How the Father Shaped the Son started out to be pretty boring. It wasn’t illustrated because I didn’t know what kinds of illustration would be useful or enjoyable. Initially the content came from Wikipedia, which is not the source of all my historical research, but is the easiest to reproduce. Just now I’m interested in Samuel Adams Sr. (1689-1748)  because his life and career had a profound influence on his son. Unfortunately, no portrait of him exists, at least none that I have found. He was was a prosperous merchant and a deacon of the Old South Church (or Meeting House).

Old South Church today

This church would play an important role in events leading up to the revolution, so let’s take a look. It seems to be like any other old church — of which Boston has plenty. But when you take a look inside, and learn that it could hold 5000 people (most likely not seated) you begin to be impressed:

interior of the Old South Meeting House




Besides being a staunch Puritan, Adams Sr. was a leading figure in Boston politics. He knew how to manipulate the political structure of the time; we’ll see how when we get around to exploring the son’s mastery of his father’s skills. At this point, though, I’d like to open discussion around the Land Bank of 1739.

Massachusetts was facing a serious currency shortage. Deacon Adams and his political buddies created a “land bank”, which issued paper money. All you had to do was put up land as security for the loan, and then you had what you needed to buy tools or seed or whatever. Otherwise you had to barter. (England liked keeping the colonists short of cash. I’m not sure why.)

Massachusetts wasn’t the only colony to use the idea of a land bank. Here’s a picture of a note from Connecticut:

Ben Franklin wrote a treatise on the advantage of land banks, rather than using gold or silver as the basis of currency. He showed it was more stable, less apt to depreciate and could be controlled by selling some land or purchasing more. So Land Banking wasn’t  a hair-brained scheme, but the aristocrats in Boston’s government opposed it, and the British merchants who sold their wares to colonial tradesmen on credit certainly didn’t like it because they lost the interest on their loan. Here at home it was generally supported by the citizenry and the popular party, but the court party  (the aristocrats in the Royal Governor’s circle) used its influence to have the British Parliament dissolve the land bank in 1741. Directors of the bank, including Deacon Adams, became personally liable for the currency still in circulation, payable in silver and gold.

I take this to mean that if you had some land bank bills in your possession, you could go to one of the proprietors and he would be required to refund their value in coin. Although the proprietors were pretty well off, there was only so much money they could refund, and then the lawsuits began, bankruptcies went forward, and even after Deacon Adams’s death the younger Samuel Adams would often have to defend the family estate from seizure by the government.[19] For Adams, these lawsuits were a constant personal reminder that Britain’s power over the colonies could be exercised in arbitrary and destructive ways. His second cousin, John, wrote years later that the dissolution of the bank caused a greater furor at the time than the Stamp Act did twenty five years later.

When he was graduating from Harvard with a Masters Degree in 1743, Samuel’s thesis was entitled “Whether it be lawful to resist the Supreme Magistrate, if the Commonwealth cannot be otherwise preserved”.

It’s not hard to figure out what he was thinking about.



The Diversions of Boston

When I set out to write historical novels set in colonial Boston, I found myself often diverted by discoveries of the old city that lie beneath the present one. Take for example, the old State House. 

All you’ll see in the background here are Boston’s skyscrapers.

There it is, right in the middle of everything, surrounded by tall buildings. That’s one of the nice things about this city — the unexpected presence of an artifact when you least expect it. But I am interested in showing you a diversion that amused and amazed me for some time.

A careful look reveals as background of hills.

If you look closely enough at the cover of my first colonial book, you’ll see that there are hills in the background. Rather substantial ones. These were part of what was called The Shawmut Peninsula. Today only Beacon Hill remains, but it is 40 feet lower than the Puritans found it.  A British map I located shows us the prominent position these hills played, and what interests me is the remnants. Let’s compare a section of an old, 1776 map and a more modern one.

The same downtown section


Map detail courtesy of the Norman B. Leventhall Map Center at the Boston Public Library

Two blocks “up” from the State House (circled in red) is Cambridge Street, an extension of Tremont that curves around Pemberton Hill. Even though Pemberton is no longer there, the current map shows us that its curve remains, a living reminder of what once was there. And before then —

This is the earliest sketch we have of the peninsula.

The Shawmut Peninsula was composed of a glacial deposit called a moraine. The ice moved along, pushing debris ahead of it, and when it stopped and melted, the stuff it was pushing stayed where it was. Pemberton Hill was part of the Tri-Mountain (Beacon Hill, Mount Vernon and itself). The street running in front of its highest point (Beacon Hill) became Tremont (TriMount). It’s easy to spot on the old map. The modern one has undergone a lot of “clean up” so that my point about Pemberton will make sense, and spotting Tremont Street isn’t so easy. Copps Hill and Fort Hill have histories of their own, which we may explore — some other time.






Introduction to Strictly History

History is the North Star, guiding my novels in the direction they must go. Everything else fits in around it, and I’ve found that by faithfully following what is known, fictional situations simply sprout like spring seeds in the garden.

