Welcome!

           The United States Capitol building provided the backdrop for a myriad of historic moments of the Jacksonian era. The Capitol in the early to mid-19th century witnessed commemorative occasions, dramatic partisan clashes, prestigious funeral services, and popular protests. The events that transpired in and around these hallowed halls function as flecks of colored glass that, viewed in the light of contemporary events, create a mosaic of the period’s culture. This digital tour highlights memorable Capitol occasions - occasions that reveal the contemporary social and political thought of the time, reflect the developing revolutions in transportation and communication, and recollect the mood of the American people. The stories that follow illustrate how our nation was, in many ways, becoming increasingly connected by the railroad and telegraph but was simultaneously being separated by strands of intense ideological sectionalism moving America towards an inevitable war. As I walk with you through the rooms of the Capitol, you will be walking in the footsteps of many influential “nation-shapers.” I pray that this information is a resourceful guide that offers insight into America during the era of Jackson and his contemporaries. 

The Rotunda: John Trumbull's Paintings of American Memory

              As you step into the Rotunda of the Capitol, you are encircled by grand paintings. Each illustrates a unique piece of American history. Four of the eight large works on display were designed and executed by John Trumbull and reflect two distinct aspects of Jacksonian America: a renewed interest in the nation’s heritage and an expressed hope for her future. In his autobiography, Trumbull recalls his service in the Revolutionary War as an aide de camp under George Washington and his opportunities to observe firsthand the events he would later memorialize.[1] Although his father “recommended the study of law,” Trumbull recalls his “tenacity for the arts” that eventually led him to pursue a career in painting.[2] After one year of service under General Washington, Trumbull embarked for Europe at the age of twenty-seven. Interestingly, he received his formal training from Benjamin West, an American living abroad in London. West simultaneously served as a court painter for King George III and trained the men who would provide the artistic record of America’s founding period. Trumbull would traverse the Atlantic numerous times throughout his adult life, becoming acquainted with and employed by many notable men, crafting friendships that would markedly influence his later works. Trumbull fell into the company of Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, John Jay, Thomas Pinckney, James Monroe, and many others.[3] Perhaps unbeknownst to Trumbull at the time, the men with whom he personally interacted were some of the very faces he would later paint. Because of these unique experiences and relationships, Trumbull was able to capture on canvas extremely accurate depictions of his future subjects.

        At age sixty, Trumbull returned to America where he would remain until the end of his life. In 1816, a resolution “finally passed both houses…to employ (Trumbull) to compose and execute four paintings, commemorative of the most important events of the American Revolution.”[4] As President James Madison noted, these works were to be “a glorious action.”[5] Working alongside Charles Bulfinch, the presiding architect of the public buildings in Washington, Trumbull began his work on the four pieces: The Declaration of Independence, Surrender of General Burgoyne at Saratoga, Surrender of the British at Yorktown, and Resignation of General George Washington at Annapolis. Although many objections were raised regarding the exact content and placement of the paintings, eventually Trumbull’s “work went on without any further interruption, and was finished in 1824.”[6]

Resignation of General George Washington at Annapolis

Surrender of General Burgoyne at Saratoga

The Declaration of Independence

Surrender of the British at Yorktown

         All of these pieces inspired their onlookers to reflect back to the nation’s beginning, a period characterized by a dedication to the preservation of liberty, unrelenting individual determination, and a collective spirit of civic duty. America was prospering, diversifying, and democratizing during this period. It was vital that the works chosen to be prominently displayed fostered a sense of national pride and unity. By painting images of America’s birth, Trumbull’s pieces helped reinforce a common history and national identity. The notion of preserving and presenting “American memory” was a strong driving force at this time, a cultural phenomenon that Trumbull’s Rotunda works exemplify.[7] Additionally significant, because each of his paintings were created during a “pre-photographic” age, his works within the Rotunda were more “documentary” in nature than aesthetic. [8] In all of Trumbull’s works, in fact, “portraits predominate” and they continue to provide an important record of the most notable men of the founding period. [9] Trumbull went to great lengths to meet and paint portraits of his subjects from life or to collect portraits of them from which he could make a reliable copy. The events recorded, especially those of the Revolutionary War, provided “recreated scenes,” a collection of windows into forgotten images of the American past.[10] Indeed, Trumbull personally wrote that although his works “possessed little art value,” they were made in “in a worthy age, (and) might be found worthy as historic records.”[11]    

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[1], John Trumbull, Autobiography, Reminiscences, and Letters (New Haven: B. L. Hamlen, 1841), 17.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid., 174 and 243.

