Jim Ambuske: This episode of Worlds Turned Upside Down is
made possible with support from a 2024 grant from the National
Endowment for the Humanities.
At three minutes past seven in the evening, on Monday, January
16, 1775, King George III sat down at his writing desk in
Queen’s House in London to compose a very brief note to
Lord North, his prime minister.
Lord North had been so good as to handle a delicate matter on
the king’s behalf, that of informing the Duke of
Gloucester, the king’s younger brother, that it would be
improper for him to request money from Parliament to support
his wife and young children.
The king loved his brother, but the Duke of Gloucester had
violated their bond of trust by marrying in secret nearly ten
years earlier, a fact concealed from the king until September
1774, when the duke's wife, Maria, was expecting their
second child. By then, the scandalous marriage of another
brother to a common woman had led to the Royal Marriages Act,
requiring members of the royal family to gain the monarch’s
permission to wed.
Although the duke had not technically broken the law, in
the king’s eyes, he might as well have. George III’s sense of
duty and propriety ran deeper than his love for his brother,
his abhorrence of rebellion deeper still, and his fidelity
to Parliament was as precise as the timestamps on his letters.
Lord North broke the news to the Duke of Gloucester that the king
would not support his request. That afternoon, he stopped by
Queen’s House, what we now call Buckingham Palace, to tell the
king of his conversation with the duke. But, finding that the
king had gone to dinner, the prime minister made his way back
home to Downing Street. At 6 pm, North sent the king a short
letter, telling His Majesty that he had been to see the duke, and
apologizing for not lingering at Queen’s House, for he had a
cabinet meeting that night at half past seven.
A grateful king replied with his short note one hour and three
minutes later. North hadn’t mentioned what the cabinet
intended to discuss, but then again, he didn’t have to. As
George III already knew, the “weighty considerations” under
discussion at Downing Street were about “the American
business.”
By January 1775, George III had borne the weight of the British
crown for nearly fifteen years. He ascended the throne on
October 25, 1760 at age 22, one month and seventeen days after
Montreal surrendered to British forces. Like his jubilant
subjects on both sides of the Atlantic at the end of the Seven
Years’ War, George III gloried “in the Name of Briton.”
Much had changed in the fifteen years since that triumph, making
the discussion of “the American business” all the more
necessary. Even as secret talks were then underway in London to
avoid all the horrors of civil war, negotiations done with Lord
North’s quiet approval, the king had come to believe that they
now all stood on the banks of the Rubicon, that inevitably,
the die would be cast, that blows would decide the fate of
British America.
The task of orchestrating those blows would fall to Lord North,
George III’s seventh, and so far longest serving, prime minister.
He had taken office in 1770, weeks after the massacre in
Boston. The two men had known each other since childhood. They
made an odd pair: the one was a stout, corpulent fellow born on
Piccadilly Street who loathed confrontation and wrote with a
sloppy scrawl; the other was a taller, stockier monarch of
German genealogy born in Norfolk House, who valued firmness and
vigor, attributes evident in the stroke of his pen.
But in each other they had found a reliable partner, and a shared
commitment to defending Parliament and the British
constitution. North had brought stability to the government,
conciliated the colonies with the repeal of most of the
Townshend duties, guided the reforms of Quebec and India
through the House of Commons and remained resolutely in favor of
coercive action after the destruction of the tea in
Boston. The king stood behind him.
Three days after he delivered disappointing news to the Duke
of Gloucester, North opened the new session of Parliament on
January 19th. At the king’s command, he laid 149 “papers
relating to the disturbances in North America” before the House
of Commons – pages upon pages of letters and other documents from
governors, admirals, generals, and secretaries of state.
They told a convincing story of colonies teetering on the edge
of rebellion, of colonists’ anger at the Coercive Acts;
evasion of customs laws; stockpiles of unsold tea; new
boycott movements; the confiscation of cannons; the
spiriting of gunpowder, cannon balls, and musket rounds to
secret places; militia drills in Massachusetts Bay; the coercive
tyranny of local committees who intimidated and attacked the
king’s loyal subjects; the suspect actions of an extralegal
Continental Congress; of civil government and British authority
nearly at an end.
Buried among that “great heap” was Congress’s petition:
Congress: “To a Sovereign, who glories in the name of Briton,
the bare recital of these Acts must, we presume, justify the
loyal subjects, who fly to the foot of his Throne, and implore
his clemency for protection against them.”
Jim Ambuske: From the perspective of the king and the
majority of Parliament, the petition told a less convincing
story of:
Congress: “...this destructive system of Colony Administration,
adopted since the conclusion of the last war, [from which] have
flowed those distresses, dangers, fears, and jealousies,
that overwhelm your Majesty's dutiful Colonists with
Congress: be used for our relief, and that a gracious
affliction”
Answer may be given to this Petition.”
Jim Ambuske: If Parliament would not hear the pleas of His
Majesty’s subjects in British America, then surely the king
they thought they knew would. Yet, as many were only beginning
to understand, they didn’t really know the king nor the
empire at all.
For despite the best efforts of some colonial agents and their
supporters in Parliament, the petition remained buried under
that “great heap.” The king would give it no answer.
Days later, after hours of debate that stretched long into
the night, Parliament presented the king with an address that
found Massachusetts Bay in a state of rebellion. In his
reply, one drafted by the cabinet and approved by him,
George III pledged:
King George III: “the most speedy and effectual measures
for enforcing due obedience to the laws, and the authority of
the supreme legislature.”
Jim Ambuske: At precisely 50 minutes past eleven in the
morning on February 8, 1775, the king privately told his
prime minister that his answer:
King George III: “conveys the sentiments that must be
harboured by every candid and rational Mind, this language
ought to open the eyes of the deluded Americans but if it does
not, it must set every delicate man at liberty to avow the
propriety of the most coercive measures.”
Jim Ambuske: Within hours, George III once again sat down
at his desk in Queen’s House to write letters, and review lists
of regiments and officers to be sent to North America. Secret
orders had already been drawn up for General Thomas Gage in
Boston to seize and destroy gunpowder and ammunition from
the “rude rabble” in the colony. Those orders would soon be sent
west aboard a ship, and with any luck, a wavering Gage would act
with vigor to kill off a rebellion before it became a
civil war.
I’m Jim Ambuske, and this is Worlds Turned Upside Down, a
podcast about the history of the American Revolution.
Episode 20: The Rebellion.
