Cover image for Divided loyalties : how the American Revolution came to New York
Divided loyalties : how the American Revolution came to New York
Ketchum, Richard M., 1922-2012.
First edition.
Publication Information:
New York : Henry Holt, 2002.
Physical Description:
xiv, 447 pages : illustrations, portraits ; 25 cm
General Note:
"A John Macrae book."
Electronic Access:
Publisher description
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E263.N6 K48 2002 Adult Non-Fiction Non-Fiction Area
E263.N6 K48 2002 Adult Non-Fiction Open Shelf
E263.N6 K48 2002 Adult Non-Fiction Open Shelf

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Before the Civil War splintered the young country, there was another conflict that divided friends and family-the Revolutionary War

Prior to the French and Indian War, the British government had taken little interest in their expanding American empire. Years of neglect had allowed America's fledgling democracy to gain power, but by 1760 America had become the biggest and fastest-growing part of the British economy, and the mother country required tribute.

When the Revolution came to New York City, it tore apart a community that was already riven by deep-seated family, political, religious, and economic antagonisms. Focusing on a number of individuals, Divided Loyalties describes their response to increasingly drastic actions taken in London by a succession of the king's ministers, which finally forced people to take sides and decide whether they would continue their loyalty to Great Britain and the king, or cast their lot with the American insurgents.

Using fascinating detail to draw us into history's narrative, Richard M. Ketchum explains why New Yorkers with similar life experiences-even members of the same family-chose different sides when the war erupted.

Author Notes

Richard M. Ketchum was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania on March 15, 1922. He received a degree in American history from Yale University in 1943. After college, he served as commander of a Navy submarine chaser in the Atlantic. He owned an advertising agency until 1951, when he joined the United States Information Agency, eventually becoming director of overseas publications. He was hired by American Heritage in 1956 and co-founded Country Journal, where he also served as editor. He wrote several history books including Decisive Day: The Battle for Bunker Hill, Saratoga: Turning Point of America's Revolutionary War, and The Borrowed Years, 1938-1941. He died on January 12, 2012 at the age of 89.

(Bowker Author Biography)

Reviews 3

Booklist Review

Already acclaimed for his accounts of the clashes of British and American soldiers on the battlefields of Bunker Hill, Trenton, and Saratoga, Ketchum here probes a far more complex and confusing revolutionary conflict--one pitting American against American within the colonial city of New York. Excerpts from correspondence, diaries, and other contemporary sources illuminate how in just a couple of decades a prosperous city united in allegiance to the British Crown fissured into Tory, revolutionary, and ambivalent fragments, so sundering families and destroying friendships. This transformation, Ketchum shows, reflected political and economic dynamics much larger than New York, as George III and his ministers repeatedly mishandled their newly enlarged empire. But the strength of the narrative lies in the personal stories of individual men and women forced to choose sides in an unexpected civil war. In the interwoven dramas of two prominent New York families--the Livingstons and the De Lanceys--readers see on a small scale how this war strained and broke even the intimate ties of love and faith. As a much needed corrective to the melodramas of patriotic pageantry, this book will give readers a new appreciation for the humanity on both sides of America's divisive war of independence. --Bryce Christensen

Publisher's Weekly Review

In this magnificent new book, Ketchum (Decisive Days, etc.) shows the falsity of traditional accounts of the Revolution depicting colonies united against a detested oppressor by focusing on one colony's agonizing decision to enter the fray. While Robert Walpole was Britain's prime minister, he pursued a policy of "salutary neglect" he avoided war, kept taxes low and encouraged trade. Walpole's policy allowed the American colonies to prosper and to believe they were the masters of their own destiny. When George III ascended the throne in 1760, however, things changed dramatically. He led the colonists in wars against the French and Indians, and he imposed numerous taxes on goods the colonies exported and imported. For 15 years, unrest grew in the New York colony, and loyalties were divided; as much as one-third of the colony, the author says, remained loyal to the king. Ketchum puts a human face on the conflict by focusing on two families, the Delanceys and the Livingstons. Both families were prosperous landowners. But as tensions rose, the Delanceys moved to England, while the Livingstons joined the Sons of Liberty and encouraged revolt against the throne. Ketchum captures the prosperity of the New York colony, as well as its inhabitants' confusion about which side they should join. His lively narrative offers readers insights into the tension, fear, patriotism and loyalty that marked the beginnings of the American Revolution. 28 b&w illus. not seen by PW. (Oct.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

