with a one-inch bevel (slanted edge) around the perimeter. This is typical of mid-eighteenth-century looking glasses, or what is commonly referred to as the Queen Anne style (ca.1740-60).

This piece instantly drew my curiosity, for a few reasons. Foremost was its magnificent size and elegant details, such as the leaf and floral engravings along the twelve mirrored and scalloped sections of the frame. I wondered if it was made in Venice, Italy, where specialized glassmakers in Murano had produced highly coveted looking glasses since the fifteenth century. Perhaps it was British and made in the Venetian style?

From the Conservator's Notebook

Treatment of the Looking Glass involved a lot of looking, testing and thinking. The looking glass is very heavy and has fallen off the wall several times, which consequently has led to many campaigns of treatment over the years. Several of the mirrored border panels have been severely broken and repaired with various adhesives that have yellowed significantly, the bottom central mirror pane has been replaced, and staples were added around the perimeter to provide extra support to the glass border panels.

When the looking glass arrived at Historic New England, two of the 12 border panels were detached, and several were loose. The two detached panels had unsightly gaps in the silvering material due to adhesives used during previous treatments. The goal of this treatment was to stabilize the mirror for exhibit while maintaining the visual evidence of its age and life story. Based on all our analysis, and communication with decorative arts experts, we have concluded this mirror is likely manufactured in Germany in the 18th century.

The goals of the treatment were to:
1) Try to determine age and origin of the looking glass (is the memory a myth?)
2) Spot test for mercury/silver
PXRF test confirmed silver

Testing revealed that the mirroring was silver, not a mercury-tin amalgam. The process of silvering mirrors was not invented until 1835, and didn’t become popular until the late 1850’s. This means that either the mirror was not produced until after 1835, or it could have been produced pre-revolutionary war and was stripped of its mercury-tin amalgam and silvered at some point in time. This is what we believe happened.

Analysis of wood sample. A paper-thin sliver of wood was examined through a microscope by an expert and identified as basswood, or lime as it is called in Europe. This wood was commonly used in European (non-English) furniture during the 18th century and helps us to confirm the attribution of the mirror as German/Austrian.

3) Stabilize the flaking mirroring on the detached panels.

4) Reattach and stabilize the mirrored frame panels so that the object can hang in the exhibition.

Since we believe the mirror was re-silvered in the late 19th c, we do not know how the mirrored glass panels were originally attached to the basswood frame. After the mirror was silvered, a thin layer of adhesive soaked gauze was placed between the mirrored glass panels and the wood frame to adhere the parts together. We have never seen this method of attachment before. Overtime, this adhesive became brittle and compounded by the heavy looking glass falling off the wall, several panes of glass broke or became detached.

The detached and lifting flakes of silvering were carefully removed from the wood frame and readhered to the back of the glass in the spots they came from using a clear, conservation grade adhesive and a small heated iron.

To secure the loose panels back onto the wooden frame, a mechanical attachment method was used instead of adhesive. For the outer perimeter, the adhesive holding the staples was severely yellowed and the metal was dark in color. Modifications were made to improve the look of the staples with acrylic paint and the yellowed adhesive was replaced with a clear, removable conservation adhesive.

Making discrete but strong mechanical fasteners for the mirror panels to remain securely fastened to the wood frame with out the use of adhesive under the mirroring (which caused previous damage ) involved many materials test, or mock-ups) to find the most stable and unobtrusive methods.

On the inside edge of the border, U-shaped brackets were devised out of ¾ inch strips of lead that slip above and below the glass and wooden frame. The lead was colored with silver gilding along the top and black acrylic paint along the sides. After shaping the lead to the correct size and toning, the bracket was adhered to the inside edge using conservation adhesive.

Improve the appearance of the mirror

Remove yellowed hot glue on staples and replace with clear conservation adhesive
Tone edges of staples.
Trace detached panels and cut mylar to shape. Coat mylar with aluminum leaf and tone to match silvering.
Place “silvered” mylar to fit between mirrored glass and wood frame to fill losses yet be completely removable.

After all the stabilization of the existing silvering on the loose panels was complete, there were many areas where the silvering was missing, creating black spots and a very irregular appearance.

More mock-ups were made, this time using aluminum leaf (instead of silver leaf that would tarnish) applied to thin sheets of Mylar that could be inserted between the wood frame and the mirrored panels to “fill in “ the missing mirroring, without adding any materials that cant be easily removed.

A template was made of the shape of the glass panel, with holes cut out where old adhesive retained original silvering

The Mylar sheet was precisely cut and “gilded” with aluminum leaf.

Panel with gilded mylar inserted and secured in place with staples.