On December 8, 1774, ships just then arriving in the colonies
from London bore troubling news. Two months earlier, the King had
issued an order in council prohibiting the export of arms
and ammunition out of Great Britain. The order made no
mention of the colonies, nor of British Americans’ resistance to
Parliament’s laws, but for many British Americans the
instructions for provincial governors sent with the edict
led to only one unmistakable conclusion: Britain was
preparing for war.
Sympathetic ship captains sent copies of the order and the
instructions to local newspapers, where colonists soon
read:
Newspaper: “That Lord Dartmouth, Secretary of State…has signified
to [the Governors] his Majesty’s Command, that they do take the
most effectual Measures for arresting, detaining, and
securing any Gun Powder or any Sort of Arms or Ammunition,
which may be attempted to be imported into the Province over
which they respectively preside.”
Jim Ambuske: In the weeks that followed, false rumors spread
that General Thomas Gage, both the governor of Massachusetts
Bay and the commander-in-chief of British forces in North
America, had sent soldiers to reinforce Fort William and Mary
in Rhode Island.
Regular militia drills, already underway in several colonies,
intensified. Colonists stashed and stored gunpowder,
ammunition, and cannonballs where they hoped Redcoats would
not find them.
In New York city, the Sons of Liberty seized a shipment of
gunpowder from a customs official, before local merchants
intervened, and the powder was safely secured in the city’s
powder house.
Up the coast in Rhode Island, colonists commandeered something
much bigger. Alarmed by the order in council, and fearing
that Gage would capture the cannon in Fort George at
Newport, the Provincial Assembly directed some local sailors to
spirit them out of the fort before Gage could get there.
They made off with some 44 cannons in all.
When Captain James Wallace of the Royal Navy demanded to know
why Rhode Islanders had seized the cannon, Governor Joseph
Wanton frankly replied that “they had done it to prevent
their falling into the hands of the King, or any of his
Servants.”
Captain Wallace’s report was included among the “great heap”
of papers laid before Parliament in January 1775 as evidence of
colonists in rebellion. It traveled more than 3,000 miles
to reach Westminster Hall, but in many ways it had traveled
much further. Twelve years earlier, British Americans had
celebrated the end of the Seven Years’ War by toasting the best
of kings. But time had taken its toll, and their attachment to
the king was weakening.
Fred Anderson: In the Seven Years' War, they thought they
had won a great victory and a great peace for a crown that
they believed was the best on Earth. And in the years that
followed, inexplicable things happened as a consequence of the
Seven Years' War, of that great victory, utterly inexplicable
things happened as the British tried to reform an empire and
make it coherent and make it pay for itself. After a long period
of time when it wasn't paying for itself, it was just running
up debts and becoming something that, to the British, looked
like it was a monster in the making. The Americans couldn't
understand that things had changed, and that all that war,
that glorious war that was behind them, had simply
transformed their world into a set of circumstances where the
Empire wasn't going to work like it did before, like they liked
it to I'm Fred Anderson, professor emeritus University of
Colorado, at Boulder. What comes after the Seven Years' War,
therefore, is the equivalent of the long decline in Amity
between a couple who have come to disagree over what they see
as the nature of the relationship, and through a
lengthening series of arguments and angry silences and brooding
find themselves at swords points and discover that the marriage
really has come apart when nobody was paying attention.
Then they've reached the point where they can acknowledge that
there's no answer. The same thing happens between 1763 and
1770 and 1775 over the course of 12 years, what had been a really
pretty happy marriage between British subjects in North
America and the king that they leave they had served
gloriously. That relationship there comes apart in the same
way over that period of 12 years, bit by bit, in crisis
after crisis, until at the end, blood is actually being shed on
Lexington Green and Concord Bridge.
Jim Ambuske: Even then, even before the effusion of blood,
after all the rioting, protests, massacres, and misgivings, many
British Americans continued to believe in the idea of a king
who would intervene on their behalf and set things right.
They feared that his ministers had mangled his mind, keeping
the truth from him. They did not understand that George III had a
different sense of duty.
So, how did George III imagine his role as sovereign of the
British Empire? How did British Americans venerate their king?
And why did their violent break with the king begin in the early
morning hours of April 19, 1775 just outside Boston on Lexington
Green?
To begin answering these questions, we’ll head first to
London, for an education in kingship. We’ll then sail back
to North America, to revel in the cult of monarchy, before
marching out of Boston with British regulars to seize and
destroy gunpowder, and confront a rebellion.
Benjamin Rush: There's a perception that in the late 18th
century, Britain was an absolute monarchy, that George III was
this cruel, cruel tyrant, and that he was hell bent on
suppressing the rights of people everywhere and establishing sort
of absolute rule. My name is Brad Jones. I am a professor of
history at California State University, Fresno. The reality
is that in the middle of the 18th century, British society
lived under a constitutional monarchy, a representative
monarchy, a system of government, which they
celebrated as providing them with a degree of freedom
unmatched they thought, at least in the Western world, and the
sense that they actually had a representative branch of
government the king himself existed post glorious
revolution, within this government, he was not an
absolutist. He in many ways, held very little power, or was
able to express very little power, and that the vast
majority of power and authority came from Parliament, of which a
branch was representative. So they celebrated this as one of
the great tenets of being British is that they lived in a
relatively free society.
Jim Ambuske: George III came of age in the aftermath of an
earlier revolution that remade the British Empire, one that
transformed the relationship between Parliament and the
crown.
Andrew O'Shaughnessy: The power of the monarchy had been much
reduced by what's known, or used to be popular, known as the
Glorious Revolution 1688, we use that term less now because it
was not so glorious for the Irish and Scottish, but an
important constitutional landmark in limiting the power
of the monarchy and making Parliament a permanent part of
The system of government and essentially making monarchs
dependent on parliament in order to govern. My name's Andrew
O'Shaughnessy. I'm Professor of History at the University of
Virginia. George III still essentially remained the head of
government and chose the Prime Minister, but he was limited to
choosing prime ministers who had popular support in the House of
Commons. When Georges heard tried to appoint someone who was
not popular in the House of Commons, he learnt, to his cost,
that that was not possible, and he was also important in
choosing the ministers of the government. There are other ways
in which his power was more limited. No monarch had tried to
use the veto since the reign of Queen Anne at the beginning of
the century, and no monarch has ever tried to use it. So you
could say that that power had fallen into dissuadeatude and he
was financially dependent on parliament to vote support for
the costs of kingship.
