American History Tellers - Rebellion in the Early Republic - Farmer Uprising | 1

Episode Date: March 18, 2020

The dust had barely settled on the American Revolution when new unrest erupted in western Massachusetts. Thousands of farmers and laborers rose up in protest against unjust taxes and a state government that seemed as oppressive as the British Crown. When their demands for reform fell on deaf ears, the protesters grew more desperate. They took up muskets, swords, and clubs and formed blockades to shut down local courthouses. The growing revolt became known as Shays’s Rebellion.Boston’s government and merchant elites were horrified by the upheaval, fearing the specter of mob rule. They saw the uprising as democracy run amok, and moved to raise an army against the rebels. The showdown would test the very legacy of the American Revolution.Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine that it's June 1782 in Springfield, Massachusetts. It's late afternoon and the heat is unbearable. You wipe the sweat from your brow. It doesn't help that you're wearing your old wool army uniform. All day you've been marching shoulder to shoulder with more than a hundred of your neighbors and friends. You scan the crowd. Some carry muskets, other wield swords and cleavers.

You call out, Come on boys, stick together. June is the most demanding time on local farms. Your own has been in bad shape since the army discharged you two years ago. You should be cutting hay right now, but this is too important. You know you have to take drastic action if you're going to save your farm. Quickly now, let's go. You're just steps from the county jail,

where Reverend Samuel Ely has been held for the past two months. You think about Ely's call to rise up against corrupt merchants and lawyers. Your grip tightens around the axe in your hand. Just then, a guard exits the jail with a musket primed. I command all of you to disperse. He looks barely older than your teenage brother, and he's completely surrounded. A dozen men break off to circle him. You push past them and storm the jail door with your neighbors.

Hurry up. I'm sure word has already gotten to the sheriff about this. Entering the jail, your axe is held high. You're immediately overwhelmed with the stench. You pull a handkerchief to your mouth and nose. It's filthy and damp inside the single cell that holds Ely and two other men. Only a sliver of late afternoon sunlight streams through the tiny window. Come on, there's not much time. We've got to break this lock. You and your neighbor take turns swinging your axes against the iron door.

Come on, faster! Faster! We've got to get out of here! With all the strength you can manage, you strike down on the lock one final time, and the mangled piece of metal falls to the floor. You hold the cell door open and beckon Ely and the other prisoners to follow you out of the cell. Reverend Ely glances at you. His hair is disheveled and he looks tired, but there's a fire in his eyes. You push him and the other prisoners to the center of the mob when suddenly the sheriff appears out of nowhere on horseback. He charges to the top of the jail steps. Now, men, I order you to lay down your arms and halt.

The militia are on their way. But he, too, is outnumbered. You and the other men easily push past him, breaking into a run. The sheriff's cries fade in the distance. You have to move quickly, or the militia won't be far behind. From the team behind American History Tellers comes a new book, The Hidden History of the White House. Each chapter will bring you inside the fierce power struggles, intimate moments, and shocking scandals that shaped our nation. From the War of 1812 to Watergate. Available now wherever you get your books. From Wondery comes a new series about a lawyer who broke all the rules.

Need to launder some money? Broker a deal with a drug cartel? Take out a witness? Paul can do it. I'm your host, Brandon Jinks Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. On our show, we'll take you to the events, the times, and the people that shaped America and Americans. Our values, our struggles, and our dreams. We'll put you in the shoes of everyday citizens as history was being made,

and we'll show you how the events of the times affected them, their families, and affects you now. The armed crowd in Springfield, Massachusetts led a daring jailbreak for the firebrand Reverend Samuel Ely, narrowly escaping local authorities. They had caught the town sheriff by surprise, but it wouldn't be long before clashes like this would spread throughout the young nation, pitting outraged farmers against the political elite. The early American Republic was an era of transition. In the 1780s, the dust had barely settled on the American Revolution. New upheaval would put the country's hard-won independence to the test. It was a world ablaze with class revolt and racial conflict. Fears of violence and disorder haunted early Americans. In this series, we'll explore the instability at the core of the world's