[4] Ibid., 262.

[5] Ibid., 263.

[6] Ibid., 275. 

[7] Roger Schultz, Jacksonian America HIUS 316 Course Notes, Liberty University, November 11, 2013.

[8]Florence Berryman, “Artists of Washington,” Records of the Columbia Historical Society 50 (1948) http://www.jstor.org/stable/40067327 (accessed September 11, 2013), 219.

[9]Theodore Sizer, The Works of Colonel John Trumbull (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967), 117.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Berryman, "Artists of Washington," 219.

The East Portico: Andrew Jackson's Attempted Assassination

           Andrew Jackson, the seventh President of the United States, was the icon of the era in which he lived. He exhibited a distinct “common man” persona, acted upon zealous convictions, and fused Jeffersonian Republican principles to an increasingly democratic country. As a young soldier, new husband, reluctant military governor, aspiring businessman and, finally, Chief Executive in the White House, Andrew Jackson was a “forceful, yet tragic hero… larger than life.”[1] After winning a second presidential term, Jackson worked tirelessly, fighting legislative battles in the hope of achieving a prosperous, united America. Specifically, it was his opposition to the Second Bank of the United States that not only aroused a plethora of enemies, but in the end, nearly cost him his life.

           The story of the attempted assassination of Jackson begins with its perpetrator. Richard Lawrence, a native Englishman, arrived in America at a young age and experienced a fruitful young adult life. Eventually, Lawrence began to concoct imaginary government conspiracies that were, supposedly, aimed at inhibiting his international travel and ruining his personal finances.[2] Becoming increasingly unstable, Lawrence convinced himself that he was King Richard III and that the United States owed “his royal majesty (himself)” a great sum of money.[3] At this point the stories of Lawrence and Jackson begin to intertwine. The resolute anti-banking sentiment proceeding from the White House at the time convinced Lawrence that his “settlements would be jeopardized.”[4] In reality, Lawrence had been out of work for years, unable to pay his bills. As his personal debts to his landlord continued to mount, so did his fiery temper, delusional convictions, and mental instability.[5] He would frequently visit the Capitol, sit in on Congressional sessions, and even approach the White House doors demanding money.[6] In his eyes, President Jackson was the one man destroying his life through the destruction of the National Bank. No matter his motive, in an act of defiance against this high-profile enemy, Lawrence began to plot his revenge, “chuckling” all the while.[7]

          On January 30, 1835, Jackson attended a funeral inside the Capitol for the late Representative Warren Davis. As he exited through the Rotunda towards the East Portico, a man stepped in front of him and “pointed a weapon directly at Jackson’s heart.”[8] A fellow mourner, Richard Henry Wilde, stated that “what exactly took place at this moment- except confusion- remains a mystery.”[9] The sound of a gunshot seemed to ring through the air. Many, like witness Thomas Hart Benton, believed a round had been fired, but “the explosion” that resounded though corridors was just the pistol’s cap imploding, not a discharged bullet.[10] Lawrence immediately pulled and fired a second pistol at point blank range but, miraculously, it too misfired, sparing the president’s life. Nearby colleagues, including Congressman Davy Crockett assisted Jackson himself in physically restraining Lawrence. Reflecting his characteristic passion, local newspapers reported that “the President pressed after him (Lawrence) until he saw he was secured.”[11] Vice President Van Buren noted that Jackson was “calm, cool, and collected,” indeed “the least disturbed person in the room,” a perfect reflection of his unflappable character.[12]

           In the U.S. Capitol today, each state in the Union displays two statues of prominent citizens. These statues must meet strict criteria and are all placed on similar marble bases. They are primarily exhibited in the Old House Chamber (now known as Statuary Hall), the Rotunda, and the House Connecting Corridor. Tennessee, in 1928, chose to submit a statue of their favorite son – Andrew Jackson. Reflective of his indomitable spirit, it is purposely displayed in almost the very spot where he cheated death and subdued his attacker – near the East Portico in the Capitol Rotunda.

