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History News
Washington’s Boyhood Home Found
Archaeologists for the George Washington Foundation have found the site of George Washington’s boyhood home on a bluff overlooking the Rappahannock River near Fredericksburg, Virginia. While historians have long believed that Ferry Farm, a 113-acre National Historic Landmark site, encompassed Washington’s home, the exact location had not been determined until archaeologists uncovered stone-lined cellars, two root cellars, remains of two chimneys, and thousands of artifacts, including bone wig curlers and toothbrush handles, pieces of ceiling, 18th-century pottery, and parts of a tea service that may have belonged to George’s mother, Mary Ball Washington.
Six-year-old George moved here with his family in 1738 so that his father, Augustine, could reduce his commute to Accokeek Creek Iron Furnace. The excavations suggest that the house was a fairly substantial one-and-a-half-story residence, not the rude cottage of popular imagination. Little evidence survives from Washington’s early years, but if the future first president did chop down a cherry tree, it would have grown on the bluff overlooking the Rappahannock.
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Dark Day of 1780
At dawn on Friday, May 19, 1780, farmers in New England stopped to marvel at the ominous pink hue of the sun. By noon the sky had darkened to midnight blackness, causing Americans, still in the throes of a protracted war of independence, to light candles and tremble at thoughts of the Last Judgment. As the birds quieted and no storm accompanied the darkness, men and women crowded into churches, where one minister commented wryly that “The people were very attentive.” John Greenleaf Whittier later wrote that “Men prayed, and women wept; all ears grew sharp/ To hear the doom-blast of the trumpet shatter / The black sky . . .”
A recent study in the International Journal of Wildland Fire, the work of a team of researchers led by Richard Guyette from the University of Missouri’s Tree Ring Laboratory, has shown that vast forest fires in the Algonquin Highlands of southern Ontario and elsewhere in Canada brought this eerie event upon the Puritan lands. The scientists have discovered “fire scars” on the rings for that year, left when the heat of a wildfire has killed a part of a tree’s cambium. Dendrochronological evidence also points to a drought that year. An easterly wind and low barometric pressure helped force smoke into the upper atmosphere. “The record fits pretty close,” says Guyette. “We had the right fuel, the drought, the conditions were all there.”
Lacking the ability to communicate quickly over long distances, Americans in 1780 remained literally and figuratively in the dark about the event, which had dissipated by the next day. Over the next several months, the papers carried vigorous debates about the causes. Some were the voices of angry prophecy, such as one Massachusetts farmer who wrote, “Oh! Backsliding New-England, attend now to the things which belong to your peace before they are forever hid from your eyes.” Others wrestled for different answers, one postulating that a “blazing star” had passed between the earth and the sun, another attributing the dark day to the rise of “aqueous, sulphorous, bitimeneous, salineous, vitreous” particles into the atmosphere. Ash, argued another commentator. “Vast quantities of elastick, heterogeneous vapours, generated in consequence of the great body of snow which covered the earth so long the winter past, and exhaled during the warm dry weather,” stated another. The debate, carried on throughout New England, where there were no scientific journals or academies yet, reflected engagement with Enlightenment ideas and an unfolding culture of scientific inquiry already sweeping the Western world, a revolution nearly as potent as the war for independence from the English.
New Englanders would not soon forget that dark day; it lived on in folklore, poems, tracts, and sermons for generations.
—John Ross
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100 years ago
The World’s First Airplane Fatality
The aeroplane seemed to tip sharply for a fraction of a second, then it started up for about ten feet; this was followed by a short, sharp dive and a crash in the field,” reported the New York Times about the crash of Orville Wright and Lt. Thomas Selfridge in Fort Myer, Virginia, on September 17, 1908. “Instantly the dust arose in a yellow, choking cloud that spread a dull pall over the great white man-made bird that had dashed to its death.”
A cavalry officer ordered his men to control the crowd of some 2,000, including top Army officials, who surged toward the wreckage. Rescuers pulled out the bloodied, unconscious forms of the 38-year-old Wright brother and Selfridge, a 26-year-old member of the Army Signal Corps, aeroplanist, and secretary of the Aerial Experiment
Association. Three hours later, Selfridge died, giving him the dubious distinction of being the first fatality from a powered aircraft.
Wright regained consciousness and survived a broken leg, along with fractured ribs and hip bones, which left him in pain for the rest of his life.
Despite the crash, which resulted when a propeller split and flew into other parts of the plane, the Army remained interested in the Wright plane, and the War Department bought the invention.
Today flying is by far the safest mode of travel in miles logged.
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