As a novelist of the American Revolution, time and time again, I am struck by the sheer concentration of extraordinary men and women who could be found among the relatively small population of North America in that era.

In the course of writing The Will — which marked a departure from my normal practice of using purely fictional characters to help bring life to real events — I encountered many such remarkable figures among the Philadelphians whom my ancestor (perhaps; see the novel) Isaac Melcher is known to have personally interacted with. Many more were almost certainly within his social circles, as Philadelphia was a relatively small town at the time.

I don’t like to write about my characters just happening to be commended by Philip Schuyler to Thomas Jefferson, or serendipitously meeting George Washington, or fighting alongside Benedict Arnold (when he was one of the “good guys”), yet all of these were true of Isaac. I mostly left those parts of his life out of the book, though, because there were just so many less well-known people who passed through his all-too-brief life.

One of those people was an artist named Pierre Eugène du Simitière, from whom Isaac commissioned a portrait, noted in the artist’s log book as having been rendered “in crayon,” which was the common term of the day for what we now call pastels. When I set out to write a short story about Isaac sitting for that portrait, I had no idea what kind of fascinating person I was about to encounter!

Du Simitière came to Philadelphia from Switzerland, via the islands of the Caribbean — nearly all of the islands of the Caribbean. He had gone there to conduct a study of the natural history of those islands, which soon also became a study of their human history, as well. By the time he arrived in Philadelphia, mere months before the Colonies were convulsed by the outbreak of rebellion, he had assembled the most remarkable collection of drawings, specimens, coins, and articles from that region that anyone had ever seen.

As depicted in “The Portrait,” his collecting only accelerated once he arrived in Philadelphia, and he wound up essentially stumbling into opening the first museum in North America, based around his collections. Along the way, he inadvertently established the practice of numismatics here, and his resulting knowledge of the symbols of heraldry enabled him to create several state seals. He is also credited with being the first to suggest the United States motto of “E pluribus unum,” which is still used to this day.

With all of these incredible accomplishments, though, what he was most widely known for was the creation of a series of engraved portraits of many of the leading patriot figures of the American Revolution. One of these is the earliest known portrait of George Washington, and the series was widely reproduced at the time, both here and across Europe.

So, the fact that Isaac is known to have sat for a portrait by such an accomplished artist excited my interest while I was researching my ancestor’s life, and I tried to discover whether and where that portrait still be extant. The Library Company of Philadelphia thought that they might have some du Simitière portraits in their holdings, but nobody could confirm it for me, much less that Isaac’s portrait was among them.

Then I came upon the portrait shown above. It is part of the collection of the New-York Historical Society, and the only du Simitière pastel portrait of anyone that I was able to discover. Most intriguingly, the identity of the sitter is unknown. Could this be the face of Isaac Melcher? The odds are against it, but… it is not impossible, so for the purposes of my story, I have treated it as being Isaac’s portrait.

The details of its execution are also described by the NYHS, and I’ve tried to incorporate those into my story. Isaac’s experience of sitting for his portrait must have been quite close to what I’ve described, in any event, and I reveled in the opportunity to visit with yet another of the participants in the lively ferment of intellectual development that seemed to fill every corner of that town.

I sincerely hope that you enjoy reading about du Simitière, and that my affectionate depiction of this wonderfully complex man strikes the right balance between amusement at how others must have seen him and deep, genuine respect for his accomplishments.

The Tales From a Revolution books take place within a relatively narrow span of years, and over a pretty sweeping expanse of territory. I often hear the question of which one comes first, and how the stories relate to one another.

To answer that question succinctly, I put together an infographic, layering a timeline over a contemporaneous map of England’s North-American colonies. I think it’s the clearest way to quickly visualize all of this information, and I’m pleased to share it with you now.

Obviously, as I add new books to the series, finding a way to ensure that this infographic continues to be useful will be a challenge, but I do plan to maintain it as I share more stories from the pivotal era of the American Revolution. Click on the image below to download a printable PDF. Enjoy!

I’m often asked why I write about the American Revolution.  It is true that here are many fascinating and compelling eras in human history.  Indeed, when I reach the end of my explorations of the Revolution, I expect to broaden my scope.

In part, I started writing about the Revolution because of the opportunity – there are a lot of fascinating small stories that contributed to the big events of the Revolution, and few of them have been explored in fiction.  Having a wide, uncrowded field in which to work is hugely appealing.