          This first attempt on an American president’s life gives great insight into the culture of Jackson’s America. The New York Evening Post called it “a sign of the times.”[13] The fate of the Second Bank directly affected the lives of individual citizens and revealed the growing influence and rising intrusion of the federal government. Additionally, the written records and newspaper accounts that followed the event provide a clear window into the “malicious political climate of the 1830s.”[14] Rather than focusing on the well-being of the president and the moral implications of such an act, Richard Henry Wilde worried in a letter to his brother that this event could result in continued political power for the Democratic Party. He wrote that of “one thing there is no doubt, it will make him President again if he desires it,” implying an unwarranted and unprecedented third term for “King Andrew.”[15] For many staunch anti-Jacksonians, this murderous act was bound to produce undue sympathy and popular support for the President and his party, undermining the midterm political campaign efforts of the Whigs.

          Lawrence’s actions were widely recorded and distributed throughout the nation. The local press as well as notable news agencies such as the Richmond Times-Dispatch, New York Times, and the Washington Globe picked up the story.[16] While some blamed the Whig Party, John C. Calhoun, or Senator George Poindexter for initiating the attack, a few publications even suggested that Jackson’s own allies had crafted the “stunt” in an attempt to bolster the president’s popular appeal. [17] Others correctly and responsibly reported on Lawrence’s history of mental instability and held him answerable. In an age of increasing communication and transportation, news of Lawrence’s actions and subsequent trial were covered comprehensively and spread like wild fire. Both the assassination attempt and resulting tumultuous response amongst opposing party leaders demonstrated that in 1835, the “poisoned political atmosphere…deepened rather than bridged the gulf…separating the two parties.”[18]

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[1] Robert Remini, The Life of Andrew Jackson (New York: Harper Collins Publishers, 1998), Back Cover.

[2]Willard M. Oliver, Killing the President: Assassinations, Attempts, and Rumored Attempts on U.S. Commanders-in-Chief (Santa Barbara: Praeger, 2010), 5.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid., 6.

[6]Edward L Tucker, “The Attempted Assassination of President Jackson: A Letter by Richard Henry Wilde” The Georgia Historical Quarterly 58 (1974): 194.

[7] Oliver, Killing the President, 6.

[8] Ibid., 7.

[9] Tucker, “The Attempted Assassination of President Jackson,” 195.

[10] Oliver, Killing the President, 7.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Martin Van Buren, Autobiography Edited by John Fitzpatrick (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1919), 353.

[13] New York Evening Post, February 4, 1835.

[14] Rohrs, Richard C. “Partisan Politics and the Attempted Assassination of Andrew Jackson.” Journal of the Early Republic 1, no. 2 (Summer 1981): 150.

[15] Tucker, “The Attempted Assassination of President Jackson,” 197. 

[16] Oliver, Killing the President, 10.

[17] Ibid.

[18] Daniel Walker Howe, What Hath God Wrought?: The Transformation of America, 1815-1848 (Oxford: University Press, 2007), 437. 

The Old Senate Chamber: The Sumner-Brooks Affair

Charles Sumner

During the era of Jackson, “unseemly acts of violence repeatedly disgraced the Capitol.”[1] In one such event, a dramatic assault occurred on May 22, 1856 inside the Old Senate Chamber that further sectionalized the Congress and, in turn, widened the chasm dividing North and South. Charles Sumner, a Republican Congressman from Massachusetts, delivered a powerful oration against the proposed Kansas-Nebraska Act. He argued that this legislation was grounded in motives that “may be clearly traced to a depraved desire for a new Slave State… in the hope of adding to the power of slavery in the National Government."[2] Throughout his climactic speech, Sumner directed poignant personal insults towards the act’s primary authors, Stephen Douglas and Andrew Butler. In today’s culture, it is difficult to comprehend the seriousness with which men “defended their honor.” Until outlawed, duels had been a frequent method for settling offenses. In light of these disgraceful and ungentlemanly remarks, Butler’s nephew, Preston Brooks, felt compelled to defend the honor of his family and decided to take action into his own hands! Two days after Sumner’s oratory, an infuriated Brooks confronted Sumner during debate in the Old Senate Chamber and, after exchanging a few words, proceeded to beat him with a cane until it broke in two, leaving Sumner battered and bloody.[3]

