When Massachusetts royal governor Francis Bernard—quite unpopular in the aftermath of the Stamp Act crisis—asked Gage to post troops in Boston, Gage declined to do so on his own authority. He was quite willing to follow orders from London, but if Gage took such a step on his own, he wisely foresaw that he would become a lightning rod for criticism, both in America and among Whigs in England.4
There are also indications that Gage found himself torn—or at the very least disturbed—by the notion that he should be using troops to suppress rights that he took for granted as an Englishman. Gage was a loyal soldier of the king, but he was not a royalist. His concept of English government and what it meant to Englishmen was more in keeping with the Whig tradition of a government of Parliament and men.
Still, in letters to his superior, secretary of war Lord Barrington, Gage held to the party line. When Boston protested the garrisoning of two regiments at Castle William in Boston Harbor, Gage called it “very disagreeable News” and told Barrington, “The People there grow worse and worse, and if any thing is Rebellion in America, they seem to me in an actual State of Rebellion.” Gage was also quite derogatory in his statement that the colonials would never take decisive action—an attitude he would carry with him until the end. “I am very much of the Opinion,” Gage told Barrington in the midst of the Stamp Act crisis, “they will shrink on the Day of Trial… They are a People, who have ever been very bold in Council, but never remarkable for their Feats in Action.”5
Despite minor outbursts of colonial frustration, tensions in Massachusetts eased for a time, and in the spring of 1773, for the first time in eighteen years, Gage was granted leave to return to England. Margaret, who had never been out of North America, went with him. One of those who attended General Gage’s farewell dinner in New York was an old comrade from the days of the French and Indian War, a Virginian named George Washington, who happened to be in town enrolling his stepson at King’s College.6
From what is known, Thomas and Margaret Gage enjoyed the better part of a year in and around London, although one of Margaret’s first acts upon arriving that summer was to give birth to their seventh child, a daughter named Charlotte Margaret. Three of their children had accompanied them on the Atlantic crossing, while the three oldest offspring were already in England attending school. With all the family together and no sign that Thomas’s brother, Viscount Gage, would produce a viable heir (his seven children all died in infancy), there were strong familial and economic reasons to remain in England. Indeed, their stay might well have become permanent.
But in Gage’s absence, tea was dumped into Boston Harbor, and royal governor Thomas Hutchinson was finally driven out of office by the relentless campaign of Samuel Adams and his followers. Soon after news of the Tea Party reached London, Gage had a command audience with George III. The precise timing is uncertain, but given that Gage had been in England seven months without such a summons, it was likely made in response to the tea news. The king was livid over the action, and Gage may have overplayed his hand in asserting his readiness “to return at a day’s notice” should the conduct of the colonies warrant it. George III was impressed with Gage and soon decreed not only that Gage return to North America but also that he assume the dual role of military chieftain and royal governor of the errant province of Massachusetts.
By the time he was informed of this decision by Lord Dartmouth, Gage was likely having second thoughts. Parliament passed the punitive Boston Port Act, which he would have to enforce, shortly before his appointment as governor was formally signed on April 7, 1774. Given what Gage knew from almost twenty years of experience in North America, he found no reason to rejoice in either the bill or his appointment. In his mid-fifties, he may well have reveled in the idea of remaining in England. After a successful career, there was little in the way of fame or honor that he could hope to achieve, even if he should be successful in taming the rebel faction, and there was a high probability that if things went badly he would be seen in London as the principal scapegoat. As both the political and military leader in Massachusetts, there would be no one else to blame.