Library Journal Review

When we think of America and the Civil War, we usually think of the blue and the gray. But as historian Ketchum (The Winter Soldiers) points out in his newest book, America's first Civil War occurred nearly a century earlier. Ketchum uses New York City as the backdrop to describe the events that ultimately led to war, beginning with British Prime Minister Walpole's policy of "salutary neglect" (i.e., the Colonies were best served by avoiding war, encouraging trade, and keeping taxes low) to George III's efforts to tax the Colonies to pay war debts and his rejection of a final peace proposal in 1775. Ketchum uses two prominent New York families, the DeLanceys and the Livingstons, one with loyalist tendencies and the other patriotic, to illustrate the complex issues that not only divided the country but split families and set neighbor against neighbor. Ketchum's narrative style and frequent use of firsthand accounts makes for easy reading and brings the participants to life. What results is a good companion to Schecter's The Battle for New York, since Schecter essentially picks up where Ketchum leaves off, on the eve of war, and describes the struggles of the British to hold on to New York City. Ketchum's book also includes an appendix of the principal characters. Recommended for medium to large public libraries. (Index not seen.) Schecter, a professional writer and historian, makes the case for New York City's being the strategic axis around which the Revolutionary War revolved. Schecter shows again and again how Great Britain's desire to hold New York City cost it the war effort, beginning with Gen. William Howe's slow invasion, in which he missed several opportunities to trap Washington in favor of securing the city, and ending with Gen. Henry Clinton's failure to reinforce Cornwallis because of his apprehensions about a possible attack on the city. The easy narrative style is enhanced by numerous quotes, allowing the actual players to tell their part of the story. This book is of special interest to those who live in and around New York, as it includes details about the fortifications of the two armies complete with references to current locations in the city and a walking tour. Well researched and written, this book is recommended for libraries in the New York area and those with comprehensive American Revolution collections.-Robert K. Flatley, Frostburg State Univ. Libs., MD (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.