Jim Ambuske: As a young boy, the future king’s mentors instilled
in him a sense of duty and obligation to the national
interest that transcended personal ambition. In the late
1740s, his father, Frederick, Prince of Wales, drew up a set
of maxims for his 10-year-old son. He counseled George “to
live with Oeconomy” whenever “the Crown comes into your
hands,” to reduce the national debt as quickly as possible, to
“let not Your ambition draw you into” war, but never “give up
Your Honour nor that of the Nation,” and to “Convince this
nation that you are not only an Englishman born and bred, but
you are also this by inclination.”
The German-born Frederick had a strained relationship with his
own father, the equally German-born King George II, with
whom he quarrelled over politics. Frederick did not want
that for his own English-born heir, nor did he wish to leave
his son without advice on how to rule wisely when his time came.
That time arrived sooner than anyone expected. Though he did
not know it, Frederick would never wear the crown. In 1751,
two years after composing his maxims, Frederick died at the
age of 44. George became heir apparent as Prince of Wales.
Frederick’s early death made George’s education in kingship
all the more important. Under the tutelage of the Earl of
Bute, the future king read histories of past monarchs,
drawing lessons from their successes and failures; explored
the origins and foundations of the British constitution;
studied the economics of trade; and the politics of foreign
powers. Thousands of pages of the king’s handwritten notes and
essays survive in the Royal Archives, attesting to his
studies.
More than anything, George’s lessons prepared him to be a
Patriot King.
Andrew O'Shaughnessy: There was a work by Lord Bolingbroke
called a patriot King that put forward these ideas the monarch
who would govern with a view to the best interests of the. The
people and would be an active part of government, and
supposedly, George the Third was introduced to this by his tutor
and eventually Prime Minister, the Earl of Bute.
Jim Ambuske: Henry Saint John, 1st Viscount Bolingbroke, was a
politician who had been a thorn in the side of George’s
great-grandfather. Lord Bolingbroke cavorted with
Jacobites and opposed the governments of the first half of
the eighteenth century. His machinations forced him into
exile in France, but he later returned to England where he
became a leading propagandist against his old political
enemies.
Bolingbroke became enamored with history and political
philosophy. Believing that corruption ran rampant in
government, and Parliament’s independence remained under
threat, Bolingbroke began writing treatises to lay the
foundations for a new opposition faction. In the late 1730s, when
he learned that Frederick, Prince of Wales, was allying
himself with members of Parliament who opposed George
II’s ministers, Bolingbroke wrote The Idea of a Patriot
King.
Bolingbroke: “A Patriot King will neither neglect nor
sacrifice his country's interest. No other interest,
neither a foreign nor a domestic, neither a public nor a
private, will influence his conduct in government.”
Jim Ambuske: Bolingbroke’s Patriot King would stand above
political factions to rule as a benevolent father to a united
nation. He would appoint only the wisest and most capable men
to lead his governments. Private virtue would govern his public
character. As Bolingbroke concluded:
Bolingbroke: “Nothing can so surely and so effectually
restore the virtue and public spirit essential to the
preservation of liberty and national prosperity, as the
reign of such a prince.”
Jim Ambuske: George III’s 1751 copy of The Idea of a Patriot
King survives in his personal library. Lord Bute intended the
treatise to mold the future king’s mind in a turbulent era
riven with political faction, but some saw darker portents.
Andrew O'Shaughnessy: It would be regarded as very sinister at
the time, people thought that Bute was encouraging him to
become essentially a dictator and to take unauthorized powers.
Been huge debate since this period, and during this period
as to whether he was a constitutional monarch or not.
He certainly planned to be the ultimate constitutional monarch,
but this really involved exercising all of the powers he
had at a time when there was an increasing tendency to challenge
those powers. Parliament was making greater and greater
claims, not least in America, where for the first time, it
claimed the right to be able to tax America directly.
Jim Ambuske: When the 22-year-old Prince of Wales
ascended to the throne as George III on October 25, 1760, the
young king brought these lessons to bear.
Andrew O'Shaughnessy: He wanted to be a patriot King, and really
he was something of an idealist. He felt that the politics of his
great grandfather and his grandfather's reign had been
corrupt, that the same people had governed for much too long,
and George III wanted to see change, I think very
importantly, he saw himself as very much part of The
Constitution of one of the checks and balances, and was
against the idea that government was just government by the Prime
Minister and the House of Commons. He saw it as his job to
hold the House of Commons in check and to really use his
power. He bring about change, he very
quickly starts sacking ministers, beginning with the
Duke and Newcastle had been in power 20 years, then William
Pitt the elder, and this actually leads to a decade of
instability during the 1760s while He tries to find a prime
minister as an alternative who has popular support among
members of the House of Commons, there are seven different
ministers during the 1760s which must have implications for
America.
Jim Ambuske: Despite the instability of seven different
prime ministers, each who had varying ideas about how best to
reform British America:
Andrew O'Shaughnessy: He saw himself as a patriot king. He
saw it as his duty to support the claims of Parliament, and so
he did not doubt the right of Parliament to govern America or
to tax America. There are few occasions for. You can see that
he does, in fact, try to draw back on some of the more
draconian policies being proposed by ministers, but for
the most part, he's supportive of what his prime ministers are
doing. He did agree to the withdrawal of the Stamp Act, and
later saw that as one of the main errors of his reign, he
felt that the failure to be consistently firm later had been
a big error.
Jim Ambuske: George III’s later regret at the Stamp Act’s repeal
– at the government’s collective failure to stand firm in the
face of British America’s resistance to what the king
believed was Parliament’s constitutional right to tax the
colonies – paled in comparison at the time to the celebrations
on both sides of the Atlantic at the act’s demise and the praise
the king received for allowing it.
Britons paraded their king to Parliament in 1766 to give his
royal assent to the repeal. The story of the parade soon
appeared in newspapers across British America, where it was
paired with a report from France about Louis XV’s conduct at
precisely the same moment that crowds were cheering George III
as he rode to Westminster. Here’s Brad Jones:
Benjamin Rush: Louis the 15th, the very same moment surrounds
himself with soldiers, marches to the Paris parliament, the
French court in Paris, and it reminds these men, I'm in
charge. I run the show. You are under my power. I am sovereign.
I've located that story in newspapers across the Atlantic
that was republished everywhere. That's a very common account of
the repeal the Stamp Act, and one of which is celebrating
again, the beauty of their political system, celebrating
George III but they put it in conversation with the tyranny or
arbitrary nature of the French monarchy.