Preston Brooks

Because of the ideological differences represented by these two men, this event was received, rebutted, and remembered differently by the North and South. Brooks’ dramatic and public attack fueled the embers of geographic sectionalism that had begun to flicker from Carolina to Connecticut. The North wrote articles and produced imagery that presented Sumner as a martyr and voice for their cause of emancipation. In many respects, this personal attack “gave additional energy to the will, and strength to the arm of the emerging Republican Party.”[4] A collective spirit of righteous opposition in the North resulted in regular “indignation meetings” that catalyzed the demand for action against southern slave-holders.[5] Many northerners “linked the assault to … emancipation, proclaiming that each blow to Sumner’s bloody brow drove one more nail into the coffin of slavery.”[6] What resulted “in the wake of the caning” was a more “unified North” determined that the actions of proslavery Democrats like Brooks “were a threat to the norms of republican government.”[7] In the South, many aristocratic Southerners deemed his actions to be chivalrous as he was acting in defense of his family name and way of life.[8] As a gesture of unwavering loyalty, brand new “replacement” canes were gifted to Brooks from hundreds of Carolinians as physical demonstrations of their support. With 21st century perspective, it is clear that the Sumner-Brooks affair that stained the Senate floors red foreshadowed the bloody war to come. The violence of both word and deed revealed that sectionalism was rising exponentially, the secession of the South was likely, and a Civil War was not only plausible, but probable.

[1] Howe, What Hath God Wrought?, 436.


[2] Michael William Pfau, "Time, Tropes, and Textuality: Reading Republicanism in Charles Sumner's 'Crime Against Kansas'", Rhetoric & Public Affairs 6:3 (2003): 393.


[3] Manisha Sinha, “The Caning of Charles Sumner: Slavery, Race, and Ideology in the Age of the Civil War.” Journal of the Early Republic 23:2 (Summer 2003): 233.


[4]Michael E. Woods, “The Indignation of Freedom-Loving People: The Caning of Charles Sumner and Emotions in Antebellum Politics,” Journal of Social History 44:3 (Spring 2011): 689.


[5] Ibid.


[6] Ibid.


[7]Manisha Sinha, “The Caning of Charles Sumner,” 235.


[8] Ibid.

The Old House Chamber: Death of John Quincy Adams

After his term as the sixth president, John Quincy Adams made an unprecedented gesture of civic service. In 1831, two years after leaving the White House, he was elected to the House of Representatives, making him the first man to retire from the executive chair and take a seat in the “lower chamber.” “Old Man Eloquent,” as Adams was appropriately dubbed, continued to use his gift of oration and his strong conservative convictions to further the preservation of the Union.[1] From his seat in the Old House Chamber, Adams argued against the United States’ justification for the Mexican War and boldly defended individual rights. Numerous bills Adams debated and authored show him dedicated not only to the preservation of the Union, but to all of the individuals within her borders.[2]

         

Arguing for a national university, celestial observatory (for improvements in the sciences and military navigation), and the creation of the Smithsonian Institute, Adams continued to uphold his Puritan-based commitment to personal education, American heritage, and national sovereignty.[3] As these numerous proposals and petitions demonstrate, Adams’ congressional career served as the capstone to his decades of service to his beloved America. Leaving the White House as an unpopular executive, Adams used his strong sense of morality, devotion to political principles, and ability to overcome personal challenges to redeem his legacy.[4]

          Perhaps the most compelling part of his legacy was formed as Adams articulately fought against slavery on moral, judicial, and economic grounds. He famously stated that “the undying worm of conscience twinges with terror for the fate of the peculiar institution. Slavery stands aghast at the prospective promotion of the general welfare.”[5] Notably, at the age of seventy –three, Adams was “persuaded to join the abolitionist team” and take on a landmark case in American history. The United States vs. Amistad brought sectional differences to the forefront as the case involved kidnapped Africans, illegally transported as slaves. These men had freed themselves while on board the slave ship, killing the captain and a cook. Arguing in the highly politicized Amistad case, Adams combined his rich knowledge of international and constitutional law and a devotion to protecting human rights to win the day.[6] He accomplished this in the face of heavy opposition from the executive branch. Should the decision have been for any of those making claims of ownership, President Martin van Buren had a ship standing by to return the Africans to slavery before any appeal could be filed on their behalf.