But loyal soldier that he was, Thomas Gage sailed for Boston without open complaint and, after a particularly speedy crossing on HMS Lively, arrived in Boston Harbor on Friday, May 13, 1774. Margaret Gage left England three weeks after the general’s departure and, with her brother Stephen and all but two of her children, landed first in New York to visit friends and relatives then joined her husband in Boston in mid-September. Little did she know how tumultuous her stay would be.7
BECAUSE THE BOSTON PORT ACT made Salem the new Massachusetts capital as part of Boston’s punishment, General Gage spent some of the summer of 1774 there before returning to Boston just prior to Margaret’s arrival. In late September, he sent two dispatches to Lord Dartmouth that gave a gloomy outlook for the province, highlighting the illegal convening of both the Continental Congress and the county convention that passed the Suffolk Resolves. Gage offered Dartmouth “no Prospect” of enforcing the Intolerable Acts unless “by first making a Conquest of the New-England Provinces.” The movement that the general characterized as a “Disease” was not confined to Boston, “but now it’s so universal there is no knowing where to apply a Remedy.”8
Before he heard back from Dartmouth, there was more bad news for Gage to report. “The Proceedings of the Continental Congress astonish and terrify all considerate Men,” Gage acknowledged. As for the Massachusetts Provincial Congress, Gage assured Dartmouth that he had published a proclamation condemning its latest proceedings at Cambridge. Then, in what might be described as wishful thinking, Gage suggested to Dartmouth, “People are cooler than they were, and grow Apprehensive of Consequences. The Congresses have gone greater Lengths than was expected.”9 Greater lengths than perhaps Gage expected, but Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and others had little regard for such conservative thought.
Then came the seizure by rebels of the king’s stores at Portsmouth. Ironically, Gage had almost forecast the outcome by telling Dartmouth a few days before: “Your Lordship’s Idea of disarming certain Provinces would doubtless be consistent with Prudence and Safety, but it neither is nor has been practicable without having Recourse to Force, and being Masters of the Country.”10
Given the pace of events in North America, the delay in cross-Atlantic communications between Gage and his superiors must have been maddening. Even in the fastest of circumstances, it took at least two months, and sometimes three, from the time Gage wrote a letter to London until he received a reply. A lot could happen during that interval, and Gage knew well that at a local level he was on his own. But in the broadest sense, he was also well aware that only Parliament and the king could resolve the status between mother country and colonies and either announce a reconciliation or tighten the screws of control.
“The Eyes of all are turned upon Great Britain, waiting for her Determination,” Gage told Dartmouth three weeks into the new year. He might well have stopped there, but, characteristically, he went on to say what so many from the king on down wanted to hear: “It’s the opinion of most People, if a respectable Force is seen in the Field, the most obnoxious of the Leaders seized, and a Pardon proclaimed for all other’s, that Government will come off Victorious, and with less Opposition than was expected a few Months ago.”11
It would take some months for Dartmouth’s response and his instructions in the matter to reach Gage in Boston. In the meantime, all Thomas Gage could do was suffer through an uncomfortable winter. Not until February 6, 1775, did he receive a reply to his admonitions of late September. “The state of the Province as represented in those Dispatches,” Dartmouth told Gage, “is now under consideration.” Dartmouth hoped that it would “not be many days” before he could direct a course of action in response. Waiting “with Impatience” for further letters from Gage, Dartmouth “ardently” wished for “a better prospect of the restoration of public tranquility than is held forth in those which I have already recei
ved.”12
WHILE HE WAITED FOR FURTHER instructions from London, General Gage pressed to undertake two important missions, both cloaked in secrecy. On February 22, the general gave instructions to two officers, Captain John Brown of the Fifty-Second Regiment of Foot and Ensign Henry De Berniere of the Tenth Regiment of Foot, to make a clandestine reconnaissance of rural towns west of Boston. These officers were instructed to make a sketch of the country they passed and note in particular the heights, passes, rivers, and fords as well as “advantageous spots to take post in, and capable of being made defencible.” As evidence that Gage was anticipating more than a day or two in the field, they were also instructed to record what provisions might be had off the land and from local farms, including “Forage, Straw, &c., the number of Cattle, Horses, &c., in the several Townships.”13
To travel as inconspicuously as possible through the Massachusetts countryside, these two proper British officers attempted to disguise themselves as farmers, donning “brown Clothes and reddish handkerchiefs” around their necks. Such attire was questionable, but what made the pair really stand out was that Captain Brown chose to take his servant along. When a sentry from the Fifty-Second Regiment recognized Brown as the trio was leaving Boston, the servant “bid him not to take any notice,” and they “passed unknown to Charlestown,” thinking their disguise secure.