Jim Ambuske: Cheering the Stamp Act’s repeal and the king’s role
Some were deceptively simple, yet no less meaningful: the
swearing of an oath. For example, in 1768, amidst the
Regulator crisis in the North Carolina backcountry, public
officials pledged:
in it was just one of the many ways that British Americans
celebrated the British monarchy and strengthened their
connection to it. Although most British Americans had never been
in a monarch’s presence, to say nothing of public or private
audiences with the king, they participated in rituals that
bound them to a crown an ocean away.
Oath Taker: “I do sincerely promise and swear that I will
bear true allegiance to His Majesty King George the
Third.—So help me God.”
Jim Ambuske: As Katherine Carté, professor of history at Southern
Methodist University explains, oaths were a compact between
subjects and monarchs, backed by God himself.
Katherine Carté: People really believed that oaths were a
sacred declaration of which God was a part. When you made an
oath, you were declaring something to be true, and God
was judging you on your truth in that moment, and so if you
violated it, you were committing a level of religious sin that
was far beyond simply lying to the state, but lying to God.
That's a big deal.
Jim Ambuske: Judges, jurors, governors, sheriffs, lawyers,
and witnesses all swore similar oaths of allegiance before
entering office or giving testimony, pledging fealty to
the king, his government, and the laws of his province.
In the eighteenth century, British monarchs swore oaths of
their own to defend the Protestant faith. They were head
of the Anglican Church and pledged to protect the rights of
the Church of Scotland. For Anglicans in colonies like New
York or Virginia, their connection to the crown took on
a divine dimension, one anointed by God.
Almanacs kept the monarchy and British Protestantism ever
present in colonists’ lives by ordering time itself. As readers
of the 1758 edition of Benjamin Franklin’s Poor Richard’s
Almanack would have noticed, November was a busy month on the
British calendar.
Colonists remembered the 5th of November with Pope’s Day, to
celebrate the defeat of an English Catholic conspiracy in
1605 to blow up Parliament with a hidden store of gunpowder. On
the 7th, they could toast to the 1745 birth of Prince Henry,
George III’s younger brother. Three days later, they would
have heard cannon boom from forts in Philadelphia, Boston,
New York, or Charleston, in honor of George II’s birth in
1683. On November 30th, Scots in the colonies could revel in St.
Andrew’s Day.
To mark the end of the Seven Years’ War, more than 200
colonists gathered in Faneuil Hall in the summer of 1763 to
toast:
Toast: “The King.--The Queen, Prince of Wales, and Royal
Family”
Jim Ambuske: The booms of cannon or the huzzahs of toasts might
have rattled portraits of kings and queens in public buildings
like provincial assemblies, courts of justice, and taverns,
or in the private homes of colonists who could afford them.
Portraits were visual manifestations of the
sovereign’s presence in provincial life, watching over
the passage of laws or the administration of justice done
in the monarch’s name, or perhaps looking over the
shoulders of colonists sharing a pint in their local tavern as
they read the latest news from London.
In London, one British American felt the power of the royal
presence more fervently. In October 1768, the Philadelphian
Benjamin Rush, then a medical student at the University of
Edinburgh, was visiting London when he toured the houses of
Parliament. As he told a friend, when he entered the House of
Lords:
Benjamin Rush: “I felt as if I walked on sacred ground. I gazed
for some time at the Throne with emotions that I cannot
describe.”
Jim Ambuske: Rush pestered his tour guide until he allowed the
aspiring doctor to sit upon the throne.
Benjamin Rush: “I accordingly advanced toward it and sat in it
for a considerable time.”
Jim Ambuske: Those moments overwhelmed him.
Benjamin Rush: “I was seized with a kind of horror which for
some time interrupted my ordinary train of thinking…I
endeavored to arrange my thoughts into some order, but
such a crowd of ideas poured in upon my mind that I can scarcely
recollect one of them.”
Jim Ambuske: Composing himself, Rush rose from the throne, and
left the House of Lords for the House of Commons. In the other
place, he felt a darker presence.
Benjamin Rush: “This, thought I, is the place where the infernal
scheme for enslaving America was first broached. Here the
usurping Commons first endeavored to rob the King of
his supremacy over the colonies and to divide it among
themselves. O! Cursed haunt of venality, bribery, and
corruption!”
Jim Ambuske: Rush’s guide pointed to the seat from whence
William Pitt had risen to argue in favor of the Stamp Act’s
repeal. The young colonist sat on Pitt’s seat, and imagining
himself surrounded by Members of Parliament, rose to recite part
of Pitt’s speech, crying;
Benjamin Rush: “Americans are the sons, not the bastards of
Englishmen. I rejoice that America has resisted.
Jim Ambuske: In the years after the Stamp Act’s repeal, some
colonies chose to honor the defenders of British American
liberty by building public monuments to them. These statues
were meant to deepen colonists’ affection for the crown and the
Mother Country.
Wendy Bellion: When the Act is repealed in 1766, several
colonies along the eastern seaboard decide that the proper
way to honor William Pitt is to order statues of him and to
raise statues of him in central areas, highly visible areas
within their city. My name is Wendy Bellion. I am a professor
and the Sewell Biggs Chair of American Art History at the
University of Delaware, where I'm also the Associate Dean for
the Humanities. There are a number of colonies that decide
to do this. New York and South Carolina are the most prominent,
and they are the ones who eventually are able to realize
these statues. These are the only colonies that end up
commissioning statues of pit and raising them in public spaces
Jim Ambuske: With no sculptor in the colonies capable of
undertaking these works, New York and South Carolina
instructed their agents in London to find someone suitable.
New York followed:
Wendy Bellion: The lead of the South Carolina agent, who says,
I found this wonderful sculptor. He's already working for King
George III he has a large workshop. He's been trained in
Italy. So he understands classical traditions, but he's
also a modern sculptor. He also understands that we don't just
want a reproduction of something that might have looked like it
should have been in ancient Rome. This should be updated in
some way for the very modern 18th century, which was a very
modern century. His name was Joseph Wilton. Wilton is
commissioned to send marble statues of William Pitt to
Charleston and to New York City.
Jim Ambuske: The materials Wilton chose for the two statues
of Pitt were very specific and deliberate.