first modern constitutional republic and the moments when the future of the American experiment hung in the balance. We'll see how popular uprisings tested state authority, the rule of law, and the institution of slavery, shaping America for decades to come. This is Episode 1, Farmer Uprising. As the Revolutionary War drew to a close, independence brought new problems. Problems that reached every corner of society. Coastal New England was a commercial center, where the lives of merchants, professionals, artisans, sailors, and shopkeepers revolved around the market. But inland, the majority of New Englanders grew crops. This occupational divide would prove critical to the unrest to come. In 1780, Massachusetts

introduced a new constitution, one that intensified the divisions already in the state. It effectively excluded most rural citizens from holding office. Many in western Massachusetts questioned the constitution's legitimacy. Only a small number of eastern towns had approved it. The westerners worried that power was being concentrated in the hands of Boston elites. They felt burdened by lawmakers there who exercised a growing influence over their daily lives. They also complained that the new constitution gave the courts too much authority over local affairs.

These courts oversaw taxes and debt cases, and many farmers felt that judges were only there to protect the interests of Eastern merchants. It was in this charged atmosphere that Reverend Samuel Ely stepped into the fray. Ely had been born to a leading Connecticut family and received his ministry degree at Yale. He secured his first preaching post in Summers, Connecticut in the late 1760s. But Ely's traditional background hid a stubborn rebellious streak. He had an inflammatory

preaching style that dismayed some parishioners. Critics called him rash and imprudent and condemned his shocking expressions. Local churchgoers launched a campaign to oust him. Driven from the summer's pulpit, Ely became a traveling preacher in Vermont and gained a reputation as a radical champion of the powerless. Everywhere he went, he railed against the elites for undermining God's plan for the new republic. He believed that land should be distributed equally and that political power should belong in the hands of small family farmers. Finally surfacing in Massachusetts in the early 1780s, Ely channeled rural disgust against judges, lawyers, and the new state constitution. On January 5, 1782, Ely stood before a crowd in Sunderland, Massachusetts. He issued an explosive call to action, urging citizens to challenge the Constitution and break up the courts. He threatened violence to anyone who stood in the way.

But it wasn't enough to throw out the Constitution. He called for sheriffs, lawyers, and other government officials to be sacrificed, demanding that their bodies be given to the fowls of the air and the beasts of the field. Over the next few months, Ely traveled to nearby towns to muster support. In early February, a convention gathered in Hadley, Massachusetts, to recommend amendments to the state constitution. It was there that authorities arrested Ely on charges of treasonable practices. Ely was released with a warning, but it wouldn't be his last encounter with law. Later in April, Ely addressed an angry mob in Northampton, Massachusetts. Brandishing a

club, he yelled out to the crowd, come on, my brave boys, we'll go to the woodpile and get clubs enough and knock their gray wigs off and send them out of the world in an instant. Ely's incendiary speech didn't stop there. He told the crowd he'd rather fight the court than the King of Great Britain. Ely led the riotous mob in a charge against the courthouse, but local officials were expecting them. They put guards in place to protect the building. Ely was again arrested and convicted, this time sentenced to serve six months in the Springfield County Jail. But if the authorities thought Ely's confinement would dispel mob anger, their hopes were dashed in mid-June when 130 men marched on Springfield to break Ely out of jail.

Ely escaped during an armed clash with the sheriff and his men, but three of his supporters were apprehended and jailed. So days later, more than 500 men converged on Northampton and forced the sheriff to release the prisoners. Ely again escaped to Vermont. But Ely's rebellion was not the only mob action to strike rural Massachusetts. In late February 1782, a mob of 300 men closed down the civil court in Berkshire County. The following year, tax collectors were attacked in several western towns. Simmering tensions had boiled over into mob attacks.

