On 20th December, 1786, my great-great-great-grandfather, Charles Asgill, wrote to the New Haven Gazette and Chronicle in response to some correspondence that newspaper had published the month before, at George Washington’s request.   The editor at that time, Josiah Meigs, must have decided that Asgill’s letter was too controversial for publication, so he did not publish what Asgill had written.  This decision was made during the birth of a nation which represented ‘the land of the free’; even if it was not until the First Amendment that mention was made of “freedom of speech.”  It is, therefore, a testament to the power of the press, both then and now, that recorded history can be altered on the stroke of an editorial decision.  In this case, I must be grateful that Asgill’s letter was not destroyed.  Testament to this is that that letter never surfaced, until 2008 when it was for sale (incorporated within a letterbook) with a price tag of $16,500 attached to it!  The consequence of Josiah Meig’s decision is that Asgill was never able to clear his name of the allegations cast his way in the Washington correspondence which had been published.  As his descendant I dearly hope that one day I can rectify that wrong.  Indeed, I am edging ever closer to that point as I have now linked up with a Hollywood film producer who is keen to make the film!  Katherine Mayo, in her book  General Washington’s Dilemma, covers Asgill's story.  Her research was thorough but she found no reference to Asgill’s unpublished letter.  Nor, in the years since her death (and while I have been researching Asgill myself), has any reference to this letter of Asgill’s been made.  It therefore follows that nobody has seen fit to publish it at any time.

Your readers may possibly be familiar with the story surrounding Charles Asgill.  His plight has been recorded over and over again during the intervening two centuries and is often referred to as “The Asgill Affair.”   He was selected by ‘lot’ to go to the gallows for a crime he did not commit.  Fortunately for that young man, Queen Marie Antoinette stepped in to save his life.  More details may be found here.

When I discovered that this letter of Asgill’s was ‘for sale’ I quickly realized that it was well beyond my means to purchase, much as I dearly wished to do so.  I approached the antiquarian bookshop which had it advertised in the hope that they would allow me a photocopy for a small charge.  Regrettably for me they would not do so.  So, knowing a notable professor at an Oxbridge university, I approached him to enquire as to whether that university might be interested in buying the letterbook.  Sadly the answer was, “British universities do not have the funding for such acquisitions – try the Americans!”  I then compiled a list of likely candidates in the USA and naturally, given the New Haven Gazette and Josiah Meigs connection (he had been a lecturer at Yale, amongst other achievements) I thought of Yale first.  There were others on my list, such as Harvard, Princeton and other Ivy League establishments, and even the Library of Congress might have been interested.  However, I felt that Yale should be made aware of this letterbook first. 

On 3 December 2008 I emailed Yale letting them know about my ‘find’ and enquiring as to whether they already knew about it, or if not whether the Beinecke Library might want to make the purchase.  A week after sending my email to Yale, I sent another telling them that I was worried that they might not let me know their decision quickly enough (all I wanted to know was did they want it or not – naturally I made no suggestion that they should buy it) – and to let me know their decision quickly enough for me to have time to approach other institutions I wanted to contact, if necessary.  I am sure none of them has the resources to be scouring ‘for sale’ notices of antiquarian bookshops all the time. 

In the event it took Yale University three months to send me the following message: “This item did not fall within the collection development policies of the Beinecke Library.”  Of course, by the time this came through to me on 2 March 2009 it was far too late and the letterbook had already been sold. 

I then got back to the bookshop to enquire as to whether they would be prepared to get in touch with the purchaser on my behalf (in the hope that the new owner might allow me a photocopy, at a price, naturally).  Their reply was equally short and to the point, although rather more politely composed.  They wrote: “The volume was sold to a private collector, and he happens to be a person who chooses to be very, very private about his acquisitions. As such, he does not give us permission to share his name. I’m sorry that we are unable to assist you in this instance.”  I had previously asked them if they would act as an intermediary and simply request I be sold a photocopy since, obviously, I realized that the purchaser might well prefer not to communicate directly with me. 

This frustrating situation finally led me to write a letter to no lesser a personage than the President of Yale to explain that I felt very let down by the fact that their three month delay in responding to me had resulted in a piece of history going back behind the veil of secrecy, where it had lain for the past 222 years.  While private collectors naturally have every right to purchase whatsoever they may choose, where history is concerned it is very unfortunate for the general public if an item goes into a private collection and is never seen again.  That was why I had hoped that a public institution, such as a university, would purchase the letterbook so that scholars and researchers would then have that information available to them at all times (again, naturally, for a fee).   I had hoped that my original approach to Yale might have been appreciated.  After all, universities are the custodians of our past as well as our future. 

This whole 'letter' episode has been a cause of great sadness to me and I feel sorry for Charles Asgill that his chance to have a voice was not only denied him originally, but also this time round too. He wanted the truth of what had actually happened to him to be known and for his name to be cleared.  No such luck was afforded him; and precious little courtesy afforded me. 

This communication may also be regarded as controversial, just as my ancestor’s letter had been, but I hope that in today’s ‘enlightened’ age it may have a better chance of publication than his.  Another ancestor of mine, John Hicks (after whom Hicks Street, Brooklyn is named – he was a farmer there in the 17th century) was the reason my grandmother qualified as a Daughter of the American Revolution – so I must have some American Revolutionary blood running in my veins, along with my British heritage!