Wendy Bellion: When we look at sculpture today, we might not
think about the significance of the materials that are used to
create them. They were very significant at this time by
carving a marble, Wilton was signaling his ability to work in
the same kind of manner as ancient classical sculptors
would have worked. When we talk about style and form in 18th
century, we use the term neoclassical. This was a period
of neoclassical revival, a revival of ancient ideas,
philosophies, writings and art and architecture, and this
helps. To explain why, when folks in New York and South
Carolina wanted a sculpture of William Pitt, a man who was
famous as an orator, a man who was compared in stature and
prowess and persuasion to ancient orators like Cicero,
they want him, for all intents and purposes, to look like a
classical individual marble. The finest quality marble you could
get your hands on was the choice material for neoclassical
sculpture, and that's what Wilton was so good at doing.
That meant ordering a large block of marble, very often
sourced from Italy, from Carrara, if you were working in
Europe, it meant that the sculptor would work up the
original idea. Much of the labor of carving that block of marble
would have been done by very well practiced assistants in his
workshop. And then toward the end of the process, is where the
sculptor himself would come in. He would do all the fine
details. And even though the New York sculpture doesn't survive
in very good condition today, the one in Charleston is in much
greater condition. And if you ever have the chance to see it
in Charleston, try and walk around it, try and peer around
all aspects, all corners of this sculpture, because that's how
people in the 18th century would have experienced it. They
wouldn't have looked at it straight on, like a painting.
They would have walked around it and Wilton expended his greatest
degree of finesse and energy at the places that would have been
at eye level, so that you as a viewer would have been able to
appreciate not just the political significance of Pitt,
the man pit this accomplished orator who was extending one
hand as he was speaking, but you would have noticed all these
fine details, these carvings, very delicate carvings. It's his
way of demonstrating his technique and skill as this
incredibly talented carver.
Jim Ambuske: New York, the headquarters of the British Army
in North America, with a major imperial city of trade, also
tasked Wilton:
Wendy Bellion: To produce a large equestrian statue of King
George III the political landscape of New York is such
that a number of colonists realize that it's going to be
very bad form if they do not also request a statue of the
King.
Jim Ambuske: There was only one problem.
Wendy Bellion: Wilton has absolutely no practice producing
large equestrian statues or statues that have been cast in
metal. He's a beautiful marble sculptor, but he hasn't really
worked in metal. So Wilton does what a lot of sculptors did at
that time, they outsourced a large portion of their work.
Jim Ambuske: Wilton’s subcontractors cast the king’s
statue in lead.
Wendy Bellion: The way that this kind of sculpture would have
been created is that a mold would have been made, probably
in plaster, very hot, molten lead would have been poured into
this empty shape, and once it had solidified, the outer pieces
of the mold were removed. So what you had on the inside was a
solid shape, or more often, large, ambitious sculptures were
actually cast in pieces. And it's even possible that this is
how the king statue was cast and then shipped, potentially in
pieces that could be welded back together upon arrival.
Jim Ambuske: The sculptors made George III in the image of
Marcus Aurelius, the ancient Roman emperor and political
philosopher, whose own writings stressed self-improvement,
service, and duty. He sat upon a magnificent horse, with his
right arm stretched out and his hand raised in a benevolent
gesture toward his subjects. To complete the statue, the
sculptors covered the lead form in gilded gold.
It was shipped to New York, where it was installed on top of
a marble base on Bowling Green in Lower Manhattan, the seat of
British power in the colony.
Wendy Bellion: But the problem with lead is that it sags over
time, it loses its structure. And we know this because we have
accounts of a statue that came out of wilton's workshop, a
statue of King George that put up in a London Square at the
exact same time that, several decades after its creation, is
already starting to fall over. It has to be propped up. And
this, of course, becomes wonderful material for satirists
to work with in London at the time to suggest that, just like
his statue, the king is losing his power.
Jim Ambuske: By early 1775, colonists had been protesting a
slew of imperial reforms and new taxes for more than a decade.
And despite temporary victories like the Stamp Act’s rescission,
Parliament seemed committed to a pattern of oppression. Here’s
Frank Cogliano, Professor of American History at the
University of Edinburgh.
Dutchess County: The people, the men, primarily, but not only, mn
who lead this movement to resist British tax policy are doing so
because they believe that that policy threatens their
liberties. They mean that. They mean that. And so they begin by
protesting, but they want to protest in what they see as a
responsible manner to make Parliament and the king aware
that their liberties are being threatened. They begin by
appealing to Parliament, and then they give up on Parliament,
and they are appealing directly to George III. They say, well,
the king should protect us.
Jim Ambuske: They believed the king had a duty to check
Parliament’s power over the colonies. In 1774, Thomas
Jefferson wrote A Summary View of the Rights of British
America, as a set of instructions for Virginia’s
delegates to the Continental Congress. In those instructions,
he called on George III directly to take action. Here’s Andrew
Andrew O'Shaughnessy: He's won the first to call on George III
O’Shaughnessy.
to intervene. And Jefferson really started to think of the
federal empire in which all parts were equal, and that the
central government was really something of an umpire with very
weak powers, and the monarch helped to adjudicate between the
regions. This was a desperate last attempt to try and find
some resolution, some way out, because clearly, Parliament was
not going to back down, and there was a sense that a monarch
could be a check upon the powers of Parliament, even though
George Lucert was willing to check the house commons, the
idea was that he was king. In parliament, they governed
together. And so to question its powers and to undermine it would
have been questioning the premises of the revolution of
1688. and he always regarded himself as faithful to the
principles of that revolution, even though he tried to exercise
its powers to a maximum.
Jim Ambuske: Many British Americans continued to believe
deeply in the British Empire that revolution created, with
the king at its head. For colonists suspicious of the
extra-legal committees who enforced the Continental
Congress’s trade boycott, or the pretensions to power by the
extralegal Congress itself, for devote colonists who worshiped
in Anglican churches, and for colonists who believed that
George III was king by right, by law, and by God, the monarchy
was a source of strength in a troubling moment. As some
residents in Dutchess County, New York proclaimed:
Dutchess County: “our sovereign lord king George the third, is
the only sovereign to whom the British American may, can, or
ought to owe and bear true and faithfull allegiance.”
Jim Ambuske: But as their profession of loyalty implied in
this moment, expressions of disloyalty were everywhere. Not
long after the installation of the King’s equestrian statue in
Lower Manhattan, the city council erected an iron fence
around it. In 1773, it passed an anti-graffiti act to protect it
and the Pitt statue from defacement. As the crisis in
North America accelerated with the passage of the Coercive Acts
in 1774, some British Americans began losing faith in the king,
if not the monarchy itself.