Too, the events of the Revolution are familiar (if imperfectly), so I’m not having to explain to my readers that the Americans fought the British to achieve independence.  They open my books knowing that much.  The details and nuances, though, make terrific grist for my imagination.

Then there is the opportunity to remind readers that history is shaped by the small decisions of ordinary people.  The Revolution was not accomplished by just a few heroic figures striding across the pages of history atop mighty white horses.  Critical events were shaped at the kitchen tables of folks who would never make it into our histories.  I take my readers to those kitchen tables and let them imagine what choices they might have made – and reflect on how they may affect history with their choices today.

Most importantly, though, I write about the Revolution because it changed the course of human history.  It is unique in that it was not fought over the question of which prince would rule over a patch of dirt.  The American War of Independence was as much a philosophical revolution as it was a military one.  It reframed the very concept of governance – the whole relationship between the people and their leaders.

With the Revolution, we emerged from being subjects of the King to becoming citizens of the Republic.  We were no longer ruled under divine right, but are led by men and women of our own choosing.  It has become fashionable to focus solely on the imperfections of the Revolution – which were many and about which I write unflinchingly.  However, thinking only about what the Founders got wrong tends to overlook how much they got right.

This magnificent accomplishment, which took a scattered collection of hardscrabble colonies and united them as one of the leading nations of the world, is well worth understanding deeply.  That is why I write about the American Revolution, and will do so for some time to come.

Originally published as a guest post on Karen Chase’s blog, Chasing Histories

When we think about the American Revolution, I suspect that most of us picture men in powdered wigs and waistcoats trading quips about taxation and tea in between firing volleys at faceless, vile Redcoats.

I’ve sought to puncture the idea that the Revolution was a phenomenon of elites from Boston, New-York and Philadelphia, widening the view to include all of the colonies, and to include people from many walks of life.  We’ve seen apprentices and craftsmen, professional soldiers and merchant sailors, farmers and housewives, all struggling with the same questions of loyalty versus rebellion, and deciding whether to choose involvement over avoidance.

I’ve also examined the Revolution from the standpoint of people whose ancestors were here before Europeans came to these shores, and who now had to decide how to respond to the conflict that had erupted between rival factions of the new arrivals.  I’ve only touched on the experience of those brought here against their will as slaves, but who often had to weigh the same concerns and worries as their masters.

It is past time that I give a fuller consideration to the story of slaves and freedmen in the Revolutionary era.

In The Freedman, I hope to broaden our view of the Revolution not just to a wider geographical area, but to a wider set of participants.  Calabar was brought to North-Carolina as a boy and sold to a plantation owner, where he learned the intricacies of indigo production, fell in love, and started a family.

Abruptly released from bondage, he must find his way in a society that has no place for him, but which is itself struggling with the threat of British domination.  Reeling from his personal grief, and drawn into the chaos of the Revolution, Calabar knows that the wrong moves will cost him his freedom — and that of the nation.

This was in many ways the most difficult book I’ve written yet — between the heartbreaking details of the treatment of slaves and freedmen I learned about in my research, and the long, difficult journey that Calabar had to take through that setting, it affected me deeply — but in the end, I think it was a success.  I am looking forward to sharing it with you.

“The Shot Heard ‘Round the World”

As we observe the anniversary of the outbreak of open hostilities between Britain and her restive subjects in America, I thought you all might enjoy this brief peek into the moment on that cool spring morning that has echoed through history to today.

As the sun rose on a cool spring morning, a knot of men stood in the Lexington common, muskets on their shoulders, nerves frayed.  The past few years has brought the American colonies to the brink of open conflict with their King, between crackdowns on traditional smuggling operations, new taxes, and punitive measures imposed by Parliament in distant London in answer to provocative protests in Boston and other ports along the New England coastline.

It was not to be, though.  Parker’s blood ran to ice as a shot rang out, and he threw himself to the ground beside his men as it was followed by a second, and then a storm of thundering fire and clouds of acrid smoke.  He found his own finger on his trigger as he picked his target, and he knew that the world had just changed before his eyes…

Some things can’t wait for matters of war or peace…

From the Baxter Manuscripts, containing a documentary history of the conduct of the American Revolution in Maine:

Sounds like the kernel of a great story to me — and I had a lot of fun telling it!