Ely's rebellion was a sign of turmoil to come, but an all-out movement hadn't yet emerged. But as Massachusetts' debt crisis escalated, all that would soon change. Imagine it's summer 1784. It's a balmy evening in Hampshire County, Massachusetts. You've been washing clothes all day and you're tired to the bone. A pot of stew is bubbling over the hearth, the smell of pork and onions wafting through the house. It's a simple supper, but it's the kind of stick-to-your-ribs food that your husband loves after a hard day of back-breaking labor. He pours all his energy into this farm, despite a bad limp caused by an old war wound. He's out helping a neighbor right now mend his fence, but he should return any minute.

You're setting the table when you hear a knock at the door. Good evening, ma'am. It's the local constable. There's a grim look on his face. Sorry to call so late. Could I spare a moment of your time? You'd like to tell him no. You have a pretty good guess as to why he's here. Just this morning, your neighbor told you the constable carried off his colt. Good evening, sir. Yes, please come in. Thank you, ma'am. Something smells good in here. But I'll get right to it.

I'm sorry to tell you that we're putting your cattle up for auction. All of them? You knew you and your husband were in debt, but you didn't realize things had gotten so bad. I'm afraid so, ma'am. You can't be serious. And what are you going to do with them? Sell them all for a third of what they're worth? I've heard the stories.

Ma'am, I'm just doing the sheriff's bidding. You think I enjoy coming after my neighbors? We're all feeling the pinch right now. So please, show me the cattle or I'll just do it myself. You're furious. After all the struggle, all the sacrifices you and your husband have made, you're about to lose your livelihood, your future. But you know you don't have a choice. They're here out back. You lead him to the pasture, and he mounts his horse to begin corralling the cattle. You dread the moment your husband finds out he's just lost his most valuable property. Is this the kind of life he fought for in the Revolution? So much for the pursuit of happiness. By the 1780s, farmers in western Massachusetts were feeling the strain of a post-war economic slump. The state was mired in debt. To pay it off, lawmakers

levied taxes at a rate higher than any other New England state. At the same time, rampant inflation took its toll as the value of continental currency plunged. Merchants didn't want the worthless paper money. They wanted gold and silver. But Massachusetts was short on hard currency. Making matters worse, independence had left America without its biggest trading partner. Britain had closed its ports to American products. Twisting the knife, the former mother country severed trade between the U.S. and the British West Indies. Now that they were excluded from these markets, New England merchants had few means of repaying their debts to the British, and this set off a chain reaction. Coastal merchants passed the demand for hard currency to their clients, rural shopkeepers.

Shopkeepers then called in the debts of their farmer customers. Even in the best of times, farmers still lacked gold and silver. Before the war, they often paid their debts in crops or labor. But now, wholesalers demanded hard currency, an impossible demand, with a shortage of gold and silver plaguing the state. Suddenly, rural farmers were faced with the loss of their property and land. Some were dragged into court or jailed for unpaid debts. This debt crisis exacerbated long-simmering tensions between eastern merchants and western yeomen. Yeomen were family farmers who owned and cultivated small plots of land, and they made up about 70% of New England's rural population. And especially angry among them were the farmers still waiting to be paid for their service in the Continental Army.

They worried about the humiliating prospect of losing their plots and becoming tenants. And it wasn't just about property loss. Voting was limited to property-holding white men. Losing your home could mean losing your political voice. These yeoman farmers were also haunted by the thought of languishing in debtor's prison, as many merchants who struggled to collect debts turned to legal action. In Hampshire County, Massachusetts alone, about a third of adult males were sued for debt between 1784 and 1786. One of these men was Daniel Shays, a farmer and Revolutionary War veteran. He was hauled to court in early 1784. Captain Shays had fought at Lexington,

Concord, and Bunker Hill. He began as a common soldier without status or connections, but he worked his way up the ranks to become an officer, gaining a reputation for bravery and skill. The famous Frenchman Marquis de Lafayette, who commanded American troops in the war, even bestowed Shays with a ceremonial sword as a reward for his service. But like many Continental Army officers, Shays hadn't seen much of his military pay, so he sold Lafayette's sword to help make ends meet, a decision that infuriated fellow officers.