A Most Splendid Town Long before they came in sight of land, European passengers bound for New York were greeted with the sweet scent of the continent's lush vegetation. Rounding Sandy Hook and heading for the harbor, they sailed through the Narrows between Staten Island and Brooklyn, up past the forested shores of New York Bay, and got their first, distant view of the settlement at the southern extremity of Manhattan Island. What they saw appeared to be no more than a village, surrounded by trees and open fields, but it was an experience few visitors forgot. It was "the most splendid Town in North America," according to one traveler, and few could argue with that. In surroundings of striking natural beauty, what had begun life as a tiny outpost of Holland's commercial empire was still, after 136 years, surprisingly small and compact-something like two thousand houses and a population of about twelve thousand. The last of four great Pleistocene ice sheets that had blanketed Canada and the northeast deposited drifts of clay and sandy gravel up to one hundred feet deep across much of southern Manhattan. Where the ice stopped, as the glacier began to melt and withdraw, a terminal moraine, or accumulation of glacial debris, was left behind at either side of the Narrows, extending in a sinuous ridge from Staten Island across western Long Island. Washed by two rivers and the ebb and flow of Atlantic tides, Manhattan had the magical, beckoning quality of all islands, but to most Dutch and its later occupants, the English, it was perceived less in spiritual than in physical terms. In addition to a central location among the colonies that were strung out along the Atlantic coastline, it possessed unparalleled access to the interior by way of the Hudson River. More important, Manhattan was blessed with a world-class deepwater port, protected by the Narrows and New York Bay, and was on the way to becoming the most important trading center in North America. Except for a handful of native hangers-on, most of the people regarded as savages were long gone, off on the frontier somewhere along with the bears, wolves, cougars, and other wild creatures that had once made their home on what the Indians called Manahata. The settlement had grown beyond the original Dutch wall erected to keep out the Indians and beyond the later palisaded barricade built across the island in 1745 by panicky residents as protection against possible invasion by the French, yet it was still a small provincial town, a community in which virtually everything was within easy walking distance, and where just about everybody was a neighbor. The most tangible symbol of the British crown's presence was Fort George, perched on rocks at the southern tip of the island. Built by the Dutch about 1614, it had borne nine different names since that time and in the 1760s was in a state of advancing decrepitude. Despite its ruinous condition, it was the city's social and official center, since the royally appointed governor resided in a house inside the open rectangle, protected by ramparts of the Grand Battery. Behind this bulwark of a hundred ancient naval guns mounted on small wheels, the skyline bristled with church spires and the cupola and flag of City Hall. Houses clustered along and behind the waterfront, and beyond them were low-lying hills and woods. The island was fourteen and a half miles long and ranged in width from half a mile to two and a half miles or-as men tended to figure it in those days-two hours by cart from north to south, an hour's walk from east to west. But the city proper was only a mile long and no more than half that in width, which was a godsend to everyone involved in trade. In a day when nearly all business was conducted on foot or by horse-drawn vehicles, a visitor remarked that "the Cartage in Town from one part to another does not at a Medium exceed one-quarter of a mile. [This] prodigious advantage ... facilitates and expedites the lading and unlading of Ships and Boats, saves Time and Labour, and is attended with Innumerable Conveniences to its inhabitants." Manhattan's insularity was further intensified by problems of communication. Letters, news, and official documents traveled only as rapidly as a man on foot or horseback or in a ship could carry them. This was a world in which it took at least six weeks or more to get a letter from "home" in the British Isles, carried by a sailing vessel struggling against the westerly winds and subject to all the vagaries of weather, shipwreck, war, and piracy. Stockings, linens, shirts, kerchiefs, dresses, woolens, shoes-every item of clothing, it seemed, came from Britain, and New Yorkers were accustomed to delays of four or five months between the placing of an order and its arrival. A trip to Philadelphia, in good weather, with a good horse and solid footing on the roads, took at least forty-eight hours. A journey upriver to Albany-normally a three-day trip by schooner-might take twice that long if winds and tides were uncooperative. Throughout the colonies, similar conditions existed, with the result that New Yorkers often knew more about goings-on in London than in the Carolinas or even Pennsylvania. Newspapers carried little but foreign news, largely because most