In 1770, Anna Green Winslow was a twelve-year-old boarding with her aunt Sarah Winslow Deming in Boston, where she had been sent to attend school by her parents. (Her father was commissary of the British forces in Nova Scotia.) She kept a journal intended for them in which she reports on her friends, dances, her studies, the weather, and fashions. Seemingly undeterred by the political turmoil around her, she nevertheless boasts about wearing homespun (a response by patriotic women to the Stamp Act) in one of her charming and newsy entries.

Feb. 21 Thursday. … I purchas’d with my aunt Deming’s leave, a very beautiful white feather hat, that is, the out side, which is a bit of white hollond with the feathers sew’d on in a most curious manner white & unsullied as the falling snow, this hat I have long been saving my money to procure for which I have let your kind allowance, Papa, lay in my aunt’s hands till this hat which I spoke for was brought home. As I am (as we say) a daughter of liberty I chuse to wear as much of our own manufactory as pocible. …

Feb. 22d.—Since about the middle of December … we have had till this week, a series of cold and stormy weather—every snow storm (of which we have had abundance) except the first, ended with rain, by which means the snow was so hardened that strong gales at N W soon turned it, & all above round to ice, which this sevennight was from one to three, four & they say, in some places, five feet thick, in the streets of this town … I have spun 30 knots of linning yarn, and (partly) new footed a pair of stockings for Lucinda [Mrs. Deming’s slave], read a part of the pilgrim’s progress, coppied part of my text journal (that if I live a few years longer, I may be able to understand it, for aunt sais, that to her, the contents as I first mark’d them, were an impenetrable secret) play’d some, tuck’d [ate heartily] a great deal (Aunt Deming says it is very true) laugh’d enough, & I tell aunt it is all human nature, if not human reason. And now, I wish my honored mamma a very good night.

You’ll find other references to homespun here and here.

This excerpt is from In the Words of Women, Chapter 1, page 21.

Although Charity Clarke was the daughter of a retired British Army captain and had visited relatives in England, she supported the American cause. Writing to a cousin in 1768, she explained her attachment to America and how she would support its bid for freedom.

… don’t think that I prefer England to America; I would not quit my woods & rivers, for all the gay amusements you abound with, you need not talk of the old story of sower [sour] grapes; I assure you the way of life that would be to me the most agreable is downright Indian; and if you English folks won’t give us the liberty we ask … I will try to gather a number of Ladies armed with spining wheels,
attended by dying swains, who shall all learn to weave, & keep sheep and will retire beyond the reach of arbitrary power; cloathed with the work of our hands & feeding on what the country affords, without any of the cares, Luxuries, or oppression of an long inhabited country, in short we will found a new arcadia; you Imagine we cannot live without your assistance, but I know we can; banish every thing but the necessaries of life; & we will want nothing but what our country will afford. We shall then be happy; no more Slaves to fashion, & ceremony; freedom can content & peace shall be our constant companions.

This excerpt is from In the Words of Women, Chapter 1, page 7. The illustration is from the Florida Center for Instructional Technology.

Abigail Crofoot Grant lived in Glastonbury, Connecticut, with her husband Azariah. Married in 1770, they already had two children when Azariah joined a local regiment on May 9, 1775, marched towards Boston, and encamped near Roxbury. He was present at the famous battle of Bunker Hill … but did he fight? In this letter, his fiercely patriotic wife wonders whether his conduct on the battlefield was “manlike.”

August the 19th A.D. 1775 Loving Husband after Love to you I would inform you that we are well through Gods mercy upon us, and through the Same Mercy I hope these Lines will find you well also. I keep writing to you again & again & never can have only one Letter from you, tho I hear by Captn Wm Riley news that makes me very Sorry, for he Says you proved a Grand Coward when the fight was at Bunkers hill & in your Surprise he reports that you threw away your Cartridges So as to escape going into the Battle. I am loath to believe it but yet I must unless you will write to me & inform me how it is. And if you are afraid pray own the truth & come home & take care of our Children & I will be Glad to Come & take your place, & never will be Called a Coward, neither will I throw away one Cartridge but exert myself bravely in so good a Cause. So hopeing you will let me know how it is, & how you do, So bidding you farewell, wishing you the best of heavens Blessings & a Safe & manlike return, subscribing myself
your Loveing wife untill Death Abigail Grant

This letter was copied by a member of Grant’s regiment and sent to an acquaintance, with the comment that Grant himself “makes a Jest of it as much as any of his Mates do. Tho he Owns & Swears it is Certainly his Wifes hand, She Certainly wrote it. …” It is unclear whether Abigail’s husband was actually guilty of cowardice.

This excerpt is from In the Words of Women, Chapter 1, page 34.

Smallpox epidemics ravaged the American troops, the Indians, and the general population because they had no immunity to the disease. (By contrast, many of the British troops and hired soldiers had been exposed to smallpox in Europe and were more likely to be immune.) Inoculation against smallpox had begun early in the eighteenth century. Doctors found that by introducing live smallpox pus into an incision, a healthy person would develop a light case of the pox, and as a result, was not likely to contract the disease. Inoculation was an option that some Americans chose. Others were suspicious and fearful of it. Lucy Flucker Knox, wife of the American General Henry Knox, decided to be inoculated for smallpox, along with their daughter Lucy. From Boston in 1777, she wrote to her husband:

Join with me my love in humble gratitude to him who hath preserved your Lucy and her sweet baby; and thus far carried them thro the small pox—no persons was ever more highly favored than I have been since it came out—but before for three days I suffered exceedingly—I have more than two hundred of them twenty in my face which is four times as many as you bid me have but believe some of them will leave a mark—Lucy has but one—and has not had an ill hour with it—both hers and mine have turned and are drying away. …

I have no glass but from the feel of my face I am almost glad you do not see it. I don’t believe I should yet get one kiss and yet the Dr. tells me it is very becoming.

This excerpt is from In the Words of Women, Chapter 6, pages 177-78.

Given the rudimentary state of medical knowledge and treatment in the mid to late eighteenth century, health was precarious and death all too familiar. Jane Mecom, the sister of Benjamin Franklin, in 1783, wrote to her niece about the losses she had experienced.

You kindly inquire after my daughter [Jane] Collas. I suppose you know she is all I have left of my twelve children; and she is not healthy; and her husband ill; sickness keeps her low, the body and mind are so connected, that if one suffers the other will suffer with it … but [I] shall go to Rhode Island state in about a week, to spend the summer, where I have spent some happy years; but the scene is much altered by the death of a most desirable grand-daughter, who left three sweet children to my care. Her husband is a very good man, but nothing can repair my loss.

Jane Mecom is one of two women represented in the blog and book whose spelling has been corrected. (See the Look Kindly on Misspellings post.) You can see why we made this decision when you look at another letter of hers, about the death of the granddaughter mentioned in the letter above. continue reading…