When Shays returned home to his wife and children in Pelham, Massachusetts, he continued struggling, trying valiantly to keep his farm. The post-war recession forced him to sell over half his land. And then a change in state leadership made things even worse for Shays. John Hancock had been the governor since 1780. Even as unrest grew, he remained extremely popular, partly because he refused to prosecute debtors for back taxes. But then, in early 1785, Hancock retired.

He claimed it was for health taxes. But then, in early 1785, Hancock retired. He claimed it was for health reasons. Some thought he was guided by his acute sense of self-preservation. It seemed wise to step back before anti-government resentment got any worse. The new governor, James Bowdoin, could hardly have come in at a more challenging time. Many blamed him for the pro-merchant aspects of the 1780 state constitution, and the fact that Bowdoin's only daughter had married a high-level British official didn't help his popularity. In addition, Bowdoin was committed to honoring the state's tremendous war debts and maintaining its credit abroad. To those ends, he launched new actions to collect back taxes, a reversal of Hancock's policy. Even more disastrous for Western farmers like Shays

were the new state taxes levied under his watch. Massachusetts citizens were already struggling under soaring taxes, but now state leaders decided to place additional heavy duties on land. This worked out well for merchants, whose assets were mostly in stock, but it was a different story for farmers. These taxes fell the hardest on

rural land-owning families, with eventually one-third of their farming incomes going to state taxes. Farmers wondered how they were supposed to pay off debts and pay their taxes when they had no access to hard currency. These taxes were far more oppressive than any levied by the British before the revolution. Many questioned whether state leaders cared about protecting and serving the people at all. So by the start of 1786, the stage was set for conflict. Massachusetts farmers would grab any weapon they could to rise up in protest. Now streaming. Welcome to Buy It Now,

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You can listen to Criminal Attorney early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. In the early 1780s, farmers had occasionally unleashed their fury through violent resistance. But despite crushing taxes and a new, more punitive governor in charge, for most of 1786, yeoman farmers worked within the existing systems to fight for economic relief. In the lead-up to the Revolution, patriots had organized committees of correspondence to voice their anger against the crown. Now, Massachusetts farmers pressed state lawmakers for change through town meetings and conventions. Westerners in the state saw themselves as carrying on a revolutionary tradition. Easterners, though, saw these conventions as unlawful, even treasonous.

At the top of the farmers' agenda was paper money. They looked to New York, Virginia, and South Carolina, where the circulation of paper money had allowed those states to avoid saddling their citizens with massive taxes. But most Massachusetts merchants scorned the idea of paper money. They thought it was dishonest, even immoral, severely doubting its ability to promote economic growth. Merchants pointed to Rhode Island, where creditors and merchants had abandoned their businesses rather than receive paper currency they considered worthless. The farmers also championed tender laws. These laws would allow anyone strapped for hard currency to pay off their debts in crops and other goods,

in a sense institutionalizing a barter system. But the Easterners were no fans of tender laws. They wanted gold and silver, not surplus corn. But Massachusetts farmers also drew up proposals for a fairer distribution of the tax burden. They even petitioned the state government to relocate the capital inland away from Boston and away from the influence of eastern merchants. For years, inland farmers had struggled to make their voices heard. Travel costs prevented many rural villages from sending representatives to the state assembly house. But all these proposals went nowhere. Easterners had no interest in changing the status quo.