colonials had almost no interest in what was happening in other colonies, and this self-imposed isolation was at the very root of the problems America faced during the seemingly incessant warfare along its vast frontier. In theory, mail from England was put aboard a packet in Falmouth on the second Saturday of the month, but with the uncertainties of weather or possible damage to the ships one could only guess when it might be delivered. So the moment the packet boat was sighted sailing up the bay, word flew around town and people ran to the wharf to be on hand when the vessel docked, bringing official dispatches, letters, and the latest London papers. When the Philadelphian Benjamin Franklin took over the slow, undependable colonial postal service in 1753, one of his innovations was to have newspapers print the names of persons who had mail waiting for them. Then he initiated the penny post, which provided that letters not called for on the day the post arrived were sent to the addressee the next day by the postman for an extra fee. (Letters which had been advertised in newspapers and remained unclaimed for three months were forwarded to the Dead Letter Office in Philadelphia.) But as welcome as these improvements were, long-distance mail, especially, remained uncertain at best. No wonder: as an instance of how mail was addressed and sent, Cadwallader Colden's father, in Scotland, directed a letter to his son thusly: To Cadwallader Colden, Esq. At New-York How it was to be put on board ship left a good deal to the imagination: To be Left at the Sun Coffee house Behind the royal exchange London Yet somehow, it arrived. The premise that the distance between two points divided by the rate of travel indicates the time it takes to get there governed relations between England and America, and it was significant in more ways than might come to mind. (One imponderable, of course, was the impossibility of predicting what the rate of travel across the ocean might be.) New York society, led by the mercantile aristocracy, was patterned on and imitative of that in London, which meant that court gossip about the foibles and follies and fashions of the highly placed were extremely important to provincials, who were prone to social insecurity. The faster they received word of what was de rigueur the more secure they felt. Shopping seasons for English goods were a boom time and a boon for every kind of hostelry and eatery in the city. Crowds from near and far flocked to New York to see the large fleet of English ships sail into the harbor, as they did every April and October, and their arrival was followed by a shopping frenzy that might last for weeks. The ships made the round trip in about six months, taking half of that time for loading and unloading, and so it was that the very latest in garments-apparel from head to toe-along with books, pictures, furniture, and just about everything else was the main topic of conversation in those two months of the year. From autumn into spring, New York's well-to-do attended assemblies run by the merchants William Walton and James McEvers, dancing classes, and concerts, which were almost always followed with balls. Gentlemen arrived dressed to the nines in silk or broadcloth suits trimmed with gold, boots with silver buckles, richly embroidered waistcoats trimmed with lace, and wigs freshly powdered and scented, lending support to Benjamin Franklin's comment that men "fear less ... being in hell than out of fashion." On their arms, their companions were beautifully gowned in satin or silk hoopskirts, wearing shoes with impossibly high heels and tight bodices that covered stays cut high in the back and low in the front. And woe to the poor soul who had not yet heard from the staymakers who made regular trips from London and was unaware that waistlines had gone down this season. At some balls the ladies were expected to stand in line according to their purported "rank," but this practice led to what Ann Watts described to her cousin Ann DeLancey as "a monstrous Fight," after which it was decided that "there shall be no Lady or Gentleman invited to dance that will not be willing to draw for a place, and that will be the only way to make things easy." The role of almost all women then was a restricted one, as Anne Moore complained to Ann DeLancey. "You will readily allow," she wrote, "that our sex can appear truly amiable in no light but the domestic," and only in that manner can she "find room to display every virtue." The social whirl included regular evenings at the theater, musicales as well as more formal concerts, entertainments given by the governor at his house in the fort-often celebrating some event like a royal birthday-as well as parties given by British officers at the garrison. And moneyed New Yorkers had the same enthusiasm for sports as the English gentlemen they admired-everything from bowls to cockfighting, fowling, sailing, fishing, horse-racing, and foxhunting on Long Island, and they welcomed one governor who arrived at his post with "nine gouff clubs, one iron ditto, and seven dozen balls." The long winters were enlivened with shooting, skating, and sleighing parties just beyond town. For a good many of these prosperous merchants' households the descriptive