Take this serene painting, for example. It is dated June, 1776, and presumably takes place in Philadelphia where Betsy Ross had a shop. Everyone is dressed neatly, hair combed, e220px-Betsy_Ross_1777_cph.3g09905veryone is is clean, and there is no suggestion of the disaster that would happen the following winter, when the Continental Army camped and starved and froze to death at nearby Valley Forge.The men are admiring Betsy Ross’s new flag, except for General Washington, who seems more interested in the child on his knee than in Betsy, who is showing the guys how to make a five-pointed star. All very nice, even though Betsy’s involvement with the first flag is questionable, according to Wikipedia, and a lot of people were going to get very dirty and very messy and very hungry very quickly.

.It seems that there were many different flags, representing this colony or that, this unit or that, but this one is most often associated with the Revolution itself. It was devised by Ben Franklin on the occasion of a colonial meet-up in 1750, in an attempt to get the colonies to cooperate with one another in responding to the French-Indian menace. Factional turf wars, however, prevented anything from happening. Still, the idea was a good one, and it was easily understood by everyone.

I find, however, that the actual causes of the Revolution aren’t widely understood, aside from knowing that taxation without representation was  a catchword, and that the king was a bad guy (whoever he was).

At the present writing, February 2018, few of us deny that the nation is divided and that democracy is at risk. I believe American History and Civics hasn’t been taught in our public schools for a long time, which is another risk factor. Add to it the “fly over” states whose majority  observe a fundamentalist religion that rejects new ideas — all of them — the risk climbs higher and higher.

But I think this isn’t the first time we’ve been at risk. In fact, we were at risk long before the Revolution, and only Samuel Adams appeared to see it. For all these reasons, I’m going to focus on the initial risk, which is very much like the one we face today. Now as then, it shows us what to look for (besides taxation without representation) and is uncannily similar to the news of the moment. I think you’ll find it as fascinating as I have!


Deborah Hill’s world

deb picture

I am Deborah.

I am a writer. I have issued second editions of my novels, and presume you have read or at least looked at one or the other of them — otherwise you wouldn’t be here!

But perhaps you’re interested in Early American History, too, and you know that my novels accurately recount the events of their time period. You wonder where I unearthed the details, and whether there are more I left out.

Well, of course there are. While researching, I found many tidbits that I couldn’t use in my writing, most of which are fascinating. I’ll share them here, along with gossip and the prospects that alternative history offers. Promise, I’ll label these (tidbit; gossip; alternative history).

Before I start, though, I’d like to tell you a little about myself. This is the House, my first novel, was published by Coward, McCann and Geohegan in 1975, the year of the Bi-Centennial. It was a game-changer for our little family. We’d been living on Cape Cod, but we knew it’s advantages were soon going to be undermined by gentrification. But by selling This is the House, we had the means to continue a life of simple living. We could move to Vermont.


From our wood-heated dwelling in the mountains came The House of Kingsley Merrick and after it  The Heir— written while my husband built our house around me, chopped down trees and split wood to heat it, shoveled snow in the winter and made sure the kids caught the school bus, boiled maple syrup in the spring. (You can hardly get more “Vermonty” than that).

These books, (the Kingsland Series) are based on my husband’s Cape Cod family, though by the time I reached the last one — which is really my husband’s story — I had to fictionalize a good part of it, since the originals for some of the characters were still resident in town!

One of the primary prototypes hardly needed any disguise at all. Schooner_Alice_S_Wentworth_on_starboard_tackHere’s one — the schooner Alice Wentworth, which sailed Nantucket Sound in the ’60’s. My husband and I met on board, and the impression she made on us was of life-long duration, as you will see when you read The Heir. (By the way, this photo is a part of the Mystic Seaport collection. It’s all that is left of the Wentworth, until she rose, like a phoenix from the ashes, to become the Jenny Lawrence.)

Then came The Pretender. I wanted to see if I could write a book whose characters were never real, but reacting in a plausible manner to the historical situation in which they found themselves. In this case, the Stamp Tax. And yes, I could create characters whose back-stories shaped their responses both to their day-to-day lives, as well as the political upheavals of the time, compelling them to move along a certain, almost predestined path whether they recognized it or not. Just as do you and I.

Whether we recognize it or not.

The Pretender was followed by The Hostage, and then by The Traitors, to form the Prelude Series. And that is my career as an author.

I’ll blog about the  people who inhabit my books. They populate Deborah Hill’s world, and I know them quite well. I’ll add pictures, too, or clip art, or graphics — anything that helps us to understand the times I’m writing about better.

l’ll try to be a fairly regular blogger, and if I can. If you’d like to be notified when I’ve posted an essay, let me know using the Contact Form below. And while you’re at it, any remarks you care to make, information you’d like to share, or opinions on just about anything relating to my books or the slice of American history under discussion — these would be very welcome!

Until later, then…