They wanted gold, not corn, and they wanted to keep the capital close and perhaps in their pocket. These mostly moderate demands from the farmers were rebuffed. No one was trying to redistribute property or overthrow the state government, not at this point in time. But still, coastal merchants and lawmakers called these conventions and their demands seditious. The debates over these issues revealed the fault lines in Massachusetts society. Eastern merchants and Western farmers lived in two opposing worlds, and they assumed the worst of each other. Westerners thought the state government only served the interests of the coastal merchants, the same merchants who were profiting off of their suffering.

Eastern merchants, though, deemed Western farmers lazy and irresponsible, especially those who bought luxury goods on credit. They argued that a little industry and prudence would solve their problems. Both sides claimed to embody the ideals of the American Revolution, each identifying themselves as the true defenders of liberty. The farmers believed they were fighting against unfair burdens laid down by a corrupt government. Easterners thought that if anyone should know about the revolution, it was them. The majority of Massachusetts soldiers had come from Boston and other coastal towns. They had suffered the most for the Patriot cause. And when they looked at the protesting farmers,

they saw unruly mobs who refused to respect Republican government or share in the costs of the revolution. These opposing sentiments only grew, and in Hampshire County, anti-government rhetoric in the West was reaching a fever pitch. It was late August, and farmers were nearing the end of their most demanding season. With the summer winding down, a rebellion was about to erupt. Imagine it's the morning of August 29th, 1786. You're wearing black robes and a gray wig that itches in the summer heat. You're a judge at the Hampshire County Courthouse in Northampton, Massachusetts. Normally, things are pretty quiet out here in the countryside.

Certainly quieter than anything back home in Boston. But not today. Today, Sheriff Porter is leading you and your colleagues to the courthouse. As you approach the building, the faint sound of fifes and drums grows louder. The sheriff looks back at you over his shoulder. They've been gathering since daybreak. From what I hear, the rebels have come from every direction, some as far as West Springfield. West Springfield?

That's a six-hour walk. I think you mean a six-hour march. This is no country stroll they're on. That's a battle charge. You exchange a glance with a fellow judge. He looks as nervous as you feel. You turn the corner to cross the street and are stunned to see hundreds assembled in a military formation blocking the way to the courthouse. There has to be 1,500 men marching down the street. Some are unarmed, but others wave muskets, swords, and clubs in the air. Some of them just with sticks,

and you're pretty sure you detect the smell of rum. The sheriff and his deputy form a barrier around you and your two colleagues as you push through the crowd to ascend the courthouse steps. You approach the courthouse door, but five armed men are blocking your way. Sheriff, do your job. Clear the way. Get these men out of here. The deputy breaks through the five men to open the door, but when you try to follow him, the rebels surround you. You glare at one of them. I demand you get out of my way. Who's your leader? The man just stares back at you. I won't ask you again, who commands you?

Another man steps forward. I'm not the leader, but I can tell you why we're here. There will be no court until the people are heard. Is that what you think? I'm sworn to protect the law. That is what I'm going to do because that is my occupation. It's how I provide for my family. And I think I know what you should do.

You should show a little more industry and economy instead of going county to county, sowing treason and filling people's minds with the most ridiculous nonsense about our Constitution. The man inches forward, enough for a bayonet fixed at the end of his musket to threaten your silk robes. You take a step back and put your hands up.

Sir, let's all calm down. Lower your weapons. But the man refuses to yield. There are hundreds below him to back him up. You realize the only way out is to save face. So shaking your head, you address your colleagues. Okay, gentlemen, let's come along now. We do not need a courthouse to hold court. Clark's Tavern will do just fine. In the end, these traitors won't get their way. But as your fellow justices follow you back through the rowdy crowd, you begin to doubt your own words. The confrontation on the steps of the courthouse was the first armed action of the movement that

would come to be known as Shays' Rebellion. Among the men who converged on Northampton that August morning were Daniel Shays and another farmer and veteran Continental Army officer, Luke Day. Both became prominent leaders of the growing revolt that fall. The rebellion was led by many, though it ultimately bore Shays' name alone. Shays was not the most charismatic, nor the most eager of the rebels, but followers respected his calm and confident demeanor. The rebel insurgents called themselves Regulators, drawing their name from the North and South Carolina colonists who banded together to oppose British taxes and corruption in the late 1760s. The idea was to regulate the Massachusetts