And they turned on fellow colonists who did not share
their sentiments.
In October of that year, an Englishman named Nicholas
Cresswell was traveling through Virginia. While in Alexandria,
he confided in his journal:
Nicholas Cresswell: “Every thing here is in the utmost confusion,
Committees are appointed to inspect into the Characters and
Conduct of every tradesman to prevent them Selling Tea, or
buying British Manufactures. Some of them has been Tarred and
Feathered others had their property Burned and destroyed by
the populace. Independent Companies are raising in every
County on the Continent[,] appointed adjutants and train
their men as if they was on the Eve of a War…….The King is
openly Cursed and his authority set at defiance. In short every
thing is ripe for Rebellion.”
Jim Ambuske: One evening in January 1775, two New York Sons
of Liberty threatened John Case for daring to swear loyalty to
the king. Alexander McDougall questioned Case on whether he
believed that George III had violated his coronation oath to
defend the Protestant faith by agreeing to the Quebec Act and
the protections it afforded Catholic French Canadians. Case
believed the king had not. Isaac Sears condemned him as a Tory
and implied that Case ought to be put to death. When he asked
Case if he would fight for the king should Bostonians take up
arms against him, Case replied that he would defend the crown.
For his crime of loyalty, McDougall and Sears forced Case
to sit, shunned, in the corner of the tavern for the rest of
the night, guarded by a young Black man.
In March, a crowd assaulted William Cunningham for yelling
William Cunningham: “God bless King George.”
Jim Ambuske: Their anger was as much at Parliament as it was now
at a king who possessed a sense of duty they could not
understand. But it was also George III’s own failure to
comprehend the roots of a looming rebellion that made
disaster all the more likely.
Rick Atkinson: He is committed to the Empire. He's committed to
the monarchy, and yet he is, in some ways, an enlightened
monarch. He is not an absolute ruler. He's not a despot. He
cannot be an absolute ruler under the rules the British have
set up for the relationship between Parliament and the
monarchy late in the 17th century, and so he observes the
requisites of being a British king, which is the parliament
shares power with him. I'm Rick Atkinson. I'm an author and
military historian. He is committed to holding together
the Empire. And so he is determined that whatever it
takes, including bloodshed against his own people in
America, he will necessarily do.
Andrew O'Shaughnessy: He becomes obsessed with revolt in America,
and said there'll be lions as long as we continue to act as
sheep with the Boston Tea Party. He basically felt that there was
now no turning back. This issue had to be decided militarily,
and he becomes the biggest war hawk in Britain.
Jim Ambuske: By March 1775, Boston was a portrait of a die
that had now been cast. It was an occupied town. Church spires
mingled with the masts of the Royal Navy warships that
patrolled the harbor to enforce the Boston Port Act. Thirteen
regiments of the British Army were quartered in and around
town, amounting to more than 5,000 men. Many also brought
their families. They filled every available warehouse,
public building, and common ground, dwarfing the number of
soldiers sent to Boston in the years before the massacre.
As in other colonies, an extralegal Provincial Congress
had all but seized the reins of government in Massachusetts Bay,
though a Son of Liberty-turned-British spy named
Benjamin Church assured Governor Gage that moderate men remained
in control of it. The same could not be said for the local
Committee of Safety, which coordinated the secreting of
arms and ammunition to places unknown.
Knowing full well that colonial militia were drilling in the
countryside, and that they had formed rapid response companies
called “minute men,” the British had fortified Boston Neck, the
narrow strip of land that connected the town to the rest
of the colony, to defend against an assault. On more than one
occasion, the sounds of soldiers taking target practice or the
sight of Redcoats marching out of town had led to tense
standoffs, and nearly exchanges of fire.
Rhetoric inflamed this new reality. In early March, Dr.
Joseph Warren was chosen to deliver the fourth annual
address commemorating the Boston Massacre. Like Church, Warren
was a member of the Sons of Liberty and had been active in
the resistance movement. Rising to the pulpit in the Old South
Meeting House, Warren declaimed to an audience of farmers,
merchants, and British officers:
Joseph Warren: “Unhappily for us, unhappily for Britain, the
madness of an avaricious minister…has brought upon the
stage discord, envy, hatred, and revenge, with civil war close in
their rear….Our streets are again filled with armed men. Our
harbor is crowded with ships of war. But these cannot intimidate
us. Our liberty must be preserved. It is far dearer than
life.”
Jim Ambuske: The provincials in the audience approved of
Warren’s rhetoric; the British officers did not.
Governor Gage was unsure how long this broken peace would
last. While on a visit to London a year earlier to consult with
the king and his ministers, Gage had confidently asserted that he
could control the wayward colony as its new governor and bring it
back in line.
But colonists’ reaction to the Coercive Acts eroded that
conviction and as it did British authority in North America. Gage
began sending urgent letters home asking for more soldiers.
Exaggerating to make his point, he told the Secretary at War
that if the ministry had a mind to send a million soldiers, it
ought to send a million more.
Gage remained cautious – far too cautious for the king’s taste –
though it was not without good reason. Few British officials
could claim to know the colonists better than him. For
twenty years, he had served in the colonies, having marched
with General Braddock to his doom along the Monongahela River
in 1755, governed a defeated Montreal in 1760, confronted
Pontiac’s Uprising in the Ohio Country in 1763, dealt with
violence between soldiers and civilians in New York in 1765,
sent the regiments to Boston that committed the massacre in
1770, and watched the Coercive Acts create an intolerable
situation in 1774, all the while married to a woman from New
Jersey named Margaret Kemble.
He knew that the slightest provocation or accident could
have unintended consequences. He was unwilling to act boldly
unless he received direct orders from home.
Those orders were coming. In late January 1775, less than a
week after the Continental Congress’s petition to the king
landed on the clerk’s table in the House of Commons among the
“great heap” of the other “papers relating to the
disturbances in North America,” Lord Dartmouth, the Secretary of
State for the Colonies, wrote a lengthy letter to Gage, and
marked it “secret.” He had it in consultation with Lord
North and the king.
Dartmouth delayed sending the letter for some time, hoping
that the secret talks he had orchestrated between Benjamin
Franklin and Lord Admiral Richard Howe would bear fruit,
that a war could be avoided, but as those negotiations came to
naught, Dartmouth could delay no further.
