I continue my series on the events that led to the British occupation of Marshfield, Massachusetts, the first entry of which can be found here. Today we come to the dramatic tipping point…
The evening air likely still held the humidity of summer that day, September 6, 1774 when the town bells began to ring in Plymouth. Their peals were joined by roll of drums, sounding an alarm. From the narrow, cobbled side streets to the wharves, men and women moved towards Town Square, drawn by an unspoken urgency.[1]
As they gathered before the Court House, word spread swiftly—the time had come to confront Nathaniel Ray Thomas. To add to his litany of obnoxious acts, the most notorious Loyalist on the South Shore had crossed a line from which there was no return. He had dared to accept a seat on the so-called “Mandamus Council.” Few Loyalists were more reviled than those who accepted this dishonorable post. And now, the people of Plymouth and beyond meant to see Nat Thomas answer for it.
In the summer of 1774, tensions in Massachusetts had reached a breaking point. In response to the Boston Tea Party, Parliament passed the Coercive Acts—what the colonists bitterly called the Intolerable Acts—to bring the rebellious province to heel. Among these, the Massachusetts Government Act was perhaps the most infuriating of all. It dismantled the cherished Massachusetts Charter of 1691, a document that had granted the colony a considerable degree of self-governance. The act replaced elected provincial officials with appointees of the Crown and severely restricted town meetings. For a people who had governed themselves for generations, this was a direct attack on the political traditions they considered a sacred covenant.
Among the changes was the creation of the Mandamus Council, a new body of advisers to the governor, appointed directly by the King. These handpicked men replaced the Council previously elected by General Court, making it clear that local representation was no longer relevant to the Crown. In the eyes of the Patriots, those who accepted positions on the Mandamus Council were nothing short of traitors. It was time for Nathaniel Ray Thomas to face the wrath of an outraged people.
Yet, before marching to Marshfield, prudence dictated that the people of Plymouth first ensure their own house was in order. Colonel George Watson had accepted a Mandamus post but had almost immediately promised his fellow Plymoutheans that he would resign. A committee was hastily formed and sent to Colonel Watson’s home on North Street, demanding clarity. He did not hesitate. With quill in hand, he scrawled his resignation, signed his name, and passed it to the waiting men. Satisfied for now, the crowd agreed to reassemble in the morning and march for Marshfield. The morrow would bring a reckoning.[2]
Dawn had barely broken when the people set out—a force united in purpose. As they passed through Kingston, their numbers swelled. Further along, they were joined by groups from Pembroke, Scituate, Hanover, and other towns along the way. A witness to these events later published an account in The Massachusetts Spy, describing the assembly as moving “in battalia.” Whether he meant this figuratively—citizens marching en masse—or was referring to actual militia formations is uncertain. However, his choice of words strongly suggests the presence of organized militia. Many towns had recently ordered their militias to reorganize and intensify their training, and the Powder Alarm—which had sent thousands of militiamen rushing toward Cambridge—had occurred just six days earlier. Given the heightened tensions that September, it seems likely that many men joined the march to Marshfield under arms, perhaps even moving in disciplined military order.
By the time they reached Marshfield, the crowd had swelled to an immense size. According to our aforementioned correspondent (and an earlier, briefer account in The Boston Evening Post), nearly two thousand citizens descended upon Nathaniel Ray Thomas’s house. Was this an exaggeration? Perhaps. But given the widespread frustration and sense of urgency gripping the province, I find it plausible that, on September 7, 1774, the Thomas estate witnessed the largest protest assembly in Plymouth County during this era. And every single one of them was focused on one man.[3]
After converging on the Thomas house, the leaders of the assembly conferred and chose thirty-five men (why that number is unclear) as a committee to confront Thomas directly. They approached the house and knocked. With a crowd numbering, perhaps, in the thousands behind them.
Sarah Deering Thomas, the Squire’s wife, answered the door. At her side stood her oldest son, Nathaniel Ray Thomas, Jr., 19 years old. When the committee asked the inevitable question, Mrs. Thomas’s answer was swift and unsatisfactory. “He is not here.” He had gone to Boston, she told them. Last night.
The committee did not believe her. No doubt there were some who insisted that the house should be searched—a search that could have easily escalated into a ransacking. But cooler heads prevailed. With Mrs. Thomas and her son standing firm at the threshold, someone called for a justice of the peace to settle the matter. Given the number present from across the South Shore, it was little surprise that a justice was quickly found.
According to one account, he was from Pembroke—one of the eldest and most respected justices in the county. With solemn authority, he administered an oath, demanding that mother and son swear, before God and man, that they had spoken the truth. Both placed their palms upon a Bible and affirmed their words. Nathaniel Ray Thomas was gone—beyond their reach, at least for today.[4]
The committee agreed on a letter which was quickly written up and given to young Nathaniel Ray Thomas, Jr. They made him swear to deliver it to his father. It read, that whereas Thomas had unconstitutionally accepted a position as Mandamus Councilor, “a great and respectable number of the people of Plymouth County demand your resignation. You have ten days to comply and publish your resignation in the Boston papers. Should you refuse, you may compel us to take measures disagreeable to ourselves and far worse for you.” They signed it “The County of Plymouth.”[5]
With their message delivered, the assembled men and women did not resort to violence. No torches were lit, no destruction left in their wake. Instead, they gave three thunderous cheers. Then, just as swiftly and orderly as they had come, they dispersed, each man and woman returning to their homes, their fields, and their shops.
Nathaniel Ray Thomas had indeed fled the night before, likely the moment he learned of the assembly gathering in Plymouth at Colonel George Watson’s doorstep. Once in Boston, he almost certainly wasted no time in petitioning the royal governor, General Gage, for protection. Troops must be sent to Marshfield, he must have argued, to defend the King’s loyal subjects. His appeals would soon be followed by a petition from Marshfield Loyalists. The sight of hundreds, perhaps thousands of Patriots marching across their town must have made a deep impression. And so the Loyalists of Marshfield, fearing for their lives, formally requested a detachment of Regulars to be stationed in the town.[6]
As we have seen, Gage granted their request. But the conflict was far from over…
[1] September 6 was a day of upheaval across the Province of Massachusetts Bay. In Worcester, nearly 4,000 armed militiamen converged on the county courthouse, shutting it down in a bold act of defiance against Crown-appointed officials. Meanwhile, in Milton, the Suffolk County Convention convened, and Joseph Warren presented the first draft of the now-famous Suffolk Resolves. Across the colony, tensions had reached a breaking point—Massachusetts was, in many ways, already in a state of rebellion.
[2] The gathering in Plymouth Town Square and the visit paid to Col. Watson was described by a correspondent to The Massachusetts Spy, September 22, 1774, 2.
[3] The number 2,000 was given in the previously cited account in the Massachusetts Spy as well as in an earlier article in the Boston Evening Post, September 12, 1774, 3.
[4] The Massachusetts Spy, September 22, 1774, 2.
[5] The Massachusetts Spy, September 22, 1774, 2.
[6] Winsor, 138.
Historical Digression 
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