Commenting favorably on the brick buildings of Harvard College, the “farmers” passed through Cambridge and reached Watertown, about six miles to the west. De Berniere thought their real identities “were not suspected,” but a lunch stop at Brewer’s Tavern proved otherwise. Brewer was a Whig, and while the black woman who brought their food was at first very civil, she soon excused herself to report her suspicions to her employer. When she returned, Brown tried to engage her in conversation about what “very fine country” this was, which she acknowledged, but then she warned, “And we have got brave fellows to defend it, and if you go up any higher [into the hills] you will find it is so.”
With some trepidation, the two officers and their “man” walked west toward Worcester, seeking out loyalists who could provide them with food and shelter and doing their best to avoid rebels who frequently shadowed or fell in with them. Even if they did not know the political persuasions of their hosts with certainty, the proffered choice of drink usually told them what they needed to know. If they were presented with only coffee, it raised an alarm that the house was observing the tea boycott, but if they were freely given a choice of coffee or tea, they were among loyalist friends.
Having reconnoitered Worcester—where a substantial cache of rebel arms and ammunition was stored—and the roads leading to it, they arrived on the fifth night of their journey at Buckminster’s Tavern in Framingham. To their surprise, the local militia was drilling on the village green. About an hour after Brown, De Berniere, and their servant retired to their room, the militia drew near the tavern and drilled right under their window. Whether this was meant as bluster, so that the officers might report back on the readiness of the militia, or whether it was merely a convenient spot to practice before all were dismissed to enter the tavern for rounds of drinks is debatable. In any event, the thinly disguised British officers slept there all night, and De Berniere’s report that “nobody in the house suspected us” is almost certainly not true.
From Framingham, they doubled back on a different road to sketch the lay of the land toward Sudbury and Marlborough, a long day’s walk of thirty-two miles through snow and muddy roads. Once again, their identities and purpose seemed well known as rebels made one excuse or another to follow them or bump into them. By the time they returned to Boston after seven nights on the road, about the only person who failed to recognize them for what they were was General Gage, who happened to be walking on Boston Neck as they came into town.14
BEFORE BROWN AND DE BERNIERE returned, and before receiving any additional instructions from London, General Gage nonetheless dispatched a second mission of even greater importance, continuing his attempts to seize powder and arms from the rebels. To date, he had not been very successful. Though his troops had reclaimed two field pieces in nearby Cambridge the previous September, his attempts to secure the king’s stores at Newport, Rhode Island, and Portsmouth, New Hampshire, had failed. Now, in the last week of February 1775, Gage focused on nearby Salem, Massachusetts, and a cache of cannon barrels that rebels were in the process of mounting on gun carriages for use on land as field guns.
The cannons were twelve-pounders thought to have originally belonged to the French in Nova Scotia during the French and Indian War. David Mason, a colonel in the local militia, reportedly purchased at least twelve and perhaps as many as seventeen of the pieces from Salem merchant and seafarer Richard Derby. Mason’s wife and daughters were busy sewing flannel cartridges to hold gunpowder.
Gage ordered Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Leslie and about 240 men of the Sixty-Fourth Regiment of Foot to sail the fifteen miles from Boston to Marblehead and then march on nearby Salem. Well aware that the rebels’ intelligence network in Boston might detect such a movement and again send Paul Revere galloping to spread an alarm, Gage used troops that were quartered at Castle William in Boston Harbor and not in the town proper. They could be embarked more stealthily, and two hours after sunset on Saturday, February 25, they were.