The orders arrived in Boston on board the Nautilus on April 14,
1775, where they were delivered to Gage in the governor’s
residence. They read, in part:
Lord Dartmouth: “The violences committed by those who have
taken up arms in Massachusetts have appeared to me as the acts
of a rude rabble, without concert, without conduct; and
therefore I think that a small force now, if put to the test,
would be able to conquer them….It is the opinion of the
King’s servants, in which His Majesty concurs, that the
essential step to be taken toward reestablishing government
would be to arrest and imprison the principal actors and
abettors in the provincial congress, whose proceedings
appear in every light to be acts of treason and rebellion.”
Jim Ambuske: Reinforcements all could be accomplished
without bloodshed, but as he made
time was running out.
Lord Dartmouth: “The king’s dignity and the honor and safety
of the empire require that in such a situation, force should
be repelled by force.”
Jim Ambuske: It was now or never.
Gage began making preparations to carry out his orders. Even
then, he advanced with care. Dartmouth’s letter had been a
copy – a security measure in case the original was lost at
sea – and he waited for the original to arrive before
pressing on in case it had additional information. When the
packet appeared on April 16th, he moved swiftly.
Believing that running down members of the Provincial
Congress like John Hancock and Samuel Adams would be a waste of
resources, Gage exercised the discretion afforded him, and
chose to ignore that part of his orders for now. Besides, Hancock
and Adams were in hiding, somewhere in the town of
Lexington. Arms and ammunition were another matter. Here’s Rick
Atkinson.
Rick Atkinson: The British are trying to understand what it is
that the Americans have in mind where they're stashing their
munitions. The British have pretty good intelligence, and
they learn that there is a substantial munitions depot,
meaning where bullets and everything from spoons to extra
muskets are kept in the town of Concord, 20 miles or so from
Boston.
Jim Ambuske: More recent intelligence supplied by loyal
British Americans and soldiers concealed in civilian clothing
suggested that militia had already removed most of the
military stores from Concord. But not all of it.
Rick Atkinson: The decision is made by General Gage that he is
going to send an expeditionary force, fewer than 1000 soldiers,
and they're going to slip out of Boston and march to Concord and
seize this depot, and that will teach the Americans a lesson.
Jim Ambuske: To get to Concord, the soldiers would have to march
through Lexington. Gage’s orders to the commanders leading the
force were clear. They were to “seize and destroy all
artillery, ammunition, provisions, tents, small arms,
and all military stores whatever.” But they were
forbidden from plundering Concord’s inhabitants or
destroying private property.
On the night of April 18th, three days after the last full
moon, sailors began rowing more than 800 soldiers across the
Back Bay and the Charles River. They landed at Cambridge and
began marching up the road west toward Concord. The officers,
including Lieutenant Colonel Francis Smith and Major John
Pitcairn, knew of their intended target. For secrecy, their men
would not be told until hours later.
The movement of the British troops did not go unnoticed.
Rick Atkinson: You don't slip 1000 men out of Boston in the
dark of night without somebody noticing. And the Americans are
very alert to what's going on. They also have good
intelligence. There's a silversmith named Paul Revere
who is on standby to carry the message out into the countryside
when the British are, in fact, coming. And that message spreads
quickly that there is this armed force that has come out through
Cambridge.
Jim Ambuske: Joseph Warren observed the British mobilizing
and dispatched Paul Revere and another man named William Dawes
to warn the surrounding communities that soldiers were
on the march. Mounting his horse, Dawes rode through town
and across the Boston Neck to Cambridge, warning the
inhabitants, before heading for Concord.
Revere rode first to the Old North Church, where he
instructed another man to hang two lanterns in the steeple to
warn colonists across the river in Charlestown that the British
had gone by water. Revere then ferried across the river
himself, somehow passing undetected by the warship
Somerset anchored in the river, before landing in Charlestown
and riding on toward Lexington, where he warned Adams and
Hancock to flee.
Rick Atkinson: The British are coming is not something Paul
Revere bellowed as he was galloping through the Middlesex
countryside in the early morning of April 19, 1775 that wouldn't
have made sense to people who at that moment still thought of
themselves as British. What he's quoted as shouting over and over
again is the regulars are coming out, meaning regular British
Army troops coming out of Boston
Jim Ambuske: In the dead of night, in the hour of ghosts,
the soldiers marched west down the road. In the distance, they
could hear church bells ringing and the sound of gun fire –
warning shots alerting minute men, militia companies, and
civilians that soldiers were advancing.
Major Pitcairn was leading the British vanguard. At 4 am, he
called a halt, and ordered his men to load their weapons and
fix their bayonets, before marching on to Lexington.
Rick Atkinson: It's a few miles on the Boston side of Concord,
and there is a militia gathering there, and they're standing
around. It's very cold. They're shifting from foot to foot, and
there's no sign of the British. And they send riders out to look
for them, and they come back and say, we don't see any red coats
coming this way. And so these men are dismissed, and many of
them go into a tavern right there near the Lexington green
for a little Grog. Some of them go home.
Jim Ambuske: Captain John Parker, the militia commander,
soon learned that it hadn’t been a false alarm when another rider
came in, warning that Pitcairn’s men were two miles away.
What was left of the militia company left their pints and
reformed outside on the green of the town commons, for the
Redcoats’ approach.
As the king’s subjects approached each other, Pitcairn
bellowed:
Pitcairn: “Soldiers, don’t fire. Keep your ranks. Form up and
surround them”
Jim Ambuske: Captain Parker commanded his men:
Parker: “Don’t molest them, without they being first.”
Jim Ambuske: The king’s subjects were now dangerously close to
each other. If they meant to have a war, they had to be.
Rick Atkinson: 18th century warfare, unlike 21st Century
warfare, is unusually intimate. Killing is done up close. That's
partly because the musket has not changed much in two
centuries. By 1775 it's got great stopping power. It's
really a ferocious weapon. It fires a one ounce lead slug that
can bring down a charging bull, but it's horrendously
inaccurate, basically beyond 80 yards when it's fired in volleys
with a group of men standing together firing at the same time
again, it can be pretty devastating, but individually,
for the most part, it's a pretty crude weapon that requires
armies to come in close proximity to each other, first
of all, to have some effectiveness with money.
Baskets and secondly, the British in particular teach
their soldiers that the bayonet is their primary weapon, that
the attempt is to get close enough to the enemy to charge
with the bayonet. That's as intimate and eyeball to eyeball
as you can get.