         

 On Monday, February 23, 1848 this legacy came to an end in an event “unrivalled in drama and pathos.”[7] Early that morning, Adams walked into the House of Representatives’ Chamber and took his seat. Holding to his convictions to the very end, Adams’ voice trembled as he objected to a motion designed to thank the American generals of the Mexican War (indirectly noting his disapproval of the subversive executive action taken by the original declaration of war).[8] It “seems fitting that his last word in Congress should have been ‘No!’” as Adams had “resisted the tide” in many ways throughout his years of public service. [9] As he rose to speak, he collapsed and was immediately rushed into the nearby Speaker’s Office, which is today designated the Lindy Boggs Reading Room. Two days later, Adams passed away, his final words reflective of his lifelong Christian faith: “this is the end of earth, I am composed.”[10] His death was symbolic of the era in which he served. Adams had literally served from the age of 11 until his death. He embodied a peculiar dedication to country characteristic of his contemporaries, who recognized that their service was occurring at a pivotal moment in history. Even one of his most ardent adversaries, Thomas Hart Benton, articulated this notion perfectly in a tribute to Adams: “Death found him at the post of duty; and where else could it have found him?”[11] 

 Notably, the death of John Quincy Adams was “one of the first media events” in American history.[12] With the recently implemented Morse telegraph, news of the event travelled rapidly. This gave rise to uniquely unbiased news publications, as each writer was able to offer his thoughts on Adams’ death spontaneously, without the influence of outside opinions.[13] Likewise, sections of newly constructed railroad carried the casket up the Atlantic seaboard, allowing people to personally participate in the mourning process for their former President. The Boston Courier wrote that “on no previous occasion of the kind have our citizens at large so generally abandoned their businesses and their homes and joined in a public demonstration of the character.”[14] Indeed, the commemoration of this event “was unprecedented in scope.”[15] Both the instinctive written responses and the individual access to this event solidified a spirit of national unity and a respect for founding principles while demonstrating the power of the rising communication and transportation revolutions.

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[1] Howe, What Hath God Wrought?, 812. 

[2]Joseph Wheelan, Mr. Adams’s Last Crusade: John Quincy Adams’s Extraordinary Post- Presidential Life in Congress (New York: Perseus Books Group, 2008).

[3] Howe, What Hath God Wrought?, 468.

[4] Wheelan, Mr. Adams’ Last Crusade.

[5] Howe, What Hath God Wrought?, 585

[6] John Quincy Adams, Argument of John Quincy Adams, Before the Supreme Court of the United States : in the Case of the United States, and Others, Africans, Captured in the schooner Amistad; 1841, Lillian Goldman Law Library, Yale Law School, http://avalon.law.yale.edu/19th_century/amistad_002.asp (accessed on November 12, 2013).

[7]Lynn Parsons, “The "Splendid Pageant": Observations on the Death of John Quincy Adams.” The New England Quarterly 53:4 (December 1980): 464.

[8] Howe, What Hath God Wrought?, 812.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Politicians: Death in the U.S. Capitol Building, “John Quincy Adams,” The Political Graveyard, http://politicalgraveyard.com/death/us-capitol.html (accessed on November 11, 2013).

[11] Thomas Hart Benton in Congressional Globe, 30^th Congress, 1^st session. (February 24, 1848), 389.

[12] Parsons, “The Splendid Pageant,” 465.

[13] Ibid., 467.

[14] Boston Courier, “Adams Memorial,” March 9, 1848.

[15] Parsons, “The Splendid Pageant,” 466.

The Old Supreme Court Chamber: Morse's Telegraph

            “What Hath God Wrought?”  Unbeknownst to many, the dots and dashes that first tapped out this simplistic message were the beginning of a revolution.  Samuel Finley Breese Morse, born in 1791, was trained under his father, Jedidiah Morse, a notable geographer, devout Puritan, and “eminent divine.”[1]  Attending Yale College at the age of fifteen, Morse studied under Jeremiah Day, “America’s ablest teacher” of natural philosophy, and used that knowledge to enhance and enable the success of his later inventions.[2]  After pursuing a career as a painter (and training under notables such as Benjamin West in London and others in Paris and Rome), Morse reluctantly laid his artistic aspirations to rest.[3]  While aboard the Sully travelling back to America, Morse providentially found himself in the company of Dr. Charles T. Jackson and the prized “electro-magnet” he was transporting across the Atlantic.[4]  After a series of questions between Morse and Jackson, it finally hit the young American.[5]  Eureka!  “An idea had been born!”[6]  Upon arrival, Morse set out to perfect his plan of using an “electromagnetic receiver, an alphabet of dots and dashes, and a complete faith in practical possibilities of the whole” to create a long-range telegraph.[7]   