government by attacking the court system. Most of the regulators owned small farms or worked as laborers or country artisans. All but a handful were white, since nearly the entire black population of New England lived on the coast. No women took direct part in the actions. And they were religiously uniform, adding solidarity to the group, along with tight-knit neighborhood and family bonds. Many rebels rose up alongside their relatives and neighbors, traveling to taverns across western Massachusetts, recruiting followers and drawing up plans. They wore sprigs of evergreen in their hats, reclaiming a symbol used by the Continental Army. While the rebel leaders were veterans of the Revolutionary War, the majority of the regulators hadn't served at all.

It was indeed eastern Massachusetts that had contributed the most to the Patriot cause, and they would fiercely defend the state they had fought to create. The armed protests at Northampton outraged Governor Bowdoin. A few days later, he issued a statement condemning the rebels as treasonous. Warning the state citizens about the imminent danger of anarchy, he called on law enforcement to suppress any future mob actions. But the court closings only escalated. On September 5th, 200 men marched on the debtor court in Worcester. A week later, rebel leader Job Shattuck marched 300 farmers on the courthouse in Concord. 500 men shut down the courthouse in Taunton.

In the Berkshires, 800 radicals closed down the Great Barrington Courthouse and freed debtors from prison. Discontent gave way to direct action beyond Massachusetts, too. In late September, 200 men surrounded the New Hampshire Statehouse, where they held the governor and the assembly hostage for five hours. By shutting down these courthouses, the regulators hoped to put an end to debt suits. Two-thirds of them had suffered the shame of being hauled into court for their debts, but it was more than that. For many, the courthouses stood as symbols of a state government that was enriching Boston elites at their expense. At a fall convention held to organize opposition to the Massachusetts legislature, an angry farmer called for an end to court sessions

until something was done about rural suffering. Complaining about endless taxes and the injustice of seeing his cattle sold for less than their value, he urged his neighbors to take action, saying, I have lost a great deal, and I think it is time for us to rise and put a stop to it, and have no more courts, nor sheriffs, nor collectors, nor lawyers. At the end of September, the town of Springfield, the largest in western Massachusetts, was preparing for a session of the Supreme Judicial Court, which handled criminal cases. Just a few days earlier, the court had handed down 11 indictments against regulators who had participated in the court shutdowns.

The county sheriff was a man named General William Shepard. He began hearing rumors that the regulators were planning to occupy the court. So General Shepard, a veteran of the Revolutionary War, scrambled to cobble together a government militia. He issued muskets to anyone who lacked weapons and positioned a pair of cannons in front of the courthouse. On September 26th, the courthouse. On September 26, the rumors proved true. Hundreds of regulators converged on Springfield. But this time, standing ready for them was the state. In November 1991, media tycoon Robert Maxwell mysteriously vanished from his luxury yacht in the Canary Islands. But it wasn't just his body that would come to the surface in the days that followed.

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in five Massachusetts towns. Now, 600 men under the command of rebel leader Daniel Shays flocked to the courthouse in Springfield. Onlookers remarked at their discipline. Their movements resembled those of a trained army. But when the regulators arrived, they found an equal number of equally disciplined militiamen waiting for them. Enraged shouts broke out among them. Shays quieted his men and rode forward to speak with the militia leader, General Shepard. Shays demanded that the militia be dismissed and the court cease business until his men's grievances had been addressed. General Shepard refused to consent, but he agreed to let the regulators demonstrate before the courthouse if they refrained from violence. Meanwhile, the judges inside tried to go about business as usual, but they were distracted by the sounds of

fife and drums and the constant shouting and taunting. For two tense days, the standoff continued. Rebels marched up and down outside the cour two tense days, the standoff continued. Rebels marched up and down outside the courthouse, muskets primed. It took every ounce of Shea's authority to get the men to hold their fire and stay confined to one area. Finally, the court adjourned, and the government militia was dismissed. The regulators occupied an empty courthouse before disbanding and going home. This showdown had ended without violence, but the next would not.