Jim Ambuske: On that cold morning of April 19, 1775, as
dawn broke behind the king’s soldiers in the eastern sky,
with nerves fraying, hearts pounding, and officers yelling:
Officer 1: “Throw down your arms, you villains, you rebels!”
Officer 2: “Disperse, you rebels, immediately!”
Jim Ambuske: Someone. Somewhere. Fired a shot.
And then all hell broke loose as the king’s soldiers fired on the
king’s subjects.
Rick Atkinson: The British are quite undisciplined at this
point in their firing, their officers cannot control the
firing, and they mow down these militiamen, ate or killed.
Others are badly wounded. It's not a firefight, it's a
massacre. British essentially suffer, nobody killed, nobody
wounded. The British get together. They are permitted to
go huzzah three times, and they march down the road, heading
further west toward Concord, which is six miles away.
Jim Ambuske: The militia in Concord were waiting for them.
Rick Atkinson: By this point, and it's early morning on April
19, the alarm has spread far and wide to 50 villages and towns,
not only in eastern Massachusetts, but even to New
Hampshire and to Connecticut, and there are armed men marching
toward Concord.
Jim Ambuske: As the soldiers approached Concord after 8 am,
militiamen fell back across the North Bridge spanning the
Concord River, while the Redcoats began searching farms
and thickets for hidden arms and ammunition. They found some,
including 500 pounds of musket balls. They promptly dumped them
into a nearby pond, and destroyed flour and gun
carriages as well. Then, they headed for the bridge.
Rick Atkinson: When the British get to Concord, they quickly
realize that they're overmatched. There is a bridge
famously over Concord River, just outside town, and on this
bridge, as the British are going looking again for war materiel,
there is a substantial American detachment on the far side of
the bridge. They march down the hill. There's a small number of
British relative to the size of the rebels guarding the bridge.
Shots again are fired this time, there's no doubt the British
fire first, that's a mistake.
Jim Ambuske: Captain David Brown yelled,
David Brown: “God damn them, they are firing balls! Fire,
men, fire!"
Jim Ambuske: It was all over in three minutes. Two militiamen
lay dead. Two soldiers were killed in the firefight. A third
wounded soldier tried to escape with his fellow Redcoats before
a militiaman buried a hatchet in his brains.
Rick Atkinson: And now they're on the run. They fall back into
Concord, and they recognize that they got a big problem. It's 19
miles or so back to Boston. They're already tired from
having marched out, so it's going to be a long, long
afternoon for the British to get back to Boston as thousands of
Americans. It's estimated that roughly 4000 armed Americans
arrive on the scene and participate, to one degree or
another, in this harassment of British troops falling back to
Boston.
Jim Ambuske: As they marched back from Concord, and back
through Lexington, with miles of hostile road ahead of them, more
soldiers fell as a retreat became a running firefight.
Rick Atkinson: The only reason that column of Red Coats isn't
utterly obliterated is that a plea for help has gone back to
Boston, and reinforcements are sent out and in Lexington. These
reinforcements show up just in time to prevent what probably
would have been a bloodbath of British soldiers. They embrace
these dog tired, bleeding British soldiers who have fought
earlier in the day in Lexington and then in Concord, and have
been harassed and fired on on the road all the way back from
Concord, this relief detachment provides enough firepower,
enough super to allow the whole force to fall back to Charleston
and then to get across the Charles River into Boston.
Jim Ambuske: Samuel Adams rejoiced at the news of this
“glorious morning.” A colonist who had been at Concord on that
bloody day knew a harder truth:
Colonist: “Now the war has begun and no one knows when it will
end.”
Rick Atkinson: It's a terrible day for everybody concerned.
It's the beginning of the war. It's a recognition by the
British. That this is going to be a lot harder than anybody
thought. And now not only the Charles has been crossed, but a
Rubicon has been crossed, and once blood is shed and the wolf
is in the gorge, it's hard to turn back.
Jim Ambuske: More than 300 miles to the southwest of Lexington
and Concord, an express rider galloped into Lancaster,
Pennsylvania. It was April 25, 1775 at 5 in the evening. The
rider bore news that the king’s subjects had fired on each other
in Massachusetts Bay. Boston was now under siege.
The local printer, Francis Bailey, immediately published a
broadside with a collection of letters from committees of
correspondence in New England reporting that provincial
militia had clashed with the king’s soldiers in the early
morning hours of April 19, six days earlier.
Bailey’s broadside and other printed reports quickly
circulated the news “To all Friends of American Liberty”
throughout the Shenandoah Valley, where it was carried by
Pennsylvanians and Virginians who were then streaming over the
mountains to settle new lands in the Ohio Country.
The Ohio Country had only been at peace now for seven months
after hard years of a most intimate war. Pennsylvanians at
the throats of Virginians; Shawnee and Delawares defending
their lands from avaricious settlers; the Haudenosaunee
calculating the costs of protecting their sovereignty;
British and Indigenous diplomats struggling to keep their world
from coming undone.
Twenty years after the Great War for Empire had begun at the
Forks of the Ohio River, the flames of the smoldering long
war for the West flickered to life once more.
Thanks for listening to Worlds Turned Upside Down. Worlds is a
production of R2 Studios, part of the Roy Rosenzweig Center for
History and New Media at George Mason University.
I’m your host, Dr. Jim Ambuske.
This episode of Worlds Turned Upside Down is made possible
with support from a 2024 grant from the National Endowment for
the Humanities.
Head to r2studios.org to find a complete transcript of today’s
episode and suggestions for further reading.
Worlds is researched and written by me with additional research,
writing, and script editing by Jeanette Patrick.
Jeanette Patrick and I are the Executive Producers. Grace
Mallon is our British Correspondent.
Our lead audio editor for this episode is Curt Dahl of cd
squared.
Annabelle Spencer is our graduate assistant.
Special thanks to the Georgian Papers Programme and the Royal
Archives at Windsor Castle.
Our thanks to Rick Atkinson, Fred Anderson, Wendy Bellion,
Katherine Carté, Frank Cogliano, Brad Jones, and Andrew
O’Shaughnessy for sharing their expertise with us in this
episode.
Thanks also to our voice actors Anne Fertig, Adam Smith, Evan
McCormick, John Turner, John Winters, Grace Mallon, Peter
Walker, Craig Gallager, Spencer McBride, Loren Moulds, and John
Terry.
Subscribe to Worlds on your favorite podcast app. Thanks,
and we’ll see you next time.