About noon the following day—a Sunday, when the pious of New England could be expected to be focused on church—a transport, “apparently manned as usual,” according to the Essex Gazette, arrived at Marblehead, about four miles south of Salem. Somewhere between two and three o’clock that afternoon, as soon as most people had gone back to afternoon church services, the decks of the transport were suddenly covered with soldiers, “who having loaded and fixed their Bayonets, landed with great Dispatch; and instantly marched off.”15
Certain men with sharp eyes who were not in church suspected Leslie’s destination and sped word to Salem in advance of his column. A youngster named William Gavett later remembered, “My father came home from church rather sooner than usual, which attracted my notice, and said to my mother, ‘The reg’lars are come and are marching as fast as they can towards the Northfields bridge.’ ” Telling his wife to keep the children indoors, Jonathan Gavett then stepped into his front yard in time to see Leslie’s troops march past. His minister from the nearby First Meeting House, Thomas Barnard, soon joined Gavett, and together they followed the force through town. Meanwhile, David Mason, the colonel of the militia, had also received word of Leslie’s approach and burst into the North Meeting House to interrupt the service with a similar shout: “The reg’lars are coming after the guns and are now near Malloon’s Mills!”16
There is some evidence, however, that Colonel Leslie was not yet sure of the location of the cache of cannon barrels. Coming into Salem from the south, his line of march crossed the inlet of the South River at Malloon’s Mills via a drawbridge and reached the courthouse square. His advance guard turned eastward, toward the town’s long wharf—perhaps as a diversion, perhaps to seek information—while Leslie paused in front of the courthouse and sought a local informant.
John Sargent, a well-known Tory and half brother of the local mandamus councilor, appeared and “was very soon whispering in the Colonel’s Ear.” When they parted, Leslie led his troops onward through town and past the North Meeting House to another bridge, this one spanning the inlet of the North River that led to the North Fields section of town. The column boldly started across the long bridge only to discover that the drawbridge portion was in the raised position, exposing a deep, watery chasm of some forty feet. The bridge was clearly under the control of a group of townspeople on the opposite (northern) shore who had raised the span to stop the troops in their march. Some people on that side even climbed to the top of the raised span with the help of the chains that held it. As many as could fit defiantly perched there like hens at roost.
The Essex Gazette initially reported that Leslie “ordered an Officer to face h
is Company to the Body of Men standing on a Wharf on the other Side of the Draw-Bridge, and fire.” A Salem man, by some accounts the Reverend Barnard and by other accounts a militia captain named John Felt, immediately intervened and told Leslie he had no right to fire without further orders, “and if you do fire (said he) you will be all dead Men.”17
A week later, the Gazette noted there was some question as to whether or not Leslie had given a specific order to face and fire or been prevented from doing so by locals. “There was no Intention to detract from Col. Leslie’s Courage, Honour or Prudence,” the newspaper’s proprietors wrote in response, but the end result was still the same: “The Company neither fired or faced.”18
Meanwhile, locals scuttled three large gondolas on the riverbank that might have been used to ferry troops across. While Joseph Whicher, the foreman of the nearby Sprague’s Distillery, was directing the sinking of the distillery’s own gondola, a party of some twenty soldiers swarmed aboard it and ordered Whicher to cease and desist at the points of their bayonets. Whicher reportedly opened his shirt in defiance and “dared them to strike,” which one did, with a gentle jab that nonetheless drew some blood. Whicher bragged about it the rest of his life.19
Seeing the squabble in the sinking gondola, Leslie withdrew to the center of his command and held a brief council with his officers. Whether he cautioned them against an unauthorized errant shot is unknown but likely. Most of the townspeople for the moment appeared unarmed, and Leslie did not want another Boston Massacre incident on his hands. Instead, the colonel advanced again to the open span and made one more appeal to the crowd. “I am determined to pass over this bridge before I return to Boston,” Leslie declared—“[even] if I remain here until next autumn.” That was an empty enough threat, but then Leslie announced that he would seize barracks for his troops in two nearby stores until the bridge was lowered. Most in Salem did not want such permanent company.
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