Things did quiet down in October. The courts were out of session, and many farmers needed to be at home to tend to the autumn corn harvest. But when the courts resumed their business, the regulators resumed theirs and again took up their muskets. But this time, not just in Massachusetts. In late October, Connecticut farmers made plans to attack the courthouse in New Haven. In Vermont, farmers disrupted court proceedings in Windsor and Rutland counties. By year's end, nearly 9,000 men had joined the uprising in every New England state

besides Rhode Island. About one in four rural men of fighting age had joined the rebellion. Merchants and state authorities in the East reacted with horror, and their eyes' attacks on the courts amounted to attacks on the authority of the state government itself. Samuel Adams, the former Patriot firebrand, now state senator representing Boston, was unequivocal in his anger when chairing a town meeting in the Capitol. He said, in monarchies, the crime of treason and rebellion may admit of being pardoned or lightly punished, but the man who dares rebel against a republic ought to suffer death. In Adams' thinking, rebellion against the crown was one thing. Rebellion against democracy, a republican

government, warranted execution. Adams, like other patriots of the Revolutionary War, had become a politician in the 1780s. He was obsessed with maintaining the security of the Republic, even if it meant denouncing grassroots protest. As the rebellion spread, merchants and professionals in the East envisioned nightmare scenarios in which the regulators would abolish private property. Their fears were unfounded. Most regulators owned land and had no plans for the redistribution of wealth. Still, state authorities worried that the rebellion would give way to tyranny. General Shepard believed Shays had set his sights on military dictatorship. He worried Shays could drum up support in enough

states to rule the entire country. Eastern merchants and politicians were also consumed by the paranoia that the British were supporting the regulators. The Revolutionary War had only ended a few years earlier. Americans were acutely aware of how precarious their independence was. Governor Bowdoin voiced these fears in an address to the state legislature. After we have experienced all the horrors of anarchy and the effects of unrestrained violence and revenge, our dear earned freedom would probably be swallowed up by domestic despotism or foreign dominion. News of the rebels' actions traveled beyond Massachusetts. The Founders kept a close eye on the turmoil from afar.

In October, George Washington expressed his dismay. He lamented that the rebellion seemed to confirm British predictions that the American experiment would fail. He confessed to a friend, I am mortified beyond expression whenever I view the clouds which have spread over the brightest morn that ever dawned upon any country. Back in Massachusetts, Governor Bowdoin was making plans to stifle the rebellion. His strategy was two-part. He would ask the federal government to raise an army to protect the state by calling for new legislation to quell the protests. Bowdoin also secretly approached Secretary of War Henry Knox

about sending federal troops to Massachusetts. Knox brought the request to the Confederation Congress, where it quickly met with legislative approval. Legislators there ordered that 13 soldiers be raised, citing the threat of civil war. But they decided it would be unwise to tell the American people the real reason for the Federal Army. Instead, they concocted a story about a looming Indian War in the Ohio Valley.

Meanwhile, Massachusetts legislators passed multiple laws to discourage the regulators from further resistance, hoping to avoid a military confrontation. Some measures were issued to appease the rebels, including bills to ease the tax burden and an offer of pardon to any insurgents who swore an oath of allegiance. But none of these measures gave the militants what they really wanted. Tender laws, paper money, and a reduction in taxes, the proposals they had petitioned the government for all spring and summer. The legislature also enacted a spate of measures to punish the regulators. Lawmakers, including Sam Adams, passed a riot act that empowered law

enforcement to kill any militants who refused to yield. Days later, the legislature suspended habeas corpus, permitting authorities to keep people in jail without trial. In response, backcountry resentment only grew. The rebels were incensed by the new laws aimed against them and continued to disrupt the courts. Things were coming to a head, and though the Confederation Congress had promised an army, they had no control of the purse strings. Monetary power remained with the states, and all of the states but Virginia refused to pay for the 1,300 troops they promised. So if it was to fight back, Massachusetts would have to raise its own army.