            Morse’s efforts point to several distinctive elements of the American mindset: unwavering work ethic, resolute determination, and the ability to think entrepreneurially.  Scientific advancement was not pursued purely for science but for its practical application.  With “scanty funds, limited time…and rising skepticism,” Morse was faced with substantial challenges at the outset of his work.[8]  Petitioning Congress for support and financial backing, Morse received rounds of criticism as politicians repeatedly deemed his invention a “toy” and severely “impractical.”[9]  After months of lobbying, members of the Commerce Committee finally agreed to back his project.  Pending patents from Europe and uninterested investors also interrupted his desired completion date, causing additional frustration from both foreign competitors and domestic foes.[10]  In a display of selflessness and genuine determination, Morse charted out the exact expenses and privately funded a majority of his work…even to the point of personal bankruptcy.[11]  Writing a letter to one of his art pupils in France with the hopes of receiving outstanding tuition, Morse expressed his destitution: “Even ten dollars would save my life… I will be dead next week by starvation…with but thirty seven cents left in the world.”[12]  In an instant, Morse’s last glimmer of hope turned to a bright, promising light.  With the passage of a $30,000 appropriations bill, the Senate enabled Morse and his team to complete the telegraph and install the final miles of needed wiring.[13]  On May 24, 1844, Morse’s dream became a reality as he tapped out a secret phrase from the Supreme Court Chamber within the Capitol over 40 miles of telegraph wire to the railroad station in Baltimore.  When, moments later, that same message was tapped back and received in the Capitol, Morse and his years of sacrifice were vindicated.  A revolution in communication had begun.  

           “Time and space were now annihilated.”[14] The results and implications of that simple decoded phrase were unprecedented and far reaching. Since the beginning of time, mankind had been consumed with how to move messages more swiftly; Morse was the modern American “Hermes,” the answer to that ancient need! No longer were riders, carriages, or postal workers the most efficient method for transmitting messages quickly. In an instant, information could be relayed and replied to, revolutionizing how elections, legislative decisions, wartime news, business transactions, and national events were delivered to, and perceived by, Americans. Henry Adams, grandson of John Quincy, prophetically stated that “the old universe would be thrown into the ash-heap and a new one created.”[15]

            For some it was surprising that from such a new nation came a discovery that would revolutionize global communication, but Morse served as a perfect representation of the “American way” in scientific invention. His work was not simply for the sake of science, but so that something useful would be born from his practical application of reason and discovery. Morse’s telegraph played a significant role in the “geographic expansion of the American empire and its economic development” and was, to his contemporaries, a pivotal advance that reshaped their ever-progressing country.[16] It is interesting to note that Morse’s Puritan work ethic and underlying confidence in God’s blessing on America are reflected in the historic first telegraph message that rang through the halls of the Capitol: “What Hath God Wrought?”

                                    

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[1] Walter K. Towers, Masters of Space (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1917), 56.

[2] Ibid., 57.

[3] Ibid., 63.

[4] Samuel F.B. Morse, “Notes Regarding Telegraph and Patent Controversy,” The Samuel F.B. Morse Papers at The Library of Congress, 1837. http://www.loc.gov/resource/mmorse.071006/#seq-1 (accessed on November 2, 2013).

[5] Towers, Masters of Space, 63.

[6] Ibid., 65.

[7] Ibid., 66.

[8] Ibid., 75.

[9] Ibid., 76.

[10] Ibid., 78.

[11] Samuel F.B. Morse, “Estimates,” The Samuel F.B. Morse Papers at The Library of Congress, 1843, http://memory.loc.gov/cgi-bin/ampage?collId=mmorse&fileName=016/016001/016001page.db&recNum=303 (accessed on November 18, 2013).

[12] Towers, Masters of Space, 81 and 85.

[13] Ibid., 87.

[14] Ibid., 77.

[15] Henry Adams, The Education of Henry Adams (Boston: Project Gutenburg, 1918), 5.

[16] Howe, What Hath God Wrought?, 854.