word was "luxury." They had their portraits painted by such fashionable artists as Benjamin West and Pierre du Simitière, and by itinerant limners. (During her lifetime, Alice DeLancey Izard and her husband had their portraits done many times, by the likes of John Singleton Copley, Gainsborough, Thomas Sully, and others.) They purchased fine clocks, silver, wall hangings, and figured wallpaper from England. They ate off Lowestoft, Wedgwood, and Canton china. They drank fine Madeira, claret, burgundy, and champagne. They were served by a butler and maids, and driven by a coachman-all of them Negro slaves. These people were gregarious and convivial, meeting and gossiping in coffeehouses, inns, and private homes. One group of men called themselves the Hungarian Club and met regularly at Todd's Sign of the Black Horse in Smith Street. Astonishingly, they met every night , and a visitor noted that only good topers were accepted for membership. "To talk bawdy and have a knack at punning passes among them for good sterling wit," he observed sourly, but he concluded that "in this place you may have the best of company and conversation as well as at Philadelphia." A newcomer from Philadelphia was similarly impressed: "This is a better place for company and amusements than Philadelphia," he said, "more gay and lively. I have already seen some pretty women." But his enthusiasm quickly palled. It was the novelty of the city that he had found enchanting at first, but before long he discovered that one day's exposure to the people, manners, living, and conversation conveyed as much as fifty days'. Making the rounds of many homes he found the same topics discussed-"land, Madeira wine, fishing parties or politics...." What's more, in the coffeehouses they had "a vile practice ... of playing backgammon (a noise I detest) from morning till night, frequently ten or a dozen tables at a time." John Adams, accustomed to the ways of Boston, looked down his nose at New Yorkers. "With all the opulence and splendor of this city," he commented, "there is very little good breeding to be found. I have not met one gentleman.... There is no conversation. The people talk very loud and fast and all together and break in upon you in speaking." Most of New York's streets were crooked, but many were wide, paved with cobblestones, with a gutter running through the middle, and lined with shade trees that made walking in summer on sidewalks laid with flat stones a pleasure. At night the lamplighter made his rounds and the streets were lit, as they had been since 1693, by "lanthorn & candle" hung from every seventh house, with the expense borne equally by the seven homeowners. Over the years, the forest on the lower half of the island had been cut over for building, but in 1708 citizens were given permission to plant trees in front of their houses, and half a century later the leafy canopy caused visitors to comment that the place "seemed like a garden" because of the salubrious mix of beech, locust, elms, and lime trees, as the lindens were called. Many houses had balconies on the roof that enabled people to sit outside in summer and admire the lovely prospect of the town, with the sparkling rivers and bays beyond. In 1760 nearly every house lot of any size had a garden, as did the country estates north of town, many of which also had orchards growing all kinds of fruits, along with meadows and pastures for livestock. Saltwater fish were plentiful in the Hudson, as were oysters, from the huge beds on the New Jersey shore. By 1760 the city's population was at least four times what it had been ninety years earlier and farms had sprung up over much of the island, but Manhattan retained most of the characteristics described by one Daniel Denton in 1670. He noted that the land grew corn and all sorts of grain, providing pasture in the summer-grass as high as a man's waist, he said-and fodder for winter. In the woods, "every mile or half-mile are furnished with fresh ponds, brooks or rivers, where all sorts of Cattel, during the heat of the day, do quench their thirst and cool themselves...." Despite the number of streams that traversed the island, good, fresh drinking water was scarce, however. Continue... Excerpted from Divided Loyalties by Richard M. Ketchum Copyright (c) 2002 by Richard M. Ketchum Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Table of Contents

Prefacep. xi
Prologuep. 1
1 A Most Splendid Townp. 5
2 Salutary Neglectp. 23
3 Year of Wondersp. 35
4 Join or Diep. 49
5 George--Be a Kingp. 62
6 Gentle Shepherdp. 77
7 A Stamp Taxp. 95
8 Slavery Fenced Us Inp. 111
9 Petitions and a Daggerp. 123
10 The City in Perfect Anarchyp. 138
11 Madness and Follyp. 149
12 An Act to Repeal an Actp. 160
13 An Unsupportable Burdenp. 176
14 A Tax on Teap. 190
15 Incentive to Rebellionp. 203
16 The Wilkes of Americap. 213
17 Battle of Golden Hillp. 224
18 Coercive Measuresp. 237
19 An Act of Tyrannyp. 258
20 The Mob Begin to Thinkp. 272
21 Blows Must Decidep. 283
22 Affairs Grow Seriousp. 294
23 The Sword Is Drawnp. 306
24 You Must Now Declarep. 320
25 The Proposition Is Peacep. 333
26 Full Exertion of Great Forcep. 346
Epiloguep. 363
Principal Charactersp. 371
Bibliographyp. 387
Source Notesp. 399
Acknowledgmentsp. 424
Indexp. 427