Imagine it's December 1786, a winter afternoon in Boston. You're a successful merchant and you're in your study, replying to letters from friends and associates. The commotion in the backcountry is on everyone's mind right now. Nothing in the future feels certain. You never would have imagined that just a few years after your countrymen laid down their weapons, Massachusetts would be hurtling towards civil war. You've just dispatched a servant to summon your 18-year-old son to the room. And with a knock, he enters. You asked to see me? Come on in, son. I want to have a talk with you. Now, I'm sure you've all heard about the Bedlam out west. Yes, the court shutdowns. It's all anybody talks about in Cambridge. Yes, those farmers are plunging the state into chaos.

They're undermining the rule of law in every possible way. You do realize that our way of life is at stake. They'll do anything to eliminate private property. Anything besides actually putting in an honest day's work. And I don't think our local militias are going to be of any help. Most of them sympathize with the rebels. Now, if we're going to put a stop to this madness, we're going to need good, civilized men to join the cause. I'm hearing rumors the governor is going to issue a call soon for militia officers from the east. I'm not sure I appreciate the direction of this conversation. No, you wouldn't. Don't believe I want to send my only son into battle. You're too young to remember, but I lost many good friends to the British at Bunker Hill.

But I'm at school. I'm working to be a lawyer, not a soldier. Son, if we don't put a stop to this disorder, there won't be any law left to defend. This is a crisis. Now is the time to act, to choose a side. We will be governed by reason and common sense or by the ravings of madmen, riling up the countryside with all manner of lies against our government. You turn and stare out the window. Clouds are gathering, casting a pall over the low winter sun. You're worried about your business and what economic instability might mean for its future, but it's more than that. This republic, our republic, cannot descend into anarchy, not after everything we fought for.

So when the call is made, I implore you to join up. Your son nods his head and sighs, a resigned look on his face. Tell me what I have to do. As you catch his dejected gaze and think of the dangers he will face, you can't help but also wonder where your young country is headed. On January 4th, 1787, Governor Bowdoin issued the call for a special army of 4,400 men to strike down the rebellion. He did so without legislative approval or funding. Instead, Bowdoin turned to wealthy merchants for funds. The troops would be led by former Revolutionary War General Benjamin Lincoln.

Those unwilling or unable to take up arms themselves enlisted their sons and their servants. Some free African Americans also volunteered to join the rank and file. Prince Hall, leader of the Boston African Masons, offered up the service of 700 Black Masons. In a letter to Governor Bowdoin in late November, Hall described his men as peaceable subjects and attacked conspiracies against the state. Doing his best to portray freedmen as loyal, law-abiding citizens and stave off potential objections, he pledged, as he put it, to help and support as far as our weak and feeble abilities may become necessary in this time of trouble and confusion, as you

and your wisdom shall direct us. Bowdoin likely dreaded the prospect of a large regiment of armed blacks. He turned Hall down. In his own efforts to recruit, General Lincoln wanted troops from the backcountry, but he came up short. The creation of Lincoln's army would only radicalize Western farmers more, and as 1786 came to an end, the regulators began planning for a systemic assault against the state government. Attempts at reforming the government had failed, so the regulators saw only one recourse—to overthrow it. Next on American History Tellers, Shea's Rebellion reaches a climax as 1,500 men storm the Federal Armory in Springfield. These farmers' desperate struggle draws George Washington out of

retirement to join the Constitutional Convention, where the violence in Massachusetts helped shape the future of the republic. From Wondery, this is American History Tellers. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Sound design by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton,

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