I first encountered a reference to Henry Hulton’s manuscript history of the American rebellion when perusing the notes to Hiller Zobel’s classic study of the Boston “massacre.” After reading a microfilm copy of Hulton’s account from the Princeton University Library, where it is part of the Andre De Coppet Collection, I decided, with Princeton’s permission, to pursue publication. I had just finished my volume on Josiah Quincy Junior for the Colonial Society of Massachusetts and, hoping that the Society would think this a worthy project as well, made my pitch to John Tyler, editor of publications. John shepherded the Quincy volume through to print, as he has this, and I thank him and the other editorial committee members for their support. John also arranged for Jane Ward to copy edit my transcriptions, as she did for the Quincy book, and she once again caught many errors that I let slip by. My debt to her is now doubled. Jeanne Abboud is responsible for the handsome design of this book, and Kate Mertes compiled the index. That this book is about a “loyalist” and the other a “patriot” is not part of some conscious desire to have my own set of Revolutionary American bookends, a yin and yang for their age. Rather, I wanted readers to have yet another man’s take on the great events of his life, events that he shaped, events that also shaped him.

    Even if it seems hackneyed—apologies to Tennesee Williams here—for authors to say that they have depended on the kindness of strangers, I did on this book even more than on others. I had the added pleasure of meeting some of those strangers, who are now friends. First among these stand a cluster in Andover, England, where Henry Hulton lived out his final days: June Harris, secretary to the parochial council of St. Mary’s Church; Peter Hull, St. Mary’s Churchwarden; and John Isherwood, a retired solicitor and local historian, who along with his wife, Anne, proved wonderful hosts to my wife Carole and me on our visits there. John and his contacts in and around Andover helped me piece together possible scenarios for Hulton’s years in the neighborhood. I am afraid I put them all—John especially—to a great deal of trouble, and their generosity humbles. Sir Philip Preston, descendant of Henry Hulton and historian in his own right, was most encouraging. He even crossed the channel from his home in France with his wife, Kirsi, and son Tom to become part of our little group at St. Mary’s and gather round the vault that holds Henry Hulton’s remains. It was a sublime moment. But for engagements that took her elsewhere, we might have been joined by Lady Jennie Bland, who graciously opened to us her home, nearby Blissamore Hall, where Hulton lived during part of his retirement.

    My trips to England for research on Hulton, as earlier trips there for previous books, were funded by my department and college at Brigham Young University. I am much beholden to history department secretary Julie Radle, past department chair Arnie Green, and college dean David Magleby for sending me abroad, and trusting that I would return with something to show for it. I must note too the funds made available to me as a Mary Lou Fulton Professor within my college; the Fultons are generous benefactors indeed. Generous, too, was Wallace Brown, professor emeritus at the University of New Brunswick, who allowed me to barge in on his retirement. A distinguished historian of the loyalists, he edited some of Hulton’s letters nearly forty years ago and in a sense I picked up where he left off. I am also obliged to genealogist Gregory Preston, who proved most helpful with leads on the Hulton and Preston families.

    Hulton’s letters and other papers were scattered hither and yon over the centuries. I am grateful to the librarians and archivists who saw to it that I had photocopies or microfilms of whatever landed in their collections, starting with the Princeton University Library and Hulton’s history of the rebellion. Added to that were two letter books in the Houghton Library at Harvard University; more or less duplicate copies of another of Hulton’s letter books at Harris Manchester College, Oxford University, and the John Rylands University Library at the University of Manchester; Hulton’s journal at the John Carter Brown Library at Brown University; a collection of Hulton’s essays in the William L. Clements Library at the University of Michigan; autobiographical essays at Boston University; a journal and letters in the Beinecke Library at Yale University; and Hulton’s guide to training youth, now at the Norfolk County Record Office in Norwich, England. In addition, I was sent copies of John Temple’s letters in the collections at the Henry E. Huntington Library. Finally, it is always rewarding to return to the British Library and the Public Record Office, with their wonderful collections and excellent staffs. To all those who assisted me at one library or another and granted permission to transcribe the texts housed there and included here, I offer heartfelt thanks.

    Serendipitous encounters became as much a part of my search for vestiges of Henry Hulton as they have been in all of my historical research over the past three decades. To give one example: I sent a query to Professor Jeremy Black at the University of Exeter, and Jeremy suggested that I contact Dr. Alan Guy at the National Army Museum. Dr. Guy in turn suggested that I check a dissertation he knew of, which I did, and that led to a Hulton source I most likely would never have come across otherwise. This particular source was not listed in any manuscript catalog or research guide I had seen, in hard copy or online. With more and more reference sources available online through the Internet—indeed, with printed and manuscript texts online that can be downloaded and even sent as email attachments—will the serendipitous discovery become more common, or less? And will research in general become more exacting, more precise, or sloppier because seemingly so simple? We should know soon enough.

    And to Carole? Words fail. I must think of something else . . .